Chapter 4: Training

Effie is just clicking the remote to the holoTV when Haymitch and I arrive in the dining car. Daintily using the silverware to dig into our meal, Prim's eyes meet mine and she raises an eyebrow in concern, a dozen silent questions on her lips. I shake my head simply. If I told her what Haymitch and I discussed, she probably wouldn't believe me. I wouldn't fault her if she doesn't trust me, and would hope that she doesn't – where we're going, trust is in very short supply, and those tributes who traffic in it will be making a very fatal error. Prim is going to have to act smart if she wants to survive these Games, and while I want to help her, I won't just give her my trust. I'll work to earn it the honest way.

District 1's tributes look like something straight off the cover of a Capitol fashion magazine. The girl is stunning, though not nearly as naturally beautiful as Katniss. Her name is Glimmer. Her district partner, Marvel, appears to be kind of a dolt, at least in terms of physical affects and the way he presents himself, though I can't be tempted to let that fool me. It could be an angle – plenty of tributes and even some winning ones have played dumb before, to great and deadly effect.

District 2 is next with its typical crop of volunteers. The girl is most striking because she doesn't appear much older than Prim, and not much taller. I hear the commentator cite this Clove's age as fifteen. That alone is odd. Most Careers, and especially Twos, wait until they're eighteen to be deployed – like the muscular boy now strutting his way onto the stage. Cato is blonde-haired, blue-eyed and built like the perfect soldier and killing machine. I already know sponsors will be lining up to back him. They guy is already acting like he is Victor and the Crown is in his hands. He'll be the one to beat, and I resist the urge to blanche. How I am supposed to guard Prim against…. that?

It is to my immense relief that the rest of the Reapings seem to fly by, with only a few stand-outs…. and of these, none of them shine due to physical intimidation like Cato. District 4, known for being a proto-Career district that allies with 1 and 2 often, actually pluck a twelve-year-old boy even shorter than Prim. No one volunteers in his place, as is common. Perhaps it was an accident. Either way, I'm grateful. The girl from 5, who also has red hair like the shrimp from 4, seems shifty and elusive, though she's razor-thin. The boy from 10 has a bum leg; I can tell from the limp he exudes when mounting the stage. District 11 offers up another twelve-year-old in their girl. There is nothing physical about the girl that makes me fear for Prim's safety; rather, it is the spectre of this little thing competing for the sympathy vote. Because, whatever I might think of the delivery of his analysis, Haymitch's analysis is nevertheless correct: Prim has been trained by her mother to save life, not take it. Worse still, she is twelve years old and not at all physically threatening. The Careers will look at her and all they'll see is a snack. Her only hope, other than me, will be old biddies in the Capitol who can never bear to see cute little girls go to their death. Now that sponsorship is at risk of being split between Prim and the 11 girl, Rue, and maybe even the weird, twelve-year-old boy from 4. When Rue's district partner is called, I barely hold in a whimper – Thresh is 18, jacked, and basically Cato with darker skin. I look down into my lap as they replay Prim's and my own Reaping, my mind whirring.

Two muscular boys, and possibly more wild cards who I can't even anticipate. Another little girl who might be cannon fodder, but could split the sympathy vote that Prim will need. At the very least, only two others who are guaranteed cannon fodder – the boys from 4 and 10. That leaves, at most, nineteen or twenty other people who could ensure that Primrose Everdeen never leaves the arena alive.

I won't let that happen, but I can't say I don't have my work cut out for me.

I soon discover that I am wrong in one point, once we arrive in the Capitol a few hours before sunset the next day. Haymitch might believe and I even might half-think that due to age, size and instinct, Primrose is helpless… but that doesn't mean the Capitol agrees.

In all the horror of watching the other Reapings, I have forgotten one important thing: Primrose Everdeen is no wilting flower. After all, she volunteered – a point that is drilled into me again and again as we begin to navigate the Capitol.

It starts with her stylist, a dark-skinned man with a kind smile and kinder eyes. "That was the most wonderful thing you did, for your sister. My name is Cinna."

"Primrose," my district partner answers. "But you can call me Prim. Everyone does."

"How fascinating," Cinna beams. "Like the flower?" Behind him, I notice three Capitol members of her prep team start to frantically scribble designs and mock-ups on notepads.

Prim nods. Her bright blue eyes are sad, resigned almost, and I know the reality of our destiny is starting to sink in for her. "So, you're here to make me look cute?" That does tend to be the angle for most twelve-year-olds sent into the arena.

"Having you look cute is only half the battle, and frankly, the least important half," Cinna says with strong conviction. "More than that, Prim, I'm here to help you make an impression."

Of course, I won't get to see what impression Cinna has in mind as I am whisked away by my own prep team for stylization. I like my head stylist, Portia, right away – also dark-skinned like Cinna, she gives off the vibe of a favorite aunt or a younger grandma come to pay a call.

My prep team seems impressed by what they call my 'natural district beauty' – outside the shaving of some chest hairs and stubble, there is very little they need to work with. The real grunt work comes in the design of my outfit itself, which Portia has been prepping for weeks. I am fitted in a skin-tight black suit, accented by silvery sequins that Portia says are supposed to reflect the patterns of the moon.

I don't clue in to the symbolism until I'm standing in the horse stables as the sun is setting, and my district partner comes into view.

Primrose is dressed in a skin-tight black suit similar to mine, but unlike my outfit, hers is inlaid over with a second layer of bright yellow. Her blonde hair is in ringlets, making her look pixie-cute while at the same time achieving the effect that she is maybe a year or two older than she actually is. I can't help but think of a line I read from an ancient play in my Literature class at school, all while trying not to steal glances at the shy and quiet, breathtakingly beautiful girl with chestnut hair and the most glorious olive skin: it is the East, and Juliet is the Sun!

Then, of course, in the next moment, I recite the next line in my head: Arise, fair sun and kill the envious moon…. While I don't think it will come to a point where Prim would have to kill me, I already know that I will allow her to do it, should the moment present itself.

I haven't forgotten my mission, even if Haymitch thinks I'm crazy: for Prim to live, and thus for Katniss to be happy, I will have to die. I try to ignore the dull ache of pain in my chest at this reminder.

I gentlemanly help Prim up into the coach of our chariot, neither of us glancing at the other tributes. She is quaking a little from nerves, so I try to calm her down with a compliment:

"You look lovely. But then again, you're an Everdeen, so…"

She arches one eyebrow along with the corner of her mouth, surprised but pleased. "Thank you."

She really does look so much like her mother, and I've heard some stories, about how the future Mrs. Everdeen was one of the prettiest Merchant girls in the district. Coming from such fine stock, I have to wonder:

"You have a boy waiting at home?"

I'm satisfied when Prim's cheeks turn pink. "I…. I think so…."

"You think so….?" I laugh, and she giggles bashfully. Ah, so it's puppy love, is it? Maybe it's something she can talk about in her interview…. That is, if Haymitch can even be bothered to put any effort into coaching her.

Prim ducks her lashes down shyly. "Rory Hawthorne," she murmurs quietly. "He kissed me goodbye in the Justice Building."

I don't know the boy she speaks of specifically, but I know the family, and I know the name: Hawthorne…. This Rory's older brother is likely the one who hunts with Katniss so frequently. The one I've been jealous of since Lower School. Many other boys in his grade and mine, two years down, want to be him. Every girl in the district wants to date him, and as such loathe Katniss. I've never known if that jealousy coming from the girls has any merit, and I've always been afraid to ask. Gale is about the only boy Katniss allows near her, and there has always been wonderment – not just from me – if she and the broad Seam boy are sleeping together. Apparently, the attraction to the strong and silent types runs in the family, as Prim continues to blush. She doesn't divulge any further about her new romance, and I don't ask.

"So: what about you?"

For some reason, I stick my own wrist – around which is tied Katniss's green handkerchief – into my pocket. "What about me?"

"Are you seeing anyone?" The deeply curious look in her eyes tells me that this is more than a casual question.

"N-not at the moment," I stammer.

"Do you like girls?" she probes, her eyes shifting a little bit towards fear, though not for herself, it would seem.

"Oh, do I ever!" I grin broadly.

"Got a crush on anyone? Anyone I know?"

I chuckle, smirking. "OK, little miss detective, I've got a question for you: why the sudden interest?"

She shrugs, almost coy. "No reason."

Before she can pry any further, the roar of the crowd meets our ears, and up ahead, we can see the District 1 chariot creaking and rolling as it leads off our procession into the Avenue of Tributes, bound for the City Circle. It takes a bit for the movement to catch up to our team of horses, dead last in line as we are, but as soon as we emerge from the shadows of the stables, all of my senses are suddenly awash in a display of light, sound and color.

Piercing wails split the air as I adjust my eyes to the glare, and once I do, I make a sweep of the crowds pressing in on either side of the avenue. There are tween girls Prim's age all the way up to mature women in their thirties and forties who are screaming and sobbing and reaching for me like I'm the star at a rock concert. I think I catch more than a few marriage proposals hurled my way in the air.

Next to me, Primrose seems momentarily dumbstruck by the enthusiastic greeting, but then her thumb presses down on something in her hand, a clicker of sorts that I thought I saw Cinna pass to her.

Next instant, I am aflame.

So is Prim, but amazingly, neither of us burns up. The bellow of approval is deafening and I fear my eardrums will bleed. I watch Primrose carefully as she once again adjusts to the enthusiastic response. By the time we're halfway down the Avenue of Tributes, she begins to relax a little. Smile. Wave. Even blow kisses to the crowd. I observe, slack-jawed, as Capitolians dive and go so far as to violently push each other out of the way to catch Prim's kisses, as if they really can be caught like any ball or round piece of fruit.

"PRIMROSE! PRIMROSE!"

"There she is! The Littlest Angel! And she's on FIRE!"

"Get out of the way, will you? The brave girl who volunteered for her sister is coming!"

Between the two tributes from District 12, one of us is playing second fiddle – and I'm slowly beginning to realize, to my ever-delighted shock, that it's me. Next to Prim, I might as well be invisible. Granted, I've often felt the same way around her deeply attractive older sister, but with this little girl, I don't seem to mind it at all. By the time President Snow concludes his speech and we disembark from our chariots to enter the Training Center, I am beginning to feel almost…. hopeful.

Maybe I can maneuver Prim out of the arena alive.

The next three days of Training knock my hopes down a peg.

Though the hope still burns, it doesn't burn as brightly. Honestly, I should have been expecting it, as I tell my brain too late not to get wigged out.

Before that first morning, I told Haymitch I intended to stick next to my district partner like glue. He shrugged, tssking at me like I was hopeless, before knocking back another drink. The one thing he does tell us is to not show off what we already know. Try and practice something new.

More than once during that first day, Prim tells me sweetly and politely that she doesn't wish to burden me. Encourages me to go explore other stations on my own. The practical side of me should listen to her, but I made a promise to her sister and I intend to see it through, all the way to the end, whatever that might be.

My presence next to Prim is already having adverse effects on how the other tributes perceive her, particularly the Careers. The blonde leader, Cato, keeps eyeing her like a snack, but there's also a touch of…. envy there, mixed with more than a little curious bewilderment. Primrose's splash at the parade, plus her move of daring at the Reaping – both of which have been getting continuous coverage – has obviously caught the attention of the trained combatants.

If Cato is measured in his envy, his district partner Clove does not bother to hide her open disdain for my little district partner. Glimmer seems to be wallowing in how Primrose looked prettier than her at the parade. Marvel just stands there like he has a finger up his ass. District 4 is nowhere to be seen, which strikes me as odd, and encouraging. A Career pack of four might be easier to evade and contend with than one sporting the traditional six.

Unable to show off my wrestling, and Primrose unable to showcase her healing skills and knowledge of plants, I decide the best use of my time is to teach her how to fight. We start with swordplay, and though I'm still a beginner myself, I manage to inject moments of strength that I know from my wrestling into the lessons. The trainer can tell I have a background in some form of agility, but I keep the specifics to myself. I'll save that for the Gamemakers.

However, there is one point, near the end of the second day, after I've made a complete ass of myself on the ropes course that Prim insists to me that I need to break the rules.

"Throw that metal thing over there."

"What? But Haymitch…."

"Don't think about what Haymitch said. If you're going to continue to insist on babysitting me, those Careers are going to look at you like you're a meal and I'm the side dish. They already are, so make them think twice. Throw it."

Walking over to the big metal ball on a rack, I lift the thing off, carry it very deliberately into the center of a training mat and shot put the thing twenty yards. It crashes into a display case of metal spears.

I snicker at how Clove blanches slightly. Marvel is making that stupid face again like someone just stuck a trident up his ass. Glimmer's expression doesn't change. Neither does Cato's much, beyond letting loose a shrug and turning away with his mates.

But I know I saw his blinking, tinged with surprise and wariness, and I know I've just put a target on my back.

Whether it makes Cato wary and drives him away, or it draws him in, I can't begin to tell.

There is only a half-day of training on the third and last day. Afterwards, we are dismissed for lunch and then herded into a pen to await our private session with the Gamemakers. Like the interviews, the tributes will go in a gendered order: girl, boy. Which means I'm dead last, with Primrose just before me. Maybe I can discuss a few things with her once Thresh leaves and we're left alone.

Except what can I think to say, as an automated voice calls Thresh Oneki out for individual assessment? Whatever it is, it has to be valuable and delivered quickly; each tribute only gets ten minutes with the Gamemakers.

"I meant what I said before: about how I'm not going to hurt you. And look, it might be just a formality at this point, but do you want to be allies in the arena?"

She tilts her head and studies me for a moment, before hesitantly smiling.

"Sure. I would love to. Besides, I don't think I have much of a choice, do I? If I tried to do anything else to you, my sister would kill me!"

I have absolutely zero idea what to make of this statement, and decide I'll spend the next ten minutes twisting and turning it as Primrose Everdeen is called up for individual assessment.

"Hey, Primrose… good luck."

She gives her best confident grin back at me, and then disappears from the room.

I have no idea how to measure time when I'm all alone in here; there is no clock on the wall. Plus, the holding pen is soundproof, as I've never been able to tell what is going on in the Training Center just outside. Finally, the automated voice intones:

"Peeta Mellark, please report for Individual Assessment." Taking a deep breath, I stride into the room.

Prim is nowhere to be found. Much of the space is also cleaned up, so the subsequent tribute cannot tell what the previous one did. But one close eye on the edible plants station, and I just know the leaves and greenery have been tampered with. On one of the mats, there is a drop cloth draped over a lumpy mass, the outline of which makes me surmise it's a practice dummy, which two Peacekeepers are now in the process of approaching and hauling away. As they lift the thing, the sheet slips, and I catch a glimpse of something…. Something is off about that dummy's leg….

I quickly avert my eyes and face the balcony of Gamemakers.

"Mr. Mellark, you have ten minutes to demonstrate your chosen skill."

I ask for a trainer, who is brought to the mat. I then spend the next five minutes using and abusing him, showing as many wrestling holds and pins as I can. At what I judge to be the halfway point, I dash over to the paints station and begin mixing and painting with a wild flurry. If I close my eyes, I can imagine I am back amidst my icing, doing cakes at the bakery.

By the time Seneca Crane tells me I am dismissed, I have painted my entire arm to look like a nearby fake tree and camouflaged it into the synthetic bark.

I take my leave, paint dripping from my fingers. When the brown stuff hits the mat, it stains like blood.

Dinner that night is silent, beyond Effie asking us questions about what we did. I make clear, mostly for Haymitch's benefit that I did what he told me and played to my strengths in the private session. Prim is oddly subdued, reminding me almost of her sister.

Caesar Flickerman finally gets on live to watch the Training Score returns late that night. Cinna, Portia and our prep teams join us. I come armed with a notepad, and on one sheet, I make three categories: THREAT TO P, NO THREAT and UNSURE. I am hoping the Training Scores might give me a window into who is the biggest obstacle to Prim's life.

I'm writing the Careers from 1 and 2 down before Caesar is even beginning to announce their scores. Glimmer gets an 8, Marvel a 9. Cato earns a 10, the highest score so far, which isn't exactly a surprise, but what is is that Clove also nets herself a 10. I feel myself start to sweat. What the hell? Clove can't be any older than fifteen! I have to remind myself that age is not necessarily an indicator of threat level in the arena, and that, by the same metric, I shouldn't be discounting Prim, Rue or the boy from 4 either.

I take it back about the boy from 4. He gets a 3. His district partner doesn't do much better, with a paltry 5.

Speaking of 5, the girl from 5 scores a 7. I don't know how she managed that; she stayed clear of any weapons stations in training. I lightly pencil her in with the Careers under THREAT, deciding to possibly transfer her to the UNSURE column later if I feel the mind to.

The next five districts are all forgettable, and I'm relieved when my NOT A THREAT column fills up a healthy amount. When Thresh nabs a 9, I put him down under THREAT with the Careers and the girl from 5. Cato had seemed interested in courting the imposing black boy to join their crowd, especially seeing as he'll be down two fighters soon. I had thought that after my display with the ball, Cato might have approached me, though I don't know what I would have said if he had. Rue gets a 7, which makes my brow shoot up into my hairline. I mark her down beneath UNSURE.

"And finally, we have the truly brave little girl from District 12, Primrose Everdeen, with a score of…." Caesar is doing something funny at the commentator's desk. He's checking the paper, holding it to the light and squinting, as though he can't believe what is written there or is it perhaps a typo? At last, he finishes the announcement:

"10."

Effie shrieks and so does Portia. Cinna lets out a cackle of glee. Haymitch looks stunned as the talking heads buzz about Prim has scored higher than any twelve-year-old ever! I turn to Prim, beaming, feeling lighter than I ever have.

"Congratulations." She turns pink at the praise.

"Congratulations, my foot! What did you do, Shrimp?!" And Haymitch seems to be almost accosting her, though he sounds nonetheless awed. I can't help but smirk. Whatever Haymitch's plan for mentoring was, now he has to go back to the drawing board.

And it turns out, he might do well to focus on saving Prim as he should have been days ago, when Caesar rounds out the night with my score of 8. At least Effie seems pleased. "We can work with that," she grins at me winningly. If I'm feeling a little miffed at being outscored by a girl who appears to have only just had her first kiss, I decide not to show it. Besides, even if I were miffed (which I can't say I am), I let Haymitch do all that emoting for me. His is the picture of a face that screams: Oh, fuck, what do I do now?! If there is anyone in the Training Center who is having a worse night, I can probably only think of Cato and Clove, now trapped in a three-way tie for the highest score with a twelve-year-old girl from….. 12, of all places.

I think it's rather apt, and downright hilarious, truth be told.

I wish Prim a pleasant goodnight, then retire to my room. I fall asleep studying my chart of the tributes' threat levels. The only people I haven't put down are Prim and myself.

Am I a threat to Prim? I scored an 8, tied for third highest overall with the Glimmer girl from 1. And what does Prim think? Does she think I threaten her? I told her I wouldn't kill her, I promised her sister I wouldn't kill her. But does she really believe me? I think about all those probing questions she was asking me before the parade. Sure, they were about my love life, which I stayed mum about (had I not, I think I would already be dead from shame). Still, there's no reason to think she might not now ask more questions, to see if I would endanger her life if given half a chance.

I mark down Prim under THREAT TO P – "P", of course, standing for Prim, which I suppose would make her out to be a threat to herself. After a bit more thought, I add my own name under that same column.