Chapter 5: Interviews

Prim's POV

I sit in the high, leather-backed chair and try not to squirm as Haymitch Abernathy looks me over with a deep frown on his face; it comes off as more of a pout.

Finally, when the silence has stretched on for more than five minutes, eating into the three hours I have for interview prep, I manage to get out: "What?"

"I'm trying…. to figure out what to do with you," Haymitch shakes his head. "In all my years, I've had a half-dozen other pre-teens before you, and until now, the highest scorer was a 7 who managed to knife a trainer before allegedly spending the rest of his session yodeling. You've chucked me into the deep end, little one. Forgive me if I'm still slapping around for a life preserver."

I smile brightly, resisting the urge to crease the corners of my mouth so that it turns into a smirk. Katty says I'm one of the most forgiving people she knows, but that doesn't mean that what Haymitch said to me my first night on the train didn't hurt me. At least I can say my doing well in Training has shut him up.

"Well, if you're having second thoughts in your opinions about me, I suppose I could throw you a line," I demure.

To his credit, Haymitch takes the olive branch I'm stretching to him. "OK, fine: I'm sorry I underestimated you. It won't be the first time you hear it, either, because now half the Capitol is wondering where in the fuck you came from."

I cock a ruffled eyebrow. "Language," I admonish. This elicits a bark of a laugh.

"And damn it if you don't sound like a clone of Belley either!" Haymitch lets out a long groan. "Fuck my life…." He takes a long pull from his flask.

I blink, startled a little. "You know my mother?"

"We were… friends once, a long time ago. Classmates in school," Haymitch hedges. "One of her best friends was a district partner of mine in the arena." Looking askance, he quickly clears his throat. "But enough about that. Let's talk about what you're going to say in your interview. I only have you for 90 minutes before I have to cycle off with Effie and work with the boy."

I fight off a wince. I feel bad that I had to request that Peeta and I be coached separately; up until now, I had been fine with Haymitch mentoring us together. But I have to be wary, despite my general instinct to be trusting of most people. I only hope that my request didn't hurt Peeta's feelings. We may have agreed to be allies, but that doesn't mean there aren't things I want to keep private. Because, after all, alliances never last, at least not in the Games. Still, the guilt remains. I know my sister Katniss has always trusted Peeta. I also know she's probably in love with him, though she would be the last to admit it.

"Caesar is going to spend as much time as he can fishing for details about what you did to get that Training Score. When he does, you are to play coy. Don't go into any details whatsoever. There are turns of phrase and ways to dodge, deflect; I will teach you. Let's start with a bit of role-playing and craft out some sample answers together…" Haymitch then proceeds to drill me on what to say when the topic of my training score comes up, as he's pretty convinced it will.

We then move on to discussing my family, particularly my sister; Haymitch believes that as she was the original tribute Reaped, Caesar will probably ask me for intimate knowledge of that day which already feels like a lifetime ago. He may even play the Reaping clip back, right in front of me when I'm up on the stage.

"If that happens, Squirt, don't panic. React naturally, but if you feel the need to cry, don't do so too much. Where emotion is concerned, it's always best to find that golden mean. Plenty of tributes do cry, there's no shame in it, but cry too much, and you'll turn sponsors off. And coming from you, when you have one of the highest training scores in hand, people might not believe it…. unlike three years ago."

I know the Games he's talking about. Johanna Mason from District 7 won a few years back by sniveling and crying throughout all of the Opening Ceremonies. People now say she deliberately threw her Training Score and scored lower to fool the Careers into thinking she wasn't a threat. It was to their detriment. It's not a bad strategy, all in all – I almost wish I could have done it.

When we're nearing the end of my session, Haymitch asks me just for his own sake what I did to earn that 10. The conference room we're in is probably bugged, so I whisper it to him directly in his ear: I showed off my knowledge of edible plants, acing the holo-exam, then, for my final trick, I took one of the life-like mannequin practice dummies, deliberately broke its leg using a knife and then showed how best to patch it in order to staunch blood flow. Haymitch appears deeply impressed.

"I think there's hope for you yet…." And as I'm leaving, I can hear the drunk muttering to himself, shaking his head.

"Holy Snow…. I might actually, finally get a Victor this year…."

Cinna dresses me in a flowing yellow dress that makes me look like a bright, yellow canary. I'm oddly touched by the invocation of home – canaries are carried down with miners into the shafts and their call serves as a warning when the air quality down below has become dangerous to life. Peeta is in a black suit with red accents; Portia is clearly continuing to run with the fire motif.

Like with the Training Scores, Peeta and I will be going last of all. I don't know if waiting to mount the stage second-to-last helps or hinders my nerves, as I watch the rest of my competition enjoy their three minutes in the spotlight.

Marvel cracks a lot of jokes that nobody seems to get, except for Caesar and his studio audience who laugh at them anyway. Glimmer plays for a sexy angle all the way, and I have to wonder if her prep team deliberately copied my hairstyle. Clove is sly and witty in a way that is almost smart-aleck; so is the girl from 5, though she's quieter. Cato comes off as just smug and arrogant.

The rest of the field is pretty forgettable to me, and my interest isn't renewed until we arrive at District 11. The tall boy, Thresh, gives monosyllabic answers to all the questions, while Rue, my fellow twelve-year-old, makes the audience coo. When Caesar presses her on her training score, Rue doesn't reveal anything beyond, "I'm fast. If they can't catch me, they can't kill me. So don't count me out."

Her statement makes me think back to an altercation that occurred in the Training Center the day before last. Cato got into a heated argument with the boy from Six, accusing him of stealing a practice knife he favored. The trainers had to step in and break it up, and the knife wasn't found until the following day. But I remember looking up into the ropes course that Peeta had just done so poorly on…. only to see a smirking Rue…. fingering a knife…

The buzzer sounds, and then I feel Peeta's hand nudge into the small of my back, urging me forward. I don't remember even rising out of my seat, and I walk to meet Caesar in a fog. It feels as though I am in a fishbowl, all the sound has become deadened, if not muted completely. Caesar's lips are moving, but I can't catch what is said. I fumble with a girlish giggle.

"What?"

"Uh-oh, I think someone's a little nervous!" Caesar chuckles good-naturedly. "I asked: what have you enjoyed about the Capitol, Primrose? May I call you Primrose?"

"Um…. my friends call me Prim, but yes, Caesar, you may."

Caesar lets loose a giggle of his own and claps his hands in delight. "What a bewitching child! A truly bewitching child, folks! Now, come, sweetheart, don't be shy: favorite thing…."

"The food is incredible! The meat is so tender!" I blurt out. I hear some people roaring with laughter – but encouragingly, it doesn't appear as though they are laughing at me.

"The meat, say you? I like my steak medium rare myself, even though it destroys my waistline!" He turns to the side, almost posing. "Be honest, ladies and gentlemen: is my profile just ruined? Does this suit make my butt look fat?"

"No! No!" They all call out and cheer.

"Now, Primrose, your name: quite a fascinating one, if I do say so myself; I hear Capitol babies born the last few days have already made a monopoly on it!"

Capitol newborns? Named after me? My head is swimming.

"Tell me: does it have any special significance?"

"Yes, I'm named after a flower. My sister is named after a flower. It's a family tradition."

"How rustic! Isn't District 12 so quaint, folks?" The crowd screams assent. "And your sister: I'm glad you brought her up! For were it not for your brave sacrifice, she would be up here right now. Play it back, folks: this will be in the Top 10 Reaping moments for decades to come!"

Just as Haymitch predicted, I see my sister being called and marching bravely to her death. I see how I stepped out of line and volunteered in her place.

"What was your going through your mind when that happened?"

I gulp, threatening tears. "My sister is one of the strongest, most loving people I know. I have no doubt she could have scored as well as I did. She might have even won. But she has a lot to live for still, a lot of love to give, even if she might not always see it. I felt I had to give her that chance." Scattered applause, I think I even hear a few sobs in the crowd.

"So touching!" Caesar dabs at his eyes. "And Primrose, you have been so great at keeping me on topic, because on to the next thing you mentioned: that Training Score! No one as young as you has scored that high – ever! A record! How did you do it?"

Behind me, I notice District 2 lean forward in their seats, though they're trying to hide their interest.

I smile coyly, playing up the cuteness factor. "I can't say much, Caesar. But let's say my particular set of skills is rather…. unconventional. You'll have to wait for the arena."

"We'll take it!" Caesar crows. And just like that, it's over. "The Capitol's Little Darling, Primrose Everdeen!"

I hurry back to my seat, crossing Peeta coming up in the opposite direction. He gives me a drive-by clap on the shoulder.

"Good girl…. atta girl…."

I pay the most attention to my district partner, the final act of the night. As soon as he's in the chair, he and Caesar are bantering like old friends. An entire running gag develops around Peeta's favorite Capitol thing: the luxury showers. The gag itself? – tribute and host whiffing each other's armpits.

"Now, Peeta, tell me: handsome lad like you, there must be a special girl back home."

"Nah, no, there isn't…" Peeta laughs off bashfully.

"I don't believe him for a second! Look at that face! Half you Capitol girls want to marry that face! Blight Gavin is happily wed to another man, and he wants to marry that face! Hell, I wanna marry that face, and I'm straight!" A laugh ripple that sounds like seals ensues. "Peeta: tell me."

Peeta purses his lips, the set to his mouth roiling a little bit. "Well, there is this one girl… I've had a raging crush on forever. She's the most beautiful girl in all of Twelve – and what's worse, Caesar, is she doesn't even know it!"

I sit a little in my seat, heart clenching for a young woman half a country away. Oh Panem…. What must my sister be thinking and feeling, watching her crush like this in the Square?

"Must be a special girl," Caesar muses. "She have another fellow?"

"I don't know, but she turns a lot of heads at school," Peeta mutters shyly. "I don't think she even knew I was alive until the Reaping."

People in the audience moan. Unrequited love they can relate to.

"Well, I tell you what, Peeta: you go out there – and you win this thing – and when you get home… she'll have to go out with you. Right, folks?" Everyone cheers encouragement.

But Peeta is shaking his head. "I can't win, Caesar."

"Whyever not?"

"Because… because if I do go home alive… she'll hate me forever."

"My boy, you can't know that!"

"Yeah," Peeta mumbles sadly. "I do."

Caesar looks desperate to ask more, but Peeta's buzzer is already sounding. A strong and healthy boo goes up from the audience, dismayed; mixed in with wild applause. They want to hear more! More from the elegant boy from District 12 who is so lost in love with some mystery girl!

But when Peeta gets back to his seat, he won't meet my eyes.

I spend much of the rest of that night up on the roof of the Training Center, watching the crowds below and taking in the lights of the city.

There's a hidden garden up here; Effie brought me here earlier today so we could practice my lessons in grace and deportment. The little oasis is not generally well known, and only the District 12 delegation – hosted in the penthouse suite just one floor down – has access to it.

I'm seated at the edge of the railing, knees folded up to my chest, and thinking about Rory. Does he miss me, wherever he is watching at home? Is he still thinking about our kiss, which is still making my head spin? I guess something about Peeta's interview has me lost in thoughts of love.

Speak of the devil. As if on cue, the door to the stairwell opens and Peeta emerges. He is still in his interview clothes, though the suit coat is missing. He sports an easy smile as he takes a seat across from me.

"Couldn't sleep?"

"Who could?" I shrug. Watching him in the dim light, I study him. "You had a great interview. It's all their replaying in the coverage downstairs."

"Yours, too," he grins dryly. "Twenty-two others spoke tonight, and from the way the media tells it, they might as well not even exist!" We share a laugh.

After a silence, I speak up again: "Guess I'm not the only one wondering about your love life."

He barks out a laugh. "You're still wondering about that?'

"Inquiring minds want to know."

"Yeah? On whose behalf?" Peeta wittily parries back.

Should I say? If I did, Katty would kill me. Then again, she likely won't – not if a Career kills me first. But if I do say, and Peeta gets back, maybe he could tell her he knows, and then… what? Let her down gently? Break her heart? I couldn't do that to my sister, even transitively.

As I debate what to do, my eyes happen to shift down to Peeta's left wrist. Wrapped around it is something I hadn't noticed before, but even in the amber lighting, I recognize it. My heart stills.

"Where did you get that?"

"What, this?" Peeta lifts his wrist, holding the green handkerchief tied in a double-knot around it to the light.

"Yes. That. It belonged to my father. Now where did you get it?" My voice is a little too demanding, accusatory, but I don't very much care.

Peeta's sapphire eyes widen in the moonlight. "So that's where it came from…" he breathes.

"Peeta?" My voice is an impatient warning. To my surprise, my district partner answers by turning bright red.

"It's my district token. I didn't have one, and your sister gave it to me."

"She gave it to you? When?" I'm stunned.

"When…. she visited me in the Justice Building."

Well, this is news. All at once, several things click into place. I had always wondered what took Katniss so long to enter my holding room after the Reaping. Rory actually beat her to it. Now I think I know why. Katniss probably visited Peeta first. Seeing as I'm her sister, I suppose I should feel insulted, but I'm too happy to be. I'm suddenly grinning like a loon.

"Peeta…. that handkerchief is my sister's most prized possession. For her to give it to you like that…. well… she must love you a lot."

His head snaps up, jaw dropping in disbelief. "I… I….."

More of the picture comes into clearer focus, as his interview plays back in my head, and a thousand other little bits of memory that are now being examined in a whole new light. My grin widens, and I fight the urge to squeal in matchmaking glee. "Oh, sweet Panem… you love her too!" I clutch at his hands. "Peeta, you have to get home to her!"

"So do you!" he splutters, eyes huge in a panic.

"Why? What's more important than my sister's happiness?"

"Your life, for one thing!" Peeta blasts out, causing me to reel back. He sighs. "Prim, Katniss didn't come to me to confess any feelings of love. When she first arrived, she was actually angry. She pretty much ordered me to save you over myself, and I promised. I gave her my word that you wouldn't die in that arena… and I intend to keep that promise." He eyes me hard. "I meant what I said, and I said what I meant: I'm not going to hurt you in there. I'm getting you out!"

"What?" My eyes sting with tears. "Peeta, you can't…"

"I can and I will."

"But then you'd have to…. to… die…"

"I know. I wish it were different. But if you die, your sister will too, and I can't abide by that. Surely you can say the same?"

Yes. I can. But Katniss deserves to have a chance at risking her heart for love, to be happy, even if she's always said that's what she doesn't want. Because despite it all, she has fallen for this man before me. She might not be able to voice it herself, but she has. A sister knows.

Turning away, I dash down into my room and bury my face into my pillow. I hate it, the Hunger Games! For putting me in this position – a position where two allies are prioritizing the lives of each other over their own, thereby essentially working at cross-purposes.

My jaw sets. I have only one mission now. There can only be one Victor of the 74th Annual Hunger Games.

And it has to be Peeta Mellark.