Chapter 27: A Pair of Star-Crossed Lovers
I have just concluded a two-hour interview prep session with Peeta, in which we landed on an angle of likeability and self-deprecating humor that will no doubt have Caesar and almost certainly the audience eating out of his hand.
But I still think there is something that my youngest son doesn't want to tell me.
From the way his expression and posture have been waffling, it is clear that he wants to admit something, but doesn't seem to know quite how to get the words out, or perhaps worse still, he is unsure as to how I will react. Finally, even my own patience has worn thin. The suspense has gotten to me.
"OK, that's it – what's going on? Whatever you need to say, say it."
Peeta raises his eyes to mine almost guiltily. "How did you know…?"
"Peeta Haymitch Mellark, I'm your mother. I know everything about you. And so I damn well know when you don't want to tell me something because you think I might get mad. Now what is it?"
Peeta grinds his teeth together, and even sheepishly rubs the back of his neck in a way that actually reminds me of Brutus. At last, he wills himself to stare me in the face.
"The other day, Cato approached me. About the possibility of joining up with the Career pack."
My irises widen. Initially, I have no idea what to make of this. Outsider tributes getting an invitation into the Career pack is not at all that common an occurrence. It usually only happens if one or more fighters in the initial band of six are perceived to be wanting in strength or other areas, and if a certain tribute proves him or herself useful, such as positive attention from the media. Sometimes, an alliance offer can be handed down at the last minute if a tribute nabs a particularly exceptional training score.
Thumbing my way through all of those criteria, I realize that the conditions are ripe this year for the Careers to court an outsider tribute to join their crowd. Both of Finnick's kids scored unusually poorly in Training – hell, their boy is a preteen shrimp who looks to be even smaller than Gilla Callan (may she rest in peace) ever was. Cato would, therefore, want to compensate for being essentially down two men…, which he likely will be within the opening minutes of the Games, if initial wagers of the Cornucopia bloodbath are anything to go by.
There's just one problem: it seems to me that Cato is courting the wrong outsider tribute. Don't get me wrong; I am as proud as a peacock that Peeta received such a fine score. But Katniss scored an 11 – the highest of the entire field. Wouldn't it make more sense for Cato to get a feeler for my headstrong goddaughter? Certainly, the little shit seems attracted to her. I bristle at the thought. He'll have to get in line – it's my son who has actually kissed the seemingly untamable girl… multiple times, might I add. But Cato has raised no such overtures to my godchild for an alliance.
Something else isn't right. If Cato really was sincere about forging an alliance – however temporary – with Peeta… then why hasn't Brutus phoned me about drawing up an alliance contract? That's the customary action to take, between mentors.
I decide to buy myself a little time by probing for more information. "When did this happen?" I ask mildly.
"Lunch on the second day," Peeta supplies.
My shoulders tense. "Did you show off your strength?" I demand coldly. If he went against what I told him to do all this time, and then lied about it, well…. then I will be angry.
Peeta shakes his head vigorously. "I didn't have to. I guess he must have been watching me, saw how I am well built, and wanted to know more. But I didn't wrestle anyone or dead-lift anything to give away my strength, Mother – I promise you that!" I can tell from his voice that he's being honest.
I nod slowly, letting him know I believe him. "What do you think about this? Getting in with the Careers is always a risky bet, Peeta. What would you hope to accomplish?"
I shouldn't be as surprised as I am when he has a ready answer for me. "To protect Katniss. Lead them away from her, if I can. Cato and the others… they were staring at her. During Training. And even if she wasn't a target for them before last night's scores were handed down, she definitely is now."
I nod grimly, conceding the point. Peeta's eyes are hopeful, thinking this is a terribly clever plan – act as a kind of double agent to lead the Careers away from Katniss. He clearly wants to do it, and is asking for my blessing. I would think it a terribly clever plan myself.
If not for…
"Don't do it."
Peeta's big, blue eyes blink. "Why not?"
"I will tell you why not." And I go through all the evidence – or rather, lack of it – that Cato's overtures are sincere.
"You think you'll be able to use Cato? Well, I hate to tell you this, but he probably already expects that, and is intending to use you right back! You'll just end up dead. Careers can be arrogant, Peeta, it's true, but that doesn't mean they're stupid. And Cato is an arrogant son-of-a-bitch, but do not confuse that for his being dumb. He's no Orchus."
Peeta frowns. "Who's Orchus?"
I wave it away. "It's an expression. Victor lingo. Orchus was the Victor of the 3rd Games, the very first Victor from District 11. 'Acting like an Orchus' generally means someone is acting stupidly, because historians' general consensus is that Orchus struggled with mental retardation."
"Oh."
"And you would be very much acting like an Orchus if you think you can trust this Cato guy, or pull one over on him. Stay far, far away from him." At his crestfallen look, I smile softly. "I know you want to protect Katniss. And I know how you feel about her. But you have to remember: Katniss is just as capable as you are. She can handle herself. And if she can get her hands on a bow, well then, Panem help any other tribute who crosses her!"
Peeta brightens. "You really think she can win?"
"I really do, just as I really think you could win just as easily."
Peeta's smile is an exact replica of my own. "You're sweet, Mom, but you don't have to pretend with me." I don't respond to this; if I tried to, I think I might cry. My son is wringing his hands again, and once again searches my eyes vulnerably. "Do you really think the angle we've played out is going to work? Katniss has always seemed like she doesn't quite know what to do with her feelings. How to express them. What if she is angry with me?" He is referring, of course, to the big showstopper moment we cooked up – about how Peeta is finally going to confess his love for the girl of his dreams on national television. It was actually Peeta's idea, and knowing how I need something to portray my two tributes as secret lovers, I enthusiastically helped him along with it.
I smile at him tenderly. "I don't think you will be saying anything that Katniss doesn't already know, or at least suspect." I reach out to squeeze his hand. "Don't leave yourself in agony over it. It took me some time to admit I had greater feelings for your father – we were dear friends for a long time before we got married, and he had been dating someone else for a few years. Pretty seriously, I would say." Peeta looks like he wants to ask whom his dad's ex-girlfriend might have been; I decide it probably wouldn't help him or Katniss if I let him in on that particular factoid. When I don't go into details, my son exhales and smiles, feeling a little bit better.
"And," I add quickly, "no matter how Katniss responds, or what she says… at least you'll know you didn't leave anything unsaid."
"Thanks, Mom."
"You're welcome, honey," I beam. "Can you send in your sweetheart, please?" I give him a wink, and he laughs, before leaving. A minute later, Katniss takes his place in the conference chair across from me.
"Now, sweetie, so far you have everything going for you: quite a memorable impression at the parade. The highest training score. You have generated a lot of buzz; I've already fielded quite a few sponsor calls for you. To really seal the deal on sponsorships, a great interview with Caesar will be critical. Let's start with the basics: Caesar will ask you about that 11, almost guaranteed. When he does…. play coy. Don't let on exactly how you got it. And now that we've gotten that one Don't out of the way, let's dive right in to what you need to Do…"
We start off by doing some roleplaying (in my close to a quarter-century of doing this, I have yet to find a better alternative adverb for what Brutus once called 'kinky') and mock questions. Almost immediately, we run into problems. It isn't that Katniss is hostile; it's more that she's reticent and stilted. Shy to open up. I finally decide we need a different approach.
"OK, you know how I said to pretend I'm Caesar when asking the questions? – Stop doing that," I instruct gently. "Being shy is fine, plenty of tributes do it, but a good mentor once told me that acting shy on the interview stage will not make you Victor… or get you sponsors."
Katniss actually scowls at this and folds her arms almost petulantly. "Why should I pretend to be something I'm not?"
I chuckle at this. "I hardly think I would describe you as shy, Katty, and you wouldn't either. You wouldn't have practically stuck your tongue down my son's throat on Reaping Morning if you were shy." Tellingly, this seems to hit a nerve, and Katniss blushes. I don't press the advantage, not wanting to overplay my hand, but my heart swells with hope on behalf of my son.
Katniss reverts back on topic, still whining a little, but as I listen, it's understandable why she is feeling the way she does. "Auntie Maysilee, these gamblers are just looking to make good on their payouts. They're betting on how long I'll live! That's all I'm worth to them. Why should I tell them anything else about me when I already know they won't care to listen?"
She's smart, this girl. Luckily, I have been at this business for long enough to know how the Capitol works. "It's not quite that simple, sweetheart. These sponsors are looking for more than just someone who knows how to kill other kids. They're looking for someone who can give them a show. Who has a compelling life story. You have that already. You volunteered to save your sister. Your parents had a beautiful romance. People want to hear about all of that, in your own words. Let them see the real you, Katniss, because despite what you might think, the real you is pretty damn interesting."
"But I…."
"OK: forget the sponsors for a moment. Forget the Gamemakers. Forget even Peeta." (Again, something weird passes over Katniss's face, almost as though she is stricken by the very thought of forgetting Peeta). "Let's take the bad advice I gave you earlier and put it in reverse: instead of pretending I'm Caesar, when you are actually up onstage with the man, pretend you are talking to me. When you give your answers."
Katniss nods slowly, wary of the idea but willing to give it a try. I smile.
"Great. Now: tell me about your sister…."
That evening, I slip backstage in the Capitol Recital Hall to check on my son and goddaughter. When Cinna ushers me back into Katniss's dressing room, I freeze for a moment, my jaw dropping. It's probably good my son hasn't laid eyes on his crush yet; if he did, he would be sporting quite the tent in his pants that even romantically clueless Katniss might notice.
My best friend's daughter is clad in a beautiful, fiery red dress. Her hair is done up in the signature braid she likes, and just the right touch of rouge on her cheeks makes her glow. The only thing that doesn't add to the gorgeous ensemble is the scowl on my goddaughter's face, which in any other context would be adorable, if not for the fact that she will be up onstage in less than an hour and will need to present herself as likeable.
I feel myself getting a little teary. "You look amazing, Katniss…"
She rounds on me. "I don't feel amazing!" she snaps. Beside me, Cinna holds down a chuckle and shakes his head.
Smiling softly, I take Katniss's face in my hands. "Just be yourself, sweetheart. Just be you." I kiss the top of her forehead.
Cinna also glides up and clasps her hands. "Remember, it's OK to be nervous. If you get stuck, just think of something or someone that makes you happy: your sister. Your Auntie here. Even me – I'd like to think we're friends."
A real, genuine smile comes over my goddaughter's face, and I have the sneakiest suspicion that the person she is thinking of at the moment is none of the above. I fight the urge to smirk in smug pleasure.
Then the announcer is calling all the tributes to the stage, and Cinna is shooing me out of the wings. He and I scramble to find good seats in the house; we scarcely have sat down when the house lights dim, Caesar bounds onstage in some periwinkle ensemble, and the interviews begin.
The Careers all range from arrogant (Cato), to sexy (Glimmer) to ferocious (only slightly non-serious coming from Clove) to likeable but dopey (Marvel). The girl from 5 is also sly and mysterious. Thresh gives strictly monosyllabic answers and Rue is cute and adorable. Everyone else before my kids is completely forgettable.
Then the buzzer is sounding, and Katniss is walking to the stage in her beautiful red dress. I sit up a little straighter in my seat and grope for Cinna's hand in the dark; he squeezes my fingers tightly. Oh…. come on, sweetheart…
"What?" Katniss blurts stupidly, and I can't help but feel a little déjà vu from my own interview when I also completely missed the first question due to nerves. Thankfully, now as then, Caesar covers well.
"Uh-oh, I think someone has a slight case of the butterflies…. I asked: what do you like most about being in the Capitol?"
Katniss manages a passable answer about the food, specifically the lamb stew, which Caesar runs away with and turns into a bit about his nonexistent weight problems.
"Now, Katniss – that 11 though!" He makes a dramatic, shocked face out to the audience and we all hoot. "Quite a tour de force! Care to comment?"
Katniss actually manages a more natural smile this time and teasingly shakes her head. "Sorry, Caesar – my lips are sealed."
"Lips – I'm glad you brought that up, because it reminds me: do you have a special someone back at home?"
Katniss's face widens into the most brilliant smile I have seen from her all night, even as she shakes her head. And I have a feeling I know who she's thinking about, despite her denial. "Oh no, I… I don't have a boyfriend."
Caesar frowns in bemusement. "I mean, you can see why we don't believe you, though."
BAM! Just like that, I am in a forest at night, and Haymitch's Seam grey eyes are gazing down at me, accentuated all the more luminously by the light of the moon. I mean, you can see why I don't believe you…
A squeeze of my fingers jolts me back to reality, and I can just make out Cinna studying me quizzically in the dark. I silently wave him away. I'm fine.
"I have one more question for you… it's about your sister," Caesar is asking my goddaughter. "What did you tell her after you so bravely took her place at the Reaping? Play it back, folks, watch this closely – it's just… heartwarming."
A projector screen plays back Katniss volunteering for Prim. My goddaughter watches the whole thing with real, genuine tears in her eyes. The clip has barely finished playing before she is turning to Caesar and replying with naked, raw honesty, "I told her that I would try to win… that I would try to win for her."
Caesar smiles gravely. "And try you will." He kisses her hand, announces her as Katniss Everdeen the Girl on Fire, and the interview is over.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I've been holding and sink back into my plush seat. At my left, I feel Chaff's one good hand clap me on the shoulder. "She did outstanding," he murmurs low in my ear, and he's right: she really did.
Then Peeta is bounding onto the stage, pointing at people in the crowd and giving shout-outs. Caesar takes a liking to him right away.
"My, my, Peeta, how do you look familiar…? – Oh, yes, I remember! You look just like another District 12 tribute I know."
Peeta smirks knowingly. "I can't imagine which one, Caesar." Then, in the next instant, he picks me out in the crowd and gives a boyish wave. "Hi, Mom!" The audience roars with laughter. When the camera turns on me, I give a little wave back and blow him a kiss.
"Would you say you're a Mama's Boy, Peeta?"
"Oh, very much so, Caesar…." In the rows of seats at the back of the stage, Cato looks like he lets out a snort. Dickwad.
"What do you like most about the Capitol, Peeta?"
We drilled on this question for the better part of fifteen minutes, and Peeta answers it flawlessly. "You have interesting showers." This time, the déjà vu back to my own interview is more pleasurable. Caesar clearly recognizes this nostalgia for what it is, too, for he insists on the projection screen coming back to play me giving the same answer nearly 25 years ago. Thankfully, Peeta makes the moment his own by taking Caesar on a wild gag bit in which they spend the better part of five minutes sniffing each other's armpits. The audience eats it up.
"Now, Peeta, tell me: is there a special girl back home?"
Like Katniss before him, Peeta's face lights up while he tries to laugh the question off. "Nah, no there isn't…"
"I don't believe him for a second – look at that face! Peeta: tell me…" Caesar has taken on the tone of a big brother or lovable uncle who can keep a secret.
My son expertly plays along. "Well… there's this one girl I've been in love with forever. Our moms are quite close, but I don't think she knew I was even alive until several years ago, for our very first Reaping." The audience sighs piningly. Unrequited love they can relate to.
Then Peeta brightens. "I have given her a Reaping Kiss, though – several, actually…"
"Wait, a…. Reaping Kiss? What's a Reaping Kiss?" Caesar wants to know, eager to learn more.
"Aw, it's just an old District 12 superstition," Peeta waves off. "Legend has it that if you are eligible for the Reaping and share a kiss with someone on Reaping Morning, you either are guaranteed not to get picked or are granted good luck more generally. Frankly, we're still trying to figure out which one it is. My parents' very first kiss was a Reaping Kiss – true story!"
I find myself flushing at this. I don't remember telling him that; Danny must have, maybe even while he was saying goodbye to our son at the Justice Building.
"Did she kiss you back?" Caesar presses.
"Not at first…" Peeta blushes. "It took a little bit, but eventually, we made an annual tradition of it." Peeta is now sporting a truly stupid grin. Back in the tribute rows, I can see something profound start to dawn on Katniss's face.
"So let me get this straight: you've kissed this girl, she's kissed you back… I'm sorry, explain to me how you're still not together?" Caesar cracks. "Because let me tell you something, Peeta, if you go out there… and you win this thing, then when you get home… she'll have to go out with you – right, folks?" Everyone roars in encouragement.
Peeta just chuckles, though it's tinged with sadness. "Thanks, but…. I don't think winning's gonna help me at all."
"And whyever not?"
"Because she came here with me."
Flawless response. The studio has gone deathly silent. Then the silence is broken by a few, agonized cries. Caesar looks genuinely remorseful. "Oh…. well, that's just bad luck."
"Yeah, it is," Peeta mumbles, glancing down at his leather saddle shoes. He looks to be one tick away from bursting into tears.
"Man, wouldn't you just love to get the lucky lady up here and get a response?" The crowd screams assent at Caesar's teasing. "Sadly, Katniss Everdeen's time has expired, but Peeta, we wish you both… the best of luck… in whatever time you both have."
"Thank you." Peeta shakes the studio executive's hand as some sappy, showtuney playoff music signals his exit from the stage. As Caesar closes the night, I seek out Katniss on the stage. She is blushing bright red, but it takes me a moment to realize it isn't from schoolgirl shyness or secret harboring of love.
She is red with anger.
I step onto the penthouse floor from the elevators into the middle of a shouting match.
Katniss has Peeta pushed up against the wall, but she isn't kissing him senseless this time. She looks ready to murder him before he's even entered the arena.
"Why the hell did you do that? You lie to me about the Reaping and now you have a crush on me?" She is flustered, lashing out like a caged animal. She doesn't know how to respond with anything other than defensive maneuvers. I always knew Katniss was pretty horrible at expressing her feelings or responding to emotion in a normal, healthy way, but this is just ridiculous!
I step in as calmly as I can and pull them apart, my heart breaking for my son at how devastated he looks. "Peeta did you a favor," I try to explain to my goddaughter.
"Favor? He made me look weak!" Katniss spits.
I eye her sadly. "He made you look desirable," I correct her. "It's nice to feel wanted. And now everyone in the Capitol wants you. You and he are all they're talking about – the Star-Crossed Lovers of District 12!"
My descriptions of my goddaughter as desirable makes Katniss take pause. She is flushing furiously now, spluttering, her rage waning into something adorable and awkward. "But… but I – he…. We're not…." If it were possible, she turns even further pink, her skin now practically the color of raspberry lemonade.
I smile at her softly, knowingly, even if she isn't quite yet ready to admit it to herself. "You both should get some sleep. It's a big, big day tomorrow!"
"Hey!" Effie gawks out a laugh. "That's my line!"
Katniss turns into herself, still blushing bright red. Lifting her eyes to Peeta, lashes fluttering a little, she mumbles with embarrassment, "I'm sorry I attacked you."
Peeta gives her the most adoring smile. "It's fine. Frankly, I should have told you a lot sooner... and preferably not on live TV."
Katniss wrings her hands at this. "Yes, well…. goodnight," she squeaks, before turning, lifting up the skirts of her red dress, and pelting from the room.
A nightmare yanks me out of a deep sleep several hours later. Staggering into the penthouse kitchen to pour myself a glass of water, I am just turning to go back to bed when I see the door to the roof slightly ajar, golden light filtering in through the crack. The sound of voices, low and whispering. Curious, I follow the sound to the top of the stair landing, peeking out to see Katniss and Peeta seated quite close together and talking quietly.
"It doesn't matter, Katniss," Peeta is saying. "I've never been a contender in these Games anyway."
She frowns prissily, chiding him. "That's no way to be thinking."
"Why not? It's true. I just…. want to find a way to show them… that they don't own me. You know, if I really am going to die… I want to still be me."
Katniss glances down between them, deep in thought. "I know. I just…. I can't afford to think like that."
"So don't. You won't have to, Katniss. I'll make sure of that."
She looks at him – really looks at him for a moment. Then, wordlessly, she cups his face in her hands, leans in and tentatively presses her lips to his.
The kiss is soft and chaste, but sweet. And I also can tell that, coming from Katniss, it is sincere, if also a little nervous. As though she and he haven't kissed each other before. Like this is something scary, thrilling and new. And for my goddaughter, maybe it is.
"For luck…." Katniss whispers when she and my son finally break apart.
I see Peeta beaming, and I quickly turn away to steal back to my rooms. My heart is hammering in my chest, and I find myself thinking back to all that Chaff told me, about what he is planning and what he wants me to go along with. If the Capitol didn't see Katniss and Peeta as one unit, unable to be torn apart, before, then after the interviews, they definitely do now.
But will that be enough? Will that be enough to shatter precedent, perhaps even to defy the decree of an ancient treaty and the will of a President that desires to see that only one Victor may be crowned? Will that be enough to ensure that, for once, true love really can conquer all? Will my son and my goddaughter get to have the chance that Haymitch and I were denied? Well, that I was denied.
I slip into the worst slumber I have ever had since I was in the arena.
