Chapter 3: Victor's First Reaping

All throughout that spring and into the summer, I start to become paranoid that our two tributes will be people well known to either Peeta or me. The rational side of my brain should be talking me down with cold hard numbers and facts. Such as that District 12 only has about 8,000 people, and of those, only about 5,000 are eligible this year. That casts a pretty wide net for who could be chosen. And with every single person who has taken out tesserae, the chances of their names being drawn goes even higher. Thanks to me, Mother has never had to take out tesserae. But Gale has - last year, his name was in 42 times. The number of slips with his name could be closer to 50 this time around. Being a Merchant family and relatively well-to-do, it is unlikely that any of Peeta's family would have needed to take out tesserae. Still, I wake up from night terrors of Gale being plucked for death. Only Peeta's arms seem to calm me, whenever he hears my screams and comes running, even if it's the middle of the night. He'll climb in through my window and into my bed and hold me as I fall back to sleep.

The night before July 4th - Reaping Day - Haymitch summons Peeta and I over to his place for one last strategy session before we leave for the Capitol. The procedure for Victors is that a squad of Peacekeepers will enter the Village at about mid-morning, guns drawn, to give us a military escort down to the Justice Building. There, we will meet privately with Mayor Undersee, greet Effie, before going out onto the platform for the ceremony.

"When the officers come knocking, whatever you do, do not resist," Haymitch orders us. I never thought that was an option, but Peeta and I both nod.

I jerk awake from another nightmare at close to first light. Deciding trying to fall back is pointless, I rise, shower and dress in a navy blue shirt and pants. I don my hunting boots and cinch a brown belt around my waist. Then I steal into the next room to wake Primrose.

Even though she isn't eligible this year, I still dress my baby sister in the white frock she wore to last Reaping. When we head downstairs, we find Mother at the table with a cold cup of tea. She looks pale. I have to coax her into the bath, and then Prim and I help adorn her in the fancy dress she bought from the district dressmaker. I elect to leave her Merchant blonde curls loose, sleek and straight down her back and around her shoulders. Even though she's barely 40, my mother is still startlingly beautiful.

We have only just returned to the kitchen to try and have a sparse meal when there is a knock at the door. I hurriedly glance at the clock. 9 A.M. Mother must have been in the bath longer than I thought. I go to answer the door and find a squad of Peacekeepers on my stoop. Instantly, they surround me, guns cocked.

"Katniss..." Prim whimpers in fear.

"Prim, honey, I have to go down to the square early!" I try to keep my voice light. "Make sure to help Mother down to the Justice Building by 10!" Through the white plates of armor, I can see similar swat teams circling Peeta and Haymitch, side by side on the stoops of their next-door houses. Peeta is dressed smartly in gray slacks and a matching hoodie. The tail of a red shirt pokes out underneath. Haymitch is clad in a brown overcoat.

Head Peacekeeper Romulus Thread manipulates our trio into position by the center fountain. He appears to be lining us up in order of Victory, which puts Haymitch at the head of the line. But when he gets to Peeta and me, he pauses, looking incredibly dumb. "Which one of you came first?" he demands stupidly.

I wish I knew the answer. Before tensions can escalate, Peeta gallantly stands aside with a sweeping bow. "After you. Ladies first."

I beam gratefully, and even grant him a peck on the cheek, since cameras are surely rolling somewhere. Thread seems to accept this arrangement, directing his men to flank us in columns on either side. With a click, he locks and loads his gun. "Victors... forward! Quick... march! Left, left, left, right, left..." And so we begin a military strut, a goosestep, out of the Village. It is full of far too much pomp so that it is almost farcical. And to think Haymitch has been put through this rigmarole for nearly a quarter century, all alone. Down the hill we go, and into the Seam. Passing by my old neighbors, I can see adults dressed up just as much as their children, peering at us from behind curtains. Will one of them be my responsibility to train to become a killer? Have I seen the face of the woman who will be my pupil just now?

We cross over the dividing border into Town. I don't smell the sweet aroma of fresh bread as we pass by the Bakery, but Peeta's entire family has now gathered outside on their business's back loading dock to watch our procession pass by. The Baker, the Witch, and Peeta's eldest brother (Peeta might have mentioned his name once as Leven, but I can't be sure) all dressed up in their fineries. Rye's garb is slightly more casual, but I see no relief in his features. He is clearly worried for his eldest brother and parents.

At last, we reach the Justice Building. Thread discreetly lets us in through a side door, and we are immediately met by Mayor Undersee - a paunchy man with thinning and whitening hair. He looks to be somewhere in his 60s. In a sparkling golden dress and a wig with similar accents, Effie Trinket is bouncing on the balls of her feet. I can't imagine how she has managed to keep her enthusiasm so high since escorting the winning tributes last year, but I don't fault her. She might be extremely lacking in self-awareness sometimes, but Effie is harmless.

"My Victors!" she chirps happily, and Peeta squirts out of line to embrace her warmly. I follow suit, as does Haymitch. "Excited for the Quell twist?"

"It's the biggest thrill of my life!" Haymitch squeals sarcastically, flask appearing in his hand as if by magic. Before he can take a swig, Effie makes a grab for it.

"Put that away, why don't you?"

"Leave it, Effie," Peeta murmurs quietly. "This is hard, most of all for him."

"But a Quell is so exciting! What a time to be a first-year mentor! Only Virtus Manchetti and Jade Boleyn have had that honor..."

The Mayor steps forward and shakes both our hands.

"Mr. Mayor, a pleasure," Peeta greets politely.

"There will be seats for you, Miss Everdeen and Mr. Abernathy off to the left," Undersee informs us. "Miss Trinket shall be seated with me to the right. I'll announce you all."

I glance at the clock. 9:45 AM. By now, Haymitch is so drunk, he is teetering; Peeta preemptively gets one arm under him to hold him upright.

"Have him in the middle seat?" I nod.

My stomach is already starting to clench from sheer nerves, and my stilted and pathetic efforts to engage Effie in small talk do absolutely nothing to help. At long last, the clock begins to strike the top of the hour. Even before all ten BONGS have rung through, Mayor Undersee throws open the oaken, double doors and ushers us to our seats.

As a young girl who has attended five previous Reapings myself, I probably should have expected that absolutely no one applauds our arrival. But I guess I hoped at the very least Peeta and I would get a smattering for our accomplishment last year. Peeta guides Haymitch to the middle chair, which the old drunk more or less collapses into. I place myself at my mentor's right, Peeta on the far left.

There is a crackling of static as the traditional Glory to the Games video begins on a large screen above the mill just off the Square's corner. I feel free to tune this part out, noting how Effie is mouthing the words with rapt awe. A noise somewhere between a rumble and a squawk is right in my ear, and I realize that Haymitch is snoring - so loudly, in fact, that the Peacekeepers have to slightly adjust the volume to overpower him. I wonder if Haymitch actually is asleep, or is just faking it to mess with the whole sham.

"... this is how we safeguard our future," Snow concludes, and then the Mayor takes the microphone.

"And now we read the names of past District 12 Victors."

A particularly honking snore breaks up Mayor Undersee's brief pause, and Peeta not-so-subtly kicks our mentor in the shin. Haymitch lets out a short choking sound through slight sleep apnea as he awakens, blinking. There is a small hum of chuckling from down below. Undersee smiles tightly.

"The Victor of the 10th Hunger Games: Lucy Gray Baird!"

The Square is so deathly still, you could hear a pin drop, and when Haymitch makes a point of bowing his head in some kind of reverence, Peeta and I wordlessly copy him.

"The Victor of the 50th Hunger Games, or Second Quarter Quell: Haymitch Abernathy!"

Very slow, light clapping for Haymitch, who now sways to his feet, wobbles for a beat as he waves, and then lets Peeta drag him back into place before he falls.

"The Victors of the 74th Hunger Games: Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!"

Now the applause is respectful; from way in the back, someone lets out a cheer. If I didn't know any better, it's probably Rye, whom Peeta has always described as a class clown.

Mayor Undersee hands off the mic to Effie, who is practically vibrating with excitement. "Welcome, welcome, to the 75th anniversary - the Third Quarter Quell - of the Hunger Games. As always, ladies first."

In that critical minute, maybe thirty seconds, I manage to get a good look out at the Reaping field for the first time. With the twist, the Peacekeepers couldn't very well divide the people by each and every age, and by gender - there's simply no room. So, it appears that they have resorted to dividing by decades - folks in their 20s, 30s, 40s... a single man and one woman are even roped off into a pen marked 90s. All the 19-year-olds have a pen to themselves.

Effie is unfolding the slip of paper for the women: "Paula Mellark!"

Instantly, my gaze snaps to Peeta, and so does Haymitch's. Our colleague's jaw is nearly on the floor, and he is gripping the armrests of his chair like a vice. It's his gorgeous blue eyes that are unreadable, as the Witch herself emerges from the 40-year-olds section (where I know my own mother would be) and mounts the stage.

For a long moment, there is silence, as Effie waits for volunteers. Given my intervention last year, it is no longer simple to assume that no one will. Unlike my sister, however, in the case of Peeta's mother, no one speaks up.

And then... a few people start cheering. Actually cheering. And from the ashamed look in his eyes, I know Peeta is aware that the cheering isn't for his mom. It is against her. That she is going into the arena and still very may likely die. I've always hated the Witch, but I didn't know the hatred was that widespread. Unfortunately, now Paula Mellark is my problem - as the only living female Victor from Twelve, I will have to mentor her.

"Wonderful!" Effie looks a little flummoxed at the enthusiastic response - bizzare for this district. "And now for the men."

In those crucial thirty seconds, I squeeze my eyes shut and pray it isn't Gale. Or Leven.

"Jax Wildscape!"

A broad, muscular man emerges from the 20s pen, and Haymitch perks up a little in his seat, intrigued. If I had to guess, I would say that Jax is about 25, 26. Considering his district partner is Haymitch's age (41), we can stand to benefit from having a younger, stronger, healthy tribute.

Jax and Paula are made to shake hands and Effie presents them as the tributes for District 12. Peacekeepers escort them inside, and the Mayor ushers us Victors back behind the oaken, double doors.

Most years, almost no one visits the Justice Building, considering that our tributes are almost always good as dead. Last year, Peeta and I received visits from both our families, and I also got to say goodbye to Gale and Madge.

This time, a decent crop of people have actually come to wish Jax Wildscape well. The only people who have shown for Paula are her husband and sons. Standing off to one side with Peeta, Haymitch and Effie, I can see the Baker and his two eldest bickering in a heated argument.

"I'm not going in there..." Rye flatly refuses. "You can't make me!"

"She is your mother, and this may be the last time you see her!" The Baker, normally a gentle man, has a tightness in his voice that I have never heard from him before.

Fuming, Rye stomps into the holding room where his mother awaits. Spying Peeta cringing out of the corner of my eye, I wordlessly slip my hand into his.

"Are you OK?" It seems a silly question to ask - this is his mother we're talking about - but Peeta appeared so... conflicted. It makes me wonder if the rumors I've heard, about the Witch beating her own sons, are actually true.

His Adam's apple wobbles through a gulp. "I... I'm still having to accept the idea." I think I see moisture glistening in his irises, though it could be a trick of the light.

Silently, I turn his chin to mine with my free hand and softly capture his lips between my own in a gentle kiss. "I will do what I can to bring your mom home alive, Peeta."

He doesn't answer me, beyond brushing his mouth across mine once more. I still can't decipher what I see in his eyes, but I hope Peeta knows that he can open up to me. I'm here to listen.

The doors to Paula's holding cell bang open and Rye stomps back out again, making right for me. "You're gonna be her mentor, right, Girl on Fire?" he demands.

I nod hurriedly, caught off guard by his abrupt question. According to Haymitch, the general rule is that Victors mentor by gender, when they can afford to, unless a different arrangement is made. Rye sneers.

"Don't try too hard, OK? In fact, let her die in there!" He stalks out of the Justice Building, and Leven shakily goes into the holding room to take his place.

I am still blinking dumbly at Rye's request, shifting my eyes to Peeta worriedly. Of all the things I had imagined for my first year as a mentor, I hadn't expected someone to ask me not to bring their loved one home alive. I can't very well honor Rye's request if it means betraying Peeta... and I don't even know Peeta's opinion on the subject! Does Peeta want me to get his mother out of the arena?

Leven emerges looking as bitter as Rye, though he is also crying. The Baker enters the holding room.

Peeta finally seems to come to himself, politely approaching a stationed Peacekeeper. "Excuse me, Officer, may I visit my mother before we depart for the train?"

The Peacekeeper actually appears sympathetic, even as he rotely replies. "Sorry, Mr. Mellark, no can do. Victors are not allowed to mentor their tributes before the train ride. Unfair advantage, you see."

Peeta looks stricken. "I'm asking to see her as her son, not as her mentor!"

"Rules are rules, kid. I'm sorry."

It might not be a fair rule, but I can see why it would be in place. Though it's rare, the children and even grandchildren of Victors have been Reaped for the arena before, to spice things up, though none of them have been Crowned Victor in their own right. Even if the idea of the parent of a Victor going in is unprecedented and will surely excite the Capitol, I imagine the rule of mentors not being able to visit relatives who are tributes still applies.

Across the hall, the line waiting to see Jax Wildscape is beginning to thin. The Baker emerges from Paula's holding room last of all, just as Mother and Prim approach us.

I blink. "I thought you guys would be back home by now."

"We wanted to see you off," Mother smiles weakly, before actually hugging me. "Good luck, dear." When she breaks away, she happens to lock eyes with the Baker. I'm not sure what passes between them, but it seems almost... charged. I can't explain it, and push it out of my mind when Primrose loops her arms around my middle.

"See you in a few weeks!"

The last visitor to Jax Wildscape emerges about five minutes later, and then both our tributes themselves. Our entire entourage of six is forced into an armored car for the ride to Donner Train Station. We cross the platform and board the locomotive in uniform silence, broken only by the hissing of the hydraulic doors as they shut. Next moment, we are speeding away from District 12.

Only four of us are guaranteed to ever see its coal fields again.

The silence drags on well into dinner. Several times, Effie tries to jumpstart conversation with our tributes, but all of them fall flat. Mrs. Mellark keeps looking at our escort as though she is a freak of nature. Her disdain for her district partner and his table manners isn't much softer. The young Seam man is gobbling down everything in sight as though he will never be able to eat again. I can't help but wince - I didn't look like that last year, did I?

Thankfully, Effie seems to have finally caught on that impolite eating is pretty much a standard feature for tributes from the Seam. And there is only one of them this year, the other being Merchant - just as Peeta and I were the year before.

Jax finally pauses long enough to catch a breath and ask the men, "So. You two lovebirds managed to smuggle both your hides out last year, and if my studying is correct, you -" he points at Haymitch, "won it all the last time we had this Quell thing. District 12 hasn't been this embarrassed in decades. It's actually possible for someone from this dump to come back not in a box. So how do we do it?"

I frown hard. I don't like this guy's choice of words, and I like his attitude even less. I expected him to at least have some district pride. Sure, we're poor, but I wouldn't trade the woods or the people of Twelve for anything. Well... most of the people anyway, as I chance a look at Mrs. Mellark across the table.

Haymitch has actually imbibed quite conservatively since he got on the train. That coupled with the waning effects of all his drinking this morning, and he appears relatively sober, as he leans back in his chair on two legs. The old drunk says nothing, though - he appears to be studying his tribute with intrigue. Peeta leans forward, arms folded on the table.

"Sponsors, sponsors, sponsors," Peeta emphasizes. "They're your friend. Your benefactor. The difference between coming out in one piece or, as you so artfully put it, in a box."

I can't tell if there is a hint of dry disdain in Peeta's voice and my lips upturn in a small smirk at the thought. Haymitch smiles proudly at his protege, pleased that he is learning the trade so quickly.

"Haymitch and I will be mentoring you, Jax. I myself don't like it that mentoring is so woefully gendered..." (Peeta side-eyes me apologetically at this) "... but this arrangement is lightyears better than Haymitch training both of you all by his lonesome again. Why don't we start with you telling us a little bit about yourself...?"

I listen absently for a little bit as the boys start in. From what they find out, Jax is 26, married, the father of a little boy only three years old. He's apprenticing his father to be the next Miner Foreman and has worked down in the tunnels for the past eight years. At the mention that he can wield a pickaxe very skillfully, Haymitch's eyes brighten with eagerness.

"A pickaxe is still considered a pretty unorthodox weapon, kid, rarely seen in the arena. But if you see one in the Cornucopia, get it." One of the big reasons why District 12 has had so few Victors actually rests in district coal mining law - no one is allowed to enter the mines until they turn 18, almost by the time they have normally aged out of the Reaping. That cuts off any chance that someone would know how to wield a pickaxe. And any sorts of explosives in the arena (except for the ones planted under the tribute pedestals) were long ago declared illegal. In an ordinary year, no tribute of ours would have access to a stick of dynamite, even on the off-chance that he or she was 18, had worked in the mines, and actually knew how to use it. The fact that, in this extraordinary year, we have someone who has significant experience with a pickaxe and surely knows how to handle explosives (provided he can excavate the ones under the pedestals like the boy from Three did last year) fills me with great hope.

Jax scowls. "My name's not kid. It's Jax."

Haymitch just shrugs.

A clearing of the throat makes me turn my head; I had almost completely forgotten that the Witch was there. It is at a moment like this that I desperately wish I had a fellow female Victor to partner with. Or at least, that Lucy Gray Baird was still alive. Peeta's mother is looking at me with pure loathing. Her sneering makes me want to scowl right back.

"So... I am to take lessons from a Seam slut."

I want to reach across the table and smack her, but refrain for Peeta's sake. If the Capitol gets its way, this horrid woman will someday be my mother-in-law. I may despise her, but that prospective title grants her some... my stomach roils at the thought... respect.

The most I manage to say is, tersely, "I will be training you, Paula. Your life is quite literally in my hands. So best not to antagonize me, OK?"

She blinks, scrunching up her face with hatred but mercifully keeping her trap shut. She ladles some more broth into her bowl. "I watched my son last year. At least he found something he was good at." We both surreptitiously peer at Peeta. "This... Cornucopia business. What are your thoughts?"

"To make a determination of that, I have to ask you one question: can you fight?" Before the Witch can speak, I casually answer for her. "I imagine you can, with how handy you are with a rolling pin. Ever wallopped someone with it?"

The men's chatting abruptly ceases and Peeta's entrancing blue eyes snap to his mother, frozen. I wonder if I have gotten to the truth of those rumors that the Witch is physically abusive towards her children, but I'm not looking for the truth. I'm looking for a reaction.

Paula's squirming pretty much tells me all I need to know. "Well, I highly doubt there will be rolling pins in the Cornucopia, so my advice is to find a weapon similar to it that you can master in training." I have no idea what that would be - a club? Perhaps Peeta's talent with a spear is genetic. In any case, the real answer to Paula's query lies within herself. "But you won't be able to make a judgement like that until you're in the arena, on your pedestal. Whether or not you make the break for the Cornucopia depends on a variety of factors." I know that last year, in an environment I was already intimately familiar with, I could afford to take the risk of going into the Bloodbath. I glance to Haymitch with uncertainty, and he nods in approval, urging me to keep going. "Um... other factors. The arena's environment. Where are the other tributes, especially the Careers, placed in relation to you?"

Haymitch mercifully saves me. "What Sweetheart is trying to say is... whether or not you make the run depends on a few things. If it's a desolate wasteland, a desert, a tundra, make the run. Better a quick death from the Careers than long thirst or starvation, and you always have a chance of getting through. If the arena is in a man-made setting - amusement park, sewers, dungeons - don't make the run unless you're absolutely sure you can adapt to the new surroundings quickly. If they don't give you anything but weapons, don't make the run unless there's a knife right in front of you because we can get you something sharp and shiny. If they put you next to two Careers or even one of the tributes from Two, don't make the run. If you have any instinct that you can't make it halfway to the Cornucopia and back with some decent supplies, don't make the run. Katniss, your boy, and I will get you whatever you need. Remember, deaths at the Cornucopia are quick and easy. Surviving means you need to put on a show. We're going to give them that show."

Paula is staring at Haymitch with something between disbelief and horror. I don't know what stories she's heard, but I bet she didn't expect for the district's most famous drunk to be so lucid. She still probably feels that, between an alcoholic, a "Seam slut" and her youngest son who in her eyes doesn't amount to much, she and Jax are up a creek with no paddles.

I may hate her. I may feel tempted to take Rye's advice and throw Paula to the wolves and let her die. But whether or not I like our tributes should be irrelevant. It is much more imperative that the Capitol likes them. I have a job to do.

And though it is a job equal to damnation, I am going to do it.