Monday, another day of school. Classes drag by with insufferable sluggishness. More coal lessons, more reading and writing and 'the Capitol is wonderful' and arithmetic. I can't wait to get out of this stuffy prison.
Last night Mom and I watched the Gamemakers' scores. Peeta scored an eight which was unexpected, although not as shocking as Katniss' eleven. Mom and I jumped up and down laughing. I was sure last night that Katniss may actually win, though today that euphoria has worn off.
Things are never as simple as the numbers provided by the Gamemakers. Katniss may do well, except half of the combat comes down to pure chance and luck; who sees who first. I can only hope that the time she's spent hunting with Gale will come in as the best training a tribute could ever get.
At last, the final class of the day releases and I rush out, dashing past the other kids. They have been quiet toward me since the Reaping. Even my friends don't say much. They're probably worried that they'll make me cry if they say something wrong and maybe I would. What few words I do get are dripping with cautious compassion. It's appreciable, if becoming annoying. It just reminds me that I was selected, that Katniss had to volunteer.
There he is. I hurry to catch Gale as he rushes out of the schoolyard, himself. "Gale!" I shout. "Wait a second!"
He stops and turns. "Hey, Prim. What's up?"
I catch up to him and both of us head toward the Seam, Gale moving slower so my short legs don't have to churn so quickly. "Did you see it last night? What did you think?"
"Yeah, she seems to have done well." He thinks before going on. "I don't know how she could have impressed the Gamemakers that much."
I adjust the oversized pack on my shoulders so it doesn't poke my ribs. "What do you mean? How good is she, really?"
"Katniss is a fantastic shot with a bow and I'm sure the bows at the Training Center are superior to anything we have but..." Gale trails off and we walk half a block without speaking. He elaborates, "It's just that, one skill can't get you that good a score. You can only get an eleven by having a well-rounded set of skills that will come in handy in every situation."
"Well, you trap animals right? And what about the plants and things she knows how to find?" I really want to work up some hope, partly because I'm finding it harder not to blame myself for my sister's selection.
"Yeah, but she's not that great with the traps and food only helps you stay alive. It doesn't help you fight which is how most of the Games end." Gale's tone is bitter. He might miss Katniss more than I do. They were so close.
He glances at me, pain evident in his eyes. I wonder if he blames me for what happened to Katniss. I look away bashful. "She did something though. I mean, they gave her the highest score out of all the tributes."
"Yes, and that might make her more likely to get sponsors which can be good, but it might also make her a target. Look, Prim." Gale takes my arm and draws me to a halt. Towering over me, he has to look down at my face. "The only thing we can do is hope. The score doesn't matter." Gale braces his voice but it still creaks mildly with his fear. "And if she doesn't come back... we just have to remember her and move on, as hard as it might be."
I knew this was always going to be the answer, even with Katniss' high score. Shame flushes across my face and tears well up in my eyes. Gale squeezes my shoulder lightly. Even through the blurriness of my wilting eyes, I can see Gale's going through the same misery. He wishes he had volunteered to take Peeta's place, if only to make sure Katniss came back. "Come on, Prim. Let's get you home." We continue walking.
Gale has been bringing food and supplies to our house still, as Katniss said he would, and his mother, Hazelle, had suggested we picnic as a group tonight and watch the interviews in the business district. Gale was still going hunting before dinner and I had chores, so we parted ways after reaching the Seam.
I milk Lady, and shovel out the stall, feed her, and then trade more milk and cheese in the business district. Instead of heading home, I stop in to help Mom's business. The apothecary shop is having a slow day. We talk about the scores and the mayor's food and Gale and Katniss.
When I first met Gale, he was scary, intimidating even. A quiet and tall, muscular teenager who also doesn't smile very much. Over the years though, he's come to be something of a friend to the family and somewhere along the line I decided that Katniss should marry him, in spite of my sister repeatedly insisting she could never marry anyone. She's still angry at our mother and depressed from losing Dad. She could do worse than Gale. All of the older girls at school say Gale is 'dreamy.' He's just very nice to me.
When closing time arrives, Mom and I lock up the shop, having already cleaned more than necessary, and head back to our house to pack up some food. On the way, Mom buys a small bag of peppermints, which she insists are delightful. They have a sharp scent when I sniff the bag. I've never had those before and they're expensive. Mom just says that the picnic should be nice. I know why. It will be the last time we see Katniss before the Games begin. Anxiety for that eventual fate is burning me up inside, rousing demons that I didn't know existed and preying upon my heart.
Once some food is packed into a rucksack, we wait for the Hawthorne family. They arrive right on time, Gale, Hazelle, and the three little kids. I don't even know their names, but Mrs. Hawthorne I see sometimes. She washes our clothes for us and some other families in the Seam.
Hazelle hugs Mom and gives me a kiss on the cheek as she embraces me. "You look more like your mother everyday, dear!" I smile. Mom is very pretty.
We move out to a nice area on the edge of the business district near the fence, which still isn't electrified even though the electricity has been on much more consistently. Maybe the local Peacekeepers prefer to allow the few scavengers and hunters to bring back better quality provisions than what is shipped in from elsewhere in Panem.
The food is amazing. Gale has brought a salad of wild greens, carrots, black berries, and even some decent bread with garlic. He also made sandwiches with some sort of white meat. I decide not to ask what the meat is because sometimes you find out you're eating something that, while fine, doesn't sound alright. You lose the precious sustenance in a fit of vomit that's only borne of queasiness and not quality.
Mom and Hazelle talk about light subjects as we kids and Gale eat. This is the second time in the past seven days that the food provided to me overcomes my emotional aversion to eating. This meal is nothing like the food we had at Mayor Undersee's but it's still far better to what we normally have in the Seam and a feast by comparison.
Halfway through my sandwich, my mind wonders what supplies we will lack for the next few weeks since we're eating some of what would normally be traded. Probably candles. Electrical power is provided almost regularly during the Hunger Games so we can forgo wax lighting for a few weeks.
Lately, I haven't even been eating as much as I had pre-Reaping, never feeling quite up to calming my grumbling belly. I have even lost some weight since Katniss left, in spite of the mayor's generosity. It's best if I take advantage of this meal. I break out some bits of goat cheese and distribute them while Mom pours some of Lady's milk into tin cups.
It's like we're one big family. Picnics are so rare, but Gale, distant as he is, seems satisfied to be sharing everything with us. The sun fades in the western sky and Mom breaks out the peppermint treats as we're packing up the cups. She was right, the peppermints are great, a lot like the mint tea we make by boiling leaves, but fifty times stronger! Sharp and sweet, so potent I can smell the mint even when I inhale through my mouth.
As a group, we walk through town toward the square where passersby can watch the interviews, Gale carrying his little sister who's fallen asleep. Several groups of people are gathered in the square, huddled around each of the screens that will stay up until the Games are finished. Mom and Hazelle pick a screen and we gather as close as we can to the enormous image.
The shot is of the same circular plaza in the Capitol where the interviews are done every year. All around it, Capitol citizens arrive to stand around the sequestered circle and the commentators are discussing some of the people, pointing out notable individuals in balconies of buildings around the square. Apparently some of them are important in the Capitol's society for one reason or another. They and their notoriety mean nothing to district residents.
Signifying the beginning of the event, the stylists take their places. Almost immediately the screen shifts to a man and woman who almost look normal, especially compared to the other stylists who try to outdo each other in attention grabbing colors on cloth, skin, hair and even stranger places. "And that is Cinna and Portia who collaborated to bring us those children in flames from District Twelve, this year." The commentators banter back and forth about synthetic flame until the shot shifts to other stylists.
Then, the tributes walk into the shot, some shuffling, others parading. Each of them is wearing a new outfit made specially for this night. Katniss emerges, her dress glittering with thousands of jewels that make her look like shimmering flames, sparkling as she moves to a chair and sits down. Peeta's clothing is more reserved with simple flame highlights on black cloth. Katniss looks outstanding once more and I'm glad that Cinna, who designed this dress, is not flamboyant, but tasteful.
A flamboyant Caesar Flickerman dances out onto the stage. He's the host and has been since before I was alive. His hair is light blue matching the makeup on his face. Caesar's freakish appearance is pushed to even more ridiculous proportion by the glittery lights on his dark suit. Flickerman introduces himself to applause and says a few lines, each drawing raucous laughter from the Capitol audience. No one here responds. I don't even understand the jokes.
The interviews begin with District 1, girls first and move down the line. None of the banter and preening interests me much. There's one boy who limps on one foot as he walks to his interview. I despise myself when I discover I've begun suppressing the compassion I would normally have for him.
Then Caesar gets to District 11. I didn't know another person as young as me had been selected, but the little tanned girl looks like she might be even smaller than I am. It's hard to tell from the shots. She's wearing some kind of fairy gown with wings. Rue Amaranth scored high for her size, only saying that she can be sneaky during the interview. "I'm very hard to catch and if they can't catch me they can't kill me."
Flickerman adores her as he does with essentially all of the tributes. Then after the huge boy from District 11, it's Katniss' turn at last. She looks a tad uneasy for a second, until shaking hands with Caesar Flickerman; she melts into a sort of teasing grace.
"So, Katniss, the Capitol must be quite a change from District Twelve. What's impressed you most since you arrived here?"
She pauses, the anxiety moving back into her eyes until she recovers, "The lamb stew."
Flickerman finds this enormously funny, but it's not that funny to me. Clearly, with all those fat people in the audience, the Capitol has plenty and is simply not letting District 12 have very much food. Maybe if they sent more, we could keep our bones from poking through our skin.
The interview shifts to the fire costume and Katniss does a few turns so the cameras can get a good look at this dress of precious stones. The audience is cooing and laughing, loving every minute of Katniss. They're so much more alive with her interview than they were with the others. Maybe fire is going to be the new fashion standard.
Moving the interview along, Flickerman asks, "So, how about that training score? E-leven! Give us a hint what happened in there."
Katniss looks out into the crowd, her beautiful face shown in close up. Cinna didn't put much makeup on her, opting to accent her authentic appeal. She stutters in reply, "Um... all I can say, is I think it was a first."
The shot cuts to the Gamemakers box where they're laughing and grinning.
"You're killing us. Details! Details!" Flickerman insists.
Katniss is back on the screen, "I'm not supposed to talk about it, right?" A reply shouts back, too muffled to perceive. Katniss smiles, "Thank you. Sorry. My lips are sealed."
Flickerman changes the subject again. "Let's go back then, to the moment they called your sister's name at the reaping. And you volunteered." Mom puts her hands on my shoulders. I lean against her for support, shaking with dread. "Can you tell us about her?"
Katniss nearly lets her scorn show, her natural expression take over. "Her name's Prim. She's just twelve and I love her more than anything." The lump is back in my throat, guilt or anger or sorrow. Maybe all three and more.
"What did she say to you, after the reaping?"
My sister freezes certainty and confidence in her brown eyes. "She asked me to try really hard to win." My lumpy throat quivers with the memory of my stupid words.
"And what did you say?"
Darkness joins Katniss' steely look, unblinking, she looks dangerous now. Beautifully lethal. "I swore I would." My heart throbs in my chest and I feel Mom kiss the top of my head.
With that the interview wraps up to thunderous applause both from the Capitol and around the square. I bury my face in Mom's shirt to soak up my timidity. When I let myself back into the real world, some of the people in the crowd nod to me. Maybe they think that I've inspired her to win more than plain survival will. It's strange to me. It's all my fault!
Peeta's halfway through his interview, dazzling the crowd with his winning personality. Flickerman is asking him, "There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?"
Peeta's joviality warps into dissatisfaction. "Well, there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping."
The Capitol's audience 'awws' as one, as if taking empathy on Peeta, enough to understand, but not quite enough to cancel the Games.
Flickerman prods further, playing on the crowd's sympathies. "She have another fellow?"
"I don't know, but a lot of boys like her." Peeta allows his mood to descend into gloom.
"So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?" Flickerman nudges his elbow at Peeta.
Peeta shrugs dejectedly, "I don't think it's going to work out. Winning... won't help in my case."
Flickerman is taken aback, "Why ever not?"
With embarrassment flooding his face, Peeta struggles to answer. "Because... because... she came here with me."
Shock floods through my veins as the cameras cut to a shot of Katniss. She's equally surprised, her mouth hanging open, face blushing. My sister looks down so the cameras can't get a good shot of her and finally they cut back to the interview.
"Oh, that is a piece of bad luck." Flickerman moans, with almost authentic distress.
"It's not too good." Peeta's voice shakes somewhat.
"Well, I don't think any of us can blame you. It'd be hard not to fall for that young lady. She didn't know?"
"Not until now." The camera's pan to Katniss again and she's biting her lip trying not to be seen, trying to sink through her chair into the ground. I don't know what to feel for my sister here. It's simply too much of a surprise. Peeta likes Katniss?
When Flickerman asks the crowd if they'd like to hear what Katniss thinks about this, they wail to have another interview. But the time is up and Caesar dispenses with the idea. "Well, best of luck to you, Peeta Mellark, and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say that our hearts go with yours."
Accompanied by the roar of the crowd, the Panem national anthem begins its over-used strains once more. The program wraps up; the crowd around us is rife with conversations about Peeta's revelation.
I look at Gale and see his eyebrows furrowed in deep thought, or maybe anger. Mom breaks our silence. "Is it true, Gale? Or is that just for show?"
Gale shrugs, he doesn't know. He doesn't say anything, either. I suppose it could be something that Haymitch, Katniss, and Peeta cooked up to get District 12 noticed. They should have many sponsors now, especially with Katniss' eleven rating and Peeta's eight. Even though they will be competing against each other, those are the best ratings for tributes from the coal district in a long time.
We walk home talking about the styles in the Capitol, how ridiculous they are and how gorgeous Katniss looked in her gemstone sequins. By the time we get home, the Hawthorne's continuing deeper into the Seam to their house, that sinking feeling has grown worse than before.
There are no more events left. Tomorrow, during midmorning, the Hunger Games would start, as they did each year, with a few tributes having established pre-arranged alliances to destroy the weaker children, before turning on each other after a week or two of hunting down all the non-allied tributes.
I decide to sleep in Mom's bed again. The nightmares will be worse tonight. Still they aren't nearly as bad as the waking days ahead.
Halfway through the second class of the day, the lesson is drawn to a close and the televisions in each classroom are tuned in to the Hunger Games broadcasts. Currently, highlights of the events in the Capitol are playing, featuring an abundance of Katniss and Peeta the edges of the screen layered with some type of fire effect. The girl next to me named Alabeth leans over and whispers "Are you going to be okay, Primrose?" Normally, I only hear my full name when Mom is scolding me.
I nod faintly, sweat forming in my palms. Wiping them on my skirt, I try to breathe deeper to slow my pulse. The initial minutes of the Hunger Games are always disturbing but this year...
The tributes are always placed equidistant from a large metal cornucopia that's always packed with supplies of varied sort. Random items are placed on the ground too. Some kids, usually those kids that have alliances will take control of the supplies and some of the rest will flee for the woods. It seems no matter how many times it ends in disaster, a few loners will try to get supplies only to be swiftly killed by the more powerful, organized Career tributes. Maybe those kids are allied too, and think they'll be the ones winning. Maybe it's a team against team situation that is never fully revealed because one team always loses in the bloodbath.
Usually the arenas are enormous outdoor spectacles with thousands of cameras disguised in the landscape, from jungles to deserts to glaciers to woodlands to wetlands. It really could be anything, and what is guaranteed is that the Gamemakers will have rigged much of the environment so they can manipulate it at will to liven the dull days where few tributes fight. They can even control the local weather patterns quite effectively.
At last the screen fades to black and a deep voice blasts from the television. Claudius Templesmith, the announcer. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"
The image swirls into view, showing a bright field of short, dying grass and dried mud bound on several quarters by deep, rolling forests and on another a sweeping, golden field, endless. A decent sized lake rests a short distance from the cornucopia.
All the tributes are standing on platforms; the cameras take turns getting a close up of each with a listing of the tribute's name, district number, and rating appearing beside each face. They're required to stay on the platforms for sixty seconds for these shots, until the landmines around the platforms are disabled.
Several of the kids look scared, but the pretty girl from District 2, Clove, looks insanely exhilarated to be in the Games. She was a volunteer, of course. Some of those districts that like the Games have complicated processes of determining which volunteer is elevated to tribute status. My nervous lips mutter to myself, "It would be nice if they could volunteer for other districts too."
Alabeth looks over at me. "What?"
I just shake my head. It's not long before Katniss has her extended close up; she's gazing intently over the cornucopia and nearby contents. Oh, no Katniss. Don't go for supplies, they'll kill you! Just get out of there! My mind screams, but her eyes glue onto some object halfway between her and the golden horn.
The camera pans backward and I notice she's dressed as all the other female tributes, plain brown pants, a green shirt, and a jacket. Pinned onto her shirt is some sort of gold medallion and the shot tightens on it. It's a strange bird flying in a ring. I don't recognize it, though there isn't a great deal of birds inside the fence at District 12. Mining is underground so our district is very small. Birds stay in the expansive wilderness.
Katniss would know what it is, but then she's wearing it. I wonder where she got it from since it would be very expensive. Maybe you can sponsor kids before they even get to the arena and someone in the Capitol thought it would be nice to have their token jewelry on the girl who's creating such a stir in Panem.
Peeta's revelation of his crush had been a hot topic in the schoolyard this morning. Apparently some friends of Peeta's said that he never talked to them about her. That even so, it was obvious he liked her. So, he wasn't lying which makes it all the more difficult to watch, because they're enemies now, thanks to the Capitol which is supposedly captivated by Katniss and empathetic for Peeta. Hypocrites!
The image finally pans to someone else and the broadcast has to rush through the remaining tributes in order to get all twenty four in before the sixty seconds is up, leaving each tribute up for a second at the most.
A tone rings over the audio signal and the image switches to a wide view of the expansive field. Immediately every tribute dashes off their plate, except one. The label over her head reads "12-F"; District 12-Female. Katniss hesitates before sprinting for the cornucopia, scooping up a few supplies on the way. My fingers wrap tightly around the edge of my desk. Every muscle in my body clenches in spasms.
When she gets to an orange backpack, a boy whose label reads "9-M" grabs at it and my sister tugs against the pack. I'm holding my breath, the edge of my vision framed in dark red.
The shot shifts so more of the fighting can be seen. 1-B slashes 7-B with a curved blade. 3-G is caught by 6-B's shoulder; 6-B goes to the ground after her and reaches for her neck. 4-B is hit by something held by someone else. In the jumble, I finally find Katniss and the boy struggling when the boy falls slack, a throwing knife sticking out of his back. 2-G, Clove, who wields the knives, throws another after Katniss who is running away, backpack flailing.
My voice squeaks shrilly as I see the knife plunge between my sister's shoulder blades! I can't see the television anymore, the redness overtakes my vision and I feel myself slip from consciousness. One final thought lingers before oblivion seizes the world away; it should have been me.