PART II
"THE REBEL"
10
My left fingernails tap nervously against the desk in front of my face. Our instructor drones on about square roots, except I can't see what she's doing on the board. She ignores me, my head lying on my right arm across the desk. It's better that she doesn't notice since my mind isn't going to be on schoolwork today. It's hard enough to sit still!
On Saturday morning, Katniss dropped the tracker jacker nest on the Careers to make her shaky getaway, aided by Peeta's selflessness. Saturday afternoon when I arrived home from school, my sister was still in the filthy ditch passed out on layers of dried leaves, seizing from the poison sludging through her system. Sunday, all day, Katniss stayed there, twitches weakening over the hours.
Monday morning at school, the replay started dully, showing tributes either collecting food or in a comatose stupor from stings. Three of the Careers are still passed out, excluding Cato who is sitting up, drinking lake water, purified and brought to him by Teodor from District 3.
Lydian, the boy from District 10 who has a crippled leg, hobbles out of the forest and into the dense wheat field, picking wild berries. Even Peeta, scarcely clinging to life, receives airtime. He struggles evidently for quite a few minutes to crawl a scant yard for a simple drink of water. Katniss remains in the ditch, any movements now imperceptible.
My experience in the apothecary shop had never involved more than one tracker jacker sting at a time and Katniss' lack of movement sends frightened tingles through my core. Coma; the word haunts my thoughts. Katniss is going to die. My sister couldn't recover from a coma and even if she could survive, she's completely exposed to anyone who wanders by, even wild animals. A persistent rain storm could drown her, if she doesn't have the presence of mind to roll her face out of the leaves.
Rue has stayed close by Katniss, even when leaving to find water to drink right out of a creek. She lacks the purifying iodine that my sister found stashed in her orange backpack. Rue's observance strangely eases my mind. The girl from District 11 has already helped Katniss twice, refusing every opportunity to kill my sister. For what little comfort that may be worth.
It really is the Capitol's fault, all of this. They control everything in Panem, so they have to take responsibility for my sister's condition, more than I do. She may not wake up from the poison at all! Each swollen sting has stopped leaking the green puss, holding puffy shape. Katniss is oblivious to the world and the Capitol is oblivious to her, since they hold the keys to the cage.
The replays wrap up quickly, having little to show with so many tributes disabled by the tracker jackers. The television is shut off so that the lesson may continue. On Monday mornings, the second class is always math. All the numbers and symbols and graphs appear a million miles away and fortunately the instructor never does call me out for not paying attention.
A jolt startles through me as the bell rings and almost breaking my trance, forcing me to get up from the desk. My next class is Panem History. This twists my face into an ugly scowl, like the one Katniss wears unconsciously. I can feel off-putting grimace though, the crease on my chin where my frown wrinkles skin. I hate Panem History class.
"Get back into a daze, Prim," my whisper pushes out between pursed lips.
Class commences and the instructor, Mr. Dallady, immediately begins to talk about the battle of District 13. I have seen the snapshots; every kid has. Burned out buildings and charred landscape. What remains standing are lifeless edifices; 13 was bombed until anything that could draw breath had been torn to bits.
That was how the Dark Days had come to a close. District 13 was the most rebellious district and they paid for their insurrection, paid for the uprisings of all the Districts. Everyone in 13's population was obliterated in the Capitol's vengeful firestorm. The lesson was thereby taught to the remaining twelve districts; submit or be destroyed forever.
Mr. Dallady drones on and on, feeding us the things the Capitol wants us to know and nothing else. He teaches this class several times a day, to each age level. We receive the same history class year after year, so by the time we are finished with schooling, the stories are firmly ingrained.
His lecture ends and he asks if anyone has questions. No one does. No one ever does, so I decide to raise my hand. "Yes, Ms. Everdeen." My last name, ugh, I'm Prim!
"Why did District 13 rebel? What did they want?"
He answers promptly, "They sought to isolate District 13 from the sovereign nation of Panem." Right out of the lesson plan.
"It wasn't for food, even a little bit?" My voice drips with more sarcasm than I realized I could muster.
Surprised at my frankness, Mr. Dallady quickly restores his composure, "Uh, no, actually. District 13 wanted to secede and was promoting ideologies which threatened the entire nation."
"Then why did other districts join them? Did District 13 offer food for allegiance?" It's civil disobedience to discuss the never-ending famine in the districts.
Eyes wide as wooden dinner plates, Mr. Dallady stammers in response. "It-ah-No. Not at all, the food rations were distributed fairly between regions, according to social value, as they are now, Primrose." Now he uses my first name to recover his authority.
Social value. That innocuous phrase is what they always say. All we can figure out is that it means 'what you're worth to the Capitol'. According to the Treaty of Treason, we aren't worth very much at all.
"Don't the Hunger Games show that people in the districts don't have much social value?" I emphasize the catchphrase, knowing every kid in the room is astounded that I have the temerity to speak what everybody hides deep inside.
Mr. Dallady's face flushes and he tries to spit out an answer. The bell rings and everyone stands to leave, kids whispering to each other as they crowed toward the door. Lazily, I shove my textbook into an oft-repaired backpack and stand to leave. "Ms. Everdeen, stay in the room, please!"
I obey his command, sullen numbness molded across my features. Mr. Dallady waits until everyone else has left. When he speaks, it's tactful and diplomatic, yet authoritative. "I'm afraid I can't tolerate anyone challenging the course material, Ms. Everdeen."
"Challenging? I was just asking questions." I sneer at him, hardly caring that he could report my pointed questions to the Peacekeepers. They took away Katniss. What more can they do? Stop Gale from bringing Mom and me food?
"That attitude will improve this instant, young lady, or there will be consequences!"
I laugh in his face. "Consequences? What are you going to do? Select me again next year?" I don't care anymore. Katniss is dying alone. Next year they'll have a new favorite and my sister will be entirely forgotten.
"You're not going to your next class." He grabs me by my arm and drags me through the door. Mr. Dallady shoves kids out the way, yanking me down the hall. Once at the headmaster's office, he tells me to sit down, and he continues on into the office, closing the door behind him.
The headmaster follows Mr. Dallady out, "You stay seated, right there, young lady." The pair turns curtly shuffling down the hall. Cynicism encases my nerves. None of this matters, anymore. I roam into the headmaster's luxurious vault. Some dark wood paneling covers the walls; expensive drapes blot all sunlight from the window. The rest of the school is profoundly drab by comparison. I look over the books on the wall, papers on the desk, and even find a thin bottle of spirits in his desk.
"Primrose Everdeen!" The headmaster's stern voice scares me, I whirl around. "You were told explicitly to remain seated. Do so, at once!"
"Fine!" Intending to growl, my childish voice squeaks pathetically. I slump into the chair noticing that the headmaster keeps his door open to keep a strict eye on me. I decide to stew in the satisfaction of getting a rise out of the staff.
But it's not satisfying. My tummy grumbles until I consider digging into the chunks of bread and cheese I brought wrapped in brown paper. Instead, I weigh my actions wondering why saying what I felt like didn't make me feel any better.
Katniss is still lying in a ditch and the Capitol remains unchanged.
Of course my challenge didn't help the anger in my stomach! It had no effect, except to get me into trouble. I wonder what they'll do to me, whether they will suspend wretched little Primrose, who forced her sister into the Games. Altogether, suspension doesn't sound terribly bad. I could stand to be out of school if only to get away from Mr. Dallady's lectures. The other kids are ok for the most part, but I can see them around the Seam.
I've never heard of someone staying suspended from school. No one goes up against authority like that. Most kids don't have the energy to do much more than the required schoolwork, which is easy on those rare days when you're well fed and the hollowness in your belly isn't constantly nipping thoughts. There's more to preoccupy me than a hollow diet, though.
Gale has brought us food every day, almost as much as Katniss would bring home. He's staying out longer than he usually does and trading after school before heading into the woods. Mr. Mellark has sent Allen to us with stale loaves of bread several times. That surprised Mom especially. She said, "You're a real darling, you know that, Prim?" She explained that Mr. Mellark is a nice man, that they were friends once long ago, but that he must like me if he's giving us some of the bakery's extra bread.
I don't want Gale spending his time taking care of me. I don't want the baker to bother about giving us bread. I don't want Mom to hold me anymore. I-I want my sister back! My jaw quivers with the thought, heart aches until my chest feels like it's going to explode. Everything hurts.
After almost an hour, Mom walks in led by a Peacekeeper who looks too young to be a part of the Capitol's police force. Mom reaches out to me. "Prim!"
Revoking my inhibition, I fling myself into her arms, grateful for the shelter of Mom's care. I know she can't protect me, if this Peacekeeper decides my actions are worthy of punishment. My delusion of apathy fades away, seeing a uniformed enlistee.
Then I take a better measure of the youthful Peacekeeper. Tangles of red hair sit awkwardly on his head and freckles pock his face. He's smiling actually, right hand extended toward me. "Hi there, Primrose. My name's Darius." He ignores my hesitation at the eventual handshake. "I know Katniss and Gale some. I just brought back your mother."
Oh, that explains it. Katniss and Gale trade with some of the Peacekeepers at the Hob black market. Even the Capitol's soldiers are dissatisfied in District 12. "Hi," I whisper.
"Mrs. Everdeen? Thank you for coming so quickly." The headmaster stands up and waves, "If you could bring your daughter in and take a seat." Mom sits gracefully. I crumple into the cracked leather cushion.
I blush, embarrassed by his recounting my "troubling behavior." How I "undermined the educational mission of the school" and "created a hazardous atmosphere for the other students" and "displayed a forceful unwillingness to learn, today."
"Now, in light of Katniss' participation in the Hunger Games, I think we can let this behavioral aberration go with a warning, if that's alright with you, Mrs. Everdeen?"
Mom nods her head and sends a glaring glance my way. "Yes, that's probably for the best. I don't know what's gotten into her." I want to thin into the chair and disappear. "I will certainly make sure she knows this is not appropriate!"
The headmaster thanks her and turns to me, tone hardened after decades of lecturing, "Primrose, the lesson plans are carefully designed to provide the most information to each student. You can ask questions, but acting out in this manner is hardly worthy of classroom time."
I nod, "Yes, sir. It won't happen again." To be sure, I don't know that. I'm so confused and tired. I struggle to breath in the headmaster's office, all of my confidence stripped away by underlying self-doubt. Every fiber of my body just wants to leave school, leave Panem, even. There's nothing else out there. Still nothing might be better than this.
District 12 has come apart for me. It's not just my father that can be taken away at any time. All of us could die any moment and it seems likely to happen if we stay in the Capitol's clutches. I entertain the dream of leaving for the remainder of the headmaster's discussion with Mom.
He dismisses us, telling me to come back tomorrow morning for a fresh start. Darius is still outside the office and walks us out of the school. Once we're past the playground, he says, "Primrose, you have to be more careful." He adopts a conciliatory gentleness on the edge of his voice. "A lot of people really liked your sister and we're going through the same thing you are."
A few people have said that and it always sounds stupid to me. They didn't depend on Katniss for everything. They didn't get selected in the reaping. They didn't tell Katniss that they wouldn't survive if she didn't.
Darius senses my disillusionment and adds, "She didn't take your place so that you could stop living in your own way."
He's right even if it sounds reprehensible. How can I possibly move on and accept Katniss' last days as her final provision for me? Yet, it would be better to treat this gift with the same respect I hold for everything else my sister gave me: the thousands of hours she spent gathering and hunting food, trading, holding me, cheering me up when I was sad, buying me a goat, even letting me keep our scruffy cat, Buttercup.
Darius moves off toward the mine. I trail Mom through the streets until we arrive at the apothecary. A nice man who runs the leather shop across the street is pounding on the apothecary door, peering into the dim windows as we approach. Lucas sees our reflection and whirls around, excitement glowing in his smile. "Did you hear? Katniss woke up!"
Mom breaks into a sprint, heading for the city square where the televisions are ever-splashing images of the arena, Games broadcasting day and night. I hurry to keep up, my shorter legs wearying faster than they should. I really have eaten far too little.
When we arrive, we see that Lucas was right. Katniss dominates the screen; a single corner-screen rotates among the other tributes.
Oh, I bet the Capitol is just loving this, my sarcastic thoughts gripe. Katniss has stripped down to her underwear, which isn't skimpy but leaves her stomach pale and gleaming in the sun. Her teenage body isn't curvy like it should be. Her hips jab out cliffs topping her legs. The undershirt clings to ribs stretching her pasty skin. Starvation scrimped away her every last ounce of fat. The stings are giant swollen welts, the only parts of Katniss where the poke of bones can't be traced.
She wrings out her clothes, having washed them in a creek and then she tosses them onto some shrubs in the sunlight to dry. I cling to Mom as we watch this blessedly humiliating spectacle of my sister being paraded in front of the nation gaunt and half naked.
Katniss brushes her fingers through her hair and then eats some food. Then she cleans the bow and arrows. The bow and arrows! Katniss has the weapon she's good at, the one lethal skill she's practiced for years!
I gasp, thinking that if she can just get enough to eat, the other tributes don't stand a chance against my sister now that she has a bow! They're all carrying swords and spears and knives; short-range weapons, except that girl from District 2, Clove. She has a surreal talent at throwing knives. She must have practiced illegally before volunteering for the Hunger Games. Clove might be competition for Katniss, but then I don't know the effective range of throwing knives, probably less than arrows. And the other tributes may be big, nevertheless Katniss and Gale have even brought down deer with their bows before and Katniss is the better of the hunting pair!
Katniss rubs more medication on her burns and I wonder aloud if it would help the stings. Someone else watching the screen says she already tried it once; it doesn't work. Katniss braids her hair and puts the damp clothes back on. She gathers her meager possessions into the now mud-smeared, orange backpack and situates the priceless quiver beside it on her back.
As she creeps upstream, everyone captivated by her astounding determination. Her footsteps are certain and coming across a bird, her shot is perfect, dropping the game handily. I don't shed a tear for it, now seeing my sister's condition, not to mention her accuracy killing it instantly.
She builds a fire to cook the bird, plucks its feathers, and sets it to roast. A noise startles her, too quiet to be picked up by the microphones. The crowd leans closer to the TVs to catch any faint sound. The second image in the screen hasn't shown anyone stalking her, however something is there. In one swift motion, Katniss yanks an arrow onto the string with practiced ease and aims across the creek.
I hold my breath. Katniss catches a glimpse of her target and her lips curl upward ever so slightly. "You know, they're not the only ones who can form alliances." She speaks loudly to whoever is there.
The camera angle shifts to show Rue peeking out from behind a tree. "You want me for an ally?" Her small voice, disbelieving.
"Why not? You saved me from those tracker jackers." Rue did more than that although there's no way Katniss could know. She lowers the bowand replaces the arrow into her quiver. "You're smart enough to still be alive and I can't seem to shake you, anyway."
Rue doesn't move, the camera shot looks over her shoulder, the way she's watching Katniss. The tiny girl's fingers tap against the tree trying to decide. Katniss tries again, "You hungry?" She waves over the girl from District 11. "Come on then. I've had two kills today." Two?
Rue cautiously moves toward Katniss. "I can fix your stings."
"Can you? How?"
Rue shows Katniss some leaves and tells her that she recognized them from working in the orchards. Rue chews the leaves into a mush and presses it upon my sister's swollen knee. Katniss' eyes roll back to whites and she moans in satisfaction. Rue laughs and chews up more leaves for the other two stings. Relief floods through Katniss, loosening the tightness in my own chest. In exchange, Katniss treats a burn on Rue's arm with the ointment. Rue stares at the medicine amazed, though despondent. "You have good sponsors."
Katniss asks, "Have you gotten anything?" Rue shakes her head, no. "You will though. Watch. The closer to the end, the more people will realize how clever you are."
"You weren't joking? About wanting me for an ally?"
This is a bizarre turn of events. Rue is probably the most resourceful ally Katniss could have given her obvious knowledge of plants. Only under guard of the delirious Careers is there any alternative to scavenging.
"No, I meant it." On the screen, I can see compassion in Katniss' eyes, have seen it often; a big sisterly consolation that shows when I'm upset. The two girls shake hands on the bond, silent to the fact that it can only last for a matter of time.
Over dinner of the bird and some rabbit, they talk about food in the districts. District 11 is very harsh about controlling the produce, apparently, severely punishing people on a regular basis for minor infractions, regardless of the desperation brought about by hunger.
No doubt seeing this discussion as more than the Capitol wants to broadcast, the two girls are banished to the inset corner-screen without volume. The shots pan around the other tributes. A few of them harvest berries and fruit, eating right off the bushes and trees. The other Careers are finally beginning to stir at their lakeside provision dump.
Evening fell while Mom and I were glued to the plaza, watching Katniss recuperate from the tracker jackers and form an alliance with Rue. There's no point going back to the apothecary shop now, so we decide to head home.
I think about what Darius said and also remember what Gale told me days before. We just have to remember Katniss and move on, hard as it might be. I don't want to do that! All of my concentration has been focused on finding someone to blame, someone to lash out at besides myself. None of it will bring Katniss back. Whatever I do to satisfy my anger about the Treaty of Treason will only hurt me and Mom. Katniss would never approve of that. She never speaks ill of the Capitol, even though I know she despises them too.
Maybe I have to let Katniss go. If I don't, then what she's done for me won't matter. My heart protests, she's looking better now though! I love my sister and have faith in her abilities. At least ten tributes are still alive and the odds of Katniss killing each of them are... I hate thinking about it, except there's little choice.
When we get home, Mom and I make dinner after turning on the broadcast. The Careers are hydrating themselves. Verona from District 5 seems to be debating whether or not to eat a handful of berries, somewhat nonsensically. Maybe she thinks they might be poisonous.
Thresh is doing the same thing he's done every time the Gamemakers have shown him. Alone, way out on the sweeping plain, he eats oats right off the stalks, washing them down with berries from shriveled, thistly bushes interspersed throughout the golden wheat. Peeta has submerged himself in mud, trying to disguise his location, unable to do much of anything with his surely infected leg.
When the shot cuts back to Katniss and Rue, the pair is climbing into a tree; evening chases the sun past the arena's horizon. They huddle down together inside the ragged sleeping bag and Katniss loops her belt across their waists, tightening it around the limb to secure them for the night. Can that little strap hold their combined weight? Actually, Katniss has lost so much body mass and Rue is naturally light, it probably wouldn't be an issue.
Katniss asks how long she was unconscious from the stings. Two nights, Rue tells her. "The girls from Districts One and Four are dead. There's only ten of us left."
Katniss' eyes glaze distantly, buried in contemplation. "Something strange happened; at least, I think it did... It might have been the tracker jacker venom making me imagine things. You know the boy from my district? Peeta? I think he saved my life. But he was with the careers."
"He's not with them now," Rue replies. "I've spied on their base camp by the lake. They made it back before they collapsed from the stingers, but he's not there. Maybe he did save you and had to run."
Katniss says, "If he did, it was probably just part of his act." Confusion tilts my head. Peeta wasn't acting. He almost died saving her from Cato and everyone knows now that Peeta has adored Katniss for a long time, even before the reapings. "You know, to make people think he's in love with me."
Rue stares at her and then says what everyone else in Panem is saying. "Oh... I didn't think it was an act."
"'Course it is. He worked it out with our mentor." Haymitch Abernathy hardly seemed like the sort of person worth getting advice from, on Reaping night. I hope that he has been sober since then. In District 12 everybody knows that drink controls him, not the other way around.
Anyway, Katniss is wrong about Peeta, in denial perhaps. It seems terribly unfair that she should insist he faked his emotion. Even though he's still a tribute that has to die to return Katniss home, I can't help but admire him.
Peeta's spent the past two nights delirious with tracker jacker stings, freezing in the mud beside another creek, deep in the woods, his leg rotting from bacteria and grime, for Katniss. Peeta did for my sister what she did for me; only she's related to me. It's obvious Peeta loves her!
Rue and Katniss discuss their predicament. The pair can't win against a group of Career tributes, even with the bow. The one thing they can both do very well is feed themselves from the environment. Rue points out that the Career tributes have all the food from the cornucopia at their fingertips. Katniss concurs that should be the focus. "I think we're going to have to fix that, Rue."
Fatigue overtakes both tributes; Rue hugs herself against Katniss who snuggles back for extra warmth. Mom and I have eaten dinner and choose to go to bed ourselves. Nothing else will happen tonight. The only tributes who seem interested in offensive tactics are the two allied groups: the Careers and the two girls from the two worst-off districts.
I sit in bed, my bed, alone. School is a cause for dread. I don't want to go back and endure another day of Capitol propaganda. I don't know how the instructors tolerate it. They have no choice. After the trouble I got into, skipping a day would surely raise the heat further, so I have no choice either.
Nothing makes sense. I can't tell if I should stay mad at the Capitol or if it's even possible to calm down while the Hunger Games are ongoing. I don't know what to do or whether there is anything I can do.
Now, Katniss has a friend in the arena that has saved her life twice. A friend she may have to kill, but a friend no less. It's a minimal solace, although any solace is helpful. My entire family could use a great deal more.