All of District 12 rides on a knife's edge of excitement for the Games. Each class, some of the work time is taken up by the broadcasts. The rule change excites everyone because our little, insignificant district is receiving so much attention.
Katniss, we observed, spent the morning combing the creek for Peeta, knowing that the one thing he must have access to is water. Food is tough enough to miss, even if you're used starving. No one can go without water for a week though, especially with a sliced-open leg. Katniss couldn't know about Peeta's condition, could she?
She searches down stream and at some point she must have come across him because when the screens come on at lunch, Katniss has Peeta propped up against a big rock, has cleaned the mud off to catalogue his wounds. He's burnt and she applies the burn ointment. He's stung and she spits leaves on the stings, the way Rue taught her. He's scratched all over and bruised. Peeta's rib cage is a scrawny canvas of bright white and purple-blues.
I get my meager food tray, sure that I won't be eating. Madge isn't anywhere to be seen. Absent. I decide to sit with Alabeth and two other girls my age.
Katniss' focuses her attention on Peeta's upper body. She's afraid to look at the slashed leg which is still plastered over with mud. My sister's terrified of wounds, injuries of any sort. She can't stand to see someone's body bent in ways it shouldn't be or to see limbs that are hacked deeply. Most kids are the same way because of the Games.
In the moment it doesn't bother me very much to see people who are hurt, although I suppose that's because Mom has showed me how to help those people. So many miners need help with smashed fingers and puncture wounds. At some point your stomach just stops turning and you do what you can to help. Sometimes the images will haunt my mind later on.
Maybe Katniss and I are just opposites. I can't stand seeing animals hurt as she hunts them and she can't stand seeing people hurt as Mom and I heal them. Really what matters is the reasoning for the things we do, in the instance that we do them.
On the screen, Katniss gives Peeta some pill from a first aid kit that used to be Marvel's. Katniss tries to get Peeta to eat some meat, and he refuses. He's very sick if food isn't enticing. I doubt he's eaten for days. Katniss manages to get him crunching on a few dried chunks of apple. Then, blatantly reluctant, she starts probing at his leg.
I try to eat, myself, and fail. My stomach twists closed with worry at what Katniss will find, how she'll react, and the verdict of doom the bad cut certainly spells for Peeta. Every single moment, I have to overcome my emotional torment, or else the Hunger Games will get me outside the arena before they get Katniss within.
She peels his shoes off and the dirty socks, then tries gently to remove his pants. None of the kids in the lunchroom snicker. It may be funny to our immature minds except that Peeta looks like a weakly-speaking skeleton. The fact that he's pounding on death's door because he loves Katniss weighs heavily on all the students.
They know it anyone can be chosen for the arena. If twelve-year-old Primrose Everdeen with no tesserae can be selected as a tribute, then any of these boys and girls can wind up in Peeta's place with no one at all to help them. Glancing around, most kids still have measly servings on their trays.
Peeta's pants are off and the cameras zoom in on a gruesome shot of Peeta's leg. The muscle just below his undershorts is cleaved right in the front of his left leg, down to the bone. Mud and grime and cloth and skin and various dried body fluids shiver with each heart beat in Peeta's cagey chest. It's badly infected and swelling, needs stitching and probably serious surgery that even Mom can't do. Peeta needs a real doctor with real anesthetics and probably blood transfusions too. Definitely blood transfusions.
Kids in the lunchroom reject their meals, their appetites diminished by the savage laceration. It's not just me today. Katniss' face turns a faint green like she's about to vomit with nausea. Peeta grimaces at her, "Pretty awful, huh?"
She looks away shrugging, "So-so. You should see some of the people they bring my mother from the mines." Katniss only sees some of them, usually high-tailing away from injuries. She's doing much better with Peeta though, which is good because he's not going to survive much longer with out serious assistance. Katniss might be able to help him last a few more days at best, if she can get him to eat.
"First thing is to clean it well." Strong antiseptic must be worth a dozen fortunes, this late in the Games and it's the only thing that could give Peeta a fighting cha-
"Primrose?" A teacher behind touches my shoulder. "Honey, there are some men here who would like to interview you." Behind her, there's a man with a weird looking camera and another man holding a long black stick with microphone hanging at the end. "Can you slide out so they can talk to you about your sister?"
"But I'm watching her right now, Mrs. Hornbeck," I whine.
"It'll only take a minute, dear." She waves her hand beckoning for me to get up.
"But lunch is almost over. Can't it wait until then?" My pleading is still pitifully over the top.
The man with the stick steps forward to Mrs. Hornbeck. "It's alright. We can get some shots of her and the others watching the Games, while we wait."
"Alright, fine. Primrose? Just answer honestly and try to smile some, ok? Then get to class when they say you're finished."
"Yes, Mrs. Hornbeck." I turn back to the screen. The cameraman turn on a light that casts my shadow on the cafeteria table.
"And then you'll patch it up?" Peeta asks, on screen, his voice amplified through the cafeteria so abnormally quieted.
Katniss cleaned his leg some. It could use a lot more work. Several rags for soaking up the blood and puss, a gallon disinfectant, and a hundred stitches or so are essential. None of that is available to my sister as she struggles to keep life from slipping out of Peeta. "That's right. In the meantime, you eat these."
Peeta struggles to eat the dried pears. More supplies from Marvel. Katniss opens up the first aid kit which is woefully inadequate. Not even a tourniquet, although a tourniquet isn't going to help Peeta at this point. The blood flow to the leg is well enough clamped by infectious swelling. It's not looking good for the baker's son. At least Katniss will try to help. I wonder if it makes a difference, dying near someone you love rather than by yourself. Peeta's not done for yet, I tell myself, despite everything I can see.
Katniss speaks slowly, "We're... going to have to experiment some." She tries the leaves on the cut and soon, pus begins to pour out of the leg. More signs of infection. If I knew what was in the leaves, I'd know whether it would help, but the liquid isn't a good sign. So much pus grosses my sister out. She half wretches wiping away the secretions.
"Katniss?" Peeta gazes at Katniss, his face weak from exhaustion. "How about that kiss?"
Katniss laughs hysterically as my mouth drops open. She's so awful at treating anyone with a wound! I swear, if she ever got a broken arm in the woods, she'd run away screaming in horror and never come back! I love my sister, but she seems so wimpy around people who are hurt.
The bell rings and the kids file out, some of them stuffing the dry food they didn't eat into their packs to take home. Others try to cram down the remainder of their lunch. No one throws anything away. We don't throw food away.
I had never even heard of an expiration date until I saw the weird little numbers printed on the cardboard stands for the expensive cakes at Mr. Mellark's bakery. Such a strange idea, that food could go bad.
I know Lady's milk would sour after two days if we don't use it or sell it, except that never happens. Once, Katniss scolded me when she found a jar of milk in the back of the cupboard that I had forgotten about. That was the worst she ever lectured me.
The screen shuts off remotely and I turn around to face the two men from the Capitol. The one with the camera has spiky hair dyed blue-green at the tips. His arms are covered in shimmering, intricate tattoos and his clothes are gaudy by District 12 standards.
The guy holding the microphone-stick-thing is dressed more to fit in. Nevertheless, he couldn't possibly fit in here. He's fat! His stomach pushes out his shirt like three inches and his cheeks are puffy! I can't see any bony parts on him at all and he's wearing makeup, besides. He looks alien.
He's also wearing a pin that's another knockoff of the mockingjay pin Katniss wears in the arena. To them, it's nothing but a fashion emblem. Many people in District 12 have made rudimentary copies to wear. This one is much nicer.
"Okay, ready to get started?"
I nod and then say, "Oh, wait, let me see if my hair is ok."
"Ya look fine, kid," the fat man says as I rush over to a window anyway and fiddle with the bow in my hair. Good thing I wore my nice blouse today. I check to see if there are any food stains. None. I eat carefully.
The Capitol would probably want to dip me in makeup and dye my hair. I accept that I look good enough that Mom will like what she sees. Then I realize I'm going to be on television again.
The last time I was on the broadcast, I thrashed about screaming and having a fit, almost assaulting Gale. Suddenly nervousness sets in. When I sit back down my hands fidget with my narrow waistband until I have to fold them, trembling in my lap.
"Ok, I'm just going to ask you some questions, alright? Just look at me, pretend the camera isn't here and you'll do fine. Are you ready?"
"Yes." My voice squeaks out nervously.
"Why don't you start by telling us your name and how you're related to the tribute."
The tribute... Does he even know who the tribute I'm related to is? "My-My name is Primrose Everdeen. And Katniss is my sister. My big sister." I nod to confirm the information for myself.
"Ok, kid... Primrose, just relax. Alright? Just like you're talking to one of your little friends."
The light glares in my face and my body shivers under stage fright. I don't know what it is. It never bothers me to read in front of the class, or even do a math problem at the board. Yet, I'm terrified of the audience staring at me through the camera lens. These interviews are always recorded and edited, not live like the ones with Caesar in his lighted suit. I'll probably be so awful they won't use any of it in the replays.
"Relaaax, Primrose, breaaathe." The fat man speaks gently and the trembling declines. He must have a lot of experience with these interviews, calming kids with that soothing tone. "Ok, Katniss volunteered for you, can you tell us how you felt about that?"
"Awful." My voice is still shaky, even if improved.
"You felt what about what?"
"I felt... just awful when Katniss volunteered for me. I didn't want her to go."
"I remember you were quite distraught," he quips. I can't see if he's looking at me because the light from the camera is too bright. The spiky-haired man slowly shifts around to get different angles of me answering. "Can you tell me how you felt when you saw her enter the Capitol?"
"I was amazed. The fire on her costume made her so beautiful! I was really proud of her that day, but it really hurt because I was selected and she wouldn't have had to go if it weren't for me." It still hurts.
"Fine, fine. You're doing good. What about when she mentioned you in the interview?"
"Same thing, proud and sorry at the same time."
"Can you tell us in your own words?"
"Didn't I use my own words?" I blurt out and my face flushes with embarrassment. Now, I remember how these interviews go. The clips are just the friends and relatives of the tributes saying everything. You never hear the person asking the question.
"Can you try again, Primrose?"
"Yes." I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "When I saw Katniss at the interview, I was really, really happy that she looked so beautiful and that she said she was going to win for me." I dare a smile, hoping I don't look foolish or crazy. I leave out the part about feeling at fault. I try not to think that anymore.
"Wonderful. You're doing great, kid." I can see the fat guy, smiling fatly. It's dim wherever the camera light has left spots in my eyes. "How about that score she got? Were you surprised by that?"
I almost blurt out that Katniss hunts so I knew she would get a decent score. Now, that would be foolish. "Kat-..." I take a moment to construct my response. Gale still hunts. The Capitol can't find out about it, especially since the local Peacekeepers let it slide. Wouldn't want lenient Peacekeepers replaced with a strict alternative.
"It was really surprising to see my sister get an eleven in the scoring. I know she can be strong when she needs to, but that's such a high score..." My hands wave in front of my face incredulously. "I just can't imagine how she got it!"
My interviewer chuckles, "I've wondered that, too." Good. He's laughing, that's a positive sign. "Alright, now, you've seen her do a lot in the arena. Are you surprised at anything she's done?"
"Well, I've mostly been stressed so it kinda all blurs together, mostly. Oh, except, today she's been treating Peeta and I know she's not very comfortable with injuries so she must really want him to live. And I do too. Peeta's a good boy."
"Why do you say that?"
"That Peeta's a good boy?" The interviewer beckons for more articulation. "Oh, sorry. I actually know Peeta Mellark some. I have a goat and I sell Lady's milk, er goat's milk to Mr. Mellark who is a baker. Peeta's very nice and I hope Katniss can make him better."
"Marvelous! What a small world this is, huh?" The fat man asks the cameraman who only grunts in reply. "Now, Primrose. There are a lot of people in the Capitol and even in the other districts who are rooting for Katniss to win. Is there anything they should know about her that they should sponsor her for more gifts?"
"Well, she could probably use more food and medicine for Peeta." The interviewer motions again. "Uhm, Katniss is so wonderful. People should just know how sweet she is, even though-"
I start over again with a deep breath. "Katniss can use that bow really well. It's like she's a natural, even though she's never shot a bow and arrow before! And she'd do anything for me and she's going to win the Games this year."
I feel good finishing that statement. It's a nice measure between confident and hopeful. People don't like arrogance, at least not in District 12. Maybe they do in the Capitol. I don't know.
"Splendid! You did great, kid. Make sure to watch the replays tonight, okay? There will be special segments for the interviews over the next few days and nights so keep watching."
The two men shuffle away to a pair of double doors. The cameraman switches off the light. I turn to gather my bag and tray when the fat man calls for me. "And Primrose?" He's out the door and hanging his chubby face back in, a genuine smile plastered across his skin. "Good luck to your sister." And then he leaves.
That wasn't so bad, I think. Maybe they'll even use some of it. I think of all the times I didn't respond in proper format. They'll have to cut the video up a lot. Some of it might make it into the broadcast. If I can get Katniss just one more gift, it was worth it.
I hurry to class and my wish is granted with the television turned on. At least the Games are so riveting we don't have to listen to the same old lectures. All the not-knowing was rotting at my conscious mind.
Katniss is helping Peeta crawl into a narrow space underneath rocky crags by the creek. It's almost a cave, as though water pulled the dirt out from underneath a huge stone face or eroded its base over time. It's deep. So deep, Katniss can crawl into the space with Peeta, and sit up as she layers pine needles onto the dirt.
She works Peeta, delirious from the pain of moving, into the sleeping bag. I don't know how far the cave is from Peeta's creek-bed. It couldn't have been all that distant. Moving him is very risky. Everything is risky at his stage.
My hopes for Peeta's survival are rapidly diminishing. He's just… too weak. I've never seen someone that far gone come back and Katniss doesn't have expertise or even passable remedies. She used to gather medicines for Mom and me. Actually, she may not know very well what leaf or stalk or juice or root is good for what ailment.
Peeta stares intensely at Katniss, every bit of his energy studying her as she attempts to camouflage the cave entrance with windy vines. It begins to look halfway decent before she rips down the weave in disgust. Peeta's condition, as well as her own hunger, pain, and emotional trauma are taking a toll on my sister.
The injured boy calls out Katniss' name. She kneels down beside him, the shot jumps to a different angle capturing both their faces. She brushes her hand over his forehead as he whispers, almost inaudibly, "Thanks for finding me."
Katniss' hand lingers on his forehead. His fever must be brutal. "You would have found me if you could." Katniss' expression begins to deteriorate.
Then Peeta says, "Yes... Look, if I don't make it back-"
"Don't talk like that. I didn't drain all that pus for nothing." Someone in the classroom gags.
"I know. But just in case I don't-" He's so weak. She has to know it won't be long now.
"No, Peeta," Her voice soothes with a gentleness she had always reserved for my own distress. "I don't even want to discuss it."
Peeta tries to talk again but Katniss kisses him, stunning everyone in the classroom. Gasps rise up from twelve-and-thirteen-year-olds. It's not the way Mom and Dad used to kiss. Maybe it's just that Peeta is too weak and feverish, or more likely, neither of them have kissed anyone before. I'm surprised too at my sister's sudden gesture of affection and then it's over.
Katniss looks away from him speaking forcefully. "You're not going to die. I forbid it. Alright?"
Peeta's reply is barely discernable from the gentle rustle of leaves. "Alright."
The screen shuts off and the teacher begins the class.
At the end of the school day, an announcement is made that school has been canceled tomorrow so that the kids could stay home and watch the Hunger Games. That doesn't happen either, so this seems to be a year of firsts. The first tribute from District 12 to score over a nine, the first love interest within the arena that pre-existed the arena, and for the first time a chance for two victors to emerge.
Before long, Lady is milked and I head right back out of the Seam. I've neglected to make cheese for the past few days so I left some extra milk at the house for that. Gale, also in the business district, waves to get my attention, "Hey, Prim!"
He towers over me, when I draw near. "You want to help me gather a little in the woods tomorrow? I know Katniss probably wouldn't want me to take you out there. There's just so much to bring back, I could really use an extra pair of hands to carry a few more bags."
My eyebrows rise without a word, and Gale insists, "I'll be there the whole time, Primrose. You'll be fine." Still I hesitate, from my mounting fear of the woods and all the roaming beasts that lurk beyond the fence. "We won't even hunt. Just gather. What do you say?"
My shrug is forced, "Why not? As long as we don't have to kill any animals."
"No hunting, I promise. See you tomorrow morning?"
"Alright, see you then."
He calls back after me, "Oh, and gather up Katniss' bags, ok?"
I put away my anxiety and rush off to make trades, then linger at the Mellark bakery. The boys are pleasant enough to talk to. Mr. Mellark even gives me a sugar cookie!
Though we don't talk much, he's always had a special connection with me. Sometimes I think he wanted a little girl too, having only three sons. I blame his wife, the mean, old hag. She's mean to everyone, particularly Mr. Mellark.
Allen asks what I think of Peeta's condition, given my experience in the apothecary shop. Even though I don't want to answer truthfully, I really don't want to lie and tell him that it looks good. "Well, the broadcast didn't show much, enough. I couldn't see how bad off he really is." They know it's a bluff. Everyone leaves the subject alone.
I head off to one of the restaurants in the square, a place that always pays very well for goat's milk. On one of the screens I can see that Peeta is awake and Katniss is helping him empty a pot full soup. Hot soup can work wonders on a hungry body and it does stay down very well, usually.
Consciously, I decide to believe that things are looking up, even if the odds are still against Katniss. They're no longer astronomical and she may even be able to bring Peeta back, if he can just hold on while she takes care of the other tributes.
Somehow that thought doesn't seem right. Despite my sister's scowl, I can't picture her actually hunting the other four tributes down and shooting them with the bow. But then, it horrified me when she stalked and shot that rabbit. There are things in her I don't comprehend. I have no idea how the next few days will turn out. I just dare to hope and hope feels good, risky as it may be.