I'm in shock for the short ride to the train station. Effie prattles on about useless, silly things, and Uriah at least pretends to listen. But I stare out the window, and all I can see are my woods and my bow. All I can hear is Gale's laughter and Prim's sweet voice and the mockingjay's songs. I miss the gray, the comfort, the goodness of Abnegation, even though I never deserved any of it.
Or did I? Did I volunteer for Prim because I loved her and would rather die than see her hurt, or did I volunteer for more selfish reasons? And have I made it worse for her and Mom, because I won't be around to provide for them anymore? What if they starve? I've seen it before- children dead on the side of the road, because their families weren't able to feed them. The official cause of death is exposure, but that fools no one.
As we pull into the station, I see Uriah watching me from the corner of his eye.
The peacekeepers haul us out of the sleek silver car and march us onto the train. Maybe tributes have tried to escape in the past, but I've never seen it happen. Most people just accept the death sentence that is handed to them. Most of the victors are the ones that don't.
I think I catch sight of Gale in the crowd, and then he's gone.
It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the brightness of the train car. Everything is made of gorgeous mahogany and blue velvet, and a long table to the side is laid out with fancy, unfamiliar foods that I would never have been allowed to eat back home. A man and a woman who look to be in their early twenties sit on a low, luxurious couch, along with a boy whose face I know all too well. Peeta Mellark is only sixteen, and he would have had our Choosing Ceremonies on the same day if it weren't for the fact that I'll be dead in a week.
It wasn't that I was surprised that Peeta won the Hunger Games last year (although I was.) Peeta is from Amity, the faction that values kindness. I wasn't sure he had a victor's bloodlust in him. My real surprise lay in the fact that this was the boy who saved my life a few years ago.
It was during the worst time, a few months after my father died. The money that the government had given us as compensation had run out, and my mother was expected to get a job. But she didn't. She sat in the kitchen staring at the wall, or more often huddled under the bedclothes, unable to move. I cooked and cleaned and tried to take care of her and Prim as best as I could, but it was no use. We were slowly starving to death.
That particular day, I had been trying to sell some old baby clothes of Prim's, but I had no luck. I was passing the bakery on my way back home, empty handed yet again, when I smelled the bread baking. I couldn't resist lifting the lid of their trash can just to see if they had anything- stale, moldy loaves even. Things nothing but my family would be desperate enough to eat.
It was depressingly, heartbreakingly bare.
I heard a commotion at the front of the shop, so I hurriedly dropped the lid and hid behind a tree. I saw the baker's wife, a mean, pinched woman, chase Peeta out of the shop and strike him on the cheek.
"Feed it to the pigs, you stupid boy!" she shrieked. "Nobody in their right mind would buy burnt bread."
She stood in the doorway glaring at him as he ripped a chunk off of one of the loaves and tossed it to the animals. She didn't spot me as she turned and went back inside the shop, but Peeta saw me. He waited to make sure she was gone, then tossed first one loaf, then the other, in my direction and ran back inside. Breathless, unable to believe my luck, I gathered up the loaves and hurried home. We had fresh bread for dinner that night.
The next day, I tried to find Peeta in the schoolyard to thank him. I saw him with the town kids, a purplish bruise blooming on his cheek. He met my eyes for just a second, and then turned away. That was when I saw it- the first dandelion of the year. A bell went off in my head.
Prim and I gathered dandelions in the Meadow until the sun went down, like my father taught us. The week after, I ventured into the woods to hunt on my own.
If it weren't for those loaves, we would have starved to death.
All this flashes through my head in an instant as I sit down in a chair, facing the three victors. The woman gives Uriah a slight smile, which he returns. She's wearing the black clothes of the Dauntless. So is the man. He turns to me, sizing me up, and I squirm a little in my seat.
"I'm going to find Haymitch," Effie says brightly. "He's probably in the bar car." She saunters off, and the sudden silence is almost frightening.
"I'm Tris, and this is Four," the woman says. "We're your mentors for the Games."
"Four?" I ask, perplexed. "What kind of a name is that?"
"The kind you get among the victors for winning your Games in four days," Peeta replies casually, resting his feet on the table.
Now I remember. This must be Tobias Eaton, victor of the 67th Hunger Games. He won because of his amazing strength and his refusal to give up, especially in the final showdown between him and a District Six boy. They say his guts were spilling all over the ground and he almost died anyway. But here he is.
Four glares at me, and I notice his eyes are dark blue, a strange color. Tris gives him a look and takes his hand, and he relaxes his posture and turns away.
The door to the train car slides open and Haymitch Abernathy, the oldest living Victor from Twelve, strides in, bringing with him the strong scent of alcohol.
"I miss anything?" he slurs. Then he vomits all over the beautiful carpet and falls in the mess.
I should help- I shouldn't be thinking about myself. But I can't get past my disgust at his drunkenness. My father abhorred alcohol, claiming it made people violent and stupid. I can't say I don't agree with him.
I get up to grab some towels, but a pair of Capitol servants have beat me to it. I sit back down, and I see that Peeta is watching me, just like he was when he threw those rolls.
My time has run out, though, and I doubt even Peeta Mellark will be able to save my life twice.