Judging by the number of red lights that disappear from the cameras, I guess that the Capitol is no longer broadcasting, but France doesn't notice. He's still making seducing faces to the screens, even though multiple people are trying to tell him otherwise.
I start to giggle. He's the most hilarious thing since Haymitch fell off the stage! But the chuckle gets caught in my throat. My hands tremble beside me, clenched in fists and balling the blue fabric. My knees are shaking badly, but Germany seems even more scared than I am.
To District 11 and the rest of Panem, when they were watching, he's cool, collected, the most level-headed Tribute this year. But to me, who has been living with him for years, he's freaking out. Germany has never gotten scared, even when the hovercraft appeared above us in the forest. But now, his eyes are wide, the blue color showing clearly when you can normally only see the middle and not the whole thing. His pants legs are shaking so slightly that it could be the breeze, but I know it's his knees.
He's scared. For the first time, my friend, Germany Beilschmidt, is scared. For the longest time, he's been the one constant thing in my life. When I got whipped for stealing a small, burnt loaf of bread, he was there to comfort me. He's afraid of dying, of killing people, of being killed.
I know exactly how he feels.
Before I can reach over to comfort him, I am fenced in by a wall of soldiers. I bite down on my lips to keep from yelling Germany's name as we are marched toward the Mayor's Hall. I get the feeling that we're prisoners, and my breathing starts to speed up, but I remind myself that they're just there for our safety. I'm not very comforted, but it's as good as I can do.
The street is silent as we are led up the steps to the Mayor's office. There isn't much of a hall, seeing as most of our money is spent on food and seeds for the fields. It's a simple, one-story, wooden building that sits next to the town square. Ivy climbs up the walls, and it's almost crumbling in some areas, but we barely get enough money from the Capitol to grow crops, so it's not like the mayor can waste some on his own building and put himself before his townspeople. Though he probably would if he could.
When we get inside, I start to stare around. I've never been in the Hall before, so it's a new experience for me. It even helps to take away some of the nerves. Against the far wall, there are two very grubby chairs that look like they haven't been dusted or cleaned in at least two years. The walls are covered in depressing wallpaper that has faded yellow stripes mixed with strips that look more gray than the black they were originally. On the strips of yellow, there are prints of a plant that I recognize from the fields as wolfs bane.
Appropriate.
The only person who wasn't at the Reaping, the Mayor's secretary, is sitting at the only desk in the room, sending Germany and me sympathetic glances from behind her square glasses that sit on the bridge of her crooked nose.
The guards hurry Germany into the Mayor's office and me into the room next to it. I think it's the meeting room for the Mayor, when he doesn't feel like using his own office for that. He's the only one in this District that has that much money.
I startle as the guards break formation, hustling out of the room. The door slams, and I'm all alone. The walls are decorated the same as the lobby, and there's a long, see-through table with a vase of flowers in the center. I walk over to the crystal vase, reaching up and touching the flower petals. There's a blue flower I realize is called "bluebell" and another one I know is a rose. I've seen them around the fields and in the forest, but I've never gotten to stop and smell them. I lean down to them, pressing my face into the soft blossoms, and inhale. It smells like the woods, like harvest, and like what a home would smell like, with family and good meals every night.
I am swimming in my fantasy when the Mayor comes in. He catches me with my nose in the flowers. I flinch, expecting to get hit or something, seeing as keeping a single strand of grain in your pocket is considered a crime, but instead, the Mayor reaches past me, plucking a flower from the vase and placing it behind my ear and keeping that unruly curl in check. It's the bluebell flower, and in a minute, its gentle fragrance reaches my nose.
"Don't cry," he says gently. I reach up to my cheek, pulling back a damp hand. I hadn't realized. I blush, which I seem to be doing a lot lately but mainly around Germany, and pull back. The smell that rolls off of him smells like sweat mixed with liquor. It burns my nose. "Do you have any family here today?" he asks me, gesturing me to sit in one of the chairs around the table. I take my seat, and he sits across from me. The chair is comfortable, but I sink down into it so far that I am nearly chest-height to the table. I should be middle height.
"No," I answer. It's the truth.
"Where are they?" he presses on, leaning forward. I don't reply. Instead, I avert my gaze and try to look sad. I guess it works, because he drops the subject. "No friends?"
"Not really…" I can feel my cheeks heating up. "Only Germany."
Mayor Baldwin's eyes widen in shock. "So there's a possibility that you'll kill your friend, or be killed by him?" He seems appalled at the idea, but I don't see why; it happens every year in the Games. I just nod, not trusting myself to speak. After a few moments of silence, he rises, leaving me to the silence of the room.
I get off the chair, thankful not to feel like I'm sinking in a sea of fluff. I look down at my skirt, trying to pull it past my knees, when a thought hits me. 'What if they discover I'm a boy? Will they replace me with a girl from the District? Will it be Seborga, like it was supposed to be? Will they force me to go along in the Games, or will they take me out and flog me for defying the Capitol? What if it's too late in the Games to take me out? What will they do then? Hide my gender from the rest of Panem until I'm killed? Will they rig something in the arena to kill me?' These thoughts run around in circles in my mind, and my breathing quickens. My heart is pounding in my ears, and my hands start to lose their feeling. A voice reaches me suddenly through the wall, muffled and hazy, but definitely Germany's voice.
"Don't be afraid, Little Italy." He calls me the nickname he's used so many times before when I get stressed out. His tone is calming and reassuring, and my heart slows a little bit. I allow myself to imagine that Germany is sitting right behind me, the only thing separating our backs being a think piece of drywall. I close my eyes, the feeling in my hands starting to come back a bit.
"Thank you, Germany," I say back. I'm not sure if he hears me, because the wall squeaks and I think he rises. I hear the door in his room open and shut, and muffled voices filter in, though I can't understand them. My door opens, too, and I shoot to my feet, keeping my dress pressed down with my fists. Seborga pokes her head around the door, her ear-length hair flopping around her head. Her green eyes stare at me as I beckon her in. Once more, I sink into the chair and she does the same next to me.
"Italy, why did you do it?" she asks suddenly. Her eyes are downcast, as if suddenly interested in the tan, woven rugs that littler the floor.
"You're my friend, Seborga," I answer, not wanting to tell her the truth. She might think I'm gay, which I'm not. "And besides, no one would miss me if I didn't come back." I say this matter-of-factly, because I think it to be true. I don't have any family here, the family I have back in District 12 isn't close, and Germany is my only friend. None of the other people in District 11 are really close.
Seborga seems to think differently. "No, that's not true. I would miss you…" she trails off, blushing. "I mean, I don't have the end-of-the-day whistle down yet. Who will teach it to me?" she asks, her green eyes boring into my blue ones.
"I can right now, if you want." Seborga still looks agitated, but she agrees. I whistle the simple four-note tune, pausing so she can repeat it. It's done perfectly. I'm not sure if she was lying to me about it; she seems so comfortable with the tune. Before I can ask her about this, the door slams open, and two guards bustle in, escorting her out.
Before the door shuts, I hear her shout, "Goodbye, Italy!" Then the door stands between us again, and she's gone. I settle down next to the wall again, staring at the opposite end of the room.
'Who chose the plant wolfs bane to decorate the room? I mean, isn't that just an omen of death? Just like the Hunger Games themselves?'
I don't have time to mull this over, because the door opens once more, and the guards hurry in, accompanied by France. He struts into the room, as if he is showing off his body to the highest bidder. I get the feeling I won't like him so much, but I decide not to let his arrogance get in the way of my perception of him. But the smell that rolls off of him is stronger than Mayor Baldwin's. His scent is like expensive wine, which has a sour smell by itself, and some exotic perfume that sends my nose to reeling. I try not to fall over as he comes nearer to me.
"How are you faring, little one?" he asks, his cheeks flushed with drunkenness. "You ready to get killed?" I know he's joking, but I can't help but take personally. For my eighteenth birthday, I dress up as a girl, my best friend gets picked for the Hunger Games, I volunteer to get slaughtered for enjoyment, and I get a drunken man nearly falling over me.
Happy birthday to me.