I wasn't even finished eating my breakfast when Effie hauls me up from my chair.
"Hey!" I say, sputtering chewed apple bits all over the table. "I'm not even finished yet!"
"There's a lot of time for eating later. For now, I'm going to teach you how to dance." Effie says, dragging Peeta and me to the center of the living room.
"To what?" We say at the same time, looking at her like she's lost her mind.
"To dance, my darlings. You've been invited to a very exclusive event, and we can't have you messing up when the whole of Panem is watching you." She huffs in exasperation.
Because of the ball, our interviews have to be done a day earlier. They'll start at three in the afternoon, and by six we'll have to be at President Snow's mansion. So instead of a full day of preparation, we now only have eight hours.
To say that Effie was a harsh teacher would have been the understatement of the century. Our allotted time for the dance lesson was two hours, and she had us working down to the last minute. After all the twirling and swaying and stepping on each other's toes sprinkled with Effie's constant reprimands, I was surprised Peeta and I made it with our feet (and ears) intact.
Peeta sat next to me, dropping himself loudly on the couch. "I think my feet just gave out."
"Then imagine how wonderful it felt wearing this." I say, raising my foot up to show the four-inch heels Effie lent me.
He chuckled, reaching for my leg. Before I had time to register what he's doing, he takes my foot to his lap and removes the shoe. "Give me the other one."
I stare at him while he removes the second shoe. He's such a tender, kind-hearted person and an all-around gentleman. We may have not known each other well back in our District, but I always knew he's a nice person. Giving me the bread five years ago is proof enough. And now that I've gotten to know him more, how would I have the nerve to kill him?
He's got my feet on his lap, for heaven's sake. At the rate we're going, I won't even be able to pluck a single hair from his head in the arena.
Our moment of silence was shattered when our whole team came bursting through the elevator. Flavius wasted no time, picking me up from the couch bridal style, Octavia and Venia on his flanks. I only had enough time to look at Peeta and see him mouth the words 'good luck'.
My team works on me till lunch, giving me exactly ten minutes to eat before they take me to the living room. This is where the finishing touches will be done, since Peeta and I asked to be coached together. Haymitch arrived as Octavia was painting my nails, and while Peeta has no trouble answering his questions, I definitely have. Let's just say I don't have the charm or the allure to draw people in. Towards the end of our coaching session, Haymitch even called me a dead slug.
That hurt, by the way.
At exactly two o'clock Cinna appears with a green garment bag that sure contains my dress. He takes me to my room and asks me to close my eyes while he puts the dress on me.
"You can open your eyes now." He says as I step on my shoes, which are, thank goodness, two inches lower than the ones Effie made me wear this morning.
Wow. That's all my brain can process as I look at myself in the mirror. Wow. I may not be the girliest girl in Panem, but damn, Cinna made me look, and feel, beautiful. "Oh, Cinna. Thank you."
"Twirl for me."
So I raise my arms and spin, the movement making it look like I'm engulfed in fire.
"Perfect. Now all we need is a smile." He tells me as my prep team stops shrieking in excitement.
"Haymitch called me a dead slug." I say as he dismisses my team. "Whatever we tried, it just didn't work. I'm sorry, Cinna. I think I just threw all your hard work out the window."
He takes my cold, shaking hands in his. "Here's what you do: when you answer the questions, just think that you're talking to a friend back home. How does that sound?"
I consider this for a moment "Well.. Gale already knows everything about me. It doesn't make sense."
"How about me? Could you think of me as a friend?" He asks me and I nod. "I'll be on the main platform along with the other stylists. When you're asked a question, think that it's me you're talking to. Answer as honestly as possible, okay?"
"Okay." I say. My hands are trembling now.
"Remember, they already love you." He says as he hugs me. "Just be yourself."
My interview went better than expected, thanks to Cinna's advice. It was because of him that the people loved me so much. With his fiery costumes, he made me memorable. But it was his little tip that helped me make myself unforgettable.
Peeta did well on his interview, too. Despite being the last one to come up, he held the attention of the audience with his natural humor and easygoing attitude. And with his revelation of an unrequited love for a girl back home, he totally won the Capitol's heart.
All twenty-four of us were ushered back to the bottom level of the Remake Center as soon as our interviews finished. Only now, there aren't horses and chariots waiting for us, but twelve cars.
Twelve sleek, elegant black cars that are totally unnecessary, since the president's mansion is only about twenty blocks away. But then again, this is the Capitol. Excess and superfluous is what they live for.
Cinna, Portia, Effie, Haymitch and our prep teams were there waiting for us. They all congratulate us for doing well in our interviews.
"You guys did great!" Effie babbles excitedly while my prep team retouches my make-up and rearranges my dress, "Katniss, darling, you are just gorgeous! Keep up the cheerful smile, okay? I can almost see sponsors lining up for you!"
"Thanks, Effie." In her own, Capitol-bred, simple-minded ways, Effie made me feel like I did a great job. Unlike some people standing there who told me I'm as romantic as dirt. And yes, I'm referring to Haymitch.
"Well, you two better get in now. Remember, heads high and smiles." Portia tells Peeta as she straightens his coat.
"Off you go. We'll meet you there." Cinna tells us as he opens the door of the car.
The ride was just like the Tribute Parade, but shorter since we'll head straight into the mansion instead of going around the City Circle. Tons of people still lined up the streets, though. Our windows were left open, so I guess we have to wave and smile and blow kisses at them. Again.
We finally stop at the President's mansion, the huge mahogany double doors wide open. Photographers and cameramen occupy the marble stairs, a plush red carpet laid at the center.
"Ready?" Peeta says, offering me his hand.
"You think?" I smirk at him, placing my hand in his.
Smiling, Peeta pushes his car door open, revealing cameras flashing as soon as we got out of the car.
If possible, the crowd's cheers grew wilder. Cinna's right. They totally love us. Suddenly I can't help but feel a little elated; their screams of support and adoration encouraging me. Why should I count myself out of the Games now?
Two men dressed in all black suits lead us to the ballroom. The ceiling must be at least forty feet high, with murals of angels and goddesses decorating it. Enormous, golden chandeliers illuminate the entire room, their crystals glinting and throwing off bits of light. A grand, two-way staircase is on the opposite side of the room, leading the way to the balconies upstairs. Up there, one must have a great view of the dance floor in the center of the room.
A hush falls over everyone as President Snow stood on the center of the staircase.
"Good evening everyone. As you all know, this is a very special event for me and my family. Tonight marks the sixteenth birthday of our sweet, darling Andromeda, who we all watched grow from a little girl to a beautiful young lady. I want to personally thank all of you for coming tonight, especially our guests of honor, the tributes of the 74th Hunger Games for celebrating this milestone with us. So without further ado, I present you my granddaughter, Andromeda Snow." The crowd bursts into a round of applause. I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly isn't anything like the girl who was descending the stairs.
The sparkling bodice of her midnight blue strapless gown was shining against her alabaster skin. Her hair, dark as a moonless night, cascades in soft curls down her back. Against the soft, regal glow given off by the chandeliers, she looked entirely flawless.
"She's beautiful." I tell Peeta, still in awe of the girl. She doesn't look anything like a typical Capitol citizen. No alterations, no tattoos, no artificial enhancements. Just her and her natural beauty.
"I know." He says, and I'm not exaggerating when I say his mouth was hanging open.
As Andromeda reached the center of the stairs, she takes her grandfather's arm and they make their way to the dance floor, signaling the first dance. A richly dressed middle-aged couple, Andromeda's parents I suppose, joins them after a few moments. More and more people start to dance. I spot the District One tributes, waltzing their way to the dance floor.
I was just about to tell Peeta that maybe we should start dancing now when he blurts out, "Well, shall we?"
He pulls me to the dance floor with our still entwined hands. It's amazing how just a week ago we couldn't even say a word to one another, and now we're holding each other's hand like we've been doing it all this time.
"I thought I'd never say this, but I'm thankful Effie put us through that dance lesson this morning." Although it was somewhat traumatic, it sure made us look decent swaying on this hardwood ballroom floor.
"Despite it being life-threatening, yes. I'm grateful for it too." A goofy grin crosses his face. "Speaking of Effie, she told me it was Andromeda herself who requested our presence here tonight." He tells me. My eyes search for the girl and I spot her a few feet away from us, dancing with District Two victor Brutus.
"Really? Why did she? I mean, it's like she wants us to steal her spotlight on purpose." I say, looking at Andromeda as I try to figure her out. Up close you'll see that she has minimal make-up on. It's not like she needs much, anyway. She's already stunning, in every sense of the word.
I'm suddenly very intrigued about her. Being the President's granddaughter, she has a right to be more flamboyant than anyone else in the entire Capitol. But she isn't. Instead, she's as simple as a Capitol citizen can be. You can see it in her, not just in the way she looks, but also in the way she acts and presents herself. She's steady, sophisticated and elegant, with a quiet kind of confidence that draws people in.
I was distracted from my musings when Effie taps Peeta on the shoulder. She leads us to the bar on the right side of the grand staircase. There stood a young couple, probably in their late twenties, sipping their drinks and laughing with each other.
"Katniss and Peeta this is Anthony and Carissa Montaigne. And they are your first sealed sponsors." Effie says with a triumphant smile.
Ecstatic as we are to have so many potential sponsors lining around the block, it's very tiring to talk and smile and mingle with every single one of them, even dancing with some. There are also celebrities, victors and even government officials that our escort didn't mind introducing us to. When she's finally satisfied that we've done enough mingling, Effie leaves Peeta and I to look for Haymitch.
"You know what this means, right?" Peeta utters after a few minutes of silence.
"What?" I tiredly ask him, downing my third glass of wine.
"Dinner is served." He grins.
I almost forgot about the food: the great, delicious, mouth-watering food, laden in tables lining up the walls of the ballroom. We are currently at the southern part of the room, the heavy, magnificent oak doors just a few feet to our left. The tables near us were filled with soups and stews and salads and breads, I didn't realize how hungry I am till I see the divine looking lamb stew waiting for me.
I was about to get some when Peeta catches my wrist. "Let's take a look at the other tables first, shall we?" In other circumstances, I would've punched him for holding me back. But right now he actually has a point so I just follow him as he makes his way east.
The banquet here is a whole different story: different kinds of sea creatures were made into a thousand different dishes, from grilled salmon to lobster thermidor to calamari. It's like the ocean itself was brought up from its depths and served here. I help myself to four of the yummiest looking ones before we move on to the other side. Here, it was Peeta who almost did a touchdown dance in excitement. The western banquet was filled with everything meat. Cows, pigs, goats, fowls.. you name it.
"Hey Katniss, check this out." He says, holding his fork out to me.
Before anything else, I have to admit I felt a little giddy when Peeta spoon fed, okay, fork fed me the chicken. I really need to get over myself.
Anyway back to the chicken. It's roasted, served with potatoes and an array of green and blue beans. As I took a bite, the taste of a hot, sultry summer with the right amount of spicy rushes to my mouth. I know it sounds weird, but that's pretty much how it tasted to me.
"Good?" Peeta asks me. I can only nod in assent.
We were halfway to our journey in the dessert banquet when my district partner suddenly stopped on his tracks.
"Peeta? Are you okay?" I ask him while devouring this chocolate roulade.
"I think I'm going to be sick…" As if proving his point, his face starts to take a sickly shade of green.
"Oh no. Washroom. Now." I push him forward, taking a clear, tiny wineglass from his hands. I ask the bartender where the men's room is, and he gladly points to the edge of the bar. Sure enough, a gilded oak door stood at the corner.
Peeta's halfway inside when he turns to me. "It's okay, Katniss. I can handle myself. Go back to your roulade. I'll be there in a minute."
Not like I can argue. Nor do actually I want to. "All right."
Stepping away from the dimly lit corner, I go back to where my precious roulade was waiting for me. I look at the people buzzing around the room, and thankfully no one notices District Twelve's little mishap.
I was at the bottom of the staircase when I spot a familiar, platinum blond woman making her way down the stairs.
"Portia!" I run up to her.
She smiles when I fall into step beside her. "Katniss. Where's Peeta?"
"Oh, he's in the men's room. He took a sip from this clear drink that seemed to be in every damn table then he got sick." I tell her.
Her forehead furrows a bit. "The ones in tiny, stemmed glasses?"
"Yeah, that one. Is it alcohol?" It most likely is, and I've seen enough of Haymitch's puke-fests to back up my theory.
Portia's answer, however, was entirely not what I expected. "No. Its sole purpose is to have everything you just ate make a reappearance."
My jaw almost dropped.
"Seriously? I mean, people do that?" Come on. Are people here really that sick? Panicking, I hold out a bubbly drink I the bartender gave me a while ago. "This one's safe, though. Right?"
"Capitol people do that. That one you're holding is champagne, so yes, it's safe. How much did he have?" She asks, concern evident on her features.
"Almost half a glass, I think. Uhm, have you seen Cinna?"
"Yeah, he's upstairs, but he's very busy. Your fiery debut at the Parade made him a star overnight." She tells me. There's no hint of envy in her voice, it even sounds like she's very proud of him. "Well I better go check on Peeta. He probably needs moral support."
I chuckle a little as I watch Portia make her way to the other side of the room. She really cares for Peeta the way Cinna cares about me. Somehow, our stylists made me believe that at least two people in the Capitol are decent.
I finish my roulade, then moving on to some pink éclairs. Strawberries, I bet. It tastes so much like a portion of the cake Cinna had ordered the night of the Parade. Somehow, it also goes great with the champagne.
I was about to get another glass from a passing waiter when a hand darts out and takes two glasses, handing out one to me.
"Katniss Everdeen. Finally." He says.
I look up, only to see none other than Finnick Odair smiling at me.