A/N: edited 23/12/14
Chapter 3: The Preparation Chamber
Katniss
I feel like a complete moron. I'm running to school, my braid thumping against my back, and the only thing I can think about is how I acted last night at the dinner. I acted like a complete girl- laughing and dancing with Peeta and making jokes. I barely know him, and just because I'm his partner, it doesn't give me the right to haul him up from his seat and practically force him to dance with me.
He looked completely bewildered.
Once I'm through the school gates, I duck down and sneak past the patrolling hall monitor and into the empty school corridors. As I hastily pull my schoolbooks from my locker and slam it shut, I feel a smile on my lips. I have to admit I had fun last night with Peeta.
"Miss Everdeen, why are you late?" Effie Trinket asks as I attempt to open the door as quietly as I can and sneak to my desk.
"I… overslept." I say softly.
Effie frowns. "Sit down," she says, tapping her claws on the clipboard she carries 24/7. I roll my eyes and sit at my desk at the back of the room. It seems she has changed her tune since yesterday. Madge shoots me a small smile of reassurance.
"Now, then, students," Effie says, turning around and writing on the board with big loopy writing. "Now that you're all here, I would like to formally introduce you to Haymitch Abernathy." She smiles and looks to her left, where a grumpy-looking man sits in the corner of the room, his feet propped up on a pile of books.
"'Mornin'," Haymitch grunts, scanning the class with bleary eyes.
"He looks happy to be here," Madge whispers.
"He looks like he's drunk."
"He probably is," she replies with a grin. I face back to Effie.
"Today is the first day of your time in the Training Centre," she continues. "Mr Abernathy will be taking the boys, and girlies, you'll be with me!" She claps her hands together, seemingly unaware of the looks of annoyance on the faces of her students. Madge and I wait until Peeta and Mitch are gone with the rest of the guys before beginning to talk while Effie sets up at her desk.
"Do you like Peeta?" Madge asks me, tucking a strand of curled blonde hair behind her ear.
"Yeah, I think I do," I say with a small smile. "But I'm not sure if he likes me."
"Why'd you think that?" Madge frowns.
"Last night I acted really… un-me. He looked bewildered, probably thinks I'm crazy or desperate…" I sigh and cover my face with my hands.
"Did you see his face last night?" Madge exclaims. "Yeah, he looked surprised when you actually agreed to dance with him, but I saw the massive grin on his face," Madge pats my arm. "He likes you Katniss."
"Whatever," I mumble. Madge shakes her head. "You and Mitch were getting on well."
"Yeah…"
"You didn't have any awkward silences."
"I know…"
"Or comments about sexual tension," at this and my disgruntled expression, Madge bursts out laughing. "What's so funny?" I demand.
"Oh, come on Katniss! It was hilarious!" Madge giggles, her cheeks pink.
"It wasn't," I say. "It was humiliating."
"It's not like there's actually any tension between you two… especially sexual," she pauses, eyeing me. "Or is there?"
"Madge. There isn't any sexual tension of any kind between Peeta and I."
"Sure, sure," she waves her hand in my face dismissively. I bat it away as Effie begins talking.
"Ahh, now that all the boys are gone, we can begin!" she laughs says with a serene expression. Why is she so jolly now? Is it because the boys are gone? "For the next few days, you'll be told about the Baby Games and what they entail. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me or Haymitch!"
The lesson drags on, filled with Effie's incessant giggling and endless questions from Marlene about silly things. When the school bell rings and we're sent to break, I'm nearly pulling my hair out in frustration.
"Well, we've only got one more lesson for the games for today," Madge shrugs. "Double maths will be… a break from all this."
"Ugh. I can't handle a double lesson of Effie, then a double of maths, and then back to Effie again," I groan, resting my chin in my hand.
"Well, you better get used to it, we've got a whole nine months ahead."
"That doesn't make it any better," I mutter. Madge laughs.
I can't understand why we have to do this. Nine months of Effie Trinket and Haymitch Abernathy and pretend babies and people in general is going to be hell. How am I going to survive this? Effie herself is like Delly Cartwright times one hundred. Compared to Effie, Delly is calm and almost at a normal level of cheeriness, and that's saying something when you think about how Delly always has a smile on her face and gives out hugs without needing an explicit reason to do so.
Peeta worms his way back into my mind when Madge heads to Higher Mathematics and I continue down the corridor to Basic. Once seated at my desk, I think about what she said said. I can't imagine Peeta liking me. He's a blonde townie with tonnes of friends and a great personality, and I'm a scrawny Seam brat who always sees the bad side of everything.
Peeta Mellark and I, we're like chalk and cheese.
"I didn't know you were in Basic Maths!" I look up and see Peeta standing beside my desk, his blue eyes wide.
"Yeah, I'm stupider than they first thought," I shrug, playing it off, acting as if I wasn't embarrassed when the head teacher waltzed in and told me – in front of the entire Higher Mathematics class - that I was being downgraded to the easier class because I hadn't passed a single exam during last year.
"You're not stupid," Peeta says, sitting beside me. "Well, I don't think you are." He offers me a small smile and I press my lips together. What is he doing?
"The teachers put me in Higher first, but when it came apparent that Maths wasn't my strong point, they dumped me here with these losers."
Peeta looks surprised. "Losers?" he repeats, clutching at his heart and looking wounded.
"No!" I exclaim, shaking my head once I've realised how my words must have sounded like. "I mean that some of the other kids in here are losers and not that you are a loser…" I trail off. Why am I completely incapable for forming words around this boy?
"I was joking, Katniss."
"Oh," I say, my cheeks reddening. "So, why are you here?"
"Because I'm the worst at Maths."
"But you work at a bakery," I say. "Shouldn't you be a great mathematician?"
"I should, really, but that's why there are calculators," Peeta grins. I roll my eyes.
"If only I was allowed to use one in exams," I say dryly. Peeta pulls his workbook from the bag he's dumped beside him and flips to the page the teacher instructs us to, opening a thick pad of paper and writing the date in the top right corner.
"So, if Maths isn't your strong point, what is?" he queries, tapping his pencil on the desk.
"I don't really have a strong point at school. I suppose Gym, but I'm pretty useless otherwise."
"Gym?" Peeta asks. I nod. "I'm not surprised. You know, with you hunting and all."
"It's a real shame they don't allow archery," I joke.
"That would be unfair on everyone else," he frowns, but laughter sparkles in his eyes. I feel my insides twisting, but not in a bad way.
"What about your strong point? Working at the bakery must be strenuous."
"It's not gym."
"What's your is it then?"
"Nothing, it's silly," Peeta mumbles, sitting back in his chair. I frown, feeling the mood change.
"Tell me, Peeta. I won't laugh unless it's ballet or playing the harp," Peeta stays silent. I clap a hand over my mouth. "You play the harp?"
"No, I-"
"Ballet?" I ask, disbelieving, trying to imagine Peeta twirling around like the dancers we see on the mandatory shows screened by the Capitol. Somehow his overly broad shoulders don't fit into the image in my head.
"No!" Peeta laughs. "I like to draw and paint."
"Are you any good?"
"No, I wouldn't say so."
"Draw something," I suggest. "And I'll be the judge."
"Draw what?"
"Draw a… dandelion," I realise what I've said and look down at the desk. I can feel Peeta's eyes on me, a thousand different emotions flashing over his face. I'm instantly catapulted back in time five years.
'Cold… Hunger… Prim.' These three words spin around in my head; round and round like a rhyme, continuously reminding me of how I'm letting my family down. No. I'm not the one letting my family down. My mother is. I know that she deserves to be sad after Dad's death, but now she's completely abandoned her two young daughters. She doesn't do anything anymore. She just lies there, staring at things we can't see.
I wish my Mom would come back.
I'm brought to my senses when my boot plunges into a deep puddle, soaking my foot. I plod on, squelching through the mud and rain, Prim's old baby clothes clutched in my hand. I'm desperate now; I think I'll do anything to get even a bit of food back home. Prim's gaunt body haunts me, forcing my aching limbs to drag themselves forward, demanding that I ignore the way my stomach is eating at itself. I won't be able to handle coming home with nothing to line our bellies with. She'll try her hardest to hide her fear and disappointment, but I'll be able to see it in her eyes.
I give up on attempting to sell Prim's old clothes, and when my frozen fingers can no longer grip the tattered fabric, I watch the clothes fall into the mud. Someone else will find them and claim them. Stumbling through the town, the rain bouncing off the completely empty cobbled streets, I take to rummaging through the bins like an animal. I'm shivering as I reach the bakery, praying that this bin will have some burnt bread at the bottom.
Something.
Anything.
A thin cry escapes my lips when I pull the metal lid off and find it empty, the shiny silver tin mocking me. The metal clanks noisily, and the chain attaching the bin to the house wall clatters. I crawl to the apple tree outside the Mellark bakery, curling up against the rough bark, drenched to the bone. As the icy rain comes down in sheets, I wrap my arms around my skeletal knees and wait for death to take me under.
And then I hear shouting and look up. It's the baker's wife. The District Witch. She's shouting at me to get off her property before she calls the authorities and I make no effort to move. I haven't got the energy. She storms back inside and I hear a loud bang, just before the door slams shut.
More shouting, but this time I'm not the one being shouted out. Peeta Mellark stumbles out onto the decking. I flinch when his mother's hand connects with his cheek. She screams at him some more and he simply hangs his head in silence. When he sees me however, he falters and stares for a second. I can only imagine what he's thinking.
It's the Seam girl. Looking like drowned rat. Starving and staring with empty eyes. Does he think I'll tell on him, or does he think I'll be dead before I can speak?
And then to my utter surprise he rips the burnt pieces of the loaves off and throws them to the pigs before checking behind him one last time and throwing me the bread. He disappears into the house without another glance back at me. I sit there, dumbfounded, before scrambling up from the mud and shoving the loaves up my shirt.
I run home, the bread burning my stomach, and for the first time in a week, I eat something other than boiled mint leaves. I even convince Mom to eat a slice. The next day when I was at school, I saw the golden-haired boy from across the yard. The boy that gave me hope. He turned and catches me staring for a second before looking away but I still the results of his mother's anger. The red welt on his cheek and his black eye will be passed off a being rowdy with his siblings or walking into a door, but everyone knows that isn't the case.
And then I see it. The first dandelion of the spring. I know how I am going to survive.
The teacher calling my name brings me out of my thoughts, and I gasp for breath like I've been underwater. Peeta gives me a concerned look.
"The answer please, Miss Everdeen," I blink and look at the board. The long equation stares back at me and I have no idea what any of it means. If it were written in my language – in terms of trade value or information about plants and seasons and how to skin different animals – I'd ace this class. But the numbers stare at me, completely foreign.
"I'm sorry, I don't know," I mumble. The teacher frowns but moves on.
"I'm finished," Peeta whispers from beside me. I look down at his workbook and my jaw falls slack.
"Wow! Peeta… this is amazing!" I say, pulling the book closer and staring at the sketch.
"It really isn't."
"I feel like I could pick it up! It looks so real," I whisper, touching the sketch lightly, afraid that I'll smudge it.
"Thanks, I think." Peeta murmurs.
"It's definitely a compliment," I say. He begins to rip the page from his book and I slam my hands down on the page, stopping him from tearing it any further. "What are you doing?!"
"Have it," Peeta says, pushing the page towards me. "Think of it as a gift."
His words echo Madge's last night. What is with people giving me things recently?
"I can't-"
"Yes you can."
"Peeta, I-" I trail off, relenting, and he slides the page between the leaves of my own book with a timid smile. Yet another thing I need to repay him for.
Peeta
As the teacher sets us twenty algebra questions to answer, I lean back in my chair and smile. Beside me, Katniss leans over her workbook, tongue stuck out with concentration as she attempts to draw a straight line freehand. After her sixth try results in a wobbly curve, she cries out in anguish and rips the page out, squishing it into a ball and shoving it into her pocket.
"Do you want me to do it for you?" I ask her, and she glares at me. "You're gonna rip out all the pages if you keep on like this." I explain, taking her book and drawing a straight line.
"You're an artist. It's easy for you," Katniss grumbles. I laugh.
"I've got a steady hand. Icing cakes for nearly ten years requires a lot of concentration."
"Show off." This causes me to laugh again and Katniss narrows her eyes before returning to her work. She spends the rest of the lesson trying to draw a straight line like mine but makes very little progress. When I tell her that she should stick to drawing circles, she threatens to shoot me with her bow and arrow.
At lunch, we sit at our respective tables. I can see her talking quietly with Madge Undersee, twirling the end of her braid with her fingers. After such a good lesson sat beside her, it feels wrong to be sitting across the cafeteria.
"Dude, are you drooling?" Mitch asks me, bumping me on the shoulder as he sits down.
"Huh? What, no!" I reply, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and looking at my friend.
"I was kidding," Mitch smirks. "But if you keep staring at her like that, she'll get a restraining order."
"Like you haven't been fawning over Valerie for the past two months."
"I have not," he says indignantly.
"Yeah you have!" I retort, pointing at him. "And now you've suddenly started flirting with Madge."
"Is it obvious?"
"What are you two talking about?" Delly asks, leaning on my shoulder and smiling brightly, a ray of sunshine disguised as a person.
"The games," Mitch blurts out, which isn't a complete lie.
"Oh, how do you like your partners? Bron seems okay," Delly says, brushing a lock of blonde hair from her face.
"Madge's cool," Mitch mumbles dismissively- the complete opposite of what he was says half a minute ago. I give him a knowing look and he raises his middle finger at me.
"Peeta?" Delly asks.
"Katniss is nice. We seem to be getting on okay."
"I'm glad," Delly grins. "I'd hate for anyone to be paired with someone they despise." For the next twenty minutes, Mitch and I are stuck listening to the other girls complain about their partners. Delly tries to stand up for people, even the ones she doesn't know except for in passing, but it's pretty clear that the rest of the girls on our table don't share her views about everyone being with satisfactory people.
"Poor Marlene, I can't even begin to imagine how upset you must be!" Kaytee cries. Marlene applies another layer of lipstick before replying.
"This is the most important project of my life, and I've been paired with a Seam brat!" she snarls, her words contorting her pudgy face. "It's a disgrace th-"
Mitch leaps in to stop Marlene's complaining. "Coal seems to be getting on well with his partner though," he pipes up. Everybody glances at the two people at the end of the table. "Hey, lovebirds!" Mitch calls, and Coal, the aptly-named son of the District Mine Coordinator, pulls his lips away from Scarlet, the grocer's eldest daughter, whose cheeks have flamed bright red.
"What are you trying to do? Swallow each other?" Kaytee cackles.
"You're jealous," Scarlet retorts. "You've never even kissed a boy." It's now Kaytee's turn to turn red, but not with embarrassment, but anger. I pick at my lunch and try to drown out the sound of Coal trying to reign Scarlet in before she rips Kaytee a new one. Not that anyone minds. This table holds a curious group. My only real friends are Delly and Mitch, and over the years other 'popular' Merchants have joined us. It's unintentionally become the main table in the cafeteria and every day I wish that I was sat somewhere else, with someone else.
Lunch finally ends, much to my relief, and I escape the room as quickly as I can. Mitch and Delly not far behind. "I thought that would never end!" Mitch exclaims as we round the corner to head to our lockers. We dump our books and folders and switch them out for ones that we need, and then head for the main hall where the reaping and dinner was held yesterday.
There's already a lot of students in there when we arrive, milling around a chatting, while Effie Trinket runs around the room like a headless chicken. Haymitch, on the other hand, seems perfectly fine with standing by and watching.
"Line up! Line up!" Effie squawks from the stage, her hair – it has to be a wig – falling to one side. "We need to be on schedule!"
"Oh, keep your wig on Trinket!" Haymitch grunts from the doorway. I watch as he looks around and the room for prying eyes before digging into his pocket and pulling out a small, silver flask. He's halfway through swallowing down whatever he has in there when his eyes meet mine. I hastily look away and hear him laughing under his breath.
"Manners!" Effie screeches in the microphone.
I spot Katniss and Madge sitting at the back of the hall up against the concrete, deep in conversation.
"Mind if we join you?" Mitch asks. Madge's laughter cuts off and she gives us a guilty look before nodding for us to sit down. Katniss scowls at her friend and Madge laughs again, widening her eyes meaningfully before turning her attention to Mitch.
"I think Mitch and Madge are gonna be more than Games partners." I whisper to Katniss, watching as the two blondes speak.
"Mitch likes her?"
"Uh-huh," I nod. "But you didn't hear that from me."
"And you didn't hear from me that Madge likes Mitch." Katniss says, holding he hand out for me to shake.
"Deal," I chuckle, taking her hand in mine.
"Welcome to the Preparation Chamber!" Effie says enthusiastically.
"This is the school hall, not the 'Preparation Chamber'," Katniss scowls from beside me. "I think all the product she uses is slowly turning her insane," she says, scrutinizing the Capitol woman in front of her.
"Now, I'm sure you're all dying to know what the Preparation Chamber is!" Effie says. The hall stays deathly silent. Effie's smile doesn't falter though, but I can see in her eyes that she's irritated at the lack of response. Surely she should be used to it by now, after years of having the same response? I admire her passion, though. It takes a lot to deal with grumpy teenagers year after year, especially so far from her home. "Over the next hour and a half, you'll be asked questions about your partner, and, at the end of the Games, you'll be asked again to see how much you've learnt!"
"Thank you, Effie," Haymitch says gruffly, pushing the woman aside, not even flinching at the daggers she shoots at him. "Get into your pairs and we'll sort you out from there."
Everyone begins to move around, finding each other or staying put if they're already together. It's clear who's getting along and who isn't, which only makes the next hour more entertaining as we listen to our fellow classmates stumbling over questions about their partners. I don't blame anyone. We've only been paired for just over a day. How can they expect us to know each other's life stories? Coal and Scarlet, however, come out on top, firing off answers with barely any hesitation.
"You two sure know a lot about each other," Haymitch says suspiciously. "Are you sure you aren't brother and sister or something?"
"Would a brother do this to his sister?" Coal says slyly, grabbing Scarlet and kissing her. Bron whistles from across the room.
"You'd be surprised," Haymitch mutters, motioning for the next pair to step onto the stage. Time passes relatively quickly after that. Mitch answers a decent amount of questions about Madge, and vice versa and I begin to feel confident in myself, right until Katniss and I are called up onto the stage. I almost trip when I go to sit on the wonky stool beside her and can feel my heart racing. I glance at Mitch, who is staring up at me with a grin on his lips. I don't know what I'm going to do.
I know so much about Katniss- being in love with her for most of my life has allowed me to get to know a fair amount about her. What I need to do is to get the balance right. If I reveal too much I'll end up looking like some crazy stalker, but I also don't want to make it look like I'm ignorant or hurt Katniss' feelings my pretending that I know nothing about her.
"Okay then, lets gets started!" Effie smiles. Haymitch takes the mic - much to everyone's relief- and begins firing questions at me.
"Name?" he begins, looking up from Effie's clipboard.
"Peeta Mellark," I state, wringing my hands. Haymitch lets out a peal of laughter, clutching at his stomach.
"Her name, not yours!" he says, pointing a gnarled finger at Katniss, and laughter rings out from around the hall.
"Katniss Everdeen.," I amend, fighting my own laughter, looking over at Katniss who covers her mouth with her hand.
"Age?"
"Sixteen."
"Date of birth?"
"May?" I pretend to guess. I know it's May eighth as I remember her father carrying her home on his shoulders on her sixth to tenth birthdays, a small crown of woven flowers upon her head. They would visit the bakery and buy a cookie – a cookie I would always make sure was the biggest and most beautifully decorated.
"Correct." I can feel Katniss' eyes burning into me. "Family?"
"Mrs Everdeen, and Primrose. Her younger sister."
"Father?"
"Deceased." I say quietly.
"Also correct."
Five minutes pass and I pretend to not know the answers to just over half of the questions. They're silly questions, anyway, like their favourite colour, hobbies and school grades. I wonder how they school knows all this. The favourite colours of their students aren't normally shared between teachers and pupils.
"Now then, Miss Everdeen. It's your turn," Haymitch finally says. I breathe a sigh of relief and look at Katniss.
"Name?"
"Peeta Mellark."
"Age?"
"Sixteen."
"Date of birth?"
"December twelfth." Katniss says, looking down at her knees.
"Correct. Family?"
"Mother, Father and two brothers."
"Hobbies?"
"Wrestling?" She answers. I smile to myself, something warm and fuzzy filling my chest.
"Correct." Haymitch nods, clearly impressed. Katniss' eyes flicker to me for a split second and I smile at her. She looks away again, but the corners of her mouth lift up.
"I nearly said painting, you know," Katniss says as we exit the hall at the end of the day. "Instead of wrestling. For your hobby question."
"Thank you for deciding not to," I say, my body tensing at the idea of the beating I'd get if Mom found out.
"How did you know that my birthday is in May?" she asks as we're pushed out of the school doors by a wave of students.
"I can remember you coming into the bakery each year with your father to buy a cookie."
"And you'd always give me the nicest one."
"How did you know?"
"I could see you pushing the best cookie into your father's hand every time we went," Katniss grinned. I look away, embarrassed. "But you needn't worry. I've always traded the best squirrels with your father." My mouth drops open.
"You shouldn't have." I mumble. Her family should take the best food. Not mine.
"And you didn't need to give me the best cookies. I'll see you tomorrow." Katniss dismisses gently, walking towards her little sister waiting under a tree. I continue heading towards the gates, considering what she's said.
"You played it well, my friend," Mitch slaps me on the shoulder as he catches up to me, jolting me out of my own head. "I don't think she suspected a thing."
"Good."
"But she knew a fair amount about you."
"We've traded for years. I'm wearing my wrestling jacket. I'm like an open book." I shrug it off.
"Books still need to be read, buddy," he replies once we reach the point when our routes home take different paths. "And I have a feeling she's been reading yours."