VI

While the train was extravagant, it seems that the Capitol has spared no expense on the Training Center and attached Tributes' tower. I try to not gawk at the sheer size of the building, but it's hard not to when the biggest structure in your District is dwarfed by the one you're in now. I have a hard time taking it all in; there doesn't seem to be a square foot that isn't decorated in one way or another. Each District has entire floor of this massive building to themselves, which Effie tells us we are free to enjoy. I almost laugh at her words but catch myself in time to supress it into a cough. By the look Cinna shoots me, it's not convincing.
I turn my attention back to Effie who is ushering us into the elevator that's made entirely of crystal. I'd rather climb the twelve flights of stairs up to our floor than trust the weight of our group to this contraption. I'm herded on by the rest of the entourage and before I can even think of protesting, we are shooting up in the air. My stomach feels like it's dropped to the floor and I feel a little ill as we rocket upwards. I steal a glance beside me where Katniss is standing with her hands pressed to the wall, her face lit up in childish glee. I can't help but smile at this moment of innocence.
Effie is just ecstatic about the entrance we made – she says that she's positively tickled pink by our performance during the ceremonies. I exchange a look with Portia when it's clear she hasn't caught the irony of her statement. Portia as well as the prep teams look like they're about to bubble over with excitement, but Cinna is more reserved in accepting his congratulations. He's a bit of an enigma to me; by his normalcy and lack of flash and flair, he seems out of place amongst his colourful counterparts.
"And you two," Effie bustles, turning to Katniss and me. "My little stars! How wonderful you were, the crowd loved you! I've had my afternoon completely full in talks with as many potential sponsors as I could." She rattles off names and titles that I don't recognize or even care to remember. Cocking her head, she smiles too big at us. "And you looked so regal out there! Nobody could believe that something so captivating could have possibly come from District 12, considering what they're used to seeing!"
I can feel Katniss bristle at her words. I shift my weight uneasily, letting the snide comment slide off my back. I twitch the corners of my mouth up at her instead; years of practice have come in handy. She means well. I try to imagine what it's like to grow up in the lap of luxury where one doesn't want for anything. Where life is made up of social gatherings and your biggest worry seems to be matching your clothing to your skin colour. Or not. What makes up the difference between us is the disparity between life in the Capitol and life in the Districts. It's easy to let yourself be ruled when your ruler looks favorably on you. Unrest comes from inequality. If everything were equal, I'd venture a guess that we all aren't so different from one another. Perhaps if I were in Effie's shoes, I'd be just as concerned with manners as she wouldn't be if she were in mine.
"Of course, Haymitch hasn't bothered to tell me your strategies," Effie continues. "But I've done my best with what I had to work with. How Katniss sacrificed herself for her sister. How you've both successfully struggled to overcome the barbarism of your District."
I half-expect Katniss to go off on Effie at this point, and part of me is a bit surprised when she doesn't.
"Everyone has her reservations, naturally. You being from the coal district. But I said, and this was very clever of me, I said, 'Well if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls!'"
I cringe inwardly, but she's looking at us with so much enthusiasm and fervour that we can't help but let her have this one. Pearls don't come from coal, and I badly want to correct her before she goes on to tell anyone else that, but I know that would be the height of bad form and we've just managed to convince her that we aren't as backwards as she would think. So I bite my tongue and hope that the people she's telling are just as ill-informed as her.
"Unfortunately, I can't seal the sponsor deals for you. Only Haymitch can do that," she informs us, and promises that she will drag him to the table herself if she must. With that, she dismisses us. I am about to walk with her and Katniss towards the rooms when I feel someone catch my elbow.
"I need some fresh air," Cinna says. "Peeta, how about you join me?" His tone is not demanding, but I know that this is not an offer to be declined. I can't help but think how ironic it is – everyone else dresses in such bright colours, modify their bodies, and paint themselves to draw attention to themselves, and they can't hold a candle to the man in simple dress that exudes quiet authority. There's a balcony across the massive seating area, but Cinna leads me down a corridor and up a short flight of stairs which turn out to lead to the roof of the Training Center.
From the stomach-churning ride up the elevator and the glimpses I caught out the windows across the room, I knew that we were high up, but I was unprepared for this. My mind reels as it tries to make sense of the little specks I can see down at street level, which I realize are people and cars. I've never even imagined a building of this height; we're over a hundred feet in the air. My jaw drops as I look around and realize that this is one of the shorter buildings in the immediate area. I remember the texts from school well, and the coverage from Games past, but they haven't even come close to capturing the grandeur of the Capitol. The aptly named skyscrapers are dauntingly impressive. I can just make out the blue of the sky between the rows of buildings, which rise up like the bars of a jail cell around us.
Cinna comes over and rests his elbows on the railing next to me. "You know, you don't have to hang on quite so tight," he says, nodding at my white knuckles that have a death grip on the rail.
I laugh and loosen my grip. Barely. "We're a long ways up, I'm not sure I trust my knees to hold me if I let go," I admit. "I didn't think I was afraid of heights. My favorite place back home was up on the roof of our bakery. I used to watch the sunrise." I glance up, squinting against the late-day sun as it lazily works its way west. I can see the sky if I look straight up, too. For some reason that gives me relief.
The city sprawls out at our feet, and the wind is so strong that it pushes against my body with such force that I find myself leaning against it. A thought occurs to me. "Why do they let us up here? Aren't they worried that some of the spookier Tributes may just decide to end it all here?"
Cinna reaches his hand out, and not far past the railing encounters an invisible barrier that snaps at his fingertips. "You don't have to worry," he says. "This keeps you safe. You try to jump, it'll throw you back up here, albeit a little singed I'd imagine."
By the way he snarls at the word 'safe,' I don't have to wonder what his thoughts are.
While I can't imagine ending my life like that, I can empathize with the type of desperation, how trapped one must feel to come to that as an alternative to facing the arena. I have something to fight for; many others before me haven't, or thought that a death of their choosing was better than what horrors awaited them. The Capitol has made it impossible to even make that choice.
"I grew up not far from here, in a building taller than this," he says, jolting me from my thoughts. "My refuge was on the roof as well, though I watch the sunset. It wasn't until recently I re-discovered that dawn even existed."
"It's impossible to forget when you're a baker's son," I venture, Portia's unspoken warning still fresh in my mind.
"A friend of mine runs a pastry shop. The art that he can create never ceases to amaze me. I can barely boil water, and he can create these elaborate pieces from ingredients that refuse to work for me. Actually, with his familiarity with flambé, he had an integral part in designing the synthetic flame."
I'm reminded of the delicacies on the train, and have to swallow my jealousy. Cinna motions for me to follow him, and he makes his way over to a garden that I hadn't noticed before. The wind chimes tinkle furiously in the bursts of wind; it's less windy over here, but not by much. I quickly decide that I dispise the sound of the chimes, their metallic sound is too shrill and unorderly; too unnatural and fabricated.
"I'm sorry, Peeta, that you're here," Cinna says quietly, staring down at his hands. I realize that while it is safer to speak out here, with the wind to steal our words and the chimes to cover what isn't, we are never out of the Capitol's watchful eye. I'm about to reply when he continues, his voice low and only just audible. "It's amazing to think how different life is between the Districts. And yet we aren't all that different when we peel back the layers." He pauses and catches my eye. The only embellishment that he's allowed for himself is a bit of gold rimming his upper eyelids. Instead of being effeminate, the result is striking. "Does she know?"
I could play dumb, but what's the point? I feel heat rushing to my cheeks. "Is it that obvious?"
"No. I'm just that observant."
I nervously drum my fingers on the railing. "I think she had forgotten I existed until the Reaping," I concede. "We are – were – in school together, she barely acknowledged my presence."
"I'm sorry," he repeats.
I shrug, internally conflicted. It would be nice to be able to confide in someone aside from alcohol-saturated Haymitch. I'm suddenly very tired; my entire body feels like lead. "There's nothing to apologize for."
"I'm here to support District 12 in whatever way I can. I'm here for you too, not just Katniss."
I close my eyes for a couple of beats. "Her. It has to be her that comes home. She has a spark, Cinna, she's got a life to live and she isn't done yet. She has people back home that need her."
He nods his understanding. He doesn't try to argue a lost cause. "You aren't the first," he says quietly, taking a petal between his thumb and forefinger. "Being in love. About 5 years ago, the Tributes from District 5. The boy volunteered in order to support his girl. I'd venture that they weren't the first, too."
I try to remember that year, but after a certain point, the Games all meld together into one colossal nightmare. I don't know why I'm surprised, in seventy-some odd years, it was bound to happen. It registers that I wouldn't have had the courage to volunteer for whomever was called up along with Katniss; a surge of humiliation threatens to overwhelm me.
"It was never common knowledge; I only know because my mentor was their stylist. She quit after that Games, needless to say neither of them came home. They kept it under wraps. I think that was a mistake," his words catch me off guard again. He waits for me to catch on.
"A mistake," I repeat, chewing over the words. "You mean..?"
"Think about it, Peeta, who doesn't like a love story?"
"I don't mean to be skeptical, Cinna, but we're going to be locked in an arena where she's going to try to kill me. I'm not sure how a love story is going to help either of us at that point. Besides, the feelings are somewhat entirely unilateral."
"I am willing to bet that Katniss is smart enough to not throw away a gift handed to her," Cinna counters. I know his remark isn't meant to sting, but it does; further acknowledgement to what I already knew. "Think on it. At the very least, you could make her unforgettable."
I walk towards the railing that corrals one portion of the garden. I turn around and lean my back on the concrete and metal barrier. How cavalier I've become. The wind picks up the hair on the back of my neck and sends a shudder through me. "She doesn't trust me," I hear myself say. "She has no idea, not a clue. I'm really not sure how it would go over."
"Then you need to trust in her," he replies. He leaves me no room to argue. "Let's head back down before Effie comes and finds out my hiding spot." He strides past, squeezing my shoulder in reassurance. "Have faith, Peeta."

Haymitch joins us for dinner, looking as sober and presentable as I've ever seen him. The table is full what with all the teams present, so dinner chatter is pleasant enough and mind-numbingly monotonous. Course after course is served by attendants dressed all alike in white. They do not speak a word to us, and move about our table in an almost robotic fashion. I can hear Katniss talking from a few seats down and wonder at the inflection in her voice; it sounds off, too chipper. I'm about to make a remark when I see the half-full wine glass, and understand what's made her transform ever so slightly. I can't help but feel a little jilted, considering what we're going through with Haymitch.
One of our servers sets an extraordinary cake in front of us, and lights it on fire. The masterpiece is engulfed in surprisingly delicate flames for a few moments and it seems that just as quickly as they caught, they flicker out. Cinna has a knowing smile on his face.
"What makes it burn?" Katniss asks. "Is it alcohol? That's the last thing I wa – oh! I know you!"
She's staring at one of the attendants, who looks entirely panic-stricken. Katniss has gone pale, and looks alarmed herself. The girl shakes her head and practically runs from the table.
I'm bewildered, but everyone else is looking at Katniss as if she's lost her mind.
"Don't be ridiculous, Katniss. How could you possibly know an Avox?" Effie retorts. "The very thought!"
"What's an Avox?" Katniss asks, looking as though she wishes she could take back the question as soon as it passes her lips.
Haymitch speaks up, answering for Effie. There's a hard edge to his voice, and I can only hope Katniss picks up on its warning. "Someone who committed a crime. They cut her tongue out so she can't speak. She's probably a traitor of some sort. Not likely you'd know her."
My stomach turns at the thought.
"And even if you did," Effie quips. "You're not to speak to one of them unless it's to give an order. Of course, you don't really know her."
Katniss looks dazed. "No, I guess not, I just…"
"Delly Cartwright," I snap my fingers and blurt out the first name that pops into my mind, as if I know what Katniss is talking about. "That's who it is. I kept thinking she looked familiar as well. Then I realized she's a dead ringer for Delly." I will her to pick up on it.
"Of course, that's who I was thinking of. It must be the hair," Katniss says, relieved. The others still look skeptical, though.
"Something about the eyes, too," I interject.
Effie noticeably relaxes, which disperses the feeling of hostility surrounding the table. "Oh, well. If that's all it is," Cinna says, dismissing the topic. "And yes, the cake has spirits, but all of the alcohol has burned off. I ordered it specifically in honor of your firey debut."
I've managed to show some restraint through this extravagant meal and am very relieved when I don't feel terribly ill at the end of it. We gather around the projection unit in the sitting area to watch a recap of the Opening Ceremonies, which is being broadcast across Panem. There are other teams that look fanciful, some even remarkable, until we make our entrance. It is no contest. Every eye, every camera is trained on us. While it's obvious that they try to show all of the teams, we get more than our share of camera time. We are positively captivating. We have set the bar so high that it will be the one to beat for years to come.
"Whose idea was the hand holding?" Haymitch asks.
"Cinna's," answers Portia.
"Just the perfect touch of rebellion. Very nice."
His words make the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.