VIII

The next morning I find myself wandering up to the rooftop terrace alone. The sky is dark, it's early even for me, but sleep has not been my friend of late. The breeze plucks at the shirt that's been glued to my back with sweat from the tortuous nightmares, and a shiver of cold or fear, I'm not quite sure which, runs up my spine. I lay down on the smooth asphalt and rest my head on my hands. It was a habit of mine back home to climb on the roof when I couldn't sleep and watch the stars. I'm momentarily puzzled as to why it feels so foreign now, why it feels so different here, besides the obvious, then it strikes me; the sky is almost empty of stars here, though it is a clear night. I sit up, frowning, and look around. The lights from the city are burning so bright, so continuously that the whole city seems to be glowing, the light leaching its way into the sky. As far as I can see, the sky glows with the light of the Capitol. They've stolen even the stars from me.
I doze for a couple of hours until the grey dawn breaks and I find myself entirely restless. By this time back home, we would all be hard at work, I would be getting a few hours of labour in before school. It's strange having this much time to myself with nothing to occupy my time or thoughts. My hands itch to be doing something, creating something even if it's just another loaf of bread. I shove them into my pockets and head inside to clean up for the day ahead.
I manage to not scald myself in the shower this morning, but I still haven't figured out the scented foam, and end up reeking of oranges. There are worse smells in the world, I suppose, and it is a step up from roses. I hope it's not too pungent. I quickly dress in the clothes left out for me. The sun has come up over the horizon, burning off the bit of mist that was engulfing the building earlier. I stare out the window a moment. A sound at the door interrupts my thoughts and I whip around to see Haymitch in the doorway. I quickly run through my list of options, both he and I knowing full well that he is blocking my only exit. I shift my weight to the balls of my feet, a subtle action in that in itself isn't aggressive, but will allow me to act or react quickly. The muscles in my back tighten in anticipation. For what, I'm not quite sure, but Haymitch has a hell of a punch and looks stone-cold sober, or as close to it as I've ever seen. He saunters forward cutting the distance between us in half. He raises his hand and waves me off in a casual manner. "Relax, kid," he says. "I told Effie I would come get you for breakfast."
I feel a little foolish, but I don't let my guard down. He hasn't proven to be all too trustworthy yet. "Fine. I'll be there in a minute," I say, walking over to the bed and snatching up my shoes. I sit down heavily while working the laces loose. Out of the corner of my eye I see Haymitch sit on the arm of the chair nearest to him, much like I did last night.
"I'll do my best," he says almost inaudibly. "To bring her home."
I look up, stunned. His grey eyes are filled with pain, an unknown burden of sorrow seems to hunch his shoulders forward. I nod and whisper my thanks. I've sealed my own fate for good now; I may as well have tapped the last nail into the coffin myself, but that doesn't matter.
Haymitch clears his throat and stands up straight, shrugging off the moment of weakness he's shown. His eyes become hard and unreadable once again, and I half expect him to produce a flask and take a swig while laughing at how gullible I am.
On our way to the dining room he slows his pace and makes a sound in his throat, I turn and look at him. The corners of his mouth are twitching. "Listen, I wanted to tell you before you saw for yourself and jumped to conclusions, just so you know it was our plan all along to embrace the nature of... teamwork... with our Tributes this year. Your shall we say predicament is pure coincidence."
Before I can ask any questions or have much time to wonder about what he means, I glimpse Katniss sitting at the end of the dining table. We are dressed identically; though her outfit is more form-fitting. I shoot a look at Haymitch who is deliberately avoiding me. Katniss is either ignoring me as well, or is so intent on dipping her roll in hot chocolate that she doesn't hear me say hello.
I sigh inwardly and fill my plate with an astonishing assortment of food. We're all so intent on our meals that nobody speaks until we are each full to bursting. Considering that we are starting three days of intensive training I immediately regret my overfull stomach. I push my plate away and regard my companions. Katniss is idly picking at a roll, apparently lost in thought. Haymitch's attention is on the flask he's just found in his coat pocket. He takes a long drag then plunks it down on the table next to him. He leans in closer to us, I can smell the liquor on his breath.
"So let's get down to business," he says. "Training. First off, if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now."
"Why would you coach us separately?" I ask, though we both know it would be for Katniss' benefit.
"Say if you had a secret skill you might not want the other to know about," he replies. I catch the inflection on the word secret and recoil inwardly.
I catch Katniss glancing over at me, we share a look. "I don't have any secret skills," I say. "And I already know what yours is, right? I mean I've eaten enough of your squirrels."
She seems startled at this for whatever reason, but she doesn't say anything about it, instead saying, "you can coach us together."
Haymitch looks at me and I nod my assent. "All right. So give me some ideas of what you can do."
"I can't do anything, unless you count baking bread," I say quickly. Once Katniss rattles off her resume of impressive skills, which she's learned from providing for her family for years, I will look even more inadequate. I've never hunted, though I've butchered animals here and there for our family. We got by on bread, of course, meat when we could afford it, and a small plot of garden that we kept out back, which was mostly filled with easy-keeping tubers such as potatoes.
"Sorry, I don't," he says back, though the tone of mockery I was expecting is absent from his voice. "Katniss, I already know you're handy with a knife."
"Not really. But I can hunt with a bow and arrow," she says. I worry for a moment about the Capitol hearing about her illegal activities, but Haymitch doesn't seem concerned in the least so I let it go.
"And you're good?"
"I'm all right," she says after a lengthy pause.
From anyone else it would sound as if she was brushing off her talents, fishing for praise. But this is Katniss, she truly is just that quietly modest. "She's excellent," I interject. "My father buys her squirrels. He always comments on how the arrows never pierce the body, she hits every one in the eye. It's the same with the rabbits she sells the butcher. She can even bring down deer."
A look crosses her face. Distrust. "What are you doing?" she says, seething.
"What are you doing?" I retort, slightly annoyed that I can't fully explain my motives, sure she wouldn't believe me even if I were to tell her the truth. I can't make her trust that I'm not out to get her. This isn't some game I'm playing to catch her up. "If he's going to help you, he has to know what you're capable of. Don't underrate yourself."
She looks miffed right back at me, convinced I'm up to something. "What about you? I've seen you in the market. You can lift hundred-pound bags of flour. Tell him that. That's not nothing." Her grey eyes are alive with fire.
"Yes, and I'm sure the arena will be full of bags of flour for me to chuck at people. It's not like being able to use a weapon. You know it isn't." I snap back at her.
She spins to face Haymitch, who is watching this exchange silently with a look of bemusement plastered on his face. "He can wrestle," she continues. "He came in second in our school competition last year, only after his brother."
For an instant I am speechless. I had no idea she paid me any attention at all, much less noticed me and what I was doing. I'm flattered, until I realize that she's just trying to best me at this game she thinks we're playing.
"What use is that? How many times have you seen someone wrestle someone to death?" I ask a little too harshly. Any of the holds and grabs I've learned over the years are good if you want someone incapacitated but still alive. I never learned anything remotely lethal. Even if two Tributes end up in a brawl, one usually has some sort of weapon be it a stone or knife, and they're the easy victors of those battles.
As if reading my mind, she says, "There's always hand-to-hand combat. All you need is to come up with a knife, and you'll at least stand a chance." She's nearly yelling, I'm not sure if she's noticed that she's not sitting in her chair any longer. "If I get jumped, I'm dead!"
I'm very suddenly angry right back at her. For someone so independent, so self-sufficient, she sure can have a self-defeatest attitude at times. I need her to believe in herself, believe that she can make it out of that arena alive. I'm angry that I know I don't stand a chance, and even if I did, that I'm happily throwing that away for her, and she will likely never know. "But you won't! You'll be living up in some tree eating raw squirrels and picking people off with arrows." My voice is full of quiet fury. If I can't convince her, maybe someone else can. I sit back in my chair and take a couple of breaths to calm myself. "You know what my mother said to me when she came to say good-bye? As if to cheer me up, she says 'maybe District Twelve will finally have a winner.' Then I realized she didn't mean me. She meant you."
Katniss guffaws and waves me away as if I'm lying to her. "Oh, she meant you," she says flippantly.
"She said, 'she's a survivor, that one.' She is," I say pointedly. This seems to catch her off guard. She swallows whatever she was about to say and studies me.
The fire, the fight goes out of her. Her voice is quiet when she finally breaks the silence, "but only because someone helped me."
I stare down at the biscuit she's rolling between her fingers, and am shocked back to a moment many years ago. It was a particularly miserable day in the middle of a particularly miserably rainy month. I knew that she had only recently lost her father in the mining accident that claimed so many lives. I hadn't realized how much they had relied on him to bring home not only money from his job, but also provide food from his hunts. Every time I saw her or Prim after that fateful day it seems like they had lost even more weight, which they couldn't afford to lose in the first place.
On this day, I saw Katniss wandering seemingly aimlessly down the street, holding a basket full of clothes. She looked lose and utterly destroyed. I looked away only for a moment, and when I looked back she was sitting in the mud, with whatever she had been carrying strewn about her. I don't think there's a person in District 12 that isn't farmiliar with the look of the dying, I knew she was close to succumbing to starvation.
My plan was far from perfect, but it really didn't need to be. I found the heartiest of breads that were baking, and made an elaborate show of accidentally knocking the pan into the fire. My mother came down on me like a hawk, screaming obscenities, and hit me so hard with her rolling pin that my ears rang. I collected up the burned loaves and took stock of them. Burned too badly for sale. Mother deemed them inedible and with another crack of the pin against my ribs, she screamed at me to feed them to the pigs. I went out back, and being very careful to not get caught, tossed the loaves to Katniss instead.
I will never forget the look on her face.
That was so long ago that I'm surprised she remembers, though I suppose you don't forget the person that proves to be a lifeline when you're that close to the brink. I can't help but recall after that encounter she seemed to come back to life, and became the provider for her family. It was nothing though, anyone else would have done the same for her if they'd had the chance.
I snap back to reality and force a shrug. "People will help you in the arena," I say. "They'll be tripping over each other to sponsor you."
"No more than you," she counters lamely.
I roll my eyes and look to Haymitch. He still seems amused at our bantering. "She has no idea the effect she can have." Embarrassed, I intently pick at a seam in the table.
There's a hint of beguilement to his voice when he finally speaks. "Well, then. Well, well, well. Katniss, there is no guarantee that there'll be bows in the arena, but during your private session with the Gamemakers, show them what you can do. Until then, stay clear of archery. Are you any good at trapping?"
"I know a few basic snares," she replies.
"That may be significant in terms of food. And Peeta, she's right," he says, snapping me from my brooding. "Never underestimate strength in the arena. Very often, physical power tilts the advantage to a player. In the Training Center, they will have weights but don't reveal how much you can lift in front of the other Tributes. The plan's the same for both of you. You go to group training. Spend time trying to learn something you don't know. Throw a spear. Swing a mace. Learn to tie a decent knot. Save showing what you're best at until your private sessions. Are we clear?" We nod our understanding. "One last thing. I want you by each other's side every minute."
Katniss just about spits she's so mad, and we both begin to object. Her, in earnest. Me, because it's expected of me and I don't want her to need to be tied to me. Once again I question Haymitch's motives, and if he truly did have this planned, or he's trying to punish or help me out in some twisted, backwards way.
He pounds a fist to the table and bellows, "every minute! It's not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I said. You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other. Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training."
Just like that we are dismissed. We head back to our rooms in silence. I can practically see Katniss fuming. I sigh and roll my eyes as she slams the door behind her.