Chapter 23: Training and Interviews

We reach the Capitol the following day. The media is all over us, which surprises me until I remember that Haymitch is technically the reigning champion of this Quell thing. Bond and I meet our stylists, and we are whisked away to get prepped. Every inch of me is scrubbed, and for a moment, I let my thoughts wander to how I used to wash Katniss while she was pregnant with Riley.

No, I tell myself. Don't think about them now. You have a job to do.

Before I know it, I am being hustled over to a stable just beyond the City Circle. It is a petri dish of testosterone, with two dozen boys laughing, joking, occasionally rough-housing amongst the horses and chariots. It only reminds me about how all of them will have to die if I am to see my lover and daughter again.

Bond and I are ushered into our chariot. We do not acknowledge each other, and that is just fine by me. We don't have to be friends, and soon enough we're going to be enemies; might as well start that process now. Wouldn't be surprised if the little shit asks Haymitch to coach us separately.

We bring up the rear of the Tribute Parade, so I have already heard the cheers for the Capitol's favorite tributes and wonder, as we ride out into the light, how Bond and I will measure up. Our costumes certainly attract notice, and roars of approval split the air. Finally, we reach the Circle itself where President Snow gives a speech.

As soon as the anthem ends following the speech, Bond and I are practically yanked off the chariots by Haymitch and whisked into the Tribute Training Center, all the way up to the twelfth floor. Our mentor orders us to bed without so much as a high-five; we have to be well rested for tomorrow.

Haymitch isn't kidding, either, for Training begins the next day. Following his advice, I decide to learn something new without showing what I know well (that would be lifting weights and throwing heavy things). I take up fencing, using small broadswords, and find that I get the hang of it quickly. I am also pleased to discover that I'm a natural at throwing spears.

As I turn next to the edible plants section, trying to remember all the informal lessons Katniss would give me about which roots are poisonous and which are not, I notice a boy observing me from across the Training Center. Slick hair, round face and piercing green eyes behind rimmed glasses, he studies me almost like how a mathematician would study a complex equation.

He approaches me later at lunch.

"Do you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full."

"Not at all," I smile, and he takes the seat across from me. He offers his hand. "Martin Epstein, District 5, at your service, sir."

"Peeta Mellark." We shake hands.

"You're from 12, aren't you?"

I smirk. "Is it that obvious?"

"With a mentor like yours? Yes! Besides, he was the winner the last time they held one of these things."

If I were as suspicious as, say, Katniss when she has her guard up, I would wonder if he is just trying to learn secrets from me about how Haymitch won. But Martin seems friendly enough; just making conversation.

We swap stories. Out in 5, they harness electric, solar and nuclear energy. I tell him about the coal mines in Twelve, or at least, what I know from Katniss.

"….But that's for the poorer people in our district. I'm a baker, come from a long line of them."

Martin smirks. "Ah, if only the arena was a giant cake! We could get all the others to eat themselves sick and then just cut them open."

I chuckle, and the bell rings to return to Training. Martin sticks out his hand as I get up to leave.

"Allies in the arena?"

I pause. Haymitch did tell me to try and make some friends before going in, to lay the groundwork for possible allies later. I ruled Bond out, of course. But Martin…. I decide to go with my gut.

I shake his hand. "Sure."

Martin and I train together for the next two and a half days. We become quite close. At the end of the third day, we have our private sessions with the Gamemakers. I go second to last, before Bond - as there is no gender demarcation, we have been sorted by alphabetical order within each district.

That night, we stay up with our stylists, Haymitch and Effie to watch the scores broadcast. Martin pulls an 8, which is highly respectable. I pretty much zone out for the rest. Careers of Districts 1, 2 and 4 all score 10s. Low to medium for the rest, minus a standout or two.

"And now we have the handsome Peeta Mellark of District 12, with a score of….. 9."

Effie squeezes my arm in encouragement, beaming. "We can work with that!" she promises. Though he doesn't show anything on his face, I can tell Haymitch is pleased.

"And last but not least, Bond Spindle, with a score of…. 10."

He beat me, I think in almost disbelief. I chance a glance at my district partner. He doesn't look like 10 material to me, I think. But I decide to be as cordial as ever and offer a "Congratulations." Bond just smirks his thanks.

It's not going to be easy getting home alive to Katniss and Riley….

The next night is the last night before we enter the arena. That means our interviews with Caesar Flickerman. The Capitol's favorite TV host is the consummate entertainer, changing us mere tributes into celebrity superstars.

As with the training scores, I only pay cursory attention to everyone except for Martin. My ally is a ready-made comedian, leaving the Capitol audience in stitches as he banters back and forth with Caesar in a nerdy, quirky manner. I give him a thumbs-up as he returns to his seat.

Finally, I am called, second-to-last, as usual.

"And here is our most attractive tribute this year, I think: Peeta Mellark, of District 12!" The audience roars, and I can hear particular shrieking from the women. I just smile good-naturedly, adding a touch of bashfulness as I wave and take my seat next to Caesar.

The first part of the interview is about as funny as Martin's. When Caesar asks what my favorite thing about the Capitol has been, I say the showers (somebody in the audience lets out a fangirl screech at this moment). I then turn it into a running gag by asking Caesar if I smell like roses and we take turns whiffing each other. Caesar looks like he is ready to cry from laughter.

"Oh, no more, no more, Peeta, you'll be the death of me. Death by laughter!"

"If only we could all die that way in the arena!" I crack. "The Hunger Games Comedy Show!" The audience chortles in agreement.

"Now, Peeta, to shift to a serious topic: at the Reaping, our cameras picked up someone who was very distresssssssed….. that you were picked." He annunciates the 'S' before turning to someone out there in the darkness. "Roll the footage!"

At the back of the hall, I suddenly see Katniss wailing as she holds baby Riley close to her. I try not to show any pain on my face, not even any emotion. I can't see myself in the cameras to tell if my poker face is working or not. The replay ends.

"Sources tell me," Caesar continues. "that that's your live-in girlfriend. And the baby is apparently not even yours! Scandalous! Is that not scandalous, folks?" The crowd murmurs in agreement. "Tell me, young Peeta: who are they?"

I can see Martin out of the corner of my eye. He is studying the spot where the footage once was with that same, intense look on his face when we first met. His eyes shift to me. I swallow, turning back to Caesar.

"Her name's Katniss Everdeen. Her baby is Riley. And I love them more than anything. They are my family." I hear murmurs in the audience, sad whispers.

"It must be hard, being away from them," Caesar offers.

"You have no idea," I breathe heavily.

"They are obviously so important to you. Do you think they might be a distraction in the arena?"

"They're not a distraction, Caesar!" and I am barely able to keep my response within the bounds of exasperation, rather than shift into anger. To show rage might be seen as rebellious, and that's the last thing I need. "They're my family. And before you point out that they are not officially tied to me, I just want to say this: DNA and blood don't make a family. Only love can do that. And there is nothing I love more than my girlfriend, and my daughter. Nothing." I hiss the last word with intensity, then turn to where I know a camera is sure to pick up on me. "Katniss, if you're listening, kiss our child for me."

Little do I know that, far away in District 12, Katniss watches my plea from within the District Square. Not caring that all eyes are now on her, she plants a kiss on sleeping Riley's forehead.