"Well, well, don't you look cute?" I pass Tosca on the way out to take in (to take on) my first stop on the tour. I offer a tentative "thanks" out of politeness' sake, but I don't feel it that deeply. I don't feel particularly comfortable with her (the rest of the camera crew haven't attempted much interaction with me, at least so far). I'm familiar with the other people comprising my team. Tosca is a stranger. …It's funny. I could take all the others in, but since the Games I feel a rising reserve toward unknown Capitol citizens. It's not the same in 4. Beyond these places, I'll just have to see.
District 12 does not strike me as a particularly welcoming or cheerful place. There's a grayish tinge to things that would be white back home. The mayor's smile is forced (it's not this detail, but how obvious it is that gets to me). I look at the people and see immediate echoes of scrawny Juna Bright and the tiny boy, whose name I don't remember. The population of 12 seems generally more homogenous to me than that of home, but it might be that I'm only seeing a particular selection of them or not looking long or carefully enough.
"How very…quaint," Apple declares their vaguely festive set up. There's some kind of harvest theme to the decorations.
"I like the pinecones," Aulie says. He's more sincere in his appraisal. "I wonder what the food they'll serve will be like. Do they have any good local liquor?"
"Don't get drunk at every stop on the Tour, dear," Apple lectures him. "I am not going to be responsible for dragging you along each step of the way. And we can't have you making Mags look bad! After all, you're a part of her team!"
"I like to think that I'm somewhat more responsible than all that."
I don't think District 12 is the kind of place you visit to go drinking for fun. …Not that I want to say you'd drink if you lived there. It's like that everywhere else right? It would depend on you. Some people are drunks back home.
Apple and Aulie bicker like siblings while the mayor points out a smattering of landmarks to me. This is town, that's the Seam, there are woods out back, and the mines are that way. It gives me the impression that District 12 is only a third, or even a fourth, the size of District 4- or that much of what counts for the district is actually underground in those coalmines. Maybe I would feel differently had I been born here, but I feel glad I wasn't. The idea of going down into the ground like that unnerves me then. And I can see it then- the Games in a mine. …Except the spectators would see as little as the tributes, wouldn't they? I don't want to engage with these thoughts any more than I have to. I try to think of other things.
An awkward session of speechmaking is followed by an awkward dinner. The mayor of 12 tells me that the wild turkey we're eating has been roasted and stuffed in a way so traditional that it predates Panem. Since people have had to eat since before the birth of civilization, I'm inclined to believe him. He is kind, in a stiff, self-conscious way.
The families of the latest tributes are singled out, the most somber members of a solemn assembly. They're probably being forced to stick around and eat just to make them even more uncomfortable.
I notice that boy's mother pointing at me. "That girl there," she probably saying, "Didn't kill my son, but she would have."
And in the Capitol, the politicians hope she adds, "They're all like that in District Four." Which would be wrong, but I did kill or significantly contribute to the deaths of five people (Ada, Sparrow, Jem, Cadelle, Haakon). Or eight. Should I be counting Korona? Heath? Laurie and Juna? It is only the thousand-fold insistences of Mrs. Mirande that keep me from adding Beanpole to that wavering internal tally. It feels possible to me to blame myself on some level for all the others (as rational or irrational as that is), but I didn't kill Beanpole. I loved him like a cousin.
I wonder if Juna's parents have thought I should have allied with their daughter instead of Sparrow.
I think I wonder about too many things.
"I didn't care for District Twelve as much as I would've liked to," Apple admits to me that evening on the train. "It makes me feel I should be more grateful for what I have. I really am a better match for Four."
I can't say I agree that she's a good match for Four, because she knows very little about the district and until I won everyone back home only used to make fun of her, but she's been a good match for me, so I don't laugh. "Maybe we'll like Eleven better," I say, conceding that 12 was not a natural fit for me either. I probably won't see it, but 11 has coastline and there's shipping out of there. We have a border.
"You've never been to the district other than Four," it occurs to me. Not that Apple would've had a reason to go to them, but, well, legally she could've, right? Don't people in the Capitol have more leisure time to use as they like? Would Capitolites travel just for fun?
"No, I haven't. I suppose I've been waiting for a victor to share them with."
"You could've gone if you'd wanted to though, right?" I pry.
"If I applied for the proper travel permits and received them, yes, but, well, tourism to the districts isn't much recommended. There isn't much in the way of accommodations… With all the scars of the war still out there, what there is to see isn't always much."
"Is there tourism to somewhere other than the districts then?" As far as I know, there might not be any other countries across the sea anymore. Papa can remember when there where at least two others in his lifetime, but if Panem contacts them anymore, they don't tell us about it.
"You can visit the arenas. I went once, after Simon. I wanted to see for myself what it was like. …But the geography isn't the same as the circumstances," Apple notes quietly.
I think she's a good person. She grew up much differently than me, but she's still good. "It's nice that you cared enough to go."
She leans her head against the window and I see her eye makeup smudge slightly against the glass. I think she's tired. "I'm really glad you didn't die."
I wonder if I had if Apple would've found another job. …Maybe she would've stuck it out to keep fighting for her sponsorship petition. "I guess I'll get some sleep," I rise and head for my room. "Good night, Apple."
"Good night, Mags," she waves a soft farewell in my general direction, "Sleep well."
After breakfast, Aulie and I watch a movie about movie stars in the Capitol. The lead's mother reminds me of Apple and we tease her by telling her so. Spring met the woman playing the heroine once. She dubs the actress, "very stuck up." Irish adds a gagging sound.
There's not much to do as we travel. I wonder what Papa is doing now. I hope that my 'students' are keeping their training up in my absence. I guess they'll get to see some edited version of my Tour on television though and that might keep them motivated. If I get the opportunity, I might tell them that I'll be able to tell if they're slacking off (even though that's probably not true).
Our stop in 11 is similar to that in 12 in everything but visuals. Some head people meet with me and there's an exchange of speeches (I comment sheepishly on Jem's considerable sense of honor and fair play that I was unable to match). I get a tour of an orchard where a tough-looking little girl is urged by some sort of foreman to climb around to find a ripe apple to give me.
"Here you go, Ms. Victor," she addresses me.
"Thanks," I accept the offering. I eye the piece of fruit and my escort at the same time. The apple from 11 is a deep, lustrous red. The one I've brought along with me has largely stuck to her favored green. Aulie snickers because he can read my mind.
"Do you work here?" I ask the girl.
"Yeah," she replies, more casual with me than with the foreman.
"I like fruit. Maybe I've even eaten something that you picked before."
"Could be," she agrees.
I want to ask if she knew Jem, or what she would've thought if he had won, but they probably wouldn't like it, and between the two of us, she's the one more likely to receive an actual punishment for pushing the rules. I ask her name instead.
"Miracle," she says, and at first I almost don't understand it.
"Wow, that's a pretty name. I've never heard it before."
"Yeah, thank you, ma'am. My ma says she wanted me to have a name no one else had 'cuz I was so special and I guess she picked right."
We exchange a little more small talk before I'm hustled on and Miracle goes back to work. I hope she only had to work a part day at most. She's young. What about playing? What about school?
Someone from the camera crew notes that this should play well because 'there's Mags, being friendly again.' Continuity of character and all that.
The sun feels nice on my shoulders, but it's probably burning the backs of the people I see hard at work all over 11 who could've been there for hours instead of just passing by. I try to smile anyway. I don't see how frowning could make things any better for the people here. I'm enjoying 11 more than 12 in any case.
Apple seems to feel the same. She tells me as much when we're leaving that evening. "I could see visiting Eleven again- having a picnic under those pretty fruit trees…"
"My dad would probably like that."
"Mr. Gaudet is a very gentle man, isn't he?"
"Well, he didn't fight the Capitol. I've killed more people than he ever will." And the Hunger Games are supposed to punish the districts for their rebellion. Did Papa's not fighting protect me until I decided to step up on my own? There were tributes in the first few Games whose parents were rebel leaders, but not all of them, or at least not all announced.
"Before he met my mother, he was studying-" I pause. I think it may be illegal now, but would they get angry retroactively. It seems so unheard of. I like Apple, but to what extent do I trust her?
I decide I trust enough. "As a...you know…a person of God," I say quietly, because just because I'm not being taped right now doesn't mean I should be reckless.
"Oh, really?" She seems surprised, but not outraged or horrified. "That's so…antiquated. There are still people like that in Four? Of course, it makes sense that you would have to have gotten your superstitious side from somewhere."
"It's the sailor in me," I counter. And that blood comes from both sides.
In District 10, I think I can safely say that the Tour starts to get interesting and the reason for that is first appearance of a fellow victor along the route. Emmy Pollack is waiting at the train station alongside Ferdinand L'Guard, her rather strange-looking (even for an escort) escort.
"Do all escorts spend that much time with their victors or is some weird thing between the two of them?" I ask Apple and Aulie as the train comes to a halt. Ferdinand's hair is oiled stiff and doesn't budge, but Emmy's waist-length locks fly about like loose ropes in a hurricane.
"She needs a lot of moral support," Apple says.
Aulie is more direct. "I've heard she's mentally unstable. He's very calming to her."
It's probably better to be crazy and alive than dead in your teens, but it's not all roses for the victors either. I can't decide whether the Capitol wants it to look like something wonderful or just the lesser of two evils (I can't decide whether the Capitol knows which it wants to depict in the first place either).
When I step out onto District 10 soil- well, concrete- Emmy claps and cheers for me. "Congratulations, May!"
You can't speak too badly of such enthusiasm, but I wonder what look I wear on my face just now. "Her name is Mags," Ferdinand corrects mildly.
"Oh," she says slowly, "That's right. Hello, Mags."
"Hello, Emmy." She doesn't move to shake hands or anything. I just sort of nod at her.
"Let's go to the First Town Plaza," Ferdinand suggests. A tough, workingman type sits at the wheel of a large, red truck, decorated with garlands of flowers. There are seats in the back so Emmy, Ferdinand, my miniature entourage of Apple and Aulie, and I can all ride out where people can see us. It's like some kind of regatta, but with a single truck it's a parade. A (very) poor man's parade. …Though I guess the camera crew is following behind.
The really funny thing is, about half a dozen people even see us before we reach First Town. The people there are politely welcoming. They probably feel a bit how every district with a victor has felt in regard to the one who followed them. "We had our turn, now you have yours." The boy from 10 had the unfortunate distinction of being the first one killed this year. Daisy Arlen made it halfway through, but she was only twelve.
"We've got twelve settlements in District Ten. We call 'em towns," Emmy informs me. "Not that they're all full towns… I am the only person who lives in Twelfth Town- the Victor's Town."
"Oh, I see," I nod more, trying got listen to her as the mayor of 10 simultaneously recites some kind of speech boilerplate about me.
"Most of Ten is ranch land. Lots of people work with cattle. People here have worked with cows for hundreds of years. Mayor Hurth is wearing what they call a 'cowboy hat' and I am wearing cowboy- cowgirl- boots."
"And now," Hurth prompts me, "Miss Gaudet will say a few words."
"You should come to my house and meet my horse," Emmy continues, filling a silence she wasn't meant to fill.
The crowd takes this all very stoically, but I think I flush before I begin speaking. I struggle through the formalities and Mayor Hurth rewards me at the end with a lucky horseshoe. Tosca, the head of the film crew, thinks the opportunity to shoot Emmy and me together can't be passed up. We go out to Twelfth Town and it takes me all of thirty seconds to goes which house is hers- the house is mainly red with white trim, but it appears to be in the process of being sloppily repainted pink from roughly the bottom up. I don't know why Emmy is so crazy about the color pink, but for some reason it forms the foundation for most of what I know about her.
"My horse," Emmy trots on ahead of me, "Is named Gabrielle. She likes to be brushed. She likes carrots and sugar cubes…"
"I'd never seen a horse in person before the tribute parade," I confess to Ferdinand.
"Hmm," he bobs his head thoughtfully. "And you're so small."
Emmy Pollack is tiny too. As a matter of fact, we're about the same height. She's about a year younger than me, but looking at her and talking to her, I would peg her as even younger than that. I don't remember much of what she acted like pre-Games. She didn't stand out all that much until the halfway mark. She wasn't one of the four most expected to win. I have to guess that the Games were a really traumatic experience for her. …And, on the flip side, wonder what it says that they weren't so paralyzing for me (or maybe I act weird too and I just can't see it?).
Emmy assures me that her horse is very gentle, but I'm still nervous alongside such a large animal. There are ribbons in her mane. To the best that I can determine, she looks content and well cared for.
Ferdinand informs us that horseback riding is Emmy's official talent and, for no apparent reason, Emmy's babbling overflow of words stops up, like she's worn herself out or suddenly switched mood entirely. She leans against Ferdinand's steady figure and stares out at us, an empty facade. She's gone away somewhere inside. She doesn't seem set to accompany my group back to First Town and, as a matter of fact, she doesn't say anything else until prompted by Ferdinand as we depart.
"Good-bye, May," she misidentifies me again.
"Is she mistaking me for someone?" I ask Aulie and Apple as we shudder back along the bumpy dirt road. It can't be the District 4 girl from Emmy's Games- not only was her name not May, she was red-haired and hardly resembled me.
"I haven't the slightest idea, dear," Apple shrugs. "I think that girl is just very absentminded."
"Cute though," Tosca adds her opinion. I'm not surprised she would like the girl who, indirectly, got her her job. She has some degree of control, I gather, over the cut of this footage that airs on television. Will Emmy's name-calling faux pas make the Victory Tour program?
When we screech back into first town, their banquet is waiting for us. They're barbecuing and it smells great. Spring and Irish and Erinne are trying on traditional District 10 gear and making sketches. I tease them about knowing what district they want to leave me for now and Erinne explains that because I won they get first decision on whether or not to work with 4 or pass on it. All three women express the opinion that they would feel traitorous leaving me for another district as long as I still want them. "As long as we're employed by the Games, we'll be backing District Four."
Just as with Apple and Aulie, I'm touched by their loyalty. But I suppose it's easy to back a winner. Apple and Aulie had past experience with Four, but the style team lucked out their first time around.
"There was a message for you, Miss Gaudet," one of the train staff- the most important one aboard I've met at least- I've seen him directing the Avoxes- approaches me as soon as I board.
"What? From who?" I tense up. Who would want to contact me? What could it be but bad news?
"Mr. Jack Umber," the man smiles a bit like he's enjoyed the privilege of being involved in this exchange. "He telephone and asked that this message be passed along to you." He passes me a piece of company letterhead with one question noted on it: "Are things going well with Apple?"
"Oh, for shame!" Apple reads over my shoulder. "That man!"
"I think he's looking forward to seeing you in One, Mags," Aulie muses. "I think he's like to do some standup comedy with you and Apple."
"He won't be doing any with me," Apple resists.
"Not willingly, but-" Aulie whispers in my direction.
I'm not sure how to respond, either the process or the words I might choose. "What should I do?" I look to my allies for guidance. They offer simultaneous statements in return.
"'I am doing fine, thank you,'" Apple suggests primly. There's a tacit, "And now leave me alone, please," attached to her message.
But Aulie's, "'Do you have a crush on me?'" draws all attention to itself from the second it registers in my brain.
"Uh-" I gape.
"Aulus Strong!" Apple chides him. I was worried I would turn red, but even if I have, it can't be anything compared to the pink creeping up to Apple's ears. I wonder why she's so amazingly flustered. "It's late," she announces, and I wince at how shrill and sharp her voice jumps out. "Mags, you should wash up and go to bed. That silly man can wait until tomorrow to hear back from you."
That buys me more time to think at least, so I decide not to push her with any dissent. I carry the note away back to my compartment. I remember my initial trip on the tribute train and the labels Apple had stuck to the doors reading "Margaret" and "Jean Paul." Sometimes I think, even while I know he's dead, that Beanpole will turn up just around the corner. Actually seeing him die onscreen during the recap didn't change that. We were only a few weeks apart in age. We weren't best friends or anything, but like family, he was a continuous part of my life.
Does a victor ever forget the person who failed to return to their district with them? I suppose if they didn't know each other before; if they didn't cross paths in the arena… Part of me thinks I should've asked Emmy Pollack about it, but, on the other hand, I'm not entirely certain she would've had a coherent answer. In 9 there will be Luna Vetiver, but if she acts in person the way she does on TV, I might be too intimidated to ask her. I'd rather save it for someone more willing. Because it's been the longest stretch of time for him, it might be most meaningful to reserve the inquiry for Jack. And I'm certain that he'll tell me. He likes to talk. He likes me.
I lie in bed. I think about what Aulie suggested. Even if it's as he said, I shouldn't ask that. …And, in any case, I don't think it is.He's just like some older brother who wants to tease. He's probably scoped out all the other victors like this, and I've just been one of the better ones when it comes to playing along. I'm happy to play along if it creates a positive attitude in the Capitol toward District 4. If our rapport isn't fake, then even better. I would be happy to have Jack Umber as a friend.
I have a dream that night where Beanpole and I take Jack to the beach, but he's afraid to go in the water. In the dream I can't conceive of how he would be afraid of anything. I wade out, with my pants rolled up to my knees, and call for him over and over (this being a dream, I lose track of Beanpole about halfway through without noticing), but he only shakes his head. He won't come. I can't understand his protests over the sound of the waves.
It sticks with me when I awake. It seems like the kind of dream that means something, but I have no idea what. I tell Aulie about it and he's similarly intrigued but lacking in interpretations.
Apple has a pre-arranged message back to Jack awaiting my approval: "Things are going well, thank you, Mr. Umber. I look forward to seeing you soon."
I laugh. "He's going to know I didn't write that!" Not that I mind if she sends it. It's pretty eloquent. Of course, if Jack guesses that it was actually Apple who composed the reply, it will only add more fuel to this very silly fire.
"Shall I send it then or shouldn't I?" Apple bristles slightly.
"No, please send it. I really do appreciate your handling it for me," I try to smooth things over, "I wasn't trying to make fun of you, Apple."
She relents. "All right. Now, we'll be arriving in Nine fairly early, so be sure and turn yourself over to the stylists right after breakfast."
I wonder further about Jack Umber while I sit and allow my hair to be brushed and wound and teased into another variation on my signature style. I see him in my mind following me to the late night borders of that party overlapped with his image on television rooting for District 1, laughing at some joke that he made. How do you become friends with a fellow victor? The same way you become friends withy anyone else, right? Anyone else you don't see much in person.
"Look!" Spring directs as we enter District 9. As far as I can see are fields of waving grain cracked by clusters of tall processing plants of some kind. Gold and gray under a serene periwinkle sky. This is clearly a huge district, like 10 and 11. "Oh," Spring sighs, "What beautiful colors."
Unlike Emmy, District 9's single victor is not waiting at the train station to greet me. Some of her family are though. Apparently, the man in charge- the "chief" he calls himself- is her maternal grandfather. I'm not sure how close this makes him to Cadelle Vetiver, but I tell him I'm sorry anyway.
Half of us pile into a black car with no top and the others, including Tosca and her crew, follow after, pointing the camera at us, then swooping around to take in the terrain. There are a few adults working some large crop machines in the fields and they raise their hands in perfunctory waves toward us.
I wave back.
The wind changes and I breathe in strangely scented air. "What's that smell?" I inquire, trying not to sound too disgusted by it, "The factories?"
"Meat processing, I think," one of the chief's young female relatives answers. "The different places all have their own kind of smell. You get used to it."
"I see."
"My mom is the forelady at the vegetable canning plant," the girl adds. She's within reaping age, I imagine. I'm afraid to ask her name with whatever it is that's going on between the Capitol and Luna Vetiver. I'm afraid in a few years I'll be coaching some kid to go head-to-head against her. I like people too easily.
"My name is Fauna," she says.
There goes that.
"Fauna Mallow." She proceeds to give me the name of everyone else riding along with me. Noah and Whistle and Faber, who are her siblings. Hurlen Miller and Naiya Vetiver- cousins. Ms. Noma, who is a teacher at the Plains One School (there are apparently two schools in 9). And Emerit Mallow, chief of the district. Sizz Larksen, the assistant Quadrant One fields overseer, is driving.
"I was the most important person they would spare," he comments. "The boss says he can stand to wait to see you."
"You couldn't?" I chuckle.
"I thought it might be fun."
"He drives all the victors around since Lu," Naiya Vetiver rolls his eyes (there is a resemblance between her and her famous relation). "He's going to ask for your autograph."
It will be a first. "I don't mind."
"Nice," Sizz cheers.
A string of colored pennants is the only concession to celebratory decoration I see. A group of mainly kids is there to greet us. "We got out of school for the day," Fauna explains. Luna Vetiver is still not present. I shake a lot of tiny hands and basically every question I'm asked revolves around Crispco crackers, the shark, or what I would've done if I'd actually been able to catch a fish in the arena. My description of how to gut a fish garners a lot of "eww, gross" from the kids, which is funny because no one acts particularly bothered by the fact that I've killed people. Do you just accept that victors are killers? Or do you let it slip from your mind, tucking it into some dark crevice of thought? I suppose purposely taking out the insides of a fish is different from stabbing someone in a flurry of madness or self-defense. I didn't deal a killing blow to Haakon.
Speeches are withheld until the nearest factory lets out early to provide an audience. Workers also come in from the fields. The parents of the dead tributes arrive. Luna Vetiver marches in, stiff and grim as on Reaping Day.
The idea of "reaping" probably has a lot of meaning in places like 9 and 11. Honestly, I'm not quite sure why the term caught on in a place like 4 anyway. But since my victory, Papa tries to be philosophical about it. "Unless a grain of wheat," he says. It means that something will come of these deaths (or something of that nature). At first I thought he was just being religiousy about it, but it occurs to me that, on some level, what he's saying implies treason. Another rebellion twelve years later? It would be doomed to fail in a fraction of the time of the first.
But the spirit of hope lives on. Maybe Papa has a dream that things can resolve peacefully. Gradually. He thinks a lot of things he doesn't tell me, I imagine, about what I did; what happened to me. I know that he approves, at least, of my efforts to be an example.
Luna Vetiver climbs the raised stone platform in the center of the town. "You killed him," she says, her eyes as cutting as cliffs you'd wreck your ship on. "Don't say anything," she stops me before I can begin, "Nothing you can say will do anything. I don't like you, Four."
I'm not confrontational enough to respond to that.
We al play out our appointed roles. The family of the dead girl must be her grandparents. They cry a lot- more than any family I've seen so far. I feel really sorry for them. I get that "I'm glad I didn't kill that one" feeling. The mix of cold hatred and drained "it can't be helped" stoicism exuded by the Vetivers is easier to accept.
I'd like to say something about Cadelle as my fellow volunteer, but I can't think of anything. I must be letting my weariness show though, because Aulie pats my shoulder. I recognize Laro, the little boy Cadelle volunteered for. He holds a strangely shaped leather ball, pointed at both ends, to his chest. I wonder what game it's for. I wonder if he played it with Cadelle.
"You're weak," Luna chides me before she leaves. "Weaker than Emmy Pollack even. You shouldn't be proud of that, Four."
I maintain the suggested silence and she leaves without saying good-bye. I can't say I like her, but I don't feel anywhere as strongly as she must feel about me. I wonder if it's just her cousin, or if there's something else to it. I'm not going to ask her relatives what her problem is though.
I end up being toured around the wheat and other grains for a while. Fauna Mallow, who finagles her way into accompanying the tour, confides in me about it. "Luna hates all the other victors. I think they remind her of what she did in the Games. …And then what she didn't do afterward."
"Oh." I feel a bit better. "I'm sorry."
Luna doesn't show up for the banquet. Someone gives Apple and Aulie and me crowns of dried ears of colorful corn to wear. The leaves make crinkling noises when we turn our heads. The meal concludes with popped corn drizzled with caramel, which is salty and sweet and generally tastes amazing, but because the tenor of 9 is so subdued, I don't want to make a big deal about it (I will wait to gush over it back on the train).
Fauna rides along with us in the car on the way back to the train station, but falls asleep leaning against Aulie. I give Sizz my unimpressive autograph, signing my name along the bottom of a propaganda paper picture for the article officially proclaiming my victory. His last question before I go is whether I have a scar from the shark bite. I bare my foot to show him the slim, snaky line, the only thing remaining from where the Capitol's surgeons patched me up. I have a feeling it will gradually fade away. It's faint enough to begin with. There's no charm in a gash on my foot. The Capitol would only leave a scar that was impressive or "sexy." I don't care that I won't keep it, though my foot's remained delicate enough that if I trip or bump it too hard, I can still feel the aftereffects of the injury (though I can't be completely sure it's not just a mind thing…).
Sizz runs his finger along the seam of my skin. "You're really something," he murmurs. I'm not sure what type of "something" he means, but it is a compliment.
"Okay now," Aulie scoops me up, "She has to go, Mr. Larsen. She has a schedule to keep."
Apple picks up my shoes and follows after us.
"Goodbye," I call to Sizz and to Fauna, still dozing in the car.
"People are so varied," I observe to Aulie, who doesn't put me down until we're in the train (I guess he doesn't want me to step barefoot on something and hurt myself), "It's interesting to be liked and despised all in one town I've never even been to before."
"You should be liked," Apple hands me my shoes. Whether because I'm me or because I'm a victor, she doesn't say. Both, maybe, as she sees it. "…It came a few hours ago, though no one saw fit to inform me about it until now, but Pal Fields sent us a request for your measurements if you're willing to give them. Apparently he's making you a present."
I have no objection to sharing my measurements. How could I, when the entire nation has seen me ragged and tattered and fighting for my life? My height and weight are already general knowledge due to the standard tribute information (district, name, age, height, weight, and anything else of interest- in my case: volunteer). It's odd though. Does he make something for everyone? As far as victors go, Pal has always struck me as very gentle. It's the same as Jack or Shy Evert (not the gentleness for Jack though). I have a good impression of them without having met them.
"I will tell Erinne," she answers dutifully. "…And Jack got your message." I have a feeling she did know about this earlier, but she just didn't want to tell me.
"Did he say anything specific back?"
"He knew I was writing."
I had a feeling he would. "Does he want a response from me?" I didn't mean to cheat him.
"He didn't ask for one. He just said he's watching your Tour footage every night."
Oh, joy. As if I needed a reminder to be self-conscious. Of course, I reflect further, once I've gone off to shower and wash my hair, this is Jack saying that. And, I think, Jack has my number. It may be a tease, but it's not a taunt. He doesn't want me to fail- now that I'm a victor, the Capitol in general should share his stance- he wants me to succeed.