9

The private session with the Gamemakers would be a joke. Prim could hardly wait to get it over with, and yet she didn't know what to do. Peeta and Haymitch kept hissing words of advice like, "Show them your sprint." Or "Use the slingshot." Or "Don't screw this up, sweetheart or you're dead."

Rue and Prim didn't say anything to each other. What would Rue do for her demonstration? Too bad she and Prim couldn't go in together.

Prim's name was finally called—she was last to go in and the Gamemakers didn't seem to care. They teetered around from too much wine, joking with each other. Some looked her way, but Prim didn't care.

She didn't run. She didn't shoot. She just stood stock still in the middle of the gymnasium, like a statue of defiance. Unmoving. Unsmiling. Trying not to quiver under the new gazes she received. This was her own act of defiance and strength. Defiance can be bravery, too, she thought, hoping Katniss wouldn't be ashamed of her.

Ten minutes passed. By that point, the Gamemakers had surfaced from their wine glasses and simply watched her. Funny, how standing still performing no skill whatsoever could be more interesting to them than anything else she tried.

So what if she got ranked low? So what if Haymitch blew a cap because she wasn't "trying" the way he wanted her to?

"One minute left, Miss Everdeen," a Gamemaker announced.

At this, she turned on her heel to face them all fully. With a small bow that almost collapsed her shaking knees, she said, "Thank you for your consideration, but I will not be killing anyone for your games."

Then she walked out with stiff forced steps, just as nervous as when her name was first pulled from the fishbowl by Effie Trinket.

"How did it go?" Peeta asked the moment Prim stepped onto the twelfth floor.

Prim shook her head. She didn't want to tell him. Now, outside of the private session, she didn't feel brave at all. In fact, she felt like a coward—ashamed of her refusal to perform for the Gamemakers. Ashamed to admit to Peeta that she didn't even try.

Haymitch would be furious.

They joined the adults around the elaborate meal table, snacking on fruits and wine and a cheeseplate. Everything tasted like coal dust in Prim's mouth. The adults chit-chatted about the weather and other small-talk. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe Prim could get away without admitting what she'd done.

But that wouldn't help. The gamemakers would announce the scores live tonight and then Effie and Haymitch and Cinna and Peeta…and Rue…would all see how awful Prim did.

"Okay, enough small talk, just how bad were you today?" Haymitch asks.

Prim choked on her strawberry.

"I don't know that it matters much," Peeta jumped in. "They were all bored and half-drunk by the time I got in. I threw around some heavy objects until they told me I could go."

"And you, sweetheart?" said Haymitch.

Prim couldn't meet his gaze. She couldn't tell him. "I…I…" I was brave for the first time in my life. I stood up to them! I showed them I could be strong in my own way. "…I didn't do anything." Her nose burned and tears pooled on the rims of her eyes. "Don't expect much from my score."

"Scores only matter if they're very good, anyway." Portia's attempt to smooth over Prim's confession gave Prim the moment she needed to compose herself. "No one pays much attention to the bad or mediocre ones. For all they know, you could be hiding your talents to get a low score on purpose. People use that strategy."

"Well a low score won't get you any sponsors." Haymitch ruined the comfort that came from Portia's words.

"Well, let's go in and see." Cinna offered Prim his arm. She grinned, took it, and they walked into the sitting room to watch the scores.

Cinna and Peeta—Prim's two heroes. Not just because they were kind to her, but because she believed they genuinely cared.

The Career Tributes—as Haymitch called the beefy fierce ones—all got eights, nines, and tens. Prim's stomach sank lower and lower the closer they got to hers. Rue got a seven and Prim let out a small cheer, which attracted a few odd looks from Portia, Effie, and Haymitch. Prim wasn't about to explain that Rue was her friend. They didn't approve of friends in the arena.

Peeta got an eight and suddenly Prim was chewing on her fingernails and clenching her stomach. There was her face, her light blonde hair woven back with dainty braids. Below the picture, a number surfaced—rotating on its base—and Prim couldn't block out the gasp that escaped Effie's mouth. The gamemakers had given her…

…a one.

.

.

To be continued...

Please leave a review and let me know what you think of this story so far! Thank you! :-)

(New posts every week, sometimes sooner.).

~Feel free to check out my own dystopian book, A Time to Die (by Nadine Brandes), on Amazon~

"How would you live, if you knew the day you'd die?"