Chapter 7

Leaning casually against the countertop, Haymitch glanced at the cake on the kitchen table, and frowned. The small home-made cake, baked by Prim and himself, looked somewhat different than the counterpart in the baking book.

They must have forgotten something. In his mind, Haymitch went through the recipe list once more; eggs, flour, sugar, milk, baking-powder. Baking-powder?

He couldn't remember adding it to the dough. Maybe that was the reason the birthday cake looked so small and miserable. Haymitch groaned and ran a hand across his face.

"We should have bought a cake."

"No." Prim laughed. "Katniss will love her birthday cake; I know it. She'll appreciate what we've done for her."

Hopefully.

Just getting the right ingredients had given him a headache. Thanks to Prim's help, they had found a bar mixer and a mixing bowl in his kitchen. Until that moment, he hadn't even known that he owned any baking utensils.

In the centre of the petite chocolate cake stood a generous 21 in colourful icing, surrounded by countless small sugar flowers and butterflies.

"Wonderful," Prim beamed.

Kitschy, thought Haymitch.

"And I have a lovely present for her." She pulled out a pair of glittering, rainbow-colored gloves from her school bag, and placed them on the wooden chair next to her.

"Knitted by me, to match Katniss's hat," She added proudly.

Haymitch had to fight the urge to cover his eyes with his hands. Quickly, he made a mental note to get Prim an appointment with an eye specialist. He was slightly afraid that Katniss's younger sister was color-blind. At the soonest possible opportunity, he would point out that his preferred colours were black and grey. He had no wish to receive a rainbow-colored scarf on his next birthday.

"Unfortunately, I don't have a gift for Katniss," He admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. "What would she like? Any ideas?"

"I may know something," Prim answered mysteriously, smirking.

Haymitch's inner voice told him that he wouldn't like her answer.

"Dancing!"

Bingo.

"Dancing?" His eyebrows nearly met his hairline as he repeated the word with horror.

"Yes, dancing." Prim beamed back.

"Oh Prim." He groaned. "Trust me, for a Saturday night clubbing tour around town I'm far from the right person, but I'm sure if you were to ask someone younger, like Professor Odair…"

"No, Haymitch! Not a clubbing tour," The girl interrupted him, laughing. "A romantic dance, with a beautiful dress and –"

"Forget it!" Defensively, Haymitch raised his palms and stepped away from the kitchen counter. "I'm the least suitable person in the world for that sort of thing. Believe me, Prim, I'd turn the evening into a disaster."

"Haymitch, please!" Prim begged. "Do me this one favour. Katniss has never been dancing! Even her high school ball was an absolute disaster. Two days before the event, her date broke his hand, and later at the ball no one wanted to dance with her. No one asked her, not even once! Katniss was in tears when she came home." Prim's own eyes filled with tears as she remembered the awful evening not so very long ago.

"All these years, Katniss has taken care of me. Instead of hanging out with friends, she's always been working, or going hunting. The most important thing in her life has been making sure we had enough food on the table." Prim took a deep breath and looked at him pleadingly, both her hands clinging to the backrest of the kitchen chair for support. "If anyone deserves a little bit of happiness then it's her. Haymitch, please, do me this favour!"

Gravely, he looked down at the teenage girl; her beseeching eyes were full of hope. He didn't want to give in; rather he planned to talk his way out of this embarrassing situation. But on the other hand, he had to ask himself, what did he have to lose?

Nothing.

"OK."

…

From the large mirror on the wall, a pair of critical eyes looked back at Katniss, who stood in front of the glass. She was wearing a feminine, coral summer dress without sleeves and had her long, dark hair up in an elegant chignon. Prim's delicate work. Never hers.

She was still furious with her little sister. What had Primrose thought when she had made that appointment without even asking her? Dancing. Ha! What must her college professor have thought of her? That she was so utterly and desperately alone that she wanted to spend an evening in his company? It was so unflattering, not to mention embarrassing. She wondered if he felt as uncomfortable as she did.

Moreover, she couldn't dance. She has two left feet, and any attempt she's ever made at dancing ended with her feeling like a goose waddling around the floor. Of course she had tried to learn to dance, in an old barn behind her house. Her former best friend had done his best to show her easy steps, a mix of foxtrot and blues. But it had turned out to be hopeless; she could not move to the beat and looked the whole time worriedly down at her feet instead of into the face of her partner. After countless rounds, totally unnerved, Katniss had given up. Finally, not wanting to waste the rest of that raining afternoon, they had decided to practice other things.

She was still able to feel the straw prickling her bare ass; not even that had turned out the way she'd always imagined. Angrily, she shoved the memory away and turned a little in her dress. The broad, oval neckline emphasized her elegant, slender neck and the feminine belt her equally slim waist. The swinging, slightly flared skirt invited dancing.

Years ago, Katniss had bought the dress on a trip to Kingsport. Why? She couldn't explain it. Perhaps with the small hope in her heart that one day her life would change for the better and she would have the opportunity to wear the gorgeous dress.

There were days in her life when she took the dress out of the wardrobe, looked at it, shook her head angrily, and hung it back in the far corner of the cupboard. How stupid she had been to pour money down the drain.

But what was done was done. Katniss set her chin and straightened her back. She would survive this evening. For so long she had survived hunger, grief, loneliness. An evening in uncomfortable high heels wouldn't kill her. But when the night was over she would have a serious conversation with Prim. Sister or not, she had no right to interfere in her private life.

…

"No matter what she looks like," Prim said conspiratorially to Haymitch, "we'll say she looks gorgeous. OK?"

Haymitch gave a slight nod, his head turned towards Prim, who was sitting opposite him on the cosy sofa in his living room on campus. They were both waiting patiently for Katniss to appear.

"Trust me, Prim, I'll act like a real gentleman," He said with a crooked smile on his thin lips.

"And you know what a real gentleman acts like, Haymitch?" She asked, sounding as dry as a teacher at an old-fashioned boarding school for girls.

Haymitch rolled his eyes and smoothed his elegant dark blue suit as well as he could. After a critical inspection of his wardrobe by the thirteen-year-old, all his clothes had been judged as unsuitable. None of his old-fashioned but beloved Chino pants or his slightly worn-out plaid shirts had found redemption in her eyes.

Afterwards, she had dragged him into one of the most expensive clothing stores in town. The shop assistant had instantly made them out to be an easy target. In no time at all, Haymitch found himself wearing an elegant dark blue suit, with a matching shirt, a subtle tie in the same colour as the suit and a pair of fashionably cut dark shoes. Paying the bill, he had to take a deep breath; the label Hugo Boss seemed to have a significant effect on the price.

Haymitch ran his fingers along his collar; Prim had knotted the tie so tightly he felt he might suffocate. At the first opportunity he would get rid of it.

"If you have so little faith in me, why didn't you ask a student to accompany your sister? Someone like Peeta Mellark would have been very happy to spend the evening with Katniss," Haymitch countered.

Since the farewell on his porch a few weeks ago, Haymitch had decided to give Katniss a wide berth. He didn't want her to draw the wrong conclusions from his behaviour. As they waited for Katniss, he reminded himself that he was doing this for Prim. Nothing more.

"Because..." Prim didn't finish the sentence; both looked up at the sound of a door opening upstairs. Full of excited anticipation, they stood up and peered at the old oak staircase.

"Katniss!" Prim cried and ran with a radiant smile towards her older sister. "You look beautiful, magnificent, like someone out of a fairy tale!" Full of delight, the teenage girl clapped her hands.

"Haymitch, isn't she beautiful? Haymitch?"

"What?" He felt as if someone had struck him with a baseball bat.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Prim emphasized every syllable very slowly and looked at him insistently.

Haymitch swallowed hard and pulled himself together. Trying his best to keep his face motionless, he reminded himself that the young woman standing in front of him was his worst student. A girl who went hunting in the woods and killed helpless little animals with a bow. Most of the time, she was bad-tempered, defiant or simply arrogant. It was only Katniss Everdeen… Katniss Everdeen in a very flattering dress. Inwardly he sighed; he'd be glad when the evening was over. He tried his best to picture her boyish looks when she wore her old jeans and bulky hoodie.

He cleared his throat. "Not bad at all," He murmured. "We should go; the table's reserved for eight o'clock." Keeping his gaze down on the wooden floor, he passed Katniss and headed for the front door. Slightly puzzled, she threw a glance after him.

"I won't wait up for you, have a nice evening!" Prim shouted after them.

Haymitch wondered what those words might mean.