Before I realized it, it was upon us. The annual harvest festival. If I hadn't known better, I never would have guessed that it had skipped a year. I wouldn't have been able to tell that a year ago, District Twelve was pretty much nonexistent, and that the furthest thing from the immigrants' minds was the festival we took so much pride in.
There was no greater holiday in Twelve, and everyone was determined to pull out all the stops. Whether it was to prove that we were resilient, that our culture and our traditions were unbreakable no matter what uncertain future was still to come, I wasn't sure. But there was a fever, and it swept through the entire district. No one was spared, not even Haymitch or myself.
I hardly saw Peeta the entire week leading up to the festivities. He lived and breathed the bakery. I think there was a good three day span there towards the end where he never left the shop, and he probably didn't sleep.
His disappearance from the house made my uneasiness that much more palpable. Rumors abounded about which old residents of District Twelve would return for the celebrations. Some rumors even seemed to suggest that some of the residents would return for good. So when the Capitol caught wind of the fire, they only spread it further. It was a symbol to all of Panem, how we would lift ourselves up by our bootstraps and rebuild our country whole. Which was rather ironic, as I doubted many citizens in the Capitol even owned a single pair of boots.
With the Capitol involved, rumors turned to my mother and to Gale. And, of course, to me. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn't help but think that they would come, and I wasn't sure what to make of that or how to feel. Equal parts anticipation and dread filled me, especially with Peeta's suggestion of seeing Gale again still fresh in my mind. Time slowed to a crawl as the festival drew closer and closer. I contemplated ringing up my mother, but could never get my fingers to work the phone to dial. And Gale... I didn't even know his number and had even less motivation.
The night before the festival, I couldn't sleep. Peeta's lack of presence hit me twice as hard, and I resorted to allowing Buttercup into the bed, which never happened. He seemed to sense the opportunity he was given, because he didn't hiss at me once. As I stroked his fur, it was difficult to keep Prim from my thoughts. I wondered what we would be doing on the eve of the festival, if I'd never been reaped. If the war had never started, if she had never died. The game of 'Ifs' trailed on for quite some time without Peeta there to pull me from my thoughts.
As soon as the sun peeked over the horizon, I pushed myself out of the bed. Changing quickly and grabbing my jacket from the closet, I marched directly to Haymitch's house. A trip to the bakery would have been futile; Peeta was going to be busy all day, and it wouldn't have surprised me if people had already lined up outside the shop for morning pastries.
It took more than my usual amount of pounding on the door before a very haggled, very angry looking Haymitch ripped it open. Words were perched on the tip of his tongue as his eyes dilated and focused in on me. A few choice words spilled out, but they were aimed deliberately at me with intent.
"Got that out of your system?" I asked.
He sputtered, like he was going to add more, but I decided for him. "Good. Then how about you throw on a decent set of clothes that doesn't look like you slept in the pig slop, and you walk into town with me before the hounds come to our homes."
Since Effie was synonymous with District Twelve, she was being dispatched to attend the festival. Ever the one with the schedule, she had already tried calling and planning out the entire day on our behalves. I had declined politely; I doubted Haymitch's refusal had carried many manners. We had agreed, however, to partake in the festivities, though certainly not for the Capitol's benefit. It was tradition, after all, and I was excited to see what new concoctions Peeta had schemed up for the event.
The door slammed promptly in my face. Resisting the urge to pound my fist against it again, I counted off the time silently in my head while I tapped my foot impatiently. He had five minutes, I declared to myself, before I busted through a window and hauled him out.
He had twenty seconds left to spare when the door swung inward again. His hair was just as unkempt as always, and he carried a somewhat unpleasant odor with him, but his clothes were freshly laundered. Hazele wouldn't allow it any other way.
We took our time making our way into town. With the District still much on the mend, there wasn't much to harvest. It was mostly symbolic this year, which didn't leave a whole lot for us to do. Not that anyone could tell looking at the town square. Hustle and bustle flowed down every avenue. People moved in hordes, and the town square was packed to the brim with just about everyone in the district present.
Without a target in mind, we wandered aimlessly, and it suited us just fine. Everywhere we went, I found myself scanning the crowd. Conflicted, I both hoped and feared seeing either Gale or my mother. And as the day grew old, it dawned on me that the rumors had been simply that – rumors. I had been foolish to even consider the possibility of either of them making a return for the celebration. And yet, I couldn't help but be disappointed that neither had thought the event a good enough excuse to come home.
Only, I realized, it wasn't home for them any longer. Home was a subjective term for the members of the exodus who hadn't returned. I was certain that Gale was comfortable in his cushy new district job in Two, and my mother was too busy helping heal people to miss me where she was.
Haymitch caught my brooding and did his best to pull me out of it. He suggested a trip to the bakery to try Peeta's newest delicacies, but I suggested we continue walking. The line outside the bakery wrapped around the building, and he didn't need any distractions while he was still so busy. So Haymitch and I continued to walk, weaving in and out of the crowds, chatting aimlessly about his geese, about Buttercup, about pretty much anything and everything of no importance. And the whole time, all I could think was that it was finally sinking in that Gale and my mother were gone, for good. And as was the case with most things anymore, I wasn't sure how that made me feel.
Running into Effie, forgetting we were trying to avoid her, snapped me out of my mood. Her enthusiasm and excitement were infectious. No matter how hard I tried to wallow in my sour attitude, she wouldn't have it. At the sight of us, she smiled brightly and clapped her hands together in excitement. "Our Victors are here!" she exclaimed to the crowd, motioning for them to open up a path for us to the center of the town square.
My feet immediately began to backpedal, but Haymitch caught my wrist in a tight grip. He pulled me back to his side, his dirty nails digging into the skin on my upper arm. "We've already been spotted, sweetheart. There's no escaping her now," he grumbled under his breath.
I wanted to argue, but I was too shocked by the fact that Haymitch was the one playing into Effie's gimmick. Peeta and I usually had to fight tooth and nail to get him to do anything that involved the Capitol and the blatant use of the Victors for their own gain. So as he pulled me forcefully toward where Effie waited, I didn't fight.
I felt like a deer with an arrow in its side, never having seen the hunter until it was far too late. A buzzing filled my ears and blocked out the vast majority of what Effie said. I stood beside Haymitch and smiled the best I could. Then I felt all eyes turn to me, and realized someone had probably just asked me a question. "What?" I asked. Everyone laughed, and Effie repeated the question everyone on the other end of the newsfeeds was dying to hear. "What does the future hold for Mr. and Mrs. Mellark?"
I almost answered nothing, since they had been killed in the bombing of the district. Then I realized she meant Peeta and myself. I had no idea what to say. These types of questions, this amount of attention, was exactly what I had been hoping to avoid. I'd dragged Haymitch out of his house to celebrate in an age old tradition, not to be made a spectacle of. "A lot of bread," I finally sputtered out.
Everyone laughed, and Effie mercifully took my cue to launch into a spiel about Peeta's bakery and how his success only continued to grow. I shrank back against Haymitch's side, trying to disappear into his shadow. I couldn't help but see the smirk plastered across his face. But it was only fair, I guessed. My just desserts, he would no doubt claim later.