Hindsight, they say, is a wonderful thing.
If you ask some people, they'll tell you that they saw the seeds of a fiery leader in Katniss Everdeen even before the first Hunger Games. They'll say they could tell from the moment she volunteered at the Reaping for her sister, that she was born to be the Mockingjay, the symbol of our Rebellion.
If you ask me, they are lying. It's easy to look back and award yourself powers of insight you didn't possess the first time around. Not that it's wrong, not exactly. Just human nature.
When I was little, my father told me about mockingjays. Originally bred in the Capitol, they were coopted by the people they were supposed to be spying upon. They turned the tables, and eventually were abandoned after the Capitol realized what had occurred. But the mockingjays didn't die off - they bred and though they lost the power of speech, they retained the ability to replicate complicated songs. They still flourish today in the more rural districts. An example of how even the Capitol can fail, though I'm not sure that's what my father intended when he told me the story. At the time, I think he just meant to entertain me before my bedtime.
When Katniss boarded the train after that fateful Reaping, I noticed she was wearing a mockingjay pin on her shirt. I'd later learn that it was given to her by her friend, Madge, daughter of Mayor Undersee, whose sister-in-law had been killed in the same Quarter Quell that Haymitch won. Because it possessed no hidden weaponry or poison that would give her an unfair advantage in the arena, she was allowed to wear it, and the rest, as they say, is history. The symbol caught on like wildfire until it was incorporated into the Rebellion.
...
That night, we have dinner on the train: Peeta, Katniss and me, and it's then I begin to get a real glimpse of how contrary Katniss can be. Why I merely compliment her and Peeta on their table manners, and she responds by putting down her utensils and eating with her fingers! Honestly, Haymitch at his most inebriated has more finesse than that.
Later I would come to admire Katniss's obstinacy - at first grudgingly and then wholly, knowing that it was that quality that kept her going. After all, that kind of toughness, that resilience must be necessary to survive one's growing up in the Seam. As lacking as she was in many rules of etiquette that were second nature to Capitol folk, Katness would ultimately have the qualities she needs to survive in the arena.
That evening, before I retire for the night, I take a moment to pop out for a bit of fresh air. As I step out on the observation platform on the train, I feel a rush of cool wind, which is welcome after the stuffiness of the interior. I'm just adjusting to the quiet out here, when I hear a familiar voice. Haymitch's.
"Look up," he says.
I do, and am dazzled by the sheer array of stars. "It's beautiful," I reply. "We can't see much of this in the Capitol - all the electric light drowns it out."
"And that's not the only thing it tries to disguise," he says softly. He sounds like he's recovered from the day's excesses, though how, I have no clue. I'm tempted to caution him against making statements like that, but I know better. Before I knew him, I would have tossed off a warning, but now I know better. He only had to tell me once about what happened after he returned from his Games - the Quarter Quell, no less! - and found everyone he loved gone. Before, I hadn't realize how much he'd already lost.
...
Despite the fact that I have every possible comfort at my fingertips, I don't sleep well that night. I keep waking up, but rather than allowing myself to be lulled back to sleep by the motion of the train, I toss and turn. (Later on, this would become a regular occurrence.) Toward morning, I manage to drift off, but then have the most disquieting dream.
I dreamt that I was back at the Reaping, but this time, everything was going splendidly. The weather was perfect, Haymitch was nowhere in sight, you get the picture. Only as I reached for the glass bowl, I couldn't shake a nagging feeling that something, somewhere was wrong. Beaming at the crowd so they wouldn't know anything was wrong, I did a mental inventory: shoes, dress, accessories, makeup - all perfect. Then it hit me, and I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach.
In my hurry to dress that morning, I'd completely forgotten my wig!
Some people say that they dream of being naked in public places, but I've only had dreams where everything was picture perfect - but my wig is missing. Well, it's not always my wig. Sometimes it's my shoes. Or my gloves.
I'm not the type to analyze these things, but I can't help wondering what that says about me.
...
"Haymitch, may I have a minute, please," I begin sweetly but in tones that brook no argument. Reluctantly, he nods. "What can I do for you?" (Once, he addressed me as "sweetheart," and I let him know right away that he was not to ever do that again.)
"I'd like to know what strategies you're planning for Katniss and Peeta," I say.
"We're still working on that," he replies.
Holding onto my smile, I nod, like he's being helpful. "Well, then, can you possibly give me a few hints? I'm meeting with potential sponsors today, and it would be good to at least have something of an idea."
He just shrugs. Honestly, I do not get paid enough for this. But I did hear that he promised Peeta that he would sober up, and he's been able to pull himself together in the past to advise the Tributes, so I make myself believe that somehow, things are going to work out.
My hopes start to rise the night of the Opening Ceremony, my jaw drops when I see Katniss and Peeta. Cinna has truly outdone himself this time.
No nudity, thank goodness, poorly concealed by a layer of coal dust, no. Just these amazing black bodysuits with capes that are literally on fire. Or at least, swoosh up with flames once the chariots begin moving. A miracle happens - and my Tributes outshine all the other districts' - even 1, even 2.
And for a moment, all the stars align, the crowds cheer so loud, they drown out all else, and it's pure magic.
...
If I hadn't long broken myself of chewing my fingernails - a problem solved once I discovered fake ones - I'd definitely be munching them right now. It's time for the Tributes to enter, one by one, and perform some stunt that the Gamemakers will then score. I expect that Katniss won't resist the temptation to show off her archery talent, though I've no idea what Peeta will do - there won't be any eggs or flour with which he could whip up a delectable dish.
Afterwards, however, I know it must have gone badly because Katniss barricades herself in her bedroom and refuses to come out, much less tell us what transpired. Later, at dinner, we do get the whole unfortunate story. Irked because the Gamemakers were ignoring her, Katniss shot an arrow straight into the pig dish they were consuming. Peeta, too, lost his temper at being ignored, but his way of showing it was much less, well, inflammatory.
Still, for the first time, I feel like I'm entirely on their side. Surprisingly, I don't feel like chiding or scolding either. Instead, I feel a pang of indignation on their behalf.
"It serves them right," I blurt out. "It's their job to pay attention to you."
They all look stunned, no doubt at witnessing me go off script. For once, I don't care, though. It's a daring thing to say, and it could land me in hot water if the wrong person heard, but I mean every word. And Katniss winds up waltzing off with an eleven. An eleven! Though it may be reverse psychology on the part of the Gamemakers. They may simply hope to encourage the other Tributes to target her in the arena. Maybe.
But then again, maybe not.
...
Before the interviews with Caesar Flickerman, Katniss and I practice etiquette. Though she looks stunning in the outfit that Cinna has designed, she's still awkward in her movements and prickly in her manners. At last, I try a new tactic - explaining the importance of maintaining a smile, even though the other person present is aggravating you, but she still doesn't seem to get it. So I give up, and just cross my fingers that this won't be a complete disaster. Maybe Peeta can successfully sell the star-crossed lovers' angle enough to lend Katniss some appeal, though at this point, I haven't a clue what either one's strategy is. So far, it's been rather inconsistent.
Luckily, Caesar, who's had many years of setting Tributes at their ease and making them appear at their best, comes through. He manages to make Katniss comfortable enough so that she comes off as a charming young woman, not a prickly pear. And Peeta, going last, manages to put a lump in every throat present when he admits his long-standing love for a special girl, then admits that even if he emerges the Victor of the Games, it won't matter because "she came here with me."
After that, I want to cheer because I know we'll have at least a couple sponsors. Though it sounds cold, the truth is, a good sponsor can mean the difference between life and death. Rules are not particularly stringent, so sponsors are free to send medicine, food, etc. One year, a boy, a handsome fifteen-year-old who sent hearts swooning with a simple smile, received a trident from his district, known for its fish products, and after that, there was little doubt who was going to win.
Now that Peeta, as Haymitch puts it, has transformed Katniss into the object of wistful, doomed desire, sponsors should be lining up around the block. Well, perhaps not quite that, but I think it's safe to say, they will have outside help once the Games begin. I hope so anyway because despite myself, I've gotten fond of these two.
...
And then, it's time for the Tributes to say goodbye, to get their trackers implanted, change their clothes into the standard arena uniform, and board the Hovercraft. As usual, I try hard not to think about what's almost impossible to forget, that this is the last time I will ever see District 12's again. Star-crossed lovers in this case is not just a description cannily concocted to tug the heartstrings of potential sponsors but the truth. Yes, Haymitch was an exception, but if you ask me, I believe you need wits as sharply hewn as a spear in order to emerge the winner. Not only that, but you need the ability to masquerade - to fool everyone from viewers to your fellow Tributes that you're whatever you've decided to be once the signal sounds, and you are free to step off the platform.
Not to mention that my Tributes are always up against boys and girls who've been training their entire life, and who regard the chance to compete as an honor. I know I couldn't survive a day in that arena, even if I had support from a dozen sponsors. No, as much as I try to put on an optimistic front, I know in my heart that neither Katniss nor Peeta will be the ultimate winner.
Of course, I don't let this show when I say goodbye. I do, however, manage to make a major blunder, which I don't excuse. It happens just as we were about to part.
"I wouldn't be at all surprised if I didn't get promoted to a decent district next year!" I chirp before I can stop myself.
Oops. Open mouth, insert foot. Too bad that Peeta's and Katniss's last memory of me has to be this one.
Let the Games begin, I whisper, after they've gone. And may the odds be ever in your favor.