Fortunately, Effie accepts my apology with grace, telling me that it must just be because of all the stress I'm under. And then she starts going on about how it's important for at least someone to care about the schedule. But she walks away part way through so I feel like I go off easy.
I'm not sure exactly which car Sawyer's paintings are in, but it's obvious as soon as I see it. It's like I'm staring right at my own nightmares. They're paintings of the arena, which he's clearly done from memory. Faces of the other tributes, us in the cave, he's even painted little El, although that one isn't finished yet, he hasn't added the flowers.
"What do you think?" Sawyer asks nervously.
"I hate it," I say But I can't stop looking at it. "It's like being right back there"
"It's what I see every night," he says.
"You get nightmares too?" I finally look at him. "Does it help? To paint them?"
"Not really. I thought they might make them go away but it hasn't."
"Maybe they won't," I say. "Haymitch's hasn't."
"Yeah. But I'd rather wake up with a paintbrush in my hand than a knife," Sawyer says. The train lurches forward and we've started moving again. "We're almost to District Eleven. Let's go see."
We go to the back of the train and sit on the couch, watching as we pass through fields and fields of crops. Watchtowers line each patch, with armed guards watching, so out of place among the wildflowers that surround the fields.
"Well that's different," Sawyer comments.
I knew a little bit about the districts from what El had talked about to me and in her interviews, it was much more heavily guarded than Twelve, but I never expected this.
It seems to go on and on, almost never ending. "How many people do you think there are?" Sawyer asks, but I just shake my head. In school, they just refer to it as a large district, but no numbers. I can't imagine how many kids there are to be reaped from, certainly much more than ours. I'm starting to get weary of the vastness of it all that when Effie comes in to tell us to get dressed, I don't object. I go to my compartment and let my prep team do my hair and makeup. Cinna comes in with a pretty orange dress. I can't help think about how much Sawyer will like the color.
Effie runs through what we have to do once we're there, handing us speech cards and running us through when we should enter, and when we should speak. The entire thing will be done on what Effie refers to as a verandah, a tiled expanse between the front doors and the stairs. Sawyer and I will be introduced, the mayor will give a speech, and then we will read from our cards, with a scripted thank-you from the Capitol. If a tribute had any specific allies, we should say something, add a personal comment, but the thought of speaking about El and Gus makes me sick. I tried to write something, but every time I did, I could just see the spear entering her and I would have to stop. At the end of the ceremony, we will be provided with some sort of plaque and then dinner will be served inside of the Justice Building.
As we pull in District Eleven, Cinna puts the finishing touches on my outfit, switching out my orange headband for a gold one and securing my Mockingjay pin to my dress. We're escorted in an armored truck to the run down Justice Building and we're hurried inside. As we make a beeline for the front entrance, I can hear the major introducing us. And then the doors are opening with a massive groan.
"Big smiles!" Effie says, and gives us a nudge. Our feet start moving forward. My hand automatically seek out Sawyers, clinging to it for dear life.
This is it. This is where I have to convince everyone how in love with Sawyer I am. But it's not like this is the time or place for any kind of physical affection. Not that it matters, because all thoughts of that fly out the window as soon as I take in the crowd. There's a loud applause but that's it. No cheers, no whistling, like we had back in Twelve.
As usual, a special platform has been constructed at the bottom of the stage for the families of the fallen tributes. On the right is who I'm sure is El's parents, along with her five other siblings who all look so much like her. The sorrow in their eyes is fresh and I have to look away after a few seconds for fear of breaking down. On Gus' side is just an older lady, back hunched from years of working in the fields, and a muscular girl, who must be his sister.
The mayor gives his speech, and then two younger girls present Sawyer and I with flowers. Then he gives his part of the speech, and then I give mine. Luckily, my parents and Dani have drilled it in me. Sawyer had his personal comments on a card, but he doesn't pull it out. He goes on about how they both kept me alive - and therefore keeping him alive - and about how this is a debt that can never be repaid. And then he hesitates before adding something that wasn't on his card. Maybe because he thought Effie would make him take it out. "It can in no way replace your losses, but as a token of our thanks'd like for each of the tribute's families from District Eleven to receive one month of our winnings every year for the duration of our lives."
The crowd can't help but respond with whispers and murmurs. What Sawyer has just done is unprecedented. No tribute has ever offered money to the fallen tribute's families. I don't know if it's legal. He probably doesn't either but probably doesn't care. As for the families, even though their loved ones are lost, this gift will change them again, easily providing for them for the rest of their own lives. As long as we live, they will not hunger.
I look at Sawyer and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch's voice. "You could do a lot worse." At this moment, it's impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift… it is perfect. So when I rise on my tiptoes to kiss him, it doesn't seem forced at all.
The mayor steps forward and presents us both with a large plaque. I catch the eye of one of El's sisters. She can't be more than nine years old. She doesn't look happy despite Sawyer's announcement. In fact, she looks reproachful. Is it because I didn't save El?
Maybe it's because I haven't thanked her, I think and a wave of shame washes over me. How can I stand here, passive and mute, leaving all the words with Sawyer? If El had won, she would have never let my death go unsung. I made sure her death didn't go unnoticed in the arena, but that means nothing if I don't support it now.
"Wait!" I stumble forward, pressing the plaque to my chest. It's no longer my time to speak, but I have to say something. I owe too much, and even if I pledged all of my winnings today, it wouldn't excuse my silence. "Wait please." I don't know how to start, but once the words start, they just tumble out.
"I want to give my thanks to the tributes of District Eleven," I say. I turn to the two women on Gus' side. "I only spoke to Gus one time, when he spared my life. But I admired him. He refused to play the game by anyone else's rule but his own. The Careers wanted to team up with him in the training sessions and the arena but he refused. He was protective of El, even if it was from afar and she spoke very highly of him. He had honor, and I will always respect him for that."
For the first time, the old hunched woman, is that Gus' grandmother? - raises her head and a trace of a smile plays on her lips.
The crowd had fallen silent now and I'm not sure how they manage it. They must all be holding their breaths.
I turn to El's family. "And sweet El. I did know her, and she will always be with me. Everything beautiful brings her to mind. I see her in the yellow flowers in the Meadow by my house. I see her in the mockingjays that sing in the trees. But mostly, I see her in my little sister, Dani. She was strong, stronger than me, a survivor. And most of all, she was good. She saw the good in me, in Hudson, in an arena where she shouldn't have been able to trust anyone, she saw good." My voice is undependable but I have to finish. "Thank you for your children." Then I turn to the rest of the crowd. "Thank you for the bread."
I stand there feeling broken and small, thousands of eyes trained on me. Then, from somewhere in the crowd, someone whistles the four note tune that El had taught me. By the end of the tune, I find the whistler, an old man in a faded red shirt and overalls. His eyes meet mine.
What happens next is not an accident. It is too well executed to be spontaneous because it happens in unison. Every person in the crowd presses their three middle fingers of their left hand to their mouth and extends them to me. It's out sign from District Twelve, the last goodbye I gave El.
The moment should have moved me to tears, but with President Snow's words in mind, it only fills me with dread. What will he think of this very public salute to the girl who defied the Capitol.
The full impact of what I've done hits me. It was not intentional, and yet it somehow elicited something dangerous. But before I can say something to negate what had just happened, there's a round of applause and we're ushered back into the building. I feel funny and have to stop for a moment. Little bits of bright lights dance before my eyes.
"Are you alright?" Sawyer asks.
"Just dizzy," I say, spotting the bouquet of flowers in his hand. "I forgot my flowers."
"I'll get them," he offers.
I can," I answer.
We would be safe inside the Justice Building now if I hadn't stopped, if I hadn't forgotten my flowers. But instead, we see everything from the dark shade of the verandah.
A pair of Peacekeepers dragging the old man who whistled to the top of the steps. Forcing him to his knees before the crowd. And putting a bullet through his head.
The man has only just fallen to the ground when Peacekeepers block our view, using their rifles to push us back inside.
"We're going!" Sawyer says, shoving the Peacekeeper who's pressing on me. "We get it, alright! Go, Willow." He encircles my waist, pulling me along, not stopping until we're safely in the building.