Effie joins us as we enter the building, and she takes Katniss, Peeta and I over towards another elevator. She tells us how lucky we are to come from District Twelve - at least when it comes to where we'll be staying. The tributes stay in the upper floors of the Training Center, and live in apartments in ascending order. In District Twelve, we're at the top, so ours is the largest apartment of all the tributes - taking up an entire penthouse on the top floor. I hardly feel very lucky, but I won't ruin her seemingly good mood, so I try not to let on to this.
We enter the elevator, which is made almost entirely out of glass, and I struggle not to feel frightened as we're lifted high into the air. I wonder how sturdy it is, as it feels to me as if the floor will break at any moment, and we'll fall through. Effie - who's taken to talking about how marvelously we all behaved out on the avenue - doesn't seem too bothered by this however, so I reason with myself that it must be safe. She's going on and on about how she's been on her feet all day, flitting here and there to lay the groundwork in everyone's minds when it comes to us. I'm still unsure if I fit into her helpfulness or not, but she mentions all three of us when she talks, so I assume she must have told people about me as well. It seems like - however this remains to be simply speculation on my part - in lieu of another living mentor from our district, Effie has taken up the mantle of a sort of faux-mentor.
"Of course everyone was rather reserved, you three being from the coal district and all," She says matter of factly, as if this is common sense. "But I was very clever - you see - and I told them, I said 'If you put enough pressure on coal, it can turn into pearls!'"
I furrow my brows in confusion for a moment, she has to be joking. Even in the district school we're taught where pearls come from, and it certainly isn't coal. I glance towards Katniss and Peeta and notice the same look of confusion mirrored upon their own faces. But the proud beaming smile that crosses Effie's face gives me the impression that she truly believes what she's saying, so I decide that it's probably best not to shatter her enthusiasm by telling her that pearls come from shellfish - even if she meant to say that coal turns into diamonds, I'm fairly certain that this too is impossible.
"That's very smart Effie." Katniss says, shooting a look to Peeta and I as she does so.
"Yes, thank you." Peeta adds.
"We really appreciate it." I say.
Effie is still talking excitedly as we exit the elevator, telling us how we'll likely be able to make some strategic progress since Haymitch will be joining us for dinner - does he usually not eat dinner with his Tributes? The elevator opens directly into the penthouse, and I'm quite frankly overcome by the largeness of the space. They never show it on TV, much like the train, and standing here I can't imagine why. There's a vast open lounge area that spans all the way to the window and boasts a plush array of well-cushioned furniture - not to mention the TV that takes up nearly one whole wall. It's bordered by a grand dining room with a table that looks like it could fit the tributes from each district around it. If it wasn't so breathtaking, I'd find it awfully off-putting. Peeta's sentiment when we entered the train yesterday rings through my mind as I take in the space. It's almost wasteful.
I'm shown to my bedroom - which is larger than if you combined every room in my home into one. There's a list of foods in the corner, which Effie tells me is a menu that I can order off of, and they'll send it right up from the kitchens below. It's startling, the contrast between life in the districts and life in the Capitol. In District Twelve, even if we work for a week there's no guarantee on a warm meal. But here, all I have to do is push a button and they'll send it right up to me. There's a window that I'm told I'm not really looking out of, since it's just a screen. I can change it to any setting I like, various live scenes of the capitol, the forest, even a snowy landscape that chills me just by looking at it. I find a wardrobe close to another door, and looking inside it leads me to see a plethora of pretty looking clothes.
When I enter the bathroom - which was behind the door next to the wardrobe - I notice that it too is large. I wish that I hadn't sent Effie away, since the controls of the shower look foreign and strange to me. I figure it out eventually, and take to washing away the stresses of the day. There's floral scented soaps, and one for my hair that smells sweet, though I can't place the scent. Afterwards, I decide to put my hair up in a light bun with a clip that I find in one of the drawers under the mirror. I struggle for a moment as I try to remember what way I'd seen Effie's hair done when she came to District Twelve a few years ago - one of the rare years that she didn't choose to wear a wig - wishing I could recreate it.
I get dressed quickly, though I wish for a moment to lay down on the soft bed that sits on the far end by the window - the fake one anyway. I know it would be a mistake though, as I'm too hungry to skip another meal, and I know for a fact that once my head hits the pillow, I'll find myself asleep.
Stepping into the hall, I notice Peeta coming back from the end of it, and he looks to be deep in thought. He's dressed, so I figure that he too must have showered and changed. I wonder how Katniss is faring, and hope that she's doing alright since I doubt I'll be able to check on her, I hardly know where my own room is let alone where hers might be. I'm not sure if she's even in her room at all, maybe she too decided to explore. Peeta stops me as I move towards the living room.
"Willow." He calls, almost in a whisper. "We need to talk."
I turn to him, confused for a moment, but there's an intensity to his gaze that tells me he has something important to say.
"What is it?" I ask.
I realize this is the first conversation we've been able to have since the train, and it's strange. I'm not as close with Peeta as I am with Katniss, but we're still good friends. We speak often - outside of our present circumstances - and it's weird to have spent so long without saying anything to one another.
"I overheard Haymitch arguing with someone in his room," He says, glancing around before speaking again. "He said he won't help you and the boy from seven - Birch or something I think he said his name was."
I had expected as much, but it still stings to hear it spoken aloud. Gathering that we won't be able to rely on the help of the District Seven mentors either, I figure we'll just have to mentor ourselves as best we can instead. I wonder for a moment how it must have been before tributes had mentors. They've had them since the eleventh games at least, though, so I figure they must not have had as much to think about. Back then the games were…different. There wasn't as much fanfare yet, it was simpler. All it was, was death.
I can't blame Haymitch for not being able to help us. He's stretched thin enough, even with Effie's help. It'll be a miracle if he can get both Katniss and Peeta through to the end of the games. If that happens, he'll likely be forced to pick which one of them to help. It's a fact I'm pretty sure we're all aware of, though none of us have spoken of it. I can tell Peeta knows it too, though.
"His name is Cedar." I say. "He's actually rather sweet."
"Oh…"
Peeta pauses for a moment, like he's wrestling with himself about whether or not to say something.
"Do you think he has a real shot at winning?"
I hesitate. But I can't lie to myself.
"No."
Peeta looks surprised for a moment, like he wasn't expecting that response. I can see why. In any other circumstances Cedar would be a top pick for a winner. He's tall, and being from seven I'd bet he's strong too. He also has the benefit of a boyish handsomeness and a kind nature that I know will lend itself to endearing him in the hearts of the Capitol Citizens.
We're not in any normal circumstances though. Part of me is still clinging onto the hope that Cedar will bring better news on the state of our mentorship when we meet later, though I'm doubtful. With no mentors willing to help us, it'll likely mean that we won't be getting any gifts while in the arena. Which will mean that with no real advice, no aid - and likely no benefits from any sponsors we may or may not receive - Cedar and I will be left with just our basic skills in order to survive. It'll be up to us, and us alone to make it out of the arena alive.
"Do you think either of us have a shot?"
Peeta sounds almost defeated when he asks, like he already knows the answer. Truthfully, it's hard to tell if he has a real chance. He's certainly not weak by any means, but I don't know if he's fueled by the same fire for survival that Katniss and I are. He hasn't struggled the same way, hasn't needed to kill anything before just so he could eat. I'm sure he's pretty likeable by Capitol standards, and some shaping for interviews could craft him into the perfect underdog that people root for. But not like Katniss.
I shake my head.
"Look," he says, fiddling with the hem of his shirt nervously. "I've already made up my mind."
He looks down for a moment, before looking back up at me with a sudden determination in his eyes.
"Katniss should win."
His confession comes as a shock to me, yet at the same time it doesn't. I've seen the way he looks at her in school, or when we're walking home. The way he stares as we cross paths in the halls or in the square. I saw the way he looked at her yesterday - what feels like a lifetime ago - on the stage during the reaping. The way he hasn't been able to keep his eyes off her ever since. He's transfixed by her, drawn in like a star to a black hole. He's liked her - dare I say even loved her - ever since we were younger. It's no mystery as to why he's willing to choose her as the one of us three who will survive.
"I agree," I say, looking back at him, his brows furrowed in confusion as his eyes survey my face.
"Would you do it?" He asks. "Sacrifice yourself for her?"
"If it comes down to it. But I want to live long enough to make sure that she's the victor."
"Me too."
It's here, in the hallway, that we make a pact. Both of us - with a shared goal - agree that we're going to do whatever it takes in order to ensure that Katniss wins. Of course we both don't want each other to die - and neither of us wants to kill the other. It's a strange feeling, both of us acknowledging the inevitability of our deaths. It looms over the hallway like a dark cloud. I choose not to tell Peeta of my plan though - my strategy to make my death mean something more than all of this. Some things are just better left unsaid.
We sit in an almost morbid silence for a while, before a thunderous rumbling in my stomach reminds me of why I left my room so soon in the first place. Peeta seems to take notice, and we start to make our way out of the hallway and back to the sitting room. Peeta grabs my arm again before we reach the end - I'm hoping this doesn't become a habit.
"We can't tell Katniss." He says.
"I know."
"It's better if she doesn't know."
"I know," I say. "I'm not going to tell her."
With that, we re-enter the main room to find that everyone except for ourselves has already been seated at the dining table. Lucretia is here too, sitting beside two people who I presume to be Katniss and Peeta's stylists. Haymitch sits at the far end of the table, and I glance at him briefly as we sit. It looks like he's changed since we last saw him on the train, he's cleaner now, and looks more his age as opposed to twenty years older. He averts his gaze from mine quickly, refusing to look at me, like he can't seem to bring himself to meet my eyes. At least he has the decency to feel guilty for the choice he made, even if it wasn't much of a choice to begin with. I wash away the sour taste of resentment that rises in the back of my throat with a sweet orange-colored drink that's been served to us.
Dinner is what I've come to expect from the Capitol - which is to say absolutely mind blowing. It's complex and flavorful, and it blows absolutely everything we've had up until now out of the water. They serve it in courses, and I wonder to myself if the reason for this is to emulate the way we are in the districts. We hardly know when our next meal is coming, or what it will be, and in a way this seems to be the Capitol version of this. I see the similarly light pea soup from the train which is accented with pieces of meat of some kind that I still haven't been able to figure out what is. There's courses with meat and it's all so filling that I wonder how the people of the Capitol haven't grown strikingly overweight by this point. The thought of their wastefulness worms its way back into my head, and I wonder where all the excess food goes.
Effie - the drunk one for a change - rattles on about what a beautiful job the stylists have done, and I learn that Katniss and Peeta's stylists are named Cinna and Portia. Cinna is a friendly looking man with darker skin and a touch of gold on his eyelids. He almost doesn't look like he could be from the Capitol. Portia - Peeta's stylist - also has dark skin and minimal makeup, yet wears her hair in a strikingly blonde shade that is cut in a way which frames her face nicely. The trio of them - Cinna, Portia, and Lucretia - all look very plain compared to Effie sitting beside them. She goes on further to note how we'll certainly receive sponsors with the performances we've given tonight, and that we should all be very proud. Her overexcitement and celebratory mood probably comes from her joy at the fact that she's finally had something interesting happen with tributes she's escorting, but I keep that thought to myself. I try to think more kindly about her attitude, and wonder if she can really even help the way she is. Being brought up in the Capitol, I hardly doubt that she finds a problem with any of this.
"I know you!" Katniss exclaims as dessert is being served, interrupting her own question about the logistics of some work of art they'd turned a cake into.
She's talking to one of the serving girls, whose face is frozen with a look of shock and fear. Her striking red hair lends itself to her Capitol look, and yet I swear I've seen her before, too. All eyes are staring intently at Katniss now, and their expressions mirror that of the serving girl.
"You're right, I-" I'm cut off from agreeing with Katniss when I catch Lucretia shake her head slightly out of the corner of my eye. Her face is grim, and I get the sense that something's wrong.
"Don't be silly," Effie says, "How could you know an Avox? Imagine."
Despite her distinctly Capitol look, with red hair and a strikingly pale face, I swear I've seen her before. She doesn't look like anyone in District Twelve, and I know for a fact I haven't seen her on TV. My brain is trying to fill in the gaps, but feels awfully slow in doing so. I have so many questions - principally about what an Avox even is - but the room is tense. It's not some Capitol social norm that we've missed, the adults in the room actually look rather frightened, as if they're collectively holding their breath. I notice Portia glance around slightly, like she's worried someone might be listening. Is someone listening to us?
"What's an Avox?" Katniss asks, seemingly oblivious - or just uncaring - to the tone of the room.
"Somebody who's committed a grave crime," Haymitch says, "They cut her tongue, so she can't speak. It's not likely that you'd know her. She's probably a traitor of some sorts."
The sounds of the room dim slightly as I realize that this is exactly why we know her. I can tell Katniss remembers too. I remember the girl running through the woods one day outside of the district when Gale, Katniss and I were out hunting. She was with some boy, and they looked to be escaping someone, or something. They both had the Captiol look about them, and I remember thinking to myself about how far they must have come to get here. Even the birds stopped singing so they could watch, as if they too were apprehensive about what was yet to come. They ran further north, and I'd wondered where they were going. Eventually, a large hovercraft appeared overhead and took them both away. A spear was shot out of the craft down towards the boy, and I can only imagine it had killed him. The girl hadn't been so lucky - clearly given her present circumstances - and was entrapped in a strange sort of netting that dragged her into the carrier. But she'd seen us, I'm certain of it. She'd looked right at us, like she noticed us hiding under the brush.
"Delly Cartwright!" Peeta exclaims suddenly. "That's who she looks like! I've been thinking she looks familiar as well and it's just now hit me. She looks exactly like Delly!"
Delly Cartwright, the daughter of a shoemaker in town. She doesn't look anything like the redheaded Avox girl, in fact aside from their pale nature I don't think the two have hardly anything in common at all. For one thing, Delly is blonde, and she's always struck me as someone who has enough to eat. She's sweet too, despite her occasional holier-than-though attitude, and she treats anyone as if they're her best friend. Meanwhile the Avox girl is gaunt, and carries a haunted look in her eyes. Peeta must have sensed the fact that something is amiss here, and he's clearly covering for us. I nudge Katniss, and she glances up at Peeta.
"You're right. That's who I was thinking of." She says, swallowing nervously. She tries to cover it with a light laugh. "It's the hair."
"Or the eyes." Peeta adds.
"I thought it was because of the nose." I remark, glancing across the table to see an approving nod from Lucretia.
The mood relaxes, and the conversation begins to ebb and flow elsewhere again. We move to the sitting room, and find ourselves watching a recap of the parade. Katniss and Peeta are stunning, and I notice that they held hands the entire time. It's a dazzling show of unity, one I've rarely seen before during the games when it comes to District Twelve's tributes. Haymitch comments on what a smart idea the hand holding was, and asks who thought it up. Portia mentions how it was Cinna's idea, and Haymitch seems pleased with this.
"A hint of rebellion," He says almost proudly. "Perfect."
His choice of words intrigues me, and I wonder what he means by rebellion. Rebelling against who exactly, the Capitol? The Careers? An alliance between district partners certainly isn't unheard of, but it's usually not seen in the poorer districts like ours. It sets into motion the thought of what could be if a secondary alliance is formed outside of the Careers, and I begin puzzling over it in my mind. Haymitch does not comment when Cedar and I enter the screen.
"Tomorrow will be the first training session." Haymitch says, ignoring the rest of the parade recap. "Why don't you kids get some sleep and leave us grown ups to talk for a while."
The three of us don't offer much complaint at this, and we begin to make our way back towards the hall to our rooms. Katniss and Peeta's footsteps quiet suddenly.
"Meet me in the morning and we'll start to talk about a strategy." I hear Haymitch's hushed voice, and try to push down the bitter sense of envy clawing at my throat. He must have stopped them as we were walking away.
Once in the hallway, we find ourselves outside of Katniss's door. Peeta leans against the doorframe casually, but his face betrays his attempt at a cool exterior. He looks almost nervous to talk to Katniss, and I remember that the two of them have hardly interacted before.
"Delly Cartwright, huh?" He asks, breaking the silence.
"I can't imagine seeing her here." I say back wryly.
I can tell that Peeta is prompting something, he wants to know who we really think the girl is - how we know her. He's probably infinitely curious, and I'm torn on whether or not to tell him. I can see Katniss battling the same dilemma. She looks wary, like she's unsure of whether or not she should say anything. If we were back in District Twelve I'd probably tell Peeta the story, but everyone's earlier unease sets me on guard. There's something strange about the way they were acting, like they were worried about being overheard. I don't want to see Katniss or myself as the next ones to get our tongues cut out. Peeta seems to pick up on this.
"Have you seen the roof?" He asks. I get the sense that there's a deeper meaning hidden beneath his words.
"I didn't know there was a roof." I say. I'll have to go there another night.
"Yeah," He says. "The wind is pretty loud though."
I smile softly. Of course it was a cover. Ever the perceptive one - Peeta. Katniss looks like she's picked up on the second meaning in his words too, and I decide it's probably best to let her tell the story anyway.
"Are you coming?" Katniss asks.
"No."
"Why not?"
"I've got to meet Cedar." I say. "We need all the time we can get to know, considering…"
I trail off, and Katniss shoots me a knowing look. I realize it looks an awful lot like pity, which is mirrored on Peeta's face. I wonder if he'll tell Katniss what he overheard Haymitch saying. Not that he needs to of course, I'm sure she's already surmised as much.
We part ways, and I move back through the sitting room and towards the elevator. The glass box that makes up the elevator doesn't seem so strange now that I've been in it once, and the adults are far too absorbed in their conversation to notice me pass by so I don't hear any complaints from them as I enter it. I press an ornate button on the side which has the number seven etched into it in a pretty gold paint, and let myself be carried downwards.
When I reach the floor for District Seven's tributes, I see Cedar already waiting. It looks like they have a small hallway which acts as a barrier of sorts between the elevator and their living space, and I almost wish that we were offered the same privacy.
"How long have you been waiting?" I ask.
Cedar shrugs.
"Not long."
He enters the elevator and presses another button. Instead of a seven, this one has the letter 'G' etched into it.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"Johanna told me about a garden that makes up one of the middle levels of the building, I figured it would be a good place to talk." He responds.
"Johanna?"
The name sounds familiar.
"Yeah, Mason. She's the mentor who's been ushering me around."
Of course, Johanna Mason. It hits me now that this is the reason the woman who's been escorting Cedar has seemed so familiar. She won the 71st Hunger Games at seventeen, three years ago. Her strategy was killer - literally. She made herself out to be some kind of snivelling fool, didn't do well in training, and hid for most of her games. As it had turned out, this was all a masterful ploy on her part. She'd waited til most tributes had been picked off, and went on a brutal spree, annihilating the tributes who remained. She hasn't been seen so much since then - since her victory tour that is - and her face is a bit paler now, more sunken in looking. But her eyes are the same, they hold the same fierceness as they did when she won.
Cedar and I find ourselves in a lush garden in the middle of an open courtyard. Yet another beautiful thing that they don't show on TV. There's flora and fauna here that I've never even dreamt of, and it looks as if I've walked right into the middle of a storybook.
"Peeta overheard Haymitch earlier," I say as we sit on an ornate stone bench. "He said he's not going to help us."
Cedar sighs, his expression growing defeated.
"Johanna pretty much gave the same impression."
Now it's my turn to sigh. I'd expected as much, of course, but a part of me had still been holding out hope for a different outcome.
"What now?" He asks. I can hear the worry laced in his tone.
I chew on the corner of my lip as I think.
"I know about as much as one can about the games without actually being in the arena, through my work and all," I trail off, noting the intrigue flicker on Cedar's face. "I suppose we'll just have to do the best we can with that."
Cedar stares into the distance pensively for a minute before he nods - partly to himself and partly towards me it seems.
"So, what….you'll be our mentor?" He asks.
"I guess?"
It comes out more uncertain than I'd meant it.
"It's better than nothing." He remarks.
I laugh.
"That should be our slogan." I say.
Cedar laughs lightly, and we sit in a sort of soft silence for a minute. In a way, the phrase sort of does encapsulate the experience we've had thus far. We haven't been given adequate lodging, but the fact that we've been given lodging at all is better than nothing. We haven't been allowed much extra time to strategize, but we've been given some - which one would argue is better than none. We haven't been told much about why we were even chosen in the first place, but we were told a bit, which is better than nothing. At the end of the day it sums up our experience.
"At least we can count on sponsors for some aid in the arena." Cedar pipes up optimistically.
"Not really." I say.
"What do you mean?"
I pause, trying to find the right way to say what I'm thinking.
"Who controls when we get a gift from a sponsor?" I decide maybe it's best to answer his question with a question.
It seems to do the trick, as I see the realization begin to dawn in Cedar's expression.
"The mentors." He says.
"And if they're too busy focusing on keeping their pre-existing tributes alive…" I trail off.
"Then we can't really expect to see any gifts we earn." He replies, sighing as he does so.
I mention that we still need the sponsors, since we don't want to be hated in the event that we do win. Cedar says something about how we might even be able to hope for a miracle in the arena, and I laugh. He's funny, and likeable. It wouldn't be hard to turn him into a Capitol sweetheart.
We talk a bit more about our lives outside the games. I learn that Cedar has two brothers and a baby sister at home in District Seven. He works with his father to chop down and then replant the trees in their district too, so that he can help provide for them. We discuss our friends, and school. Our hobbies, like how Cedar enjoys to carve little figurines out of wood when he has spare time. He claims he's quite good at it, too. I joke that he'll have to make me something sometime to prove it, and he promises he will even though both of us know that one - or both - of us won't live to see that happen. I wonder if Cedar has the same pessimistic - though logical - view of his chance of survival as I do about my own.
After a while we make our way back to the elevator, both of us exhausted from the events of the day. Cedar asks what our strategy for training is as he exits the elevator on his floor, and I tell him that I'll let him know tomorrow. In truth I'm still trying to come up with a plan for us. I'm sure he realizes as much - but if he does, he doesn't mention it. For that, I'm grateful.
My thoughts of strategy are all that remain to keep me company as I ascend back to the District Twelve apartments. I can't rope Cedar into my plan to make my death meaningful, but I can certainly make him likeable enough that if he does win, he has support in the Capitol. I resolve to try to keep him alive as best I can, even though I know I'd have to choose between his life and Katniss's eventually - a problem I don't need to face with Peeta seeing as he and I are aligned in our goals. As guilty as I feel to think it, I know it wouldn't be much of a choice at all. I hope for my sake that it doesn't come to that sort of decision.
When I reach the penthouse, it's dark except for a small light in the corner. Everyone must have gone to bed. I wonder what they were discussing up here, maybe it was a strategy for Katniss and Peeta. I try to ignore the bitter pang of jealousy that the thought brings me.
A hand clasps onto my shoulder and I nearly jump out of my skin. As I whip around, I realize it's just Effie, illuminated dimly by the light from the corner.
"Did I wake you?" I ask, hoping that I haven't also awoken anyone else.
"Oh no," She reassures me. "I stayed up to make sure you didn't have any issues finding your way back."
She waited for me? I'm deeply touched by the kindness of the gesture, I hadn't thought of her much as the caring type before. It seems like she has a soft - dare I even say compassionate - side to her, and it intrigues me. She's been the only one including me in her faux-mentoring, and the various conversations that she has with prospective sponsors. I'm grateful for this kindness, and it brings a tear to my eye.
"Thank you Effie." I say softly. "You didn't have to."
"Nonsense," she replies in her exasperated way, as if I shouldn't think anything of it.
I smile, and we part ways to sleep. But I'm left with the funny thought, as I lie awake in the overly large bed. Perhaps Effie Trinket has the potential to become a pearl too, in her own Capitol sort of way.