The rest of the day's training before lunch is relatively uneventful. Cedar and I make our way around to all of the 'less important' stations, and I find myself immersed for a majority of the time in a conversation about edible plants with the girl from district five. I notice Katniss and Peeta making their way around the room too, seemingly avoiding the weapons stations as well. They must have had the same thought I did about the dangers of showing off. Or maybe they were told not to visit those stations by Haymitch.
Cedar and I sit with Katniss and Peeta at lunch, which they don't seem to mind. A light conversation is had, where we mostly just talk about home. Cedar asks how long we've all known each other for, at which Peeta mentions that he and Katniss only officially met at the reaping. I choose not to comment about how he's been smitten with her since far before then, but a smile tugs at the corner of my face, threatening to escape. I comment about how I've been friends with Katniss and Peeta - separately - for a while, though I've known Katniss for longer.
"We've known each other for longer than I can remember," Katniss pipes in, gesturing to me as she does so. "Sometimes it feels like we share one brain with how in sync we are."
I laugh.
"More like one braincell," I remark back airily, popping a piece of bread in my mouth. "Sometimes we fight over it, like rats with a crumb."
This causes Peeta to burst out laughing. It's a shocked, genuine sounding laugh, and it's refreshing. It breaks the ice between us four nicely, as we all share a good laugh. I notice the Careers have taken notice of this, and I wonder how this looks from the outside. Apart from the Careers - who all sit on their table in the cafeteria - Katniss, Peeta, Cedar and I are the largest group to be sitting at a table together.
After lunch, as I'm watching an instructional video in the camouflage section, Clove approaches me.
"How did you know that?" She asks. "About my stance."
I don't turn my face away from the task as I begin to follow the steps in the video.
"Just by observing, really."
She shifts beside me and I can see her contemplating my response in my peripheral vision.
"But how did you know what would fix it?"
I glance up at her for a minute, before smiling and turning my attention back to my hand - which I'm trying to turn into moss. I can tell what she means, of course. I wouldn't know how to fix her issue without knowing anything about throwing knives - I wouldn't even know there was an issue to begin with. She wants to know how skilled I am at the subject myself.
"Why should I tell you?" I say in response, "Like you said - we're not friends."
Clove crosses her arms and huffs.
"Why would you help me though?" She asks.
"Why not?"
I hold my hand up satisfactorily in the light. It really does look like moss. I'll have to take Cedar to this station tomorrow, since it could end up being a skill that helps us.
"It worsens your chances to win," She says. "If I were you I wouldn't have said anything."
"Well then I guess you should be glad that I'm not you." I retort.
I move to wash the dirt and mud off my hand, done with the station.
"And anyway," I say. "Maybe I'm not here to win."
This seems to take Clove off guard, as she doesn't follow me any further. She's rooted in place at the camouflage station, and I can see that she's deep in thought as I walk away. For all she knows, I'm trying to get under her skin, or play some sort of mental game with her.
At dinner not much changes from the way things were at breakfast, Haymitch talks quietly to Katniss and Peeta about their day. He harps on their lunchtime behaviors and how the other tributes saw them during the day. His attitude towards me has seemingly turned from just indifferent to icily indifferent, as he's taken to not even acknowledging my presence.
The next morning before training, Cedar and I decide that we should make a priority of visiting the survival centered stations, and I point him to the trapping, firemaking, camouflage, and edible plants stations. We make our way around there throughout the day separately, and I notice the little girl from district eleven take notice of me when I'm at the firemaking stall. I smile at her, but I gather that she must be shy, since she doesn't say much of anything to me. She seems to be following me, and I notice her occasionally drift throughout the training room, following anyone she must find interesting.
Clove - who's seemingly dropped some of her guard - also comes up to me during training, and we make some attempt at conversation. I learn that she's one of the top students in her class back in District Two, and I figure that this must be why she's seemingly more astute than her Career companions - save for District Four. The Careers invite Cedar and I to sit with them during lunch - at the behest of Clove - and I find that the chatter of the table reminds me quite a bit of the way it feels to sit at the table with Peeta and the kids from Town back in District Twelve. They're friendly enough, and we talk politely for a short while until lunch is over.
Peeta and Katniss remain at the original table from before, and I smile when I see them engaging in what seems to be a genuine conversation.
At dinner, the icy energy from the day before remains mostly the same. Effie must have picked up on this however, and whether or not she's been aware of Haymitch's insistence on not being a mentor to Cedar and I, she's seemingly made it her new mission to at least try and include me in the conversation of the table. I'm grateful to her for this, as she's been the only one of those 'responsible' for my safety to include me in her aid. She and I stay awake a while longer than everyone else, and she tells me how there's apparently quite a few people who are already willing to sponsor Cedar and I. She seems awfully pleased with herself, so I decide not to tell her of the fact that - with our sponsored gifts relying on Haymitch or the mentors from seven - we probably won't receive any of our sponsored aid. I'm grateful for her help anyway.
When I make my way back to my room, I spot Peeta in the hall. He must have just exited his room, and it looks like he's been crying. His eyes are red and puffy, and there's a faint gleam underneath them as if the tears have stained his face. He breathes shakily, and I can tell that something must have upset him greatly this evening while I was busy chatting with Effie. I think I might know the cause.
"Did something happen?" I ask. "Between you and Katniss, I mean."
Peeta sniffles and nods slightly. He looks so small, in the dim light of the hallway, and I can't help but pity him. What a situation we've found ourselves in. I rest a hand on his shoulder gently, trying to be comforting - but not too pushy.
"It's not just that." He says.
He goes on to talk about how everything is weighing on him. He tells me that most of his and Katniss's apparent friendship is an act, one Haymitch instructed them to put on for reasons he won't tell them. There must be a reason for this, and part of me wonders what Haymitch's plan is for the two of them. Whatever it is, I hope it works out.
"I keep finding myself wishing it was real." Peeta mutters sheepishly.
"Wishing what was real?" I ask.
"The friendship."
His response sends a wave of sadness through me. I sigh.
"No you don't," I reply. "It's harder that way."
I decide it's better for Peeta's sake if I open up to him a little. I tell him how difficult it's been already - aside from all the other impediments Cedar and I have been saddled with from the beginning - to go into the games alongside him and Katniss. It's been harder getting to know Cedar, knowing that he and I won't both be standing at the end even though we're allies now.
Peeta asks me if I think I could bring myself to do it, to kill Cedar. I shake my head. I can hardly imagine having to kill anyone else, let alone someone I know - someone I'm close to. I share this sentiment with Peeta and he nods, but doesn't say anything. Katniss must be grappling with the same concept, I think to myself. But if she has, she's likely come to terms with it in her mind - she's the type to do that. At some point I suppose she could come to the conclusion that it's almost the same as hunting if you don't give it too much extra thought. In the end it's killing something - or someone - else to ensure your own survival. I'm sure she's realized this. She and I think too much alike for her to have not had the thought at least once.
"Do you think she'd kill either of us?" Peeta asks. "If it came down to it?"
I think for a moment. She wouldn't kill me, I don't think she'd be able to bring herself to do it, be it for survival or not. But for Peeta…
"I'm not sure." I reply.
He nods to himself, like he expected this much.
"I wonder what we'd be doing if we were back home right now." Peeta says after a long silence.
"Probably sleeping." I joke back. Peeta laughs softly.
He asks me about the District Seven mentors, and I give him the same disheartening news I'd had to share with Katniss yesterday.
"It's hardly a fair burden to place on them." He says, his opinion on the matter mirroring my own.
"Yeah," I reply. "It's still unfortunate though."
Peeta mutters in agreement, and we find the conversation drifting towards other - more lighthearted - topics. We talk about school, what teachers we were supposed to have, what classes we were most looking forward to. We talk about our friends back in the district, and how terribly we miss them. It's refreshing to not be talking about the games for a little while - it makes things feel a little more normal. I comment on how clear the weather has been here, and wonder aloud if they ever experience a rainy day here in the Capitol. Peeta laughs.
"Now that I'd like to see." He says, "Imagine what their wigs must look like sopping wet."
The image his comment brings to mind causes me to burst out into laughter. We laugh for a little while, and my stomach starts aching. It feels nice to laugh - to have some genuine joy - when everything else has simply been so depressing.
When I finally manage to get some sleep, I find myself greeted by pleasant dreams for once. I dream of being in a cloud, and it fills me with a great sense of peace.
The next morning I find myself feeling strangely optimistic. I don't have much reason to be, as a melancholic mood seems to have begun to hang around the living space. Katniss and Peeta seem to not be speaking to each other, and I begin to wonder if there's anything I can do to remedy this. I've got bigger fish to fry however, as I remember that today will end up being the day that the Gamemakers will assess us to give us our scores. I grab a couple slices of bread from the table, not even bothering to sit as I make my way towards the elevator.
Cedar and I decide to once again sit in the middle of the floor in the training center, just watching the other tributes as they go around to various stations, seeing where they decide to go. I'm of the opinion - a fact I shared with Cedar - that today the 'weaker' tributes will likely go towards the stations that showcase their real skills. I catch Peeta and Katniss eyeing weapons stations, with Katniss looking longingly at a bow and Peeta at the rack of weights on the far side of the room. They seem to think better of visiting those stations before their assessments though, since they head to one of the more knowledge based stations.
"You think that they'll really do that?" Cedar asks.
I shrug. There's no way to really know, since it's just a theory. I have no idea what any of their mentors have told them to do - or not do - today. The Careers seem to have taken to going to a few different weapons stations than they'd been at the two days prior, but I chalk that up to them being multi-faceted in their weaponry know-how.
"No way to really tell." I reply absent-mindedly.
To pass the time, I decided it might be beneficial to teach him how we can communicate if we're not able to speak aloud for some reason. There's a non-spoken language that I've learned from some of the people in District Twelve who I've gathered stories from. They've lost their hearing from some accident or another, or some of them were born without it. Instead they communicate in an intricate series of gestures. We're only taught the basics in school - the alphabet and such - but when I became an apprentice to the current Historian in Town, they gave me the proper training. 'Everyone's story is important, whether they can tell it to us normally or not.' They'd said. I teach Cedar some of the basics, the alphabet, common words. We get some weird looks from the occasional passerby, but aside from that we're otherwise undisturbed.
"I've never even thought about this kind of thing." He says, sounding almost ashamed.
"I didn't really either," I reply. "Not before I started to work anyway."
It's hard - when you're so busy fighting for your own survival - to think of the fact that there could be those who are in even worse of a situation than you. Some people in District Twelve can't see, others can't hear. Once, I heard a tale of a boy from the Seam - the part of the district where Katniss and I live - who couldn't do either thing. It was just a rumor, but I heard that he never made it past eleven years old. In a twisted sort of way, he was almost lucky that he didn't make it to his first reaping. I find myself starting to ponder over whether or not someone without the capability for sight or sound has gone into the arena before. It sends a shudder down my spine.
"So…what's our plan today?" Cedar's nervous voice snaps me out of my thoughts. He's fidgeting with the bottom hem of his training shirt.
I think for a moment. The assessment is where we'll get our scores, and I'm trying to think whether or not a good score will actually be beneficial to either of us. We're ranked on a scale from one to twelve, with one being the lowest and twelve being the highest. I suppose it's supposed to represent the twelve districts outside of the Capitol. Tributes who score higher in the assessments likely get more sponsors out of the gate, since they have a higher presumed chance of winning. On the other hand, gaining a high score after not really doing much of anything weaponry wise during training could paint a large target on our backs. Cedar looks large and well-built enough that anyone might assume he'll have some sort of strength to him, so it wouldn't come off as too much more of a threat if he gets a high number - unless it's a twelve.
"Just do whatever feels right. Show off what you can do with your weapon of choice." I suggest.
Cedar nods, looking to the side momentarily while Marvel - the boy from District One - demonstrates his chilling prowess with a spear.
"What are you going to do?" Cedar asks me.
I think for a moment.
"I'm not sure." I reply truthfully.
I'm not so certain that a good score would benefit me, but I also don't know if a negative score would benefit me either.
Throughout our time in the lunchroom - while we wait for our names to be called so we can go back into the main training room - I'm thinking of what I'll do when it's my turn. There's quite a few options that are rather unassuming. I could head to the camouflage section, but I'm not sure if that's at all interesting. It'll likely be hard to gain the attention of whomever is in the room after all the other tributes have gone. Katniss is talking rather helpfully to Peeta, and I notice them occasionally pipe up to speak to each other. It looks awkward, and almost forced. If I get a low score, I'm sure that Clove would be suspicious, but I can't be sure whether or not anyone else would. I haven't exactly been one hundred percent forthcoming and truthful with Cedar about my capabilities, so I'm sure a high score would come as a shock to him. As nice as it would be to get a high score, I decide against it.
Hours pass, as we're called one by one for our time with the gamemakers. When it's Peeta's turn I see him and Katniss say an awkward goodbye, and I notice that she's sitting alone. When her name is called, I try to offer a reassuring look, but I'm not so sure that it does much to bolster her spirits.
Cedar looks suddenly very pale, like all of the weight of the situation has hit him all at once and sucked the life out of him. I reach my arm out to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. He turns to me and offers a weak smile. I feel strangely calm, like there's been an odd sense of peace washing over me practically ever since I got reaped. Maybe it means I've skipped all the way through each stage of grief and catapulted myself straight into acceptance. Perhaps it's also due to the fact that I'm trying to stay strong for Cedar, and Katniss. And Peeta. I find myself hoping - selfishly for my own sake - that this sense of calm stays with me. Cedar's name is called, and all at once, I'm alone.
Time seems to pass slower, and I resume trying to figure out what it is I'll do when I'm in the assessment room. I wonder what Cedar's score will be. I also wonder to myself about how Katniss and Peeta will score, what weapons they've chosen. Minutes feel like hours, and by the time my name is called it feels as if an eternity has passed inside the lunchroom.
"Willow Fairchild. Capitol." Someone calls, opening the door for me.
It's like they're announcing me to the gamemakers, and I step rather warily back into the training room. When I'm in there, I notice a strange energy in the room. There's almost a nervous sort of electricity that hovers over the space, and I catch sight of the gamemakers standing in a tense manner. Some are speaking to each other, holding conversations that they seem deeply invested in. They look almost as if they're settling back down from a moment full of enthusiasm. Something must have happened I think, as I note an arrow lodged into an apple in the wall. I wonder if Cedar managed to draw their attention away from their chattering, since they don't seem to pay me any mind when I enter.
"You can begin whenever you're ready." A man who I recognize as the same gamemaker from the interview with Caesar - Seneca I think his name was - says.
I hesitate for a moment, scanning the room. I've come to the conclusion that I shouldn't get too low or too high of a score, and decide to try navigating the gauntlets - an obstacle course where platforms are raised which lead to a large landing space, with swinging paddles that need to be dodged. The goal is to achieve a fast time, and while I know usually I'd be able to complete the course in no time at all, I take it slower so to avoid too high a score - but not slow enough that my score would be too low.
The gaggle of gamemakers seem unenthused and unimpressed by my demonstration of skill, and have returned to whatever conversations they were having before.
"Thank you," one of them says. "We've seen enough."
And with that, I leave the training room for what I realize will be the very last time.