The Panther Girl: 55th Hunger Games

Chapter 6

I stiffen when I see the hunched figure in a chair next to the bed. Cedar. He is in the same position he was in when he snapped out of his mood swing on the train- head in hands, defeated. He doesn't respond when I sit up, but when I touch his shoulder, he looks up at me. His eyes are bloodshot, but I doubt that he had been crying. I smell wine on his breath and don't have to look further for an explanation.

"How are you doing?" Cedar asks me. His voice is very quiet.

I shrug, trying to look nonchalant about the entire thing. "I think I'm fine," I say, though I have no idea how truly fine I am.

"You don't have a concussion," Cedar informs me, still avoiding my gaze. "Just some swelling. Otherwise, yes- I think you're fine."

He hands me a square mirror that is all smooth angles, and I take a look at myself. Other than the fact that one of my cheeks is purple and my eye is a little bruised, there is nothing to show for what happened tonight.

"Look," Cedar says, "I know I'm supposed to mentor you, but I really think that I should just step away for now." I open my mouth to protest, but he silences me with a hand. "I don't want to hurt you two," he continues. "Tonight was incredibly lucky. You could have ended up in a coma if I'd hit you hard enough. And you could also lose sponsors if something like this keeps happening."

His wording is grim, but the fact that he's worded his statements in this grim way doesn't make me doubt his honesty. I stand, looking at him from the angle my father would have- as a man who needs reassurance. "You can still keep teaching us," I reassure him. "If you have any tips, I'll keep them in mind. You know more than we do."

Cedar smiles, and I wonder if Eli or I have ever reminded him of our father, his best friend. "All right, I will." A pause, and then he asks, "Would you like some dinner?"

I shrug and reply, "Only some of a main dish and a little bit of a side dish, please. I'm not actually very hungry."

"Right," Cedar says, and leaves the room in search of dinner. A minute later, he appears with a small platter of food and silverware.

"If you need anything else, let me know," Cedar tells me, and then shuts my door lightly behind him.

I mentally say a quick blessing over my food, like my family always did, and take a nibble of each food on the platter before digging in. The thick noodles with snap peas and the strawberries cut into fans disappear quickly enough, but the lamb stew I take my time on. It is gorgeous, with chunks of rich lamb and plums making a grand impression on me. I end the meal in a good mood. I quietly pile my dishes on the nightstand, and pick up a remote control. I press a random button on it, and suddenly, one of the walls changes from marble to a scenery of the Capitol. I sift through all of the options until there is a picture of a redwood forest spanning my wall. Then, I press the button that I know dims the lights, and crawl under the covers, too tired to fight off thoughts of my family. Instead, I embrace them, and for once, my dreams are comforting.

. . .

I wake up, my brain telling me that it's around six o'clock in the morning. I also know that if it isn't very early, I would have heard Gem banging on my door, demanding to see me for breakfast. As soon as I get up, I feel a chilling sensation in my gut. Anxiety. What do I have to be anxious about? I think dumbly at first. And I finally remember.

It's the first day of training.

I finger my bruises gingerly. Then I think back to Cedar's conversation last night. You could also lose sponsors if this keeps happening, he had said. What would my potential sponsors think if they saw me with bruises now? What would anyone think, for that matter? Maybe they would think I am tough, and somehow favor me for getting into a fight before the arena. Maybe they would connect the dots and trace it back to Cedar, and then I would lose sponsors. To hide them or not to hide? I pick up the mirror lying on the nightstand, and decide that trying to hide the bruises would look weak.