The Everlark Chronicles

Chapter 3: No Contest

Chapter 3: No Contest

"I remember everything about you," says Peeta, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "You're the one who wasn't paying attention."

"I am now," I say.

"Well, I don't have much competition here," he says.

I want to draw away, to close the shutters again, but I know I can't. It's as if I can hear Haymitch whispering in my ear, "Say it! Say it!"

I swallow hard and get the words out. "You don't have much competition anywhere." And this time, it's me who leans in. - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games, Chapter 22

Someone's downstairs.

I look at the clock on my bedside table. It's five in the morning. Soundlessly, I get off the bed and crack the door a little. Sounds of clattering coming from downstairs. For a moment I think of Peeta, but remember that he said he was going to let me sleep in today.

Then there's Haymitch. But Haymitch won't be up this early. We're lucky if we see him earlier than 11 most days.

I grab my bow from my closet and tiptoe down the stairs.

More banging. Whoever it is, is looking for something. It's coming from the kitchen.

My bow is drawn and pointed at the kitchen, waiting for someone to appear.

"Who's there?" I call out, voice steady, hands ready.

No answer.

"Who's there?" I say again, louder this time.

A head pops up from the counter and I almost let go in surprise.

"Hello sweetheart," Haymitch says, grinning widely.

"Haymitch? I almost shot you!" I exclaim, heart racing. I carefully set my bow down and walk towards him. "What in the world are you doing here this early in the morning? Are you crazy? Are you sleepwalking? Are you drunk? Where's Peeta? Is he okay?"

Haymitch clutches his head with his hands. "Easy there, sweetheart. Too many questions so early in the morning. Geez, you're making my head hurt." He turns back to rummage through the cupboards. "Don't you have a coffee cup here?"

"Top cabinet on your left," I point.

He takes his time grabbing the cup, pouring hot water from the kettle on the stove, dumping a packet of coffee into it, and stirring the contents. He takes a whiff and sighs.

"What, no alcohol?" I say, sarcastically.

"I like the way you think, sweetheart," Haymitch winks at me. "I was trying to be considerate and not drink in front of you this early, but since you insist..." He takes a small steel bottle from his pocket and pours the entire contents into his cup. I think there's more liquor there than coffee now.

"When has that ever stopped you?" I say, arms crossed.

"Touché, my dear."

"Well?" I'm tapping my foot impatiently on the floor.

"Well what?" he says, settling himself comfortably on my couch.

"What are you doing here this early in the morning?" A thought crosses my head and I look at him in alarm. "Did something happen? How's President Paylor? Are we at war again?"

Haymitch lets out a chuckle. "No, no. None of that."

I let out a sigh of relief. Then I frown at him. "Why are you here, Haymitch? To what do I owe this wonderful visit?"