The Hunger Games ~ Peeta's POV

Chapter 4

After three long hours, I'm dressed in black pants and a black t-shirt with masculine boots that go up to my shins. I have no idea what this has to do with coal until Portia hands me my cape.

"Here," she says. "Cinna and I came up with something a little risky. We're going to light your capes on fire." My mouth falls open. Is this woman mad? "Don't worry- it's not actual fire, it won't hurt you. Just a little something that Cinna and created." I'm still not sure wether or not I'll be a Pita chip by the time this thing's over.

We all meet up at the loading room before the Chariot Ceremony begins. Everyone seems to be squealing over how fabulous our costumes are and how District twelve may finally be at the top for once. I spot a young man with light brown hair, pacing, looking like he might have an anxiety attack at any moment. I decide that this is Cinna, but I wonder why he looks so nervous. The fire, maybe, for our costumes? Why else would he be acting so strangely?

Katniss strides over to me with her prep team trailing behind her. She is wearing the same cape that I am, only with a unitard and head band on.

"What do do you think?" She whispers to me. "About the fire?" I feel a sense of ease having her by my side; it feels so right.

"I'll rip off your cape, you rip off mine," I say, getting more nervous about the idea by the minute.

"Deal." She looks deeply lost in her thoughts, as if scheming out a plan in her head. "I know we promised Haymitch to do exactly as they said, but I don't think he considered this angle."

"Where is Haymitch, anyway?" I ask, suddenly angry by his lack of care for our lives. "Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?"

"With all of that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame," she says, and then we're both cracking up. Maybe all of this emotional trauma is driving us to insanity. Who knows?

The music begins to signal the start of the ceremony, and we climb up onto our chariot. I suddenly feel a wave of nausea wash over me. Time passes all too quickly as the other tributes ride out on their chariots. Cinna flicks on a lighter and sets our capes ablaze. "It works," he breathes, and I smile.

Good. I won't die today. He puts his hand under Katniss's chin and says something to her, but the music drowns him out. She smiles gently. Cinna jumps off the chariot and yells something else to us, clasping his hands together as a guesture of some sort.

"What's he saying?" Katniss asks me, and I gasp as I get a good look at her. She looks like an angel, with the light off her cape making her hair shine and her gray eyes twinkle.

"I think he said for us to hold hands," I respond, and willingly grab her hand in mine. She doesn't pull away. It feels good, like I've accomplished something unconsciously. It seems like she's beginning to trust me. I smile again.

I stumble a little as the horses pull our chariot forwards, and I'm as stiff as a board. Everyone turns away from district eleven's tributes to look at us. I get a glance at the big screen on the side of a building with our faces on it, and I'm taken aback by how stunning we look. Our faces are lit up by the light off our capes, and we look united by how our hands are locked to each other's. The crowd screams our names enthusiastically, and I feel a bit less self conscious.

I glance over to Katniss to see her blowing kisses to the crowd affectionately, and I'm jealous. And since when does she blow kisses to people? I want to laugh at how crazy it all is. These games are rigged, rigged to toy with your subconscious mind and make you who you aren't. And Katniss is just playing her role to get these people to like us, or her. Again, I feel mildly disturbed by the fact that she may try to kill me. She blows another kiss to the audience, and I feel sick to my stomach as they cheer. She can't actually like these dreadful people, who would be basically laughing as a dagger plunges into our hearts. Someone throws her a rose and she sniffs it, blowing another kiss in that direction. The audience screams and reaches their hands up, as if they were trying to catch it. I smirk. Morons.

I remember her hand in mine, and am shocked at how tightly she is holding onto it, like it was life or death. Basically, it is. I smile, and get even more confident in the costumes' success. I even start waving to these terrible people, winking, as strange as that sounds. We soon enter the city circle and Katniss notices how white my hand is from her grasp. She loosens her grip, concerned for me.

"No," I protest. "Don't let go of me. I might fall out of this thing." I sound too desperate, but Katniss doesn't seem to notice.

"Okay," she says, and then goes back to cutting off my hand's circulation.

All of the chariots make a loop around the city circle as President Snow appears on the stage. He's a small man with thin white hair and lots of wrinkles, but it's his eyes that stand out. His eyes, the ones that dart here and there, glaring, look wrong, not right on his face, too sharp. His eyes are blue, like mine, but they seem to be piercing through all of the crowd straight to us, with an evil gleam to his eye. He could be irritated with us for distracting the audience with our costumes, luring all eyes from him to us, but this is some thing different; like he's set on putting an end to us, and is alone. I immediately develop an intense hatred of this man. I doubt Katniss notices any of this, and I squeeze her hand tighter.

President Snow finishes his annual speech, and the anthem plays as we are pulled through big doors and into the training center, our home/jail until the games begin. The prep teams congratulate us with bubbly praise, and Portia extinguishes the flames off of our capes. Katniss releases my hand, and I flex my sore fingers.

"Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there," I tell her tentatively.

"It didn't show. I'm sure no one noticed." She smiles warmly at me.

"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often. They suit you," I say, and smile really shyly. Then she does something I don't expect. She stands up on her tiptoes and kisses me on the cheek. Right where Haymitch punched me.