Ch. 8
My eyes stare at the piece of bread in Katniss's hands as my mind recalls what happened so many years ago. It takes all of my efforts to keep my face clean of any emotion as I shrug and say, "People will help you in the arena. They'll be tripping over each each other to sponsor you."
"No more than you," she says rather obstinately.
I just roll my eyes lamely and turn to Haymitch. "She has no idea. The effect she can have on people."
I mentally slap myself as I realize what I just said. Ugh, stupid! Why would I say that? I just made a totally normal conversation into an awkward silence! Way to go, Peeta. Your way with words isn't going so well today, is it? I guess i just revealed to Katniss, again, how obsessed I am with her, but she just seems mad this time. Why would these words upset her? Ah, life's many mysteries.
Breaking the silence, Haymitch clears his throat. "Well, then. Well, well, well. Katniss, there's no guarantee there'll be bows and arrows in the arena, but during your private session with the Gamemakers, show them what you can do. Until then, stay clear of archery. Are you any good at trapping?"
"I know a few basic snares."
"That may be significant in terms of food," Haymitch states. He turns to me. "And, Peeta, she's right, never underestimate strength in the arena. Very often, physical power tilts the advantage to a player. In the training center, they will have weights, but don't reveal how much you can lift in front of the other tributes. The plan's the same for both of you. You go to group training. Spend time trying to learn something you don't know. Throw a spear. Swing a mace. Learn to tie a decent knot. Save showing what you're best at until your private sessions. Are we clear?"
Katniss and I nod simultaneously.
"One last thing. In public, I want you by each other's side every minute," he says.
What? No! I like Katniss (actually, I love her), but that doesn't mean I want to spend every second of every day with her.
"But I don't want to-"
"What does this even-"
Katniss and I start complaining at the same time, but Haymitch bangs his fist on the table, silencing us.
"Every minute! It's not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I said! You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other. Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training."
Angrily, I stomp back to my room. I hate being pushed around like some child with no brain! This is the difference between Katniss and I's life or death; don't you think that we should be the ones making the decisions?
The floor rattles and the walls shake as I hear someone slam a door- Katniss, probably- loudly. I can tell that she isn't so happy about being my "training buddy" for the next couple of days, either.
Well, Peeta, I tell myself, I guess it's your own fault. You wanted Haymitch to be your mentor, and you made a deal with him. A stupid, dumb, retarded deal, too.
By the time I'm done assuaging my fury out on a poor pillow, my clock says it's ten. My palms start to sweat as I ride down the glass elevator to the training center, which is underground. The ride is way too fast. Curse you, modern technology.
When we get to the training center, I gasp as I look around at all of the weapons and training supplies. I gulp nervously as I look around at all of the other tributes. The boy from district eleven whom I recognize as Thresh could take me out in a single punch.
Someone pins my district number on my back, and soon enough we all form a circle around a very tall, agile-looking woman who introduces herself as Atala. She gives us the standard rules and schedule, like being forbidden to practice combat with any other tribute, but being able to move around the training stations freely. She begins listing the skill stations, but I don't really pay attention. I'll find out soon enough. Instead, I take a couple of seconds to look around at the tributes.
I'm about as big as half of the boys, and bigger than all of the girls. The girls don't look all too much of a threat, except for the tributes from 1, 2, and 4, but I know better than to underestimate someone. Most everyone is fairly skinny from malnourishment, other than a few exceptions, of course. The Careers look fairly threatening this year; thin, flexible, muscular. I have some body mass, but the way some of these kids look, you'd think that they were on steroids or something.
Atala finishes her lecture and releases us. All of the tributes lunge straight towards the most cold-blooded weapon training in the room. Crap. We're gonna die.
I snap out of it and tap Katniss on the arm. She jumps, looking dazed. She glances around the room, and then shivers.
"Suppose we tie some knots," she suggests.
I remember Haymitch telling us to stick together and to steer clear of what we are good at. "Right you are."
We walk over to a station where there's no other tributes; the knot tying station. Katniss catches on quickly and simply, while it takes me a few tries to get it correct. The impressed trainer sees Katniss's skills, and shows us both a neat snare trap that would leave a person hanging upside down in a tree by their leg. We both practice this skill for an hour or so until we both perfect it.
Next, we go to the camouflage station. Finally. Something I can do. After all of those years of frosting cakes at the bakery, I never would have even dreamt that it would come in handy in the Hunger Games. I dip my fingers in the cool berry juices confidently and smile as I spread it across my skin with ease. Soon enough, I have what looks like the dark forest floor on my arms. Our trainer is zealous about my skills in this category, and Katniss looks at me, surprised by what I can do.
"I do the cakes," I say.
"The cakes?" She asks looking at me. "What cakes?"
She should know about the cakes, considering that she and her little sister Prim would always stop to gaze at them, set up on the display of the shop. I see Prim point them out every time that Katniss walks her home from school, or whenever they go for a walk. Katniss just pushes her along after looking at them for a second, but not before a look of admiration crosses her face. I know she'll never be able to afford them, though, most families can't.
"At home. The iced ones, for the bakery."
"It's lovely. If only you could frost someone to death," she says sharply. Typical Katniss. Yes, I can feel the love.
"Don't be so superior. You can never tell what you'll find in the arena. Say it's actually a gigantic cake-"
"Say we move on."
So this is basically how the next three days work; we learn some skills, we go to different stations, and so forth. As soon as I see the hand-to-hand combat station on the first day, I go straight to them, testing Katniss's theory about me being strong. I fly through them, surprised with myself. Maybe we'll stand a chance in the games after all. My mouth gapes open as I watch Katniss do the edible plant station. She thoughtlessly breezes through it, while I have some difficulty with identifying poisonous mushrooms. We learn how to throw spears, knives, and even nun-chucks, though I highly doubt that the arena will have nun-chucks.
Gamemakers in dark purple robes watch us everyday, about two dozen or so, with beady eyes. They make me feel self conscious, feeling them stare us down day after day.
We always eat lunch with the other tributes on the same floor as the gymnasium. There is plenty of food, as usual, but it's always so quiet except for the career table. Haymitch tells Katniss and I to eat together and keep up a conversation, but the atmosphere is so tense and weird I can hardly stand it. It makes me want to scream. It's really hard to talk to Katniss under pressure, in front of the other tributes, for fear they may gain too much knowledge of us and use it against us. Our conversations seem strained, unnatural.
On day two of training, I'm grateful for a topic to talk about once I really get a good look at the bread that they serve.
"Here, have you ever looked at the bread?"
Katniss nods.
"But have you ever looked at it closely?"
She shakes her head no, her mouth full with sandwich.
"You see this piece?" I show her the bread I'm holding, tinted green. "It's from District 4. Green from the seaweed. And this one?" I show her a crescent roll speckled with little red seeds. "It's from District 11. Agriculture."
"Huh. I never thought of it that way before," she says.
"And there you have it." I carefully set each individual bread back into the basket.
"You certainly know a lot," Katniss says, smiling at me.
"Only about bread," I confess. I lean towards her. "Now laugh as if I said something funny." We give a small laugh, like I told her a joke or whatever, and we receive the entire room staring at us. Is this what we get for playing it casual? "Alright," I say quietly through gritted teeth. "I'll smile pleasantly and you talk."
I'm getting kind of sick of listening to Haymitch and keeping up our whole happy-go-lucky attitude thing 24/7. I mean, it makes no sense to smile and laugh and whatever if there's no reason to in the first place.
Katniss smiles, trying to make it look genuine, and says "Did I ever tell you about the time I was chased by a bear?"
"No," I respond. "But it sounds fascinating."
"Well, I was hunting one day a few years ago..." She goes into a detailed story in which she tried to steal a beehive from a bear, and it went on some angry rampage hunting her down. She said she finally escaped by shimmying under the little hole in the fence, which was too small for the bear to fit through. I'm not sure if the story is completely true or not, but knowing Katniss, it probably is. She tries to show the drama of the story by her expressions, which makes me laugh. Good thing the story's supposed to be funny or else I would look like a total nut. Like I care what the other tributes think of me.
A few hours later, while we're trying (And failing, on my part) to throw a spear, I notice the sweet little twelve year old girl from District Eleven has been following us around, watching us curiously. "I think we have a shadow," I whisper to Katniss as she successfully takes her shot with the spear. "I think her name's Rue."
Katniss gnaws on her lip anxiously. "What can we do about it?" She whispers back coldly. I am a little taken aback by the sharpness in her words, even though I don't exactly know what she means.
"Nothing to do," I shrug. "Just making conversation."
Rue trails behind us basically everywhere we go. It almost makes me feel a little uncomfortable, like I'm being stalked or something. Stalked by an innocent little girl. I snort. Yes, that's probably a first.
Every day, before and after training, Effie and Haymitch question us nonstop about the events that occurred or will occur during the day. Actually, question isn't really a strong enough word for how they drill us. I feel like I'm visiting a shrink, and when ask you something you have to say the first thing that comes to your mind as quickly as possible. Everyone started getting aggressive about it at some point, like when I accidentally slapped my hand down on the table, hitting a spoon and making a glob of mashed potatoes fly into Haymitch's hair. This made him angry and he chucked a boiled carrot at my face, starting an entire food fight, as stupid and childish as that sounds.
As soon as we slip out of the room, I rub my temple, where the carrot hit me. "Someone ought to get Haymitch a drink."
Katniss snorts, but then stops herself, suddenly dead serious. "Don't. Don't let's pretend when there's no one around." It stings a little to hear her say that, but I've gotten used to pain lately, so I don't mind.
"All right, Katniss," I say sleepily, sounding thirty years older than I am. After that, we only talk when there's people around. It feels lonely.
On training day three, we each start getting plucked out of lunch for our private session with the Gamemakers. In numeric order, they call each district, one by one. The room is empty except for Katniss and me when I hear my name get called over the loud speaker.
"Peeta Mellark to the gymnasium," a Gamemaker says in a nasal voice.
I'm just getting out of my seat when I hear Katniss start speaking. "Remember what Haymitch said," she states. "About being sure to throw the weights."
"Thanks, I will. You..." I struggle for words. "Shoot straight."
She nods briefly.
I strut over to the door leading back into the gym and place my hand on the cold doorknob, opening it slowly. I know I should be nervous, but I'm not. Your grade that they give you is just a number.
I walk across the room to the weights and pick up a seventy five pound one, deciding to start simple. I throw it five feet across the room, and the Gamemakers are nodding. I pick up one that weighs maybe one twenty five and chuck it seven feet. I don't look at the Gamemakers this time as I pick up a huge ball of weight that is labeled 175. I use all of my strength, but my sweat makes it slippery, so I drop it, just narrowly missing my toes and probably making a huge dent in the floor. I look up, nervous now, but the Gamemakers aren't looking at me at all. They're singing some kind of dumb song about drinking and prosperity or something. It makes me mad that they are not even looking at me, but I wait until I am released.
I may not have a perfect score, I think as I walk back into the sitting area. But at least the Gamemakers didn't see my big slip-up at the end. Despite a few mistakes, Katniss was right about me being strong; I guess even being a baker's boy can still get you in shape enough to stand a chance in the games.
I take my seat and wait for Katniss to come out, but she doesn't. Because there's a glass wall between the hallway and the sitting room, I watch her storm out of the room and stomp her way to the elevator, her face red with either anger or fear. I call out to her, but she pays me no mind, probably because she doesn't hear me. Or she's really upset.
What's so upsetting about hitting a target with an arrow? Unless she... Oh no... Missed. Badly. And hit someone. Oh, #%!#.
***I know, this chapter's really bad and stuff. And it might not be very long. I'm not sure because before you upload it doesn't tell you how many pages it is, so... Ehh...
-Swangirl98***