Ch. 9
I nervously finish the day of training, blind to whatever I'm physically doing. I mean, someone could walk up to me and randomly push me over and I wouldn't realize it until a couple of seconds after I hit the floor. I'm too preoccupied with my thoughts to really care.
Why was Katniss so upset when she came out of the gymnasium? It's eating me away slowly but painfully all throughout the day. Did she... You know... Kill a Gamemaker? I squeeze the knife in my hand so hard that I cry out for pain when it begins to dig into my flesh. My blood begins dripping in a steady stream onto the multicolored carpet. The man at the knife throwing station pushes me towards a less violent skill. No, she couldn't kill a Gamemaker. Surely they would go after her. But they didn't. So why was she upset? I can't really think of anything that she could do to make her so flushed.
I go through the rest of my day in silence, only speaking to the trainers at the stations, if even. I'm itching to go find Katniss and tell her everything's alright, and that she's safe. Nothing she could do would tick off the Gamemakers enough to male them kill her in the arena, or single her out from the rest of the tributes.
When the training session is finally over, I'm first to the elevator, zipping up the shaft. I change my mind about modern technology; I like it. I speed walk my way to Katniss's room, but it still takes a couple of minutes because of the size of the place.
I hear muddled sobs as soon as I get to her hall. They sound heartbroken and scared. I'm a little surprised, because Katniss had never seemed like the crying type. She was too brave and strong for her own good. I give a quick rap on her door, holding my breath.
"Go away, Haymitch!" I hear her scream, and there's a thunk as she hurls something at the door; a pillow, probably. Maybe I shouldn't have come... I might just end up making her angrier. But, I put that aside and keep knocking until I know for sure that she's not answering the door.
I trudge back to my room, a little bit disappointed that I didn't get anything useful out of that trip down the hall. After I take a shower and change shirts into something clean, the little dice from my dad catches my eye. It's still sitting on the dresser, where I had put it several nights earlier. A reminder of home. Snarky, arrogant, familiar home. A place filled with people that I'll never see again.
I sigh and remember that this was my decision, my choice to do this. To protect Katniss. To make her the winner of the 74th annual Hunger Games. Now, to put that plan into action. However I do that. But I can't think of home, because that will only get me depressed.
Effie calls me to dinner, and my spirits are lifted by the thought of seeing Katniss and finding out what happened back in the gym. I mosey my way to the dinning room. Everyone is already there except for Katniss; even Cinna and Portia, who had been skipping out on us for the past couple of days.
After a few minutes, Katniss finally shows up, and she's a total wreck. I can tell she tried to conceal it, but her eyes are red and puffy from all of that crying. She silently sits down and takes minuet slurps of her soup, meeting no one's eyes.
Everyone but Katniss and I begin light conversation about this week's forecast. At some point, Katniss catches me staring at her quizzically, and gives her head a small shake, not enough to set off the others. I let out a tense breath impatiently. She doesn't seem to notice.
Haymitch, not unlike me, gets impatient. "Okay, enough small talk, just how bad were you today?"
I recall the end of my session, when everyone started singing about spirits and wine and the end of the rainbow or something. I just now remember this because I was caught up in myself. Scoff. I'm so self centered, I'm blind. Ugh. "I don't know that it mattered. By the time I showed up, no one bothered to even look at me. They were singing some kind of drinking song, I think. So, I threw around some heavy objects until they told me I could go."
Haymitch nods, and then turns to Katniss. "And you, Sweetheart?"
Katniss's face goes red, with anger or embarrassment. "I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers," she says very nonchalantly.
I breathe a sigh of instantaneous relief. Whew. Bad, but no where close to what I was thinking could have happened. I glance around and see that I'm the only one without horror painted onto my features.
"You what?" Effie squeaks tensely.
Katniss shrugs. "I shot an arrow at them. Not exactly at them. In their direction. It's like Peeta said, I was shooting and they were ignoring me and I just... I just lost my head, so I shot an apple out of their stupid roast pig's mouth!"
"And what did they say?" Cinna asks level-headedly.
"Nothing. Or I don't know. I walked out after that."
"Without being dismissed?" Effie shrieks. According to her, that would probably be worse than shooting at the Gamemakers. With Effie, it's all about the manners.
"I dismissed myself." Katniss resumes cutting her meat with a steak knife.
All is silent for the next few seconds. "Well, that's that," Haymitch says casually.
"Do you think they'll arrest me?" Katniss asks.
"Doubt it," says Haymitch. "Be a pain to replace you at this stage."
Her next words sound painful, strained and quiet. "What about my family? Will they punish them?"
"Don't think so. Wouldn't make much sense. See, they'd have to reveal what happened in the training center for it to have any worthwhile effect on the population. People would need to know what you did," Haymitch says. "But they can't since it's secret, so it'd be a waste of effort. More likely, they'll make your life hell in the arena."
"Well, they've already promised to do that to us anyway," i I mumble to no one in particular.
"Very true," Haymitch states. He picks up his meat with his fingers and dips it in his wine, as gross as that is. I don't even have to look up to see that Effie is frowning with disgust. "What were their faces like?"
Katniss's lips curve into something similar to a small smile. "Shocked. Terrified. Uh, ridiculous, some of them." She thinks for a moment. "One man tripped backward into a bowl of punch."
Haymitch starts cracking up, and soon the rest of us join in, except for Effie, of course. But even she can't help from smiling a little. "Well, it serves them right. It's their job to pay attention to you. And just because you come from District Twelve is no excuse to ignore you." Effie's eyes flicker around the room, appearing self conscious. "I'm sorry, but that's what I think."
"I'll get a very bad score," Katniss puts herself down.
"Scores only matter if they're very good, no one pays much attention to the bad or mediocre ones. For all they know, you could be hiding your talents to get a low score on purpose. People use that strategy," Portia explains. Do I have the best stylist ever, or what?
"I hope that's how people interpret the four I'll probably get," I grumble, suddenly distraught. Maybe weight lifting wasn't the best way to go. I'll bet Gamemakers see that every year! "If that. Really, is anything less impressive than watching a person pick up a heavy ball and throw it a couple of yards. One almost landed on my foot."
Katniss grins at me, amused, and goes back to eating her food.
After we're all done, we go into the same sitting room as when we watched the chariots in the opening ceremonies. The red head Avox girl flips on the TV and we sit there, biting our nails, waiting for our scores to show up. The careers do well, naturally, getting an eight at the least. Most tributes get at least a three or four, but tiny, tiny Rue got a seven. She must have done something that had to do with speed, or agility, because it wouldn't be all that impressive to watch a twelve year old pick up a thirty pound weight at the most.
And the real show begins. My face flashes across the screen right after Rue, and an eight pops up on the screen right below my photo. How could I have gotten an eight? I have no clue. But at least a couple of Gamemakers were watching.
Next, is Katniss. Her face shows up, and right below it blinks the number eleven. Eleven! A Hunger Games record, too. Effie squeals, and next thing you know we're all patting Katniss on the back and cheering her on. She grins.
"There must be a mistake. How... how could that happen?" She turns to Haymitch.
"Guess they liked your temper," he suggests. "They've got a show to put on. They need players with some heat."
"Katniss, the girl who was on fire," Cinna says, hugging her. "Oh, wait until you see your interview dress."
"More flames?" She asks skeptically, arching one eyebrow.
"Of a sort."
Katniss turns to me. "Good job with your eight, by the way," she says.
"It's nothing compared to your eleven. I think you just made Hunger Games history!" I say, and then there's an awkward silence.
"I guess. I'll see you tomorrow, Peeta," she says, and then escapes to her room for the night.
"Bye," I say, even though I know she's already gone. I walk back to my room slowly, with the number eight slowly fading away. Instead, there lies a new reality; my dream, from several nights ago, about the hovercraft. Tomorrow we get coached on our interviews. Together. It still doesn't feel right. Maybe I should go talk to Haymitch about them, get him to coach us separately. I want Katniss to think of me as the enemy now, someone not to be trusted, even though I really want to earn her trust. If it comes down to it, she's going to have to kill me, or not to grieve if someone else does. So I, nor she, should get too attached to each other. We shouldn't be friends. But I can't help it. Oh, yes, I can.
I stop in my tracks and swivel around on my heel, right back to Haymitch's room, where, as usual, he's chugging down something out of a bottle. But I can tell he's sober enough to talk to.
"Haymitch, I need to tell you something," I say.
"What?" He says grumpily, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "I don't like to be disturbed, so this had better be quick. Got it?"
I nod. "I need you to coach us separately."
"Yeah. Sure. No problem." He yawns. "Can I ask your motive for the sudden change of attitude?"
I cluck my tongue. "You said make it quick," I defend my secretive cause.
"Eh, never mind. I'll respect your privacy. Now, Peeta, do yourself a favor and go to bed."
"Sure."
I walk back to my room and curl up under the covers. I now realize another motive to coaching us separately, one that I hadn't seen before. I promised Cinna that I would tell Haymitch about being in love with Katniss. And I choose to do this in private.
Next thing I know, sun light pours through my windows before I'm ready to wake up. I get dressed, brush my teeth, and walk quickly down the hallway to breakfast. Effie and Haymitch are already there, whispering.
"Peeta, come here," Haymitch says. "What are you going to tell Katniss?"
"Wait, what am I going to tell her? I thought you were going to tell her! I don't want to hurt her feelings or something by telling her that I want to be coached separately!" I whisper-shout. "I have my reasons."
"Well then, what are those reasons?" Effie says.
"I have the right to remain silent, don't-"
Katniss walks in and sees us whispering, a little confused. She loads up her plate with breakfast and sits down.
"So, what's going on? You're coaching us on interviews today, right?" She says.
"That's right," says Haymitch uncomfortably, shifting his weight in his chair.
"You don't have to wait until I'm done. I can listen and eat at the same time," she says, shoveling a a fork full of eggs into her mouth
"Well, there's been a change of plans. About our current approach."
"What's that?"
Haymitch swallows. "Peeta has asked to be coached separately."