The sword plunged into the mannequin's chest, specifically on the left side, where the heart should be, and the gymnasium fell into a deep silence, as it used to do. Nola could only feel her own breathing, agitated by the effort, her heart pounding in her ears, oxygenating, and her sweat running down her temples and neck, the hair in her ponytail sticking to her forehead and neck. The girl turned quickly, and some of those who had been her onlookers had stared at her, pale and stupefied, while others knew what they should do: look away and return to their chores so as not to disturb her.
Nola fiddled with the handle of the sword between her fingers, then sheathed it in its sheath on her back, not looking to see if she stuck it where she should, but she wasn't surprised when she did. It wasn't like she trained every morning in the District gym to impress people —though she had to admit it felt good when they looked at her with awe and surprise— but she had to admit that being able to wield a sword at only nineteen was impressive.
She decided she had had enough of the impertinent stares, and after sharing a nod with the trainers of the future tributes, and even some of the Victors from previous years, Nola left the gym. She passed through the marketplace, dodging children who approached her to tell her how much they admired her and how much they wished they could become as strong as she was, to which she simply responded with a grimace that was intended to be a smile. However, if Nola was known for anything in the District, it was not exactly for her friendliness, and that was something they had learned to accept, otherwise she would not be their prized victor.
She crossed the fields of District 2 to gain access to the magnificent houses of the Winners. Her District was one of the ones that housed the most Hunger Games winners, so the mansions numbered more than twenty, although some of them were already uninhabited. She had to admit that this house with five bedrooms, three bathrooms, two floors and an attic, a huge living room and a garden that was even more so, was sometimes lonely. But she often shrugged her shoulders and poured herself another glass of whiskey: she preferred that solitude to the company she frequented at boarding school.
District 2 was a strange place to grow up if you weren't born into a wealthy or at least well-to-do family. Nola's childhood had been the opposite of what a skilled tribute experienced: she hadn't had access to a good education, nor had she had access to a warm home, much less received health care or physical care like the rest of the children, no. She had grown up in the boarding school, an euphemism for what an orphanage was, and there she shared a room with dozens of girls going through the same situation as her, the only difference being that she had become a Victor, and the other girls would probably have been forced to marry rich boys or would have ended up on the streets when they came of age.
But she didn't think too much about that. She was rich, she was successful, she was famous. She was alive. She had everything in the palm of her hands, she had the world at her feet and no one would be able to take it away from her anymore. Because she had shown the world at only sixteen years old that she was worthy of all that fame, of that fortune, earning the admiration of the Capitol, which had supported her in her passage through the Hunger Games, impressed with the girl's skills after being aware that she had never trained like her partner in the Games.
She remembered plunging the knife into his chest in the same way she was now plunging it into the apple to cut it to pieces.
—Miss Bernacci? —she heard a voice behind her. She put a piece of apple in her mouth and raised her eyebrows. The peacekeeper seemed to hesitate—. There are two men here to see you. Should I let them in?
—Oh? Is one of them President Snow?
The peacekeeper turned away for a moment, not knowing what to do. The truth was that Nola's attitude always managed to disconcert him.—No, Miss Bernacci.
The blonde wrinkled her nose—. Then I'm not interested.
—Nola!— she heard a youthful voice on the other side of the door, dragging the 'o' of her name with an arrogant but playful tone, and the girl spared a roll of her eyes.
—Let them through— Nola nodded, and the peacekeeper stepped back after opening the back door of the house to let the two men through. Nola caught a glimpse of him feeling their limbs to make sure they weren't carrying anything that could hurt her, and the blonde thought she could get rid of those two in the blink of an eye. She kept her gesture impassive when she saw Finnick Odair enter her house, looking around and whistling every time he saw something that impressed him. She had to admit that the boy was extremely attractive, but even so, the smirk he gave her didn't impress her—. Pretty boy— However, she didn't hide her displeasure when she saw that the one following him was Haymitch Abernathy, someone Nola didn't like very much, and she let him know it.—And old man.
—A little early to be drinking, don't you think?— Haymitch nodded to the half-empty glass on the wooden table that presumably belonged to the girl, then shrugged when he saw a split apple next to it.
—Says you— Nola countered, taking another bite of a piece of the apple.
—As nice as ever.
—You know me— said the blonde from District 2, taking a seat on her own couch, crossing her legs on the coffee table and turning on the television—. So, what brings you here? I don't suppose you want to invite me to your birthday parties?
—Mine's in April— Finnick said, raising his hand.
Nola gave him a withering look—. Nobody cares, Finnick. Now seriously, what do you want? I can't waste my valuable time with you.
—Insolent girl— Haymitch muttered under his breath, and Nola, listening to him, felt satisfied. Getting on that man's nerves was one of her proudest moments.
Nola had met Haymitch Abernathy three years ago, when she had participated in the Hunger Games and he was the only mentor available to District 12. Nola had not yet been born when the man won his edition of the Games, but she did remember that the streets, even in District 2, had raved about him, years after he won. They had praised his strategy, his ability to survive in the arena despite coming from one of the poorest Districts, and even some of the more humble people in her District had shown real pity upon discovering that one of the most decorated winners had given himself to alcohol.
Nola couldn't blame him, after all. She had seen him soak up like a sponge at some point in her journey at the Games, his long, seemingly dirty hair coating his eyes as he finished his glass in one gulp. Nola had been curious about him, but as she had become a victor, she had felt pity: few people in the wealthier Districts had given in to alcohol, and yet Haymitch had been the most notorious alcoholic in the Capitol.
However, it could not be said that they had a bad relationship. They didn't get along as well as she did with Finnick, but she loved to make the older man mad, and Nola knew that despite her origins and age, Haymitch liked her. Maybe because she reminded him a little of himself.
—I shouldn't be the one to bury the hatchet, but...— Finnick began, looking at the two of them, then at Haymitch—. We came here for a reason, and arguing is not going to solve anything.
—Yes, you're right, you're right— Haymitch nodded several times. At this, Nola admitted she was starting to get curious.
—Surprise me— smiled the girl as she lay down as long as she was on her couch.
—We'll start at the beginning. Last year, when the Games were held, no one thought they would be any different. Twenty-three more children would die, as they did every year, in the arena, seen as a mere spectacle for the Capitol. However, it couldn't be anything further from the truth. The two kids from District 12, Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen, both made it out of the Games alive, something that had never happened before. We do not know exactly why both threatened to take their own lives if the other did not also survive, but what we do know is that this has triggered in the Capitol and in the rest of the Districts some unsuspected thoughts: part of the upper echelon of the Capitol sees it as an act of insolence, of rebellion against them; while the Districts welcome it as someone finally standing up to the Capitol government, so many have thought that they could be the next to achieve that.
—I'm bored— Nola commented, looking at her nails.
Finnick closed his mouth, taken aback—. I'll be concise, then. As you well know, the third vassalage of the twenty-five is coming up. The Games are going to change, Nola. The Capitol, specifically Snow, wants to attack Katniss and Peeta for having the courage to do what they did.
—What does it matter to me? What does it concern me?
Haymitch raised his voice—. The tributes will be chosen from all the winners.
Nola said nothing. Finnick searched her eyes for a hint of sadness, worry, anxiety, horror, but found nothing. For his part, Haymitch knew that Nola would not show any kind of emotion: after all, it was what had made her famous and beloved.
—That can't be true— she said at last—. What would that accomplish? They'd kill a lot of the Capitol's favorite people, what good would that do them?
—Oh my God, can you stop focusing on the superficial? Katniss and Peeta are two of the three victors from our District. Odds are, Katniss and Peeta will go for sure.
—Peeta? Can't you be the one to go?
Haymitch looked at her gravely—. The boy won't leave Katniss alone. After all they've become friends, it's only natural that he'd want to protect her from the rest of the fiends that will inhabit the arena with them. The point is that by doing this they will kill both of them, silencing any kind of hope they may have stoked by rebelling against the Capitol.
—And won't that make people hate Snow even more? Your kids have become famous, the public loves them, killing them will only backfire.
—Since when has Snow ever cared about anything? He wants things done his way, and if two kids dare to dismantle his Games, he's going to kill them no matter what. It's not what he'll want to demonstrate publicly, of course, but it's the perfect opportunity to do so. Vassalages have always been a reason for something special, and what could be more special than ending the hope of Panem?
Nola thought—. But is all this true? How did you find out?
—You forget what I usually do in exchange for secrets— Finnick replied with a cold smile on his lips—. People in the Capitol are willing to talk when you give them what they want. I guess they'll confirm that shortly, as the reaping day approaches. Many of the victors don't have a clue: they're sitting quietly at home, thinking they're off the hook. But we are tired, Nola. We're tired of being used by the Capitol, Snow and his minions, of being just cogs in their game to entertain people who don't even care about us. We see twenty-three children die every year, and that amuses them. And if that wasn't enough, they want to put us back in the arena to pit us against each other, friends, even, for fun again, and maybe for some revenge as well. I will not be the one who is now a friend of your Districts, but even you do not deserve to go through something like this again. Some people are already close to an old age, for God's sake. Don't you think it's too savage even for Snow?
The blonde girl clicked her tongue and shook her head—. All right, but I still don't know exactly what all this has to do with me. There are over twenty living victors from my district, over half of whom are women, not to mention that District 2 has always seen it as an honor to enter the arena, so the odds of me eventually going are slim.
—This isn't just about you, Nola— Haymitch said, raising his voice again—. Believe it or not, there are more people living in this world, you are not the center of it all. This is about the future of Panem. Clearly, we can't change Snow's rules for his own game, but we can move the pieces in a way that makes them rebel against him. If we can get Katniss to survive the Games again, Snow's plan will have failed and the people of Panem will once again have that hope that the girl has already instilled. Hell, there might even be a revolution when people find out why the Games have truly been modified in such a way as to involve winners.
Nola smiled, albeit half-heartedly. She got up from the couch and turned off the television, tired of the background noise as a spectacle unfolded in her living room—. Say what you're trying to say, Haymitch.
—Volunteer to go to the Games.
—And why on earth would I do that?— The truth was that Nola was not amused that they were coming to her house to convince her to dodge death for a second time.
—Because Katniss is the only chance we have to destroy the system once and for all— Finnick answered for Haymitch, aware that he had to put out a little fire between the two of them to bring some peace.
Nola raised her arms—. There have been hundreds of people like your girl in Panem's history and there will be after her. They will try to overthrow the system, they will try to get people to follow her, to no avail. You know why? Because even though they have hope, people are also afraid. You think it's a great plan, but if it fails, the first to die will be the ordinary people. The victors will remain untouchable, because the Capitol loves us too much. But what the fuck do they care about these people? What do they care about the miners, the farmers, the vendors? Your plan is useless. It's risking death for something you don't even know will work.
—Nothing has ever been as strong as this, Nola.
Nola watched Finnick carefully—. What about Annie, are you willing to let her sacrifice herself for this too?
The copper-haired boy shrugged—. Obviously I don't want to put her in danger, but nothing can stop her if she really wants to join the cause.
—And why on earth would I? I don't know if you've noticed, but it's likely that two weeks from now, when the reaping has happened, I'll still be at home, drinking my whiskey, lying on my couch, quietly. I don't know about you, but I like my life too much to spoil it for some crazy people.
—I told you it was useless, Finnick— Haymitch interjected, turning to the boy, regretting having taken a train just to get a negative answer. He didn't even think it was worth insisting: Nola was too stubborn.
—We came here for you and no one else. Probably other victors have more experience in the arena, or training, but we want you as an ally, Nola. I know you don't like to show your emotions, or talk to people longer than you should, but your skills with the sword and your ability to perform in the arena would serve us well in our mission. I have no right to force you to join us, and I won't do that, we'll leave you alone after this if that's what you want, but we had to tell you. Everyone knows what Snow and the Capitol does with their youngest and most attractive victors, and it's time to make each and every one of them pay for this. And there's no better way than by beating them at their own game.
—You seem to forget that your girl was involved in getting my two kids killed last year— Nola reminded them with a bittersweet face.
—Since when has that ever been personal for you?— Haymitch asked with a frown.
—Since you asked me to be able to sacrifice my life for someone who wouldn't hesitate to get rid of mine if necessary— Nola answered calmly. Yes, since winning the games she had been a mentor twice, and in no case had she felt sorry for what had happened. She knew Cato and Clove from the District, more from seeing them in the gym than anything else, and while she would have preferred one of them to win, she couldn't say she shed a tear for them either. That was the Games, after all—. You know what? I was in a good mood before you guys got here, so I'll do you a favor and I won't cut you. Now get out of here, okay? Before I change my mind.