He could not have felt more exposed had he been standing naked in the middle of the Corso. At least then he would’ve had the option to escape. Now he was trapped and on display, for the first time appreciating the animals’ inability to hide.
Children had begun to chatter excitedly and point at his school uniform, drawing the attention of the adults. Faces were filling all the available space between the bars. But the real horror was a pair of cameras positioned at either end of the visitors.
Capitol News. With their omnipresent coverage and their saucy slogan, “If you didn’t see it here, it didn’t happen.”
Oh, it was happening. To him. Now.
He could feel his image going live all over the Capitol. Fortunately, shock rooted him to the spot, because the only thing worse than him standing among the district riffraff in the zoo would be him running around like a fool trying to escape. There was no easy way out. It was built for wild animals. Attempting to hide would be even more pathetic. Imagine how delicious that footage would be for Capitol News. They would play it ad nauseam. Add silly music and captions. Snow’s meltdown! Make it part of the weather report. Too hot for Snow! They would rerun it as long as he lived. His disgrace would be complete.
What option did that leave him? Only to stand his ground, looking the cameras dead in the eye, until he was rescued.
He straightened up to his full height, subtly shifted back his shoulders, and attempted to look bored. The audience began to call out to him — first the high-pitched children’s voices, then the adults joining in, asking what he was doing, why was he in the cage, did he need help? Someone recognized him, and his name spread like wildfire through the crowd, which was becoming deeper by the minute.
“It’s the Snow boy!”
“Who’s that again?”
“You know, the ones with the roses on their roof!”
Who were all these people hanging around on a weekday at the zoo? Didn’t they have jobs? Shouldn’t the children be in school? No wonder the country was such a mess.
The district tributes began to circle, taunting him. There was the pair from District 11, and the vicious little boy who had called for his death, and several new ones, too. He remembered the hatred in the truck and wondered what would happen if they attacked him as a pack. Perhaps the audience would only cheer them on.
Coriolanus tried not to panic, but he could feel sweat running down his sides. All the faces — of the nearby tributes, of the crowd at the bars — began to blur. Their features became indistinct, leaving only dark and light patches of skin broken by the pinkish red of their open mouths. His limbs felt numb, his lungs starved for air. He was beginning to consider making a break for the chute and attempting to climb it when a voice behind him softly said, “Own it.”
Without turning he knew it was the girl, his girl, and he felt immense relief that he was not entirely alone. He thought of how cleverly she had played the audience after the mayor’s assault, how she had won them all with her song. She was right, of course. He had to make this moment look intentional or it was all over.
He took a deep breath and turned to where she sat, casually fixing the white rose behind her ear. She always seemed to be improving her appearance. Arranging her ruffles in District 12, grooming her hair at the train station, He extended his hand to her as if she was the grandest lady in the Capitol.
The edges of Jolene' s mouth curled up. As she took his hand, her touch sent a tiny electrical spark up his arm, and he felt as if a bit of her onstage charisma had been transferred to him. He made a small bow as she stood with exaggerated elegance.
She’s onstage. You’re onstage. This is the show, he thought. He lifted his head and asked, “Would you care to meet a few of my neighbors?”
“I would be delighted,” she said as if they were at an afternoon tea..
Jolene gave the spectators a big smile,that characteristic smile of hers, seemingly pleased to be there, but as he led her to the bars he could feel her fingers clenching his like a vise.
A shallow moat that ran between the rocky structures and the bars of the monkey house had once formed a watery barrier between the animals and the visitors, but it was bone-dry now. They descended three steps, crossed the moat, and climbed back up to a shelf that ran around the enclosure, putting them eye-to-eye with the patrons. Coriolanus chose a spot several yards from one of the cameras — let it come to him — where a gaggle of small children stood in a cluster.
The bars were spaced about four inches apart — not enough room to slide a whole body between, but ample if you wanted to reach your hand through. The children fell silent as they approached, pressing back into their parents’ legs.
Coriolanus thought the afternoon tea image was as good as any, so he continued to treat the situation with the same lightness. “How do you do?” he said, leaning over to the children. “I brought along a friend of mine today. Would you like to meet her?”
The children shifted around, and there were a few giggles. Then one little boy shouted, “Yes!” He slapped the bars with his hands a few times, then shoved them in his pockets uncertainly. “We saw her on the television.”
Coriolanus led Jolene right up to the bars. “May I present Miss Jolene "Sunshine" Bauregard?"
The comment earned a chuckle from Jolene and now Coriolanus was sure it'd be okay.
The audience had fallen silent now, nervous at her proximity to the children but eager to hear what the strange tribute was going to say. She went down on one knee about a foot from the bars. “Hi there. I’m Jolene What’s your name?”
“Pontius,” the boy said, glancing up to his mother for reassurance. She looked warily at her, but the girl ignored her.
“How do you do, Pontius?” she said.
Like any well-bred Capitol lad, the boy thrust his hand out to shake. Jolene raised her hand to meet his but refrained from sticking it through the bars, which might have appeared threatening.
As a result, it was the boy who reached into the cage to make contact. She squeezed his little hand warmly.
“So nice to meet you. Is this your sister?” She nodded to the little girl next to him. She stood saucer-eyed as she sucked on a finger.
“That’s Venus,” he said. “She’s only four.”
“Well, I think four is a very smart age to be, And may i say, you are a pretty little thing” said Jolene “Nice to meet you, Venus.”
“I liked your song,” whispered Venus.
“You did?” Jolene's face was filled with awe warming Coriolanus as well. “That’s so sweet. Well, you keep watching, Precious, and I’ll try to sing you another. Okay?”
Venus nodded and then buried her face in her mother’s skirt, bringing laughter and a few aws from the crowd.
Jolene began to sidestep her way along the fence, engaging the children as she went. Coriolanus hung back a bit to give her space.
“Did you bring your snake?” a girl clutching a dripping strawberry ice pop asked hopefully.
“I hoped i would have. That snake was the snake of my friend.” Jolene told her her eyes looking down. “Do you have a pet?”
“I have a fish,” said the girl. She leaned into the bars. “His name is Bub.” She transferred her treat to her other hand and reached through the bars for Jolene.
“Can I touch your white dress?” Streaks of ruby syrup ran from her fist to her elbow, but Jolene just laughed and offered up a bit of her of her skirt.
The girl ran a tentative finger over the ruffles. “It’s so pretty.”
Jolene's face lit up with joy. “I like yours, too.” The girl’s dress was a faded, printed thing, nothing to remark on. But Jolene said, “Polka dots always make me feel happy,” and the girl beamed.
Coriolanus could sense the audience beginning to warm up to his tribute, no longer bothering to keep their distance. People were easy to manipulate when it came to their children. So pleased to see them pleased.
Instinctively, Jolene seemed to know this, ignoring the adults as she moved along. She had almost reached one of the cameras and its accompanying reporter. She must have sensed it, but when she rose and found it directly in her face, she gave a slight start, then laughed. “Oh, hi there. Are we on television?”
The Capitol reporter, a young man eager for a story, leaned in hungrily. “We certainly are.”
“And who might you be?” she asked.
“I’m Caesar Flickerman with Capitol News,” he said, flashing a grin. “So, Jolene Bau-" He tried saying her last name but failed ", you’re the tribute from District Twelve?”
“Tt’s Jolene and yes!” she said.
After asking some blant questions Jolene was getting bored.
The reporter could feel her slipping away. “Your dress has been a big hit in the Capitol!”
“Has it? Well, the dress was my mama’s, so it’s extra special to me,” she said.
“She in District Twelve?” Lepidus asked.
“Yes darling..” Jolene stared directly at the reporter, who seemed to have trouble forming his next question.
She watched him struggle for a moment, then gestured to Coriolanus. “So, do you know my mentor? Says his name is Coriolanus Snow. He’s a Capitol boy and clearly I got the cake with the cream, ’cause nobody else’s mentor even bothered to show up to welcome them.”
“Well, he gave us all a surprise. Did your teachers tell you to be here, Coriolanus?” asked Flickerman.
Coriolanus stepped toward the camera and tried for likable with a hint of roguishness. “They didn’t tell me not to.” Laughter rippled through the crowd. “But I do remember them saying that I was to introduce Jolie to the Capitol, and I take that job seriously.”
“So you didn’t have a second thought about diving into a cage of tributes?” prompted the reporter.
“A second, a third, and I imagine the fourth and fifth will be hitting me sometime soon,” admitted Coriolanus. “But if she’s brave enough to be here, shouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, for the record, I didn’t have a choice,” said Jolene laughing.
“For the record, neither did I,” said Coriolanus. “After I heard you sing, I couldn’t keep away. I confess, I’m a fan.” Jolene gave her skirt a swish, and her pale face seemed to turn the colour of a rose.
Well, I hope for your sake the Academy agrees with you, Coriolanus,” said Flickerman. “I think you’re about to find out.”
Coriolanus turned to see metal doors, their windows reinforced with grates, swinging open in the back of the monkey house. A quartet of Peacekeepers marched in and headed straight for him. He turned to the camera, intent on making a good exit.
“Thank you for joining us,” he said. “Remember, it’s Jolene Bauregard , representing District Twelve. Drop by the zoo if you have a minute and say hello. I promise she’s well worth the effort.”
Jolene extended her hand to him with the delicate droop of the wrist that invited a kiss. He obliged, and when his lips brushed her skin, he felt a pleasant tingle.
After giving the audience one last wave, he stepped up calmly to meet the Peacekeepers. One nodded tersely, and without a word he followed them from the enclosure to a respectable applause.
When the doors closed behind him, his breath came out in a huff and he realized how afraid he’d been. He silently congratulated himself for maintaining grace under pressure, but the scowls of the Peacekeepers suggested they did not share his opinion.
“What are you playing at?” a Peacekeeper demanded. “You’re not allowed in there.”
“So I thought, until your cohorts unceremoniously dumped me down a chute,” Coriolanus replied. He thought the combination of cohorts and unceremoniously had just the right note of superiority. “I only signed up for the ride to the zoo. I’d be happy to explain the whole thing to your presiding officer and identify the Peacekeepers who did this. But to you, I offer my thanks.”
“Uh-huh,” she said flatly. “We have orders to escort you to the Academy.”
“Even better,” said Coriolanus, sounding more confident than he felt. The quick reaction from the school unsettled him.
Although the television in the backseat of the Peacekeeper van was broken, he was able to catch glimpses of the story along the way on the huge public screens that dotted the Capitol. Nervous energy began to bubble up as he saw images of first Jolene, then himself, beaming out over the city. He could never have planned anything this audacious, but since it had happened, he might as well enjoy it. And really, he thought, he had given a fine performance. Kept his head. Stood his ground. Featured the girl, and she was a natural. Handled it all with dignity and a little ironic humor.
By the time he reached the Academy, he had recovered his composure and ascended the steps with assurance. It helped that every head was turning his way, and had there been no Peacekeepers to hold them at bay, he felt sure his schoolmates would have swarmed him.
He thought he’d be taken to the office, but the guard deposited him on the bench outside the door to, of all places, the high biology lab, which was restricted to the senior students most gifted in the science.
Although it was not his favorite subject — the smell of formaldehyde triggered his gag reflex, and he loathed working with a partner — he did sufficiently well in genetic manipulation to have landed a spot in the class.
Nothing like that whiz Io Jasper, who seemed to have been born with a microscope attached to her eye. He was always gracious to Io, though, and as a result, she adored him. With unpopular people, such a minor effort went such a long way.
But who was he to feel superior? Across from the bench, on the bulletin board for student notices, a memo had been posted. It read:
10th HUNGER GAMES
MENTOR ASSIGNMENTS
DISTRICT 1
Boy ---- Liviaw Cardew
Girl --- Palmyra Monty
DISTRICT 2
Boy Sejanus Plinth
Girl Florus Friend
DISTRICT 3
Boy Io Jasper
Girl Urban Canville
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
DISTRICT 12
Boy -- Lysistrata Vickers
Girl --- Coriolanus Snow
Could there be a more stinging public reminder of his precarious position than to be dangling there at the end like an afterthought?
After Coriolanus spent a few minutes puzzling over why he’d been brought to the lab, the guard told him he could go in. At his tentative knock, a voice he recognized as Dean Highbottom’s bid him enter. He had expected Satyria to be present but found only one other person in the lab — a small, stooped old woman with frizzy gray hair who was teasing a caged rabbit with a metal rod.
She poked at it through the mesh until the creature, which had been modified to have the jaw strength of a pit bull, yanked the thing from her hand and snapped it in two. Then she straightened as well as she could, turned her attention to Coriolanus, and exclaimed, “Hippity, hoppity!”
Dr. Volumnia Gaul, the Head Gamemaker and mastermind behind the Capitol’s experimental weapons division, had unnerved Coriolanus since childhood. On a school field trip, his class of nine-year-olds had watched as she’d melted the flesh off a lab rat with some sort of laser and then asked if anyone had any pets they were tired of. Coriolanus had no pets — how could they afford to feed one?
But Pluribus Bell had a fluffy white cat named Boa Bell that would lie in her owner’s lap and bat around the ends of his powdered wig. She had taken a fancy to Coriolanus and would start up a raspy, mechanical purr the moment he petted her head. On those dreary days when he’d slogged through the wintry slush to trade back a bag of lima beans for more cabbage, it was her silly, silky warmth that had consoled him. It upset him to think of Boa Bell ending up in the lab.
Coriolanus knew Dr. Gaul taught a class at the University, but he’d seldom seen her at the Academy. As Head Gamemaker, though, anything related to the Hunger Games fell under her purview. Could his trip to the zoo have brought her here? Was he about to lose his mentorship?
“Hippity, hoppity.” Dr. Gaul grinned. “How was the zoo?” Then she was laughing. “It’s like a children’s rhyme. Hippity, hoppity, how was the zoo? You fell in a cage and your tribute did, too!”
Coriolanus’s lips stretched into a weak smile as his eyes darted over to Dean Highbottom for some clue as to how to react. The man sat slumped at a lab table, rubbing his temple in a way that suggested he had a pounding headache. No help there.
"I did,” Coriolanus said. “We did. We fell in a cage.”
Dr. Gaul raised her eyebrows at him, as if expecting more. “And?”
“And... we... landed onstage?” he added.
“Ha! Exactly! That’s exactly what you did!” Dr. Gaul gave him an approving look. “You’re good at games. Maybe one day you’ll be a Gamemaker.”
The thought had never crossed his mind. No disrespect to Remus, but it didn’t seem like much of a job. Or like it required any particular skill, tossing kids and weapons in an arena and letting them fight it out. He supposed they had to organize the reapings and film the Games, but he hoped for a more challenging career. “I’ve got a great deal to learn before I can even think of that,” he said modestly.
“The instinct is there. That’s what matters,” said Dr. Gaul. “So, tell me, what made you go into the cage?”
It had been an accident. He was about to say so when he thought of
Jolene whispering the words Own it.
“Well... my tribute, she’s on the small side. The kind who’s gone in the first five minutes of the Hunger Games. But she’s appealing in a scruffy sort of way, with the singing and all.” Coriolanus paused for a moment, as if reviewing his plan.
“I don’t think she stands a chance of winning, but that isn’t the point, is it? I was told we were trying to engage the audience. That’s my assignment. To get people to watch. So I asked myself, how do I even reach the audience? I go where the cameras are.”
Dr. Gaul nodded. “Yes. Yes, there’s no Hunger Games without the audience.” She turned to the dean. “You see, Casca, this one took the initiative. He understands the importance of keeping the Games alive.”
Dean Highbottom squinted at him skeptically. “Does he? Or is he just showboating for a better grade? What do you think the purpose of the Hunger Games is, Coriolanus?”
“To punish the districts for the rebellion,” Coriolanus said without hesitation.
“Yes, but punishment could take a myriad of forms,” said the dean. “Why the Hunger Games?”
Coriolanus opened his mouth and then hesitated. Why the Hunger Games? Why not just drop bombs, or cancel food shipments, or stage executions on the steps of the district Justice Buildings?
His mind jumped to Jolene kneeling at the bars of the cage, engaging the children, the thawing of the crowd. They were connected in some way that he couldn’t quite articulate. “Because . . . It’s because of the children. How they matter to people.”
“How do they matter?” Dean Highbottom pressed.
“People love children,” said Coriolanus. But even as the words came out of his mouth, he questioned them. During the war, he had been bombed and starved and abused in multiple ways, and not just by the rebels.