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“Yeah,” he says.
“Why? You like him better,” I say.
“That's true. But remember, until they changed the rules, I could only hope to get one of you out of there alive,” he says. “I thought since he was determined to protect you, well, between the three of us, we might be able to bring you home.”
“Oh” is all I can think to say.
“You'll see, the choices you'll have to make. If we survive this,” says Haymitch. “You'll learn.”
Well, I've learned one thing today. This place is not a larger version of District 12. Our fence is unguarded and rarely charged. Our Peacekeepers are unwelcome but less brutal. Our hardships evoke more fatigue than fury. Here in 11, they suffer more acutely and feel more desperation. President Snow is right. A spark could be enough to set them ablaze.
Everything is happening too fast for me to process it. The warning, the shootings, the recognition that I may have set something of great consequence in motion. The whole thing is so improbable. And it would be one thing if I had pla
“Come on. We've got a di
I stand in the shower as long as they let me before I have to come out to be readied. The prep team seems oblivious to the events of the day. They're all excited about the di
Ci
“It's beautiful. As always,” I say.
“Let's see how it looks with a smile,” he says gently. It's his reminder that in a minute, there will be cameras again. I manage to raise the corners of my lips. “There we go.”
When we all assemble to go down to the di
Effie runs through the evening's schedule, then tosses it aside. “And then, thank goodness, we can all get on that train and get out of here,” she says.
“Is something wrong, Effie?” asks Ci
“I don't like the way we've been treated. Being stuffed into trucks and barred from the platform. And then, about an hour ago, I decided to look around the Justice Building. I'm something of an expert in architectural design, you know,” she says.
“Oh, yes, I've heard that,” says Portia before the pause gets too long.
“So, I was just having a peek around because district ruins are going to be all the rage this year, when two Peacemakers showed up and ordered me back to our quarters. One of them actually poked me with her gun!” says Effie.
I can't help thinking this is the direct result of Haymitch, Peeta, and me disappearing earlier in the day. It's a little reassuring, actually, to think that Haymitch might have been right. That no one would have been monitoring the dusty dome where we talked. Although I bet they are now.
Effie looks so distressed that I spontaneously give her a hug. “That's awful, Effie. Maybe we shouldn't go to the di
“No, I'll manage. It's part of my job to weather the ups and downs. And we can't let you two miss your di
Effie arranges us in formation for our entrance. First the prep teams, then her, the stylists, Haymitch. Peeta and I, of course, bring up the rear.
Somewhere below, musicians begin to play. As the first wave of our little procession begins down the steps, Peeta and I join hands.
“Haymitch says I was wrong to yell at you. You were only operating under his instructions,” says Peeta. “And it isn't as if I haven't kept things from you in the past.”
I remember the shock of hearing Peeta confess his love for me in front of all of Panem. Haymitch had known about that and not told me. “I think I broke a few things myself after that interview.”
“Just an urn,” he says.
“And your hands. There's no point to it anymore, though, is there? Not being straight with each other?” I say.
“No point,” says Peeta. We stand at the top of the stairs, giving Haymitch a fifteen-step lead as Effie directed. “Was that really the only time you kissed Gale?”
I'm so startled I answer. “Yes.” With all that has happened today, has that question actually been preying on him?
“That's fifteen. Let's do it,” he says.
A light hits us, and I put on the most dazzling smile I can.
We descend the steps and are sucked into what becomes an indistinguishable round of di
During ceremonies, we are solemn and respectful but always linked together, by our hands, our arms. At di
Even without our personal speeches to trigger dissent— needless to say the ones we gave in District 11 were edited out before the event was broadcast—you can feel something in the air, the rolling boil of a pot about to run over. Not everywhere. Some crowds have the weary-cattle feel that I know District 12 usually projects at the victors' ceremonies. But in others — particularly 8, 4, and 3 — there is genuine elation in the faces of the people at the sight of us, and under the elation, fury. When they chant my name, it is more of a cry for vengeance than a cheer. When the Peacekeepers move in to quiet an unruly crowd, it presses back instead of retreating. And I know that there's nothing I could ever do to change this. No show of love, however believable, will turn this tide. If my holding out those berries was an act of temporary insanity, then these people will embrace insanity, too.
Ci
When Effie brings it up to me, I think, Good. Maybe it will get back to President Snow. I tell her we'll make an effort to be more discreet, but we don't.