Chapter Text
I want to ask Haymitch about the boy from District 4, but it would probably be suspicious if I tried to speak with him on the roof for two nights in a row. I feel certain we are being watched; Haymitch took me one place he knew the microphones couldn’t overhear us. Spending a lot of time there will just get better microphones installed, I imagine.
We don’t like the Career tributes in District 12, but I can feel myself already softening to the boy. If you knew you were already going to die, you could save every kid in your district from having nightmares about being picked—protect your people from the fear the Capitol inflicts on us all—by agreeing to go. If you are unwell already, it might even spare you a long and painful death.
“What are you looking at, Twelve?” the girl from District 4 asks and she bumps past me into the training area.
I must have been staring at her district partner and now she’s angry with me. When I look at her, her eyes are hard and antagonistic.
My instinct is to apologize for staring, to smooth this over somehow. I want to make myself smaller so she won’t him me, I realize. But this girl is not my mother. Showing weakness now will only make the others think I am an easy target in the arena. I try to pretend she is one of my brothers. They always rag on me, but they don’t evoke the same fear my mother does.
With effort, I take one step toward her and lower my voice. “Your partner is a bit young for a volunteer,” I say, as if we have been having an amiable conversation.
Her eyes—green like ivy—narrow. I can see her thinking, still trying to frighten me. “He’s fifteen,” she says, loftily, “Four has had younger victors.” I nod because of course she means Finnick Odair, who was the youngest victor ever at fourteen. “Finnick is one of our mentors,” she adds, in case I didn’t understand. It's an odd way to phrase it. One of our mentors. District 4 has enough victors that each tribute can have their own mentor, so does that mean Finnick Odair is her mentor? I bet Effie would know.
I cock my head and really look at her. She wants to protect her district partner. Perhaps she is even trying to hide that he is sick. I don’t know any rules against dying kids volunteering but maybe the Capitol doesn’t like it? Or maybe she is afraid the other Careers will target him?
“He must have some secret skill,” I say, a bit louder. I notice the girl from District 2 turn her head our way.
She gives me an exaggerated smirk, like she has some big secret. Then she pushes past me, and again bumps my shoulder as she does so, but I see a bit of relief in her expression as well.
I nearly jump when I turn and see that Jetta is just standing next to me, and has been the whole time, apparently. She’s very quiet and right now it unnerves me. She just blinks at me and says, “I think I want to learn camouflage. For hiding.” She nods her head in the direction of that station. The pair from District 1 are already there, and Jetta has been waiting for me to go with her.
So we go to the camouflage station because I am interested in it as well. I sketch a bit, mostly cartoons to make my brothers laugh, and do the decorations on the cakes. I never thought of using berry juice and mud to create images. I find that I like it. It’s messy but oddly satisfying.
The instructor praises my work so effusively that the duo from District 1 crane their heads to look. The girl, Glimmer, is grudgingly impressed but the boy, Marvel, is scornful. “I’ll still find you,” he hisses.
I am not sure if he is talking to me or Jetta. I think me? Either way, I am not supposed to let him intimidate us. Should I just laugh it off? Should I say something threatening back? The Hunger Games haven’t even started yet and I’m already tired of the mind games.
I can’t decide so I pretend not to hear him, and pass a few leaves to his more amiable partner.
“Marvel is a tracker,” she says, “so you better watch out.” Oddly, she doesn’t say it in a mean way. She’s just giving us the facts. Her teammate is the one who will be hunting down all the weak competitors. Glimmer smiles at me, all friendliness.
I smile back, in the way the older customers at the bakery like. “Noted,” I say, and inch back over to Jetta.
That is when I notice that Jetta’s hands are shaking. This is the thing I was supposed to prevent.
I couldn’t say why I do it, it just feels right. I start painting flowers, curlicues and other things I put on cakes onto Jetta’s arms. “I decorate the cakes at our bakery,” I say, as if I am continuing a conversation from before. “What’s your favorite flower?”
Flowers are what people want on cakes most of the time.
“Uh, sunflower?” says Jetta. She doesn’t sound sure but I go to work, mix some yellow pigment, and start painting one with my fingers on her forearm, like a tattoo. I think a sunflower is a good choice. They are cheery and sometimes orange. Orange is my favorite color.
As I am finishing the petals, her shaking slows and breathing calms. I just hope District 1 wasn’t paying attention to her, since she’s so quiet.
“That’s lovely, Peeta,” says the instructor, “but not what we are going for.”
Glimmer pokes her head back over to our side to see. “Ooh! Pretty!” she exclaims. “Can I have a rose?”
I have to clamp my lips together to keep from laughing. As far as cake decorating goes, roses are pretty basic. I raise my eyebrows at Jetta. I won’t leave her again. She rolls her eyes at me, and goes to talk to the instructor, off to the side and out of sight. She is allowing me to "make friends."
I paint roses on Glimmer’s cheeks, like I am the woman who does face paint for children at the Harvest festival.
I think I may have found my angle of approach, as Haymitch called it.