Chapter 14: Training Centre (Part 4)

(Katniss Everdeen POV)

So the next three days pass without Peeta beside me, I go quietly from station to station. I pick up some valuable skills and practise others, from starting fires, to knife throwing, to making shelter and crafting weapons. Despite Haymitch's order to appear mediocre, I excel in hand-to-hand combat, and I sweep the edible plants test without blinking an eye. I steer clear of archery though, wanting to save that for my private session. I was fine showing of my not so trained skills like knife throwing but would certainly not show my full extent except to the Gamemakers. Haymitch had said one thing to me which truly stuck, low scores or high scores mean nothing only very high scores.

The Gamemakers appeared early on the second day. Twenty or so men and women dressed in deep purple robes. They sit in the elevated stands that surround the gymnasium, sometimes wandering about to watch us, jotting down notes, other times eating at the endless banquet that has been set for them, ignoring the lot of us. But they do seem to be keeping their eye on the District 12 tributes. Several times I've looked up to find one fixated on me. They consult with the trainers during our meals as well. We see them all gathered together when we come back.

Breakfast and dinner are served on our floor, but at lunch the twenty-four of us eat in a dining room off the gymnasium. Food is arranged on carts around the room and you serve yourself. The Career Tributes tend to gather rowdily around one table, as if to prove their superiority, that they have no fear of one another and consider the rest of us beneath notice. Most of the other tributes sit alone, like lost sheep. No one says a word to me. I eat separate, alone. So does Peeta.

I talk to myself to get through it, I have never truly been alone since Gale died. It's not easy to find a topic. Talking of home is painful. Talking of the present unbearable. One day, I empty my breadbasket and notice how they have been careful to include types from the districts along with the refined bread of the Capitol. The fish-shaped loaf tinted green with seaweed from District 4. The crescent moon roll dotted with seeds from District 11. Somehow, although it's made from the same stuff, it looks a lot more appetizing than the ugly drop biscuits that are the standard fare at home.

I miss Peeta a lot but ever since I slammed my door, there's been a chill in the air between us. Despite me knowing he acted that way due to drugs.

I try and animate my face with a smile to lighten my mood. I recall the event, a true story, in which I had foolishly challenged a black bear over the rights to a beehive. Then the truth hit, I had not killed it Peeta had saving me at the last minute.

On the third day, while i am taking a shot at spear throwing, Peeta comes up behind me and whispers.

"You have a shadow following you, it better not take you from me." he then walks off leaving me crimson. Normally, I would not react in such a way but my hunger for his presence has worn away that barrier.

I throw my spear, which I'm not too bad at actually, if I do not have to throw too far, and see the little girl from District 11 standing back a bit, watching me. She's the twelve-year-old, the one who reminded me so of Prim in stature. Up close she looks about ten. She has bright, dark eyes and satiny brown skin and stands tilted up on her toes with her arms slightly extended to her sides, as if ready to take wing at the slightest sound. It's impossible not to think of a bird. I remember her name Rue.

I bite my lip. Rue is a small yellow flower that grows in the Meadow. Rue. Primrose. Neither of them could tip the scale at seventy pounds soaking wet.

Now that I know she is there, it's hard to ignore the child. She slips up and joins me at different stations. Like me, she is clever with plants, climbs swiftly, and has good aim. She can hit the target every time with a slingshot. But what is a slingshot against a 220-pound male with a sword?

Back on the District 12 floor, Haymitch and Effie grill me throughout breakfast and dinner about every moment of the day - They ignore Peeta's existence. What I did, who watched me, how the other tributes size up. Cinna and Portia aren't around, so there's no one to add any sanity to the meals. Not that Haymitch and Effie are fighting anymore. Instead they seem to be of one mind, determined to whip me into shape. Full of endless directions about what I should do and not do in training. Peeta is patient, he waits through my torture looking on like a stranger. A strange.

When we finally escape to bed on the second night, Peeta mumbles.

"Someone ought to get Haymitch a drink."

I make a sound that is somewhere between a snort and a laugh. Then catch myself. It is him the murder of Gale I am talking to. The one who tried to r*** me. But he killed Gale because Gale wanted me. He was drugged when trying to r*** me.

"All right, Katniss, Ignore me." he says tiredly. After that, we only talk to each other when forced to.

On the final day of training, they start to call us out of lunch for our private sessions with the Gamemakers. District by district, first the boy, then the girl tribute. As usual, District 12 is slated to go last. We linger in the dining room, unsure where else to go. No one comes back once they have left. As the room empties, the pressure to appear friendly lightens. By the time they call Rue, we are left alone with one other. We sit in silence until they summon the boy. He rises.

I am now alone with Peeta. Peeta.

After about fifteen minutes, they call my name. I smooth my hair, set my shoulders back, and walk into the gymnasium.

"You, shoot straight" He mutters just audibly from the doorway.

Instantly, I know I am in trouble. They've been here too long, the Gamemakers. Sat through twenty-two other demonstrations. Had too much to wine, most of them. Want more than anything to go home.

There's nothing I can do but continue with the plan. I walk to the archery station. Oh, the weapons! I've been itching to get my hands on them for days! Bows made of wood and plastic and metal and materials I can't even name. Arrows with feathers cut in flawless uniform lines. I choose a bow, string it, and sling the matching quiver of arrows over my shoulder. There's a shooting range, but it's much too limited. Standard bull's-eyes and human silhouettes. I walk to the center of the gymnasium and pick my first target. The dummy used for knife practice. Even as I pull back on the bow I know something is wrong. The string's tighter than the one I use at home. The arrow's more rigid. I miss the dummy by a couple of inches and lose what little attention I had been commanding. For a moment, I'm humiliated, then I head back to the bull's-eye. I shoot again and again until I get the feel of these new weapons.

Back in the center of the gymnasium, I take my initial position and skewer the dummy right through the heart. Then I sever the rope that holds the sandbag for boxing, and the bag splits open as it slams to the ground. Without pausing, I shoulder-roll forward, come up on one knee, and send an arrow into one of the hanging lights high above the gymnasium floor. A shower of sparks bursts from the fixture.

It's excellent shooting. I turn to the Gamemakers. A few are nodding approval, but the majority of them are fixated on a roast pig that has just arrived at their banquet table.

Suddenly I am furious, that with my life on the line, they don't even have the decency to pay attention to me. That I'm being upstaged by a dead pig. My heart starts to pound, I can feel my face burning. Without thinking, I pull an arrow from my quiver and send it straight at the Gamemakers' table. I hear shouts of alarm as people stumble back. The arrow skewers the apple in the pig's mouth and pins it to the wall behind it. Everyone stares at me in disbelief.

"Thank you for your consideration," I say. Then I give a slight bow and walk straight toward the exit without being dismissed. I run straight past Peeta into the elevator before he can ask me how it went.