peetas story

Chaptèr 4

don't mean just as a strategy. I mean that she's like a living rebuke to the Capitol, in sort of the same way Effie thinks she is to our district. Something exciting, when they expected dull. Something powerful, when they ordered up powerless. It's as if Portia and Cinna had dug into the earth for coal and instead found a living flame.

At the City Circle, which is the end of the avenue, we leave the stands behind and approach the other chariots as they circle around a ring of buildings, including the president's mansion. People in the windows hang out and gape at us, but the noise is less and the energy starts to drain from Katniss' body. I can literally feel it. She looks down at our linked hands, as if suddenly remembering that I'm here with her, and starts to pull free, but I grip her tighter. "Don't let go of me, please. I might fall out of this thing."

"OK."

The rest of the ceremony follows in a blur for me. I see President Snow get up on his podium and intone his normal welcome. I'm vaguely aware of the anthem playing. But something larger than even the Games has happened here this evening, and I'm struggling to process it. It's not just me and the way I've always kind of admired this girl. It's not just the way she and the crowd responded to each other. It's how she's come to represent more than the Seam, more than District 12, tonight - maybe even more than Panem. She's like some elemental being - the spirit of all of us. How we were supposed to be, maybe, before greed and pettiness ground us down to this ashy mess we've made of things. I think to myself, she has to win this thing. For me, for them - for all of us. And if I - a tribute whose death is necessary for this to come to pass - am moved to think this, how far was the crowd moved?

Our chariot makes a last turn around the circle, then follows the rest to come to a stop in front of one of the buildings along the ring - the Training Center. Cinna and Portia help us down from the chariot - I still haven't let go of her hand - and Portia extinguishes our flames. But Katniss' face is still lit up, from within. Finally, we let go of each other, and I massage my cramped hand.

I stare at her, trying to understand everything I felt on the chariot. It seems silly, now, as the murmur of mentors and stylists has replaced the thunder of the crowd. Perhaps I have an overactive imagination. And yet … "Thanks for keeping hold of me," I tell her. "I was getting a little shaky out there."

"I'm sure no one noticed."

I feel myself smile. "I'm sure no one noticed anything but you. You should wear flames more often - they suit you." This, at least, is perfectly true.

She blushes at this and she squints at me, her look puzzled. Then, abruptly, she leans over to me, standing tip-toe to kiss me on my cheek.