The Hunger Games (Peeta's Point of View)

Chapter Six

There is a large tower which forms part of the Training Centre, which is where we will live until the Games begin. For all but one of us, this will be the last place we will ever live. Each District has one whole floor to itself, and as we’re 12 we get the top floor. Penthouse.

We step into the elevator and begin the journey to our floor. You just have to press your District number. Something so simple for a process so complicated. I haven’t  been in many elevators before; so few times I can count on one hand- in fact I’ve only travelled in one once: when saying goodbye to my family. And besides, that elevator was so jerky and creaky I thought it was going to break down any moment. It stunk of sour milk. At least, I hope it was sour milk. Anyway, that rusty thing can no way compare to this, with its crystal walls, allowing you a view of the ground floor; pristine floors and no pungent smells. The ride is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before- like so many things in the Capitol- and it’s a disappointment when we step out.

Effie tells us that her escorting duties will be needed right up to the Games, not just to the Capitol. I’m not sure if this is standard or because of Haymitch’s reluctance to get anywhere on time, if at all. And we haven’t seen him since we got off the tribute train. For all I know he could be passed out or in a drunken stupor somewhere, probably still on the train. It seems my looking after him was in vain- Capitol people could have gotten hold of him now. Effie’s attitude makes up for him- or rather, absence of him- though. She seems so excitable, almost, like Prim when Katniss took her to look at the cakes in our bakery window. There was no way they could afford any, though. I should’ve given the cakes away to them for free. Maybe if I’d known we would both be going to the arena I would have risked my mother’s wrath.

“I’ve been very mysterious, though,” Effie says. I don’t exactly know what she’s been going on about. I’ve been too wrapped up in my thoughts to listen properly but I guess it’s something about getting us sponsors because that’s what she was talking about in the lift. “Because, of course, Haymitch hasn’t bothered to tell me your strategies.” Hasn’t bothered to form any strategies, more like. “But I’ve done my best with what I had to work with. How Katniss sacrificed herself for her sister. How you’ve both overcome the barbarism of your District.”

 Barbarism? Ironic, considering she’s part of a nation who gladly watches children fight to their deaths every year. I don’t say anything, of course. You’ve got to get inside the heads of these Capitol people. Effie is one of naïve few who truly believe people from 12 can be improved with tips from her. And you’ve got to understand, we are probably the most promising pair of tributes she’s had in a long time. Though most of that is down to Portia and Cinna. Respect where it’s due, and all that.

“Everyone has their reservations, naturally. You being from the coal district. But I said, and this was very clever of me, I said, ‘Well, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls!’” Her beam is so bright we have no choice but to humour her, even if it is wrong. The sponsors probably believe it anyway. Or maybe they’ve been humouring her too. “Unfortunately, I can’t seal the sponsor deals for you. Only Haymitch can do that,” she continues grimly. She shares our despair. “But don’t worry; I’ll get him to the table at gunpoint if necessary.” The image of Effie forcing Haymitch at gunpoint brings a smile to my lips. It wouldn’t have seemed plausible at first, but after the scene with Haymitch at breakfast, and just her overall attitude makes it believable. I appreciate and admire Effie’s determination and loyalty.

My room is bigger than many of the houses back in 12. It’s filled with plush furniture, thick shag rugs and a wide assortment of automatic contraptions. There’s an ensuite bathroom also, complete with the multi-functional shower I’ve had the pleasure of using already. I resolve to use all the buttons before I set off in the arena. But there’s one thing that’s different to the showers in the tribute train: a mat by the shower that, when you step out of the shower, activates heaters which blow-dry your body, no towels required. This is very enjoyable, I find. It lasts about thirty seconds and my body is bone-dry afterwards, with a lasting warmth that spreads through my whole body. There’s a box-thing, too, which I tentatively places my head on expecting a similar puff of hot air but instead receiving a current through my scalp, which untangles, parts and dries my hair. It is nothing like anything we have back home and it makes my head feel light and relaxed.