The Hunger Games: Retold

Chapter 8

The sitting room is awkwardly cheerful. Portia and Cinna are trying to fill the silence by telling stories about awful ideas other stylists have had in trying to dress the tributes according to the theme of their districts. Effie seems genuinely amused and is adding colorful commentary to each tale. Haymitch, however, is uncharacteristically somber. We all agreed to wait until Katniss returned to share our stories about the private sessions, but I'm sure the others can tell I'm disappointed in how it went.

I'm certain I blew any chance at making a good impression. Not only do I have the least impressive skill ever, 'Hey, look at me, I can throw big things', but by the time it was my turn the Gamemakers were so sauced they barely even looked up when I came in. The high point was when, frustrated and livid, I hurled a giant medicine ball into a rack of spears and it clanged like the perfect endnote to their drinking song. They all cheered and lifted their glasses to me.

Worry over how Katniss was received is starting to eat at me when she bursts out of the elevator and flies down the hall to her room. Was she crying? I rise to go after her, but Portia gently pulls me back down. "She won't want to talk to you, hon," she tells me apologetically. Effie and Haymitch are at her door trying to get her to talk, but her scream for them to "Go away!" can be heard clearly down the hall. They wander back in and Haymitch plunks down on a couch while Effie twitters to herself in a state of near panic.

After a long pause, Haymitch turns to Cinna and Portia. "What's our worst case scenario?" he asks.

"They dump her into an arena and force her to fight to her death?" I offer snidely.

"You're not helping, Pretzel Prince," Haymitch drawls. "Okay, second worst," he continues.

"It depends on what happened," Cinna worries, agitated. "If she's just upset she didn't perform well, nothing is different."

I shake my head. "She volunteered her life in exchange for her sister's without a whimper. No way she loses it because she didn't hit a target. And while we're at it, no way she didn't hit a target, either." I'm starting to spook myself. "It had to be something serious," I insist. For the life of me I can't imagine what would have happened in a roomful of drunken Gamemakers and Katniss trying to impress them with her archery skills.

Finally, at dinner, Katniss emerges from her room. She looks like she's cried herself sick. She slides into her chair and begins tasting her soup. The adults are trying to ease the tension with gossip and chatter about the weather. Katniss raises her red-rimmed eyes to mine and I lift my eyebrows in a silent question, but she only gives a minute shake of her head in response and looks miserable.

As if cued by the serving of the main course, Haymitch puts down his fork and demands, "Okay, enough small talk, just how bad were you today?"

Katniss wilts in her chair and I try to ease the tension in the room. "I don't know that it mattered. By the time I showed up, no one even bothered to look at me. They were singing some kind of drinking song I think," I add, disgustedly. Katniss looks a little more hopeful. "So, I threw around some heavy objects until they told me I could go."

"And you, sweetheart?" Haymitch asks warily.

"I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers."

The room goes silent. Effie's voice is a strangled gasp, "You what?"

"I shot an arrow at them," she repeats miserably. "Not exactly at them. In their direction. It's like Peeta said, I was shooting and they were ignoring me and I just...I just lost my head, so I shot an apple out of their stupid roast pig's mouth!" she finishes rebelliously.

I fight an urge to laugh out loud while Cinna prompts, "And what did they say?"

"Nothing. Or I don't know. I walked out after that," she admits uncomfortably.