The Hunger Games: Retold

Chapter 9

Katniss looks as though she's been kicked in the gut. I have an awful moment of doubt, wondering if I've underestimated her, if I've completely misjudged the entire situation. But then, she regains her composure and tosses her head. I can see the hardness creep into her eyes and her voice is cold.

"Good," she says. "What's the schedule?"

"You'll each have four hours with Effie for presentation and four with me for content," Haymitch replies. "You start with Effie, Katniss."

The next four hours fly by. Haymitch and I are fine-tuning my material and trying to work out a plan for how to make it believable without going overly cheesy. We talk about subtle hints and veiled suggestion and even, I don't know what we were thinking here, a poem at one point. As the end of our preparation time nears we have a workable plan, but I'm nervous about carrying it off.

"You'll be fine. They already love you," Haymitch drawls. "You have that 'Aw shucks, I'm just a baker boy' air about you."

Irritated, I fire back, "Better than, 'Aw hell, I'm just the town drunk." But I immediately feel terrible and apologize. "Forgive me, that was way out of line. I'm really sorry, Haymitch."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about," he grins. "Don't worry about it. Be thankful I do have a flask ready, I have to prepare Katniss to meet her public after lunch."

We both laugh and I'm more than ready to head in to eat. Katniss and Effie join us soon after and the dark cloud of fury that hangs over the both of them is almost funny. Haymitch meets my eyes with a silent plea for help and I can only grin and shake my head apologetically. Effie is the least chipper I've ever seen her, and I wonder how bad the presentation part can really be.

Not so bad, it turns out. Effie's ebullience reasserts itself while she chatters on about "making eye contact" and "exuding warmth." It's easy to nod and smile and agree with her while I let my mind wander to other things. My thoughts turn to the arena. What will it be like? I think back over the past Games and know there is no way to predict what is to come. Sometimes it's been natural areas, or ruins, or places of the Gamemaker's most terrifying fantasies. Having no idea what I'll be dealing with, I can't think about strategy beyond the very basics. I'll need to find somewhere to hide until I can carry out the first part of my plan. If that part doesn't work, I'm done anyway. I worry, knowing how much of my approach hinges on luck, but there's no use fretting over something I have no control over I guess.

I squirm in my seat with anxiety and Effie chirps, "Yes, precisely! I thought maybe you weren't attending." She smiles at me delightedly. "Now, aside from nervous fidgeting, when you're onstage you want to avoid sitting with your legs crossed ankle on knee. We want them to applaud your ideas, not your...wares, yes?" Effie has a few more uncomfortably frank pearls of wisdom to share and then we're finished. She pats my arm and smiles at me a little mistily, "Peeta, you will do so well. I am proud to offer whatever help I can."

I'm touched, even though it's ridiculous. She's part of the machine offering me up to kill or be killed, but I can't help but think she feels she is doing me some good, is actually trying to help me, and for that I'm grateful. "Thank you, Effie. For all your hard work. You must be famished, shall we go eat?" She beams up at me and we head in to dinner.

Katniss apparently didn't have a better afternoon than her morning. She locks herself in her room and Haymitch is in a foul mood. He drinks more than he eats and Effie and I try to carry on a conversation around his bitter interjections. After a little while I startle to hear crashes coming from Katniss' room. Can she be flinging plates at the walls? I stare disbelievingly at Haymitch. "What did you-"

"Just leave it, Muffin Man," he growls. "Concentrate on how you're going to convince the nation you find her at all attractive."

I laugh at his grumpy moodiness. "Uh-oh, was this afternoon a little too much like looking in a mirror? How did your mentor package you, Haymitch?"