Playing Games

Chapter 7 Scores

I wake up that morning to someone coming in the room. I look up to see Haymitch sit on the end of my bed.

That's when everything from last night starts coming back to me. The meeting Haymitch was having. Being with Finnick on the roof. I smile at that. The scold myself.

"What's going on Haymitch?"

"There are things going on that you can't understand."

"Try me" I tell him sitting up straight.

"I can't tell you. it's for your own safety" he adds as I roll my eyes.

"My safety? in a few days I'm being out into an arena where 23 people are going to try and kill me."

He looks like he is trying to decide whether to tell me or not but he shakes his head and I can tell he's resolved not to tell me. "You can't tell anyone what you saw or might have overheard."

"And if I do?" I say defiantly.

"You could get me killed. and if that doesn't mean anything to you you could get Finnick killed."

I swallow hard. what is going on?

"You won't say anything?"

I shake my head. I won't say anything. I don't want anything to happen to Finnick or even Haymitch I admit to myself. But the curiosity is eating at me.

"And about Finnick. Stay away from him. He's a good guy but he has his own troubles you don't need to get caught up in."

I look at him asking the obvious question.

He sighs, "let's just say living through the games doesn't mean you survive them."

I nod. Not sure what to think.

~~~~~~~~~

Its the third 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. We sit in silence until they summon Peeta. He rises.

"Remember what Haymitch said about being sure to throw the weights." The words come out of my mouth without permission.

"Thanks. I will," he says. "You . . . shoot straight."

I nod. I don't know why I said anything at all. Although if I'm going to lose, I'd rather Peeta win than the others. Better for our district, for my mother and Prim. After about fifteen minutes, they call my name. I smooth my hair, set my shoulders back, and walk into the gymnasium. Instantly, I know I'm in trouble. They've been here too long, the Gamemakers. Sat through twenty-three 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.