The 53rd Hunger Games- Two Words

47.The President's Mansion

President Snow? Why am I meeting with President Snow? Is he going to congratulate me? Does this happen to all the victors?

Tule told me, Marcille says. Was I told when I was tuned out? I have no memory of Tule telling me this.

It can’t be a congratulatory meeting. I’ve never heard of a victor being summoned by President Snow before.  

“Saraya will be there, too,” Marcille says. “You know, Saraya and President Snow are glued at the hip or something. Does it hurt to stand? I heard you got a plate in your ankle.”

It is odd, having someone else put my shoes on for me. It is odd being dressed, made up by someone else. I don’t like it. It makes me feel stupid.

The heels on the shoes are too high. High enough to make me almost taller than Hadrian.

Don’t cry. Not in front of the prep team, in front of Marcille.

They make me feel unsteady. Marcille watches me with pursed lips as I attempt to walk up and down the room with them. Each step is painful, painful, painful. It sends a flare of white hot fire up my leg.

“Hender? Can you take these heels back? Get the sandals.”

I sit, and let the shoes be slid off my feet. I am angry. I can dress myself! I can take shoes off! But I don’t say anything. My lips are glued together. I do not want to speak.

The sandals are more comfortable, but it still hurts to walk. I grit my teeth and try not to show it. If you won the Hunger Games, you can walk in heels!

I almost laugh. Almost.

“Look at you!”

Tule comes in, smiling. She is made-up, too. Does she do her own make-up? There is a powder applied over her scar, trying to hide it. This only makes it stand out more. Do I have scars? I still have some stitches, holding healing wounds closed. Tule said something about getting a skin graft, I think. That will make me feel too much like a Capitol citizen. Trying to perfect my body. Eliminating all flaws.

I think I will keep my scars.

There is a particularly obvious one on my left arm, a few inches above the elbow. Marcille might have to add sleeves to her garment to hide it.

“She got skinny, huh?”

Skinny? Yes, that is what the Capitol residents try for. They want to have all their ribs poking through their skin. Like they’ve just been in the arena.

This time it is harder to keep my mouth shut.

Tule avoids looking at me. Does she feel guilty? She told me Hadrian was going to kill me. He saved me. She knows that his absence is driving me crazy, but still says nothing. She’s given up trying to comfort me.

I hope she feels guilty.

“You’re early,” Tule says. “The meeting’s over dinner. Half five, he said.”

Why am I going to this meeting?

“It’s going to be in the President’s mansion,” Tule says, speaking to me. Speaking at me. I nod. What could I have done to be invited into President Snow’s home?

Marcille leans over to look at Tule watch. It has a plain black band and golden hands.

“Maybe I did come a little early,” she says.

Then they start talking about something. Something petty. I perch on the edge of the bed.  Will Tule tell me if I ask why I’m being taken to meet with President Snow? Will Marcille?