Chapter 7

I've met with a couple more sponsors today, and they've signed on! Modest sums, of course, but every little bit helps. Even with the modest sums, I've already raised more money for my kids than I have for any other tributes I've had in the past. And the games haven't even started. If this keeps up, I just may raise more sponsorship money than I have in the past twenty-three years combined. This makes me feel almost giddy! I catch myself chuckling at the oddest moments. Thank God I haven't devolved into giggling. That would be downright embarrassing. But it just may happen if things keep going the way they are.

I take a deep breath to center myself. I'm so enjoying my success that I'm almost forgetting that there are two teenagers whose lives are at stake. Reality check, Haymitch. In the course of things, this really has nothing to do with me. It's just… just… just that I've been here for twenty-three years. Twenty-three years of sadness, depression, gloom. I know that is why the mentors from the different districts form such intense friendships. No one else can possibly relate to what it's like for us. Year after year after year after year, etc. we accompany these kids to their inevitable deaths. Mustn't get attached, mustn't invest too much energy, mustn't… care.

And that's when the enormity of my situation settles in. I fucking care for – and about – these two. All day when I was meeting with potential sponsors, all I could think of was – how are my kids doing in their gamemaker evaluations? This is make-or-break time for them. Sure, they were glorious in the parade, but if their gamemaker evaluation scores are too low, then it's really all over. …Except maybe for the pervs like disgusting Strato Highgrove. Please, please, please don't let their scores suck, I plead to the universe. I've been a good little mentor… I've stayed relatively sober, I've contacted numerous potential sponsors and met with some of them, I've dressed up, for Pete's sake!

I'm returning to the lobby of the training center when I encounter a gamemaker exodus stampede. They are all avoiding my eye contact with me. Uh oh…. What could have possibly happened. I'm looking around for information when I spy Plutarch Heavensbee emerging from the elevator. I'm one of the few who know that he is the "gamemaker on the inside". In other words, he's the gamemaker on the side of the rebellion. He gives me a nod, and I follow him out onto the courtyard just outside of the training center. He sits down on a bench on the outer edge. I sit down on the bench with my legs on the opposite side of the bench. Not unlike the sitting arrangement I had with Strato Highgrove.

"What's up, Plutarch," I ask him. "What's with the rest of the gamemakers?"

He chuckles gently. "Oh, Haymitch… those are quite the kids you have this year…"

Uh oh, I think yet again. "What happened?"

Now he starts really laughing. "By the time your kids came in, most of the gamemakers were pretty much in the bag. I'm just surprised they weren't singing ancient sea chanties, that's how fucked up they were."

"So, what happened?" I ask trying to hide how absolutely nervous I am for his answer.

"Well, your boy went first. He threw all kinds of weights around the evaluation room. He's pretty damn strong, I must say, and that should get him a lift in his score. Then he showed us his camouflage skills. They were quite impressive, but that kind of skill doesn't usually translate into great gamemaker's scores. Unfortunately… Not that most of them were actually paying attention."

Well, crap. Have things really just gone south? My face must show my extreme disappointment.

"Hey, Haymitch. Lighten up." Not the first time I've heard that phrase in the past week. "Then your girl came in. Holy, holy crap, did she ever put on a show. Again, most of the gamemakers were thoroughly trashed. She used the bow and arrow to show some extraordinary skills, but unfortunately most of the gamemakers weren't paying very close attention." He chuckles again. "Their lack of attention just served to, apparently, piss her off."

Oh my God, what did she do, is all I can think. I am trying so desperately not to let go of the hope that has been building for the last few days. But we may be well and truly screwed. Very quietly I ask, "What did she do?"

"A little bit earlier someone delivered a big pig with an apple in its mouth for us to feast on. Seneca Crane had just walked back to the head of the pig when your girl shot the apple right out of its mouth. The apple that was just centimeters from Seneca's head, that is. Everyone just froze at that."

Oh. My. God. That's terrible. That's fucking awesome! I can't breathe.

Plutarch continues, "Before Seneca or anyone else could say anything to her, she mock-bowed and said 'thank you for your consideration.' She then turned around and just walked out of the room without being dismissed." By the end of his story he's chuckling lightly. "She's quite the spitfire, that one. So much drama… From reaping day… to her fiery performance in the parade… to actually shooting an arrow at the head gamemaker… She's taking these games by storm!"

So she shot an arrow at them, then mocked them, and then just walked out on them. Holy crap! This just may be the most awesome girl on the face of the planet! FUCK! How in the hell am I going to spin this to our advantage? "How badly do you think this is going to impact her score?"

"That's hard to say…. It depends on a lot of factors. How mad was Seneca?... On the other hand, if she gets a really low score, people might wonder why… And Seneca doesn't want the drunken revelry of the gamemakers to come to light… That would undo any perceived legitimacy of the tribute training program. So, I'd say it's anyone's guess at this point."

I stand up and turn my face to the sky. I have to make sure that Seneca knows that I know what went on, without exposing Plutarch. "Thanks, Plutarch. I've got a few things to figure out…" He rises as well and walks off chuckling and shaking his head. I walk back into the lobby, and Seneca Crane is just exiting the elevator. He takes a few steps with his eyes on the floor, and when he looks up I lock eyes with him. He stops in his tracks. After a moment he continues on his course to the doors I'm still standing in front of. When he gets even with me, he nods his head and says simply, "Haymitch." I'm still standing in front of him all but blocking his exit through the doors.

He nervously chuckles and shifts to his right, and I move in the same direction – blocking his exit. "Quite the tributes you have this year, eh?" he asks.

I nod my head and then smile broadly. I know just how to work this. "Yes, they are… In fact, I'm getting crazy requests to sponsor them already. From some very, very influential people, too." There, chew on that. "I'm just getting back from securing sponsors; I'm heading up right now to see how my kids did in their private sessions."

He side-steps around me to the left to get to the doors, "Well, I'll let you get to them then. Good evening." And he's out the door. I can tell he's still a little spooked from the arrow incident, and I think… hope… I just spooked him a little more. When I get onto the elevator, I turn and look at my reflection on the inside of the shiny doors. I notice I have a huge smirk on my face. Then I am all-out laughing. I'm laughing so hard that I'm bending at my waist and holding onto the side of the elevator. When I arrive at the suite, I hear Effie caterwauling about those damn manners she seems to obsess on, and trying to get Cinna to agree with her.

I strut – STRUT – into view and Effie adds, "Well, finally… We have a serious situation."

I am still chortling when I give Sweetheart a huge thumbs up. A shy smile lights up her face, making her really beautiful. I also see a smile on the Kid's face as he sits next to her on the sofa. I take a seat in the chair across from them. "Nice shooting, Sweetheart." I can't stop cackling. "What did they… What did they do when you shot the apple?"

She's still smiling and I notice a little dimple on the side of her chin. "Well, they looked pretty startled."

At this I am all-out laughing again, and the Kid and Cinna join in. "OH! Yeah! " I continue laughing. Effie continues pacing. I can barely get out my next question, "Now, what'd you say? Thanks for your…"

Sweetheart's even chuckling now and she nods, "consideration."

"Genius…" I pump my fist in front of me, "genius."

In her typical killjoy fashion, Effie stops her pacing behind the sofa and looks straight at me. "I don't think we're going to find this funny if the gamemakers decide to take it out …"

"On who?" I interrupt her. "On her? On him?" I indicate the kids. "I think they already have. Loosen your corset, have a drink." Effie has been pretty cool the last few days, but she needs to get over herself right now. I need my kids feeling positive. I look back at Sweetheart, "I would've given anything to see it."

Eventually we break into various conversations around the room. Cinna and Portia, who were apparently fitting the kids for their interview costumes – and that's what they are – costumes, make a pleasant addition to the evening, and soon Effie calms down. Finally it's time to broadcast the tribute scores. My heart is beating wildly in my chest, but I try to keep everything low key. Sweetheart and the Kid re-take their seats in the center of the sofa, and the rest of us sit all around them. Someone turns on the TV, and we can hear Caesar explaining the tribute rating system.

" As you know the tributes are rated on a scale of one to twelve after three days of careful evaluation. Gamemakers would like to acknowledge… "

And I've tuned him out. I know how the damn rating system works, as does everyone else in Panem. I just keep hoping that my little mind-game with Seneca Crane pays off. With a good score for each of my kids, the sponsors will be lining up! If the kids get a good score. How much do I hate all the big fucking if's in my life. Ah, he's actually revealing scores now…

Caesar fades back in to my consciousness… "From District One – Marvel, with a score of Nine," I see his face appear and the number floats across the television screen in front of it. The girl from one has a middling score. Now for District 2 – "Cato, a score of ten" and the double digit revolves around the image of his smirking head. "And Clove, a score of ten" and again the score revolves around her head. There follows a surrealistic montage of irrelevant scores for the unremarkable tributes. Then we arrive at District 11, and I see the number nine float across the giant Thresh's picture, and then little Rue, a score of seven, damn, but that's an excellent score for such a little one. And we finally, finally arrive at our district's tribute scores. I see the Kid sit forward on the sofa waiting for his score. "From Distrist 12, Peeta Mellark," he leans further forward, "a score of" and Caesar's voice lowers, "Eight!" And everyone erupts in celebration.

I begin to worry… if the Kid got an eight… is that to compensate for Sweetheart getting a really low score? After all, he didn't really do anything to distinguish himself among the drunken gamemakers.

While I'm thinking all of this, I hear Portia let out a rather loud sigh of relief followed by Cinna adding a supporting "Bravo." I even hear Effie add, "we can work with that." I see the Kid smile and lean back into the sofa in relief. He's told me how much he wants to save/help Sweetheart, but that doesn't eliminate his innate male pride.

Now comes the REAL moment of truth…

What the hell score is SHE going to get? It's either going to be great, or it's going to be the biggest SUCK score of all time. We've all turned our attention back to the TV. I really don't think any of us are breathing. If Caesar doesn't announce her score soon, we all may just asphyxiate ourselves.

After a long inordinate pause, Caesar returns with, "And finally… from District 12…Katniss Everdeen… with a score of…" What the hell? A dramatic pause…really? I see sideways glances from Effie, and I see Sweetheart's head drop down to her chest. I find myself biting the insides of my cheeks and puckering my lips… Come on, come on, come on… damn it…

And then Caesar almost shouts, rather gleefully, "Eleven!" And the room erupts into whoops of celebration. I hear the overlapping comments of "Outstanding," from Cinna, "Who would have thought," from Effie, "Congratulations," rather quietly from the Kid. All I can do is let out a huge sigh of relief.

She looks at me rather confused, "I thought they hated me…"

I can't help but chuckle as I say, "They must've liked your guts."

Cinna raises his glass and says, "To Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire!" Glasses are clinked all around by the adults present.

Our celebration continues for a while before I notice the Kid's not with us anymore. I look around the common areas of the suite, but I don't see him anywhere. I slip quietly down the hall and knock on his door. I don't get an answer, but I open the door anyway. The Kid's sitting on the opposite side of his bed staring into space. He has his legs pulled up, and he's hugging them tightly with his arms. "This is a nice room," I say to the back of his head while I'm shutting the door behind me. With more regret than I thought I'd ever have, I realize I've never actually been in the tributes' bedrooms before.

He let's out a small snort, "You say that like you've never seen it before."

"Yeah, well, truth be told, I haven't"

Without moving his body, he swivels his head back to give me the most incredulous look I think I have ever been on the receiving end of. "Seriously?" he asks.

I walk around to face him on the opposite side of the room and lean against the dresser there. "Yeah, seriously," I whisper.

"So, after all these years, why are you in here now?" he asks.

Why am I in here now? "I'm not sure I know…" is the best I can manage under the circumstances. "I just noticed you were gone."

"Why do you care?" he asked tilting his head to the side. It wasn't said with any hostility, just sincere curiosity.

"I don't know, to be totally honest… I just do…" I look to my left. "This is a totally new experience for me. But… I can honestly say that I DO care..."

"Really?" he asks….

"Do you think I like feeling this way? Do you think I like having feelings at all?"

"Actually, I'm guessing this is very uncomfortable for you…," he chuckles a little with his statement.

"You would be right," I answer. "So, why are you in here instead of celebrating with everyone else? She may have gotten the better score, but you still have a shot…"

"Didn't you hear me the other day? I have NO shot at all… I've prepared myself to die…"

I can't help but ask, "Then why are you in here?"

He looks up at me with wide eyes. "I just want to help Katniss. But I'm afraid with my score that I won't be able to…"

"Why? Why are you so set on dying? Why do you want to help her so badly? What's so special about her?" Now I think I'm going to be able to get to the heart of the matter.

"Why? Just look at her. She's amazing. She's beautiful… and… and… smart… and brave. When her father died, she was only eleven or twelve years old, but she took over taking care of her family. She volunteered to save her sister. Hell, she shot an arrow at the gamemakers and got an eleven! She's the Girl on Fire!"

I look him dead in the eyes, "You love her."

He looks at me as if I were the stupidest person on the planet. "Well… duh," is his only response.

"Well, all right then. I have a plan for how you can help her, but you can't let her know about it. Do you think you can do that?"

"Help her or keep it from her?" he asks.

"Both," I answer simply.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to go on national television and tell the whole country that you are in love with her." There. I laid it out for him.