Сьюзен Коллинз - Mockingjay

«Hey,» he responds. It’s like his voice, almost his voice, except there’s something new in it. An edge of suspicion and reproach.

«Haymitch said you wanted to talk to me,» I say.

«Look at you, for starters.» It’s like he’s waiting for me to transform into a hybrid drooling wolf right before his eyes. He stares so long I find myself casting furtive glances at the one-way glass, hoping for some direction from Haymitch, but my earpiece stays silent. «You’re not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?»

I know he’s been through hell and back, and yet somehow the observation rubs me the wrong way. «Well, you’ve looked better.»

Haymitch’s advice to back off gets muffled by Peeta’s laughter. «And not even remotely nice. To say that to me after all I’ve been through.»

«Yeah. We’ve all been through a lot. And you’re the one who was known for being nice. Not me.» I’m doing everything wrong. I don’t know why I feel so defensive. He’s been tortured! He’s been hijacked! What’s wrong with me? Suddenly, I think I might start screaming at him—I’m not even sure about what—so I decide to get out of there. «Look, I don’t feel so well. Maybe I’ll drop by tomorrow.»

I’ve just reached the door when his voice stops me. «Katniss. I remember about the bread.»

The bread. Our one moment of real connection before the Hunger Games.

«They showed you the tape of me talking about it,» I say.

«No. Is there a tape of you talking about it? Why didn’t the Capitol use it against me?» he asks.

«I made it the day you were rescued,» I answer. The pain in my chest wraps around my ribs like a vise. The dancing was a mistake. «So what do you remember?»

«You. In the rain,» he says softly. «Digging in our trash bins. Burning the bread. My mother hitting me. Taking the bread out for the pig but then giving it to you instead.»

«That’s it. That’s what happened,» I say. «The next day, after school, I wanted to thank you. But I didn’t know how.»

«We were outside at the end of the day. I tried to catch your eye. You looked away. And then…for some reason, I think you picked a dandelion.» I nod. He does remember. I have never spoken about that moment aloud. «I must have loved you a lot.»

«You did.» My voice catches and I pretend to cough.

«And did you love me?» he asks.

I keep my eyes on the tiled floor. «Everyone says I did. Everyone says that’s why Snow had you tortured. To break me.»

«That’s not an answer,» he tells me. «I don’t know what to think when they show me some of the tapes. In that first arena, it looked like you tried to kill me with those tracker jackers.»

«I was trying to kill all of you,» I say. «You had me treed.»

«Later, there’s a lot of kissing. Didn’t seem very genuine on your part. Did you like kissing me?» he asks.

«Sometimes,» I admit. «You know people are watching us now?»

«I know. What about Gale?» he continues.

My anger’s returning. I don’t care about his recovery—this isn’t the business of the people behind the glass. «He’s not a bad kisser either,» I say shortly.

«And it was okay with both of us? You kissing the other?» he asks.

«No. It wasn’t okay with either of you. But I wasn’t asking your permission,» I tell him.

Peeta laughs again, coldly, dismissively. «Well, you’re a piece of work, aren’t you?»

Haymitch doesn’t protest when I walk out. Down the hall. Through the beehive of compartments. Find a warm pipe to hide behind in a laundry room. It takes a long time before I get to the bottom of why I’m so upset. When I do, it’s almost too mortifying to admit. All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly.

And I hate him for it.

Blindsided. That’s how I feel when Haymitch tells me in the hospital. I fly down the steps to Command, mind racing a mile a minute, and burst right into a war meeting.

«What do you mean, I’m not going to the Capitol? I have to go! I’m the Mockingjay!» I say.

Coin barely looks up from her screen. «And as the Mockingjay, your primary goal of unifying the districts against the Capitol has been achieved. Don’t worry—if it goes well, we’ll fly you in for the surrender.»

The surrender?

«That’ll be too late! I’ll miss all the fighting. You need me—I’m the best shot you’ve got!» I shout. I don’t usually brag about this, but it’s got to be at least close to true. «Gale’s going.»

«Gale has shown up for training every day unless occupied with other approved duties. We feel confident he can manage himself in the field,» says Coin. «How many training sessions do you estimate you’ve attended?»

None. That’s how many. «Well, sometimes I was hunting. And…I trained with Beetee down in Special Weaponry.»

«It’s not the same, Katniss,» says Boggs. «We all know you’re smart and brave and a good shot. But we need soldiers in the field. You don’t know the first thing about executing orders, and you’re not exactly at your physical peak.»

«That didn’t bother you when I was in Eight. Or Two, for that matter,» I counter.

«You weren’t originally authorized for combat in either case,» says Plutarch, shooting me a look that signals I’m about to reveal too much.

No, the bomber battle in 8 and my intervention in 2 were spontaneous, rash, and definitely unauthorized.

«And both resulted in your injury,» Boggs reminds me. Suddenly, I see myself through his eyes. A

smallish seventeen-year-old girl who can’t quite catch her breath since her ribs haven’t fully healed.

Disheveled. Undisciplined. Recuperating. Not a soldier, but someone who needs to be looked after.

«But I have to go,» I say.

«Why?» asks Coin.

I can’t very well say it’s so I can carry out my own personal vendetta against Snow. Or that the idea of remaining here in 13 with the latest version of Peeta while Gale goes off to fight is unbearable. But I have no shortage of reasons to want to fight in the Capitol. «Because of Twelve. Because they destroyed my district.»

The president thinks about this a moment. Considers me. «Well, you have three weeks. It’s not long, but you can begin training. If the Assignment Board deems you fit, possibly your case will be reviewed.»

That’s it. That’s the most I can hope for. I guess it’s my own fault. I did blow off my schedule every single day unless something suited me. It didn’t seem like much of a priority, jogging around a field with a gun with so many other things going on. And now I’m paying for my negligence.

Back in the hospital, I find Johanna in the same circumstance and spitting mad. I tell her about what Coin said. «Maybe you can train, too.»

«Fine. I’ll train. But I’m going to the stinking Capitol if I have to kill a crew and fly there myself,» says Johanna.

«Probably best not to bring that up in training,» I say. «But it’s nice to know I’ll have a ride.»

Johanna grins, and I feel a slight but significant shift in our relationship. I don’t know that we’re actually friends, but possibly the wordallies would be accurate. That’s good. I’m going to need an ally.

The next morning, when we report for training at 7:30, reality slaps me in the face. We’ve been funneled into a class of relative beginners, fourteen- or fifteen-year-olds, which seems a little insulting until it’s obvious that they’re in far better condition than we are. Gale and the other people already chosen to go to the Capitol are in a different, accelerated phase of training. After we stretch—which hurts—there’s a couple of hours of strengthening exercises—which hurt—and a five-mile run—which kills. Even with Johanna’s motivational insults driving me on, I have to drop out after a mile.