The Hunger Games Trilogy

by Suzanne Collins

So that’s who Finnick loves, I think. Not his string of fancy lovers in the Capitol. But a poor, mad girl back home.

I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me. “I do,” I say. “I need you.”

“We had to save you because you’re the mockingjay, Katniss,” says Plutarch. “While you live, the revolution lives.”

I am the mockingjay. The one that survived despite the Capitol’s plans. The symbol of the rebellion.

“Oh, no. It costs a lot more than your life. To murder innocent people?” says Peeta. “It costs everything you are.”

“Katniss . . . he’s still trying to keep you alive.” To keep me alive? And then I understand. The Games are still on.

“I’m going to be the Mockingjay.”

“They’ll be granted immunity!” I feel myself rising from my chair, my voice full and resonant. “You will personally pledge this in front of the entire population of District Thirteen and the remainder of Twelve. Soon. Today. It will be recorded for future generations. You will hold yourself and your government responsible for their safety, or you’ll find yourself another Mockingjay!”

Ate

“Of course you are. The tributes were necessary to the Games, too. Until they weren’t,” I say. “And then we were very disposable — right, Plutarch?”

“They’ll either want to kill you, kiss you, or be you.”

The moments begin to come thick and fast and in no particular order. When I took Rue on as an ally. Extended my hand to Chaff on interview night. Tried to carry Mags. And again and again when I held out those berries that meant different things to different people. Love for Peeta. Refusal to give in under impossible odds. Defiance of the Capitol’s inhumanity.

But all I say is “I can’t believe you didn’t rescue Peeta.” “I know,” he replies.

“I want to tell people that if you think for one second the Capitol will treat us fairly if there’s a cease-fire, you’re deluding yourself. Because you know who they are and what they do.” My hands go out automatically, as if to indicate the whole horror around me. “This is what they do! And we must fight back!”

“And if we burn, you burn with us!”

“Fire is catching! And if we burn, you burn with us!”

“Have to be dead to forget. Maybe even not then,” he tells me. “Maybe I’ll be like that man in ‘The Hanging Tree.’ Still waiting for an answer.”

“I knew you’d kiss me.” “How?” I say. Because I didn’t know myself. “Because I’m in pain,” he says. “That’s the only way I get your attention.” He picks up the box. “Don’t worry, Katniss. It’ll pass.” He leaves before I can answer.

But in the end, the only person I truly want to comfort me is Haymitch, because he loves Peeta, too. I reach out for him and say something like his name and he’s there, holding me and patting my back. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay, sweetheart.”

Today I might lose both of them.

The sixteen-year-old boy who won the second Quarter Quell must have had people he loved — family, friends, a sweetheart maybe — that he fought to get back to. Where are they now?

“Did you love Annie right away, Finnick?” I ask. “No.” A long time passes before he adds, “She crept up on me.”

A bomb explodes. Time is allowed for people to rush to the aid of the wounded. Then a second, more powerful bomb kills them as well.

Foreshadowing goes crazy

“I must have loved you a lot.” “You did.”

At dawn, she drags me out of bed, determined to get to training. “I don’t think I can do it,” I confess. “You can do it. We both can. We’re victors, remember? We’re the ones who can survive anything they throw at us,”

The arena messed us all up pretty good, don’t you think? Or do you still feel like the girl who volunteered for your sister?” she asks me.

“Peeta and I had adjoining cells in the Capitol. We’re very familiar with each other’s screams.”

“You and me, we made a deal to try and save him. Remember?” Haymitch says. When I don’t respond, he disconnects after a curt “Try and remember.”

“You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real,” he whispers. “Real,” I answer.

“Don’t let him take you from me.” Peeta’s panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. “No. I don’t want to . . .” I clench his hands to the point of pain. “Stay with me.”

Gradually, I’m forced to accept who I am. A badly burned girl with no wings. With no fire. And no sister.

“I wanted to tell you how very sorry I am about your sister.”

Snow shakes his head in mock disappointment. “Oh, my dear Miss Everdeen. I thought we had agreed not to lie to each other.”

Fire beats roses again.

What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that.

My children, who don’t know they play on a graveyard.

But there are much worse games to play.