Catching Fire (The Hunger Games, #2)

by Suzanne Collins

“We would all like you to know what a . . . privilege it has been to make you look your best.”

My prep team. My foolish, shallow, affectionate pets, with their obsessions with feathers and parties, nearly break my heart with their good-bye.

and Johanna Mason actually stops to straighten my pearl necklace. “Make him pay for it, okay?” she says.

This is the first time I realize the depth of betrayal felt among the victors and the rage that accompanies it. But they are so smart, so wonderfully smart about how they play it, because it all comes back to reflect on the government and President Snow in particular.

By the time Johanna Mason gets up, she’s asking if something can’t be done about the situation. Surely the creators of the Quarter Quell never anticipated such love forming between the victors and the Capitol. No one could be so cruel as to sever such a deep bond.

By the time I’m introduced, the audience is an absolute wreck. People have been weeping and collapsing and even calling for change. The sight of me in my white silk bridal gown practically causes a riot. No more me, no more star-crossed lovers living happily ever after, no more wedding.

Then I notice something is rising up around me. Smoke. From fire. Not the flickery stuff I wore last year in the chariot, but something much more real that devours my dress.

Because Cinna has turned me into a mockingjay.

can tell he knows that the mockingjay isn’t just my token. That it’s come to symbolize so much more. That what will be seen as a flashy costume change in the Capitol is resonating in an entirely different way throughout the districts.

I remember his words . . . “Don’t worry. I always channel my emotions into my work. That way I don’t hurt anyone but myself.” . . . and I’m afraid he has hurt himself beyond repair. The significance of my fiery transformation will not be lost on President Snow.

“We’re already married,” says Peeta quietly.

But you see, we knew if we were married in the Capitol, there wouldn’t be a toasting. And neither of us really wanted to wait any longer. So one day, we just did it,” Peeta says. “And to us, we’re more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us.”

“Of course before the Quell. I’m sure we’d never have done it after we knew,” says Peeta, starting to get upset. “But who could’ve seen it coming? No one. We went through the Games, we were victors, everyone seemed so thrilled to see us together, and then out of nowhere — I mean, how could we anticipate a thing like that?”

“I’m not glad,” says Peeta. “I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially.” This takes even Caesar aback. “Surely even a brief time is better than no time?” “Maybe I’d think that, too, Caesar,” says Peeta bitterly, “if it weren’t for the baby.”

Maybe this year he has only lit the fuse on a bomb that the victors themselves have been building. Hoping someone would be able to detonate it. Perhaps thinking it would be me in my bridal gown. Not knowing how much I rely on Cinna’s talents, whereas Peeta needs nothing more than his wits.

Even the most Capitol-loving, Games-hungry, bloodthirsty person out there can’t ignore, at least for a moment, how horrific the whole thing is. I am pregnant.

Isn’t it the thing I dreaded most about the wedding, about the future — the loss of my children to the Games? And it could be true now, couldn’t it? If I hadn’t spent my life building up layers of defenses until I recoil at even the suggestion of marriage or a family?

Tears run down his face as I take his hand. How real are the tears? Is this an acknowledgment that he has been stalked by the same fears that I have? That every victor has? Every parent in every district in Panem?

I look back to the crowd, but the faces of Rue’s mother and father swim before my eyes. Their sorrow. Their loss. I turn spontaneously to Chaff and offer my hand. I feel my fingers close around the stump that now completes his arm and hold fast.

By the time the anthem plays its final strains, all twenty-four of us stand in one unbroken line in what must be the first public show of unity among the districts since the Dark Days. You can see the realization of this as the screens begin to pop into blackness. It’s too late, though. In the confusion they didn’t cut us off in time. Everyone has seen.

“There isn’t much time, so tell me. Is there anything I have to apologize for?” “Nothing,” I say. It was a big leap to take without my okay, but I’m just as glad I didn’t know, didn’t have time to second-guess him, to let any guilt over Gale detract from how I really feel about what Peeta did. Which is empowered.

But even if all of us meet terrible ends, something happened on that stage tonight that can’t be undone. We victors staged our own uprising, and maybe, just maybe, the Capitol won’t be able to contain this one.

The whole situation is unprecedented. Even the idea of opposing the Capitol’s agenda is a source of confusion for the people here,”

For a while we just stand there in silence, delaying the inevitable. Then Haymitch says it. “I guess this is where we say our good-byes as well.” “Any last words of advice?” Peeta asks. “Stay alive,” Haymitch says gruffly.

“Katniss, when you’re in the arena,” he begins. Then he pauses. He’s scowling in a way that makes me sure I’ve already disappointed him. “What?” I ask defensively. “You just remember who the enemy is,” Haymitch tells me. “That’s all. Now go on. Get out of here.”

Do we sleep? I don’t know. We spend the night holding each other, in some halfway land between dreams and waking. Not talking. Both afraid to disturb the other in the hope that we’ll be able to store up a few precious minutes of rest.

“See you soon,” he says. “See you soon,” I answer.

“My dress was fantastic last night,” I say. Fantastic and reckless. But Cinna must know that. “I thought you might like it,” he says with a tight smile.

“Remember, girl on fire,” he says, “I’m still betting on you.” He kisses my forehead and steps back as the glass cylinder slides down around me.

The Peacekeepers ignore me completely as they drag Cinna’s limp body from the room. All that’s left are the smears of blood on the floor. Sickened and terrified, I feel the plate begin to rise. I’m still leaning against the glass when the breeze catches my hair and I force myself to straighten up. Just in time, too, because the glass is retreating and I’m standing free in the arena.

I can only form one clear thought. This is no place for a girl on fire.

I owe it to Cinna, who risked everything by undermining President Snow and turning my bridal silk into mockingjay plumage. And I owe it to the rebels who, emboldened by Cinna’s example, might be fighting to bring down the Capitol at this moment. My refusal to play the Games on the Capitol’s terms is to be my last act of rebellion. So I grit my teeth and will myself to be a player.

Then Finnick suddenly grins. “Lucky thing we’re allies. Right?” Sensing a trap, I’m about to let my arrow fly, hoping it finds his heart before the trident impales me, when he shifts his hand and something on his wrist catches the sunlight. A solid-gold bangle patterned with flames. The same one I remember on Haymitch’s wrist the morning I began training. I briefly consider that Finnick could have stolen it to trick me, but somehow I know this isn’t the case. Haymitch gave it to him. As a signal to me. An order, really. To trust Finnick.

Now, when we have this tentative trust, may be my only chance to kill him. I could easily shoot him in the back as we walk. It’s despicable, of course, but will it be any more despicable if I wait? Know him better? Owe him more?

“What’s going on down there, Katniss? Have they all joined hands? Taken a vow of nonviolence? Tossed the weapons in the sea in defiance of the Capitol?” Finnick asks. “No,” I say. “No,” Finnick repeats. “Because whatever happened in the past is in the past. And no one in this arena was a victor by chance.” He eyes Peeta for a moment. “Except maybe Peeta.”

Finnick knows then what Haymitch and I know. About Peeta. Being truly, deep-down better than the rest of us.

I press my ear against his chest, to the spot where I always rest my head, where I know I will hear the strong and steady beat of his heart. Instead, I find silence.

His lashes flutter open and his eyes meet mine. “Careful,” he says weakly. “There’s a force field up ahead.” I laugh, but there are tears running down my cheeks.

It’s stupid, I know, that his efforts make me so vexed. All I wanted was to keep Peeta alive, and I couldn’t and Finnick could, and I should be nothing but grateful. And I am. But I am also furious because it means that I will never stop owing Finnick Odair. Ever. So how can I kill him in his sleep?

At least I hope they’re at home. Not taken into custody by Thread. Being punished as Cinna is. As Darius is. Punished because of me. Everybody.

What happens next is so fast, so senseless, I can’t even move to stop it. Mags hauls herself up, plants a kiss on Finnick’s lips, and then hobbles straight into the fog.

run for Peeta, to knock him to the ground, to protect his body with mine, even though I know I won’t make it in time. She does, though. Materializing, it seems, from thin air. One moment nowhere, the next reeling in front of Peeta. Already bloody, mouth open in a high-pitched scream, pupils enlarged so her eyes seem like black holes.

The morphling seems mesmerized by Peeta’s words. Entranced. She lifts up a trembling hand and paints what I think might be a flower on Peeta’s cheek. “Thank you,” he whispers. “That looks beautiful.”

i’m in tears he’s too good for this world truly

stare into the night, thinking of what a difference a day makes. How yesterday morning, Finnick was on my kill list, and now I’m willing to sleep with him as my guard. He saved Peeta and let Mags die and I don’t know why. Only that I can never settle the balance owed between us. All I can do at the moment is go to sleep and let him grieve in peace. And so I do.

“Poor Finnick. Is this the first time in your life you haven’t looked pretty?” I say. “It must be. The sensation’s completely new. How have you managed it all these years?” he asks. “Just avoid mirrors. You’ll forget about it,” I say. “Not if I keep looking at you,” he says.

bestie alert

By the time we pull ourselves together, I’m thinking that maybe Finnick Odair is all right. At least not as vain or self-important as I’d thought. Not so bad at all, really.

“Tick, tock. Tick, tock.”

“Oh,” I say under my breath. “Tick, tock.” My eyes sweep around the full circle of the arena and I know she’s right. “Tick, tock. This is a clock.”

A memory struggles to surface in my brain. I see a clock. No, it’s a watch, resting in Plutarch Heavensbee’s palm. “It starts at midnight,” Plutarch said. And then my mockingjay lit up briefly and vanished. In retrospect, it’s like he was giving me a clue about the arena. But why would he?

I know I can’t kill her right now. But it’s just a matter of time with Johanna and me. Before one of us offs the other.