(5)

"This is truly delicious," Katniss' stylist, Cinna comments as he munches on a croissant.

I try to smile at him as he makes eye contact with me. Recently, it has been becoming increasingly difficult for me to smile. The District Tour is off and we're on our way to 11. I had been dreading this tour ever since it was first mentioned to Katniss and me that we were required to do it. The idea of displaying ourselves as powerful strong people in front of the faces of the friends and family of those killed in the Games bothers me in a way. It feels wrong.

My stylist, Portia, casts me a long glance. I feel her eyes scan down my body. She seems to be going through a checklist in her head, with her head making a slight upward motion each time she focuses on a different part of me. After a few seconds, she lets out a small sigh, places her fork on her table and looks toward Cinna. "You know, I would have to agree!" she says to him with a smile of accomplishment. She must be pleased with my presentation.

I take a look at Haymitch, who seems to be the only one not participating in the conversation. He was definitely drunk last night, as always, and now he is dealing with the consequences. He quietly picks away chunks of a muffin. I feel sorry for him, even though it's his own fault. Sometimes I wonder whether Haymitch drinks on purpose, or if it is something that he sincerely can not control. I'd feel horrible if it were the latter. All those times I blamed him for the wrong that has come out of his drinking would all be moments of regret if I knew that he was not the one in control of the drink, if I knew he was being forced to surrender to it.

"Did you sleep well, Peeta?" Portia asks me, as she has control of the conversation.

"Very well, thanks," I answer her with a smile. It feels forced, but I don't think that anyone's smiles are truly genuine these days. The Games have changed a little something in everybody. As I answer her, Katniss walks into the room. Her prep team has gotten to her and she appears very troubled. I long to reach out and bring her close to me, wish to be her safety and shelter, to help her with all her problems, but she is distant, as is expected. I want to apologize to her about what I did after the Games were over, when I ignored her. She didn't deserve that.

She doesn't say anything as she sits down and remains quiet as the conversation continues without her. I catch her looking at Haymitch, and try to put myself in her shoes. My only hope is that she isn't angry with me. That would kill me inside. She doesn't seem to be looking at me, even though I attempt to make eye contact with her several times.

She reaches forth and grabs a bowl of broth. Cinna tries to invite her into our conversation about the tour, but she ignores him, twirling her spoon around and staring at the contents of her broth.

All of a sudden, the train stops moving, and Katniss breaks out of her daze and looks up. Effie frantically jumps out of her seat and looks for someone to speak to. The young man who had brought the food out to us takes a look at her in her manic state and tells her that he'll inquire elsewhere. He returns after two minutes of Effie's pacing and reports that the train is malfunctioning or something and they will take at least 60 minutes to fix it. Cinna and Portia both cast glances at me as we watch Effie rip her schedule out wildly.

"Well great, this is just fantastic!" Effie yells. "Now we're going to be late. We should get to District 11 now at 4:30 which means that this will be pushed back. The mayor is not going to be happy about this!" She goes on and on, and I can see Katniss' muscles tensing up. I wish I could put my hand on her shoulder and try to calm her down, but considering she hasn't looked at me once this morning, it doesn't seem she would appreciate the gesture.

When you'd least expect it, Katniss snaps, "No one cares, Effie!" She looks around at all of our shocked faces and I recognize that I'm the only one with a sympathetic vibe. "Well, no one does!" she yells again, before standing up and running out of the car.

Everyone looks around at each other. Effie's face is frozen, finally silenced by Katniss' chilling words, which are still ringing in my head. I see Haymitch is the first to move, turning back to his crumbling muffin, but Cinna, Portia, and Effie all remain quiet, absorbing the silence. Then, an alarm goes off distantly.

"That girl..." Effie says, trailing off. She can't form a sentence. "Where are her manners?" she wonders to herself, not really posing the question at someone.

I take one last look at everyone and then stand up to exit the car, following after Katniss. I step out and find an exit door opened, which must have been the cause of the alarm. I jump through it onto the ground and take a glance in both directions, looking for her. I first head to the front of the train and don't find her, but eventually I cover the whole perimeter, swinging towards the back where I see her, in the distance. I walk up to her until I hear her voice, loud and clear, "I'm not in the mood for a lecture."

I take a seat next to her on the track and say, "I'll try to keep it brief."

She looks at me, surprised, and somewhat relieved. "I thought you were Haymitch," she says.

I take hold of my leg and move it into a comfortable position. In an attempt at humor, I say, "No, he's still working on that muffin." Katniss doesn't seem to respond, so I ask, "Bad day, huh?"

She takes a few seconds to respond, looking off into the distance with her hair blowing in the wind. "It's nothing," she finally replies.

I inale deeply and say, "Look, Katniss, I've been wanting to talk to you about the way I acted on the train. I mean, the last train. The one that brought us home. I knew you had something with Gale. I was jealous of him before I even officially met you. And it wasn't fair to hold you to anything that happened in the Games. I'm sorry."

She stares at me, then says, "I'm sorry, too."

I shake my head and say, "There's nothing for you to be sorry about. You were just keeping us alive. But I don't want us to go on like this, ignoring each other in real life and falling into the snow every time there's a camera around. So I thought if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at just being friends." Deep inside I don't want to be friends. I want her. I've always wanted her. I can't have her though, so I have to settle for less.

"Okay," she says, her demeanor changing slightly. I can tell there is still something on her mind.

"So what's wrong?" I ask.

She doesn't say anything, and instead tears up some weeds from the ground.

I take a different approach. "Let's start with something more basic. Isn't it strange that I know you'd risk your life to save mine... but I don't know what your favorite color is?" I say.

She smiles ever so slightly. "Green," she says. "What's yours?"

"Orange," I say without hesitation.

"Orange? Like Effie's hair?"

"A bit more muted," I say with a smile. "More like... sunset." The color of the sunset has always been my favorite color. I can imagine myself watching it with Katniss, basking in the beauty of the wonderful shades of color.

She pauses to think. "You know, everyone's always raving about your paintings. I feel bad I haven't seen them."

I feel a warm feeling all of a sudden, so I get up and extend my hand to her. "Well, I've got a whole train car full. Come on." She takes my hand and my body feels whole again, as if it has found its other half.

When we get inside, she says, "I've got to apologize to Effie first."

I nod and say, "Don't be afraid to lay it on think."

I wait at the door of the dining car until Katniss comes back. When she returns, I lead her down to where my paintings are. Every step, I get a little bit more nervous for her to finally see my artwork. I tell others that I paint for myself, but the reality is, I paint for Katniss. Everything I have painted expresses my inner emotions, and my inner emotions compose the Hunger Games. They are my nightmares. They come to me every night, haunting me, which is why I can paint them so vividly. After she takes a long look at all of them, I ask her, "What do you think?"

"I hate them," she says, completely stoic. "All I do is go around trying to forget the arena and you've brought it back to life. How do you remember these things so exactly?"

"I see them every night," I admit.

She gives me a nod of understanding, then she says, "Me too. Does it help? To paint them out?"

I think about it. "I don't know. I think I'm a little less afraid of going to sleep at night, or I tell myself I am. But they haven't gone anywhere."

"Maybe they won't. Haymitch's haven't," she says darkly.

"No. But for me, it's better to wake up with a paintbrush than a knife in my hand," I tell her. I think about Haymitch and how he's suffered. He definitely came out of the Games scarred for life. Am I? Is Katniss? It's hard to tell at this early stage. "So you really hate them?" I ask her.

"Yes. But they're extraordinary. Really," she tells me. "Want to see my talent? Cinna did a great job on it."

Even though I have little idea what she is talking about, I laugh. "Later," I tell her as the train begins to move again. Katniss looks out the window as I say, "Come on, we're almost to District Eleven. Let's go take a look at it."

Katniss and I take peeks out of the windows, assessing the District until we arrive. The fields seem to extend on for ages, something I had never seen before in my life. I enjoy seeing the animals, eating away at the grass. They represent some sort of normality and innocence. That's when I see the barbed wire, harsh, unfeeling, restrictive. They have high towers for guards to manage the exits out of the District. "That's something different," I think aloud. When we get to the people, I'm taken aback. They are all hunched over their work, sweating intensely in the heat, their skin a much darker color than my own. The train seems to keep going, and I realize just how large the district is. "How many people do you think live here?" I ask Katniss.

She shakes her head. I continue to look out the window until Effie comes into our car, instructing us that it is time to dress. We follow after her and I get to my compartment where my prep team hacks at me until I look like an average Capitol boy, adorned with a tie in my favorite color, sunset orange. I tuck the card I wrote my speech on into my jacket pocket. Effie gives us one last talk and then we are directed into a gigantic truck. When we arrive at the back of the Justice Building, we are ushered in quickly. The anthem begins playing and we get our microphones clipped on. On impulse, I grab Katniss' hand and she squeezes back tightly.

"Big smiles!" Effie yells after us and we walk out into the crowd. I look at the gorgeous girl next to me and know that we can both be strong through this appearance and that what I'm going to say is the right thing to do.