Sparks Fly

Chapter 3

The smell of blood ... it was on his breath.

What does he do? I think. Drink it? I imagine him sipping it from a teacup. Dipping a cookie into the stuff and pulling it out dripping red.

I barely notice as a car starts outside and quietly drives away. As if he was never here.

The room spins around me as my heart begins to race. I lean forward and clutch the desk with one hand in an effort to maintain consciousness. The other still holds Peeta's beautiful cookie which has now been reduced to crumbs in my fist. I suppose I had to hold on to something while my world veered out of control.

A visit from President Snow. Districts on the verge of uprisings. Everyone I love threatened. Who else will be forced to pay for the things I've done? Unless I turn things around on this tour. Quiet the discontent and put the president's mind at rest. And how? By proving to the country beyond any shadow of a doubt that I love Peeta Mellark.

But I'm not sure that I can. Peeta's the good one, the likable one. He can make people believe anything. He is kind and outgoing and charming. It doesn't hurt that he's easy on the eyes. I'm the one who sits quietly and lets him do the talking for the both of us. But it's me, not Peeta, who has to prove my devotion.

I hear my mother's approaching steps in the hallway and quickly brush the remaining crumbs from my palm. She doesn't need to know. Not yet.

"Is everything all right, Katniss?" she asks.

"It's fine. We never see it on television, but the president always visits the victors before the tour to wish them luck," I say with a smile.

My mother's face floods with relief. "Oh. I thought there was some kind of trouble."

"No, not at all," I say. "The trouble will start when my prep team sees how I've let my eyebrows grow back in." 

My mother laughs.

"Why don't I start your bath?" she asks.

"Great," I say, and I can see how pleased she is by my response.

Since I've been home I've been trying hard to mend my relationship with my mother. Asking her to do things for me instead of brushing aside any offer of help, as I did for years out of anger. Letting her handle all the money I won. Returning her hugs instead of tolerating them. My time in the arena made me realize how I needed to stop punishing her for something she couldn't help, specifically the crushing depression she fell into after my father's death. Because sometimes things happen to people and they're not equipped to deal with them.

Like me, for instance. Right now.

Besides, there's one wonderful thing she did when I arrived back in the district. After our families and friends had greeted Peeta and me at the train station, there were a few questions allowed from reporters. Someone asked my mother what she thought of my new boyfriend, and she replied that, while Peeta was the very model of what a young man should be, I wasn't old enough to have any boyfriend at all. She followed this with a pointed look at Peeta. There was a lot of laughter and comments like "Somebody's in trouble" from the press, and Peeta dropped my hand and sidestepped away from me. That didn't last long - there was too much pressure to act otherwise - but it gave us an excuse to be a little more reserved than we'd been in the Capitol. And maybe it can help account for how little I've been seen in Peeta's company since the cameras left.

I go upstairs to the bathroom, where a steaming tub awaits. My mother has added a small bag of dried flowers that perfumes the air. I undress and lower myself into the silky water - my mother has poured in some kind of oil as well - and try to get a grip on things.