Sparks Fly

Chapter 18

It's harder to stay idle after seeing the mockingjay. I want to be doing something, finding out more about District 13 or helping in the cause to bring down the Capitol. I go to sleep one night, determined to go into town with Peeta the next morning and ask around the mines, but as I'm sneaking back up the stairs to my room, despite it being early hours, the sound of a car pulling up stops me in my tracks. A jolt of fear shoots through my body, but the door opens a moment later to reveal Venia, Octavia, and Flavius grinning up at me.

"Surprise!" they squeal. "We're here early!"

After I took that lash in the face, Haymitch got their visit pushed back several months so I could heal up. I wasn't expecting them for another three weeks. But I try to act delighted that my bridal photo shoot is here at last. To be perfectly honest, I had nearly forgotten that Peeta and I had yet to be married in an official capacity. After all, the toasting meant more than any piece of paper, and the Capitol wedding would be nothing more than a superficial formality. An attempt from Snow to force us into a future that he assumes neither of us want, but in reality is one that we have already chosen for ourselves. I no longer feel horrified at the sight of the wedding dresses, but rather tired. I'm exhausted at the returned exploitation of our relationship, but for Peeta and for the presumed extra time that this would give us to be together, I would allow my prep team to manipulate my features, to dress me in whatever designs Cinna has deemed appropriate for a Capitol ceremony.

My prep team falls into a bout of their usual hysterics about the deteriorated state of my beauty, and they get straight to work. Their biggest concern is my face, though there's just a pale pink strip across my cheekbone left after my mother's healing touch. It's barely noticeable to me, but they act as if they've just heard that the world's ending. The whipping is not common knowledge, at least not outside of District 12, so I tell them I slipped on the ice and cut it. And then I realize that's my same excuse for hurting my foot, which – although it is monumentally better than when I first hurt it – is going to make walking in high heels a problem. But Flavius, Octavia, and Venia aren't the suspicious types, so I'm safe there.

Since I only have to look hairless for a few hours instead of several weeks, I get to be shaved instead of waxed. I still have to soak in a tub of something, but it isn't vile, and we're on to my hair and makeup before I know it. The team, as usual, is full of news, which I usually do my best to tune out. But then Octavia makes a comment that catches my attention. It's a passing remark, really, about how she couldn't get shrimp for a party, but it tugs at me.

"Why couldn't you get shrimp? Is it out of season?" I ask.

"Oh, Katniss, we haven't been able to get any seafood for weeks!" says Octavia. "You know, because the weather's been so bad in District Four."

My mind starts running a million miles a minute as I sort through what that means. No seafood. For weeks. From District 4. The barely concealed rage in the crowd during the Victory Tour. And suddenly I am absolutely sure that District 4 has revolted.

I begin to question them casually about what other hardships this winter has brought them. They are not used to want, so any little disruption in supply makes an impact on them. By the time I'm ready to be dressed, their complaints about the difficulty of getting different products — from crabmeat to music chips to ribbons — has given me a sense of which districts might actually be rebelling. Seafood from District 4. Electronic gadgets from District 3. And, of course, fabrics from District 8. The thought of such widespread rebellion has me quivering with fear and excitement.

I want to ask them more, but Cinna appears to give me a hug and check my makeup. His attention goes right to the scar on my cheek, though his reaction lacks the dramatic air of my prep team's. He gives me a look of disbelief when I tell him the slipping-on-the-ice story, but he doesn't question it. He simply adjusts the powder on my face, and what little you can see of the lash mark vanishes. I want to tell him everything. The toasting, the rebellion, all of it. But my prep team is there, and I can hear Effie voice trilling out from the bottom of the stairs, demanding our presence in the living room.