Mockingjay

So, let’s all be quiet for a minute. I want everyone to think of one incident where Katniss Everdeen genuinely moved you. Not where you were jealous of her hairstyle, or her dress went up in flames or she made a halfway decent shot with an arrow. Not where Peeta was making you like her. I want to hear one moment where she made you feel something real.”
    Quiet stretches out and I’m beginning to think it will never end, when Leevy speaks up. “When she volunteered to take Prim’s place at the reaping. Because I’m sure she thought she was going to die.”
    “Good. Excellent example,” says Haymitch. He takes a purple marker and writes on a notepad. “Volunteered for sister at reaping.” Haymitch looks around the table. “Somebody else.”
    I’m surprised that the next speaker is Boggs, who I think of as a muscular robot that does Coin’s bidding. “When she sang the song. While the little girl died.” Somewhere in my head an image surfaces of Boggs with a young boy perched up on his hip. In the dining hall, I think. Maybe he’s not a robot after all.
    “Who didn’t get choked up at that, right?” says Haymitch, writing it down.
    “I cried when she drugged Peeta so she could go get him medicine and when she kissed him good-bye!” blurts out Octavia. Then she covers her mouth, like she’s sure this was a bad mistake.
    But Haymitch only nods. “Oh, yeah. Drugs Peeta to save his life. Very nice.”
    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.
    Haymitch holds up the notepad. “So, the question is, what do all of these have in common?”
    “They were Katniss’s,” says Gale quietly. “No one told her what to do or say.”
    “Unscripted, yes!” says Beetee. He reaches over and pats my hand. “So we should just leave you alone, right?”
    People laugh. I even smile a little.
    “Well, that’s all very nice but not very helpful,” says Fulvia peevishly. “Unfortunately, her opportunities for being wonderful are rather limited here in Thirteen. So unless you’re suggesting we toss her into the middle of combat —”
    “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting,” says Haymitch. “Put her out in the field and just keep the cameras rolling.”
    “But people think she’s pregnant,” Gale points out.
    “We’ll spread the word that she lost the baby from the electrical shock in the arena,” Plutarch replies. “Very sad. Very unfortunate.”
    The idea of sending me into combat is controversial. But Haymitch has a pretty tight case. If I perform well only in real-life circumstances, then into them I should go. “Every time we coach her or give her lines, the best we can hope for is okay. It has to come from her. That’s what people are responding to.”
    “Even if we’re careful, we can’t guarantee her safety,” says Boggs. “She’ll be a target for every —”
    “I want to go,” I break in. “I’m no help to the rebels here.”
    “And if you’re killed?” asks Coin.
    “Make sure you get some footage. You can use that, anyway,” I answer.
    “Fine,” says Coin. “But let’s take it one step at a time. Find the least dangerous situation that can evoke some spontaneity in you.” She walks around Command, studying the illuminated district maps that show the ongoing troop positions in the war. “Take her into Eight this afternoon. There was heavy bombing this morning, but the raid seems to have run its course. I want her armed with a squad of bodyguards. Camera crew on the ground. Haymitch, you’ll be airborne and in contact with her. Let’s see what happens there. Does anyone have any other comments?”
    “Wash her face,” says Dalton. Everyone turns to him. “She’s still a girl and you made her look thirty-five. Feels wrong. Like something the Capitol would do.”
    As Coin adjourns the meeting, Haymitch asks her if he can speak to me privately. The others leave except for Gale, who lingers uncertainly by my side. “What are you worried about?” Haymitch asks him. “I’m the one who needs the bodyguard.”
    “It’s okay,” I tell Gale, and he goes. Then there’s just the hum of the instruments, the purr of the ventilation system.
    Haymitch