Mocking Jay

Finnick and I gravitate toward each other in the hallway. "What will I tell Annie?" he says under his breath.
"Nothing," I answer. "That's what my mother and sister will be hearing from me." Bad enough that we know
we're heading back into a fully equipped arena. No use dropping it on our loved ones.
"If she sees that holograph--" he begins.
"She won't. It's classified information. It must be," I say. "Anyway, it's not like an actual Games. Any number
of people will survive. We're just overreacting because--well, you know why. You still want to go, don't you?"
"Of course. I want to destroy Snow as much as you do," he says.
"It won't be like the others," I say firmly, trying to convince myself as well. Then the real beauty of the
situation dawns on me. "This time Snow will be a player, too."
Before we can continue, Haymitch appears. He wasn't at the meeting, isn't thinking of arenas but
something else. "Johanna's back in the hospital."
I assumed Johanna was fine, had passed her exam, but simply wasn't assigned to a sharpshooters' unit.
She's wicked throwing an ax but about average with a gun. "Is she hurt? What happened?"
"It was while she was on the Block. They try to ferret out a soldier's potential weaknesses. So they flooded
the street," says Haymitch.
This doesn't help. Johanna can swim. At least, I seem to remember her swimming around some in the
Quarter Quell. Not like Finnick, of course, but none of us are like Finnick. "So?"
"That's how they tortured her in the Capitol. Soaked her and then used electric shocks," says Haymitch. "In
the Block she had some kind of flashback. Panicked, didn't know where she was. She's back under sedation."
Finnick and I just stand there, as if we've lost the ability to respond. I think of the way Johanna never showers.
How she forced herself into the rain like it was acid that day. I had attributed her misery to the morphling
withdrawal.
"You two should go see her. You're as close to friends as she's got," says Haymitch.
That makes the whole thing worse. I don't really know what's between Johanna and Finnick. But I hardly
know her. No family. No friends. Not so much as a token from 7 to set beside her regulation clothes in her
anonymous drawer. Nothing.
"I better go tell Plutarch. He won't be happy," Haymitch continues. "He wants as many victors as possible
for the cameras to follow in the Capitol. Thinks it makes for better television."
"Are you and Beetee going?" I ask.
"As many young and attractive victors as possible," Haymitch corrects himself. "So, no. We'll be here."
Finnick goes directly down to see Johanna, but I linger outside a few minutes until Boggs comes out. He's
my commander now, so I guess he's the one to ask for any special favors. When I tell him what I want to do, he
writes me a pass so that I can go to the woods during Reflection, provided I stay within sight of the guards. I run
to my compartment, thinking to use the parachute, but it's so full of ugly memories. Instead, I go across the hall
and take one of the white cotton bandages I brought from 12. Square. Sturdy. Just the thing.
In the woods, I find a pine tree and strip handfuls of fragrant needles from the boughs. After making a neat
pile in the middle of the bandage, I gather up the sides, give them a twist, and tie them tightly with a length of
vine, making an apple-sized bundle.
At the hospital room door, I watch Johanna for a moment, realize that most of her ferocity is in her abrasive
attitude. Stripped of that, as she is now, there's only a slight young woman, her wide-set eyes fighting to stay
awake against the power of the drugs. Terrified of what sleep will bring. I cross to her and hold out the bundle.
"What's that?" she says hoarsely. Damp edges of her hair form little spikes over her forehead.
"I made it for you. Something to put in your drawer." I place it in her hands. "Smell it."
She lifts the bundle to her nose and takes a tentative sniff. "Smells like home." Tears flood her eyes.
"That's what I was hoping. You being from Seven and all," I say. "Remember when we met? You were a
tree. Well, briefly."
Suddenly, she has my wrist in an iron grip. "You have to kill him, Katniss."
"Don't worry." I resist the temptation to wrench my arm free.
"Swear it. On something you care about," she hisses.
"I swear it. On my life." But she doesn't let go of my arm.
"On your family's life," she insists.
"On my family's life," I repeat. I guess my concern for my own survival isn't compelling enough. She lets go
and I rub my wrist. "Why do you think I'm going, anyway, brainless?"
That makes her smile a little. "I just needed to hear it." She presses the bundle of pine needles to her nose