Mocking Jay

welcome feeling. I empty my mind and let the sensations run through my flesh, happy to lose myself. When Gale
pulls away slightly, I move forward to close the gap, but I feel his hand under my chin. "Katniss," he says. The
instant I open my eyes, the world seems disjointed. This is not our woods or our mountains or our way. My hand
automatically goes to the scar on my left temple, which I associate with confusion. "Now kiss me." Bewildered,
unblinking, I stand there while he leans in and presses his lips to mine briefly. He examines my face closely.
"What's going on in your head?"
"I don't know," I whisper back.
"Then it's like kissing someone who's drunk. It doesn't count," he says with a weak attempt at a laugh. He
scoops up a pile of kindling and drops it in my empty arms, returning me to myself.
"How do you know?" I say, mostly to cover my embarrassment. "Have you kissed someone who's drunk?" I
guess Gale could've been kissing girls right and left back in 12. He certainly had enough takers. I never thought
about it much before.
He just shakes his head. "No. But it's not hard to imagine."
"So, you never kissed any other girls?" I ask.
"I didn't say that. You know, you were only twelve when we met. And a real pain besides. I did have a life
outside of hunting with you," he says, loading up with firewood.
Suddenly, I'm genuinely curious. "Who did you kiss? And where?"
"Too many to remember. Behind the school, on the slag heap, you name it," he says.
I roll my eyes. "So when did I become so special? When they carted me off to the Capitol?"
"No. About six months before that. Right after New Year's. We were in the Hob, eating some slop of Greasy
Sae's. And Darius was teasing you about trading a rabbit for one of his kisses. And I realized...I minded," he tells
me.
I remember that day. Bitter cold and dark by four in the afternoon. We'd been hunting, but a heavy snow had
driven us back into town. The Hob was crowded with people looking for refuge from the weather. Greasy Sae's
soup, made with stock from the bones of a wild dog we'd shot a week earlier, was below her usual standards.
Still, it was hot, and I was starving as I scooped it up, sitting cross-legged on her counter. Darius was leaning on
the post of the stall, tickling my cheek with the end of my braid, while I smacked his hand away. He was
explaining why one of his kisses merited a rabbit, or possibly two, since everyone knows redheaded men are
the most virile. And Greasy Sae and I were laughing because he was so ridiculous and persistent and kept
pointing out women around the Hob who he said had paid far more than a rabbit to enjoy his lips. "See? The one
in the green muffler? Go ahead and ask her. If you need a reference."
A million miles from here, a billion days ago, this happened. "Darius was just joking around," I say.
"Probably. Although you'd be the last to figure out if he wasn't," Gale tells me. "Take Peeta. Take me. Or
even Finnick. I was starting to worry he had his eye on you, but he seems back on track now."
"You don't know Finnick if you think he'd love me," I say.
Gale shrugs. "I know he was desperate. That makes people do all kinds of crazy things."
I can't help thinking that's directed at me.
Bright and early the next morning, the brains assemble to take on the problem of the Nut. I'm asked to the
meeting, although I don't have much to contribute. I avoid the conference table and perch in the wide windowsill
that has a view of the mountain in question. The commander from 2, a middle-aged woman named Lyme, takes
us on a virtual tour of the Nut, its interior and fortifications, and recounts the failed attempts to seize it. I've
crossed paths with her briefly a couple of times since my arrival, and was dogged by the feeling I'd met her
before. She's memorable enough, standing over six feet tall and heavily muscled. But it's only when I see a clip of
her in the field, leading a raid on the main entrance of the Nut, that something clicks and I realize I'm in the
presence of another victor. Lyme, the tribute from District 2, who won her Hunger Games over a generation ago.
Effie sent us her tape, among others, to prepare for the Quarter Quell. I've probably caught glimpses of her
during the Games over the years, but she's kept a low profile. With my newfound knowledge of Haymitch's and
Finnick's treatment, all I can think is: What did the Capitol do to her after she won?
When Lyme finishes the presentation, the questions from the brains begin. Hours pass, and lunch comes
and goes, as they try to come up with a realistic plan for taking the Nut. But while Beetee thinks he might be able
to override certain computer systems, and there's some discussion of putting the handful of internal spies to use,
no one has any really innovative thoughts. As the afternoon wears on, talk keeps returning to a strategy that has
been tried repeatedly--the storming of the entrances. I can see Lyme's frustration building because so many
variations of this plan have already failed, so many of her soldiers have been lost. Finally, she bursts out, "The