Smiley declared them all fast friends, and by the end of lunch, Coriolanus and Junius had been dubbed Gent and Beanpole respectively, one by way of table manners, the other because of his frame. Coriolanus welcomed the nickname, because the last thing he wanted to hear was the name Snow. None of his bunkmates commented on it, though, or made any mention of the Hunger Games. It turned out the enlisted only had access to one television in the rec room, and the reception proved so poor it was rarely on. If Beanpole had seen Coriolanus in the Capitol, he hadn’t made the connection between the Hunger Games mentor and the grunt beside him. Perhaps no one recognized him because no one expected him to be there. Or perhaps his celebrity had only extended to the Academy and a handful of unemployed in the Capitol who’d had time to follow the drama. Coriolanus relaxed enough to admit to a military father killed in the war, a grandmother and cousin back home, and school having ended the previous week.
To his surprise, he discovered that Smiley and Bug, as well as many of the other Peacekeepers, were not Capitol but district-born. “Oh, sure,” said Smiley. “Peacekeeping’s good work if you can get it. Better than mill work. Lots of food, and money enough to send back to my folks. Some people sneer at it, but I say the war’s history and a job’s a job.”
“So you don’t mind policing your own people?” Coriolanus couldn’t help asking.
“Oh, these aren’t my people. My people are in Eight. They don’t leave you where you’re born,” said Smiley with a shrug. “’Sides, you’re my family now, Gent.”
Coriolanus got introduced to more of his new family that afternoon when he was assigned to kitchen detail. Under the guidance of Cookie, an old soldier who’d lost his left ear in the war, he stripped to the waist and stood over a sink of steaming water for four hours, scrubbing pots and hosing off meal trays. Then he was allowed fifteen minutes to eat another round of hash before he spent the next few hours mopping the mess hall and hallways. He had about half an hour back in the room before lights went out at nine and he collapsed into bed in his undershorts.
By five the next morning, he was dressed and on the field to begin training in earnest. The first stage was designed to bring the new troops up to an acceptable level of fitness. He squatted and sprinted and drilled until his clothes were sodden and his heels blistered. Professor Sickle’s instruction served him well; she’d always insisted on rigorous exercise, and he’d been marching in formation since he was twelve. Beanpole, on the other hand, with his two left feet and concave chest, had the drill sergeant baiting and abusing him by turns. That night, as Coriolanus drifted off to sleep, he could hear the boy trying to stifle his sobs with his pillow.
Blocks of training, eating, cleaning, and sleeping made up his new life. He moved through them mechanically but with enough competence to avoid reproach. If he was lucky, he had a precious half hour to himself before lights-out at night. Not that he accomplished anything. It was all he could do to shower and climb into his bunk.
The thought of Lucy Gray tormented him, but it was tricky getting information about her. If he went around the base asking questions, someone might figure out his role in the Games, and he wanted to avoid that at all costs. The squad’s designated day off was Sunday, and their duties ended Saturday at five. As new recruits, they were confined to base until the following weekend. Then Coriolanus planned to go into town and surreptitiously ask the locals about Lucy Gray. Smiley said the Peacekeepers hung out at an old coal warehouse called the Hob, where you could purchase homemade liquor and maybe buy yourself some company. District 12 had a town square as well, the same one used for the reaping, with a smattering of small shops and tradespeople, but that was more active in the daytime.
Except for Beanpole, who pulled latrine duty for his shortcomings, his bunkmates headed to the rec room to play poker after Saturday’s dinner. Coriolanus lingered over his noodles and canned meat in the mess hall. Since Smiley was usually distracting them all with his prattle, it was the first time he had to really take stock of the other Peacekeepers. They ranged in age from late teens to one old man who looked to be the Grandma’am’s contemporary. Some chatted among themselves, but most sat silent and depressed, sucking down their noodles. Was he looking, he wondered, at his future?
Coriolanus opted to spend his evening in the barrack. Having left his last coins with his family, he would have no money for gambling, not even pocket change, until he was paid on the first of the month. More importantly, he had received a letter from Tigris that he wanted to read in private. He soaked in his solitude, free of the sight, sound, and smell of his comrades. All the together-ness overwhelmed him, used as he was to ending his days alone. He climbed onto his bunk and carefully opened his letter.
My dearest Coryo,
It’s Monday night now, and the apartment echoes with your absence. The Grandma’am doesn’t quite seem to know what’s going on, as twice today she asked when you’d be home and should we wait on dinner. Word of your situation has begun to spread. I went to see Pluribus, and he said he’d heard any number of rumors: that you’d followed Lucy Gray to Twelve out of love, that you’d gotten drunk celebrating and signed up on a dare, that you’d broken the rules and sent Lucy Gray gifts in the arena yourself, that you had some kind of falling out with Dean Highbottom. I tell people that you’re doing your duty to your country, just as your father did.
Festus, Persephone, and Lysistrata came by this evening, all very concerned about you, and Mrs. Plinth called to get your address. I think she means to write you.
Our apartment is officially going on the market now, thanks to some help from the Dolittles. Pluribus says that, if we can’t find a place immediately, he has a couple of spare rooms we can use above the club, and that maybe I can help out with the costumes if he reopens it. He’s also placed several pieces of our furniture with buyers. He’s been very kind and says to send his regards to you and Lucy Gray. Have you been able to see her? That’s the one sweet spot in all this madness.
I’m sorry this is so short, but it’s quite late, and I’ve so much to do. I just wanted to get something off to remind you how much you are loved and missed. I know how hard things must be, but don’t lose hope. It has sustained us through the darkest of times and will do so now. Please write and tell us of your life in 12. It may not seem ideal, but who knows where it may lead?
SLOT,
Tigris
Coriolanus buried his face in his hands. The Capitol making a mockery of the Snow name? The Grandma’am losing her mind? Their home a pair of shabby rooms above a nightclub, where Tigris stitched sequined unitards? Was this the fate of the magnificent Snow family?
And what of him, Coriolanus Snow, future president of Panem? His life, tragic and pointless, unspooled before him. He saw himself in twenty years’ time, grown stout and stupid, the breeding beaten out of him, his mind atrophied to the point where nothing but base, animal thoughts of hunger and sleep ever crossed it. Lucy Gray, having languished in Dr. Gaul’s lab, would be long dead, and his heart dead with her. Twenty wasted years, and then what? When his time had been served? Why, he’d just reenlist, because even then the humiliation would be too great. And what would await him in the Capitol if he did return? The Grandma’am passed on. Tigris, middle-aged but seeming older, sewing away in servitude, her kindness transformed to insipidity, her existence a joke to those she had to please to earn her keep. No, he’d never return. He’d stay on in 12 like that old man in the mess hall had, because this was his life. No partner, no children, no address but the barrack. The other Peacekeepers, his family. Smiley, Bug, Beanpole, his band of brothers. And he would never see anyone from home again. Never, ever again.
A terrible pain clutched his chest as a toxic wave of homesickness and despair swamped him. He felt sure he was having a heart attack but made no attempt to call for help, instead curling into a ball and pressing his face against the wall. Perhaps it was for the best. Because there was no out. Nowhere to run. No hope of rescue. No future that was not a living death. What did he have to look forward to? Hash? A weekly cup of gin? A promotion from dish washing to dish scraping? Wasn’t it better to die now, quickly, than to drag it out painfully for years?
Somewhere — it seemed very distant — he heard a door bang shut. Footsteps came down the hall, pausing for a minute and then continuing toward him. He gritted his teeth, willing his heart to stop at once, because the world and he had finished with each other and it was time to part ways. But the footsteps grew louder and came to a halt at his door. Was the person looking at him? Was it the patrol? Staring at him in this mortifying position? Lapping up his wretchedness? He waited for the laughter, the derision, and the latrine duty that was sure to follow.
Instead he heard a quiet voice say, “Is this bunk taken?” A quiet and familiar voice . . .
Coriolanus twisted around on the bed, his eyes flying open to confirm what his ears already knew. Standing in the doorway, looking oddly at home in a set of fatigues still creased from the package, stood Sejanus Plinth.
CHAPTER 22
Coriolanus had never been so glad to see anyone in his life. “Sejanus!” he burst out. He launched off his bunk, landed shakily on the painted concrete floor, and flung his arms around the newcomer.
Sejanus embraced him. “This is a surprisingly warm welcome for the person who almost destroyed you!”
A slightly hysterical laugh left Coriolanus’s lips, and for a moment he considered the accuracy of the claim. It was true, Sejanus had endangered his life by stealing into the arena, but it was too far a reach to blame him for all the rest. As aggravating as Sejanus could be, he’d had no hand in Dean Highbottom’s vendetta against his father or in the handkerchief debacle. “No, no, quite the opposite.” He released Sejanus and examined him. Dark circles shadowed his eyes and he must have lost at least fifteen pounds. But on the whole he had a lighter air, as if the great weight he’d carried in the Capitol had been lifted. “What are you doing here?”
“Hm. Let’s see. Having defied the Capitol by entering the arena, I, too, was on the verge of expulsion. My father went before the board and said he’d pay for a new gymnasium for the Academy if they would let me graduate and sign up for the Peacekeepers. They agreed, but I said I wouldn’t take the deal unless they’d let you graduate, too. Well, Professor Sickle really wanted a new gym, and she said what did it matter if we were both tied up for the next twenty years anyway?” Sejanus set his duffel on the floor and dug out his box of personal items.
“I got to graduate?” said Coriolanus.
Sejanus opened the box, removed a small leather folder with the school’s emblem, and held it out with great ceremony. “Congratulations. You are no longer a dropout.”
Coriolanus flipped open the cover and found a diploma with his name inscribed in curlicues. The thing must have been written out in advance, because it even credited him with High Honors. “Thank you. I guess it’s stupid, but it still matters to me.”
“You know, if you ever wanted to take the officer candidate test, it might matter. You need to have graduated secondary school. Dean Highbottom brought that up as something that should be denied you. He said you broke some rule in the Games to help Lucy Gray? Anyway, he got outvoted.” Sejanus chuckled. “He’s really wearing on people.”
“So I’m not universally reviled?” said Coriolanus.
“For what? Falling in love? I think more people pity you. A lot of romantics among our teachers, come to find out,” said Sejanus. “And Lucy Gray made quite a good impression.”
Coriolanus grabbed his arm. “Where is she? Do you know what happened to her?”
Sejanus shook his head. “They usually send the victors back to their districts, don’t they?”
“I’m afraid they’ve done something worse to her. Because we cheated in the Games,” Coriolanus confessed. “I tampered with the snakes so they wouldn’t bite her. But all she did was use rat poison.”
“So that was it. Well, I haven’t heard anything about that. Or about her being punished,” Sejanus reassured him. “The truth is, she’s so talented, they’ll probably want to bring her back next year.”
“I thought of that, too. Maybe Highbottom was right about her being sent home.” Coriolanus sat on Beanpole’s bunk and stared down at the diploma. “You know, when you came in, I was weighing the merits of suicide.”
“What? Now? When you’re finally free from the clutches of Dean Highbottom and the evil Dr. Gaul? When the girl of your dreams is in reach? When my ma is, at this moment, packing a box the size of a truck full of baked goods for you?” exclaimed Sejanus. “My friend, your life has just begun!”
And then Coriolanus was laughing; they both were. “So this isn’t our ruin?”
“I’d call it our salvation. Mine anyway. Oh, Coryo, if you only knew how glad I was to escape,” said Sejanus, turning grave. “I never liked the Capitol, but after the Hunger Games, after what happened to Marcus . . . I don’t know if you were kidding about suicide, but it was no joke to me. I had the whole thing worked out. . . .”
“No. No, Sejanus,” said Coriolanus. “Let’s not give them the satisfaction.”
Sejanus nodded thoughtfully, then wiped his face on his sleeve. “My father says it won’t be better here. I’ll still be a Capitol boy as far as the districts are concerned. But I don’t care. Anything would have to be an improvement. What’s it like?”
“We’re either marching or mopping,” said Coriolanus. “It’s mind-numbing.”
“Good. My mind could stand a little numbing. I’ve been trapped in these endless debates with my father,” said Sejanus. “At the moment, I don’t want to have a serious discussion about anything.”
“Then you’ll love our roommates.” The pain in Coriolanus’s chest had retreated, and he felt a glimmer of hope. Lucy Gray had, at least publicly, been spared punishment. Just knowing that he still had allies in the Capitol buoyed Coriolanus’s spirits, and Sejanus’s mention of becoming an officer caught his attention. Perhaps there was a way out of his predicament after all? Another path to influence and power? It was solace enough, at the moment, to know this was something Dean Highbottom feared.
“I’m planning to,” said Sejanus. “I’m planning to build a whole new beautiful life here. One where, in my own small way, I can make the world a better place.”
“That’s going to take some work,” said Coriolanus. “I don’t know what ever possessed me to ask for Twelve.”
“Completely random, obviously,” Sejanus teased.
Like a fool, Coriolanus felt himself blush. “I don’t even know how to find her. Or if she’ll still be interested in me, now that so much has changed.”
“You’re kidding, right? She’s head over heels in love with you!” said Sejanus. “And don’t worry, we’ll find her.”
As he helped Sejanus unpack and make his bed, Coriolanus got caught up on the Capitol news. His suspicions about the Hunger Games were right.
“By the next morning, there was no mention of it,” said Sejanus. “When I went into the Academy for my review, I heard some of the faculty talking about what a mistake it’d been to involve the students, so I think that was a one-off. But I wouldn’t be surprised if we see Lucky Flickerman back again next year, or the post office open for gifts and betting.”
“Our legacy,” said Coriolanus.
“So it seems,” said Sejanus. “Satyria told Professor Sickle that Dr. Gaul is determined to keep it going somehow. A part of her eternal war, I guess. Instead of battles, we have the Hunger Games.”
“Yes, to punish the districts and remind us what beasts we are,” said Coriolanus, focused on lining up Sejanus’s folded socks in the locker.
“What?” asked Sejanus, giving him a funny look.
“I don’t know,” said Coriolanus. “It’s like . . . you know how she’s always torturing that rabbit or melting the flesh off something?”
“Like she enjoys it?” asked Sejanus.
“Exactly. I think that’s how she thinks we all are. Natural-born killers. Inherently violent,” Coriolanus said. “The Hunger Games are a reminder of what monsters we are and how we need the Capitol to keep us from chaos.”
“So, not only is the world a brutal place, but people enjoy its brutality? Like the essay on everything we loved about the war,” said Sejanus. “As if it had been some big show.” He shook his head. “So much for not thinking.”
“Forget it,” said Coriolanus. “Let’s just be happy that she’s out of our lives.”
A downcast Beanpole appeared, reeking of urinals and bleach. Coriolanus introduced him to Sejanus, who, upon learning of his predicament, cheered him up by promising to help him with the drills. “It took me awhile to get it, too, back at school. But if I can master it, so can you.”
Smiley and Bug rolled in shortly after and greeted Sejanus warmly. They’d been cleaned out at the poker table but were excited about the following Saturday’s entertainment. “There’s going to be a band at the Hob.”
Coriolanus practically jumped on him. “A band? What band?”
Smiley shrugged. “Can’t remember. But some girl will be singing. Supposed to be pretty good. Lucy somebody.”
Lucy somebody. Coriolanus’s heart leaped and a grin nearly split his face in two.
Sejanus grinned back at him. “Really? Well, that’s something to look forward to.”