Coriolanus had never received an official reprimand of any kind, nothing that would stain his spotless record. “But —” he started to protest.
“Go, before you receive a second for insubordination,” said Dean Highbottom. There was no give in the statement, no invitation to negotiate. Coriolanus did as he’d been directed.
Had Dean Highbottom actually used the word expelled?
Coriolanus left the Academy in a state of agitation, but once again the rush of attention quieted his distress. From his fellow students in the hallway, from Tigris and the Grandma’am as they ate a quick supper of fried eggs and cabbage soup, from complete strangers as he made his way back to the zoo that evening, eager to keep his hand in the Games.
The soft orange glow of the sunset suffused the city, and a cool breeze swept away the suffocating heat of the day. Officials had extended the zoo’s hours until nine o’clock, allowing the citizens to see the tributes, but there had been no more live coverage since his earlier visit. Coriolanus had decided to make another appearance to check on Lucy Gray and suggest she sing another song. The audience would love that, and perhaps it would draw the cameras back again.
As he wound through the paths of the zoo, he was filled with nostalgia for the pleasant days he’d spent there as a child, but he felt saddened by the emptiness of the cages. They had once been full of fascinating creatures from the Capitol’s genetic ark. Now, in one, a lone tortoise lay in the mud, wheezing. A bedraggled toucan squawked high in the branches, fluttering freely from one enclosure to the next. They were rare survivors of the war,
as most animals had starved or been eaten. A pair of scrawny raccoons that had likely wandered in from the adjacent city park dug in an overturned trash can. The only beasts thriving were the rats that chased one another around the edges of fountains and scurried across the path mere feet away.
As Coriolanus neared the monkey house, the paths became more populated, and a crowd of about a hundred people curved from one side of the bars to the other. Someone jostled his arm as they sped by, and he recognized Lepidus Malmsey pushing ahead through the visitors with the cameraman. A sort of commotion was occurring down front, and he climbed up on a boulder to get a better view.
To his chagrin, he saw Sejanus standing at the edge of the cage with a large backpack beside him. He held what appeared to be a sandwich through the bars, offering it to the tributes within. For the moment, they were all hanging back. Coriolanus could not hear his words, but he seemed to be trying to coax Dill, the girl from District 11, to take it. What was Sejanus up to? Was he trying to outdo him and steal the day’s thunder? To take his idea of coming to the zoo and then dress it up in a way Coriolanus could never compete with, because he could never afford to? Was that whole pack filled with sandwiches? That girl wasn’t even his tribute.
When Sejanus caught sight of Coriolanus, his face brightened and he waved him over. Casually, Coriolanus made his way through the crowd, soaking up their attention. “Trouble?” he said as he surveyed the backpack. It was overflowing with not only sandwiches, but fresh plums as well.
“None of them trust me. And why should they?” asked Sejanus.
A self-important little girl marched up beside them and pointed to a sign on the pillar at the edge of the enclosure. “It says, ‘Please don’t feed the animals.’”
“They’re not animals, though,” said Sejanus. “They’re kids, like you and me.”
“They’re not like me!” the little girl protested. “They’re district. That’s why they belong in a cage!”
“Once again, like me,” said Sejanus drily. “Coriolanus, do you think you could get your tribute to come over? If she does, the others might. They have to be starving.”
Coriolanus’s mind worked quickly. He had already received one demerit today and did not wish to push his luck with Dean Highbottom. On the other hand, the demerit had been for endangerment of a student, and he was
perfectly safe on this side of the bars. Dr. Gaul, who was arguably more influential than Dean Highbottom, had complimented his initiative. And in truth, he had no interest in ceding the stage to Sejanus. The zoo was his show, and he and Lucy Gray were the stars. Even now, he could hear Lepidus whispering his name to the cameraman, feel the viewers in the Capitol watching him.
He spotted Lucy Gray at the back of the enclosure, washing her hands and face at a faucet that jutted from the wall at knee height. She dried herself on the ruffled skirt, arranged her curls, and adjusted the rose behind her ear.
“I can’t treat her like it’s feeding time at the zoo,” Coriolanus told Sejanus. It was not consistent with his treatment of her as a lady to be shoving food to her through the bars. “Not mine. But I could offer her dinner.”
Sejanus nodded immediately. “Take whatever. Ma made extra. Please.”
Coriolanus chose two sandwiches and two plums from the pack and crossed to the edge of the monkey house, where a flat rock provided a likely seat. Never in his life, not even in the worst years, had he left home without a clean handkerchief in his pocket. The Grandma’am insisted on certain civilities that held chaos at bay. There were great drawers of them going back generations, plain to lacy to embroidered with flowers. He spread out the worn, slightly rumpled square of white linen and laid out the food. As he seated himself, Lucy Gray drifted up to the bars unbidden.
“Are those sandwiches for anybody?” she asked. “Just for you,” he answered.
She tucked her feet under her and accepted a sandwich. After examining its contents, she took a nibble from the corner. “Aren’t you eating?”
He wasn’t sure. The optics so far were good, singling her out again, presenting her as someone of value. But to eat with her? That might cross a line.
“I’d rather you have it,” he said. “Keep up your strength.”
“Why? So I can break Jessup’s neck in the arena? We both know that’s not my forte,” she said.
His stomach growled at the smell of the sandwich. A thick slice of meat loaf on white bread. He’d missed his lunch at the Academy today, and breakfast and supper had been meager at home. A dollop of ketchup oozing out of Lucy Gray’s sandwich tipped the scale. He lifted the second
sandwich and sank his teeth in. A little shock of delight ran through his body, and he resisted the impulse to devour the sandwich in a couple of bites.
“Now it’s like a picnic.” Lucy Gray looked back at the other tributes, who had moved in closer but still seemed uncertain. “You all should get one. They’re real good!” she called. “Go on, Jessup!”
Emboldened, her hulking district partner slowly approached Sejanus and took the sandwich from his hand. He waited until a plum followed and then walked off without a word. Suddenly, the other tributes rushed the fence, hands thrusting through the bars. Sejanus filled them as fast as he could, and within a minute the backpack was almost depleted. The tributes spread out around the cage, crouched protectively over their food, wolfing it down. The only tribute who had not approached Sejanus was his own, the boy from District 2. He stood at the back of the cage, arms folded across his
colossal frame, staring down his mentor.
Sejanus pulled one final sandwich from the backpack and held it out to him. “Marcus, this is for you. Take it. Please.” But Marcus remained stone-faced and immobile. “Please, Marcus,” Sejanus, pleaded. “You must be starving.” Marcus looked Sejanus up and down, then pointedly turned his back on him.
Lucy Gray watched the standoff with interest. “What’s going on there?” “What do you mean?” Coriolanus asked.
“I don’t know exactly,” she said. “But it feels personal.”
The tiny boy who’d wanted to murder Coriolanus in the truck sprinted up and snatched the unclaimed sandwich. Sejanus made no move to stop him. The news team tried to engage Sejanus, but he brushed them off and disappeared into the crowd, the limp pack over his shoulder. They shot a bit more of the tributes, then headed toward Lucy Gray and Coriolanus, who sat up straighter and ran his tongue over his teeth to clean off the meat loaf.
“We’re here at the zoo with Coriolanus Snow and his tribute, Lucy Gray Baird. Another student just passed out sandwiches. Is he a mentor?” Lepidus thrust the mic at them for an answer.
Coriolanus didn’t like sharing the spotlight, but Sejanus’s presence could protect him. Would Dean Highbottom give a demerit to the son of the man who had rebuilt the Academy? A few days ago he would’ve thought the name Snow carried more weight than Plinth, but the reaping assignments
had proven him wrong. If Dean Highbottom wanted to call him on the carpet, he’d prefer to have Sejanus by his side.
“He’s my classmate, Sejanus Plinth,” he informed Lepidus.
“What’s he up to, bringing fancy sandwiches to the tributes? Surely, the Capitol feeds them,” said the reporter.
“Oh, for the record, I last ate the night before the reaping,” Lucy Gray announced. “So I guess it’s been three days.”
“Oh. Okay, well, you enjoy that sandwich!” said Lepidus. He signaled the camera to turn back to the other tributes.
Lucy Gray was on her feet in a flash, leaning into the bars and pulling back the focus. “You know, Mr. Reporter, what might be nice? If anybody has any food to spare, they might bring it on down to the zoo. No fun watching the Games if we’re all too weak to fight, don’t you think?”
“There’s some truth to that,” said the reporter, unsure.
“Me, I like sweet things, but I’m not picky.” She smiled and bit into her plum.
“Okay. Okay, then,” he said, easing away.
Coriolanus could tell the reporter was on shaky ground. Should he really be helping her solicit the citizens for food? Did it seem a condemnation of the Capitol?
As the news team moved to the other tributes, Lucy Gray settled back down across from him. “Too much?”
“Not for me. I’m sorry I didn’t think to bring you food,” he said.
“Well, I’ve been working my way through these rose petals when nobody’s looking.” She shrugged. “You didn’t know.”
They finished their food in silence, watching the reporter’s failed attempts at getting the other tributes to talk. The sun had set now, and a rising moon had taken over the lighting. The zoo would be closing soon.
“I was thinking that it might be a good idea for you to sing again,” said Coriolanus.
Lucy Gray sucked the last bit of flesh off the plum pit. “Mm-hmm, it might be, at that.” She dabbed the corners of her mouth with a ruffle and then straightened her skirt. Her usual playful tone shifted to a sober one. “So, as my mentor, what do you get out of this? You’re at school, right? So you get what? A better grade the more I shine?”
“Maybe.” He felt embarrassed. Here, in the relative privacy of the corner, he realized for the first time that she would be dead in a few days. Well, of
course, he’d always known that. But he had thought about her more as his contender. His filly in a race, his dog in a fight. The more he had treated her as something special, the more she’d become human. As Sejanus had told the little girl, Lucy Gray was not really an animal, even if she was not Capitol. And he was here doing what? Showboating, like Dean Highbottom had said?
“I don’t even know what I get, really,” he told her. “They’ve never had mentors before. You don’t have to. Sing, I mean.”
“I know,” she said.
He still wanted her to, though. “But if people like you, they might bring you more food. We don’t have much extra at home.”
His cheeks burned in the dark. Why on earth had he admitted that to her? “No? I always thought you had plenty to spare in the Capitol,” she said.
Idiot, he said to himself. But then he met her gaze and realized that, for the first time, she looked genuinely interested in him. “Oh, no. Especially not during the war. One time I ate half a jar of paste just to stop the pains in my stomach.”
“Yeah? How was it?” she asked.
That threw him, and he surprised himself by laughing. “Really sticky.”
Lucy Gray grinned. “I’ll bet. Still, sounds better than some of the stuff I made do with. Not to make this a competition.”
“Of course not.” He grinned back. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ll find you some food. You shouldn’t have to perform for it.”
“Well, this wouldn’t be the first time I sang for my supper. Not by a long shot,” she said. “And I do so love to sing.”
A voice came over the speaker to announce the zoo was closing in fifteen minutes.
“I ought to be going. But I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked. “You know where to find me,” she said.
Coriolanus rose and brushed off his pants. He shook out the handkerchief, folded it, and passed it through the bars to her. “It’s clean,” he assured her. At least she’d have something to dry her face with.
“Thanks. I left mine at home,” she replied.
Lucy Gray’s mention of home hung in the air between them. A reminder of a door she’d never reopen, loved ones she’d never see again. He couldn’t stand the thought of being torn from his own home. The apartment was the one place he unquestioningly belonged, his safe harbor, his family’s
stronghold. Since he didn’t know how else to respond, he simply nodded good night.
Coriolanus had not gone twenty paces when he was stopped by the sound of his tribute’s voice, singing sweet and clear through the night air.
Down in the valley, valley so low,
Late in the evening, hear the train blow. The train, love, hear the train blow.
Late in the evening, hear the train blow.
The audience, which had been trailing out, turned to listen to her.
Go build me a mansion, build it so high, So I can see my true love go by.
See him go by, love, see him go by. So I can see my true love go by.
Everyone had hushed now — the audience, the tributes. There was just Lucy Gray and the whir of the camera closing in on her. She still sat in their corner, her head leaning against the bars.
Go write me a letter, send it by mail. Bake it and stamp it to the Capitol jail. Capitol jail, love, to the Capitol jail.
Bake it and stamp it to the Capitol jail.
She sounded so sad, so lost. . . .
Roses are red, love; violets are blue. Birds in the heavens know I love you. Know I love you, oh, know I love you, Birds in the heavens know I love you.
Coriolanus stood transfixed by the music and the rush of memories that accompanied it. His mother used to sing him a song at bedtime. Not this one, exactly, but it had used those same words, roses are red and violets are blue. It had mentioned loving him. He thought of the photo in the silver frame he kept on the nightstand by his bed. His beautiful mother, holding
him when he was about two. They were looking at each other, laughing. Try as he might, he could never remember the moment the picture was taken, but this song caressed his brain, calling her from the depths. He could sense her presence, almost smell the delicate scent of the rose powder she wore, and feel the warm blanket of security that had enveloped him each night. Before she died. Before that awful stretch of days a few months into the war, when the first major rebel air raid had immobilized the city. When she went into labor, and they were unable to get her to the hospital, and something had gone wrong. Hemorrhage, maybe? A great deal of blood soaking the sheets and Cook and the Grandma’am trying to stop it and Tigris dragging him from the room. Then she was gone, and the baby — who would’ve been his sister — she was gone, too. The death of his father came right on the heels of his mother’s, but that loss had not hollowed out the world in the same way. Coriolanus still kept his mother’s compact in a drawer in his nightstand. In difficult times, when he had trouble falling asleep, he would click it open and inhale the rose scent of the silken cake of powder within. It never failed to calm him with the memory of how it had felt to be loved like that.
Bombs and blood. That was how the rebels had killed his mother. He wondered if they had killed Lucy Gray’s, too. “Just her pearly white bones.” She seemed to have no love for District 12, always separating herself from it, saying she was, what was it . . . Covey?
“Thanks for stepping up.” Sejanus’s voice startled him. He had been sitting a few feet back, concealed by one of the boulders, listening to the song.
Coriolanus cleared his throat. “It was nothing.”
“I doubt any of our other classmates would’ve helped me,” Sejanus pointed out.
“None of our other classmates have even made an appearance,” Coriolanus replied. “That already sets us apart. What made you think of feeding the tributes?”
Sejanus looked down at the empty backpack by his feet. “Ever since the reaping, I keep imagining I’m one of them.”
Coriolanus almost laughed before he realized Sejanus was serious. “That seems like an odd pastime.”
“Can’t help it.” Sejanus’s voice dropped so low, Coriolanus had to strain to hear it. “They read my name. I walk to the stage. Now they’ve cuffed me.
Now they’re hitting me for no reason. Now I’m on the train, in the dark, starving, alone except for kids I’m supposed to kill. Now I’m on display, with all these strangers bringing their children to stare at me through the bars. ”
The sound of rusty wheels turning drew their attention to the monkey house. A dozen or so bales of hay came bursting out of the chute and rolled into a heap on the cage floor.
“Look, that must be my bed,” said Sejanus.
“It isn’t going to happen to you, Sejanus,” Coriolanus told him.
“It could’ve, though. Easily. If we weren’t so rich now,” he said. “I would be back in District Two, maybe still in school or maybe in the mines, but definitely in the reaping. You saw my tribute?”
“He’s hard to miss,” admitted Coriolanus. “I think there’s a good chance he’ll win.”
“He was my classmate. You know, before I came here. Back home. His name’s Marcus,” Sejanus continued. “Not a friend exactly. But certainly not an enemy. One day I caught my finger in the door, smashed it good, and he scooped a cup of snow off the windowsill to bring down the swelling. Didn’t even ask the teacher, just did it.”
“Do you think he even remembers you?” said Coriolanus. “You were little. And a lot has happened since then.”
“Oh, he remembers me. The Plinths are notorious back home.” Sejanus looked pained. “Notorious and deeply despised.”
“And now you’re his mentor,” said Coriolanus. “And now I’m his mentor,” Sejanus echoed.
The lights in the monkey house dimmed. A few of the tributes moved about, making nests of hay for the night. Coriolanus spotted Marcus drinking from the spigot, splashing water over his head. When he rose and crossed to the bales of hay, he dwarfed the others.
Sejanus gave the backpack a little kick. “He wouldn’t take a sandwich from me. He’d rather go into the Games starving than take food from my hand.”
“That’s not your fault,” said Coriolanus.
“I know. I know. I’m so blameless I’m choking on it,” said Sejanus.
Coriolanus was trying to unravel that thought when a fight broke out in the cage. Two boys had claimed the same bale of hay and had come to blows over it. Marcus intervened and, grabbing each by the collar, tossed
them apart like a pair of rag dolls. They flew in the air, traveling several yards before landing in awkward heaps. As they slunk into the shadows, Marcus took the bale for his own bed, unimpressed by the scuffle.
“He’ll still win,” said Coriolanus. If he’d had any doubts, Marcus’s display of superior power had silenced them. He again felt the bitterness of a Plinth being granted the mightiest tribute. And he was tired of Sejanus’s whining over his father’s buying him the victor. “Any one of us would’ve been happy to get him.”
Sejanus brightened a bit. “Really? Then take him. He’s yours.” “You’re not serious,” said Coriolanus.
“A hundred percent.” Sejanus sprang to his feet. “I want you to have him! And I’ll take Lucy Gray. It will still be horrible, but at least I don’t know her. I know the crowd likes her, but what good will that do her in the arena? There’s no way she’ll beat him. Trade tributes with me. Win the Games. Take the glory. Please, Coriolanus, I would never forget the favor.”
For a moment, Coriolanus could taste it — the sweetness of the victory, the cheers of the crowd. If he could make Lucy Gray a favorite, imagine what he could do with a powerhouse like Marcus! And really, what chance did she have? His eyes traveled to Lucy Gray leaning against the bars like a trapped animal. In the shadowy light, her color, her specialness, had faded, making her just another drab, bruised creature. Not much of a match for the other girls, even less so for the boys. The idea of her defeating Marcus was laughable. Like pitting a songbird against a grizzly bear.
His mouth was forming the word done, when he stopped.
To win with Marcus was no win at all. It took no brains, or skill, or even particular luck. To win with Lucy Gray would be an incredible long shot but historic if he pulled it off. Besides, was winning even the point? Or was it to engage the audience? Thanks to him, Lucy Gray was the current star of the Games, the most memorable tribute no matter who won. He thought of their hands locked together in the zoo as they took on the world. They were a team. She trusted him. He couldn’t imagine telling her he’d dumped her for Marcus. Or, even worse, telling the audience.
In addition, what guarantee did he have that Marcus would respond to him any more than he did to Sejanus? He seemed like just the kind to stonewall the lot of them. And then Coriolanus would look like a fool, begging for a crumb of attention from Marcus while Lucy Gray did pirouettes around Sejanus.
There was one more consideration. He had something Sejanus Plinth wanted, and wanted badly. Sejanus had already usurped his position, his inheritance, his clothes, his candy, his sandwiches, and the privilege due a Snow. Now he was coming for his apartment, his spot at the University, his very future, and had the gall to be resentful of his good fortune. To reject it. To consider it a punishment, even. If having Marcus as a tribute made Sejanus squirm, then good. Let him squirm. Lucy Gray was one thing belonging to Coriolanus that he would never, ever get.
“Sorry, my friend,” he said mildly. “But I think I’ll keep her.”
