that’s ironic coming from a woman helping to
prepare us for slaughter. and what’s she basing our success
on? our table manners?
“everyone has their reservations, naturally. you being from
the coal district. but i said, and this was very clever of me, i
said, ‘well, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to
pearls!’“ effie beams at us so brilliantly that we have no choice
but to respond enthusiastically to her cleverness even though
it’s wrong.
coal doesn’t turn to pearls. they grow in shellfish. possibly
she meant coal turns to diamonds, but that’s untrue, too. i’ve
heard they have some sort of machine in district 1 that can
turn graphite into diamonds. but we don’t mine graphite in
district 12. that was part of district 13’s job until they were
destroyed.
i wonder if the people she’s been plugging us to all day ei-
ther know or care.
74
“unfortunately, i can’t seal the sponsor deals for you. only
haymitch can do that,” says effie grimly. “but don’t worry, i’ll
get him to the table at gunpoint if necessary.”
although lacking in many departments, effie trinket has a
certain determination i have to admire.
my quarters are larger than our entire house back home.
they are plush, like the train car, but also have so many auto-
matic gadgets that i’m sure i won’t have time to press all the
buttons. the shower alone has a panel with more than a hun-
dred options you can choose regulating water temperature,
pressure, soaps, shampoos, scents, oils, and massaging
sponges. when you step out on a mat, heaters come on that
blow-dry your body. instead of struggling with the knots in
my wet hair, i merely place my hand on a box that sends a
current through my scalp, untangling, parting, and drying my
hair almost instantly. it floats down around my shoulders in a
glossy curtain.
i program the closet for an outfit to my taste. the windows
zoom in and out on parts of the city at my command. you need
only whisper a type of food from a gigantic menu into a
mouthpiece and it appears, hot and steamy, before you in less
than a minute. i walk around the room eating goose liver and
puffy bread until there’s a knock on the door. effie’s calling me
to dinner.
good. i’m starving.
peeta, cinna, and portia are standing out on a balcony that
overlooks the capitol when we enter the dining room. i’m glad
75
to see the stylists, particularly after i hear that haymitch will
be joining us. a meal presided over by just
effie and haymitch is bound to be a disaster. besides, din-
ner isn’t really about food, it’s about planning out our strate-
gies, and cinna and portia have already proven how valuable
they are.
a silent young man dressed in a white tunic offers us all
stemmed glasses of wine. i think about turning it down, but
i’ve never had wine, except the homemade stuff my mother
uses for coughs, and when will i get a chance to try it again? i
take a sip of the tart, dry liquid and secretly think it could be
improved by a few spoonfuls of honey.
haymitch shows up just as dinner is being served. it looks
as if he’s had his own stylist because he’s clean and groomed
and about as sober as i’ve ever seen him. he doesn’t refuse the
offer of wine, but when he starts in on his soup, i realize it’s
the first time i’ve ever seen him eat. maybe he really will pull
himself together long enough to help us.
cinna and portia seem to have a civilizing effect on hay-
mitch and effie. at least they’re addressing each other decent-
ly. and they both have nothing but praise for our stylists’
opening act. while they make small talk, i concentrate on the
meal. mushroom soup, bitter greens with tomatoes the size of
peas, rare roast beef sliced as thin as paper, noodles in a green
sauce, cheese that melts on your tongue served with sweet
blue grapes. the servers, all young people dressed in white
tunics like the one who gave us wine, move wordlessly to and
from the table, keeping the platters and glasses full.
76
about halfway through my glass of wine, my head starts
feeling foggy, so i change to water instead. i don’t like the feel-
ing and hope it wears off soon. how haymitch can stand walk-
ing around like this full-time is a mystery.
i try to focus on the talk, which has turned to our interview
costumes, when a girl sets a gorgeous-looking cake on the ta-
ble and deftly lights it. it blazes up and then the flames flicker
around the edges awhile until it finally goes out. i have a mo-
ment of doubt. “what makes it burn?
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