i ask. “they’ll be all right,” he says.
in the silence that follows, delicious smells of our dinner
waft in from the dining room. “come on, let’s eat,” says hay-
mitch. we all follow him to the table and take our places. but
then peeta is bleeding too heavily, and portia leads him off for
medical treatment. we start the cream and rose-petal soup
without them. by the time we’ve finished, they’re back. peeta’s
hands are wrapped in bandages. i can’t help feeling guilty.
tomorrow we will be in the arena. he has done me a favor
and i have answered with an injury. will i never stop owing
him?
after dinner, we watch the replay in the sitting room. i
seem frilly and shallow, twirling and giggling in my dress, al-
though the others assure me i am charming. peeta actually is
charming and then utterly winning as the boy in love. and
there i am, blushing and confused, made beautiful by cinna’s
hands, desirable by peeta’s confession, tragic by circumstance,
and by all accounts, unforgettable.
136
when the anthem finishes and the screen goes dark, a hush
falls on the room. tomorrow at dawn, we will be roused and
prepared for the arena. the actual games don’t start until ten
because so many of the capitol residents rise late. but peeta
and i must make an early start. there is no telling how far we
will travel to the arena that has been prepared for this year’s
games.
i know haymitch and effie will not be going with us. as
soon as they leave here, they’ll be at the games headquarters,
hopefully madly signing up our sponsors, working out a strat-
egy on how and when to deliver the gifts to us. cinna and por-
tia will travel with us to the very spot from which we will be
launched into the arena. still final good-byes must be said
here.
effie takes both of us by the hand and, with actual tears in
her eyes, wishes us well. thanks us for being the best tributes
it has ever been her privilege to sponsor. and then, because
it’s effie and she’s apparently required by law to say some-
thing awful, she adds “i wouldn’t be at all surprised if i finally
get promoted to a decent district next year!”
then she kisses us each on the cheek and hurries out, over-
come with either the emotional parting or the possible im-
provement of her fortunes.
haymitch crosses his arms and looks us both over.
“any final words of advice?” asks peeta.
“when the gong sounds, get the hell out of there. you’re
neither of you up to the blood bath at the cornucopia. just
137
clear out, put as much distance as you can between yourselves
and the others, and find a source of water,” he says. “got it?”
“and after that?” i ask.
“stay alive,” says haymitch. it’s the same advice he gave us
on the train, but he’s not drunk and laughing this time. and we
only nod. what else is there to say?
when i head to my room, peeta lingers to talk to portia. i’m
glad. whatever strange words of parting we exchange can
wait until tomorrow. my covers are drawn back, but there is
no sign of the redheaded avox girl. i wish i knew her name. i
should have asked it. she could write it down maybe. or act it
out. but perhaps that would only result in punishment for her.
i take a shower and scrub the gold paint, the makeup, the
scent of beauty from my body. all that remains of the design-
team’s efforts are the flames on my nails. i decide to keep
them as reminder of who i am to the audience. katniss, the
girl who was on fire. perhaps it will give me something to hold
on to in the days to come.
i pull on a thick, fleecy nightgown and climb into bed. it
takes me about five seconds to realize i’ll never fall asleep.
and i need sleep desperately because in the arena every mo-
ment i give in to fatigue will be an invitation to death.
it’s no good. one hour, two, three pass, and my eyelids
refuse to get heavy. i can’t stop trying to imagine exactly what
terrain i’ll be thrown into. desert?
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