第15章

  just then, haymitch staggers into the compartment. “i miss
  supper?” he says in a slurred voice. then he vomits all over
  the expensive carpet and falls in the mess.
  “so laugh away!” says effie trinket. she hops in her pointy
  shoes around the pool of vomit and flees the room.
  47
  for a few moments, peeta and i take in the scene of our
  mentor trying to rise out of the slippery vile stuff from his
  stomach. the reek of vomit and raw spirits almost brings my
  dinner up. we exchange a glance. obviously haymitch isn’t
  much, but effie trinket is right about one thing, once we’re in
  the arena he’s all we’ve got. as if by some unspoken agree-
  ment, peeta and i each take one of haymitch’s arms and help
  him to his feet.
  “i tripped?” haymitch asks. “smells bad.” he wipes his hand
  on his nose, smearing his face with vomit.
  “let’s get you back to your room,” says peeta. “clean you up
  a bit.”
  we half-lead half-carry haymitch back to his compartment.
  since we can’t exactly set him down on the embroidered bed-
  spread, we haul him into the bathtub and turn the shower on
  him. he hardly notices.
  “it’s okay,” peeta says to me. “i’ll take it from here.”
  i can’t help feeling a little grateful since the last thing i want
  to do is strip down haymitch, wash the vomit out of his chest
  hair, and tuck him into bed. possibly peeta is trying to make a
  good impression on him, to be his favorite once the games be-
  48
  gin. but judging by the state he’s in, haymitch will have no
  memory of this tomorrow.
  “all right,” i say. “i can send one of the capitol people to
  help you.” there’s any number on the train. cooking lor us.
  waiting on us. guarding us. taking care of us is their job.
  “no. i don’t want them,” says peeta.
  i nod and head to my own room. i understand how peeta
  feels. i can’t stand the sight of the capitol people myself. but
  making them deal with haymitch might be a small form of re-
  venge. so i’m pondering the reason why he insists on taking
  care of haymitch and all of a sudden i think, it’s because he’s
  being kind. just as he was kind to give me the bread.
  the idea pulls me up short. a kind peeta mellark is far more
  dangerous to me than an unkind one. kind people have a way
  of working their way inside me and rooting there. and i can’t
  let peeta do this. not where we’re going. so i decide, from this
  moment on, to have as little as possible to do with the baker’s
  son.
  when i get back to my room, the train is pausing at a plat-
  form to refuel. i quickly open the window, toss the cookies
  peeta’s father gave me out of the train, and slam the glass
  shut. no more. no more of either of them.
  unfortunately, the packet of cookies hits the ground and
  bursts open in a patch of dandelions by the track. i only see
  the image for a moment, because the train is off again, but it’s
  enough. enough to remind me of that other dandelion in the
  school yard years ago . . .
  49
  i had just turned away from peeta mellark’s bruised face
  when i saw the dandelion and i knew hope wasn’t lost. i
  plucked it carefully and hurried home. i grabbed a bucket and
  prim’s hand and headed to the meadow and yes, it was dotted
  with the golden-headed weeds. after we’d harvested those,
  we scrounged along inside the fence for probably a mile until
  we’d filled the bucket with the dandelion greens, stems, and
  flowers. that night, we gorged ourselves on dandelion salad
  and the rest of the bakery bread.
  “what else?”