第24章

  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.
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  “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
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  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.
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  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?