第28章

  she avoids my eyes, gives a small nod, and heads out the
  door.
  i’d set out to tell her i was sorry about dinner. but i know
  that my apology runs much deeper. that i’m ashamed i never
  tried to help her in the woods. that i let the capitol kill the
  boy and mutilate her without lifting a finger.
  just like i was watching the games.
  i kick off my shoes and climb under the covers in my
  clothes. the shivering hasn’t stopped. perhaps the girl doesn’t
  even remember me. but i know she does. you don’t forget the
  face of the person who was your last hope. i pull the covers up
  over my head as if this will protect me from the redheaded girl
  who can’t speak. but i can feel her eyes staring at me, piercing
  through walls and doors and bedding.
  i wonder if she’ll enjoy watching me die.
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  my slumbers are filled with disturbing dreams. the face of
  the redheaded girl intertwines with gory images from earlier
  hunger games, with my mother withdrawn and unreachable,
  with prim emaciated and terrified. i bolt up screaming for my
  father to run as the mine explodes into a million deadly bits of
  light.
  dawn is breaking through the windows. the capitol has a
  misty, haunted air. my head aches and i must have bitten into
  the side of my cheek in the night. my tongue probes the
  ragged flesh and i taste blood.
  slowly, i drag myself out of bed and into the shower. i arbi-
  trarily punch buttons on the control board and end up hop-
  ping from foot to foot as alternating jets of icy cold and steam-
  ing hot water assault me. then i’m deluged in lemony foam
  that i have to scrape off with a heavy bristled brush. oh, well.
  at least my blood is flowing.
  when i’m dried and moisturized with lotion, i find an outfit
  has been left for me at the front of the closet. tight black
  pants, a long-sleeved burgundy tunic, and leather shoes. i put
  my hair in the single braid down my back. this is the first time
  since the morning of the reaping that i resemble myself. no
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  fancy hair and clothes, no flaming capes. just me. looking like
  i could be headed for the woods. it calms me.
  haymitch didn’t give us an exact time to meet for break-last
  and no one has contacted me this morning, but i’m hungry so i
  head down to the dining room, hoping there will be food. i’m
  not disappointed. while the table is empty, a long board off to
  the side has been laid with at least twenty dishes. a young
  man, an avox, stands at attention by the spread. when i ask if
  i can serve myself, he nods assent. i load a plate with eggs,
  sausages, batter cakes covered in thick orange preserves, slic-
  es of pale purple melon. as i gorge myself, i watch the sun rise
  over the capitol. i have a second plate of hot grain smothered
  in beef stew. finally, i fill a plate with rolls and sit at the table,
  breaking oil bits and dipping them into hot chocolate, the way
  peeta did on the train.
  my mind wanders to my mother and prim. they must be
  up. my mother getting their breakfast of mush. prim milking
  her goat before school. just two mornings ago, i was home.
  can that be right? yes, just two. and now how empty the
  house feels, even from a distance. what did they say last night
  about my fiery debut at the games? did it give them hope, or
  simply add to their terror when they saw the reality of twen-
  ty-four tributes circled together, knowing only one could live?
  haymitch and peeta come in, bid me good morning, fill
  their plates. it makes me irritated that peeta is wearing exact-
  ly the same outfit i am. i need to say something to cinna. this
  twins act is going to blow up in out faces once the games be-
  gin. surely, they must know this. then i remember haymitch
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  telling me to do exactly what the stylists tell me to do. if it was
  anyone but cinna, i might be tempted to ignore him. but after
  last night’s triumph, i don’t have a lot of room to criticize his
  choices.
  i’m nervous about the training. there will be three days in
  which all the tributes practice together. on the last afternoon,
  we’ll each get a chance to perform in private before the ga-
  memakers. the thought of meeting the other tributes face-to-
  face makes me queasy. i turn the roll i have just taken from
  the basket over and over in my hands, but my appetite is gone.
  when haymitch has finished several platters of stew, he
  pushes back his plate with a sigh. he takes a flask from his
  pocket and takes a long pull on it and leans his elbows on the
  table. “so, let’s get down to business. training. first off, if you
  like, i’ll coach you separately. decide now.”
  “why would you coach us separately?”