第34章

  they wouldn’t
  kill them, would they? why not? what do they care?
  i should have stayed and apologized. or laughed, like it was
  a big joke. then maybe i would have found some leniency. but
  instead i stalked out of the place in the most disrespectful
  manner possible.
  haymitch and effie are knocking on my door. i shout for
  them to go away and eventually they do. it takes at least an
  hour for me to cry myself out. then i just lay curled up on the
  bed, stroking the silken sheets, watching the sun set over the
  artificial candy capitol.
  at first, i expect guards to come for me. but as time passes,
  it seems less likely. i calm down. they still need a girl tribute
  from district 12, don’t they? if the gamemakers want to pu-
  nish me, they can do it publicly. wait until i’m in the arena and
  sic starving wild animals on me. you can bet they’ll make sure
  i don’t have a bow and arrow to defend myself.
  before that though, they’ll give me a score so low, no one in
  their right mind would sponsor me. that’s what will happen
  tonight. since the training isn’t open to viewers, the game-
  makers announce a score for each player. it gives the audience
  a starting place for the betting that will continue throughout
  the games. the number, which is between one and twelve,
  one being irredeemably bad and twelve being unattainably
  high, signifies the promise of the tribute. the mark is not a
  guarantee of which person will win. it’s only an indication of
  the potential a tribute showed in training. often, because of
  the variables in the actual arena, high-scoring tributes go
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  down almost immediately. and a few years ago, the boy who
  won the games only received a three. still, the scores can help
  or hurt an individual tribute in terms of sponsorship. i had
  been hoping my shooting skills might get me a six or a seven,
  even if i’m not particularly powerful. now i’m sure i’ll have
  the lowest score of the twenty-four. if no one sponsors me, my
  odds of staying alive decrease to almost zero.
  when effie taps on the door to call me to dinner, i decide i
  may as well go. the scores will be televised tonight. it’s not
  like i can hide what happened forever. i go to the bathroom
  and wash my face, but it’s still red and splotchy.
  everyone’s waiting at the table, even cinna and portia. i
  wish the stylists hadn’t shown up because for some reason, i
  don’t like the idea of disappointing them. it’s as if i’ve thrown
  away all the good work they did on the opening ceremonies
  without a thought. i avoid looking at anyone as i take tiny
  spoonfuls of fish soup. the saltiness reminds me of my tears.
  the adults begin some chitchat about the weather forecast,
  and i let my eyes meet peeta’s. he raises his eyebrows. a ques-
  tion. what happened? i just give my head a small shake. then,
  as they’re serving the main course, i hear haymitch say,
  “okay, enough small talk, just how bad were you today?”
  peeta jumps in. “i don’t know that it mattered. by the time i
  showed up, no one even bothered to look at me. they were
  singing some kind of drinking song, i think. so, i threw around
  some heavy objects until they told me i could go.”
  that makes me feel a bit better. it’s not like peeta attacked
  the gamemakers, but at least he was provoked, too.
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  “and you, sweetheart?” says haymitch.
  somehow haymitch calling me sweetheart ticks me off
  enough that i’m at least able to speak. “i shot an arrow at the
  gamemakers.”
  everyone stops eating. “you what?”