第39章

  i finally ask.
  “i’m trying to figure out what to do with you,” he says.
  “how we’re going to present you. are you going to be charm-
  ing? aloof? fierce? so far, you’re shining like a star. you volun-
  teered to save your sister. cinna made you look unforgettable.
  you’ve got the top training score. people are intrigued, but no
  one knows who you are. the impression you make tomorrow
  will decide exactly what i can get you in terms of sponsors,”
  says haymitch.
  having watched the tribute interviews all my life, i know
  there’s truth to what he’s saying. if you appeal to the crowd,
  either by being humorous or brutal or eccentric, you gain fa-
  vor.
  “what’s peeta’s approach? or am i not allowed to ask?” i
  say.
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  “likable. he has a sort of self-deprecating humor naturally,”
  says haymitch. “whereas when you open your mouth, you
  come across more as sullen and hostile.”
  “i do not!” i say.
  “please. i don’t know where you pulled that cheery, wavy
  girl on the chariot from, but i haven’t seen her before or
  since,” says haymitch.
  “and you’ve given me so many reasons to be cheery,” i
  counter.
  “but you don’t have to please me. i’m not going to sponsor
  you. so pretend i’m the audience,” says haymitch. “delight
  me.”
  “fine!” i snarl. haymitch takes the role of the interviewer
  and i try to answer his questions in a winning fashion. but i
  can’t. i’m too angry with haymitch for what he said and that i
  even have to answer the questions. all i can think is how un-
  just the whole thing is, the hunger games. why am i hopping
  around like some trained dog trying to please people i hate?
  the longer the interview goes on, the more my fury seems to
  rise to the surface, until i’m literally spitting out answers at
  him.
  “all right, enough,” he says. “we’ve got to find another an-
  gle. not only are you hostile, i don’t know anything about you.
  i’ve asked you fifty questions and still have no sense of your
  life, your family, what you care about. they want to know
  about you, katniss.”
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  “but i don’t want them to! they’re already taking my fu-
  ture! they can’t have the things that mattered to me in the
  past!” i say.
  “then lie! make something up!” says haymitch.
  “i’m not good at lying,” i say.
  “well, you better learn fast. you’ve got about as much
  charm as a dead slug,” says haymitch.
  ouch. that hurts. even haymitch must know he’s been too
  harsh because his voice softens. “here’s an idea. try acting
  humble.”
  “humble,” i echo.
  “that you can’t believe a little girl from district twelve has
  done this well. the whole thing’s been more than you ever
  could have dreamed of. talk about cinna’s clothes. how nice
  the people are. how the city amazes you. if you won’t talk
  about yourself, at least compliment the audience. just keep
  turning it back around, all right. gush.”
  the next hours are agonizing. at once, it’s clear i cannot
  gush. we try me playing cocky, but i just don’t have the arrog-
  ance. apparently, i’m too “vulnerable” for ferocity. i’m not wit-
  ty. funny. sexy. or mysterious.
  by the end of the session, i am no one at all. haymitch
  started drinking somewhere around witty, and a nasty edge
  has crept into his voice. “i give up, sweetheart. just answer the
  questions and try not to let the audience see how openly you
  despise them.”
  i have dinner that night in my room, ordering an outra-
  geous number of delicacies, eating myself sick, and then tak-
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  ing out my anger at haymitch, at the hunger games, at every
  living being in the capitol by smashing dishes around my
  room. when the girl with the red hair comes in to turn down
  my bed, her eyes widen at the mess. “just leave it!”