i ask.
“no, but it sounds fascinating,” says peeta.
i try and animate my face as i recall the event, a true story,
in which i’d foolishly challenged a black bear over the rights
to a beehive. peeta laughs and asks questions right on cue.
he’s much better at this than i am.
on the second day, while we’re taking a shot at spear
throwing, he whispers to me. “i think we have a shadow.”
i throw my spear, which i’m not too bad at actually, if i
don’t have to throw too far, and see the little girl from district
11 standing back a bit, watching us. she’s the twelve-year-old,
the one who reminded me so of prim in stature. up close she
looks about ten. she has bright, dark, eyes and satiny brown
skin and stands tilted up on her toes with her arms slightly ex-
tended to her sides, as if ready to take wing at the slightest
sound. it’s impossible not to think of a bird.
i pick up another spear while peeta throws. “i think her
name’s rue,” he says softly.
98
i bite my lip. rue is a small yellow flower that grows in the
meadow. rue. primrose. neither of them could tip the scale at
seventy pounds soaking wet.
“what can we do about it?” i ask him, more harshly than i
intended.
“nothing to do,” he says back. “just making conversation.”
now that i know she’s there, it’s hard to ignore the child.
she slips up and joins us at different stations. like me, she’s
clever with plants, climbs swiftly, and has good aim. she can
hit the target every time with a slingshot. but what is a sling-
shot against a 220-pound male with a sword?
back on the district 12 floor, haymitch and effie grill us
throughout breakfast and dinner about every moment of the
day. what we did, who watched us, how the other tributes size
up. cinna and portia aren’t around, so there’s no one to add
any sanity to the meals. not that haymitch and effie are fight-
ing anymore. instead they seem to be of one mind, determined
to whip us into shape. full of endless directions about what
we should do and not do in training. peeta is more patient, but
i become fed up and surly.
when we finally escape to bed on the second night, peeta
mumbles, “someone ought to get haymitch a drink.”
i make a sound that is somewhere between a snort and a
laugh. then catch myself. it’s messing with my mind too much,
trying to keep straight when we’re supposedly friends and
when we’re not. at least when we get into the arena, i’ll know
where we stand. “don’t. don’t let’s pretend when there’s no
one around.”
99
“all right, katniss,” he says tiredly. after that, we only talk
in front of people.
on the third day of training, they start to call us out of lunch
for our private sessions with the gamemakers. district by dis-
trict, first the boy, then the girl tribute. as usual, district 12 is
slated to go last. we linger in the dining room, unsure where
else to go. no one comes back once they have left. as the room
empties, the pressure to appear friendly lightens. by the time
they call rue, we are left alone. we sit in silence until they
summon peeta. he rises.
“remember what haymitch said about being sure to throw
the weights.” the words come out of my mouth without per-
mission.
“thanks. i will,” he says. “you . . . shoot straight.”
i nod. i don’t know why i said anything at all. although if
i’m going to lose, i’d rather peeta win than the others. better
for our district, for my mother and prim.
after about fifteen minutes, they call my name. i smooth my
hair, set my shoulders back, and walk into the gymnasium. in-
stantly, i know i’m in trouble. they’ve been here too long, the
gamemakers. sat through twenty-three other demonstrations.
had too much to wine, most of them. want more than any-
thing to go home.
there’s nothing i can do but continue with the plan. i walk
to the archery station. oh, the weapons!
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