220'

“Katniss! Katniss!” I can hear my name being called from all sides. Everyone wants my kisses.

It’s not until we enter the City Circle that I realize I must have completely stopped the circulation in Peeta’s hand.

That’s how tightly I’ve been holding it. I look down at our linked fingers as I loosen my grasp, but he regains his grip on
me. “No, don’t let go of me,” he says. The firelight flickers off his blue eyes. “Please. I might fall out of this thing.”

“Okay,” I say. So I keep holding on, but I can’t help feeling strange about the way Cinna has linked us together.

It’s not really fair to present us as a team and then lock us into thearena to kill each other.
The twelve chariots fill the loop of the City Circle.
On the buildings that surround the Circle, every window is packed with the most prestigious citizens of the Capitol.

Our horses pull our chariot right up to President Snow’s mansion, and we
come to a halt.

The music ends with a flourish.
The president, a small, thin man with paper-white hair,
gives the official welcome from a balcony above us. It is traditional to cut away to the faces of the tributes during the speech.

But I can see on the screen that we are getting way more than our share of airtime.

The darker it becomes, the more difficult it is to take your eyes off our flickering. When
the national anthem plays, they do make an effort to do a quick cut around to each pair of tributes, but the camera holds
on the District 12 chariot as it parades around the circle one final time and disappears into the Training Center.

The doors have only just shut behind us when we’re engulfed by the prep teams, who are nearly unintelligible as they
babble out praise.
As I glance around, I notice a lot of the other
tributes are shooting us dirty looks, which confirms what I’ve suspected, we’ve literally outshone them all. Then Cinna and
Portia are there, helping us down from the chariot, carefully removing our flaming capes and headdresses. Portia extinguishes
them with some kind of spray from a canister.

I realize I’m still glued to Peeta and force my stiff fingers to open. We both massage our hands.

“Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there,” says Peeta.
“It didn’t show,” I tell him. “I’m sure no one noticed.”

“I’m sure they didn’t notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often,” he says. “They suit you.”

And then he gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the
right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me.

A warning bell goes off in my head. Don’t be so stupid. Peeta is planning how to kill you, I remind myself. He is luring you in
to make you easy prey. The more likable he is, the more deadly he is.
But because two can play at this game, I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.

240'

The Training Center has a tower designed exclusively for the tributes and their teams. This will be our home until the actual Games begin.

Each district has an entire floor. You
simply step onto an elevator and press the number of your district. Easy enough to remember.

I’ve ridden the elevator a couple of times in the Justice Building back in District 12. Once to receive the medal for my father’s death and then yesterday to say my final goodbyes to my friends and family. But that’s a dark and creaky thing that moves like a snail and smells of sour milk.

The walls of this elevator are made of crystal so that you can watch the people
on the ground floor shrink to ants as you shoot up into the air.

It’s exhilarating and I’m tempted to ask Effie Trinket if we can ride it again, but somehow that seems childish.
Apparently, Effie Trinket’s duties did not conclude at the station.

She and Haymitch will be overseeing us right into the arena. In a way, that’s a plus because at least she can be counted on to corral us around to places on time whereas we haven’t seen Haymitch since he agreed to help us on the train.

Probably passed out somewhere. Effie Trinket, on the other hand, seems to be flying high.

We’re the first team she’s ever
chaperoned that made a splash at the opening ceremonies.

She’s complimentary about not just our costumes but how we conducted ourselves.

And, to hear her tell it, Effie knows everyone who’s anyone in the Capitol and has been talking us up all day, trying to win us sponsors.

“I’ve been very mysterious, though,” she says, her eyes squint half shut. “Because, of course, Haymitch hasn’t bothered
to tell me your strategies. But I’ve done my best with what I had to work with.

How Katniss sacrificed herself for
her sister. How you’ve both successfully struggled to overcome the barbarism of your district.”

Barbarism? 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 either know or care.

“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.