最近迷上了美食～～～

217'

My quarters are larger than our entire house back home.

They are plush, like the train car, but also have so many automatic gadgets that I’m sure I won’t have time to press all the
buttons.

The shower alone has a panel with more than a hundred options you can choose regulating water temperature,
pressure, soaps, shampoos, scents, oils, and massaging sponges. When you step out on a mat, heaters come on that blow-dry your body. Instead of struggling with the knots in
my wet hair, I merely place my hand on a box that sends a current through my scalp, untangling, parting, and drying my
hair almost instantly.

It floats down around my shoulders in a
glossy curtain.
I program the closet for an outfit to my taste. The windows
zoom in and out on parts of the city at my command.

You need only whisper a type of food from a gigantic menu into a mouthpiece and it appears, hot and steamy, before you in less
than a minute. I walk around the room eating goose liver and puffy bread until there’s a knock on the door. Effie’s calling me
to dinner.

Good. I’m starving.
Peeta, Cinna, and Portia are standing out on a balcony that overlooks the Capitol when we enter the dining room.

I’m glad
to see the stylists, particularly after I hear that Haymitch will be joining us. A meal presided over by just Effie and Haymitch is bound to be a disaster. Besides, dinner
isn’t really about food, it’s about planning out our strategies,

and Cinna and Portia have already proven
how valuable they are.

A silent young man dressed in a white tunic offers us all
stemmed glasses of wine. I think about turning it down, but
I’ve never had wine, except the homemade stuff my mother
uses for coughs, and when will I get a chance to try it again? I
take a sip of the tart, dry liquid and secretly think it could be
improved by a few spoonfuls of honey.


Haymitch shows up just as dinner is being served. It looks as if he’s had his own stylist because he’s clean and groomed and about as sober as I’ve ever seen him. He doesn’t refuse the offer of wine, but when he starts in on his soup,

I realize it’s
the first time I’ve ever seen him eat. Maybe he really will pull himself together long enough to help us.

Cinna and Portia seem to have a civilizing effect on Haymitch and Effie. At least they’re addressing each other decently.

And they both have nothing but praise for our stylists’ opening act.

While they make small talk, I concentrate on the meal. Mushroom soup, bitter greens with tomatoes the size of
peas, rare roast beef sliced as thin as paper, noodles in a green sauce, cheese that melts on your tongue served with sweet
blue grapes.

The servers, all young people dressed in white tunics like the one who gave us wine, move wordlessly to and from the table, keeping the platters and glasses full.

389'

About halfway through my glass of wine, my head starts feeling foggy, so I change to water instead.

I don’t like the feeling
and hope it wears off soon. How Haymitch can stand walking around like this full-time is a mystery.
I try to focus on the talk, which has turned to our interview costumes, when a girl sets a gorgeous-looking cake on the table
and deftly lights it.

It blazes up and then the flames flicker
around the edges awhile until it finally goes out. I have a moment
of doubt. “What makes it burn? Is it alcohol?” I say, looking up at the girl. “That’s the last thing I wa — oh! I know
you!”

I can’t place a name or time to the girl’s face. But I’m certain
of it. The dark red hair, the striking features, the porcelain
white skin. But even as I utter the words, I feel my insides contracting with anxiety and guilt at the sight of her, and while Ican’t pull it up, I know some bad memory is associated with her.

The expression of terror that crosses her face only adds to my confusion and unease.

She shakes her head in denial
quickly and hurries away from the table.
When I look back, the four adults are watching me like hawks.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Katniss. How could you possibly know an Avox?” snaps Effie. “The very thought.”
“What’s an Avox?” I ask stupidly.

“Someone who committed a crime. They cut her tongue so she can’t speak,” says Haymitch.

“She’s probably a traitor of
some sort. Not likely you’d know her.”
“And even if you did, you’re not to speak to one of them unless it’s to give an order,” says Effie. “Of course, you don’t really
know her.”

But I do know her. And now that Haymitch has mentioned
the word traitor I remember from where. The disapproval is so high I could never admit it. “No, I guess not, I just —” I stammer, and the wine is not helping.
Peeta snaps his fingers. “Delly Cartwright. That’s who it is. I
kept thinking she looked familiar as well. Then I realized she’s
a dead ringer for Delly.”
Delly Cartwright is a pasty-faced, lumpy girl with yellowish hair who looks about as much like our server as a beetle does
a butterfly.

She may also be the friendliest person on the planet
— she smiles constantly at everybody in school, even me.
I have never seen the girl with the red hair smile.

But I jump on
Peeta’s suggestion gratefully. “Of course, that’s who I was thinking of. It must be the hair,” I say.

“Something about the eyes, too,” says Peeta.
The energy at the table relaxes. “Oh, well. If that’s all it is,”
says Cinna. “And yes, the cake has spirits, but all the alcohol has burned off.

I ordered it specially in honor of your fiery debut.”
We eat the cake and move into a sitting room to watch the replay of the opening ceremonies that’s being broadcast.

A few of the other couples make a nice impression, but none of
them can hold a candle to us. Even our own party lets out an
“Ahh!” as they show us coming out of the Remake Center.
“Whose idea was the hand holding?” asks Haymitch.
“Cinna’s,” says Portia.
“Just the perfect touch of rebellion,” says Haymitch. “Very
nice.”
Rebellion? I have to think about that one a moment.

But when I remember the other couples, standing stiffly apart,
never touching or acknowledging each other, as if their fellow
tribute did not exist, as if the Games had already begun, I
know what Haymitch means. Presenting ourselves not as

adversaries but as friends has distinguished us as much as the

fiery costumes.
“Tomorrow morning is the first training session. Meet me
for breakfast and I’ll tell you exactly how I want you to play
it,” says Haymitch to Peeta and I. “Now go get some sleep
while the grown-ups talk.”
Peeta and I walk together down the corridor to our rooms.
When we get to my door, he leans against the frame, not
blocking my entrance exactly but insisting I pay attention to“So, Delly Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here.”

He’s asking for an explanation, and I’m tempted to give him
one. We both know he covered for me. So here I am in his debt
again. If I tell him the truth about the girl, somehow that might
even things up. How can it hurt really? Even if he repeated the
story, it couldn’t do me much harm. It was just something I
witnessed. And he lied as much as I did about Delly Cartwright.
I realize I do want to talk to someone about the girl. Someone
who might be able to help me figure out her story.
Gale would be my first choice, but it’s unlikely I’ll ever see
Gale again. I try to think if telling Peeta could give him any
possible advantage over me, but I don’t see how. Maybe sharing
a confidence will actually make him believe I see him as a friend.