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looks a lot more appetizing than the ugly drop biscuits that are the standard fare at home。
¨And there you have it；〃 says Peeta； scooping the breads back in the basket。
¨You certainly know a lot；〃 I say。
¨Only about bread；〃 he says。 ¨Okay； now laugh as if Iˇve said something funny。〃
We both give a somewhat convincing laugh and ignore the stares from around the room。
¨All right； Iˇll keep smiling pleasantly and you talk；〃 says Peeta。 Itˇs wearing us both out； Haymitchˇs direction to be friendly。 Because ever since I slammed my door； thereˇs been a chill in the air between us。 But we have our orders。
¨Did I ever tell you about the time I was chased by a bear？〃 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 Iˇd foolishly challenged a black bear over the rights to a beehive。 Peeta laughs and asks questions right on cue。 Heˇs much better at this than I am。
On the second day； while weˇre taking a shot at spear throwing； he whispers to me。 ¨I think we have a shadow。〃
I throw my spear； which Iˇm not too bad at actually； if I donˇt have to throw too far； and see the little girl from District 11 standing back a bit； watching us。 Sheˇs 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 extended to her sides； as if ready to take wing at the slightest sound。 Itˇs impossible not to think of a bird。
I pick up another spear while Peeta throws。 ¨I think her nameˇs Rue；〃 he says softly。
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 sheˇs there； itˇs hard to ignore the child。 She slips up and joins us at different stations。 Like me； sheˇs clever with plants； climbs swiftly； and has good aim。 She can hit the target every time with a slingshot。 But what is a slingshot 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 arenˇt around； so thereˇs no one to add any sanity to the meals。 Not that Haymitch and Effie are fighting 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 bee 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。 Itˇs messing with my mind too much； trying to keep straight when weˇre supposedly friends and when weˇre not。 At least when we get into the arena； Iˇll know where we stand。 ¨Donˇt。 Donˇt letˇs pretend when thereˇs no one around。〃
¨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 district； 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 es 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 e out of my mouth without permission。
¨Thanks。 I will；〃 he says。 ¨You 。 。 。 shoot straight。〃
I nod。 I donˇt know why I said anything at all。 Although if Iˇm going to lose； Iˇd 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。 Instantly； I know Iˇm in trouble。 Theyˇve been here too long； the Gamemakers。 Sat through twenty…three other demonstrations。 Had too much to wine； most of them。 Want more than anything to go home。
Thereˇs nothing I can do but continue with the plan。 I walk to the archery station。 Oh； the weapons！ Iˇve been itching to get my hands on them for days！ Bows made of wood and plastic and metal and materials I canˇt even name。 Arrows with feathers cut in flawless uniform lines。 I choose a bow； string it； and sling the matching quiver of arrows over my shoulder。 Thereˇs a shooting range； but itˇs much too limited。 Standard bullˇs…eyes and human silhouettes。 I walk to the center of the gymnasium and pick my first target。 The dummy used for knife practice。 Even as I pull back on the bow I know something is wrong。 The stringˇs tighter than the one I use at home。 The arrowˇs more rigid。 I miss the dummy by a couple of inches and lose what little attention I had been manding。 For a moment； Iˇm humiliated； then I head back to the bullˇs…eye。 I shoot again and again until I get the feel of these new weapons。
Back in the center of the gymnasium； I take my initial position and skewer the dummy right through the heart。 Then I sever the rope that holds the sandbag for boxing； and the bag splits open as it slams to the ground。 Without pausing； I shoulder…roll forward； e up on one knee； and send an arrow into one of the hanging lights high above the gymnasium floor。 A shower of sparks bursts from the fixture。
Itˇs excellent shooting。 I turn to the Gamemakers。 A few are nodding approval； but the majority of them are fixated on a roast pig that has just arrived at their banquet table。
Suddenly I am furious； that with my life on the line； they donˇt even have the decency to pay attention to me。 That Iˇm being upstaged by a dead pig。 My heart starts to pound； I can feel my face burning。 Without thinking； I pull an arrow from my quiver and send it straight at the Gamemakersˇ table。 I hear shou