【饥饿游戏】07

“Well, bravo!” gushes 1 Effie Trinket. “That’s the spirit of the
Games!” She’s pleased to finally have a district with a little action
going on in it. “What’s your name?”
I swallow hard. “Katniss Everdeen,” I say.
“I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don’t want her to
steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let’s give a big
round of applause to our newest tribute!” trills Effie Trinket.
To the everlasting 2 credit of the people of District 12, not
one person claps. Not even the ones holding betting slips, the
ones who are usually beyond caring. Possibly because they
know me from the Hob, or knew my father, or have encountered
Prim 3, who no one can help loving. So instead of acknowledging
applause, I stand there unmoving while they
take part in the boldest form of dissent 4 they can manage. Silence.
Which says we do not agree. We do not condone 5. All of
this is wrong.
Then something unexpected happens. At least, I don’t expect
it because I don’t think of District 12 as a place that cares
about me. But a shift has occurred since I stepped up to take
Prim’s place, and now it seems I have become someone precious.
At first one, then another, then almost every member of
the crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand
to their lips and holds it out to me. It is an old and rarely used
gesture of our district, occasionally seen at funerals. It means
thanks, it means admiration 6, it means good-bye to someone
you love.
Now I am truly in danger of crying, but fortunately Haymitch
chooses this time to come staggering across the stage to
congratulate me. “Look at her. Look at this one!” he hollers,
throwing an arm around my shoulders. He’s surprisingly
strong for such a wreck 7. “I like her!” His breath reeks 8 of liquor
and it’s been a long time since he’s bathed. “Lots of . . . “ He
can’t think of the word for a while. “Spunk!” he says 
triumphantly 9. “More than you!” he releases me and starts for the
front of the stage. “More than you!” he shouts, pointing directly
into a camera.
Is he addressing the audience or is he so drunk he might actually
be taunting 10 the Capitol? I’ll never know because just as
he’s opening his mouth to continue, Haymitch plummets 11 off
the stage and knocks himself unconscious.
He’s disgusting, but I’m grateful. With every camera gleefully
trained on him, I have just enough time to release the small,
choked sound in my throat and compose myself. I put my
hands behind my back and stare into the distance.
I can see the hills I climbed this morning with Gale 12. For a
moment, I yearn 13 for something . . . the idea of us leaving the
district . . . making our way in the woods . . . but I know I was
right about not running off. Because who else would have 
volunteered for Prim?
Haymitch is whisked away on a stretcher, and Effie Trinket
is trying to get the ball rolling again. “What an exciting day!”
she warbles as she attempts to straighten her wig 14, which has
listed severely 15 to the right. “But more excitement to come! It’s
time to choose our boy tribute!” Clearly hoping to contain her
tenuous 16 hair situation, she plants one hand on her head as she
crosses to the ball that contains the boys’ names and grabs the
first slip she encounters. She zips back to the podium, and I
don’t even have time to wish for Gale’s safety when she’s reading
the name.