【饥饿游戏】29

I sit on the bed, hating Haymitch, hating Peeta, hating myself 
for mentioning that day long ago in the rain.
It’s such a joke! Peeta and I going along pretending to be
friends! Talking up each other’s strengths, insisting the other
take credit for their abilities. Because, in fact, at some point,
we’re going to have to knock it off and accept we’re bitter 
adversaries 1. Which I’d be prepared to do right now if it wasn’t
for Haymitch’s stupid instruction that we stick together in
training. It’s my own fault, I guess, for telling him he didn’t
have to coach us separately. But that didn’t mean I wanted to
do everything with Peeta. Who, by the way, clearly doesn’t
want to be partnering up with me, either.
I hear Peeta’s voice in my head. She has no idea. The effect
she can have. Obviously meant to demean me. Right? but a tiny
part of me wonders if this was a compliment. That he meant I
was appealing in some way. It’s weird 2, how much he’s noticed
me. Like the attention he’s paid to my hunting. And apparently 3,
I have not been as oblivious 4 to him as I imagined, either. The 
flour. The wrestling. I have kept track of the boy with the bread.
It’s almost ten. I clean my teeth and smooth back my hair
again. Anger temporarily blocked out my nervousness about
meeting the other tributes, but now I can feel my anxiety rising
again. By the time I meet Effie and Peeta at the elevator, I
catch myself biting my nails. I stop at once.
The actual training rooms are below ground level of our building. 
With these elevators, the ride is less than a minute.The doors open 
into an enormous gymnasium filled with various weapons and 
obstacle courses. Although it’s not yet ten, we’re the last ones to 
arrive. The other tributes are gathered in a tense circle. They each 
have a cloth square with their district number on it pinned to their 
shirts. While someone pins the number 12 on my back, I do a quick 
assessment 5. Peeta and I are the only two dressed alike.
As soon as we join the circle, the head trainer, a tall, athletic 6
woman named Atala steps up and begins to explain the training
schedule. Experts in each skill will remain at their stations.
We will be free to travel from area to area as we choose, per
our mentor’s instructions. Some of the stations teach survival
skills, others fighting techniques. We are forbidden to engage
in any combative 7 exercise with another tribute. There are 
assistants on hand if we want to practice with a partner.
When Atala begins to read down the list of the skill stations,
my eyes can’t help flitting around to the other tributes.
It’s the first time we’ve been assembled, on level ground, in
simple clothes. My heart sinks. Almost all of the boys and at
least half of the girls are bigger than I am, even though many
of the tributes have never been fed properly. You can see it in
their bones, their skin, the hollow look in their eyes. I may be
smaller naturally, but overall my family’s resourcefulness has
given me an edge in that area. I stand straight, and while I’m
thin, I’m strong. The meat and plants from the woods combined
with the exertion 8 it took to get them have given me a healthier 
body than most of those I see around me. The exceptions are 
the kids from the wealthier districts, the volunteers, the ones 
who have been fed and trained throughout their lives for this 
moment. The tributes from 1, 2, and 4 traditionally have this 
look about them. It’s technically 9 against the rules to train 
tributes before they reach the Capitol but it happens every 
year. In District 12, we call them the Career Tributes, or just 
the Careers. And like as not, the winner will be one of them.
The slight advantage I held coming into the Training Center,
my fiery 10 entrance last night, seems to vanish in the presence
of my competition. The other tributes were jealous of us,
but not because we were amazing, because our stylists were.
Now I see nothing but contempt in the glances of the Career
Tributes. Each must have fifty to a hundred pounds on me.
They project arrogance 11 and brutality 12. When Atala releases us,
they head straight for the deadliest-looking weapons in the
gym and handle them with ease.
I’m thinking that it’s lucky I’m a fast runner when Peeta
nudges my arm and I jump. He is still beside me, per 
Haymitch’s instructions. His expression is sober. “Where 
would you like to start?”
I look around at the Career Tributes who are showing off,
clearly trying to intimidate 13 the field. Then at the others, the
underfed, the incompetent 14, shakily having their first lessons
with a knife or an ax.
“Suppose we tie some knots,” I say.
“Right you are,” says Peeta. We cross to an empty station 
where the trainer seems pleased to have students. You get 
the feeling that the knot-tying class is not the Hunger games 
hot spot.