【饥饿游戏】33

“What about my family?” I say. “Will they punish them?”
“Don’t think so. Wouldn’t make much sense. See they’d
have to reveal what happened in the Training Center for it to
have any worthwhile effect on the population. People would
need to know what you did. But they can’t since it’s secret, so
it’d be a waste of effort,” says Haymitch. “More likely they’ll
make your life hell in the arena 1.”
“Well, they’ve already promised to do that to us any way,”
says Peeta.
“Very true,” says Haymitch. And I realize the impossible has
happened. They have actually cheered me up. Haymitch picks
up a pork chop with his fingers, which makes Effie frown, and
dunks it in his wine. He rips off a hunk of meat and starts to
chuckle 3. “What were their faces like?”
I can feel the edges of my mouth tilting 4 up. “Shocked. Terrified.
Uh, ridiculous, some of them.” An image pops into my
mind. “One man tripped backward into a bowl of punch.”
Haymitch guffaws 5 and we all start laughing except Effie, 
although even she is suppressing a smile. “Well, it serves them
right. It’s their job to pay attention to you. And just because
you come from District Twelve is no excuse to ignore you.”
Then her eyes dart 6 around as if she’s said something totally
outrageous 7. “I’m sorry, but that’s what I think,” she says to no
one in particular.
“I’ll get a very bad score,” I say.
“Scores only matter if they’re very good, no one pays much
attention to the bad or mediocre 8 ones. For all they know, you
could be hiding your talents to get a low score on purpose.
People use that strategy,” said Portia.
“I hope that’s how people interpret the four I’ll probably
get,” says Peeta. “If that. Really, is anything less impressive
than watching a person pick up a heavy ball and throw it a
couple of yards. One almost landed on my foot.” I grin at him 
and realize that I’m starving. I cut off a piece of pork, dunk it 
in mashed 9 potatoes, and start eating. It’s okay. My family is 
safe. And if they are safe, no real harm has been done.
After dinner, we go to sitting room to watch the scores 
announced on television. First they show a photo of the tribute,
then flash their score below it. The Career Tributes naturally
get in the eight-to-ten range. Most of the other players average
a five. Surprisingly, little Rue 2 comes up with a seven. I
don’t know what she showed the judges, but she’s so tiny it
must have been impressive.
District 12 comes up last, as usual. Peeta pulls an eight so at
least a couple of the Gamemakers must have been watching
him. I dig my fingernails into my palms as my face comes up,
expecting the worst. Then they’re flashing the number eleven
on the screen.
Eleven!
Effie Trinket lets out a squeal 10, and everybody is slapping
me on the back and cheering and congratulating me. But it
doesn’t seem real.
“There must be a mistake. How . . . how could that happen?”
I ask Haymitch.
“Guess they liked your temper,” he says. “They’ve got a
show to put on. They need some players with some heat.”
“Katniss, the girl who was on fire,” says Cinna and gives me
a hug. “Oh, wait until you see your interview dress.” 
“More flames?” I ask. “Of a sort,” he says mischievously 11.
Peeta and I congratulate each other, another awkward
moment. We’ve both done well, but what does that mean for
the other? I escape to my room as quickly as possible and 
burrow 12 down under the covers. The stress of the day, 
particularly the crying, has worn me out. I drift off, reprieved, 
relieved, and with the number eleven still flashing behind my 
eyelids 13. At dawn, I lie in bed for a while, watching the sun come 
up on a beautiful morning. It’s Sunday. A day off at home. I 
wonder if Gale 14 is in the woods yet. Usually we devote all of 
Sunday to stocking up for the week. Rising early, hunting and 
gathering 15, then trading at the Hob. I think of Gale without me. 
Both of us can hunt alone, but we’re better as a pair. Particularly 
if we’re trying for bigger game. But also in the littler things, 
having a partner lightened the load, could even make the arduous 
task of filling my family’s table enjoyable.
I had been struggling along on my own for about six months 
when I first ran into Gale in the woods. It was a Sunday in 
October, the air cool and pungent 16 with dying things. I’d spent 
the morning competing with the squirrels for nuts and the slightly 
warmer afternoon wading 17 in shallow ponds harvesting katniss. 
The only meat I’d shot was a squirrel that had practically run over 
my toes in its quest for acorns 18, but the animals would still be 
afoot when the snow buried my other food sources. Having strayed 
farther afield than usual, I was hurrying back home, lugging 19 my 
burlap sacks when I came across a dead rabbit. It was hanging by 
its neck in a thin wire a foot above my head. About fifteen yards 
away was another. I recognized the twitch-up snares 20 because my 
father had used them. When the prey 21 is caught, it’s yanked into 
the air out of the reach of other hungry animals. I’d been trying 
to use snares all summer with no success, so I couldn’t help 
dropping my sacks to examine this one.