【饥饿游戏】35

Chapter 9
Betrayal. That’s the first thing I feel, which is ludicrous. For
there to be betrayal, there would have had to been trust first.
Between Peeta and me. And trust has not been part of the
agreement. We’re tributes. But the boy who risked a beating
to give me bread, the one who steadied me in the chariot, who
covered for me with the redheaded Avox girl, who insisted
Haymitch know my hunting skills . . . was there some part of
me that couldn’t help trusting him?
On the other hand, I’m relieved that we can stop the pretense 1
of being friends. Obviously, whatever thin connection we’d 
foolishly formed has been severed 2. And high time, too. The 
Games begin in two days, and trust will only be a weakness.
Whatever triggered Peeta’s decision — and I suspect it had to 
do with my outperforming him in training — I should be 
nothing but grateful for it. Maybe he’s finally accepted the
fact that the sooner we openly acknowledge that we are enemies,
the better.
“Good,” I say. “So what’s the schedule?”
“You’ll each have four hours with Effie for presentation and
four with me for content,” says Haymitch. “You start with Effie,
Katniss.”
I can’t imagine what Effie will have to teach me that could
take four hours, but she’s got me working down to the last
minute. We go to my rooms and she puts me in a full-length
gown and high-heeled shoes, not the ones I’ll he wearing for
the actual interview, and instructs me on walking. The shoes
are the worst part. I’ve never worn high heels and can’t get
used to essentially 3 wobbling around on the balls of my feet.
But Effie runs around in them full-time 4, and I’m determined 5
that if she can do it, so can I. The dress poses another problem.
It keeps tangling 6 around my shoes so, of course, I hitch 7 it up,
and then Effie swoops 8 down on me like a hawk 9, smacking 10 my
hands and yelling, “Not above the ankle!” When I finally 
conquer walking, there’s still sitting, posture 11 — apparently 12 I 
have a tendency to duck my head — eye contact, hand gestures, 
and smiling. Smiling is mostly about smiling more. Effie makes 
me say a hundred banal 13 phrases starting with a smile, while 
smiling, or ending with a smile. By lunch, the muscles in my 
cheeks are twitching 14 from overuse.
“Well, that’s the best I can do,” Effie says with a sigh. “Just
remember, Katniss, you want the audience to like you.”
“And you don’t think they will?” I ask.
“Not if you glare at them the entire time. Why don’t you
save that for the arena 15? Instead, think of yourself among
friends,” says Effie.
“They’re betting on how long I’ll live!” I burst out. “They’re
not my friends!”
“Well, try and pretend!” snaps Effie. Then she composes
herself and beams at me. “See, like this. I’m smiling at you
even though you’re aggravating 16 me.” “Yes, it feels very 
convincing,” I say. “I’m going to eat.” 1 kick off my heels 
and stomp 17 down to the dining room, hiking my skirt up to my 
thighs 18. Peeta and Haymitch seem in pretty good moods, so I’m
thinking the content session should be an improvement over
the morning. I couldn’t be more wrong. After lunch, Haymitch
takes me into the sitting room, directs me to the couch, and
then just frowns at me for a while.
“What?” I finally ask.
“I’m trying to figure out what to do with you,” he says.
“How we’re going to present you. Are you going to be charming?
Aloof 19? Fierce? So far, you’re shining like a star. You volunteered
to save your sister. Cinna made you look unforgettable.
You’ve got the top training score. People are intrigued 20, but no
one knows who you are. The impression you make tomorrow
will decide exactly what I can get you in terms of sponsors,”
says Haymitch.
Having watched the tribute interviews all my life, I know
there’s truth to what he’s saying. If you appeal to the crowd,
either by being humorous or brutal 21 or eccentric, you gain favor.
“What’s Peeta’s approach? Or am I not allowed to ask?” I say.
“Likable. He has a sort of self-deprecating humor naturally,”
says Haymitch. “Whereas when you open your mouth, you
come across more as sullen 22 and hostile.”
“I do not!” I say.
“Please. I don’t know where you pulled that cheery, wavy 23
girl on the chariot from, but I haven’t seen her before or
since,” says Haymitch. “And you’ve given me so many reasons 
to be cheery,” I counter.
“But you don’t have to please me. I’m not going to sponsor
you. So pretend I’m the audience,” says Haymitch. “Delight
me.”
“Fine!” I snarl 24. Haymitch takes the role of the interviewer
and I try to answer his questions in a winning fashion. But I
can’t. I’m too angry with Haymitch for what he said and that I
even have to answer the questions. All I can think is how unjust
the whole thing is, the Hunger Games. Why am I hopping 25
around like some trained dog trying to please people I hate?
The longer the interview goes on, the more my fury seems to
rise to the surface,