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down almost immediately. And a few years ago, the boy who
won the Games only received a three. Still, the scores can help
or hurt an individual tribute in terms of sponsorship. I had
been hoping my shooting skills might get me a six or a seven,
even if I’m not particularly powerful. Now I’m sure I’ll have
the lowest score of the twenty-four. If no one sponsors me, my
odds of staying alive decrease to almost zero.
When Effie taps on the door to call me to dinner, I decide I
may as well go. The scores will be televised tonight. It’s not
like I can hide what happened forever. I go to the bathroom
and wash my face, but it’s still red and splotchy.
Everyone’s waiting at the table, even Cinna and Portia. I
wish the stylists hadn’t shown up because for some reason, I
don’t like the idea of disappointing them. It’s as if I’ve thrown
away all the good work they did on the opening ceremonies
without a thought. I avoid looking at anyone as I take tiny
spoonfuls of fish soup. The saltiness reminds me of my tears.
The adults begin some chitchat about the weather forecast,
and I let my eyes meet Peeta’s. He raises his eyebrows. A question.
What happened? I just give my head a small shake. Then,
as they’re serving the main course, I hear Haymitch say,
“Okay, enough small talk, just how bad were you today?”
Peeta jumps in. “I don’t know that it mattered. By the time I
showed up, no one even bothered to look at me. They were
singing some kind of drinking song, I think. So, I threw around
some heavy objects until they told me I could go.”
That makes me feel a bit better. It’s not like Peeta attacked
the Gamemakers, but at least he was provoked, too.
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