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like I was to see Cinna. It’s more in the way one might be glad
to see an affectionate trio of pets at the end of a particularly
difficult day.
They sweep me into the dining room and I get a real meal
— roast beef and peas and soft rolls — although my portions
are still being strictly controlled. Because when I ask for
seconds, I’m refused.
“No, no, no. They don’t want it all coming back up on the
stage,” says Octavia, but she secretly slips me an extra roll under
the table to let me know she’s on my side.
We go back to my room and Cinna disappears for a while as
the prep team gets me ready.
“Oh, they did a full body polish on you,” says Flavius enviously.
“Not a flaw left on your skin.”
But when I look at my naked body in the mirror, all I can
see is how skinny I am. I mean, I’m sure I was worse when I
came out of the arena, but I can easily count my ribs.
They take care of the shower settings for me, and they go to
work on my hair, nails, and makeup when I’m done. They
chatter so continuously that I barely have to reply, which is
good, since I don’t feel very talkative. It’s funny, because even
though they’re rattling on about the Games, it’s all about
where they were or what they were doing or how they felt
when a specific event occurred. “I was still in bed!” “I had just
had my eyebrows dyed!” “I swear I nearly fainted!” Everything
is about them, not the dying boys and girls in the arena.
We don’t wallow around in the Games this way in District
12. We grit our teeth and watch because we must and try to
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