suzanna-kollinz-acliq-oyunlari-1-hisse-eng

I slept in the elaborate braided hair my mother did for the
reaping and it doesn’t look too bad, so I just leave it up. It
doesn’t matter. We can’t be far from the Capitol now. And
once we reach the city, my stylist will dictate my look for the
opening ceremonies tonight anyway. I just hope I get one who
doesn’t think nudity is the last word in fashion.
As I enter the dining car, Effie Trinket brushes by me with a
cup of black coffee. She’s muttering obscenities under her
breath. Haymitch, his face puffy and red from the previous
day’s indulgences, is chuckling. Peeta holds a roll and looks
somewhat embarrassed.
“Sit down! Sit down!” says Haymitch, waving me over. The
moment I slide into my chair I’m served an enormous platter
of food. Eggs, ham, piles of fried potatoes. A tureen of fruit sits
in ice to keep it chilled. The basket of rolls they set before me
would keep my family going for a week. There’s an elegant
glass of orange juice. At least, I think it’s orange juice. I’ve only
even tasted an orange once, at New Year’s when my father
bought one as a special treat. A cup of coffee. My mother
adores coffee, which we could almost never afford, but it only
tastes bitter and thin to me. A rich brown cup of something
I’ve never seen.
“They call it hot chocolate,” says Peeta. “It’s good.”
I take a sip of the hot, sweet, creamy liquid and a shudder
runs through me. Even though the rest of the meal beckons, I
ignore it until I’ve drained my cup. Then I stuff down every
mouthful I can hold, which is a substantial amount, being careful
to not overdo it on the richest stuff. One time, my mother
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