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Last of all； they show District 12。 Prim being called； me running forward to volunteer。 You canˇt miss the desperation in my voice as I shove Prim behind me； as if Iˇm afraid no one will hear and theyˇll take Prim away。 But； of course； they do hear。 I see Gale pulling her off me and watch myself mount the stage。 The mentators are not sure what to say about the crowdˇs refusal to applaud。 The silent salute。 One says that District 12 has always been a bit backward but that local customs can be charming。 As if on cue； Haymitch falls off the stage； and they groan ically。 Peetaˇs name is drawn； and he quietly takes his place。 We shake hands。 They cut to the anthem again； and the pro…gram ends。
Effie Trinket is disgruntled about the state her wig was in。 ¨Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation。 A lot about televised behavior。〃
Peeta unexpectedly laughs。 ¨He was drunk；〃 says Peeta。 ¨Heˇs drunk every year。〃
¨Every day；〃 I add。 I canˇt help smirking a little。 Effie Trinket makes it sound like Haymitch just has somewhat rough manners that could be corrected with a few tips from her。
¨Yes；〃 hisses Effie Trinket。 ¨How odd you two find it amusing。 You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games。 The one who advises you； lines up your sponsors； and dictates the presentation of any gifts。 Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death！〃
Just then； Haymitch staggers into the partment。 ¨I miss supper？〃 he says in a slurred voice。 Then he vomits all over the expensive carpet and falls in the mess。
¨So laugh away！〃 says Effie Trinket。 She hops in her pointy shoes around the pool of vomit and flees the room。
4
For a few moments； Peeta and I take in the scene of our mentor trying to rise out of the slippery vile stuff from his stomach。 The reek of vomit and raw spirits almost brings my dinner up。 We exchange a glance。 Obviously Haymitch isnˇt much； but Effie Trinket is right about one thing； once weˇre in the arena heˇs all weˇve got。 As if by some unspoken agreement； Peeta and I each take one of Haymitchˇs arms and help him to his feet。
¨I tripped？〃 Haymitch asks。 ¨Smells bad。〃 He wipes his hand on his nose； smearing his face with vomit。
¨Letˇs get you back to your room；〃 says Peeta。 ¨Clean you up a bit。〃
We half…lead half…carry Haymitch back to his partment。 Since we canˇt exactly set him down on the embroidered bedspread； we haul him into the bathtub and turn the shower on him。 He hardly notices。
¨Itˇs okay；〃 Peeta says to me。 ¨Iˇll take it from here。〃 I canˇt help feeling a little grateful since the last thing I want to do is strip down Haymitch； wash the vomit out of his chest hair； and tuck him into bed。 Possibly Peeta is trying to make a good impression on him； to be his favorite once the Games begin。 But judging by the state heˇs in； Haymitch will have no memory of this tomorrow。
¨All right；〃 I say。 ¨I can send one of the Capitol people to help you。〃 Thereˇs any number on the train。 Cooking lor us。 Waiting on us。 Guarding us。 Taking care of us is their job。
¨No。 I donˇt want them；〃 says Peeta。
I nod and head to my own room。 I understand how Peeta feels。 I canˇt stand the sight of the Capitol people myself。 But making them deal with Haymitch might be a small form of revenge。 So Iˇm pondering the reason why he insists on taking care of Haymitch and all of a sudden I think； Itˇs because heˇs being kind。 Just as he was kind to give me the bread。
The idea pulls me up short。 A kind Peeta Mellark is far more dangerous to me than an unkind one。 Kind people have a way of working their way inside me and rooting there。 And I canˇt let Peeta do this。 Not where weˇre going。 So I decide； from this moment on； to have as little as possible to do with the bakerˇs son。
When I get back to my room； the train is pausing at a platform to refuel。 I quickly open the window； toss the cookies Peetaˇs father gave me out of the train； and slam the glass shut。 No more。 No more of either of them。
Unfortunately； the packet of cookies hits the ground and bursts open in a patch of dandelions by the track。 I only see the image for a moment； because the train is off again； but itˇs enough。 Enough to remind me of that other dandelion in the school yard years ago 。 。 。
I had just turned away from Peeta Mellarkˇs bruised face when I saw the dandelion and I knew hope wasnˇt lost。 I plucked it carefully and hurried home。 I grabbed a bucket and Primˇs hand and headed to the Meadow and yes； it was dotted with the golden…headed weeds。 After weˇd harvested those； we scrounged along inside the fence for probably a mile until weˇd filled the bucket with the dandelion greens； stems； and flowers。 That night； we gorged ourselves on dandelion salad and the rest of the bakery bread。
¨What else？〃 Prim asked me。 ¨What other food can we find？〃
¨All kinds of things；〃 I promised her。 ¨I just have to remember them。〃
My mother had a book sheˇd brought with her from the apothecary shop。 The pages were made of old parchment and covered in ink drawings of plants。 Neat handwritten blocks told their names； where to gather them； when they came in bloom； their medical uses。 But my father added other entries to the book。 Plants for eating； not healing。 Dandelions； pokeweed； wild onions； pines。 Prim and I spent the rest of the night poring over those pages。
The next day； we were off school。 For a while I hung around the edges of the Meadow； but finally I worked up the courage to go under the fence。 It was the first time Iˇd been there alone； without my fatherˇs weapons to protect me。 But I retrieved the small bow and arrows heˇd made me from a hollow tree。 I probably didnˇt go more than twenty yards into the woods that day。 Most of the time； I perched up in the branches of an old oak； hoping for game to e by。 After several hours； I had the good luck to kill a rabbit。
Iˇd shot a few rabbits before； with my fatherˇs guidance。 But this Iˇd done on my own。
We hadnˇt had meat in months。 The sight of the rabbit seemed to stir something in my mother。 She roused herself； skinned the carcass； and made a stew with the meat and some more greens Prim had gathered。 Then she acted confused and went back to bed； but when the stew was done； we made her
eat a bowl。
The woods became our savior； and each day I went a bit farther into its arms。 It was slow…going at first； but I was determined to feed us。 I stole eggs from nests； caught fish in s； sometimes managed to shoot a squirrel or rabbit for stew； and gathered the various plants that sprung up beneath my feet。 Plants are tricky。 Many are edible； but one false mouthful and youˇre dead。 I checked and double…checked the plants I harvested with my fatherˇs pictures。 I kept us alive。
Any sign of danger； a distant howl； the inexplicable break of a branch； sent me flying back to the fence at first。 Then I began to risk climbing trees to escape the wild dogs that quickly got bored and moved on。 Bears and cats lived deeper in； perhaps disliking the sooty reek of our district。
On May 8th； I went to the Justice Building； signed up for my tesserae； and pulled home my first batch of grain and oil in Primˇs toy wagon。 On the eighth of every month； I was entitled to do the same。 I couldnˇt stop hunting and gathering； of course。 The grain was not enough to live on； and there were other things to buy； soap and milk and thread。 What we didnˇt absolutely have to eat； I began to trade at the Hob。 It was frightening to enter that place without my father at my side； but people had respected him； and they accepted me。 Game was game after all； no matter whoˇd shot it。 I also sold at the back doors of the wealthier clients in town； trying to remember what my father had told me and learning a few new tricks as well。 The butcher would buy my rabbits but not squirrels。 The baker enjoyed squirrel but would only trade for one if his wife wasnˇt around。 The Head Peacekeeper loved wild turkey。 The mayor had a passion for strawberries。
In late summer； I was washing up in a pond when I noticed the plants growing around me。 Tall with leaves like arrowheads。 Blossoms with three white petals。 I knelt down in the water； my fingers digging i