eplicate both bird whistles and human melodies。 They had lost the ability to enunciate words but could still mimic a range of human vocal sounds； from a childˇs high…pitched warble to a manˇs deep tones。 And they could re…create songs。 Not just a few notes； but whole songs with multiple verses； if you had the patience to sing them and if they liked your voice。 My father was particularly fond of mockingjays。 When we went hunting； he would whistle or sing plicated songs to them and； after a polite pause； theyˇd always sing back。 Not everyone is treated with such respect。 But whenever my father sang； all the birds in the area would fall silent and listen。 His voice was that beautiful； high and clear and so filled with life it made you want to laugh and cry at the same time。 I could never bring myself to continue the practice after he was gone。 Still； thereˇs something forting about the little bird。 Itˇs like having a piece of my father with me； protecting me。 I fasten the pin onto my shirt； and with the dark green fabric as a background； I can almost imagine the mockingjay flying through the trees。
Effie Trinket es to collect me for supper。 I follow her through the narrow； rocking corridor into a dining room with polished paneled walls。 Thereˇs a table where all the dishes are highly breakable。 Peeta Mellark sits waiting for us； the chair next to him empty。
¨Whereˇs Haymitch？〃 asks Effie Trinket brightly。
¨Last time I saw him； he said he was going to take a nap；〃 says Peeta。
¨Well； itˇs been an exhausting day；〃 says Effie Trinket。 I think sheˇs relieved by Haymitchˇs absence； and who can blame her？
The supper es in courses。 A thick carrot soup； green salad； lamb chops and mashed potatoes； cheese and fruit； a chocolate cake。 Throughout the meal； Effie Trinket keeps reminding us to save space because thereˇs more to e。 But Iˇm stuffing myself because Iˇve never had food like this； so good and so much； and because probably the best thing I can do between now and the Games is put on a few pounds。
¨At least； you two have decent manners；〃 says Effie as weˇre finishing the main course。 ¨The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages。 It pletely upset my digestion。〃
The pair last year were two kids from the Seam whoˇd never； not one day of their lives； had enough to eat。 And when they did have food； table manners were surely the last thing on their minds。 Peetaˇs a bakerˇs son。 My mother taught Prim and I to eat properly； so yes； I can handle a fork and knife。 But I hate Effie Trinketˇs ment so much I make a point of eating the rest of my meal with my fingers。 Then I wipe my hands on the tablecloth。 This makes her purse her lips tightly together。
Now that the mealˇs over； Iˇm fighting to keep the food down。 I can see Peetaˇs looking a little green； too。 Neither of our stomachs is used to such rich fare。 But if I can hold down Greasy Saeˇs concoction of mice meat； pig entrails； and tree bark a winter specialty Iˇm determined to hang on to this。
We go to another partment to watch the recap of the reapings across Panem。 They try to stagger them throughout the day so a person could conceivably watch the whole thing live； but only people in the Capitol could really do that； since none of them have to attend reapings themselves。
One by one； we see the other reapings； the names called； （the volunteers stepping forward or； more often； not。 We examine the faces of the kids who will be our petition。 A few stand out in my mind。 A monstrous boy who lunges forward to volunteer from District 2。 A fox…faced girl with sleek red hair from District 5。 A boy with a crippled foot from District 10。 And most hauntingly； a twelve…year…old girl from District 11。 She has dark brown skin and eyes； but other than that； sheˇs very like Prim in size and demeanor。 Only when she mounts the stage and they ask for volunteers； all you can hear is the wind whistling through the decrepit buildings around her。 Thereˇs no one willing to take her place。
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