Catching Fire

boats his whole life. The trident was a natural, deadly extension of his arm. He wove a net out of some kind of vine he found, used it to entangle his opponents so he could spear them with the trident, and within a matter of days the crown was his.
    The citizens of the Capitol have been drooling over him ever since.
    Because of his youth, they couldn’t really touch him for the first year or two. But ever since he turned sixteen, he’s spent his time at the Games being dogged by those desperately in love with him. No one retains his favor for long. He can go through four or five in his annual visit. Old or young, lovely or plain, rich or very rich, he’ll keep them company and take their extravagant gifts, but he never stays, and once he’s gone he never comes back.
    I can’t argue that Finnick isn’t one of the most stunning, sensuous people on the planet. But I can honestly say he’s never been attractive to me. Maybe he’s too pretty, or maybe he’s too easy to get, or maybe it’s really that he’d just be too easy to lose.
    “No, thanks,” I say to the sugar. “I’d love to borrow your outfit sometime, though.”
    He’s draped in a golden net that’s strategically knotted at his groin so that he can’t technically be called naked, but he’s about as close as you can get. I’m sure his stylist thinks the more of Finnick the audience sees, the better.
    “You’re absolutely terrifying me in that getup. What happened to the pretty little-girl dresses?” he asks. He wets his lips just ever so slightly with his tongue. Probably this drives most people crazy. But for some reason all I can think of is old Cray, salivating over some poor, starving young woman.
    “I outgrew them,” I say.
    Finnick takes the collar of my outfit and runs it between his fingers. “It’s too bad about this Quell thing. You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you wanted.”
    “I don’t like jewels, and I have more money than I need. What do you spend all yours on, anyway, Finnick?” I say.
    “Oh, I haven’t dealt in anything as common as money for years,” says Finnick.
    “Then how do they pay you for the pleasure of your company?” I ask.
    “With secrets,” he says softly. He tips his head in so his lips are almost in contact with mine. “What about you, girl on fire? Do you have any secrets worth my time?”
    For some stupid reason, I blush, but I force myself to hold my ground. “No, I’m an open book,” I whisper back. “Everybody seems to know my secrets before I know them myself.”
    He smiles. “Unfortunately, I think that’s true.” His eyes flicker off to the side. “Peeta is coming. Sorry you have to cancel your wedding. I know how devastating that must be for you.” He tosses another sugar cube in his mouth and saunters off.
    Peeta’s beside me, dressed in an outfit identical to mine. “What did Finnick Odair want?” he asks.
    I turn and put my lips close to Peeta’s and drop my eyelids in imitation of Finnick. “He offered me sugar and wanted to know all my secrets,” I say in my best seductive voice.
    Peeta laughs. “Ugh. Not really.”
    “Really,” I say. “I’ll tell you more when my skin stops crawling.”
    “Do you think we’d have ended up like this if only one of us had won?” he asks, glancing around at the other victors. “Just another part of the freak show?”
    “Sure. Especially you,” I say.
    “Oh. And why especially me?” he says with a smile.
    “Because you have a weakness for beautiful things and I don’t,” I say with an air of superiority. “They would lure you into their Capitol ways and you’d be lost entirely.”
    “Having an eye for beauty isn’t the same thing as a weakness,” Peeta points out. “Except possibly when it comes to you.” The music is beginning and I see the wide doors opening for the first chariot, hear the roar of the crowd. “Shall we?” He holds out a hand to help me into the chariot.
    I climb up and pull him up after me. “Hold still,” I say, and straighten his crown. “Have you seen your suit turned on? We’re going to be fabulous again.”
    “Absolutely. But Portia says we’re to be very above it all. No waving or anything,” he says. “Where are they, anyway?”
    “I don’t know.” I eye the procession of chariots. “Maybe we better go ahead and switch ourselves on.” We do, and as we begin to glow, I can see people pointing at us and chattering, and I know