Catching Fire

possible the next morning because I really don’t want to discuss our training strategy. What’s to discuss? Every victor already knows what everybody else can do. Or used to be able to do, anyway. So Peeta and I will continue to act in love and that’s that. Somehow I’m just not up to talking about it, especially with Darius standing mutely by. I take a long shower, dress slowly in the outfit Cinna has left for training, and order food from the menu in my room by speaking into a mouthpiece. In a minute, sausage, eggs, potatoes, bread, juice, and hot chocolate appear. I eat my fill, trying to drag out the minutes until ten o’clock, when we have to go down to the Training Center. By nine-thirty, Haymitch is pounding on my door, obviously fed up with me, ordering me to the dining room NOW! Still, I brush my teeth before meandering down the hall, effectively killing another five minutes.
    The dining room’s empty except for Peeta and Haymitch, whose face is flushed with drink and anger. On his wrist he wears a solid-gold bangle with a pattern of flames — this must be his concession to Effie’s matching-token plan — that he twists unhappily. It’s a very handsome bangle, really, but the movement makes it seem like something confining, a shackle, rather than a piece of jewelry. “You’re late,” he snarls at me.
    “Sorry. I slept in after the mutilated-tongue nightmares kept me up half the night.” I mean to sound hostile, but my voice catches at the end of the sentence.
    Haymitch gives me a scowl, then relents. “All right, never mind. Today, in training, you’ve got two jobs. One, stay in love.”
    “Obviously,” I say.
    “And two, make some friends,” says Haymitch.
    “No,” I say. “I don’t trust any of them, I can’t stand most of them, and I’d rather operate with just the two of us.”
    “That’s what I said at first, but —” Peeta begins.
    “But it won’t be enough,” Haymitch insists. “You’re going to need more allies this time around.”
    “Why?” I ask.
    “Because you’re at a distinct disadvantage. Your competitors have known each other for years. So who do you think they’re going to target first?” he says.
    “Us. And nothing we’re going to do is going to override any old friendship,” I say. “So why bother?”
    “Because you can fight. You’re popular with the crowd. That could still make you desirable allies. But only if you let the others know you’re willing to team up with them,” says Haymitch.
    “You mean you want us in the Career pack this year?” I ask, unable to hide my distaste. Traditionally the tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4 join forces, possibly taking in a few other exceptional fighters, and hunt down the weaker competitors.
    “That’s been our strategy, hasn’t it? To train like Careers?” counters Haymitch. “And who makes up the Career pack is generally agreed upon before the Games begin. Peeta barely got in with them last year.”
    I think of the loathing I felt when I discovered Peeta was with the Careers during the last Games. “So we’re to try to get in with Finnick and Brutus — is that what you’re saying?”
    “Not necessarily. Everyone’s a victor. Make your own pack if you’d rather. Choose who you like. I’d suggest Chaff and Seeder. Although Finnick’s not to be ignored,” says Haymitch. “Find someone to team up with who might be of some use to you. Remember, you’re not in a ring full of trembling children anymore. These people are all experienced killers, no matter what shape they appear to be in.”
    Maybe he’s right. Only who could I trust? Seeder maybe. But do I really want to make a pact with her, only to possibly have to kill her later? No. Still, I made a pact with Rue under the same circumstances. I tell Haymitch I’ll try, even though I think I’ll be pretty bad at the whole thing.
    Effie shows up a bit early to take us down because last year, even though we were on time, we were the last two tributes to show up. But Haymitch tells her he doesn’t want her taking us down to the gym. None of the other victors will be showing up with a babysitter, and being the youngest, it’s even more important we look self-reliant. So she has to satisfy herself with taking us to the elevator, fussing over our hair, and pushing the button for us.
    It’s such a short ride that there’s no real time for conversation, but when Peeta takes my hand, I don’t pull it away. I may have ignored him