The Hunger Games

avoid looking at anyone as I take tiny spoonfuls of fish soup. The saltiness reminds me of my tears.
    The adults begin some chitchat about the weather forecast, and I let my eyes meet Peeta’s. He raises his eyebrows. A question. What happened? I just give my head a small shake. Then, as they’re serving the main course, I hear Haymitch say, “Okay, enough small talk, just how bad were you today?”
    Peeta jumps in. “I don’t know that it mattered. By the time I showed up, no one even bothered to look at me. They were singing some kind of drinking song, I think. So, I threw around some heavy objects until they told me I could go.”
    That makes me feel a bit better. It’s not like Peeta attacked the Gamemakers, but at least he was provoked, too.
    “And you, sweetheart?” says Haymitch.
    Somehow Haymitch calling me sweetheart ticks me off enough that I’m at least able to speak. “I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers.”
    Everyone stops eating. “You what?” The horror in Effie’s voice confirms my worse suspicions.
    “I shot an arrow at them. Not exactly at them. In their direction. It’s like Peeta said, I was shooting and they were ignoring me and I just . . . I just lost my head, so I shot an apple out of their stupid roast pig’s mouth!” I say defiantly.
    “And what did they say?” says Cinna carefully.
    “Nothing. Or I don’t know. I walked out after that,” I say.
    “Without being dismissed?” gasps Effie.
    “I dismissed myself,” I said. I remember how I promised Prim that I really would try to win and I feel like a ton of coal has dropped on me.
    “Well, that’s that,” says Haymitch. Then he butters a roll.
    “Do you think they’ll arrest me?” I ask.
    “Doubt it. Be a pain to replace you at this stage,” says Haymitch.
    “What about my family?” I say. “Will they punish them?”
    “Don’t think so. Wouldn’t make much sense. See, they’d have to reveal what happened in the Training Center for it to have any worthwhile effect on the population. People would need to know what you did. But they can’t since it’s secret, so it’d be a waste of effort,” says Haymitch. “More likely they’ll make your life hell in the arena.”
    “Well, they’ve already promised to do that to us anyway,” says Peeta.
    “Very true,” says Haymitch. And I realize the impossible has happened. They have actually cheered me up. Haymitch picks up a pork chop with his fingers, which makes Effie frown, and dunks it in his wine. He rips off a hunk of meat and starts to chuckle. “What were their faces like?”
    I can feel the edges of my mouth tilting up. “Shocked. Terrified. Uh, ridiculous, some of them.” An image pops into my mind. “One man tripped backward into a bowl of punch.”
    Haymitch guffaws and we all start laughing except Effie, although even she is suppressing a smile. “Well, it serves them right. It’s their job to pay attention to you. And just because you come from District Twelve is no excuse to ignore you.” Then her eyes dart around as if she’s said something totally outrageous. “I’m sorry, but that’s what I think,” she says to no one in particular.
    “I’ll get a very bad score,” I say.
    “Scores only matter if they’re very good, no one pays much attention to the bad or mediocre ones. For all they know, you could be hiding your talents to get a low score on purpose. People use that strategy,” said Portia.
    “I hope that’s how people interpret the four I’ll probably get,” says Peeta. “If that. Really, is anything less impressive than watching a person pick up a heavy ball and throw it a couple of yards. One almost landed on my foot.”
    I grin at him and realize that I’m starving. I cut off a piece of pork, dunk it in mashed potatoes, and start eating. It’s okay. My family is safe. And if they are safe, no real harm has been done.
    After dinner, we go to the sitting room to watch the scores announced on television. First they show a photo of the tribute, then flash their score below it. The Career Tributes naturally get in the eight-to-ten range. Most of the other players average a five. Surprisingly, little Rue comes up with a seven. I don’t know what she showed the judges, but she’s so tiny it must have been impressive.
    District 12 comes up last, as usual. Peeta pulls an eight so at least a couple of the Gamemakers must have been watching him. I dig my fingernails into my palms as my face comes up, expecting the