The Boy with the Bread

Chapter 7

Day three and the final day of training dawns upon us too soon. I remain lying in bed as the clock ticks away, not wanting to get up and face the coming doom of performing before the game makers. Besides, the bed is so comfortable. I desperately wish I could just fall back to sleep and drift off to a land where the Hunger Games don't exist and where both Katniss and I are back at home, safe and sound.

There's a knock on my door and I hear Effie's high-pitched voice urging me to get up. It's more than a little grating, but I slowly pull myself out of the covers and out of bed. I figure I should shower, but I don't want to. I showered yesterday, anyway, and I tug on whatever clothes the stylists selected for us today.

Haymitch is up already and drinking his mix of liquor and juice again. A bowl of stew sits empty before him.

"Mornin' sunshine," he says, probably noticing my glum attitude. I just grunt in response.

He chuckles. "Well, boy, you think you're ready to show off for the game makers? Gotta warn ya, they can be a tough audience, and they have their favorites."

I just shrug. "I'm just going to toss a few weights around. It shouldn't be too hard."

"So you would think." He stops when Katniss appears. She looks just as ecstatic as I am and keeps a stony silence as she loads her plate with food.

"Now, I know I don't have to tell you both this," Haymitch says as we eat, "but this day is crucial in deciding whether people will think you worthy of helping or not. In your private sessions, make sure they remember you."

Great. How memorable can someone throwing weights around be? I only hope Katniss doesn't display that modesty she had on day one to the game makers.

There are no arguments and no pointers given after that. We just finish up eating and prepare to head for the elevator. I glance Katniss's way as we descend to the basement, wondering what is going through her head. After begging me not to try and play friends when we're alone, she hasn't even bothered to acknowledge me. It hurts a little. Maybe she figures it would be easier in the arena if we're not friends, so she won't feel guilty when she has to kill me. Maybe she doesn't trust me and thinks I'm out to find some flaw or weakness to use to my advantage. Maybe it's a little bit of both. If only she knew...

I cross my arms and brace myself for the next couple of hours. We enter the gymnasium and get straight to work, staying together, but not really talking. This is not too much of a problem, though, since most of the other tributes are also quite grim. It seems we're not the only ones nervous about the private sessions.

While Katniss tackles sword fighting, I stand nearby and try my hand at archery. It's a good thing she's not watching me, because to put it bluntly, I fail at it. Getting the arrow to line up with the wire of the bow is harder than it looks. It quivers in my hand as I shakily aim it at the target. When I let it go, it drifts only a few feet away from me and onto the floor. Glimmer notices and smirks at me before she pulls an arrow taut and shoots. She hits the target but it's way off the mark. Had it been Katniss, she would have shot that target in record speed, I can't help but think, and I feel a surge of pride.

Not many of us have much of an appetite when lunchtime comes around. Katniss and I still sit together but don't talk much, though every now and then we try to, just to keep the act up. I do my best to stay hydrated, knowing I'll need as much energy as possible for when my turn comes to go before the game makers. Glancing over at some of the larger guys, I wonder what their strategies will be. Thresh and Cato can probably lift as many weights as I can. Marvel, though leaner, is still muscular and is handy with both sword and spear. What possible chance do I have, then, when those three will probably show off the same skills as I will?