ch 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 went back to bed； but when the stew was done； we made her
eat a bowl。
The woods became our savior； and each day I went a bit farther into its arms。 It was slow…going at first； but I was determined to feed us。 I stole eggs from nests； caught fish in s； sometimes managed to shoot a squirrel or rabbit for stew； and gathered the various plants that sprung up beneath my feet。 Plants are tricky。 Many are edible； but one false mouthful and youˇre dead。 I checked and double…checked the plants I harvested with my fatherˇs pictures。 I kept us alive。
Any sign of danger； a distant howl； the inexplicable break of a branch； sent me flying back to the fence at first。 Then I began to risk climbing trees to escape the wild dogs that quickly got bored and moved on。 Bears and cats lived deeper in； perhaps disliking the sooty reek of our district。
On May 8th； I went to the Justice Building； signed up for my tesserae； and pulled home my first batch of grain and oil in Primˇs toy wagon。 On the eighth of every month； I was entitled to do the same。 I couldnˇt stop hunting and gathering； of course。 The grain was not enough to live on； and there were other things to buy； soap and milk and thread。 What we didnˇt absolutely have to eat； I began to trade at the Hob。 It was frightening to enter that place without my father at my side； but people had respected him； and they accepted me。 Game was game after all； no matter whoˇd shot it。 I also sold at the back doors of the wealthier clients in town； trying to remember what my father had told me and learning a few new tricks as well。 The butcher would buy my rabbits but not squirrels。 The baker enjoyed squirrel but would only trade for one if his wife wasnˇt around。 The Head Peacekeeper loved wild turkey。 The mayor had a passion for strawberries。
In late summer； I was washing up in a pond when I noticed the plants growing around me。 Tall with leaves like arrowheads。 Blossoms with three white petals。 I knelt down in the water； my fingers digging into the soft mud； and I pulled up handfuls of the roots。 Small； bluish tubers that donˇt look like much but boiled or baked are as good as any potato。 ¨Katniss；〃 I said aloud。 Itˇs the plant I was named for。 And I heard my fatherˇs voice joking； ¨As long as you can find yourself； youˇll never starve。〃 I spent hours stirring up the pond bed with my toes and a stick； gathering the tubers that floated to the top。 That night； we feasted on fish and katniss roots until we were all； for the first time in months； full。
Slowly； my mother returned to us。 She began to clean and cook and preserve some of the food I brought in for winter。 People traded us or paid money for her medical remedies。 One day； I heard her singing。
Prim was thrilled to have her back； but I kept watching； waiting for her to disappear on us again。 I didnˇt trust her。 And some small gnarled place inside me hated her for her weakness； for her neglect； for the months she had put us through。 Prim forgave her； but I had taken a step back from my mother； put up a wall to protect myself from needing her； and nothing was ever the same between us again。
Now I was going to die without that ever being set right。 I thought of how I had yelled at her today in the Justice Building。 I had told her I loved her； too； though。 So maybe it would all balance out。 For a while I stand staring out the train window； wishing I could open it again； but unsure of what would happen at such high speed。 In the distance； I see the lights of another district。 7？ 10？ I donˇt know。 I think about the people in their houses； settling in for bed。 I imagine my home； with its shutters drawn tight。 What are they doing now； my mother and Prim？ Were they able to eat supper？ The fish stew and the strawberries？ Or did it lay untouched on their plates？ Did they watch the recap of the dayˇs events on the battered old TV that sits on the table against the wall？ Surely； there were more tears。 Is my mother holding up； being strong for Prim？ Or has she already started to slip away； leaving the weight of the world on my sisterˇs fragile shoulders？
Prim will undoubtedly sleep with my mother tonight。 The thought of that scruffy old Buttercup posting himself on the bed to watch over Prim forts me。 If she cries； he will nose his way into her arms and curl up there until she calms down and falls asleep。 Iˇm so glad I didnˇt drown him。
Imagining my home makes me ache with loneliness。 This day has been endless。 Could Gale and I have been eating blackberries only this morning？ It seems like a lifetime ago。 Like a long dream that deteriorated into a nightmare。 Maybe； if I go to sleep； I will wake up back in District 12； where I belong。
Probably the drawers hold any number of nightgowns； but I just strip off my shirt and pants and climb into bed in my underwear。 The sheets are made of soft； silky fabric。 A thick fluffy forter gives immediate warmth。
If Iˇm going to cry； now is the time to do it。 By morning； Iˇll be able to wash the damage done by the tears from my face。 But no tears e。 Iˇm too tired or too numb to cry。 The only thing I feel is a desire to be somewhere else。 So I let the train rock me into oblivion。
Gray light is leaking through the curtains when the rapping rouses me。 I hear Effie Trinketˇs voice； calling me to rise。 ¨Up； up； up！ Itˇs going to be a big； big； big day！〃 I try and imagine； for a moment； what it must be like inside that womanˇs head。 What thoughts fill her waking hours？ What dreams e to her at night？ I have no idea。
I put the green outfit back on since itˇs not really dirty； just slightly crumpled from spending the night on the floor。 My fingers trace the circle around the little gold mockingjay and I think of the woods； and of my father； and of my mother and Prim waking up； having to get on with things。
I slept in the elaborate braided hair my mother did for the reaping and it doesnˇt look too bad； so I just leave it up。 It doesnˇt matter。 We canˇt be far from the Capitol now。 And once we reach the city； my stylist will dictate my look for the opening ceremonies tonight anyway。 I just hope I get one who doesnˇt think nudity is the last word in fashion。
As I enter the dining car； Effie Trinket brushes by me with a cup of black coffee。 Sheˇs muttering obscenities under her breath。 Haymitch； his face puffy and red from the previous dayˇs indulgences； is chuckling。 Peeta holds a roll and looks somewhat embarrassed。
¨Sit down！ Sit down！〃 says Haymitch； waving me over。 The moment I slide into my chair Iˇm served an enormous platter of food。 Eggs； ham； piles of fried potatoes。 A tureen of fruit sits in ice to keep it chilled。 The basket of rolls they set before me would keep my family going for a week。 Thereˇs an elegant glass of orange juice。 At least； I think itˇs orange juice。 Iˇve only even tasted an orange once； at New Yearˇs when my father bought one as a special treat。 A cup of coffee。 My mother adores coffee； which we could almost never afford； but it only tastes bitter and thin to me。 A rich brown cup of something Iˇve never seen。
¨They call it hot chocolate；〃 says Peeta。 ¨I