guards to come for me. But as time passes, it seems less likely. I calm down. They still need a girl tribute from District 12, don’t they? If the Gamemakers want to punish me, they can do it publicly. Wait until I’m in the arena and sic starving wild animals on me. You can bet they’ll make sure I don’t have a bow and arrow to defend myself. Before that though, they’ll give me a score so low, no one in their right mind would sponsor me. That’s what will happen tonight. Since the training isn’t open to viewers, the Gamemakers announce a score for each player. It gives the audience a starting place for the betting that will continue throughout the Games. The number, which is between one and twelve, one being irredeemably bad and twelve being unattainably high, signifies the promise of the tribute. The mark is not a guarantee of which person will win. It’s only an indication of the potential a tribute showed in training. Often, because of the variables in the actual arena, high-scoring tributes go down almost immediately. And a few years ago, the boy who won the Games only received a three. Still, the scores can help or hurt an individual tribute in terms of sponsorship. I had been hoping my shooting skills might get me a six or a seven, even if I’m not particularly powerful. Now I’m sure I’ll have the lowest score of the twenty-four. If no one sponsors me, my odds of staying alive decrease to almost zero. When Effie taps on the door to call me to dinner, I decide I may as well go. The scores will be televised tonight. It’s not like I can hide what happened forever. I go to the bathroom and wash my face, but it’s still red and splotchy. Everyone’s waiting at the table, even Cinna and Portia. I wish the stylists hadn’t shown up because for some reason, I don’t like the idea of disappointing them. It’s as if I’ve thrown away all the good work they did on the opening ceremonies without a thought. I 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 any way,” says