The Hunger Games Trilogy

by Suzanne Collins

She must have really loved him to leave her home for the Seam.

In seventy-four years, we have had exactly two. Only one is still alive.

“I volunteer!” I gasp. “I volunteer as tribute!”

I am not pretty. I am not beautiful. I am as radiant as the sun.

In District 12, looking old is something of an achievement since so many people die early. You see an elderly person, you want to congratulate them on their longevity, ask the secret of survival. A plump person is envied because they aren’t scraping by like the majority of us. But here it is different.

“What did she say to you? After the reaping?” Caesar asks. Be honest. Be honest. I swallow hard. “She asked me to try really hard to win.” The audience is frozen, hanging on my every word.

“I swore I would.” “I bet you did,” says Caesar, giving me a squeeze. The buzzer goes off. “Sorry we’re out of time. Best of luck, Katniss Everdeen, tribute from District Twelve.”

“I don’t think it’s going to work out. Winning . . . won’t help in my case,” says Peeta. “Why ever not?” says Caesar, mystified. Peeta blushes beet red and stammers out. “Because . . . because . . . she came here with me.”

Turn me into some kind of monster that I’m not.”

There are no rules in the arena, but cannibalism doesn’t play well with the Capitol audience, so they tried to head it off.

The arenas are historic sites, preserved after the Games. Popular destinations for Capitol residents to visit, to vacation. Go for a month, rewatch the Games, tour the catacombs, visit the sites where the deaths took place. You can even take part in reenactments. They say the food is excellent.

“And remember this. I’m not allowed to bet, but if I could, my money would be on you.”

There, resting on a mound of blanket rolls, is a silver sheath of arrows and a bow, already strung, just waiting to be engaged. That’s mine, I think. It’s meant for me.

My mother says healers are born, not made.

“Oh, Haymitch,” I whisper. “Thank you.” He has not abandoned me. Not left me to fend entirely for myself.

“You have to win,” she says.

“I’m going to. Going to win for both of us now,” I promise.

Where are you, Cato? I think as I roast the birds and Rue’s roots. I’m waiting right here.

Before I can stop myself, I call out Peeta’s name.

“You here to finish me off, sweetheart?”

“Need to tell you something.” I lean over and put my good ear to his lips, which tickle as he whispers. “Remember, we’re madly in love, so it’s all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it.”

“You said her name. I heard you. You kill her?” Another thought brings a fresh wave of rage to his features. “You cut her up like you were going to cut up this girl here?”

“Just this one time, I let you go. For the little girl. You and me, we’re even then. No more owed. You understand?”

“You better run now, Fire Girl,” says Thresh.

“I want to go home, Peeta,” I say plaintively, like a small child.

This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another.

“You don’t have much competition anywhere.”

“Ah, that’ll be nice,” says Peeta, tightening his arms around me. “You and me and Haymitch. Very cozy. Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights around the fire retelling old Hunger Games tales.”

“You’re not leaving me here alone,” I say. Because if he dies, I’ll never go home, not really. I’ll spend the rest of my life in this arena trying to think my way out.

“It must be very fragile, if a handful of berries can bring it down.”

“I had to do that. At least once.” And he was gone.

And here in the Capitol they’re vomiting for the pleasure of filling their bellies again and again. Not from some illness of body or mind, not from spoiled food. It’s what everyone does at a party. Expected. Part of the fun.

“It starts at midnight.” “That seems late for —” I say, but then something distracts me. Plutarch has run his thumb across the crystal face of the watch and for just a moment an image appears, glowing as if lit by candlelight. It’s another mockingjay. Exactly like the pin on my dress. Only this one disappears. He snaps the watch closed. “That’s very pretty,” I say.

“It’s not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you,” he says. “I’m okay once I realize you’re here.”

A mockingbird is just a songbird. A mockingjay is a creature the Capitol never intended to exist.

At some point, you have to stop running and turn around and face whoever wants you dead. The hard thing is finding the courage to do it.

“You could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him, you know,” Haymitch says.

“Why don’t you get some sleep?” he says. Because I can’t handle the nightmares. Not without you, I think.

The alliance is over and she broke it off, so no one could blame him for ignoring her. But Haymitch runs for her, anyway.

“Don’t worry. I always channel my emotions into my work. That way I don’t hurt anyone but myself.”

“Having an eye for beauty isn’t the same thing as a weakness,” Peeta points out. “Except possibly when it comes to you.”

“I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you,” Peeta replies. “Come on, then,” I say, pulling him into my room.

“Make him pay for it, okay?” she says.

“Maybe I’d think that, too, Caesar,” says Peeta bitterly, “if it weren’t for the baby.”

“Any last words of advice?” Peeta asks. “Stay alive,” Haymitch says gruffly.

“What?” I ask defensively. “You just remember who the enemy is,” Haymitch tells me. “That’s all. Now go on. Get out of here.”

“Remember, girl on fire,” he says, “I’m still betting on you.”

“Oh,” I say under my breath. “Tick, tock.” My eyes sweep around the full circle of the arena and I know she’s right. “Tick, tock. This is a clock.”

“Don’t want that, do they?” She throws back her head and shouts, “Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn’t want anything like that!”

“They can’t hurt me. I’m not like the rest of you. There’s no one left I love,” Johanna says, and frees her hand with an impatient shake.