The Hunger Games (Hunger Games, #1)

by Suzanne Collins

“Wear something pretty,” he says flatly.

Ew

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

It means thanks, it means admiration, it means goodbye to someone you love.

Peeta Mellark! Oh, no, I think. Not him.

Exactly how am I supposed to work in a thank-you in there? Somehow it just won’t seem sincere if I’m trying to slit his throat.

In school, they tell us the Capitol was built in a place once called the Rockies. District 12 was in a region known as Appalachia.

Why did I never know this but also always imagined it this way?

One time, my mother told me that I always eat like I’ll never see food again. And I said, “I won’t unless I bring it home.” That shut her up.

“It’s lovely. If only you could frost someone to death,” I say.

And there I am, blushing and confused, made beautiful by Cinna’s hands, desirable by Peeta’s confession, tragic by circumstance, and by all accounts, unforgettable.

In the Capitol, they call it the Launch Room. In the districts, it’s referred to as the Stockyard. The place animals go before slaughter.

“I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off.”

“Yes, frosting. The final defence of the dying.”

“You’re the one who wasn’t paying attention.” “I am now,” I say. “Well, I don’t have much competition here,” he says.

Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.