CATCHING FIRE Part 7 ppt

of the other tributes, undoubtedly the morphlings, have made a colossal

mess. But I find a partial container of bloodred berry juice that will serve

my needs. The flesh-colored fabric of the dummy's skin makes a good,

absorbent canvas. I carefully finger paint the words on its body, concealing

them from view. Then I step away quickly to watch the reaction on the

Gamemakers' faces as they read the name on the dummy.

SENECA CRANE.

The effect on the Gamemakers is immediate and satisfying. Several let

out small shrieks. Others lose their grips on their wineglasses, which shatter

musically against the ground. Two seem to be considering fainting. The

look of shock is unanimous.

Now I have Plutarch Heavensbee's attention. He stares steadily at me as

the juice from the peach he crushed in his hand runs through his fingers.

Finally he clears his throat and says, “You may go now, Miss Everdeen.”

I give a respectful nod and turn to go, but at the last moment I can't resist

tossing the container of berry juice over my shoulder. I can hear the

contents splatter against the dummy while a couple more wineglasses

break. As the elevator doors close before me, I see no one has moved.

That surprised them, I think. It was rash and dangerous and no doubt I

will pay for it ten times over. But for the moment, I feel something close to

elation and I let myself savor it.

I want to find Haymitch immediately and tell him about my session, but

no one's around. I guess they're getting ready for dinner and I decide to go

take a shower myself, since my hands are stained from the juice. As I stand

in the water, I begin to wonder about the wisdom of my latest trick. The

question that should now always be my guide is “Will this help Peeta stay

alive?” Indirectly, this might not. What happens in training is highly

secretive, so there's no point in taking action against me when no one will

know what my transgression was. In fact, last year I was rewarded for my

brashness. This is a different sort of crime, though. If the Gamemakers are

angry with me and decide to punish me in the arena, Peeta could get caught

up in the attack as well. Maybe it was too impulsive. Still ... I can't say I'm

sorry I did it.

As we all gather for dinner, I notice Peeta's hands are faintly stained with

a variety of colors, even though his hair is still damp from bathing. He must

have done some form of camouflage after all. Once the soup is served,

Haymitch gets right to the issue on everyone's mind. “All right, so how did

your private sessions go?”

I exchange a look with Peeta. Somehow I'm not that eager to put what I

did into words. In the calm of the dining room, it seems very extreme. “You