第4部分(第2/7 页)

lark！

Oh；　no；　I　think。　Not　him。　Because　I　recognize　this　name；　although　I　have　never　spoken　directly　to　its　owner。　Peeta　Mellark。

No；　the　odds　are　not　in　my　favor　today。　I　watch　him　as　he　makes　his　way　toward　the　stage。　Medium　height；　stocky　build；　ashy　blond　hair　that　falls　in　waves　over　his　forehead。　The　shock　of　the　moment　is　registering　on　his　face；　you　can　see　his　struggle　to　remain　emotionless；　but　his　blue　eyes　show　the　alarm　Iˇve　seen　so　often　in　prey。　Yet　he　climbs　steadily　onto　the　stage　and　takes　his　place。

Effie　Trinket　asks　for　volunteers；　but　no　one　steps　forward。　He　has　two　older　brothers；　I　know；　Iˇve　seen　them　in　the　bakery；　but　one　is　probably　too　old　now　to　volunteer　and　the　other　wonˇt。　This　is　standard。　Family　devotion　only　goes　so　far　for　most　people　on　reaping　day。　What　I　did　was　the　radical　thing。

The　mayor　begins　to　read　the　long；　dull　Treaty　of　Treason　as　he　does　every　year　at　this　point　�　itˇs　required　�　but　Iˇm　not　listening　to　a　word。

Why　him？　I　think。　Then　I　try　to　convince　myself　it　doesnˇt　matter。　Peeta　Mellark　and　I　are　not　friends。　Not　even　neighbors。　We　donˇt　speak。　Our　only　real　interaction　happened　years　ago。　Heˇs　probably　forgotten　it。　But　I　havenˇt　and　I　know　I　never　will。　。　。　。

It　was　during　the　worst　time。　My　father　had　been　killed　in　the　mine　accident　three　months　earlier　in　the　bitterest　January　anyone　could　remember。　The　numbness　of　his　loss　had　passed；　and　the　pain　would　hit　me　out　of　nowhere；　doubling　me　over；　racking　my　body　with　sobs。　Where　are　you？　I　would　cry　out　in　my　mind。　Where　have　you　gone？　Of　course；　there　was　never　any　answer。

The　district　had　given　us　a　small　amount　of　money　as　pensation　for　his　death；　enough　to　cover　one　month　of　grieving　at　which　time　my　mother　w