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¨And after that？〃 I ask。
¨Stay alive；〃 says Haymitch。 Itˇs the same advice he gave us on the train； but heˇs not drunk and laughing this time。 And we only nod。 What else is there to say？
When I head to my room； Peeta lingers to talk to Portia。 Iˇm glad。 Whatever strange words of parting we exchange can wait until tomorrow。 My covers are drawn back； but there is no sign of the redheaded Avox girl。 I wish I knew her name。 I should have asked it。 She could write it down maybe。 Or act it out。 But perhaps that would only result in punishment for her。
I take a shower and scrub the gold paint； the makeup； the scent of beauty from my body。 All that remains of the designteamˇs efforts are the flames on my nails。 I decide to keep them as reminder of who I am to the audience。 Katniss； the girl who was on fire。 Perhaps it will give me something to hold on to in the days to e。
I pull on a thick； fleecy nightgown and climb into bed。 It takes me about five seconds to realize Iˇll never fall asleep。 And I need sleep desperately because in the arena every moment I give in to fatigue will be an invitation to death。
Itˇs no good。 One hour； two； three pass； and my eyelids refuse to get heavy。 I canˇt stop trying to imagine exactly what terrain Iˇll be thrown into。 Desert？ Swamp？ A frigid wasteland？ Above all I am hoping for trees； which may afford me some means of concealment and food and shelter； Often there are trees because barren landscapes are dull and the Games resolve too quickly without them。 But what will the climate be like？ What traps have the Gamemakers hid den to liven up the slower moments？ And then there are my fellow tributes 。 。 。
The more anxious I am to find sleep； the more it eludes me。 Finally； I am too restless to even stay in bed。 I pace the floor； heart beating too fast； breathing too short。 My room feels like a prison cell。 If I donˇt get air soon； Iˇm going to start to throw things again。 I run down the hall to the door to the roof。 Itˇs not only unlocked but ajar。 Perhaps someone forgot to close it； but it doesnˇt matter。 The energy field enclosing the roof prevents any desperate form of escape。 And Iˇm not looking to escape； only to fill my lungs with air。 I want to see the sky and the moon on the last night that no one will be hunting me。
The roof is not lit at night； but as soon as my bare feel reach its tiled surface I see his silhouette； black against the lights that shine endlessly in the Capitol。 Thereˇs quite a motion going on down in the streets； music and singing and car horns； none of which I could hear through the thick glass window panels in my room。 I could slip away now； without him noticing me； he wouldnˇt hear me over the din； But the night airˇs so sweet； I canˇt bear returning to that stuffy cage of a room。 And what difference does it make？ Whether we speak or not？
My feet move soundlessly across the tiles。 Iˇm only yard behind him when I say； ¨You should be getting some sleep。〃
He starts but doesnˇt turn。 I can see him give his head a slight shake。 ¨I didnˇt want to miss the party。 Itˇs for us； after all。〃
I e up beside him and lean over the edge of the rail。 The wide streets are full of dancing people。 I squint to make out their tiny figures in more detail。 ¨Are they in costumes？〃
¨Who could tell？〃 Peeta answers。 ¨With all the crazy clothes they wear here。 Couldnˇt sleep； either？〃
¨Couldnˇt turn my mind off；〃 I say。
¨Thinking about your family？〃 he asks。
¨No；〃 I admit a bit guiltily。 ¨All I can do is wonder about tomorrow。 Which is pointless； of course。〃 In the light from below； I can see his face now； the awkward way he holds his bandaged hands。 ¨I really am sorry about your hands。〃
¨It doesnˇt matter； Katniss；〃 he says。 ¨Iˇve never been a contender in these Games anyway。〃
¨Thatˇs no way to be thinking；〃 I say。
¨Why not？ Itˇs true。 My best hope is to not disgrace myself and 。 。 。〃 He hesitates。
¨And what？〃 I say。
¨I donˇt know how to say it exactly。 Only 。 。 。 I want to die as myself。 Does that make any sense？〃 he asks。 I shake my head。 How could he die as anyone but himself？ ¨I donˇt want them to change me in there。 Turn me into some kind of monster that Iˇm not。〃
I bite my lip feeling inferior。 While Iˇve been ruminating on the availability of trees； Peeta has been struggling with how to maintain his identity。 His purity of self。 ¨Do you mean you wonˇt kill anyone？〃 I ask。
¨No； when the time es； Iˇm sure Iˇll kill just like everybody else。 I canˇt go down without a fight。 Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to 。 。 。 to show the Capitol they donˇt own me。 That Iˇm more than just a piece in their Games；〃 says Peeta。
¨But youˇre not；〃 I say。 ¨None of us are。 Thatˇs how the Games work。〃
¨Okay； but within that framework； thereˇs still you； thereˇs still me；〃 he insists。 ¨Donˇt you see？〃
¨A little。 Only 。 。 。 no offense； but who cares； Peeta？〃 I say。
¨I do。 I mean； what else am I allowed to care about at this point？〃 he asks angrily。 Heˇs locked those blue eyes on mine now； demanding an answer。
I take a step back。 ¨Care about what Haymitch said。 About staying alive。〃
Peeta smiles at me； sad and mocking。 ¨Okay。 Thanks for the tip； sweetheart。〃
Itˇs like a slap in the face。 His use of Haymitchˇs patronizing endearment。 ¨Look； if you want to spend the last hours of your life planning some noble death in the arena； thatˇs your choice。 I want to spend mine in District Twelve。〃
¨Wouldnˇt surprise me if you do；〃 says Peeta。 ¨Give my mother my best when you make it back； will you？〃
¨Count on it；〃 I say。 Then I turn and leave the roof。 I spend the rest of the night slipping in and out of a doze； imagining the cutting remarks I will make to Peeta Mellark in the morning。 Peeta Mellark。 We will see how high and mighty he is when he's faced with life and death。 He'll probably turn into one of those raging beast tributes； the kind who tries to eat someone's heart after they've killed them。 There was a guy like that a few years ago from District 6 called Titus。 He went pletely savage and the Gamemakers had to have him stunned with electric guns to collect the bodies of the players he'd killed before he ate them。 There are no rules in the arena； but cannibalism doesn't play well with the Capitol audience； so they tried to head it off。 There was some speculation that the avalanche that finally took Titus out was specifically engineered to ensure the victor was not a lunatic。
I don't see Peeta in the morning。 Cinna es to me before dawn； gives me a simple shift to wear； and guides me to the roof。 My final dressing and preparations will be alone in the catabs under the arena itself。 A hovercraft appears out of thin air； just like the one did in the woods the day I saw the redheaded Avox girl captured； and a ladder drops down。 I place my hands and feet on the lower rungs and instantly it's as if I'm frozen。 Some sort of current glues me to the ladder while I'm lifted safely inside。
I expect the ladder to release me then； but I'm still stuck when a woman in a white coat approaches me carrying a syringe。 〃This is just your tracker； Katniss。 The stiller you are； the more efficiently I can place it；〃 she says。
Still？ I'm a statue。 But that doesn't prevent me from feeling the sharp stab of pain as the needle inserts the metal tracking device deep under the skin on the inside of my forearm。 Now the Gamemakers will always be able to trace my whereabouts in the arena。 Wouldnˇt want to lose a tribute。
As soon as the trackerˇs in place； the ladder releases me。 The woman disappears and Cinna is retrieved from the roof； An Avox boy es in and directs us to a room where breakfast has been laid out。 Despite the tension in my stomach； I eat as much as I can； although none of the delectable food makes any impression on me。 Iˇm so nervous； I could be eating coal dust。 The one thing that distracts me at all is the view from the windows as we sail over the city and then to the wilderness beyond。 This is what birds see。 Only theyˇre free and safe。 The very opposite of me。
The ride lasts about half an hour before the windows black out； suggesting that weˇre nearing the arena。 The hovercraft la