In the deepening twilight, the firelight illuminates

our faces. We seem to be leaving a trail of fire off the flowing

capes. Cinna was right about the minimal makeup, we both

look more attractive but utterly recognizable.

Remember, heads high. Smiles. They’re going to love you! I

hear Cinna’s voice in my head. I lift my chin a bit higher, put

on my most winning smile, and wave with my free hand. I’m

glad now I have Peeta to clutch for balance, he is so steady,

solid as a rock. As I gain confidence, I actually blow a few

kisses to the crowd. The people of the Capitol are going nuts,

showering us with flowers, shouting our names, our first

names, which they have bothered to find on the program.

The pounding music, the cheers, the admiration work their

way into my blood, and I can’t suppress my excitement. Cinna

has given me a great advantage. No one will forget me. Not my

look, not my name. Katniss. The girl who was on fire.

For the first time, I feel a flicker of hope rising up in me.

Surely, there must be one sponsor willing to take me on! And

with a little extra help, some food, the right weapon, why

should I count myself out of the Games?

Someone throws me a red rose. I catch it, give it a delicate

sniff, and blow a kiss back in the general direction of the giver.

A hundred hands reach up to catch my kiss, as if it were a real

and tangible thing.

“Katniss! Katniss!” I can hear my name being called from all

sides. Everyone wants my kisses.

It’s not until we enter the City Circle that I realize I must

have completely stopped the circulation in Peeta’s hand.

That’s how tightly I’ve been holding it. I look down at our

linked fingers as I loosen my grasp, but he regains his grip on

me. “No, don’t let go of me,” he says. The firelight flickers off

his blue eyes. “Please. I might fall out of this thing.”

“Okay,” I say. So I keep holding on, but I can’t help feeling

strange about the way Cinna has linked us together. It’s not

really fair to present us as a team and then lock us into the

arena to kill each other.

The twelve chariots fill the loop of the City Circle. On the

buildings that surround the Circle, every window is packed

with the most prestigious citizens of the Capitol. Our horses

pull our chariot right up to President Snow’s mansion, and we

come to a halt. The music ends with a flourish.

The president, a small, thin man with paper-white hair,

gives the official welcome from a balcony above us. It is 

traditional to cut away to the faces of the tributes during the

speech. But I can see on the screen that we are getting way

more than our share of airtime. The darker it becomes, the

more difficult it is to take your eyes off our flickering. When

the national anthem plays, they do make an effort to do a

quick cut around to each pair of tributes, but the camera holds

on the District 12 chariot as it parades around the circle one

final time and disappears into the Training Center.

The doors have only just shut behind us when we’re engulfed

by the prep teams, who are nearly unintelligible as they

babble out praise. As I glance around, I notice a lot of the other

tributes are shooting us dirty looks, which confirms what I’ve

suspected, we’ve literally outshone them all. Then Cinna and

Portia are there, helping us down from the chariot, carefully

removing our flaming capes and headdresses. Portia extinguishes

them with some kind of spray from a canister.

I realize I’m still glued to Peeta and force my stiff fingers to

open. We both massage our hands.

“Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky

there,” says Peeta.

“It didn’t show,” I tell him. “I’m sure no one noticed.”

“I’m sure they didn’t notice anything but you. You should

wear flames more often,” he says. “They suit you.” And then he

gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the

right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes

through me.

A warning bell goes off in my head. Don’t be so stupid. Peeta

is planning how to kill you, I remind myself. He is luring you in

to make you easy prey. The more likable he is, the more deadly

he is.

But because two can play at this game, I stand on tiptoe and

kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.