Author: admin

I feel like I’m a big risk now to the plot to disable the arena, but I’m sure Beetee’s figured that out. I stay awake through three watches, thinking he might pay me another visit. Eventually, my eyelids get so heavy I wake Wyatt to take over. Our mentors let us sleep in late, and…

“You can’t say that!” Drusilla protests. “You’ll spoil the brilliant work I did covering up the riot!” “What riot? Woodbine ran and your people shot him.” “I know a riot when I see it! Never mind. That’s forbidden. It won’t win you any points with the audience anyway. They’ll respond to a bad boy, not…

“Egghead’s not so bad.” “It’s not a compliment. Anyway, I couldn’t get anywhere with them. They’re not big talkers.” Like my pa, I think. He was plenty smart, just didn’t feel the need to share every thought that traipsed through his brain. Nor did he much trust people who did. A lot of the miners…

“That’s a great comfort to me. Thank you.” He wipes his glasses and settles them firmly back in place. “So, do you know how to use explosives?” Oddly enough, I do a bit. We have classes in coal produc-tion. Dull as dust usually. But since we’re the future miners of Panem, they do show us…

“They’re peaceful.” “If they are, they’re outliers. All the birds I’ve encountered are vicious.” A dribble of bloody spittle leaks from Snow’s mouth. “Bet I know a thing or two about your dove.” “Like what?” “Like she’s delightful to look at, swishes around in bright colors, and sings like a mockingjay. You love her. And…

“Louella McCoy,” says Snow. “Ah, my bread.” He takes a big bite of a roll and grunts in approval. “Fresh. I think we’re done here, if you’d like to return our tributes to their accommodations. Louella, this is Plutarch.” “Hello, Plutarch.” “Hello.” He can’t stop staring at her. “She’s a good body double. We were…

Mags returns, troubled. “I put her to bed. There’s some sort of device attached to her chest, pumping a drug into her, I think. I was afraid to remove it. That might kill her. I’ve seen something similar before.” “Why did you ask if she was from Eleven?” says Maysilee. “The roll she chose. With…

And someone’s definitely rapping at my chamber door. Gently. I hear the turn of the knob, the brush of the wood against carpet. A figure comes around the door, holding something that emanates a thin beam of light. It’s a pair of boiled potatoes, connected to a pea-sized bulb. Beetee raises a finger to his…

Here’s to you, Louella. I tip open the eagle lid, down the milk, and wipe the moustache from my lip. Then I close the door, holding out the pitcher helplessly. “It’s empty.” Plutarch’s eyes widen in disbelief; he knows full well what I’ve done. I wait for him to rat me out. Instead, he murmurs…

It’s Maysilee who surprises me. Back home, she isn’t popular, she’s known. She’s not respected, she’s feared. Not deferred to, but avoided. Here, following Ampert’s lead, kids bring her their district trinkets and ask her to make them special, and she agrees. The girl must know fifty ways to braid, twist, and loop a cord…