Want a sugar cube?" he asks in his old seductive voice.

I don't have a talent, unless you count hunting illegally, which they don't. Or maybe singing, which I wouldn't do for the Capitol in a million years. My mother tried to interest me in a variety of suitable alternatives from a list Effie Trinket sent her. Cooking, flower arranging, playing the flute. None of them took, although Prim had a knack for all three. Finally Cinna stepped in and offered to help me develop my passion for designing clothes, which really required development since it was non-existent.

You can tell by the way the girls whisper about him when he walks by in school that they want him. It makes me jealous but not for the reason people would think. Good hunting partners are hard to find.

I have zero interest in these Capitol people. They are only distractions from the food.

Something flickers across his bloodshot eyes. Pain.

Most rats read. Our frustration is, we cannot hold a pen to write.

Maybe I'd think that, too, Caesar," says Petta bitterly, "if it weren't for the baby." There. He's done it again.