Chapter Ten

"No, stop, no!" Peetal screams. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers!"

I bolt up. I had been carefully making a grass tower, idling away. In my haste to get to Peetal I accidentally knock it over. Shoot!

"Peetal?" I call, pushing aside branches as I walk through the woods. He had been going to find food. How hard could it be?

"STAY AWAY—you're too close!" Peetal hollers, and I walk around a willow to see him crouched in a martial-arts pose, trying to fend off the man standing before him with a megaphone. The man steps forward, and Peetal leaps forward, screaming.

"Chill, kid!" the man says, sticking the big end of his microphone over Peetal's head. He turns to me.

"I'm supposed to tell you that there's a feast in the arena," the guy coughs. "You have something on your nose."

I reach up to my nose to feel the hard concoction of glue, crunched leaves, and sap I used as a makeshift blackhead cleanser. My mother made some for me back at home, and I wasn't sure if I got the recipe exactly right, but since my nose was kinda burning I figured it must be working pretty well.

"Oh!" I say, and turn away, trying to pull it off. Problem is, it wouldn't budge. "Um, well, thanks! Bye!"

We always have our announcers come into the arena to personally tell us about feasts and to kick off the start of the Games. This rule was made because many of the female tributes (and a couple of the males as well) though our former announcer was 'super-cute,' and they pushed for the Games to be more Capitol-interactive. But this time, our announcer was ugly so it didn't really matter anyways.

Peetal grows at the announcer as he removed his megaphone from Peetal's head and walks off into the woods. I keep attempting to try to remove my blackhead cleanser. It sure worked its magic—it feels like it's pulling blackheads out of my nose that haven't even formed yet.

Peetal relaxes his martial arts position and turns around to face me. Suddenly he screams. "Ah! What's that on your face?" he shrieks.

"What? Where?" I tap my forehead and cheeks.

"On your nose!" he cries.

"Oh!" I say. "That's my blackhead remover." I tear off a corner of my homemade gunk, along with about five layers of skin. "Youch."

Peetal cringes.

"Hey! Let's go get some food at the feast!" I suggest.

We collect our gear from where we slept that night and start hiking for the Cornucopia. On the way there, I find a few good sticks to try and pry my blackhead gunk off. None of them work. In fact, they snap under the pressure. Meanwhile, Peetal talks my ear off about this new book series that apparently Cinna introduced him too—it's called Daylight or something.

"Cinna took me up on the roof one night," he tells me. "And gave me these four pretty black books, and told me I would just LOVE them. And I do, Katnit! I do!"

When we arrive at the Cornucopia, Cattle is just sending off two tributes with a bundle of food. "Good luck!" he calls. "Enjoy the food!" Cattle stands at a table piled high with food. He smiles at us as we approach. I think he must've decided for forgive me for escaping him that one time that he captured me. What a nice boy he is.

Peetal is still talking about his books. "I'm Team Edward, Katnit! Which team are you on?"

"Um… I don't know," I say absentmindedly, coming up to the table and looking over the food.

"What?" Peetal yelps, and I receive a puffy tap on the head from his corn husk doll. "You have to be on a team! I'm Team Edward."

I pick up a loaf of bread and glance up at Cattle, wanting to make sure it's okay that I take it. I mean, I don't want to be rude. With my other hand, I inconspicuously hide my nose from him. "Do you mind if I ta—" I begin.

But Cattle has stopped dead, staring at Peetal. Peetal notices and cowers under his gaze.

"What?" he Cattle says quietly. "Say that again."

"What?" Peetal says. "I can't remember what I said!"

"He said he was Team Edward!" I say impatiently. "Mind if I have this, Cattle?"

Cattle stands, simply pushes me and the table aside, and steps up to Peetal. Then he gives a giggle and punches Peetal. It's a playful punch, but Peetal still falls over.

"Nuh-UH!" Cattle cries. "Jacob is better!"

Peetal leaps up. "Nuh-UH!"

"Fine," Cattle says. "Look, there's only one way to decide who's really the best. Here's what we'll do. We're going to have..." He pauses. "A violent, bloody… verbal battle."

Peetal puffs out his chest and sticks out his hand. "I accept," he says proudly.

Cattle pulls out a whistle and black-and-white striped shirt out of his backpack and tosses it to me. "Put this on," he tells me brusquely. "You're starting us off."

I put it on backwards so that the word 'REF' on the back is visible. "Are you guys ready?" I say, as Cattle and Peetal positions themselves on the ground, cross-legged and facing each other. Cattle warms up with some voice exercises.

"Yes," Peetal says delicately.

"BRING IT!" Cattle roars.

I blow my whistle, and they begin.

"You may go first," Cattle allows.

"Excellent," Peetal says. "First of all, I'm Team Edward because he matches with Bella according to height—their hair matches too, and they have a certain deep connection that can't be matched by any—"

"Jacob's 100 times better," Cattle snorts.

"Edward's 200 times better," Peetal shoots back.

"Jacob's ONE MILLION times better."

"Edward's fifty pa-jillion times better!"

"Jacob's better times infinity!"

"Dang it!" Peetal shrieks. "Katnit, what's higher than infinity?"

I think. "Um… infinity plus one?"

"INFINITY PLUS ONE!" Peetal cries triumphantly.

"INFINITY PLUS INFINITY!" Cattle screams, and pumps his fist. "Blow the whistle, Katnit! I clearly won!"

Peetal leaps up. "No you didn't!" He aims a kick at Cattle's stomach, but Cattle lifts up his can of hot cocoa from the feast table and Peetal kicks it instead. Then Cattle pokes Peetal in the forehead with a pudgy finger, who promptly falls over.

I rush forward, tweeting my whistle. "Verbal fight!" I call. "This is a verbal fight!" But Cattle has drawn his sword and stands over Peetal, laughing. He brings the sword down on Peetal's leg.

Peetal screams in pain. Then he passes out.

I run forward, blowing my whistle furiously at Cato. "You!" Tweet. "Meanie!" Tweet. "He's got!" Tweet. "Sensitive skin!"

Cattle turns to me, raising his sword. Then suddenly he drops his sword and grabs at his calf, swatting a bee off.

"Oh, geez!" he says, batting at the bee and hopping away. "I'm allergic!" He ducks and jumps and does a couple of dive rolls to avoid the bee. Finally, he disappears into the forest, still swatting and leaping and yelping whenever the bee tries to land on him. "Ah! Ooh! Allergic! Where's my EpiPen?"

The moment Cattle disappears I drop down next to Peetal, and dig around in my pack until I find a can of chicken noodle soup I snuck into the bag when Cattle was preparing for the verbal battle. My mother said that chicken noodle soup always made people feel better, and I hoped she was right. So I used my teeth to stab a few holes in the top, and then let it leak onto Peetal's leg, and onto the gash Cattle's sword left in the pants. I would have taken Peetal's pants right off to get a good look at his wound, but he was wearing skinny jeans and I didn't think I had that kind of skill. So I just poured the soup on the fabric gash so it would soak into whatever damage Cattle did with his sword.

Halfway through the can of soup, pus starts running out of the gash in his pants. I allow myself a shiver, a shudder, and a "Disgusting!" before returning to pouring the soup.

I've just finished pouring the soup on Peetal's pants when he stirs. Immediately, I fling my can aside and kneel at his head. "Peetal!" I say, slapping his face lightly. "Peetal!"

He stirs. "Come to finish off my Fruit Gushers, cutie-patootie?" he mumbles blearily. He reaches a hand down to the gash in his pants, feeling the damage.

"Oh, no!" he says, trying to sit up. He pulls a smushed pack of Fruit Gushers from his pants. The bag has been split open and a few crushed Gushers spill out, oozing the gooey stuff inside.

"Oh!" I say "That's the pus!"

"No," Peetal says. "Those are my Fruit Gushers!"

"Wait!" I say. "Peetal, are you even hurt?"

Peetal sits up, and swings his arms around and wiggles his toes. "Um, no. Well, yes. Very hurt that Cattle pushed me over. But other than that, I think I'm fine."

This is when it starts to rain. Peetal and I pull our gear and the food from the feast table into the Cornucopia to wait out the storm. Peetal's still mourning the loss of his Fruit Gushers, but at least Cattle didn't give him a scratch.

I make a huge meal out of all the food from the feast and lay it out. Peetal whines for something to drink, so I pour some hot cocoa mix into my hand, stick it out into the downpour to turn it into hot—I mean, cold—chocolate, then quick dump it in Peetal's open mouth. Then I shove a bag of dried fruit at him and tell him that's his dessert, because I hate dried fruit. Then I discreetly open a bag of chocolate in my lap and sneak it when Peetal's not looking.

"Katnit?" Peetal asks, digging through the fruit bag. "When will it stop raining?"

"I don't know, Peetal."

"Katnit?" Peetal asks, five minutes later. "How do you spell 'appendix?'

"A-P-P-E-N-D-I-C-K-S, Peetal."

"Katnit?" Peetal asks again. "When's breakfast?"

"In the morning, Peetal! Now shut up and eat your pears."