The Hunger Pains Read Online Free PDF

says.
    “Yeah. Wasn’t everybody?” I say.
    Pita shakes his head. “I didn’t get naked,” he says. In the hallway, a few other tributes shake their heads as well.
    A couple guards walk in and push us into the front of the child stable, from which we’ll enter the stadium for the Opening Ceremony. Attached to a chariot stand two massive horses. I’ve never seen a horse up close before. They’re extremely rare in the woods of District 12, and I’ve been dying to hunt one since I was a little girl.
    One by one, the different tribute pairs will emerge from the child stable onto the stadium floor. Tributes will ride their chariots toward the center of the stadium, where a large stage awaits.
    The first tributes to ride out are from District 1. District 1 is known as the champions district. Whereas my district specializes in telemarketing, District 1 specializes in breeding kids to dominate the Hunger Games. These kids are big, strong, and ruthless. They ride out wearing varsity letter jackets and drinking Red Bull.
    District 2 is next. District 2 is the ultimate fighting district, and it’s home to some vicious kids. Its tributes are wearing basketball shorts, tattoos, and mohawks. Even in the chariot, they’re kicking and punching each other, entertaining the audience as they inflict pain. Like District 1 tributes, tributes from the ultimate fighting district usually do very well in the Hunger Games.
    The districts roll by, too many for me to possibly count. I catch the girl tribute from District 7, the district attorney district, staring at me contemptuously. I can tell that beneath her pantsuit there is a fierce rage directed straight at me, although I have no idea why. Maybe it’s my killer costume that’s setting her off.
    The next pair is from District 8, the red light district. I’m not sure what they make there, but their tributes are dressed very provocatively.
    Later comes District 10, the theater district, and as usual both tributes are boys.
    By counting my fingers and toes, I conclude that our turn is coming up. Pita and I mount our chariot. As we move into view of the crowd, and the millions of viewers across Peaceland, I feel sick with nervousness. Man, I hope they like my outfit.
    “Boooo! Boooo!” the crowd screams in an obvious nod to my ghost costume. On the Jumbotron, Cinnabon’s face appears. The crowd stops booing and goes absolutely wild. Cinnabon is one of the most popular stylists, and everything he’s associated with is a hit. My white sheet is no exception.Even though Cinnabon is burying his head in his hands, I know that he’s proud of us. The crowd chants his name.
    Our chariot comes to a stop at the broad semicircle formed by all the tributes. Taken together, the costumes are truly magnificent. Pita and I are the capstone: telephone and ghost. President Mark Bernette appears at the podium and the crowd erupts in applause. He raises a hand to indicate that he’d like the crowd to quiet down. Immediately, there is silence. No farts.

  
    G ood afternoon,” bellows President Bernette. “Welcome to the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games.”
    As I process that statement, I realize its magnitude: I am one of a long line of telemarketing district tributes. I am being welcomed. And there have been at least fifty Hunger Games before this one.
    President Bernette grips the podium firmly with both hands. He is a good-looking man, with a wide forehead, flowing brown hair, and a dashing smile that he never flashes. He wears a black suit with a black dress shirt underneath. His boxers, I’ve been told, are also black. When I look at him the only color I find is in his rosy cheeks.
    He continues. “We know there are three keys to a healthy society: having elected leaders, promoting separation of powers, and making children fight to the death on national TV.”
    The crowd roars in agreement. Pita claps also. I don’t blame him. He’s simply distracted by the bagel he’s pulled from his pocket,