第102章

  the rich food made me sick and i
  wasn’t even starving then.”
  “you’re right. and i could just inhale the whole thing!” i say
  regretfully. but i don’t. we are quite sensible. we each have a
  roll, half an apple, and an egg-size serving of stew and rice. i
  make myself eat the stew in tiny spoonfuls — they even sent
  us silverware and plates — savoring each bite. when we
  finish, i stare longingly at the dish. “i want more.”
  “me, too. tell you what. we wait an hour, if it stays down,
  then we get another serving,” peeta says.
  “agreed,” i say. “it’s going to be a long hour.”
  “maybe not that long,” says peeta. “what was that you were
  saying just before the food arrived? something about me . . .
  no competition . . . best thing that ever happened to you . . .”
  “i don’t remember that last part,” i say, hoping it’s too dim
  in here for the cameras to pick up my blush.
  “oh, that’s right. that’s what i was thinking,” he says. “scoot
  over, i’m freezing.”
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  i make room for him in the sleeping bag. we lean back
  against the cave wall, my head on his shoulder, his arms
  wrapped around me. i can feel haymitch nudging me to keep
  up the act. “so, since we were five, you never even noticed any
  other girls?” i ask him.
  “no, i noticed just about every girl, but none of them made
  a lasting impression but you,” he says.
  “i’m sure that would thrill your parents, you liking a girl
  from the seam,” i say.
  “hardly. but i couldn’t care less. anyway, if we make it
  back, you won’t be a girl from the seam, you’ll be a girl from
  the victor’s village,” he says.
  that’s right. if we win, we’ll each get a house in the part of
  town reserved for hunger games’ victors. long ago, when the
  games began, the capitol had built a dozen fine houses in each
  district. of course, in ours only one is occupied. most of the
  others have never been lived in at all.
  a disturbing thought hits me. “but then, our only neighbor
  will be haymitch!”
  “ah, that’ll be nice,” says peeta, tightening his arms around
  me. “you and me and haymitch. very cozy. picnics, birthdays,
  long winter nights around the fire retelling old hunger games’
  tales.”
  “i told you, he hates me!” i say, but i can’t help laughing at
  the image of haymitch becoming my new pal.
  “only sometimes. when he’s sober, i’ve never heard him
  say one negative thing about you,” says peeta.
  “he’s never sober!” i protest.
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  “that’s right. who am i thinking of? oh, i know. it’s cinna
  who likes you. but that’s mainly because you didn’t try to run
  when he set you on fire,” says peeta. “on the other hand,
  haymitch . . . well, if i were you, i’d avoid haymitch complete-
  ly. he hates you.”
  “i thought you said i was his favorite,” i say.
  “he hates me more,” says peeta. “i don’t think people in
  general are his sort of thing.”
  i know the audience will enjoy our having fun at hay-
  mitch’s expense. he has been around so long, he’s practically
  an old friend to some of them. and after his head-dive off the
  stage at the reaping, everybody knows him. by this time,
  they’ll have dragged him out of the control room for inter-
  views about us. no telling what sort of lies he’s made up. he’s
  at something of a disadvantage because most mentors have a
  partner, another victor to help them whereas haymitch has to
  be ready to go into action at any moment. kind of like me
  when i was alone in the arena. i wonder how he’s holding up,
  with the drinking, the attention, and the stress of trying to
  keep us alive.
  it’s funny. haymitch and i don’t get along well in person,
  but maybe peeta is right about us being alike because he
  seems able to communicate with me by the timing of his gifts.
  like how i knew i must be close to water when he withheld it
  and how i knew the sleep syrup just wasn’t something to ease
  peeta’s pain and how i know now that i have to play up the
  romance. he hasn’t made much effort to connect with peeta
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  really. perhaps he thinks a bowl of broth would just be a bowl
  of broth to peeta, whereas i’ll see the strings attached to it.
  a thought hits me, and i’m amazed the question’s taken so
  long to surface. maybe it’s because i’ve only recently begun to
  view haymitch with a degree of curiosity. “how do you think
  he did it?”