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I’m not really sure how to ramp up the romance. The kiss
last night was nice, but working up to another will take some
forethought. There are girls in the Seam, some of the merchant
girls, too, who navigate these waters so easily. But I’ve
never had much time or use for it. Anyway, just a kiss isn’t
enough anymore clearly because if it was we’d have gotten
food last night. My instincts tell me Haymitch isn’t just looking
for physical affection, he wants something more personal. The
sort of stuff he was trying to get me to tell about myself when
we were practicing for the interview. I’m rotten at it, but Peeta’s
not. Maybe the best approach is to get him talking.
“Peeta,” I say lightly. “You said at the interview you’d had a
crush on me forever. When did forever start?”
“Oh, let’s see. I guess the first day of school. We were five.
You had on a red plaid dress and your hair . . . it was in two
braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we
were waiting to line up,” Peeta says.
“Your father? Why?” I ask.
“He said, ‘See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother,
but she ran off with a coal miner,’” Peeta says.
“What? You’re making that up!” I exclaim.
“No, true story,” Peeta says. “And I said, ‘A coal miner? Why
did she want a coal miner if she could’ve had you?’ And he
said, ‘Because when he sings . . . even the birds stop to listen.’”
“That’s true. They do. I mean, they did,” I say. I’m stunned
and surprisingly moved, thinking of the baker telling this to
Peeta. It strikes me that my own reluctance to sing, my own
dismissal of music might not really be that I think it’s a waste
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