suzanna-kollinz-acliq-oyunlari-1-hisse-eng

gin. But judging by the state he’s in, Haymitch will have no
memory of this tomorrow.
“All right,” I say. “I can send one of the Capitol people to
help you.” There’s any number on the train. Cooking lor us.
Waiting on us. Guarding us. Taking care of us is their job.
“No. I don’t want them,” says Peeta.
I nod and head to my own room. I understand how Peeta
feels. I can’t stand the sight of the Capitol people myself. But
making them deal with Haymitch might be a small form of revenge.
So I’m pondering the reason why he insists on taking
care of Haymitch and all of a sudden I think, It’s because he’s
being kind. Just as he was kind to give me the bread.
The idea pulls me up short. A kind Peeta Mellark is far more
dangerous to me than an unkind one. Kind people have a way
of working their way inside me and rooting there. And I can’t
let Peeta do this. Not where we’re going. So I decide, from this
moment on, to have as little as possible to do with the baker’s
son.
When I get back to my room, the train is pausing at a platform
to refuel. I quickly open the window, toss the cookies
Peeta’s father gave me out of the train, and slam the glass
shut. No more. No more of either of them.
Unfortunately, the packet of cookies hits the ground and
bursts open in a patch of dandelions by the track. I only see
the image for a moment, because the train is off again, but it’s
enough. Enough to remind me of that other dandelion in the
school yard years ago . . .
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