The Hunger Games

we’re allowed to go outside for some fresh air. There’s no longer any need to guard us. Peeta and I walk down along the track, hand in hand, and I can’t find anything to say now that we’re alone. He stops to gather a bunch of wildflowers for me. When he presents them, I work hard to look pleased. Because he can’t know that the pink-and-white flowers are the tops of wild onions and only remind me of the hours I’ve spent gathering them with Gale.
    Gale. The idea of seeing Gale in a matter of hours makes my stomach churn. But why? I can’t quite frame it in my mind. I only know that I feel like I’ve been lying to someone who trusts me. Or more accurately, to two people. I’ve been getting away with it up to this point because of the Games. But there will be no Games to hide behind back home.
    “What’s wrong?” Peeta asks.
    “Nothing,” I answer. We continue walking, past the end of the train, out where even I’m fairly sure there are no cameras hidden in the scrubby bushes along the track. Still no words come.
    Haymitch startles me when he lays a hand on my back. Even now, in the middle of nowhere, he keeps his voice down. “Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay.” I watch him head back to the train, avoiding Peeta’s eyes.
    “What’s he mean?” Peeta asks me.
    “It’s the Capitol. They didn’t like our stunt with the berries,” I blurt out.
    “What? What are you talking about?” he says.
    “It seemed too rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn’t make it worse,” I say.
    “Coaching you? But not me,” says Peeta.
    “He knew you were smart enough to get it right,” I say.
    “I didn’t know there was anything to get right,” says Peeta. “So, what you’re saying is, these last few days and then I guess . . . back in the arena . . . that was just some strategy you two worked out.”
    “No. I mean, I couldn’t even talk to him in the arena, could I?” I stammer.
    “But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn’t you?” says Peeta. I bite my lip. “Katniss?” He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance.
    “It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.”
    “Not all of it,” I say, tightly holding on to my flowers.
    “Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” he says.
    “I don’t know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get,” I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming.
    “Well, let me know when you work it out,” he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable.
    I know my ears are healed because, even with the rumble of the engine, I can hear every step he takes back to the train. By the time I’ve climbed aboard, Peeta has disappeared into his room for the night. I don’t see him the next morning, either. In fact, the next time he turns up, we’re pulling into District 12. He gives me a nod, his face expressionless.
    I want to tell him that he’s not being fair. That we were strangers. That I did what it took to stay alive, to keep us both alive in the arena. That I can’t explain how things are with Gale because I don’t know myself. That it’s no good loving me because I’m never going to get married anyway and he’d just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn’t matter because I’ll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we’ve just been through?
    I also want to tell him how much I already miss him. But that wouldn’t be fair on my part.
    So we just stand there silently, watching our grimy little station rise up around us. Through the window, I can see the platform’s thick with cameras. Everyone will be eagerly watching our homecoming.
    Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. “One more time? For the audience?” he says. His voice isn’t angry. It’s hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me.
    I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.
    END OF BOOK ONE

About the Author
    Suzanne Collins is the author of the bestselling Underland Chronicles series, which started with Gregor the Overlander . In The Hunger Games , she