The Hunger Games

they drifted off, the goat licked her cheek, like it was giving her a good night kiss or something,” I say. “It was already mad about her.”
    “Was it still wearing the pink ribbon?” he asks.
    “I think so,” I say. “Why?”
    “I’m just trying to get a picture,” he says thoughtfully. “I can see why that day made you happy.”
    “Well, I knew that goat would be a little gold mine,” I say.
    “Yes, of course I was referring to that, not the lasting joy you gave the sister you love so much you took her place in the reaping,” says Peeta drily.
    “The goat has paid for itself. Several times over,” I say in a superior tone.
    “Well, it wouldn’t dare do anything else after you saved its life,” says Peeta. “I intend to do the same thing.”
    “Really? What did you cost me again?” I ask.
    “A lot of trouble. Don’t worry. You’ll get it all back,” he says.
    “You’re not making sense,” I say. I test his forehead. The fever’s going nowhere but up. “You’re a little cooler though.”
    The sound of the trumpets startles me. I’m on my feet and at the mouth of the cave in a flash, not wanting to miss a syllable. It’s my new best friend, Claudius Templesmith, and as I expected, he’s inviting us to a feast. Well, we’re not that hungry and I actually wave his offer away in indifference when he says, “Now hold on. Some of you may already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately.”
    I do need something desperately. Something to heal Peeta’s leg.
    “Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance,” says Claudius.
    There’s nothing else, just his words hanging in the air. I jump as Peeta grips my shoulder from behind. “No,” he says. “You’re not risking your life for me.”
    “Who said I was?” I say.
    “So, you’re not going?” he asks.
    “Of course, I’m not going. Give me some credit. Do you think I’m running straight into some free-for-all against Cato and Clove and Thresh? Don’t be stupid,” I say, helping him back to bed. “I’ll let them fight it out, we’ll see who’s in the sky tomorrow night and work out a plan from there.”
    “You’re such a bad liar, Katniss. I don’t know how you’ve survived this long.” He begins to mimic me. “ I knew that goat would be a little gold mine. You’re a little cooler though. Of course, I’m not going .” He shakes his head. “Never gamble at cards. You’ll lose your last coin,” he says.
    Anger flushes my face. “All right, I am going, and you can’t stop me!”
    “I can follow you. At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I’m yelling your name, I bet someone can find me. And then I’ll be dead for sure,” he says.
    “You won’t get a hundred yards from here on that leg,” I say.
    “Then I’ll drag myself,” says Peeta. “You go and I’m going, too.”
    He’s just stubborn enough and maybe just strong enough to do it. Come howling after me in the woods. Even if a tribute doesn’t find him, something else might. He can’t defend himself. I’d probably have to wall him up in the cave just to go myself. And who knows what the exertion will do to him?
    “What am I supposed to do? Sit here and watch you die?” I say. He must know that’s not an option. That the audience would hate me. And frankly, I would hate myself, too, if I didn’t even try.
    “I won’t die. I promise. If you promise not to go,” he says.
    We’re at something of a stalemate. I know I can’t argue him out of this one, so I don’t try. I pretend, reluctantly, to go along. “Then you have to do what I say. Drink your water, wake me when I tell you, and eat every bite of the soup no matter how disgusting it is!” I snap at him.
    “Agreed. Is it ready?” he asks.
    “Wait here,” I say. The air’s gone cold even though the sun’s still up. I’m right about the Gamemakers messing with the temperature. I wonder if the thing someone needs desperately is a good blanket. The soup is still nice and warm in its iron pot. And actually doesn’t taste too bad.
    Peeta eats without complaint, even scraping out the pot to show his enthusiasm. He rambles on about how delicious it is, which should be encouraging if you don’t know what fever does to people. He’s like listening to