“Not only are we in the districts forced to remember the iron grip of the Capitol’s power each year, we are forced to celebrate it. And this year, I am one of the stars of the show. I will have to travel from district to district, to stand before the cheering crowds who secretly loathe me, to look down into the faces of the families whose children I have killed.”
Not that Haymitch and Effie are fighting anymore. Instead they seem to be of one mind, determined to whip us into shape.
We sit for a while in silence. “It’d would be bad for you in the arena, wouldn’t it? Knowing all the others?” I ask.
“Oh, I think we can count on it being unbearable wherever I am.” He nods at the bottle. “Can I have that back now?”
“Even in the arena, you two had some sort of system worked out, didn’t you?” asks Peeta. His voice is quieter now. “Something I wasn’t a part of.”
“No. Not officially. I just could tell what Haymitch wanted me to do by what he sent, or didn’t sent,” I say.
“Well, I never had that opportunity. Because he never sent me anything until you showed up.” says Peeta.
I haven’t thought much about this. How it must have looked from Peeta’s perspective when I appeared in the arena having received burned medicine and bread when he, who was at death’s door, had gotten nothing.
