【饥饿游戏】10

I stared at the loaves in disbelief. They were fine, perfect
really, except for the burned areas. Did he mean for me to
have them? He must have. Because there they were at my feet.
Before anyone could witness what had happened I shoved the
loaves up under my shirt, wrapped the hunting jacket tightly
about me, and walked swiftly away. The heat of the bread
burned into my skin, but I clutched it tighter, clinging to life.
By the time I reached home, the loaves had cooled somewhat,
but the insides were still warm. When I dropped them
on the table, Prim 1’s hands reached to tear off a chunk 2, but I
made her sit, forced my mother to join us at the table, and
poured warm tea. I scraped off the black stuff and sliced the
bread. We ate an entire loaf, slice by slice. It was good hearty 3
bread, filled with raisins 4 and nuts.
I put my clothes to dry at the fire, crawled into bed, and fell
into a dreamless sleep. It didn’t occur to me until the next
morning that the boy might have burned the bread on purpose.
Might have dropped the loaves into the flames, knowing
it meant being punished, and then delivered them to me. But I
dismissed this. It must have been an accident. Why would he
have done it? He didn’t even know me. Still, just throwing me
the bread was an enormous kindness that would have surely
resulted in a beating if discovered. 1 couldn’t explain his actions.
We ate slices of bread for breakfast and headed to school. It
was as if spring had come overnight. Warm sweet air. Fluffy 5
clouds. At school, I passed the boy in the hall, his cheek had
swelled 6 up and his eye had blackened. He was with his friends
and didn’t acknowledge me in any way. But as I collected Prim
and started for home that afternoon, I found him staring at me
from across the school yard. Our eyes met for only a second,
then he turned his head away. I dropped my gaze, embarrassed,
and that’s when I saw it. The first dandelion of the
year. A bell went off in my head. I thought of the hours spent
in the woods with my father and I knew how we were going to
survive.
To this day, I can never shake the connection between this
boy, Peeta Mellark, and the bread that gave me hope, and the
dandelion that reminded me that I was not doomed 7. And more
than once, I have turned in the school hallway and caught his
eyes trained on me, only to quickly flit away. I feel like I owe
him something, and I hate owing people. Maybe if I had
thanked him at some point, I’d be feeling less conflicted now. 
I thought about it a couple of times, but the opportunity never
seemed to present itself. And now it never will. Because we’re
going to be thrown into an arena 8 to fight to the death. Exactly
how am I supposed to work in a thank-you in there? 
Somehow it just won’t seem sincere if I’m trying to slit 9 his 
throat. The mayor finishes the dreary 10 Treaty of Treason and 
motions for Peeta and me to shake hands. His are as solid and
warm as those loaves of bread. Peeta looks me right in the eye
and gives my hand what I think is meant to be a reassuring 11
squeeze. Maybe it’s just a nervous spasm 12.
We turn back to face the crowd as the anthem 13 of Panem
plays. Oh, well, I think. There will be twenty-four of us. 
Odds 14 are someone else will kill him before I do.
Of course, the odds have not been very dependable of late.