I lean over and put my good ear to his lips, which tickle me as he whispers. "Remember, we're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me any time you like it.

You can swim, too." he says. "Where did you learn that in District Twelve?" "We have a very big bathtub.

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 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 his throat.

Let the Hunger Games Begin!

That was the one thing I had going for me. Taking care of your family.

And to us, we're more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us.

I go to the saltwater and wash off the blood, trying to decide which I hate more, pain or itching. Fed up, I stomp back onto the beach, turn my face upward and snap, "Hey, Haymitch, if you're not too drunk, we could use a little something for our skin." It's almost funny how quickly the parachute appears above me. I reach up and the tube lands squarely in my open hand. "About time" I say, but I can't keep the scowl on my face. Haymitch. What I wouldn't give for five minutes of conversation with him.