One slip. One slip in thousands. The odds had been entirely in her favor. But it hadn't mattered.

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.

I'm relieved Peeta's alive. I tell myself again that if I get killed, his winnings will benefit my mother and Prim the most. This is what I tell myself to explain the conflicting emotions that arise when I think of Peeta. The gratitude that he game an edge by professing his love for me in the interview. The anger at his superiority on the roof. The dread that we may come face-to-face at any moment in this arena.

Haymitch in my head full-time. Horrifying

Scores only matter if they’re very good, no one pays much attention to the bad or mediocre ones.

My name is Katniss Everdeen. Why am I not dead? I should be dead.

Katniss, got that spile?" Finnick asks, snapping me back to reality.