“I have kept track of the boy with the bread.”

“It's weird, how much he's noticed me. Like the attention he's paid to my hunting. And apparently, I have not been as oblivious to him as I imagined, either. The flour. The wrestling. I have kept track of the boy with the bread.”

“I hear Peeta's voice in my head. She has no idea. The effect she can have.Obviously meant to demean me. Right? But a tiny part of me wonders if this was a compliment. That he meant I was appealing in some way. It's weird, how much he's noticed me. Like the attention he's paid to my hunting. And apparently, I have not been as oblivious to him as I imagined, either. The flour. The wrestling. I have kept track of the boy with the bread.”

“I don't want to lose the boy with the bread.”

“And it's not just that I don't want to be alone. It's him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread.”

“Sometimes when I'm alone, I take the pearl from where it lives in my pocket and try to remember the boy with the bread, the strong arms that warded off nightmares on the train, the kisses in the arena.”

“One more time? For the audience?" he says. His voice isn't angry. It's hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me.I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.”