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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 didnˇt even know me。 Still; just throwing me the bread was an enormous kindness that would have surely resulted in a beating if discovered。 1 couldnˇt explain his actions。
We ate slices of bread for breakfast and headed to school。 It was as if spring had e overnight。 Warm sweet air。 Fluffy clouds。 At school; I passed the boy in the hall; his cheek had swelled up and his eye had blackened。 He was with his friends and didnˇt 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 thatˇs 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。 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; Iˇd 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 weˇre 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 j