Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. “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.
The berries. I realize the answer to who I am lies in that handful of poisonous fruit.
Did you get them all right?
Or she’s just the best friend you’ll ever have!