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"
Oh
,
please
,
"
I
say
,
laughing
.
"
No
,
it
happened
.
And
right
when
your
song
ended
,
I
knew
-
just
like
your
mother
-
I
was
a
goner
,
"
Peeta
says
.
"
Then
for
the
next
eleven
years
,
I
tried
to
work
up
the
nerve
to
talk
to
you
.
"
"
Without
success
,
"
I
add
.
"
Without
success
.
So
,
in
a
way
,
my
name
being
drawn
in
the
reaping
was
a
real
piece
of
luck
,
"
says
Peeta
.
For
a
moment
,
I
'm
almost
foolishly
happy
and
then
confusion
sweeps
over
me
.
Because
we
're
supposed
to
be
making
up
this
stuff
,
playing
at
being
in
love
not
actually
being
in
love
.
But
Peeta
's
story
has
a
ring
of
truth
to
it
.
That
part
about
my
father
and
the
birds
.
And
I
did
sing
the
first
day
of
school
,
although
I
do
n't
remember
the
song
.
And
that
red
plaid
dress
.
there
was
one
,
a
hand-me-down
to
Prim
that
got
washed
to
rags
after
my
father
's
death
.
It
would
explain
another
thing
,
too
.
Why
Peeta
took
a
beating
to
give
me
the
bread
on
that
awful
hollow
day
.
So
,
if
those
details
are
true
.
could
it
all
be
true
?
"
You
have
a.
remarkable
memory
,
"
I
say
haltingly
.
"
I
remember
everything
about
you
,
"
says
Peeta
,
tucking
a
loose
strand
of
hair
behind
my
ear
"
You
're
the
one
who
was
n't
paying
attention
.
"
"
I
am
now
,
"
I
say
.
