I’ve just reached the door when his voice stops me. “Katniss. I remember about the bread.”
The bread. Our one moment of real connection before the Hunger Games.
“They showed you the tape of me talking about it,” I say.
“No. Is there a tape of you talking about it? Why didn’t the Capitol use it against me?” he asks.
“I made it the day you were rescued,” I answer. The pain in my chest wraps around my ribs like a vise. The dancing was a mistake. “So what do you remember?”
“You. In the rain,” he says softly. “Digging in our rubbish bins. Burning the bread. My mother hitting me. Taking the bread out for the pig but then giving it to you instead.”
‘That’s it. That’s what happened,” I say. “The next day, after school, I wanted to thank you. But I didn’t know how.”
“We were outside at the end of the day. I tried to catch your eye. You looked away. And then… for some reason, I think you picked a dandelion.” I nod. He does remember. I have never spoken about that moment aloud. “I must have loved you a lot.”