“It was all for the Games, ” Peeta says. “How you acted.”

“Not all of it, ” I say, tightly holding onto my flowers.

“Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” he says.

“I don’t know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get, ” I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming.

“Well, let me know when you work it out, ” he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable.