I can still do this

chapter 7

Haymitch finds us like that in the morning - afternoon, really, because he's hungover as all hell. That doesn't stop him from being loudly and abrasive as usual, though. I wake up when Haymitch shoves Cato's shoulder, jostling me. We both jerk awake at the same time, hands tightening on each other. For a second, I panic, and then it registers that I'm looking at Haymitch's tired, angry face.

"Oh. Hi, Haymitch," I say, doing my very best to sound calm.

"The hell are you doing?" he demands, taking a swig of beer.

"Me? What about you, you're the one drinking before lunch," I point out. I'm not sure if he's scared or just quiet, but Cato doesn't say or do anything.

Haymitch points at me sternly. "This is to help me wake up. Don't turn this around. Now come on, what's going on here? Is this what kids do these days?"

"We didn't do anything," Cato speaks up, then adds respectfully, "sir." He almost sounds scared of Haymitch, which I don't understand.

"Not talking to you," he swings his finger over to Cato, then points back to me. "Explain yourself."

"I don't have to do a damn thing," I say stubbornly.

He looks at me for a second, takes another drink. "Alright," he nods. "Okay. Whatever you need." He sounds remarkably serious and sober, and the way he looks at me couldn't be more sympathetic and understanding. For the first time since coming out of the arena, I realize that he's been through this, this exactly, except he didn't have someone that came out of there with him.

By the time I work through that in my head, he's walking away. "Wait, Haymitch," I say quickly. He turns back to look at me. "I need your advice," I tell him.

His lips twitch up into a smile, which he quickly corrects into a frown. "Sure you do." He comes back and leans against the other side of the window frame, then looks at me kindly. "What is it?"

"We need a plan."

"We? You and me, or you two," he says suspiciously, motioning at Cato and me.

"Us two. We don't have a believable story about why we didn't kill each other. We faked it through the interview yesterday, but we need a better answer."

Haymitch sucks in his cheeks and looks at the two of us for a second. "Okay. Well, like I said, you've gotta give them something to root for. You actually laid a good foundation for that," he admitted, nodding at Cato. "With the 'respect each other' thing, and that 'right now'. That was good, nice work."

"You're welcome?" Cato says, unsure.

"Eh," Haymitch grunts, taking another drink of beer.

"So we're going to be like, best friends or something? Is that's what's going on?" I ask.

Haymitch snorts. "No. Not even a little bit. They don't root for friends."

"You've got to be kidding," Cato says flatly.

"Nope. You two are falling in love," Haymitch states.

I am horrified. "Absolutely not," I say, just as Cato says,

"No."

Haymitch shrugs. "Fine. Suit yourselves. But that's my advice." He looks at both of us again. "And you two get along, at least. Think about it. I'm giving you a way to survive here, and you're not even going to think about it? C'mon, Katniss, use that brain."

"But how am I supposed to act like I'm falling in love again when the first person I did that to died? Because of me," I add pointedly.

He looks at me for a second, tapping his beer bottle against his thigh. "Alright. Fair point," he finally decides. "Say something about connecting over your mutual heartache, play up the sympathy points. Bring up that you knew him, loved him. Along those lines. Can you do that?" he asks me. "Because if you don't, Snow's going to have a major fit."