I can still do this

chapter 8

"So your family... they're not..." he starts to say, then stops.

"Yeah, we're poor. Everybody is, where I come from. I mean, Peeta's family was okay, they live in the town and sell bakery things, but that just means they could eat most of the time. That's how it is." I shrug. I'm beyond being embarrassed about where I come from.

"Oh," is all he says.

"But that's not really a problem anymore, I guess. What about you guys, does winning just mean more expensive clothes or something?" I ask, trying out that politeness thing.

"No, actually... actually my family's kind of not doing good, too," he mumbles, looking away. "So this is a big deal for them, too."

I remember what he said in the arena, about him dying and his family starving. "But isn't two like, the closest district to the Capitol? You're supposed to be the best," I say, looking at him in disbelief.

"Yeah, well. My family put everything they had into my training, and there wasn't a lot left over," he says tonelessly, looking at the TV, but I don't think he's actually seeing it.

"So this is good, then? Because it kind of seemed like you were maybe a little mad at me for saving you. Since your mentor thinks you're a failure," I say, trying to figure out a way to say what I mean without sounding as terrible as I actually just did. "Sorry," I instantly add.

Cato grins at me suddenly. "Wow," he says.

"What?" I demand indignantly, smiling back.

"That came out awful." He cuts off my apology. "Nah, don't worry about it, I know what you mean, but..." He smiles again, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand. "No, I'm not mad at you," he says, serious again.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Because just because we have to act for the cameras doesn't mean we can't... I don't know. Be not friends? I guess my point is that we just don't know each other." This is coming out wrong again. "I can't talk," I finally say.

"No, it's fine," he says. "We've just got to... work this out. Have a long conversation or something."

"How are we supposed to do that, though? In three days, we're going to be hundreds of miles apart. And somehow I don't think that any kind of long-distance... anything will work," I say, uncomfortable with the fact that I almost said relationship.

"Okay. Well, then I guess we're just going to have to do it all now. As fast as possible."

I can't tell if he's joking. "Are you serious?" I ask, letting go of his hand to roll up the sleeves of his jacket - they're about three inches too long.

"Is that okay?"

"Sure," I decide after a second, glancing nervously up at him. Our eyes meet for a brief second. "So you're just going to stay up here or something?"

"If they'll let me. And I can sleep on the couch, y'know, if you don't want me..."

In Peeta's bed. Right. "We can figure that out later," I say quickly. "Not now."

"What do you want to do now?" he asks.

I look at him and realize that he's practically staring at me wearing his jacket. He reaches out slowly and touches the fabric on my arm, smoothing it or feeling it or something. I'm not sure, but I don't mind. "How about we stay here and watch... something," I suggest.

"Not the games."

"No," I shake my head. "Absolutely not."

"Here. Let me pick," he says, so I let him take the controller and change channels. "We could watch this show about you," he suggests, pausing on a channel with my face blown up on the screen, being analyzed for personality trait markers.