He was only fourteen, but he cleared six feet and was as good as an adult to me. I’d seen him around the Seam and at school. And one other time. He’d lost his father in the same blast that killed mine. In January, I’d stood by while he received his medal of valor in the Justice Building, another oldest child with no father. I remembered his two little brothers clutching his mother, a woman whose swollen belly announced she was just days away from giving birth.
"We’re making a film, and I never feel like I’m above anyone or I’m even in a different position than you. We are all doing the same thing, making a movie, except my face is going in front of the camera, and that’s the only difference. You have to go behind the monitor and make sure I’m doing this right, let’s come up with something to say, and then I’m going to say it in front of the camera, because that’s my job, not because I’m awesome."
“No one really needs me,” he says, and there’s no self pity in his voice. It’s true his family doesn’t need him. They will mourn him, as will a handful of friends. But they will get on. Even Haymitch, with the help of a lot of white liquor, will get on. I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me.”
Why did one basketball team literally dominate over their entire school
ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT SCHOOLS AREN’T ACTUALLY LIKE THAT IN AMERICA?