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Itˇs funny。 Haymitch and I donˇt get along well in person； but maybe Peeta is right about us being alike because he seems able to municate with me by the timing of his gifts。 Like how I knew I must be close to water when he withheld it and how I knew the sleep syrup just wasnˇt something to ease Peetaˇs pain and how I know now that I have to play up the romance。 He hasnˇt made much effort to connect with Peeta really。 Perhaps he thinks a bowl of broth would just be a bowl
of broth to Peeta； whereas Iˇll see the strings attached to it。
A thought hits me； and Iˇm amazed the questionˇs taken so long to surface。 Maybe itˇs because Iˇve only recently begun to view Haymitch with a degree of curiosity。 ¨How do you think he did it？〃
¨Who？ Did what？〃 Peeta asks。
¨Haymitch。 How do you think he won the Games？〃 I say。
Peeta considers this quite a while before he answers。 Haymitch is sturdily built； but no physical wonder like Cato or Thresh。 Heˇs not particularly handsome。 Not in the way that causes sponsors to rain gifts on you。 And heˇs so surly； itˇs hard to imagine anyone teaming up with him。 Thereˇs only one way Haymitch could have won； and Peeta says it just as Iˇm reaching this conclusion myself。
¨He outsmarted the others；〃 says Peeta。
I nod； then let the conversation drop。 But secretly Iˇm wondering if Haymitch sobered up long enough to help Peeta and me because he thought we just might have the wits to survive。 Maybe he wasnˇt
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