1
" Katniss: I’m coming back into focus when Caesar asks him if he has a girlfriend back home.
Peeta: (Gives an unconvincing shake of head.)
Caesar: Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what’s her name?
Peeta: Well, there is this one girl. I’ve had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I’m pretty sure she didn’t know I was alive until the reaping.
Caesar: She have another fellow?
Peeta: I don’t know, but a lot of boys like her.
Caesar: So, here’s what you do. You win, you go home. She can’t turn you down, eh?
Peeta: I don’t think it’s going to work out. Winning… won’t help in my case.
Caesar: Why ever not?
Peeta: Because… because… she came here with me.
Caesar: Oh, that is a piece of bad luck.
Peeta: It’s not good.
Caesar: Well, I don’t think any of us can blame you. It’d be hard not to fall for that young lady. She didn’t know?
Peeta: Not until now. "
― Suzanne Collins , The Hunger Games (The Hunger Games, #1)
4
" Peeta,” I say lightly. “You said at the interview you’d had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?”
“Oh, let’s see. I guess the first day of school. We were five. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair... it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up,” Peeta says.
“Your father? Why?” I ask.
“He said, ‘See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner,’” Peeta says.
“What? You’re making that up!” I exclaim.
“No, true story,” Peeta says. “And I said, ‘A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could’ve had you?’ And he said, ‘Because when he sings... even the birds stop to listen.’”
“That’s true. They do. I mean, they did,” I say. I’m stunned and surprisingly moved, thinking of the baker telling this to Peeta. It strikes me that my own reluctance to sing, my own dismissal of music might not really be that I think it’s a waste of time. It might be because it reminds me too much of my father.
“So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent,” Peeta says.
“Oh, please,” I say, laughing.
“No, it happened. And right when your song ended, I knew—just like your mother—I was a goner,” Peeta says. “Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you.”
“Without success,” I add.
“Without success. So, in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck,” says Peeta. For a moment, I’m almost foolishly happy and then confusion sweeps over me. Because we’re supposed to be making up this stuff, playing at being in love not actually being in love. But Peeta’s story has a ring of truth to it. That part about my father and the birds. And I did sing the first day of school, although I don’t remember the song. And that red plaid dress... there was one, a hand-me-down to Prim that got washed to rags after my father’s death.
It would explain another thing, too. Why Peeta took a beating to give me the bread on that awful hollow day. So, if those details are true... could it all be true?
“You have a... remarkable memory,” I say haltingly. “I remember everything about you,” says Peeta, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re the one who wasn’t paying attention.”
“I am now,” I say.
“Well, I don’t have much competition here,” he says. I want to draw away, to close those shutters again, but I know I can’t. It’s as if I can hear Haymitch whispering in my ear, “Say it! Say it!”
I swallow hard and get the words out. “You don’t have much competition anywhere.” And this time, it’s me who leans in. "
― Suzanne Collins , The Hunger Games (The Hunger Games, #1)
11
" Because there’s a silent, shrugging, stoical acceptance of all the things in the world we can never be part of: shorts, swimming pools, strappy dresses, country walks, roller-skating, ra-ra skirts, vest tops, high heels, rope climbing, sitting on a high stool, walking past building sites, flirting, being kissed, feeling confident. And ever losing weight, ever. The idea of suggesting we don’t have to be fat –that things could change –is the most distant and alien prospect of all. We’re fat now and we’ll be fat forever and we must never, ever mention it, and that is the end of it. It’s like Harry Potter’s Sorting Hat. We were pulled from the hat marked ‘Fat’ and that is what we must now remain, until we die. Fat is our race. Our species. Our mode. As a result, there is very little of the outside world –and very little of the year –we can enjoy. Summer is sweaty under self-conscious layers. On stormy days, wind flattens skirts against thighs, and alarms both us and, we think, onlookers and passers-by. Winter is the only time we feel truly comfortable: covered head to toe in jumpers, coats, boots and hat. I develop a crush on Father Christmas. If I married him, not only would I be expected to stay fat, but I’d look thin standing next to him, in comparison. Perspective would be my friend. We all dream of moving to Norway, or Alaska, where we could wear massive padded coats all the time, and never reveal an inch of flesh. When it rains, we’re happiest of all. Then we can just stay in, away from everyone, in our pyjamas, and not worry about anything. The brains in jars can stay inside, nice and dry. "
― Caitlin Moran , How to Be a Woman
18
" We were sitting outside at our favorite Italian restaurant, Callini’s, one Friday lunch when Sam revealed to me what his ideal female looked like. A few women walked by and Sam used words like “big legs” and “too big up top” to describe women that barely weighed over 100 pounds. The following bomb then pried its way out of his mouth, “I’m still in love with Winny Cooper.”
I replied with shock in my voice, “Winny Cooper from The Wonder Years?”
Sam glowed, “Yeah, Winny is my ideal woman.”
“You do realize that she was a little girl in that show,” I said trying to awaken Sam’s better judgment.
He started laughing, “Winnie was a babe. I had a huge crush on her.”
I needed clarification: “You do realize that you were in your 20s when that show was on. So, that would mean that you had a crush on a 12 year-old. "
― Phil Wohl , Lunch with Sam