Do you like "the Hunger Games"?

Years ago, when we were kids, there was an accident in the mines. Katniss’ father was killed. I heard talk at school that her mother was completely broken with grief, that she couldn’t get out of bed. So, with no adult to provide any sort of income, I watched as Katniss and her sister got thinner and thinner. I wished there was something I could do, thought through a thousand scenarios where I would help her, but I couldn’t think of any where she wouldn’t just scowl and throw my offering back in my face. Then, one bitterly cold day in late April, as the rain was coming down in icy torrents, I heard my mother screaming out the back door, “You Seam brats! I’m so sick of you hanging around our yards, stealing our things! Get out of here, you, before I call the peacekeepers.” It was true. A lot of Seam kids would come and steal things from our back yard. I guess they thought we had a lot, when we actually were just getting by ourselves.
I looked around my mother’s back and saw Katniss standing out by our trash bin. She was so pale and hollow-eyed that I was afraid she might die, right there in our yard. I knew I had to do something. My mother pushed me aside and I moved to the window to see Katniss stumble to our apple tree and collapse. Panic filled me. I looked frantically around the kitchen searching for something, needing to find some way to help. I saw the Mayday breads sitting on the rack above the oven. Mayday breads are full of all the promise of summer…raisins and nuts and shredded carrots sweetened with honey. They’re also very expensive and had been ordered by the mayor himself for his annual breakfast with the council. Without thinking twice I pushed over the rack and the two large loaves fell right into the coal fire.
I turned and immediately felt the impact of the wooden spoon on my face. It felt as if my cheek had split. “You stupid thing, look what you’ve done!” My mother pulled the blackening Mayday loaves out of the fire, still burning, and thrust them into my hands. “You never do anything right,” she muttered. I stood still with fear, the burning bread scorching my skin, not daring to look up at her. “Go and feed them to the pig!” she yelled, spittle from the word “pig” spraying on my arms. I flew down our back steps, so afraid that Katniss had heard my mother’s harsh voice, or me cry out when she struck me, and had fled into the freezing afternoon. But she was there, the rain beating down on her face. I didn’t dare look too long at where she had huddled, afraid my mother would follow me out and use the spoon on her. As I tore off a blackened corner of bread and threw it into the pigsty I heard the bell over the front door in the bakery jingle. I listened to the heavy tread of my mother fade as she walked out to the front of the store to attend to customers.
Now was my chance. Watching out of the corner of my eye I threw first one loaf and then the other at where Katniss sat. Oh please take them, I thought, but she didn’t move. I dared one brief glance to be sure she hadn’t died right there and saw her looking at the bread with all the avidity of a starving person. I wondered insanely if it was because I was standing there that she wouldn’t take the loaves, so I rushed up the steps without a second look. Hearing my mother coming back, I jumped over the threshold and slammed the door shut. I was so afraid she would look out there and see that I had given Katniss the bread, and that she would stop her, stop her from taking those two burnt loaves. My mother only gave me a disgusted shake of her head and went back to the board where she had been kneading a big hunk of dough. Watching her back, I slipped to the window in time to see Katniss stick the bread inside her coat, look around her furtively and run away.
She took them! I thought. She took the bread. And I was able to breathe again.
The next day at school I saw her standing in the hall but I was with my friends and just walked by her. I felt her big solemn eyes follow me as I passed and I cursed myself. Why couldn’t I talk to her? For me, talking to people was the easiest thing. I had no problem talking to anyone else. It’s just that when I thought of those gray eyes boring into me, my throat closed up, my mind froze, and I couldn’t say a thing.
Later that day I saw her across the schoolyard, waiting for her sister to walk her home. I was determined I was going to talk to her. But before I could gather my courage she turned away, bent down and picked a dandelion from the grass. She twirled the yellow blossom in her fingers and I was captivated by her expression of joy. Once again all my nerve and determination left me and I walked away quickly, afraid she might think I was watching her, which was a silly thought, because I was.
The moment had passed. Prim and her seemed to get better, I wasn’t quite sure how, until I learned that she snuck into the nearby woods beyond the fence and gathered edible plants. Then I heard she was hunting for game. I knew that was a pretty serious crime and that’s when I started to become afraid for her. But I also fiercely admired her bravery and resourcefulness. And I became more nervous and less able to approach her with every passing day.