The Hunger Games (The Hunger Games, #1)

by Suzanne Collins

The slightest movement gives the impression I am engulfed in tongues of fire. I am not pretty. I am not beautiful. I am as radiant as the sun.

Peeta blushes beet red and stammers out. “Because . . . because . . . she came here with me.”

He’s dozed off again, but I kiss him awake, which seems to startle him. Then he smiles as if he’d be happy to lie there gazing at me forever. He’s great at this stuff.

crying sobbing