Looking back now, I can only attribute it to a moment of being shocked into complete and utter silence.

Clove had been pissing me off deluxe as she pouted in front of the mirror in the girls locker room, coating her lips in the cherry chapstick I know she favoured. I hated it, especially because I sat next to Cato in Biology, and he forever smelt like it from their ridiculous make-out sessions.

As per her usual MO, she was making fun of everyone while we were changing following a soccer game - Delly should go on a diet (that comment alone made me want to rip out Clove's hair), Madge obviously wasn't a real blonde, Annie could do with a nose job. Normally Clove didn't pay me a single lick of attention, and vice versa, and we were both perfectly fine with that. But today for some reason, I was on her hit list, and the words that fell out of her mouth next dumbfounded me.

"She's no more pure than any of us. I heard she skipped town over the weekend to catch up with Hawthorne so they could finally bone."

And despite the fact that I could have easily protested it, because I'd been in the woods all weekend, practicing my archery and swimming in the lake, my throat had closed up and the absolute ludicrousness of the comment had me frozen.

Then the moment to proclaim its falseness had passed me by, the eyes of those around me had widened in response, and the whispers had begun.

I'd missed my chance.

And in the end, that missed chance set the rest of my school year up in a way I never imagined.

"Catnip, what the fuck?" I can hear the incredulity in Gale's tone even through the phone, and I roll my eyes.

"You heard me, Gale," I sigh, flopping backwards onto my bed. The springs creak noisily - I desperately need a new mattress, but my mom's wages barely cover the essentials - and I wince, hoping the sound hasn't woken Prim through the thin wall that separates us.

He scoffs. "I know I heard you. I can't believe it, though."

"Yeah, well you try and deal with the garbage that goes on in that locker room."

"I spent 4 years at that school, and I guarantee you what happens in the guys locker room is even worse. I saw more swinging junk during that time than I thought possible." I wrinkle my nose, can't help the blush that creeps across my cheeks. Considering our conversation, a simple reference to the male anatomy shouldn't embarrass me. But that's exactly what it does. I was pure in every sense of the word, and it aggravated me that Clove was trying to insinuate otherwise. Even if I absolutely hated the word pure anyway. "But I can't believe you didn't correct her."

I chew on my bottom lip guiltily. "Gale, I would have. It's just I was...in shock or something."

The night after Clove's announcement in the locker room, I'd called Gale, my best friend since we'd been 13 and 15 respectively. Our dad's had worked together at the local cannery, and when an explosion there had taken their lives, our mothers had connected our families in their grief. And until Gale had left for university 18 months earlier, we'd basically been inseparable - so much so, it seems, that people had been suspicious of us. Prior to Clove's comment, I'd been oblivious to it.

"So instead of correcting her, you decided to let everyone in your gym class believe we slept together."

I wince, knowing how ridiculous it sounds. It would be like sleeping with my brother. "I didn't mean to, you know. She hardly gave me a chance to defend myself before I heard the 'oh my god's' and the 'I should have known's'. Everyone in that locker room suddenly became the Virgin Mary and I was some 17 year old prostitute."

I can hear Gale snort back a laugh down the phone line, followed by a loud banging from his end. "Ah, Catnip, I gotta go. Thom's here, and I've got class in ten. Just...make sure our mom's don't find out about this. Even though it's not true, Alice will go nuts."

"Hazel will more," I retort. "And anyway, I'll make sure they won't. The last thing I want is either of them to think that happened. Because gross."

But they find out anyway.

Somehow, within a couple of days, the entire school knows. Our families know. My mom gives me a repeat of the sex talk I'd sat through in absolute horror at 15, even though I refute the rumour until I'm out of breath. Apparently our friendship had caused suspicion from her too, and the word from some snotty bitch from my school was more reliable than my own.

Kids snicker behind their hands at me as I walk home from school, and even Madge seems prickly with me when we eat lunch. Delly Cartwright purses her lips in what I think is concern when I pass her, while Glimmer Roberts winks at me knowingly. Peeta Mellark stares at me across the cafeteria, and I don't know what's in his eyes. I don't think I want to know. For some reason, his reaction makes me feel the worst.

In the end, it doesn't matter how much I proclaim it isn't true, no matter how much I protest - the damage is done, the rumour is there.

And it's ridiculous, really. There are people in this school with way worse reputations than me, yet I'm the one being treated this way. Suddenly, the girl who no one pays attention to, who no one cares about, has a red letter on her forehead. Maybe that's why. Maybe it's because before, they had nothing to say about me, and now they do.

I'm the talk of the whole damned judgmental school.

All because of something I didn't even do.

The next two weeks follow on in much the same way. Madge still eats lunch with me, but it's strained, awkward, and no matter how many times I open my mouth up to ask her what's wrong, my total ineptitude with 'girl talk' stops me. So I wait for her to talk to me.

It doesn't happen.

And then I get the text from Gale.

Gale, who, after an initial chewing out from Hazelle, now thought it was hilarious. "Katniss Everdeen, the girl every guy is on fire for" he would joke to me over the phone, and I'd tell him bluntly to fuck off. So I don't exactly expect the text from him, late one Friday night.

Gale (10.25pm): Catnip, you owe me for our fake boning. Thom's brother needs help with something. Call him tonight.

He follows it up with a cell number, and I stare at it for a good ten minutes before I text him back.

Katniss (10.35pm): Why do I owe you?

Gale (10.37pm): Because my mom reamed me out for something I didn't do, and didn't believe me when I told her otherwise.

Katniss (10.40pm): Fine. But he better not be looking for a prom date.

Gale (10:42pm): I dunno what he wants. Just said he needs a favour. Call him.

So I do. He isn't looking for a prom date. He's looking for help.

Thom McAllister had been Gale's neighbour growing up, and somehow they'd both ended up in the same dorm at Panem U. His little brother, Callum, is, in fact, not so little. He's over 6 foot tall, a month older than me, with wild black hair and cheekbones that could cut glass.

I also know he's gay.

To say the least, his request is surprising. We sit on a bench in the park, hands shoved in our pockets as we both pretend we aren't even here.

"So, uh, what did you think of the mid-term exam we had in Miss Trinket's class last week?" I ask, desperate to break the tension.

"I'm about 75% certain I failed," he mutters back. "English isn't my strong suit."

"Mmmm," I reply. I don't know what else to say, and silence reigns again.

"Look, Katniss," he finally sighs. "I know this is stupid. I don't even know why I'm asking, why I'm considering this. But school...school is hell."

"No shit," I retort, and I see his cheeks flush.

"No, I mean...I know I'm gay. Lots of people assume or speculate that I am. But I'm just...so over being teased about it - the looks and the whispers, and the flat out asshole remarks from douchebags like Cato. The bullying just from assumption alone is...ridiculous. And I'm not ready to come out yet. I know my dad will absolutely lose his shit when I do and I'd much rather have that happen when I'm off at college, thousands of miles away. So…"

"So?" I echo.

"Can we, like, tell people we hooked up? Like what happened with you and Gale?"

My eyes practically fall out of my head. "But that wasn't even true!" I protest.

He nods his head emphatically. "I know, Gale told me. But, just like that, nothing has to happen. We can just pretend. People can stop bullying me. And people can stop talking about you and Gale."

"And talk about me and you instead," I snap back. Oh my god, this was getting worse and worse.

"Just...please, Katniss. Think about it. It would really mean a lot to me. I'm just...so sick of feeling like an outcast." And even though I don't want it to, my heart aches at the sadness in his voice. I hate knowing that he feels like he has no hope, I hate that he feels like this is the better option than just being who he is.

So that's how, a month after I 'slept' with Gale, at Glimmer Roberts' birthday party, and in her parents bedroom no less, I 'hook up' with Callum McAllister.

Callum, for all his gratefulness, can't keep his mouth shut about our 'arrangement', and tells one of his friends. Who tells one of his friends. Within a week, I get cornered by Marvel Adams, his chin covered in pimples and his blond hair a rumpled mess. Back when we were juniors, he used to be in the popular group, but a messy break-up with Glimmer had led to a plummet in his social standing. He's not adjusted well to the shift, and neither have his hormones, apparently.

His proposition, as he asks me, is a lot simpler than Callum's: he tells everyone we kissed, he comes and mows my lawn. And considering we don't own a lawnmower and our yard looks like a jungle, I'm tempted.

So I say yes.

After all, it's just a kiss.

Thresh Williamson offers me a gift card to Costco, and when I bluntly tell him that Marvel got no action for mowing my lawn, he's just as happy with that agreement - if not more so. "No offence, Katniss, you're not my type. I just want to try and make Rue notice me. So this kind of works out better."

I shrug, and the next weekend I buy as many essentials as Prim and I need.

After all, it's just a kiss.

But 'just a kiss' becomes a rumour amongst first the guys, then the girls.

I hook up and get paid for it, in some way or another.

Suddenly, I'm the most popular and most hated girl in school at the same time.

That's ok.

I've been hated before.

4 years earlier.

I'm the most hated girl in school. They avoid me - walk on the other side of the hallway, go out of their way not to stand beside me in the cafeteria line. You think people would understand, would perhaps give you some kind of sympathy when your parent dies, when they're blown to pieces. But no. Apparently they don't. Not when the town blames the foreman for the cannery accident.

And not when your father is the foreman.

Other than the Hawthornes - the only ones who don't seem to blame my father for the explosion - Madge Undersee is the one person who still speaks to me, though we don't know what to say to each other. But her company, at least, gives me some kind of reassurance that not everyone hates me. Not that I care, though. The only thing I care about is Prim. And as my stomach growls, I realise I care about that too. Food. We need it to survive. And we don't have it.

Mom checked out two weeks after the funeral. Does nothing but sit in the armchair in the lounge, staring out the window. And Capitol Industries, who owned the cannery, disputed the payout we should have received upon Dad's death.

He had no life insurance.

We're screwed.

I stumble past the bakery at the end of Main Street, my stomach ravenous and my hands shaking. I don't like being in this part of town anymore - not because it's unsafe or anything, but because of the glares I get. I'm being punished for the sins of the father - sins my father didn't even commit.

He'd told us for a long time that Capitol was cutting corners, but no one would listen to him.

And now he's dead.

I drop to my knees under a birch tree in the park beside the bakery, curl my legs up under me. Grey clouds are rolling in, and I feel the wind pick up, whipping my braid over my shoulder. I'm too tired to walk any more - being at school all day on an empty stomach has drained me of any and all energy, and an undeserved detention isn't helping. So I just sit, watch as the rain slowly comes in.

It soaks me to the bone, and distracts me so much that I don't hear the footsteps approaching until they're right in front of me. Which is strange. Because normally Peeta Mellark is one hell of a noisy walker.

"Here, Katniss," he whispers, wrapping a big, warm coat around me. My head flies up, and my eyes lock with his - his are sad, and the right one is rimmed with a fading bruise.

"I don't want this," I snap automatically, though I'm already grateful for the warmth it provides.

"You might not want it, but you need it," he tells me. "You might think you're good at pretending that you're ok, but I know you're not. I can see right through the charade. You're hungry and sick and-"

I cut him off. "You don't know anything. You don't see me," I mutter back, glancing at the ground as I realise how petulant I sound. Who cares if Peeta Mellark doesn't see me? He's just some dumb classmate.

"I always see you, Katniss," he says firmly, and shoves a brown paper bag in my hand before briskly walking away. "Keep the jacket!" he calls over his shoulder.

I find the energy to stumble home, and in the silence of my bedroom, I open the bag. It's filled with bread.

Our dinner that night is a feast, and my bed is extra warm when I lay his coat out over the top of the thin quilt. I drag Prim in with me, and we sleep the best we have since Dad died.

All because Peeta Mellark sees right through my carefully built up walls.

It's funny, how schools work. Some hear the full rumour and believe it. Others hear a partial truth, and decide to make the most of it. It depends on who you are, and the social circle you're in. The popular kids think I'm a slut. The outcasts think I've sold out. And the quiet ones, the ones who never get noticed, are the ones who know the truth - or at least most of it.

They're the few who ask me to not kiss, but still tell. And because one part of me feels bad for them that they think they need to do this to prove themselves, and because the other part of me knows that those vouchers to Target, or Costco, or even the gas station, helps me and helps Prim, I do it.

So I put up with the rumours, the insults, the dirty looks. It doesn't matter. It's just a charade after all. And soon school will be over and no one will give a shit.

In the end, it's Adrian Gloss who starts the beginning of the end. He approaches me one day, out of the blue; nice, sweet and friendly. We've never really spoken much, but he's always seemed like a good enough guy.

I'm expecting a gift card offer when he surprises me with a dinner invitation.

Once again, I'm so shocked, so surprised by the words that have tumbled out of his mouth, that I don't say a word. He takes it as acceptance, and tells me that we'll go to The Arena, a restaurant downtown, on Friday night, and he'll pick me up at 7pm.

Well shit. I guess I have a date.

Prim convinces me to allow her to braid my hair in an elegant updo, and I sit in front of the spotted mirror in Mom's room, watching as her deft and nimble fingers play with my hair. It feels weird, knowing that I'm going on a date. I've never been on one before.

And I'd never imagined my first would be Adrian Gloss. I always hoped if I ever went on one - despite the idea itself being highly unlikely - that it would be...someone else. Someone with clear blue eyes and a friendly smile, and whose unreturned jacket had lost the faint smell of cinnamon and dill after years of being used as a blanket of sorts.

Wishful thinking, I suppose.

Adrian picks me up, and he's smooth and charming, and tells me to order whatever I want off the menu. I order steak - oh my god, red meat! - and am chewing away happily when I see him on the other side of the room. Peeta. In an apron.

Shit. He works here.

I don't really know why my heart starts to pound like the dance music Prim likes to listen to. Or why the meat in my mouth turns to sawdust.

He turns, and sees me, and the light in his eyes dims a little when he sees who I'm with.

I don't even know why he'd care so much.

The rest of the evening is fine, though my heart isn't in it. I just want to go home now, and while it's nice and all to have dinner with someone who isn't offering you a 50% off voucher at Dunkin Donuts, there isn't anything here I'd want to see go past this night.

Adrian, on the other hand, is of another opinion.

"So," he says lazily, leaning against the hood of his car afterwards. "I've heard a rumour."

My heart turns over slowly. "Yes?" I reply shortly.

"You...put out if I pay out," he grins lasciviously, and I finally realise what this is. He's one of the ones who doesn't know the truth. He's one of the ones who thinks I make out with guys for payment.

I feel like throwing up.

"It's not like that," I say quietly.

"That's not what I heard," he retorts, the friendliness that had been on his face in the restaurant replaced with obvious leering. "I've heard you do the guys good."

"Funny, I heard that about you too," I snap back before I can think twice, and I mentally slap my face with my palm. Way to go, Everdeen.

His eyes darken, before his hand slides into his pocket, pulls out his wallet. He rifles through it, yanks out a small plastic card and holds it in front of my face. "$200, Everdeen, to Whole Foods. Figure that gets me what I want."

I blink. "And what...what do you want?"

I see his hand slide to the front of his jeans, cup himself. "You know what I want."

I blink again. "No, I-"

"Fuck off, Adrian." The voice growls from behind the car, and we both turn in surprise to see Peeta Mellark there, still in his dirty apron, and a smear of flour on his cheek. His eyes are blazing in anger, and I blush, realising he's heard every word that's transpired.

"Screw you, Mellark, we're busy," Adrian snaps back.

"I'm fairly certain I just heard Katniss say no."

"You deaf as well as stupid, Mellark? Get out of here."

"No," I speak up, recovering the voice I'd lost when Peeta appeared. "No, I want to go with Peeta."

Adrian glares at me, then Peeta, before shoving the gift card back in his pocket. He yanks open the door to his car, shoots me one last look. "Maybe you really are a frigid bitch," he growls, before starting the engine, and peeling out of the car park. I slump against the hood of the next car, drop my face into my hands.

"Are you ok?" Peeta's voice finally pipes up, and I look up at him, at the concern on his face.

"I'm fine," I sigh. "I just...things weren't supposed to go this way. It all started out from nothing, and then it was a favour, and then it was a way to help Prim, and…" I trail off, embarrassed by my outburst.

"I know," he says quietly.

I swallow heavily. "What do you know?" I ask.

"I know that none of it is real," he mumbles, then clears his throat. He unties his apron from around his waist, slips it over his head and balls it up in his hands. He leans back against the car beside me. "I know about Callum."

"Everyone does," I retort.

"No, I mean the truth. I'm friends with him too. I know he's gay. And I know he asked you to do him a favour. And I know the Gale rumour isn't true either."

I almost choke on my tongue. "How?"

"I know you, Katniss. You might not think I do, but I do. I see right through-"

"My charade," I finish quietly, echoing our conversation long ago in the rain. I look down at the pavement. "No one else believes me, it doesn't matter how many times I tried to convince them otherwise. So, I just figured I'd...run with it. I really don't care what any of them think of me."

"And by doing so, you're helping Prim too," he adds, and my mouth drops open.

"What the hell, Mellark? Are you stalking me?"

He smiles slightly. "No, Katniss I'm not. I just...know you."

"Well, maybe if you know me so well, why don't you tell everyone it's bullshit? Maybe they'll listen to you. They all normally do, Mr Leader of the Debate team." I don't mean for my voice to sound snippy and bitchy, but it does. He just smiles.

"Maybe I will," he says.

He offers to drive me home, and it's almost as though he knows I'm going to decline when he says "Can you walk that far in heels?" and looks pointedly at the shoes Prim had insisted I wear. With a sigh (although I hide the smile that threatens to break through) I follow him to the employee carpark, and slide into the passenger seat of a simple blue hatchback. It has a couple of dents in the bumper, and I'm fairly certain I saw both his brothers drive this to school over the last few years. He asks for my address, and nods when I recite it to him.

We drive in silence, but it isn't uncomfortable. In fact, it's kind of nice. And in the quiet, I run through everything I know about Peeta.

He's part of the popular crowd, yet every loves him, not just fake likes him. He's captain of the Debate team, and the wrestling team. He won the school art competition last year with a stunning painting of the sunset out at Lake Mockingjay. He's on the prom committee, which means there's a chance it might actually be decorated half decently this year. His blonde hair always waves over the tips of his ears, and his eyes are this shade of blue I've never seen on anyone else.

Instinctively, I feel like I should hate Peeta Mellark. But I don't. And I never will.

He pulls up out the front of my house, and switches the engine off. "Katniss, I-" he starts, then trails off.

"Yeah?"

He reaches up, rubs the back of his neck nervously. "If...If I was to ask you out on a date, no strings or gift cards attached, would you allow it?" The words come out in a rush, as though he's worried about them not getting out fast enough.

I look at him, confused. "Why would you want to do that?" I ask, and he chuckles lightly.

"Because I like you. And I'd like to go out on a date with you."

"But I'm the school slut," I retort flippantly, to try and forget the butterflies that have suddenly taken flight in my belly.

"I beg to differ," he replies, then smiles. It's slow, and charming, and everything about it makes me warm inside. "So...would you?"

"Maybe," I tell him, then open the door, slide out. I close the door, then lean in through the open window. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Because you're nice to others, Katniss. You might close yourself off from people, but what you did for Callum was because you were being nice." He turns the keys over in the ignition, and it purrs to life. "Plus I like you, I already told you that. I always have."

"Always?" I echo, straightening up in surprise.

"Since we were five," he affirms. He grins again, then pulls away from the curb.

I stare after the taillights until they fade into the distance.

Monday morning, I'm shocked to see Callum walking through the school halls, a smile on his face, and his hand tucked into Cinna Thatcher's, a fellow senior. Both have smiles on their faces.

My jaw practically hits the floor.

"Easy there, Katniss." I hear Peeta's voice in my ear, and I turn to him in shock.

"What the hell?" I ask, and he grins.

"I had a chat to Callum over the weekend. Seems that he liked Cinna, and I knew Cinna liked him...so they both just needed to get their shit together. Sometimes happiness is worth more than the jibes from dickheads like Cato."

"You just...had a chat to him," I say dumbly, and he nods.

"Yep!"

"And now...people know he's gay. Wow. You really do have a way with words."

He shrugs. "Well, it's pretty obvious he and Cinna have something between them," he replies, and leans against the lockers behind us. "Oh, and I may have an idea on how to fix your...other problem."

"Oh really?" I raise an eyebrow, and he nods. "Yep. It involves you, me and a webcast."

My jaw drops again for the second time in a matter of minutes. "You have got to be kidding me," I retort, and his face pales.

"Ah, shit, no. No! No, I don't mean anything like that. I just...I just mean that if I tell everyone about a webcast they should watch, they probably will. You know what rumours are like. They start little, and spread like wildfire. I bet we could get people to watch if we...hint at something they'd be interested in. And then, instead, it can be you, telling them all the truth."

I bite down on my lower lip, fold my arms across my chest. "Something they'd be interested in, huh?" He nods. "And then I tell my story. Tell the truth."

"Yep."

"And then I go on a date with you."

"Only if you want to. No strings. I just...want to be around you." The warmth in my belly starts up again, and I find I don't want to say no. I want to say yes. To all of it.

"Yes," I reply. "Let's do it."

The rumour spreads that Peeta is going to make an announcement about the music act he's organised to play at Prom on the Prom Facebook page later that night. Peeta's older brother is in the music business, so soon, names are being thrown about. Neon Trees, One Republic, Daft Punk, Lorde.

My co-students are stupid.

We set up the webcam in his basement. I feel weird being here, hanging out with him when we've never 'hung out' before. But it's for a reason.

Two reasons, actually. Only one of them makes me blush.

We sit in front of his laptop, my stomach a mess of nerves and my palms sweating. Without hesitating, Peeta reaches for my hand, threads his fingers through mine.

I like it. I like it a lot.

It hits 8pm, the light on the camera goes green, and when the video goes live, it's me they see, not him. Except for his hand clutching mine on the desktop.

20 minutes later, it's over. My phone, which had been silent for weeks - save for Gale - suddenly pings, message after message.

I find out Madge has a crush on Gale, and was heartbroken; she admits she was stupid dumb about it all.

Callum says he's sorry.

Gale asks me "who's fucking hand is that, Catnip?", like the protective faux brother he should be. I wonder vaguely how he knew to watch, but then I figure it isn't important.

I shut the laptop down, turn to Peeta with a sigh of relief. "It's done," I say quietly.

"It's done," he agrees.

I look down at our joined hands. "I...thank you. You didn't have to help me," I tell him.

"Yeah I did," Peeta replies. He tips my chin up with a finger from his free hand. "It's what I do. I look out for you."

"Then I guess I need to return the favour."

He shrugs. "There's no need for that," he says simply. "Just dinner and conversation."

I shake my head. "No, Peeta. You helped me when you didn't need to - multiple times. It's only fair. You look out for me, I look out for you. Deal?"

He grins. "Deal."

A week later, after dinner, I kiss him.

It's pretty much everything I wanted for my first kiss.