DISCLAIMER: Yeah. . .I'm not Suzzane Collins. . .shiz.

Note: This is dedicated to -Lost in Stars- She gave me the idea of writing a story in Peeta's perspective! I'm not copying off of her, that would be pretty darn mean, wouldn't it?

I wake up to my own screams. Nightmares. The cause: Reaping Day. Of course.

The nightmares start a month before the reaping each year, each and every year.

They aren't about, I—Peeta Mellark—being chosen to compete in The Hunger Games, they're about her being chosen. But I stop myself from thinking about it for a moment.

I wonder how many slips read her beautiful name.

Katniss Evedeen.

Just her name makes my heart pound, my pulse race. She's beautiful in every way—long black hair that's always in a braid, those gorgeous Seam-gray eyes, and her olive skin. But it's not her outside beauty that makes me love her, it's her personality. She's strong, brave. I can't describe her better than perfect.

But she barely knows me, and by barely I mean I gave her bread when she was starving—and I mean starving—one night. I got a black eye from mother for that one. But only because I burnt the bread so I could spare it, she doesn't know about giving it to Katniss. I hated that day. . .

And we only glance at each other in the hallway. I stare at her a lot, and she never notices.

My father's voice snaps me back to reality.

"Peeta," he calls, "come frost this cake!" I sigh from losing my wonderful trance. But I love frosting cakes. And drawing. They are the only thing I can call my hobbies. I'm pretty good if I do say so myself. But I don't brag.

I get dressed in my best clothes. But my worn out boots won't get on right. I cuss under my breath. We have to dress nicely since it's a 'holiday'.

I stagger downstairs from lack of sleep to find Gale Hawthorne. Katniss's Gale Hawthorne. Ugh.

I can't say I hate him, I barely know him. But I do envy him. I try to zone out the small talk my father and Gale make, but I can't help but here one sentence.

"So, how is your girlfriend, Katniss?", my father asks with some humor. I at least hope he was joking.

"Good, I guess. . .", Gale replies.

"Well, good luck to both of you. Thank you again."

"Mhmm.", is all Gale replies.

I walk in the bakery kitchen and start frosting the cake. I notice a poorly shot squirrel in my father's hands. A loaf of fresh, warm bread for a poorly shot squirrel? Not one of my father's best trades.

"Care for squirrel, Peeta?", my father asks.

"No thanks. Not in the mood for meat at the moment."

"Okay." He says while cooking the squirrel.

My mother and my brother, Prett, sit down at the table.

My mother, being her witchy self, huffs and complains about the squirrel.

I manage to tune them out until we leave for the square. It takes us another half hour to get to the square, from the large crowd surrounding the stage. Prett and I give our last goodbyes—just in case—and head off to our age group lines.

3 seats are on the stage. One is seated with Effie Trinket, District's 12's escort. She's a cheerful, colorful lady. She wears a crazy colored wig all the time—and don't forget the stilettos. Another is seated with Mayor Undersee, a nice and tall man. The last one is empty. It's for Haymitch. He's District 12's only living winning tribute alive. He's not any help to our tributes, he's a drunk. This is why Twelve has no other living victors.

I glance over at Katniss, but it turns into a stare. I smile idiotically at how beautiful she is. It's the first time I've seen her in a dress. She's simply stunning.

She notices for a second, with a look of curiosity on her face, so I quickly make my face blank and turn away, embarrassed.
Then Haymitch suddenly appears staggering from intoxication on the stage. He's late, not like that new. He falls into his seat after trying to hug Effie Trinket.

The Mayor looks embarrassed and quickly turns the attention off of Haymitch. "Now, it's my pleasure to introduce, District 12's escort—Effie Trinket!"

"Happy Hunger Games!" She cries out cheerfully. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!" she adds. Just like every year. She checks her wig after talking. Funny how she thinks it might not be there after 5 minutes. She tells us about how she loves being a District 12 escort and is proud to be here. I know she doesn't. Nobody would want to. We have weak tributes each year, so they die quickly.

Stupid Capitol!, I think, taking innocent lives for their. . .entertainment!

And that's exactly what The Hunger Games are. One boy and one girl are chosen from each district to compete to the fight to death on live TV. It's sick.

I see Gale looking in my direction with a worried look on his face. I am momentarily confused why he is worried about me, but I notice he's looking at Katniss. She has the same face to him. I'll never get that from her. I'm jealous. I've been jealous. I've always been jealous.

Whatever. I shake it off and pay attention to Effie as she picks the girl tribute. I have no time to cross my fingers for Katniss until Effie says cheerfully, "Primrose Everdeen." It's not her. I get happy. Until I remember the name.

Primrose Everdeen. . .

Katniss Everdeen. . .

It's Katniss's little sister.

I look over at Katniss. She's shocked and frozen in place.

Hoping Katniss doesn't break, which she never does, I see and hear my greatest nightmare come true.

"Prim!" she shouts as she runs past me as fast as lightning, "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"