This is another one of those stories I've had saved on my computer for literally years and add to every now and again. I always thought it was a shame Madge wasn't included in the film series - they could have done a lot with her character. So this is just my take on what her story might have been. I'll post a couple of chapters and if people like it I'll continue - reviews appreciated!
My stomach clenches when I see the white dress laid out on my bed. Mother buys me a new one each year for the Reaping. It's a waste really, seeing as I never want to wear it again afterwards, but being the Mayor's daughter I have to keep up appearances. However, I'm even more disinclined than usual to put it on. I thought the next time I'd be wearing a white dress would be on my wedding day, which if my fears are justified - will come sooner than I hope.
I pick the dress up and run the material through my fingers. It feels like silk and shimmers when the light hits it right. I hope it's not actually silk - that would have cost mother a fortune. We may not be poor, but we can't afford to waste money on extravagant attire that will be worn once then shoved to the back of my closet for eternity. Especially not with the cost of medicine so high, given father's condition. I pull it over my head and tie the ribbon around the waist in a bow, then walk over to the full-length mirror in the corner of my room.
A noise of disgust rumbles in my throat. I look like a porcelain doll. The combination of my blonde hair and the crisp fabric accentuates my pale complexion; only my dark brown eyes (courtesy of my father) add any color to my otherwise whitewashed appearance. I usually do my best to blend in with the other residents of District 12, which isn't easy given most of them have dark hair and gray eyes. Still, I suppose it doesn't matter what I look like - it won't have any bearing on the outcome of this afternoon.
For those who don't know, my name is Madge Undersee. I'm seventeen years old and I'm from District 12. My father is the Mayor; his family have held the title ever since the end of the rebellion - a title which will one day be mine. However, there is a catch. In order to become Mayor of District 12, I have to get married first.
The entire circumstance is one great complicated mess. According to the laws set out by the Capitol, Mayors of the Districts (regardless of age) are not permitted to take on the role without a suitable spouse. Being the Mayor's only child, I find myself the sole candidate for taking over from him when… when it's time. The problem is, father was diagnosed with a heart condition when I was younger (breathing in all the polluted air from the mines no doubt caused it) and it's been getting worse over the years. He can't do much strenuous exercise and gets out of breath easily; sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and hear him having a coughing fit. It's frightening, because they come so suddenly and can last anywhere from two to twenty minutes. We've had to call the doctor more than once.
He's not in any immediate danger so long as he keeps taking his medication (and mother and I see to that without fail), but there's no cure and it will only get worse. Which means I have to be ready to step in should the unthinkable happen, and in the eyes of the Capitol - being ready means having a husband. Luckily (depending on how you view the situation) I already have my 'Prince Charming'. He proposed to me on my sixteenth birthday - strange to think I've been engaged for almost two years. And to my best friend no less. Peeta Mellark.
As I head downstairs, the doorbell rings. I glance at the clock curiously, wondering who would be out so early on Reaping Day. When I pull the door open, I find my friend Katniss Everdeen standing on the step, along with Gale Hawthorne - who definitely isn't my friend. Katniss is holding a small tub of strawberries and I realize they're here to sell them. My father has a particular fondness for strawberries, and Katniss has a knack for picking them at just the right time - when the sweet, sugary juices flood your mouth as you bite into them. She and I often sit together at school, as neither of us have many friends; Katniss because she is quiet and keeps to herself, me because the vast majority of people assume I'm a snob due to being the Mayor's daughter. Most of the kids at school are from the Seam (the poorest area of District 12) and they probably resent me for the comfortable life I have. I can't really blame them, although it would be nice if they at least gave me a chance. I used to try hard to make friends when I was younger, but I don't bother anymore.
Katniss is the exception. I think we gravitated towards each other because we didn't have anyone else, but it turns out we get on really well. Gale, on the other hand, is about as judgmental as they come. Even though we're the same age, he acts as if he's somehow superior; always throwing me these dirty looks, like my existence alone offends him. As if on cue, he fixes me with a withering stare.
"Pretty dress."
I narrow my eyes at him, unsure whether this is a genuine compliment or just another of his digs. Most likely the latter, and I refuse to be outwitted.
"Well if I end up going to the Capitol I want to look nice, don't I?" I answer, smiling at his evident confusion. It's soon replaced with the usual look of distaste.
"You won't be going to the Capitol" he bites back. For a moment his gray eyes bore viciously into my own. They flick downwards, as if he's sizing me up, before I realize they've fixated on my mockingjay pin. Quite inexplicably, I feel my face flush. I know what he's thinking - that pin could feed a family for months. And it's true, but of course, I don't have a family to feed.
"What can you have? Five entries? I had six when I was just twelve years old."
"That's not her fault," Katniss interjects, shooting me a look halfway between embarrassed and apologetic. I actually have six entries, not five, but I'm not petty enough to point it out. Gale, however, remains decidedly unapologetic when he continues.
"It's no-one's fault. Just the way it is."
Frustration flares in me for a split second before I manage to quell it. I won't give him the satisfaction of losing my temper - especially not today. Gale Hawthorne and his 'Holier than Thou' complex are the least of my problems. I school my face into a neutral expression and give Katniss the money for the strawberries.
"Good luck Katniss," I say.
"You too" she replies.
They turn to leave as I shut the door. When I hear the lock click, I let out an exasperated sigh. I wasn't sure what bothered me more - Gale's attitude or my reaction to it. I've spent a lifetime holding my tongue and not letting people get to me, why should he be any different? I peer out of the window after them; they don't appear to be speaking. Katniss is probably annoyed at him. I appreciate that.
I take the strawberries to the kitchen, wash them and put them in the fridge ready for father to have when we come back. He'll need something to cheer him up. It's customary for the Mayor to visit the families of the chosen Tributes after the Reaping and offer 'congratulations', although it's more like commiserations. Another perk of the job. I hear footsteps coming down the hall and my parents appear in the doorway; mother is adorned in a delicate lilac dress, and father in his best suit.
"Ready for breakfast, sweetheart?"
A twinge of nausea has me dismissing the offer, but mother insists I have to eat something - so I grudgingly accept a slice of toast. I'm already regretting it when the doorbell rings a second time. Mother dabs her mouth with her napkin then disappears down the hall to answer it. One look at the clock, reading 10AM precisely, tells me the visitor's identity. Typical - the witch even sends him out on Reaping Day.
"Hello Peeta," I hear my mother say.
"Good morning, Mrs. Undersee," comes the polite reply. She's told him countless times to call her Marielle, but he insists on the formality. Peeta Mellark is nothing if not well-mannered.
"Are you well?" he asks.
"Yes thank you, although unfortunately the same can't be said for my husband."
"I'm very sorry to hear that," he says with genuine concern. I hear rustling followed by the sound of a box being opened. "Perhaps these will help cheer him up? The frosting is strawberry flavored."
I can't help the smile that breaks across my face. When I look up I see my father mirroring it back to me. He inclines his head towards the door and I nod, rising from the kitchen table. As I pass mother in the hallway, the delicious scent of baked goods fills my nostrils and I peer into the box she's holding to see a dozen or so cookies topped with red frosting. He never forgets strawberry is father's favorite.
"Good morning," he greets when I reach the front door.
"If only," I answer. "Thank you for the cookies, that's really thoughtful."
The truth is, Peeta Mellark has been at our door with assorted baked goods at 10AM every Monday for almost two years. Before that it was a daily occurrence. No-one has quite perfected the art of bribery like Mrs. Mellark. The laws of the Capitol are no secret, nor is my father's ill-health, and so it didn't take the residents of 12 long to deduce I would be requiring a suitor. And not just any suitor; as future Mayor I'd have to wed someone 'proper', well thought-of with good social standing. In several of the districts it's customary for Mayors to marry Victors, as they're both prestigious figures in the community, but this has never really applied in 12 as we don't produce many Victors. Thank God. The thought of having to marry Haymitch Abernathy sends a shiver down my spine.
Instead, it has to be someone whom the Capitol deem appropriate for representing authority in the district. So it couldn't be a resident of the Seam, for instance. My parents' match was arranged because my mother's family owned a sweet shop in the merchant side of town, making them wealthier than the majority of people in 12. Luckily they got on well and even though the marriage was arranged they ended up falling in love. I think that's what they're expecting to happen with Peeta and I, but I just can't see it.
I do love Peeta. He's the only real friend I've ever had. Apart from Katniss, but even then we only see each other at school. Peeta and I grew up together. Any free time we have is generally spent in each other's company. I teach him to play piano and he teaches me to bake. On summer evenings we sit in the garden while he paints and I sing. He says I have a beautiful voice and I tease him by asking if it's better than Katniss', which makes him blush and throw his paintbrush at me. I knew he had a crush on her the first time he saw her. I could tell - I'd never seen him look at anyone that way before. It's the same way my father looks at my mother sometimes when he thinks no-one's watching.
Peeta's never looked at me that way. I've never looked at him that way, either. I've never looked at anyone that way. I sometimes wonder what it's like to care about someone so much that you'd do anything for them; like when Peeta deliberately burned a loaf of bread to give to Katniss even though he knew his mother would beat him for it. I suppose there's no harm in wondering, but it's not as if I'll ever find out. Just before my sixteenth birthday, Peeta told me his mother had instructed him to ask my father's permission to marry me. We both knew it was coming. The woman had been sending us food free of charge every day for years, and she certainly isn't the type of person to do such things out of the goodness of her heart.
We were honest with each other from the start. We loved each other, but we weren't in love. I asked him about his feelings for Katniss, but he was certain nothing would come of it. I didn't want him to miss out on a chance of real happiness if he could have it, and so I tried to change his mind and get him to talk to her. I even offered to do it myself as Katniss and I are friends. He smiled sadly and said even if he did go for it his mother would never allow him to associate with someone from the Seam. She really is a heartless woman. We knew it was in both of our best interests to accept the betrothal; it would save me from marrying a stranger, and ensure Peeta's family had financial security for life - so we did.
"You look nice," he says.
I laugh humorlessly. "You're the second person to tell me that today, although I suspect the first was just being a jerk."
Peeta frowns. "Who was that?"
"Gale Hawthorne."
Recognition dawns on his face. "Oh, that tall guy the girls at school are always chasing?"
I roll my eyes at his assessment. "Yeah, that one."
Peeta's next words, however, take me by surprise.
"Maybe he likes you."
I blink. "What?"
A grin spreads across his face. "It's a guy thing. Sometimes if we like a girl, instead of being nice to her, we'll act like a jerk to get her attention."
"That's stupid," I state.
"It's true," Peeta insists. He nudges my shoulder playfully. "The day I start being a jerk to you is the day you should be worried."
"Well then I should already be worried," I smirk.
If we're going to end up an old married couple anyway, may as well start acting like it now. That is, if we both make it through the Reaping.
This thought quickly wipes the smirk off my face and Peeta must notice my anxiety, because he promptly steps up and puts his arms around me.
"It's gonna be okay today," he assures. I turn my head into his shoulder, breathing in his familiar, comforting musk.
"Yeah," I whisper, scared of agreeing too enthusiastically in case I jinx it. I know it's silly, but I daren't tip the odds out of our favor any more than they already are.
Peeta bids me goodbye and heads off back to the bakery. Just before I shut the door, I hear him call: "I'll say hi to your boyfriend if I see him."
I try so hard not to smile, but it's no use.
"Definitely a jerk!" I shout after him, receiving only laughter in response.