I sit in class watching her. I can't take my eyes off of her. I'm in love with her and she doesn't even know my name. Why would she? She doesn't talk much to anyone, but especially not to someone from town, unless she's making a trade. She comes in our bakery sometimes, but she usually deals with my father. We've never truly spoken, but she's constantly in my head.

The school bell rings and we all leave. My friend, Levi, walks up to me. He says, "They need to get rid of Mr. Hale. The old man is losing his mind."

I laugh. "They'll never do that. We don't get a new teacher until the other one dies."

"Hey, then maybe we will get a new one. He's got to be at least a hundred years old, if not more."

"You're an idiot, Levi."

He puts his arm on my shoulders. "In that case, you're an idiot. I mean, you are friends with me."

I put my arm on his shoulders. "I'm an idiot by association. At least I'm not a true idiot like you. Your idiocy is all you. I'm only an idiot because of you. See, that's how much of an idiot you are. You make everyone around you an idiot." We do this every day. The same song and dance. Our relationship never changes. Well, at least not on his end. As far as he knows, it never changes on my end either. "I've got to work today, Levi. I can't hang out this afternoon."

"Are you sure? Can't you get Rye to cover for you?"

"No, my mother will kill me if she finds out." The horrible part is, that's only a slight exaggeration. My mother is cruel.

"Alright," he says and I walk off. When I walk in the door the bell chimes and my mother comes to the front counter.

"Oh, it's just you," she says with a scowl on her face. The disdain she has for me is clear in her voice.

"Hello, Mother. What do you need me to do today?"

"Make some more bread. We've sold a lot today."

I mix the dough and knead it for at least twenty minutes. My hands are tired, but they won't really start to hurt for several hours. I form the dough into two loaves and carry it to the oven. The ovens are extremely hot and I have to be careful. I try to avoid the flames, but I end up burning my arm. I swear and my mother slaps the back of my head.

"Watch your mouth," she says

I sigh and push the bread the rest of the way into the oven. I walk over to the sink and pick up a towel. I run it under the water and press it against my arm. The cool temperature soothes the burn, but I know it will still leave a scar. My arms are riddled with scars from the oven.

My life isn't difficult, but I'm still not happy. The girl I love doesn't even know who I am. I can't talk to her because of him. I can't talk to Katniss because of Gale Hawthorne. There's something between them, I know it. Everyone does. The girls whisper their jealousy in the hallway. They want him, but she has him. I'm in a similar situation. I want her, but he has her. I'm jealous of him, but I don't do anything about it. I don't speak to either of them. How could I? There's nothing I can do.

I'll always love the girl from the Seam. I'll love her forever and always. Sometimes I think, Maybe, just maybe, someday I'll work up the nerve to talk to her, but I never have. She's not like other girls. Other girls I flirt with effortlessly. This one, not a chance. I don't think I'll ever get a chance with her. It would be a miracle if I did. There will always be obstacles keeping me from her. Gale, the fact that she's from the Seam, and the fact that she would never want to talk to me in a million years. Sometimes she seems prideful, but that's only when I'm in a bad mood. She has reason to be proud. She's taken care of her younger sister since the age of eleven. Really, she's just got an incredible spirit. There's definitely a spark in her that not everyone can see.

I saw it the first day of school. My father pointed her out in the line. She was wearing a red plaid dress and her hair was in two braids instead of her usual one. "I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner," he said.

"Well, why would she marry a coal miner if she could've had you?"

"When he sings, even the birds stop to listen."

Later that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked us who knew the valley song. Her hand shot right up. The teacher stands her up on a stool in the front of the classroom. She opens her mouth and sings in a sweet, clear voice. I heard every single bird outside the window fall silent. Just like her mother fell in love with her father, her voice had stolen my heart.