It is a radiant Friday afternoon and every student who attends my school is walking home with only thoughts of relaxation on their minds. That, however, is not the case with me, Peeta Mellark. My mind is plagued with a question that I have never before asked myself: what is the difference between a man's body and a woman's body?
Why am I suddenly so curious about this topic? Well, you see, just ten minutes before the school day's end, my friend Token had walked up to me and shamelessly boasted about knowing information that I didn't. I had wondered what that could possibly be; since I am very sure that I know everything someone my age should, if not more. So I asked him, and he told me that yesterday his father had explained something to him that most people in their teens and twenties only understand. I questioned what that was, and he told me that he knew the difference between a man's body and a woman's body.
My first conclusion had been that he was bluffing. Token and I are mere nine years old, not even old enough for our names to be entered for the Hunger Games (thank God). I accused him of lying and he simply shrugged and said that it was my problem if I didn't believe him.
So now I am on my way home with this question blocking every other thought in my mind. At this moment, nothing else is relevant to me except finding out the big difference, not even the fact that it is getting very close to Reaping Day for the sixty-seventh Hunger Games and that one of my two older brothers could be selected as a Tribute.
I arrive home to the smell of baking bread, as usual. My mother is sitting on the one large couch in our living room. I am not even thinking of approaching her with this question; most likely she will yell at me, slap me, or both for bringing it up and not being focused on how our family's bakery is doing.
"Hey, boy, hurry up and get to the kitchen!" she says to me, wearing her famous ugly scowl. "Pastries don't make themselves."
I ignore her nagging voice and enter my room, where I find my eldest brother, Roka, searching for something in my closet. Perfect! Roka is thirteen years old. He, my other older brother, and I all share the same ashy blonde hair and blue eyes, as do most people in the merchant area of District 12, where my family and I live.
Roka is much taller than me, and from the way he acts, much smarter about girls than I am as well. He notices that I am in the room and turns to face me.
"Do you know where my sleeveless black shirt is? I want to wear to impress this pretty girl tomorrow," he says.
I shake my head. "No, sorry, and can I ask you a question?"
"You already did, Peeta. No more questions now."
"I need to ask you another one," I say, choosing my words more carefully.
"Alright then, what'd you want to know?"
"What's the difference between a man's body and a woman's body?"
Roka freezes, and gives me a look that contains nothing but confusion. "Why the hell do you want to know that? You're nine."
"My friend Token's father told him the difference, and he's nine too. So why can't I know?"
"Well, little bro, it's just that you might find this information extremely uncomfortable . . . and it's going to be really uncomfortable for me to explain it to you. If I don't tell you, we both will be saved from incredible uncomfort."
I feel slightly upset now. "I really don't care if it's uncomfortable. I want to know!"
He appears to be taken aback by the forcefulness in my voice. I never yell at my brothers or use a demanding tone with them, but to walk all the way home with only this question troubling me and to be denied information by someone who definitely knows the answer is very frustrating.
"Fine, I'll tell you just so you'll shut up," he says, sighing and taking a seat on my bed.
I do the same.
"Well?"
"Well, as you know, some women and girls are pretty and small, while some men and boys are handsome and bigger than some women and girls. Some females look like males, and some males look like women."
"Okay, go on."
Roka looks hesitant. He begins to scratch his nose, a nervous habit. "The true way to tell if someone is a woman or a man is to . . . uh . . . get a look at them naked." He reddens.
"What do you mean?"
"A woman's body is supposed to be curvy and feminine, but even if it's not, it doesn't mean that she's not a female. Women can be muscular and bulky, like men. So . . ."
"Don't stop now!"
"Uh . . . um . . . you know when you're naked and you see that thing in front of you that's between your legs?"
I nod. "Yeah, it's really weird-looking."
"Alright, well . . . only males have that, okay?"
"Okay, so what do women have?"
Roka pauses, apparently thinking. Finally, he says, "If I tell you this, you cannot tell Mom."
"I promise I won't tell her."
"Once, I peeped on this really hot girl in her twenties. I was your age, and curious, so I followed her home without her knowing and spied on her while she was getting naked. I was surprised when she took all her clothes off, because she didn't have that thing in front of her."
"What did she have?"
"Nothing, really, just . . . I can't describe it. It has a left side and a right side, I think, and some hair. I don't think women see it in front of themselves."
"So . . . that's the difference?"
Roka shrugs. He is redder than I have ever seen him. "Pretty much, yeah."
"Can men use that weird-looking thing in front of them to impress women?"
"I think so."
"What is it called, anyway?"
"We'll talk about that later, alright?"
I think for a while. "Do you think I can impress Katniss Everdeen with my weird-looking thing?"
"Her father would probably kill you if you ever showed her it."
"Aw, okay."
"Don't get sad. One day, if you grow to be a man and your thing gets huge, you'll impress tons of women with it, and maybe even Katniss if she grows up past eighteen."
"Wow! That's the most inspiring thing I've ever heard! Thanks, Roka!"
"Peeta, get in this motherfucking kitchen!" my mom screams from the living room.
A/N: Notice how I avoided using the correct name for a man's private part. I hope you enjoyed this. Hunger Games is awesome and Peeta is the best!