Chapter 1: Happenstance Dance

The gravel crunches underneath my feet as I head for the Hob. Even in the middle of the day like now, the streets are quiet. I can remember a time when the streets were bustling. But that's all gone now.

My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am 23 years old. I was never in the Hunger Games, thank God. Prim is dead.

Up until five years ago, my country of Panem was ruled by brutal dictatorship. Before the war, my homeland and last/poorest of the nation's districts, District 12, boasted roughly 8,000 people.

Only one-tenth of that escaped the Capitol firebombing that triggered the Second Rebellion. 800 survivors.

We lost about 300 more to war casualties. A few people emigrated to other districts as refugees when hostilities ended. My mother. My former best friend, Gale... I don't know of any immigrants coming here. Who would want to live around here?

All told, only about 500 people remain in District 12.

These thoughts fade away as I enter the Hob market and beeline for Greasy Sae's stall. I deposit a few squirrels on the counter, which the old woman accepts gratefully.

"Hello, Katniss! Are you coming to the dance here in the Hob tonight?"

I bite my lip and frown. "I don't do dances," I reply pointedly. Dances mean displaying social graces that I do not possess. Plus, dressing up all feminine for events has never appealed to me.

"Why not? The whole district will be there." Sae then lowers her voice when I still look unsure. "You don't have to bring a date. You won't even have to dance. Just come for a drink and watch."

I think on it. It has been a while since I have really enjoyed myself. I could just go and be a wallflower, while still getting to day I attended.

"All right. I'll come."

Despite my usual distaste for any fancy garments, I don my faded blue dress - the nicest one I own. It used to be my mother's, from her Merchant days; it was passed down to me to wear for the Hunger Games Reapings. I do up my hair in the single braid down my back, and off I go.

The place is already bustling when I get there, with Merchant and Seam alike. I stick by the walls, weaving around mingling folk and dancing couples.

"Evening, Miss Katniss." A Seam miner tips his hat to me. I answer with a shy smile and quickly move on, lest he ask me for a dance.

Across the room, I suddenly spy a tall, handsome figure leaning against the wall. Ashy blonde hair, stocky build. And those eyes... eyes as blue as a summer sky...

The Baker's youngest son. Or, I guess, he's the Baker now. He inherited the family business, rebuilt it, after his parents and two older brothers perished in the firebombings; he was one of the few Merchants to escape to the woods.

Drink in my hand, I sidle up near him, but not too close to warrant conversation. It's nice to see someone else being a wallflower, and to just observe it.

I soon turn out to be wrong.

"Nice night," he offers up.

I nod, staring straight ahead. "It is."

A moment of silence. "You know, I've never seen you at one of these before. It makes for a nice change."

"Yeah, well, Greasy Sae pressured me into it."

"She's like that," he agrees. I sense him turn to face me. "I'm Peeta. Peeta Mellark."

I reciprocate the about-face. "Katniss Everdeen."

Neither of us shakes hands. Interestingly, we both glance away.

There is a lull in the conversation. I sip my drink.

"Hey, uh... would you... like to dance?" Peeta asks tentatively.

I shake my head. "No, thank you."

We stand like this, side by side, staring out into the crowd, for most of the night. Peeta engages in small talk, which I volley back, so as not to appear rude.

Finally, someone yells out, "LAST CALL!"

The final dance of the night. I chance a glance at Peeta to see his body poised and a hopeful look in his eyes, like a puppy straining on a leash.

Smirking and rolling my eyes in amusement, I grab him by the hand and drag him into the throng. He seems both surprised and pleased as I lazily drape my arms around his neck, and let him place his hands on my hips. We slow dance.

When the song ends, Peeta suddenly asks me, "Can I walk you home?"

I freeze. In the Seam, asking to walk a girl home is more than just that action itself. It's walking a girl to her door and then sharing a kiss goodnight with her. Perhaps even more...

Yet, I find myself saying, "Sure." I let Peeta escort me out of the dispersing Hob and back towards the Seam.

In the Merchant sector and the Seam, marriages came about in two different ways. At least they did before the war. Merchants still practiced arranged marriages. Parents would pair up their children from the time they were small. In the Seam, the rule could only be described as Marriage by Expectation. Parents would observe who their children became strong friends with of the opposite. After a while, it was presumed the pair would get married on their own. Sometimes attraction and love and romance had something to do with it. Sometimes, it was simply convenience or economic security or even a deep platonic understanding.

Though I once swore that I would never marry, if I had had to marry anyone, it would have been Gale. Security and deep friendship would have come first, probably. Love later.

Even if I had wanted to marry though, I would have wanted to marry for love first.

We now have reached my door. Peeta and I turn to face each other. "Thanks for walking me home," I mumble.

Peeta smiles. I like his smile. "You're welcome. Well... good night."

He holds out his hand for me to shake it. I grasp it as if to do so, but instead, I pull him flush against me. Dragging his neck down, I press his lips to mine.

I am fulfilling the code. This is the Seam tradition, the Seam way. Besides, he's been such a gentleman tonight. A simple, chaste kiss is what he deserves.

Except it isn't chaste. I forget myself and my mouth ravages his. But I can't seem to help it. He tastes so good...

Peeta pulls out of the kiss abruptly. He looks stunned, and even more than this, confused.

I suddenly realize my error. My face flushing red with embarrassment, I squeak out, "Good night," before fleeing inside my door.