Author's Note: This story is a modern-day AU, Hunger Games telling. I felt like I needed an outlet away from the serious drama of my other two stories so came up with this one. Normally, I am a comedic writer. I love to infuse my writing with witty side-thoughts and funny comparisons, but I haven't really been able to do that. Along came this story (Yaaay). It will be a bit ridiculous, but that's all the fun of it.

I hope you enjoy tagging along with Delly Cartwright as she goes through the motions of her last year of high school. If you have the time please check out my other stories Back into the Field of Nightmares and The People of the Woods

I
Sweet lovers love the spring – William Shakespeare

"Wouldn't it be romantic!?" I gush. "Just think about it. You're sitting there, enjoying the sound of the rippling water, not to mention the view of the stud in front of you handling the ores of the quaint wooden row-boat. And then suddenly..."

"Don't say it," Katniss interrupts. She blows a stubborn chestnut strand out of her face and takes a bite out of her granola bar. The expression she wears is a mixture of discontent and palpable annoyance. She chews the chocolate grain in slow, measured bites, keeping her light grey eyes trained on the patch of grass littered with budding dandelions positioned a few feet ahead of where we sit; perched on the curb a ways off from the front doors of Panem Secondary School.

Katniss isn't one to indulge in my flights of romanticized fancy. In fact, I'm surprised she didn't put a stop to my ramblings a lot sooner.

She's all seriousness, that girl. Even in grade school, when we were five, and I would ask her to play princess she would only agree to play along if the princesses were level-headed, independent women capable of saving themselves from their own perils. That meant no running off to the little boys in our grade and coercing them into being our prince or any talk of marriage.

Honestly, what is a princess without her prince?

"Aw, Katniss don't be such a Debby Downer," Madge jokes, poking Katniss in the ribs with her elbow. "I actually wanted to hear Delly's modern retelling of the Lil Mermaid," she snickers and leans back on her hands, tilting her pale face up to the sun.

"Get her to tell you it when I'm not around then," Katniss retorts.

I chuckle to myself. What a bewildering trio we make: Katniss the stoic; Madge the bashful; and me the hopeless romantic. We are so unlike one another, yet our friendship seems strengthened by our differences.

I sneak a glance at Katniss who is still working away at her granola bar. She continues to stare off into the distance while the wind plays with the loose stands of her hair that have escaped the braid trialing down the right side of her back. Whenever she feels a bit spontaneous, she lets the braid fall to the left.

One thing I can tell you about Katniss is that she tries to hide in her oversized sweatshirts and ripped jeans, but she's effortlessly stunning. She can't see how beautiful she is, and she hates when I compliment her on her appearance, but I do it anyways. Nothing causes her to scowl more than hearing the phrase 'why Katniss, you look positively radiant today.'

Sometimes I find myself completely hypnotized by her eyes. They are a mystifying light grey and change depending on her mood. Her olive skin tone accentuates the light dusting of brown freckles that sweetly decorate her nose. But you should never mention them. She thinks her freckles make her look too much like a little girl. If you ask me it's the baggy clothes she chooses to throw on her small frame. She appears as if she's playing a lifelong game of dress-up.

I've known Katniss since I started school. I made it impossible for her not to befriend me. Madge, however, I didn't meet until I was about ten. I'll never forget it. I was sitting in class, working on timetables and thinking how lovely it would be if all the numbers on the page decided it would be in their best interest if they would answer themselves, when she walked in. Her hair fell to her shoulders in golden ringlets and she wore a red, plaid dress that matched the shade of rouge that coloured the cheeks of her pale face. She looked exactly like Goldilocks.

Naturally, I had to introduce myself. I talked to her the entire day, but could barely get more than ten words out of her. She was the perfect example of the expression 'timid as a mouse.' She took to Katniss a lot faster than she did to me. Katniss said it's because my overt friendliness is a bit stifling. So it was through Katniss that I learned that Madge is the only daughter of the Mayor and had been in a private school in Capitol city before she came to Twelve. Viva Panem suburbia (cue the Mariachi band and maracas).

She no longer wears frilly, plaid dresses, but her hair still falls in ringlets no matter how hard she tries to discourage them. I find it quite cute. She's like a grown-up Shirley Temple. I love to tease her about it. If only she could tap dance, but I doubt she would tell me if she could. She hates being the center of attention. She's so shy that she goes out of her way to avoid awkward inferences with the opposite sex.

I lie back on the smooth paved walkway and let my sandy hair splay out against the pavement in waves. I close my eyes and listen to the chatter of the birds above us. It's spring now and everything is buzzing, blooming, coming alive. The feel of the warm rays kissing my face makes me positively giddy. Spring is for new beginnings. It's for happiness and joy and most of all, it is a time for romance. "This is the season of love," I hum and my mouth spreads into a grin as I wait for Katniss' solemn response.

Right on cue, a derisive snort escapes her and she crumples the plastic wrapping from her granola bar in her hands. "Oh, please."

"Listen," I whisper. "Don't you hear the birds singing admiringly? Don't you smell the flowers bathing us in wafts of fragrant amor? Can't you see the clear blue sky pulling at our hearts? Spring is for lovers, my dear Katniss."

She shifts her weight and I know she's on her feet now. The sun causes her shadow to cover me.

I ignore her frustration and continue to tell her things she would rather not hear. "I feel as though you will find your soul mate this wonderfully merry spring."

Madge stifles a giggle as I say this and I know without having to lift my lids that Katniss' eyes have shifted from light grey to stony granite as she glares down at me. "Did you hit your head this morning?" she spits.

I sit up and shield my green irises with the back of my hand as I peer up at her. "Katniss, you can't avoid love forever. You run from it like it's an illness, but it's coming for you. You're seventeen, going on eighteen next month! Stop being such a spinster. I really do feel like before we graduate from high school, you will fall for someone."

A burst of laughter erupts from beside me and I glance over to see Madge turning an intriguing shade of pink as she tries to stop the giggles from leaving her mouth with her hands. Katniss kicks Madge's foot with her worn leather boots and opens her mouth to unleash an onslaught of unladylike statements when muffled voices interrupt us.

I let my eyes drift from the irked expression of my friend to the group of guys a few feet away from us, tramping through the island of grass and dandelions. Not even Katniss can resist peering over her shoulder to find out who the voices belong to.

I watch her scan the crowd of lively teenage boys; all of which are in the same year as us. Her eyes settle on the leader of the pack. He's about a step in front of the other three and tilts his head back every now-and-then to add a witty quip to the spirited conversation. Katniss' expression changes from one of annoyance to panic when he looks over in our direction.

Curious, I think to myself.

I catch his eye and he grins. Even from this distance I notice how his azure eyes sparkle. His golden curls shimmy playfully as he walks towards me. I rise to my feet and dust the back of my denim jeans with my hands. "Hark, Mellark that be you?" I call to him in an exaggerated Shakespearian tone.

"Alas my lady Cartwright, tis' I, in the flesh," he calls back, bowing so low that he grazes the grass with the back of his hand.

I clap my hands together and beam back at him, ignoring the uncomfortable expressions marking the otherwise attractive visages of my friends. I cannot very well ignore Peeta Mellark. He is practically a brother to me and a very dear friend. We've been neighbours since we could crawl. I can't help if he likes to roll with an entourage.

"Who cometh with thee?" I ask him.

"Why the same bunch of yolks: Lyle of the Apothecary; Meeno of the Mine; and my dearest coz Alder of the Wood." I shake my head amused. What he means to say is Lyle, the tall lanky boy with the spiked brown hair, is the son of a doctor who lives in our neighbourhood. Meeno comes from a history of miners and his hair is just as dark as the coal that his relatives handle and Alder is his cousin who works in a hardwood shop that his family owns.

He reaches where I stand and gathers my hands into his soft, tanned ones, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of my palm. If I hadn't been friends with Peeta since the beginning of time, I might be inclined to fall in love with him. But as it stands, he is not really my type.

I flick him with my other hand and he wiggles his eyebrows at me.

"Peeta, you're such a scoundrel," I tell him.

"And I take that as a compliment," he grins. He looks over at Katniss and flashes a smile twice as brilliant in her direction. "Hi Katniss," he says, letting go of my hands so he can place his within the confines of his jean pockets. He tilts a little to the right and extends a greeting to Madge, then meets Katniss' eyes again, which remain disinterested. "How are you?"

The question is harmless. Just something to start conversation, but Katniss doesn't take to it very well. Her brow furrows suspiciously and she clicks her tongue before she answers with something short and uninviting. "Late, lunch is over." She passes a furtive glance in my direction and then turns to head towards the school doors.

A chorus of sympatric whistles echo from behind Peeta's back and he sucks in a breath. "Not one for conversation that one," he sighs.

"Don't let it get to you, Peeta," I whisper so only he can hear. "If anyone can melt the ice that sits in her chest it's you," I squeeze his arm encouragingly.

"Well," Lyle pipes up, "I guess that means we should all hurry to class. I can't be late for business with Mr. Abernathy. I can't take him yelling at me again," he walks past Peeta and I with Meeno in toe. "You know he throws things at his students," I hear him say as he walks on.

"No way!" Meeno guffaws, reaching for the metal door handle on the glass doors.

"Yeah, it's gotta' be illegal or something right. But everyone's too scared of him to say anything," Lyle continues until he's out of sight.

Until now, Madge has stayed deathly silent. I didn't even notice when she rose from where she sat beside me. "I'll see you in biology," she tells me. She holds her navy blue cardigan close to her chest as she starts to walk towards the doors.

"Wait, hey Madge," Alder hastens towards her. "We're in the same math class right. We can walk there together. I'd rather walk into Miss. Trinket's classroom with someone else."

Madge neither agrees to Alder's suggestion, nor disagrees. But I can tell how uncomfortable she is by the way she clutches her cardigan closer to the center of her chest and the rise of her shoulders. Before Alder can reach for the door, she's already latched on to the metal knob and zips through the entryway without reservation.

Peeta and I are left alone with only the wind to keep us company. He offers his arm and I loop mine through it as we leisurely stroll towards the expansive burnt brick building. My next class is English with Miss. Cresta, the epitome of a free spirit; either that or a nutcase. Maybe it would be better to say that she's a large helping of both. Anyway, she doesn't really mind what time you show up as long as you show up. However, we are discussing one of my favourite Shakespeare plays today—A Midsummer Night's Dream.

Peeta's arm gently brushes against mine and I notice how firm his muscles feel, even when cloaked by his woolen hoodie. "My, my Mr. Mellark, all that wrestling has turned your scrawny arms into bulky masterpieces," I jest. He looks down at me and smirks, flexing to show off the true magnificence of his biceps. "Calm down Hulk Hogan, it's only me."

He pushes my head endearingly, something a sibling might do when being subjected to good-natured badgering. "You know," he starts, "It wouldn't hurt for you to put on a little muscle yourself," a sly smile spreads across his lips as he pinches the bit of skin above my elbow. "I could be your trainer. I'm the top wrestler on the team. Won the regional championship title, twice."

I stick my tongue out at him and unhook my arm from his grasp. "Excuse me Peeta, but I like my arms just fine. We aren't all capable of the Mellark workout regimen, lifting 100-pound sacks of flour over our heads like it's nothing."

He shrugs his shoulders, brushing off the praise. To him, lifting flour sacks is not the least bit impressive, it's just something he does while working at his father's bakery. It just so happens that as a result he now possesses the back and biceps of a finely sculpted male model. Not that I've noticed...I mean, I guess I have. But it was just an off-hand observation made one day when he was running laps for practice...without a shirt on.

But like I said, Peeta and me, it wouldn't happen. We're friends, best friends. There's no room for lovers.

Peeta reaches for the door, holding it open for me to walk through ahead of him. That's Peeta for you, ever the gentlemen; even for someone he practically considers a part of his family.

Before he walks through the dark metal frame I turn back to him and blurt out something I didn't plan on telling him, but can no longer keep to myself. "I told Katniss that I thought she would find her soul mate this year."

He pauses with his left leg still in-between the frame and the heavy door struggles to nestle back into the white molding. "And?" Though he doesn't say it, his eyes beg to know whether I mentioned his name. Whether I broke the promise I made to him when we were eleven and told Katniss Everdeen about the insatiable crush he has had on her since they were five years old.

"Relax Romeo," I call to him in a sing-song voice. I feel like we are eleven again and I am in the kitchen of the bakery, skipping around him grinning at his love for Katniss. "I only said that I feel love will find her this spring, but I never mentioned your name."

He exhales a weighty breath and leans against the dingy beige wall that carves out the corridor. "Maybe that's why she was so cold?" he frowns.

"She's always cold," I tell him. "She needs you to warm her up lover boy," I coo.

Peeta rolls his eyes and walks past me, but I chase after him, skipping and singing my rendition of Katniss and Peeta sitting in a tree, behind his back.

"...first comes love, then comes marriage..."

"—honestly Delly, sometimes I think you never really left third grade."

I stop skipping and fold my arms over my chest, feigning irritation. "I resent that Peeta Mellark."

He pushes through a blue door revealing a flight of wide metal stairs and begins to run up them, taking them two at a time. "And what about you Miss. Cartwright?" He pauses on the landing, looking down at me as I try to catch up to him. Being shorter than him, I am not able to match his stride. Skipping steps is not an art form I've mastered.

"What about me?" I ask innocently, passing by him and continuing up the next flight of stairs at a steady pace.

"Is there love written in the stars for you this year?" He presses.

I fling my hair over my shoulder and ignore him, suddenly hell-bent on reaching the top of the stairs and getting to my English class located down the hall.

"Ahh, so the seer doesn't wish to have her own love life talked about, but doesn't hesitate to talk about the love lives of others, I see," Peeta snickers, following behind me. "Well I know who I see within your future."

"Who Lyle?" I mockingly suggest. "I don't think we're compatible. He's much too ridiculous for my liking."

Peeta makes an obnoxious buzzer sound that causes me to jump. "Try again."

"Peeta I don't have time for this nonsense. I'm already fifteen minutes late for class and we are discussing the scene where the craftsmen do a hilarious re-enactment of Pyramus and Thisbe in A Midsummer Night's Dream."

Like the boy he is, Peeta bolts past me, racing towards the door with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He turns back towards me only when half of his body is already through the doorway at the top of the stairs so he has an ample head start. "I see you falling unequivocally, undeniably and hopelessly in love with..." I am almost at the top of the stairs now, lifting my hand from the rusted red railing. "Gale Hawthorne," he barks and leaps the rest of the way through the door, whistling to himself as he continues down the deserted hallway.

He didn't have to worry about me charging after him. I don't even attempt to dart after the boy with the golden waves. I stand in shock at what he said.

Gale Hawthorne

Did Peeta mean to tease me with this name or is he actually suggesting that I'm smitten with the one it belongs to? There's nothing wrong with Gale Hawthorne. It's common to hear girls whispering about his tall, mysterious, masculine form. Even with the sneer that disrupts his facial features ninety percent of the time, he is still quite handsome.

So it shouldn't bug me that Peeta listed him as a future love interest. I mean, he was probably just toying with me. Me and Gale Hawthorne, that's a laugh right? Like that could happen. Even if I wanted it to.

Because even if I admitted that I've noticed Gale Hawthorne, more often than not.

He's never, ever, noticed me.