I do not own The Hunger Games.

I hug my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth and cradling my arm. It hurts. Burns always do, but this one is worse than most. The cool air on it feels good. I shiver a little, though, because I forgot my jacket in the house. It is another in a long line of things I can't do right.

At least the night sky is wide open above me, stars sparkling and winking down at me.

If Mother finds me crying out here in the backyard, I'm afraid that she'll hurt me again. She likes to tell me that I am a blubbering fool, laughing as she says it. The sound reminds me of when Miss Arble runs her nails on a chalkboard. The burns on my arm throb and I know I will need to tell my friends that I slipped in the bakery again. All of my friends think I'm clumsy. I feel more tears slip down my cheeks and wipe them with my shirt. I have to lie: I don't want anyone to know how much I need to be kept in line.

I wish I could tell someone about my Mother. I wish someone would understand how scared I am some days, when Father is making deliveries and Mother and I are in the bakery alone; how sometimes little things I do make her lose her temper, or how sometimes she calls me stupid. I hear her voice now, even when I sleep.

"Peeta, you need to be taught a lesson! Peeta, stop daydreaming, and pay attention! Peeta, you'll never amount to anything with an attitude like that! Peeta, why can't you be like your brothers?"

Sometimes she does worse stuff than yell. Like today.

I think my friend Delly knows. We don't talk about it, though. If I did tell her, I bet Delly would cry with me and tell me to try to do better. Her tears wouldn't make me feel better at all – and she would know that I am pitiful. Just like Mother says.

I sniffle, wiping my nose on my sleeve and thinking of that girl from school. Katniss. I can picture her skipping down the street with her Father as they come to the bakery for bread. Her braids always seem to be flying out behind her, like wings on a bird. Her voice is just as pretty as a bird's too – she sings in assembly and hums to herself while she works on our reading assignments. I don't think she knows about the humming, though, because she's caught me staring at her a few times.

I wish Katniss understood about my Mother. I bet she wouldn't cry with me. She probably wouldn't even hold my hand or anything. She would just…. I don't know. Hum, maybe. Maybe she would look at me with her clear, gray eyes and she would know but just not care. I think that's maybe what I need: someone who knows my horrible secret and still thinks I'm ok.

So, when I look up to the sky and see a falling star, that's what I wish for: Katniss to understand how it feels to be me.

-break-

I throw up when I find out Mr. Everdeen is gone in the mine explosion. I don't even care what Mother thinks or that she might find me back here or even that she might hit me. For once, I can't imagine I could feel any worse. I think of how Katniss will never see her Father again and I know - I know—that this is my fault. It's because I wanted her to understand how horrible I feel; how scared and alone I am every day.

Father brings me my jacket and hugs me. His arms are warmer than any jacket could ever be and that starts the tears rolling down my face. I have no idea if the tears are for me or for Katniss and her family and my Father does not ask. I hold on while he rocks me like a baby and for once I let him. I am pitiful.

Finally, I hear him say, "Peeta, sometimes bad things happen. Let's find a star and wish on it that something good happens to those families."

We spend some time finding a star to wish on and then both close our eyes. I wish with all of my might on that star: saying I'm sorry, wishing only good things on Katniss Everdeen. I promise myself that I will find a star every night and wish on it until I know she is happy again.

However long that takes.

Months later, I am sitting outside the back door of our bakery, shivering slightly on the wet steps. The rain today made everything gray but at least it's stopped so that I can come outside. My Mother hates the rain because it's bad for business and that makes her more likely to get mad. All of us walk carefully on days it rains, not willing to set her off.

Except today – today I not only stopped avoiding her, but I did something to provoke her.

I touch my swollen cheek with my cold hands, hoping it will soothe the bruising. I almost wish it were cold enough for snow so that I could put a snowball on my cheek. It will be another bruise and another set of lies, but it was worth it. I couldn't sit by and watch Katniss waste away to nothing in the cold rain while I had warm bread in my hands. It was like I was holding one of the stars I wish on every night and I could use it or I could throw it away. It didn't matter that Mother saw me burn it, or that she would have hit me for less than that on a rainy day like today. It was suddenly important that I do something instead of..well, itstead of being pitiful.

It's a habit to look for a star to wish upon every night and tonight is no different. The rain means that there are none, though, so I just sit quietly. Being a baker makes me patient. I sit soaking up the cold night air, glad I remembered a jacket this time.

I think of Katniss. I wonder if she and her family are enjoying the bread. Did she share it with her sister and Mother? She wouldn't just have run off and eaten it by herself, would she? No, not Katniss. I see how Katniss acts around her younger sister. I am positive that she shared the bread.

And just like that, the clouds part.

I see a picture in the stars I never noticed before: a hunter holding a bow. It must be Mr. Everdeen because I remember him bringing us squirrels to trade for bread. I remember Mother and Father arguing over whether to take his trades or turn him away. Father always said he was a good shot. "A family has to eat, Mother." Father would say. My Mother wouldn't say a word after that, but she would eat dinner just like the rest of us.

Mr. Everdeen is up there in the sky watching over all of us. I wonder if he saw what I did with the bread today? Does he hear my wishes every night and know they are for Katniss? I talk to him, this hunter in the sky, explaining that I will watch out for Katniss. It quiets me like wishing on stars never did. I almost feel like he is answering me, telling me that she will be ok. Telling me that he will watch out for me too.

-break-

When they call us the Star Crossed Lovers of District 12, I feel a jolt of recognition that makes me cold and hot and makes my palms sweat. On the roof of the Training Center that night, staring up at the sky, I realize that it's an accurate description. I still talk to the hunter in the sky every night. Katniss and I are linked – the same stars watch over and protect us both. I know what people mean by the phrase is that we are unlucky. Maybe we are. Maybe I am. Maybe I am pitiful and useless and unlucky, just like Mother says. But I think that maybe the stars sent me here to protect Katniss as part of our deal from years ago - as payback for wishing I had someone who understood. Maybe I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

Cato cuts me, leg cut so deeply that I can see bone. Once I find a hiding place, I almost wish I had the energy to chuckle at my fate. I find it really funny that I keep thinking, my leg is killing me. And it is. I know it is. My leg, whatever is happening down there, is actually killing me. That's why I feel hot and then freezing cold. I tremble so much from the fever that I am afraid the mud and leaves I've used to decorate – no, the word is camouflage—myself will fall off and leave me exposed so that someone can finish me off.

I am starting to think that maybe that's not a bad idea. Maybe someone should kill me and get it over it. The words "put me out of my misery" suddenly make sense to me in a way they never did.

The night sky blooms overhead after a melon sunset. The stars twinkle and wink like jewels on Katniss's dress. Just like the stars back home. I wonder if they are real or just some sort of arena trick, then decide that I just don't care anymore. Who knows what's real or not real in this place? I certainly don't. All I know is that it's quiet here, lying in the riverbed. It would be a beautiful night if I didn't feel like death. Like death, I chuckle in my head again at the description.

The hunter twinkles above me, watchful and vigilant as always. He brings me the same peace and I unload the craziness that is the arena onto him: joining the careers, killing that other tribute, the Tracker Jacker attack, fighting Cato. I fought him so that Katniss could get away and get to safety. I fought him so that one of us could stay alive.

Part of me wants to scream and cry and pull my hair out at that: I want to be safe. Why can't both of us live? It's the same part of me that let my Father hold me the night Mr. Everdeen died – the same part of me that is pitiful and weak and useless. I am not those things in the arena. I can't be those things, not if Katniss is going to live. I need to make every second here count. I beg the hunter to watch over me and give me a few more seconds or minutes or whatever it takes.

-break-

The roof of the Training Center is warm and comfortable but the quiet is eerily like the arena. I can't get used to it. Haymitch tells me that I will see Katniss tomorrow, that Panem wants to witness our reunion. I would rather it be just she and I, alone, like in the cave. I would even take the night on the cornucopia, comforting each other and waiting for Cato to die. Katniss and I seem to do better alone, with only the hunter to watch over us.

I sigh and stare up at the night sky and let myself remember the kisses in the cave. Now that I am safe, they seem surreal and romantic, like they happened to someone else. Like they were scripted. Does Katniss Everdeen actually care about me? I ask the sky. The stars sparkle silently in response.

I thank the hunter from the bottom of my heart for sending Katniss to find me in that riverbed. I know that I would have died there if not for her. I remember the beating of my heart, the surprise and elation and relief that I felt when I realized the splashing in the water was her footsteps. I remember how she cleaned my wounds, how she felt next to me those nights in the cave. I chuckle darkly when I think about how she drugged me to keep me away from the feast.

I close my eyes and can still see her face when she held out those berries. The green of the forest around us, my leg throbbing in time with my head as the blood ran wetly down my leg, even the golden brightness of the morning are painted behind my eyelids. Her eyes gleamed brightly.

…They gleamed like stars. And that's when I know that it wasn't Mr. Everdeen watching me from the heavens all these years, it was Katniss. Katniss was the huntress in the sky.

She was watching out for me all along.