Chapter 1: A Bowl of Soup

I rise before the sun. I am still getting used to my schedule as head of the household. I can't believe it has only been a week.

A week since my life as I knew it was torn apart forever.

It was a week ago that my father, Kirkman Everdeen, finally succumbed to black lung disease. The very air he breathed - air from the mines that he worked in all his life - poisoned him. The funeral was three days ago. I, as the eldest at 16, was tasked with the responsibility of accepting my father's old uniform, his helmet and a medal from the Mayor. My mother rode through the ceremony with hollow, blank eyes, their brilliant Merchant blue dimmed. Primrose, my little sister at 12, held our baby brother Aven. Aven's only two, a baby that wasn't planned by either of my parents. But they were overjoyed to have a son after raising two daughters. Even if the prospect of having three young mouths to feed was daunting, almost impossible on a combined miner and Healer's wages.

Since coming home from the funeral Wednesday afternoon, Mother has taken to her bed and refused to see anyone. The knocks I have laid to her door go unanswered, the plates of food I prepare and leave by her threshold untouched. When Primrose meekly suggested yesterday that Mother has lost the will to live, I barked at her to take Aven outside and play.

Mother cannot die, no matter how much she might want to - if Prim's theory is right. It would be a selfish, selfish thing for her to do, leaving two of her children to the cruel whims of the Community Home. The Community Home is where all orphans under the age of 18 go before being cast out into the street to make their own way. If the Hunger Games doesn't snatch them first - your chances of being picked from the Reaping Bowl spike if you are an orphan. I refuse to let that fate be any more likely for Prim than it has to be, or Aven when he comes of age.

Dressed in my gear, I slip out of my house and into the graying light. Bundles of cloth are in danger of tumbling from my arms but I keep a firm grip on them. This is the last of Prim's old baby clothes, which I have been taking into the Hob for the last seven days to sell. Some days I have turned a profit. Others not. I hope to be rid of the rest of it by sundown.

After that... I am not sure how we will eat. All transactions in District 12 require money, except for in the Hob, where you can barter. I don't know a trade... except for hunting. Tomorrow, I will have to brave beyond the fence, take up my father's bow and go hunting for food.

I arrive at the Hob - the black market of the district. The first several vendors are opening up their stalls. I spy Greasy Sae, the toothless grandmother, setting up her stand, and mosey on over. If I can start off by bartering away some of these clothes, I could get a hot breakfast in me for strength to pawn off the rest.

But Sae only gives me an apologetic smile when I try and sell her Prim's old baby bonnet. "Sorry, girl child. I've got no use for youngin's clothes here."

"At least for a bowl of broth?" and I try to keep the pleading out of my voice. It won't do to beg. District 12 has a hostility for beggars. The morning after my father's death, I tried to go to my uncle - my mother's brother - for help. He's the Merchant apothecary in Town. He turned me away angrily, as if he didn't know me. Like I am dead to him. And I probably am; I certainly looked the part. Mother has been estranged from her side of the family for years, every since she flouted tradition and married my Seam father.

Greasy Sae frowns. "I'm sorry, girlie, but I..." I hear boots scuff up to a halt in front of her stand, and I wince. A flash of white glints off the dapples of early morning sunlight. Peacekeepers. They patrol through this market, even though its very existence is supposed to be illegal. But our Head Peacekeeper, Cray, is so laxadaisical, that plausible deniability rules the day and most illegal dealings are allowed to slide. Heck, some cadets even purchase the wares on display here.

"Here, Sae, I'll pay for her." I turn to protest, to say that I am not a charity case, but my mouth goes dry. My tongue falters.

The Peacekeeper cadet before me is young. Handsome, with long red locks that flow down to his shoulders in waves. A muscular chest that bulges up against the white plates of his uniform. A chiseled jaw. But what strikes me the most about him are his eyes... eyes as green as a summer sea... Their teal shade now observe me kindly as Sae fills two bowls and passes them over. Money changes hands with a smile from the Peacekeeper. His teeth gleam white. He has a nice smile.

Good thing I had dumped the baby clothes on the counter, for the cadet now nudges one bowl into my hands. I struggle to get a grip on it; the warmth nearly burns my fingers. Those blue eyes now narrow at me.

"Say, aren't you the girl whose daddy died in the mines early this week?"

I want to run. Hide in shame. Not just for accepting an act of mercy blindly and betraying my pride, but for also being forever associated with a day that rained fire and smoke. For being the daughter of a failed, dead miner. But my feet stay rooted to the gray, pebbled earth. Wordlessly, numbly, I nod. His grin widens, but curves with clear sympathy.

"I thought so. Your mama's the Healer here. You look just like her."

I gape a little. No one has ever complimented me like that. I much more favor my father. Prim takes after our mother. But even if the roles were reversed, I wouldn't agree. My mother is still a real beauty, and I have never thought myself beautiful. Small breasts. Largely skin and bones. All the same, I feel heat rise to my cheeks, and it isn't from the steam of the soup. "Th...thank you," I mumble. Turning my head, I set the bowl down, and fumble around the pile of baby clothes. I must look like an idiot, and I ignore Greasy Sae's smirk in amusement. "What do I owe you?"

He holds up a hand. "No, ma'am, there ain't no charge. But..." And he grins shyly, giving the single braid running down my back a flick. "If you can think of a fair trade, I'd be glad to accept the transaction. How 'bout a kiss for luck?"

I gawp at him, and he laughs. "Relax, I'm just kidding!" He drops his head and voice low, close to mine. "But in all sincerity: my condolences to you and your family, Ms..."

"Oh. Ummm..." I croak, and my brain has strangely gone blank. Name. He asked me my name. "Uh... Everdeen. Katniss Everdeen."

"Good day to you, Ms. Everdeen," the cadet smiles.

"Thank you," I strangle out, flushing with shame at the prospect of now owing this Peacekeeper for the rest of my days. I never say thank you unless I absolutely have to, and even then I don't like it. Those two little words just mean you are indebted to someone. I manage a good look at his name-tag and tack on at the end, "Peacekeeper Freeman."

He nods once, and flashes that brilliant smile. "I hope to see you again, miss."

"S... sure," I stammer and he ambles away. Still a little dazed, I say goodbye to Sae and begin to make my rounds. Hearteningly, every last scrap of clothing is sold off, the coins jangling in my pocket. I have enough to buy some meat for Aven and Prim, then save the rest.

I don't tell my little sister about my run in with the friendly Peacekeeper when I get home that night. She will just start imagining things.