The lazy afternoon sun hangs in the sky directly over the mines where they worked. It might have just been her imagination, but to Katniss it seems larger than usual today, or maybe closer. She points it out to Peeta. He smiles and says that it was the same as yesterday and the day before that. He is about to add something else, but Thread, who happens to be patrolling, gives him a sharp jab in the gut with the butt of his gun.
Later, while they stand waiting in line for their daily lunch bags, he whispers, "You owe me" in her ear. She makes sure he sees her roll her eyes but knows he is right all the same. Katniss can't even remember the last time he has ever been yelled at, let alone touched by the peacekeepers. He is in every way the model extractor; he meets his quota every month and never causes trouble. He's been offered his shifter license three times now, but has declined every time, choosing instead to remain an extractor, at least until Katniss got hers.
She should have been more careful, should have remembered that they were in Thread's section and he's always out for blood.
"Are you bruised?"
He shrugs, "I'll be alright."
But it hurts more than he lets on. She can tell from the way he gingerly shifts his weight, the grimaces he fails to hide. He would get a share of her meal today, she decides. Besides, for the first time in as long as she can remember, she's not hungry. The Reaping is tonight.
Seeing Cray sitting behind the meal table, smirking, only makes Katniss feel worse. Reaping days are his favorite; girls always tend to be more desperate. When it is her turn and she approaches the table, Cray leans forward in his chair, his eyes hungrily taking every inch of her in. She crosses her arms across her chest and stands as far from the table as she dares. Still, Katniss is glad to feel the hot puffs of air on the back of her neck and to know that Peeta is so close by. It only takes a second from when her bag, KATNISS EVERDEEN printed on the front, is tossed roughly in her direction for her to pick it up and take off.
She peers inside and sees that it contains the usual stale bread and small block of cheese. Katniss knows that if she had reached under the table and stroked the inside of Cray's thighs she would have gotten some extra bread or, at the very least, a blemished apple, but the thought disgusts her, conveniently pushing out the lingering doubts that she might not have been so proud five years ago, before she had gotten her initial license.
Peeta jogs up to her side holding his own bag, stamped PEETA MELLARK, and together they walk to their favorite tree. It is old and withered, half of its branches forever barren, but Katniss loves it anyways; a part of her wonders why she bothers becoming attached to something that will eventually die. With precision and ease, she tucks the bag into her belt and climbs until she reaches a sturdy branch that is drenched in warm sunshine. Peeta, who has always been much more adept on level ground, chooses wisely to stay down below.
When he opens his bag, he laughs in pleasant surprise, "I got some extra bread!" He immediately crooks his head up to find her, "Did you?"
She smiles gently down and pretends to look in her bag. "Yeah."
Unlike most days, when they are given half an hour for lunch and then expected to return to work, Reaping celebrations start after lunch and last till the trains arrive and take the tributes away.
"What are you thinking about?" Peeta asks through a mouthful of bread.
Katniss bites her lips. "I was just thinking about the Reaping tonight."
Peeta's face falls into an unreadable expression. "I guess it's nice that we got the rest of the day off." He traces the carvings near the trunk of the tree that they had made when they were little, "I bet Leevy will get it this year."
Leevy is the sweet, if somewhat ignorant, girl that lives next door to Katniss. At seventeen, she is a year older than them, but is still only a collector, having failed her extractor exam five times. She has collar bones that protrude dangerously out and knobby knees and could have used an extra meal or two, but instead, every year since she was eligible, at age twelve, she has dutifully signed away her yearly allowance of tesserae. On a collector's salary, that equals two slips in the glass bowl every year.
Katniss knows that she was never going to win, even if she was called. Leevy is too bony and plain. She has no discernible talents or skills. The Capitol would eat her alive. But, she is well-loved in District 12 and many, including Katniss, gather white carnations and tie them around the rope fence around her house before each Reaping to wish her good luck. This year is different, though. Katniss had made up an excuse to get out of going to the meadow to pluck the beautiful little flowers because she does not want to hear Leevy's name tonight. Something like guilt resides in the pit of her stomach.
After their lunch, Katniss and Peeta part ways on the hill that slopes down to Katniss' house. With a teasing wink, Peeta tells her to wear something pretty. Her resolve almost breaks then, the secret that she's kept for so long teases at her lips. But he starts to smirk and dimples form in the corners of his mouth, so she gives him a hard shove and groans at him to leave her be. The sound of his laughter echoes in her head as he walks off, a spring in his steps.
The first thing Katniss does when she gets home is feed Lady, the malnourished goat tied to the pole in her yard. Lady is well past her prime and produces hardly any milk. She keeps her because Prim had loved her and was so convinced, like she always was, that useless unfeeling creatures were worth loving.
Inside, her mother is exactly where she had left her, still snoring lightly on the wicker chair by the only window. She tiptoes to the trunk by the foot of her bed. There are only two things she needs right now, and her mother is not one of them.
The dress slips easily onto her thin frame. A hand-beaded looping pattern skirts across the bottom and a faded ribbon wounds across the bodice. If she closes her eyes tight, Katniss can almost feel her father's fingers scampering across her shoulders. Frustrated, she shakes off the thought.
"Do you want me to braid your hair?"
Katniss glances over to see that her mother is awake, smiling a cautious sort of smile.
"That's alright, I might just wear my hair down today," she shrugs.
Before leaving, she fastens a mockingjay pin to her dress, so that fabric is the only barrier between it and her heart, hoping that maybe the stupid thing, meant to bring luck, might decide to work this time.
By the time she gets to the square, it is brimming with excitement. The ropes have already been set up, forming large pens where the children, twelve to eighteen, are supposed to stand; many of them are already inside. Cameramen from the Capitol perch around the square, slightly detached, like they're afraid of being touched. She braids her hair in a few swift movements.
A hand slips into hers and she looks up to see Peeta in a crisp white shirt that fits just a bit too big. His unruly curls have been properly combed down for once.
"Lovely dress," he says, pinching some of the blue between his fingers.
"Nice shirt," she replies, reddening slightly and feeling quite ridiculous for it.
It is a game they play at every Reaping, pretending that they are wearing something new, like the couture outfits they see on television. But new is a foreign word in District 12. Everything has a previous owner, a smell that refuses to go away.
A hand rises up from the crowd and waves frantically in their direction. The owner bobs her way to them with a shiny smile and an even shinier dress. "Peeta! Katniss! I'm so glad to see you. Doesn't everything just look marvelous this year?" she asks gesturing to the banners strewn across the sides of buildings that circle the square.
"It really does. They've outdone themselves this year. How are you Delly?" asks Peeta, politely.
"I'm great. I was able to buy four slips this year, "Delly says, conspiratorially. She gives Peeta's free hand an affectionate squeeze before turning her attention to Katniss. "And you! I was surprised to see you at the Justice Building."
Katniss' mouth dries and she is sure that her palms have become unbearably sweaty. She hopes that Peeta doesn't notice.
He notices. His hand tightens a bit around hers, his brows furrows, and a frown plays across his face. Katniss takes the opportunity to drag him quickly away, not bothering to say goodbye to Delly. Peeta does, of course.
They join the growing crowd in the pens, taking a place side by side before Katniss turns to him, "Peeta, I – "
He cuts her off, "Just don't."
Katniss' pulse beats out to an increasing roar, thuds so loudly that she's surprised no one can hear it. She loosens her hand and they fall away from each other easily.
The mayor goes through the traditional retelling of Panem's history, a speech so rehearsed that he barely glances down at his notes. Of the formation of the districts. The first reaping. Their only tribute to be granted residency, Haymitch Abernathy, a man rumored to be better with spirits than anything else these days. The eternal gratitude of the twelve districts to the Capitol.
Then Effie Trinket steps up in all her green and gold glory, her wig alight with streaks of twinkling lights. She trills about the excitement and honor of selecting two outstanding tributes to accompany her to the Capitol. Even the youngest of the children know that Effie is just biting at the bits to be promoted to a district that produces actual residents. With a dramatic wave, she calls, "Ladies first."
For the first time, Katniss is frightened of being called, of what it would mean. She watches Peeta from the corner of her eye and sees him clench his jaw, determinedly looking straight ahead at the podium.
"The lucky girl is…" Effie holds the slip up, "Katniss Everdeen."
A brief glimpse of time goes by where everything seems to stop. It is as if time itself wants to listen in. But just as quickly, things start up again, moving even quicker than usual, compensating maybe. Most of the children remember their manners and turn to give her a pat on the shoulders, but some turn and stare awkwardly between Peeta and Katniss.
The girl to Katniss' right nudges her arm and she takes her first step towards the stage. Her legs feel like lead, her breath comes out ragged. Right before she leaves her section, she hears a small "congratulations" and turns around to see Peeta, his eyes clouded with more resentment than she had ever seen before.
Effie hurries her up and then shuffles aside, her high heels scuffing up the thin wooden floors, so that they are both standing in front of the podium, "Katniss, is it? And how many slips did you buy?"
"I bought three," Katniss whispers, but the microphone catch every word and reverberates them around the square.
She is acutely aware of Leevy in the front row with the rest of the 18 year old girls, with resignation written all over their faces, so instead she searches out for Peeta and finds him in a sea of dark skin and dark hair. Suddenly, she is overcome with a disorienting panic that things won't work out, that an unspeakable sacrifice has been made and Peeta is the price. Hesitantly, she presses her three middle fingers to her lips and raises it out to him and to District 12.
Effie inhales loudly, "Oh, my! What does that mean?"
"It means goodbye." She gets too close. Her teeth hit the microphone and the feedback is something terrible.
"Well, isn't that special?" Effie squeals, her hand already pushing Katniss aside, "That confidence will do you well. Now, for the male tribute." She reaches into the bowl and grabs at a handful of slips, before letting all but one through her fingers.
"Peeta Mellark."
This time it's Katniss who gasps, balling her hands up in fists until they grow numb with want and need and watches as Peeta makes his way forward, his eyes on the ground. This is better than anything she had hoped for. She can take him with her.
"Peeta, what an interesting name," Effie says, "Tell me, how many slips did you have?"
"Just one." He hardly seems to believe himself.
"What luck! Katniss," Effie waves her back over, "Come, come, don't be shy. I give you the tributes for district 12! Shake hands and smile for the cameras!"
With a camera zooming in on their faces and at least three on how close they're standing to each other, Katniss reaches for Peeta's hand instinctively, glad to know that she isn't going into this alone. She hopes he will realize that she had to leave, to find the others, to make them whole again. It is for Peeta too, so that they can both be happy. He has to understand. But Peeta won't look at her and his hand is cold and limp against her fierce grip. She wonders if it is finally too much, even for the boy that has been there from the longest. If by trying to fix them, she has instead broken them into irretrievable pieces.
And then comes a nagging thought that she can't unthink no matter how hard she tries. It grows quick roots in her mind, even there on the stage.
Why was Peeta's name in the bowl at all?