~Peeta POV~
Where the heck did I put it? It's been missing for about a day now. It's not in my locker, or in my room, or my backpack. Great. What if I lost it? My mother would go crazy if she found out I lost something as expensive as that sketchbook, especially since it's only half-full.
"Earth to Peeta," Ethan calls, waving a hand inches from my face.
"What?"
"You were zoned out."
The rest of my friends nod in agreement and repeat, "Zoned out."
"Sorry." I shake myself and ask, "So, anything new with you guys?"
"Not much," Ethan shrugs. "Just-"
Someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn to find myself staring into two large, gray eyes. That's twice in two days. I smile automatically. "Hi."
Katniss just flushes and shoves something at me. "Here. You dropped it when we… ran into each other."
It's my sketchbook. "Oh, thanks!" I exclaim. "I've been looking for that." I have the crazy urge to touch her hair, which looks soft and sun-warmed, so to keep my hands occupied I take the sketchbook.
Katniss looks uncomfortable. "Um, yeah. Sorry." With that she leaves, and I frown. I had hoped to be able to talk to her for a bit.
Most of my friends don't even seem to have noticed the exchange. I can't help but press my palms into the leather, thinking, The last person who touched this was Katniss.
A paper falls from the notebook. I scoop it up from the ground and my eyes widen when I recognize Katniss's handwriting, as well as a loopy scrawl I don't know.
Prim, would you mind if we walked home a few minutes late?
The loopy handwriting answers, Sure. Are you going to return the sketchbook?
Yes. Meet me under the apple tree, okay?
I feel as if I'm eavesdropping on the sisters' conversation, but I read on.
Prim answers, Okay. Are you going hunting today?
Katniss's handwriting grows messy, as if she wrote in a hurry. Prim! Do you know what would happen if anyone read that? We could get in trouble. Lots of trouble!
I'm sorry. But, are you? We haven't had meat since Monday.
My stomach twists in guilt as I think of the meal waiting for me back home. I'll get to go bake delicious desserts in the bakery, then eat a three-course dinner while Katniss's family goes hungry. I feel sick.
Maybe. We'll see, Katniss answers, and I can almost hear the doubt in her voice.
All right. See you after school.
That's all. Meet me under the apple tree, I think. I make a split-second decision and, dropping the sketchbook into my pack and folding the note neatly to fit into my pocket, slip away from my friends and towards the front of the school.
Sure enough, there she is. Her braid swings back and forth as she walks, greeting her little sister warmly. Prim takes her hand and they start to walk away.
"Katniss!" I yell. "Wait up for a minute!"
I see Prim elbowing Katniss in the ribs, and Katniss quickly shushes her. I catch up with them after a few seconds and she just looks at me with her eyes slightly narrowed. Not sure what to think. Maybe even suspicious.
"I just wanted you to know…" I begin, trying not to reach into my pocket where the note is tucked away. "If you, or your family, ever need… any help with anything, just let me know, okay?"
Katniss tilts her head, considering my offer. Her eyes flit away in the direction of the fence, then lock onto her hands. "We don't need help. But thank you."
My heart sinks and Prim tugs on Katniss's sleeve. "Katniss?" Prim says plaintively.
Katniss glances at me before sinking to her knees, listening to Prim's whisper. Then she shakes her head and whispers something back. Prim just gives her a pleading look, and at last Katniss gives in.
"Fine," she says aloud, but I'm not sure what she's agreeing to.
Prim beams at me as Katniss stands up again, avoiding my gaze. "You work at the bakery."
"Yes," I answer, surprised. How did Prim know? Did Katniss tell her? "I frost the cakes."
Prim's eyes grow large. "The ones in the front window?"
I nod. Prim stares at me as if I'm some sort of saint.
"Prim always makes me take her to look at the cakes," Katniss says, smiling down at her sister. Then she seems to catch herself and, turning her expression impassive again, says, "We have to go. Our mother will worry. Or, at least she'll notice." I can't miss the bitterness in her voice. "Goodbye."
"Bye," I say, wondering what their whispered conversation was about.
As we go our separate ways, I start to get an idea. If my mother finds out, no telling what would happen. But, who cares? I grin and walk quickly towards the bakery. May as well get started.