A/N: Hi there!

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter, hope you enjoy this one too.
Anyone also reading Storyteller should know I'm updating soon and Damned should be uploaded very shortly too.

Thanks!

Shy

Quiet Eyes
she.s. .one

CHAPTER TWO

The Afternoon of the Reaping for the 74th Hunger Games
The Mayor's Estate

When I get home, finally after being out most of the day, the clock reads noon and I feel as though I've put off seeing my father long enough. He runs himself ragged for the District on the whim of the Capitol and as such, I don't see much of him. Every Hunger Games though, he tends to get a little short with me, usually because he gets worried.

Mayors have a lot to worry about on their own without a Hunger Games tribute-age daughter and an immobilized Hunger Games-scarred wife.

I go to the bathroom and scrub off the coal dust lingering on my bare skin from walking outside before I scrub my hair and dry it with one of the fluffy towels. I notice that someone (probably Effie Trinket, District Twelve's Capitol ambassador) has already littered the counter with their beauty products, including perfume, shampoo, dyes, liquids and ointments that I have no idea what to do with. The only thing I vaguely recognise is the electronic hairdryer and I frown when I realise they've turned the main power on again.

Our secondary power for appliances and such is on is separate to the main supply for lighting and the television. The secondary power has its switch on our personal grid and since we're constantly in shortage of it, the Town conserves as much electricity as it can manage. I'm the one that switches off the power because the fence that borders District Twelve is connected to the secondary line. My reasons for doing so are kept in strict secret from my Dad.

When the Capitol comes in to town though, the power gets switched on because God forbid these poor Capitolians should go without for a few days. I roll my bright blue eyes and enter my bedroom, which Effie, thankfully, hasn't contaminated yet. I've been pretty lucky. Usually she would've sought me out of my hiding place by now so I'm glad for the privacy as I make my way to the bed.

There's a white box sitting in the centre which is Dad's customary gift each year. He has to go to the Capitol every year a week before the Hunger Games to sort out the preparations and he always brings me back Reaping clothes when he gets home.

I shimmy the lid off the box and unfold the paper (which is sheer and extremely glittery), revealing the pearl white dress that lays inside. It's beautiful. Inch wide straps, a high waist, matching shoes. All endowed with seed pearls and diamonds, embroidered around the neckline and the hem.

It's something a princess might wear in a storybook and when I pull it on, it comes just past my knees.

It's perfect and I hate it.

This is a Capitol dress through and through, I think, taking in the fine, silky fabric which was undoubtedly made by the poor, starving hands of District Eight, the pearls which were probably handpicked by the fisherman in District Four, the tiny diamonds synthesized in District One.

This is a gown made from the sweat and tears of a starving people, I think as I comb my long blonde curls and tie them with the fine pink ribbon that was wrapped around the box. And I will only wear it once.

I take the deepest breath I'm able and dispel those thoughts from my mind. I slip on the matching heels before I make my way down stairs to the study, avoiding Effie Trinket as much as I can.

"Dad?" I call as I enter his office, which is bustling with more people than it does in a year. He looks over at me, his face lighting as much as it's able.

"Well don't you look beautiful?" he murmurs, ignoring the Capitol workers who are now trying to figure out where his attention has gone. They look surprised to see me and more than one of them is eying my bare legs in a way that makes me feel uncomfortable.

"Thanks." I tell him, waving to the dress. "I appreciate it."

Dad quickly signs a clipboard the Capitol worker beside him is holding and slips something out of the desk drawer before walking around to me. He cradles my face in his hands and because of the heels, we're almost the same height. Almost.

"My beautiful Margaretta," he says, smiling slightly. I blush but hug him back tightly. "You look splendid sweetheart."

"Thanks," I whisper again, knowing this time is just for him rather than the Capitolians working around us.

"She's fit for the Capitol, Mr Mayor," laughs one of them in that odd accent I find grating. Both of us freeze as the joke catches on.

I step back and smile politely at the green haired man. "Well if I'm going to the Capitol, I want to look nice." I tell him, hiding the bitterness in my voice with serious effort.

He laughs again, an annoying high pitched sound before Dad steers me out of the room. When we're alone, Dad clings to me, tightly. "Oh my Madge, my beautiful Madge." He whispers, his voice riddled with fear.

I pull away and take a deep breath before I start crying. Wouldn't that be a fine sight for the Capitol? The Mayor and his freaky daughter sobbing on national television? They'd eat it up. Right before they'd have Dad shot for weakness.

"It's alright Dad." I tell him, straightening his tie. He's not a bad looking man, my father. Back when he dated Mom, he was a catch in town. The Undersees have always held positions in the Hall of Justice while my mother's family, the Donners, owned the sweet shop in town. My cousin Aybrahm works there now. He's in the Reaping today too at age seventeen.

Dad's hair is blonde like mine but it's turning grey at the sides and he's beginning to lose it on top. I tease him that he's going old but he doesn't care. No one has the right to be vain in District Twelve, not even their leader. Dad's eyes are dark though since his mother was the daughter of a miner and he's inherited some of her traditionally Seam looks; the broadness of his shoulders, the dark undertone of his skin, his dark brown eyes and straight eyebrows. I look just like my Aunt: a Townie.

Dad's dressed in his fine black suit with the vest and the tie. He looks like he's going to a funeral which I suppose he is. "I'll be fine. Nothing to worry about." I continue.

"I have everything to worry about Madge," he whispers to me, looking pale and tense. "Every year that you're not nineteen."

I swallow my retort, which is just vile bitter talk about the Capitol and pat down his suit gently. "Is Mom sorted?" I ask, quietly. Dad shrugs, his eyes weak already. He takes the Hunger Games personally every year and every year, it's as though he's sending me off into the Arena. I remember what Haymitch said and I wonder if I should repeat it: Don't get attached.

But Dad would kill me if he knew I was hanging out with the town drunkard.

I open my mouth to tell him I'll go fix her up and inject her with enough morphling to get her through the ceremonies when he presents a small box, the item I saw him withdraw from his desk. He opens it and silently, I watch as he pins the little mockingjay broach on my dress.

"There," he says, his hands shaking. "To protect you."

I grab his hands tightly before anyone else can see the tremors. "This is Aunt Maysilee's." I whisper, frantically.

"Yes." He replies, sadly, gripping my fingers back. He is still shaking and if he doesn't stop, I might start too. "And she wore it when she was sixteen too. I thought you might have better luck with it."

He presses a kiss to my forehead and I feel just one tear running down my cheek which is not my own as he pulls away. "No go sort your mother out and we'll all go down together."

I nod and watch as he re-enters his study, as though nothing happened. But his fingers are still shaking minutely.

I'm about to go help Mom prepare when there is a knock on the backdoor and I feel a slight rush of excitement which feels totally out of place with the rest of the day. I know exactly who's behind the door as I grab some more money from the pot in the kitchen and rush toward it because a) the Capitol workers wouldn't deign to use the backdoor and b) they certainly wouldn't knock.

I throw it open and there they are: my reasons for shutting off the power to the fence.

Katniss Everdeen is my only friend and even then, I don't think we've ever had a conversation longer than an hour. She's beautiful and quiet and dangerous and what's more, she's from the Seam which is why my father doesn't know about her. Even then, Mrs Everdeen, her mother, used to work at the apothecary in Town so he might not have a problem with her.

It's the lean, tall piece of boy standing next to her that he would hate on sight.

There are unspoken rules that surround District Twelve and its people. Take your shoes off when you enter the house to avoid trekking coal dust through the place. Elders are respected because if they've lived this long, they deserve to be revered. And of course, Townies and Seam people do not mix.

Which is why my schoolgirl crush on Gale Hawthorne is a secret kept strictly between me and my journal and has been kept so for twelve years.

I really didn't intend for it to continue on all this time. There are plenty of other Townfolk boys that I could've latched my hormones on to but no, Gale Hawthorne had me from the moment I was four years old and he stopped a bully from spitting on me.

He's absolutely beautiful. Nothing compares, not even the Old World sculptures I look at in the books in Dad's office. He is carved out of tan skin and leather jackets, coal-black hair and piercing grey eyes. These are features common to most of the Seam boys but Gale is the only one with the ability to cut straight through your outer layer and into the soft inner flesh like you would an apple.

Due to this crush, I know an awful lot about Gale. He has three siblings, two brothers and a little sister named Posy. I saw her once when he took her to the market for shoes and his smile from that day still haunts my dreams at night. He wants to leave school and work in the mines but his mother is insistent that he stay in school for his allotted time. I can't help but feel grateful to the woman I've never met because the mines are dangerous and if anything happened to Gale I don't know how I would deal with it.

He's everything I think and obsess about. It's more than a little unhealthy but when the silence takes over my house, after my mother's ghosts have retreated under the pressure of her morphine needles and Dad has recoiled into his depressing occupation as Mayor of an impoverished District- when I am left alone, nursing whatever has broken from the fallout of our family collision, Gale is a comfort.

I think of how he might help if he saw me. I think of how his hands might feel if he helped me off the floor. I imagine that deep inside the recoiled, fierce, proud predator he's become, there is a five year old boy who once gave Philip Bell a bloody nose because he spat on my face.

It's tragically pathetic really. Because Gale doesn't even remember it and the only time he talks to me is when he and Katniss come to deliver the strawberries each weekend. I relish those days. I spend hours agonising over what I should wear, over how I should do my hair and every time I get to the door to answer it, I realise that I've been obsessing over nothing. The only person Gale cares about is Katniss.

Katniss is my friend. My only friend. She sits with me at lunch and talks to me sometimes and sells me strawberries. Even though it's barely enough to count her as one, Katniss as a friend makes living here not so terrible. In fact, I'm in awe of Katniss Everdeen. Her father perished in a mining accident several years ago and from the rumours that circulated afterwards, she single-handedly supported her entire family, both her mother and sister and herself, for months before Mrs Everdeen could cope again. Even now, she's still the backbone of the Everdeen family.

More than that, Katniss is the only person in the entire Panem District Twelve High School that is game enough to talk to the Mayor's Daughter. But Katniss doesn't care about politics and she regards me as Madge Undersee and that is all. She's brave and quiet and strong and normally, she would terrify me but she is also my only friend in this entire District who is not related to me. And regardless of the fact that she's oblivious to it, if anything ever happened to her, Gale would suffer because he thinks she's perfect. This is why my crush stays secret. Not that I'm brave to do anything about it anyway.

Katniss gives me a short smile as she usually does when we see each other and Gale just looks at me with contempt, as he usually does. "Pretty dress." He says and I feel all my excitement drain out of me.

What was I expecting? I ask myself nastily.

I smile, feeling bitter. "Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?"

It's the same thing I said to the green haired Capitolian but this time, all my frustration is inlaid in my voice.

Gale looks confused and then gives me a sneer. "You won't be going to the Capitol." He says, icily as he takes in the pearls and the diamonds on my dress before honing in on my pin. I blush under the inspection and not for the first time, I wonder how Gale Hawthorne manages to make me feel guilty for having a wealthy family.

"What can you have? Five entries? I had six when I was just twelve years old." He says with venom in his voice.

But I might be picked, I want to tell him. I might. My Aunt had five slips. Last year's tribute had four. I might be reaped. I'm not invincible.

But strangely, though he means it as an insult, his words are almost comforting. Gale doesn't believe I'll be picked. And that is almost enough to help me believe it. Almost.

"That's not her fault." Katniss interrupts, tightly. They're still holding the strawberries between them.

"No, it's no one's fault. Just the way it is." Gale says, teeth gritted. He would get on marvellously with Haymitch when he's drunk, I think idly as I take the berries. I seal myself off from them both as I put the money in Katniss' hand.

"Good luck Katniss." I tell her.

She mumbles back a 'you too' before I close the door. Gale doesn't think I'll be picked. He doesn't believe it.

Yes. Those words are almost comforting.

A/N: So...? Gale! Eek!

Much love,

Shy.