Four years later, I'm slamming the door to my family's little shack and stepping out into the bright sunlight of the town. "Gale!" I scream, trying to locate my best friend in the daily madness. Walking down the road, I push past others and find myself in town. I'm just about to give up as my friend Madge waves me over.
"Katniss!" she calls. I grin and run over to her, greeting her with a tight embrace.
Madge and I have become pretty good friends. Despite our different classes, both of us aren't good at socializing, so naturally we fell together as a result of years of branching away from everyone else. She's wearing a pretty blue dress and even some lipstick, a luxury that some of the townies could afford.
"I'm guessing Gale is around here somewhere?" I smirk, gesturing her dress. Blushing, she looks at her feet and then at me.
"Shut up," she says, playfully, her lips curling into a sweet smile. She and Gale have been dating for months. They're both crazy about each other. It's an odd pairing, sure, but it works. Pushing my braid behind my shoulders, I step back and survey her in better lighting. Her skin looks soft, her hair is more curly than usual (she slept in wet braids, a trick I taught her) and her movements are light and graceful. Yes. Definitely Gale. I grin and make sloppy kissing sounds.
"Gale and Madge sitting in a treeee..." I sing even louder when she cringes. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" She smacks me across the arm. I double over in laughter, barely able to contain myself as Gale walks over and puts his arm around her.
"Hey, no jokes," he warns me, pulling me into a hug. "Hey Katniss," he adds, stepping back and running his fingers through his hair.
"Hey, Mr. Undersee," I tease, my stomach still in pain after all the laughter. "Based on the fact you guys are both dressed up, I take it we're not hunting today?"
Gale feigns amazement. "She has a good eye, doesn't she, Madge?" Madge plays along, wrapping her fingers around his waist.
"I swear, she's a genius," she adds, looking me up and down. "And by the way, just because Gale and I are going out does not give you permission to find new friends, mmm kay?"
I shrug. "I don't know, man. There are some really cool people that would understand my distaste of you weird individuals." Then, I give her two air kisses and mimick a capitol accent. "Farewell, my dearies! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"
Striding off, I stare at children playing hopscotch on the streets. I pay attention to every little detail, because it's hard being in the town. I feel every eye on me, a "seam rat." Not that I actually give a crap about anyone's judgement (because I don't.) Still, forcing my way through a sea of townies is pretty challenging. I brave it out, keeping my eyes glued to the floor.
The worst part is getting past the Mellarks' bakery. Only, over the course of four years, it's no longer because of Mrs. Mellark, it's because of my fear of encountering her blonde haired, blue-eyed son, the son I fell in love with.
We haven't spoken once. The day after the incident, I caught his eye in the hallway, but I quickly broke his gaze and looked down. There's so much I want to say to him. I just don't don't know how to say it.
Dad knew millions of songs. Funny songs, cruel songs, heartbreak songs, love songs. He jotted every single one down in a notebook, filled with lined pages. He never wrote down where he got them from, and, as I got older, flipping through pages of his messy handwriting, I realized that maybe he made up some of them himself.
As I walk past the busy bakery, I distract myself by letting the lyrics run through my head:
Sometimes in life you just have to go on
Turn the tables, light the fires
learn to be strong
As my feet have finally taken me away from his house, I relax. I then huff and climb onto my bed, ready to sleep. Then I remember it's twelve noon and I have a full day ahead of me. Now what?
My feet drag me towards the bathroom, and I take a warm bath. I simply make the water warm by slightly boiling it under a fire, a method used by those who can't afford the luxury of warm water (or a shower, for that matter.) The trick is, you "boil" it, until the point where it's comfortably warm, then dump it in a bath. My toes curl as I close my eyes and dream of Peeta, my lips forming his name.
Two hours later, I drain the bath, throw on a pair of jeans and a shirt, and walk outside. The sunlight is blinding, and I have a sudden crave to see him. I carefully make my way downtown, staring at the bakery from a distance. I don't see him. Part of me is relieved, but part of me just sort of aches. Then, I stomp into the woods, hunt three squirrels, and open the door to the bakery. My body is jolting with nervous energy as I walk across the smooth floors. His brother stands behind the counter, grinning as I approach him.
"Hey, Katniss!" he yells loudly.
"Hey," I respond, arching my eyebrows. "What's with the volume?"
"Oh, nothing. Just trying to get Peeta's attention."
Why would saying my name get Peeta's attention?
"Is your dad home? I wanted to trade my squirrels," I say, gesturing my game bag that's slung over my shoulder.
"Oh, he's not home. Peeta! Can you come down here? Katniss wants to trade and Father is not home!"
Oh, God.
Peeta runs downstairs, and everywhere my body tingles. He smooths down his hair an adjusts his apron, taking a second to glare at his brother before facing me. "Hey, Katniss," he says, warmly, his blue eyes meeting mine.
"Hey," I say, casually as possible. I pray that I don't mess this up. "So, your father and I usually trade, and I was-"
"I have authorization to trade, don't worry. What does he give you for your squirrels?" he asks. His eyes haven't left mine.
After I trade in my squirrels, I throw the loaves in my bag and study him for a second. Then, I form a little smile with my lips and say, "Bye Peeta. And thanks."
"Any time, Katniss," he responds, locking his eyes in mine and waving. I wave back, and force myself out of the bakery.
I'm not good at this. Friendship, relationships. The idea of love somehow exists in my heart, but battles for space in my brain. I can't make sense of it, I can't place this longing I have to spend my time wrapped in the arms of the boy with the bread. I make my way home, knowing he'll be in my dreams tonight.