Day 3

Even though he couldn't tell us, I never stopped trying to figure out who the boy was.

Prim was delighted to have a new friend. I suppose she must get lonely (after all, we rarely had company other than the occasional Hawthorne), but she was going overboard. After breakfast, she spent the majority of the day trying to teach him how to bake. I mostly sat at the table with the recipe book and watched.

He was really jumpy, startling at every new tool Prim introduced. He nearly had a cow when she started a fire in the oven. How do you go through life without seeing an oven? I started speculating as to where he actually grew up. New Chicago? New Dakota? Somewhere with a lot of crime. Maybe he grew up on the streets.

He didn't have a single scar on his body – just those injuries on his wrists. That couldn't be right.

Maybe.

After two failed attempts at batter and a burned palm on the boy's part, (like he didn't know an oven was hot. Who was this guy?) They produced an irregularly lumpy but edible loaf of bread. He and Prim both looked incredibly pleased with themselves. The boy even stopped glancing at me every few seconds to see if I was still watching him. I don't think he liked me very much, but he was staying in my house and we both knew it.

I didn't start dinner until about 6:15 – and all I was doing was warning up some broth to dip our bread into – but the boy trudged back to the couch and fell asleep by the time it was finished. Prim ran upstairs to grab a blanket, and then giggled to me for the rest of the night.

The next day was very similar. I grudgingly gave him a pair of my Dad's old clothes to change into. We ate. We baked. Prim tried but didn't correctly guess his name. That afternoon, we went outside to the yard to introduce the boy to Lady. Then we lay down on the grass to cloud gaze. I think he was dozing the whole twenty minutes, but I didn't have the heart to tell Prim.

On the third day, I woke up early in the morning again. I was planning on meeting Gale after he got out of work. When I walked downstairs, the boy was thrashing against the blanket tangled in his legs.

I walked over and tried to grab his hand to steady him, but this only made him jump and almost fall off the couch entirely. I took the opportunity to catch him and just hold him steady. He latched onto me, buried his face in my neck, and started to sob. It was unnerving – every instinct told me to bolt like a deer, and I had to fight to stay still. I could feel him shaking, but I couldn't hear even his breath leaving his mouth.

After a minute or two, he pulled away, scrubbing his eyes with his fingertips. He seemed surprised when they came back wet. "It's okay," I blurted out, and he glanced up at me, startled. I hesitated. "They're just…tears."

Tears, I think he mouthed back, wiping his hands on the couch. He looked back up at me shyly and gave a small smile, and mouthed something else. Maybe thank you or I'm sorry.

"It's fine," I answered, finally standing up. He pulled the blanket back and did the same. For the first time in days, he finally seamed steady on his feet, not as if he were going to fall over from hunger or exhaustion any second. "Come on," I said. "We'll grab something to eat on the way to meet Gale. Remember him?"

We met Gale on the dock as he was unloading off his oil-mining ship. He seemed exhausted, as usual, but his eyes perked up a bit when he saw us. The first thing out of his mouth was, "You kept him!"

I scowled. "No need to sound so shocked."

"It was Prim, wasn't it?" Gale assumed, turning to the boy and sticking out his right hand for a handshake. "Gale Hawthorne."

The boy stared at the hand for a few seconds, before glancing up at me, then Gale. Hesitantly, he stuck out his own hand and only seemed slightly taken aback when Gale moved it up and down a few seconds.

"As far as I can tell, we speak the same language but we don't use the same alphabet," I cut in. We started walking down the dock to the road on the edge of the shore, in the direction of the Hawthorne's. "So he can't tell us anything."

"Does he have a name?" Gale asked pointedly.

I shrugged.

Gale groaned. "Katniss…"

"Gaaaaaallle," I mimicked. Gale raised his eyebrows, and jerked his head in the direction of our guest. I scowled some more and looked down at my feet. "He and Prim like to bake," I mumbled. "So I just call him the Boy with the Bread."

Gale let out a hoot of laughter, but when I looked up, I met his eyes. He seemed frustrated, trying to mouth something at me, but I shook my head. "I'm sorry. I don't understand."

He seemed to sigh, but nodded in understanding. He pointed at himself, mouthing something, and then stuck out his hand to Gale.

Gale nodded. "Nice to meet you, too."

When their hands connected, the boy squeezed Gale's hand extra hard, stopping short on our walk home. They stared at each other for a few seconds, and then Gale said, "Don't mention it. I'm glad you're alive."

He relaxed, starting to walk again. He withdrew his hand from Gales' and instead waved it between Gale and myself. I wasn't sure what he was saying until he pointed from Gale's dark hair, to mine, then our eyes, and our skin. "Oh!" I exclaimed, proud of myself for understanding. "No, we're not related."

He made a little scooping motion next to his mouth, which was his and Prim's code for eating, and then pointed to Gale. I glanced up at Gale. "No, I don't think so."

"What?" Gayle asked.

"He was asking if you were going to eat lunch with us," I translated, looking to the boy for guidance. He smiled in approval.

Gale shrugged. "Actually, I'd rather just go home and sleep, if it's all the same to you." He gestured towards the fork in the road that led to his house.

"Yeah, fine," I answered. The boy nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"See you tomorrow," Gale told us.

"Bye," I responded, giving a small wave. We continued walking down the main road while Gale turned west, more inland. I glanced at the boy, wondering if I should make conversation, but the look in his eyes stopped me. Raw, honest gratitude. Like he couldn't believe we were real.

I shivered once and let us walk back home in silence.

A/N: I do not own The Hunger Games. Thanks for all the reviews!