With Prim pulling me by my left hand, we navigate through the small crowd and head to the backstage door. We are briefly stopped by an indie girl wearing a fedora over shockingly red hair who indicates that we can't head through unless we get clearance from the band. Prim smiles sweetly saying "We have clearance! We were even comped tickets by our friend." She points to Madge, who is currently being assaulted or admired, it's hard to tell, by the scenester kids working the venue. Fedora hesitates, then declares "If you ladies ARE friends of the performers, I will need you to verify the name of the band to check that your names are on their comp list."

My eyes widen of their own accord. So Fedora is an indie bouncer, hm? What the hell is this place? Madge makes music FOR FUN - do the rest of the people she will now be associating with think they are hot shit because some waiflike, not even old-enough-to-drink chick is manning their security? What a joke. I turn to Prim. "I don't remember what pathetic poem Madge told me their name was. Maybe Jo does."

Prim exhales a heavy breath, and it's this moment that Johanna catches up to us, having heard the entire exchange and looking even more annoyed than myself. "The band is Ashes of Eden," Jo says. "I'm Jo, the blonde is Prim, and this spicy firecracker is Katniss, and all of us are on your fucking list. Now, are you gonna try carding us, blood typing us or some other bullshit identity test, or do you wanna just let us back into that janitor's closet sized room so we can say hi to our friend?"

We are immediately allowed to pass. I love Jo. She should be in everybody's scenester concert survival kit. Her ability to get the bullshitters to back down is second to none.

Prim runs ahead of us, jumping on Madge's back and completely ignoring her admirers. "You, my dear, were amazing! So good! Too good, really. I worry that you've just made all of the boys in there fall completely at your feet!"

I can't help but smile at this because I know it to be true. Madge, and Prim for that matter, even though she is a few years younger than us, is a stunner, just absolutely gorgeous, with thick blonde hair that even Barbies would be envious of, big and bright eyes, and most endearing of all, a duly innocent and charming face. When these two stand next to each other and smile, the male universe could very possibly implode upon itself, that's the kind of effect they have. If all of the guys here weren't already crushing on Madge after seeing her stand shyly onstage in her red cap sleeved sundress and cowboy boots, they certainly are now that they've heard her talent and understood her sweet bashfulness. And Prim. God, I can already see male eyes in male faces looking her up and down. Good thing Johanna steps up to both of them, and with a swift smack to each ass, brings our blonde beauties back to planet earth.

I quickly and most likely awkwardly give Madge a one armed hug, my torso leaning in to her while keeping my feet firmly planted in place. Don't get me wrong, she's one of my best friends obviously, but not even she can get through my bubble. I just don't do affection – she knows this. I pull back and I'm smiling when I say "You really were fantastic, Madge. Honestly I'm kind of sad that I have to share you with these new friends now, though." She rolls her eyes and I hastily add "I guess I can share you since they so clearly need your talent, and I'm so terrible juggling school and work to be much of a friend right now anyways…"

She gives me her deadpan look, directly into my eyes and clear into my thoughts the way she has always been able to do, before saying "Both of those statements are stupid and untrue. We're roommates, for Christ sake, Katniss; stop sounding so wounded because our paths haven't crossed in the last week. You're making me doubt your thick exterior. " She tilts her head forward slightly and fake whispers "Did the music get to you?"

I let out a small, gasp/laughat this. She is smiling when she turns to Jo to accept her hug and wet, sloppy kiss to the temple. The music was okay – it was made even better by her involvement, truly – and thinking back to the show reminds me of Blonde Guitar, and I immediately decide that the music was actually pretty incredible. Where is he? My eyes span the small group and I catch sight of the door off to the left that is open out to the parking strip. For one half of a second I contemplate peeking out there to see if I can get a glimpse of him, but then I remember that I don't really give a fuck (or shouldn't) and turn back to Prim, Jo, and Madge, who is introducing the band members to us.

"Delly is the keyboard," she says, motioning to the petite blonde girl with short hair. Delly timidly waves and smiles to us, with her head slightly ducked down so as not to make eye contact. I use this to base my speculation and judgment of her that she is just as shy as myself. Hm. I may just like this girl. Madge continues. "Gill is percussion, and sometimes…shit, what did you call that one thing?"

My eyes follow her gaze and meet the glaring scrutiny of Dark Drummer, whose real name is Gill, I guess. His face is completely devoid of emotion, and I bet he's hoping Blonde Guitar appears soon because even I can feel there's way too much estrogen in our little circle, and one glance to Prim and Jo tells me how hypnotized by his dark drollness they really are. "Xylophone. But it sounds better in accompaniment to the drums, and I'm the only one to play either so it's still a work in progress." He speaks to no one, really. He is standing with his hands stuffed in his pockets, gaze looking across the room at everything and nothing, alternating between looking around and down at his feet that keep shifting his weight back and forth. Someone's a tortured soul.

Madge is still talking about the details of the percussive sound and the different complexities Gill can create when I rudely interrupt, mostly because I don't care about Gill. "There's another one – where did Blonde Guitar go? Are we going to meet him?"

"Blonde Guitar. Katniss, you crack me up." She turns to Delly and Gill and says "She probably had pronouns assigned to you guys too. She means Peeta."

"Wait a sec." This time it's Jo. "Your names are Delly, Gill, and Peeta? And now Madge? Well, if those aren't the perfect fucking indie folk names."

"God, Jo, you're the only one here with a normal name. Deal with it. Does it hurt to finally be an outsider?"

I am smiling at this exchange. I can't even begin to count the number of times I've gotten shit from many people, Jo included, about my name. It wasn't until college that I embraced my uniqueness, and then I saw everybody else embracing their uniqueness, and suddenly that was the trendiest thing to do, thereby making nobody unique at all. Whatever. "So where is Peeta?" I ask. "Did he have to run home to his girlfriend? Hell, his wife, maybe?"

Why did I just say it like that? What is wrong with me? I don't care about him or his gentle way with lyrics and stringed instruments. I should have waited till somebody else asked. Or at least asked if he was in the shitter or something. No, that would have been just as bad! My eyes quickly scan our small group. Nobody has noticed how weird I suddenly became – except for Jo, who is smirking at me like a damn idiot. Shit! I attempt my classic pathetic cover-up, and shrug my shoulders while digging in my bag for my phone before realizing I never got it back from Prim. When I look up, Johanna is still looking at me, less of a smile now but she is shaking her head back and forth.

It's Madge who, thank god, finally breaks my awkwardness. "He said he had to head out early. Something about lesson plans. He packed up his strings and left right after the show, before you guys made it back here, actually. I'm feeling like coffee. Anybody up for Coffee Break?"

Prim and Jo nod their assent, Gill quietly bows out to finish loading his drums in the car, and Delly speaks for the first time all night. "I would love that. Madge has told me a lot about you girls, and I just… It would be nice to talk away from the noise and fire pits and stuff. Let me help Gill and I can meet you guys there. Need a ride, Madge?"

Madge smirks at me. "I know Katniss does. "

I sigh and let my head fall to the side before demanding my phone back from Prim. This is everyone's joke. So I don't have a car? So what? Driving is a bitch anyways, especially living in the city when the train is steps from my door. Well, more like half a mile from my door, but still. It's not a big deal, especially when the university fees include a train pass, and it's no secret that I'm not the best behind a wheel…

"Actually, Madge, I've gotta head home. Research and DVR'd episode of 'Torchwood' await. It was nice to meet you," I say as I extend my hand to Delly, wrench my phone out of Prim's hand waving to and fro, and turn to exit out the side door.

I pass Fedora on my way out, give her a bratty wink, and I'm on my way to the train station around the corner. I am actually relieved to have this time to myself. Some of my greatest ideas for choreography come to me when I'm alone on the train at night. I don't allow myself to think about dance nearly as much as I try to focus on my other studies, largely because I'm a cynic and I know I'll never get a real job or make any kind of income dancing. Not that social work pays incredible either… God. I stop walking, shake my head, take a deep breath and pick up my pace again. I always do this, thinking so negatively about myself and my choices. The truth of the matter is that I'm studying what I want to study – career path be damned. And hey, look at Madge. She is finally getting the opportunity to perform like she has wanted for years now. Maybe there's hope for me after all…

My thoughts slowly trickle to Peeta as I see the train lights approach in the distance. I can barely believe one person can be talented like that – he was basically the entire band. You could tell he held everything together, not to mention was amazing at every instrument, and he made Madge feel comfortable and confident onstage. He very clearly led the group, but still allowed her talent to shine – even when he sang, it was to harmonize with her. God, the way he could be a part of one song, then switch instruments and vocals to contribute to another… And Madge said something about lesson plans? Interesting…

I convince myself that my admiration of his talent is actually where this fascination with Peeta is stemming from. I board the train, pop my ear buds in, close my eyes and wait for inspiration to find me.

"Kat. Kat! Hello? Are you okay?"

I am instantly awake and sit up so fast I see spots in my eyes from the fluorescent lighting. Did I really just nod off in the research lab? I sigh, wipe the spit off my left cheek and attempt to rub out the book crease on my face from laying on it for the last… shit, the clock says nine. Nine PM. I was asleep for over an hour. "Hey Annie, yeah, I'm okay. There was nobody in here and I guess I just kinda… yeah. Sorry. I will totally lock up for you, if that would help."

Annie gives me a soft smile and shakes her head, handing me my stack of books and directing me to the door. I walk out of the room and down the hall out to campus feeling like a complete dick. That girl is too nice. I literally do nothing at the lab except assist the occasional wandering student and basically get paid minimum wage to surf the internet and do my own homework. But Annie, she takes the task so seriously – it's a good thing, really, that she wants to work in education. She has the patience to deal with lazy assed people like me, the kind of people that need guidance from someone like her. I decide to bring her an earl grey tomorrow when we work the lab together again.

I push the double doors of the behavioral science building open with grandeur – my favorite thing to do when the campus is dark and most everybody has left for the day – one palm on each door, and gracefully practice my pas de bourree down the stairs of the old historic building. I would never do this in the daytime, with witnesses for miles around, but performing small dance steps in public under the cover of night is one of my many secrets. I reach the bottom of the stairs, dancing to the sidewalk, and continue my petite balletic display until I suddenly feel brave and reckless, tossing my books and tote to the side. I begin reviewing the new piece taught today in technique class, and its going well and I'm feeling uninhibited and light, until I hear the screech of thin metal tires and the inordinately loud yell of "Fuck!"

Busted. I have just been caught being artistic. And… weird. I need to not be so weird.

Embarrassed, I pull my phone out of my bag, whether to call for help or the campus police I don't know yet, and run over to what I discover to be a tall man who is now a heap of limbs and fixie bike. He straightens the beanie over his hair and raises his head to meet my gaze. "Katniss? What… what were you doing?"

The caption to this scene of my life reads:

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uck.

It's Gill. From the band, Madge's Gill. No, not Madge's Gill, just Gill, who plays music with Madge. Did I say something to him yet?

"I am so sorry. Are you okay?"

He gruffly sighs and wipes his hands on the front of his jeans before placing one hand on the ground to use as leverage to stand. "Yeah, I'm okay. Are you? I thought for a sec that some girl was seizing or something."

Asshole. "No, I… I dance. I'm a dance major – I do that. It's weird, I know. Did I really make you crash? Because you thought I was having a fucking seizure? Jesus. It's a good thing I don't have all my eggs in one basket as far as that career path is headed."

He laughs shortly while bending over to right his bicycle, and when he looks at me again he is smiling. Whoa. He looks completely different, like somebody not near as… intense… as he was last week at the show. "That came out wrong. I saw you and didn't expect to run into anybody at this corner of campus this late, really, and… this bike. It's actually a complete piece of shit." He nudges the front tire, frame slightly bent, and runs his thumb over the handle bars checking for cracks in the brakes. "Where are you headed? I'll walk with you, if that's okay, since I shouldn't ride at night without my bike headlight anyway."

We start walking towards the train, and one quick glance at my phone shows 9:24 – I just missed it. The next train isn't for thirty minutes, so I should try my best not to say something awkward. It would be nice to have the company while I wait.

"Uh, so… flannel again, huh?"

Unnnnngggggghhhhh. I squinch my eyes shut tight and give my head little fast shakes from side to side. When I open my eyes and chance a look at Gill, I just miss an eye roll and shrug. "Sorry. It's kind of my default setting to be a sarcastic bitch. I just, um… ". I sigh, stop walking, and reach out for the handlebar of his bike, stopping him too. "I'm not good… with people. I couldn't give a flying fuck what you wear – Shit! See! (He laughs) This is what I mean! Default to … tragically, hopelessly honest."

"It's fine, Katniss, really. I'm the angsty artist here anyways. I've completely come to terms with the fact I will be misunderstood in pretty much every way. Well, I guess what you were doing could make you artistic too…". Hm. I detect a bit of sarcasm in Dark Drummer as well. His lips curl up into a crooked smile, one he is obviously trying to fight, and we start walking again. Maybe he's not so bad, after all. A sarcastic human is generally my choice of human.

"So, did you have a night class or something? Actually, I didn't know there were classes held in the SS commons this late." I look to him from the corner of my eye – he might be limping, just slightly. He reaches up with one large hand and tugs the dark blue beanie back into place. His hair is probably a complete greasy mess, and yes, by god, he is wearing flannel again. It is August. August! My inner monologue could continue for days but I catch him speaking again.

"No classes for me. Actually I was meeting with Jack, uh, I forget his last name. Tall and thin, plays a killer set, I think they might be custom D-Drums, but he's the -"

"Jack Terrance? The musical director for the dance department? But, why?"

He is outright smiling now, not a little halfway lip corner thing. I feel like I already know what he's about to say. "Jack wants to be semi-retired, and uh, you probably already knew that. But he needed a little help getting someone to fill in as drummer for the 9:30 morning class last minute. I, uh, I met him at the concert hall to sort of 'audition', I guess. Peeta was actually the one to put in a good word."

Whaaa? "So, somehow, because Peeta 'put in a good word', you are now the musician for my technique class? We have to see each other every day?"

He scoffs, and it gradually turns into that genuine smile again. I realize I'm smiling now, too. I guess I'm happy for a fellow struggling artist who found a gateway gig. Wait… "What did Peeta have to do with this? I know he's not a musician for the department." Because I would have remembered that, probably from day one of freshman semester. Ugh, and then I would think about him and his stupid talents even more for seeing him daily. His stupid hands playing stupid chords. I wonder if he sits when he practices the violin… Oh, Peeta playing the violin on ballet days! The image in my head is almost enough to completely overtake my judgment and start hounding Gill for information about him…

But lucky for me, he opens his mouth and volunteers. "Peeta teaches a GE music class at the university. I guess he and Jack are on pretty close terms – Jack was heading Peeta's committee for his master's before, well, before. But yeah."

This day, I tell you. My mind doesn't have the capacity to comprehend everything that has happened in the last twenty minutes of my life. So I will be seeing much more of Gill than I ever thought necessary – I wonder if he will try to be my friend in class or if he will be back to being too cool. And Peeta. That's a fucking enticing enigma right there… Talented musician, better than decent friend, to help Gill with the job, and teacher. Oh, Madge did mention something teacher-ish about him after the show. Lesson plans, was it? Hm. Honestly, I'm not at all surprised. He is golden. Perfect. Flawless. Too good to be true.

Well, fuck.

By this time, the trains approach, Gill boards one line and I board the other, saluting him a goodnight. I immediately decide before plugging my earbuds in to pack a lip gloss in my dance bag, the one I take to technique every day. Oh and I'm going to have to be more diligent about checking for panty lines since I just might be dancing for an audience…