Series 1 Chapter 2
My nose twitches at the stench of sweat and cheap perfume plaguing the air before my eyes tingle and begin to burn as some students continue to spray in the cramped hallway.
I shoulder my way through the crowd, near-missing an elbow to the face as I duck and dodge the pupils who throw books to one another and the shoes scattered along the wooden floor. As I look at the ground - to make sure I don't trip - I notice a bin hidden just out of site. Usually I wouldn't care to waste my time staring at its contents but I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips because there at the top of the pile, left amongst the rubbish - where I think it belongs - is the school magazine.
In the past we had a school newspaper but as more people have grown up and split off into small groups of friends, it was soon abandoned. No-one read it, it was a waste of paper and in all honesty gossip travels faster than any written post would. Creativity in our school has been dead for years. That being said, as soon as Clove realised that being a teacher's favourite, through buying them gifts - certainly not bribes! - actually came with benefits she decided that rather than just giving up, she could persuade the teachers to go along with her new idea. A magazine filled with descriptions on tips and tricks for life, the 'secret to happiness' and school, which simply meant that it, was a glorified bragging column. Of course the English department loved her idea and creativity, appealing to us youths.
That was the final boost she needed.
It's just a coincidence that both her ego and her grade shot up.
It's nice to know though, that I'm not the only one who hated the thing. As the voices become louder I move faster, getting to my locker, opening and closing it in record time. Though, not quick enough, judging by the few sheets of work that fluttered down and onto my shoes. I reach down and scoop them up, tucking them back into my book I just retrieved. I scowl, noticing two shoes in my peripheral vision. Why does her locker have to be next to mine?
I stand up, open my locker again and grab my English literature book in case we need to read in class. Slamming it shut, I hide my smile at her slight flinch behind my braid. She shouldn't be in my personal space. Taking no notice of her glare, I rush off to class as the morning bell sounds. Registrations over so I doubt the teachers will let me off if I turn up ten minutes late.
Hooking my satchel across the back on my chair, I slump down into it and drop my book onto the table. My hands rub furiously at my eyes. Despite me being someone who gets up very early in the morning naturally, I blame my parents - my dad especially - for that, I don't recommend staying up till half three in the morning. Not to mention my sleeping pattern leaves much to be desired, so last night I was lucky to get four hours of rest. I guess I should be grateful that I don't mind walking so far to school. It'd be worse if I wasn't used to it.
I sigh, remembering that I have to wait after school so that my mum can meet the new teachers for Prim. Scholarship privileges I suppose. So much for a nap.
"Why are your eyes red Katniss?" a voice asks. I lower my hands and blink away the blurriness to see Madge standing in front of me.
"Didn't sleep well" I reply curtly. I don't bother mentioning the book, yet the guilt in her eyes when her gaze flickers to mine on the table is enough to satisfy me. She got the diary. The mirror copy of clove's I bet. Lucky they have rich parents I suppose. I shake my head as though ridding my mind of the bitter thought. Her mouth opens to say something else but as our teacher walks in she settles for a nod before strolling to her seat at the front.
I push off my feet slightly, rocking back and forth on the chair. I hope the gentle movement will help lull me to sleep. My eyes have just closed when a loud sneeze echoes. Someone calls out "Bless you".
I grimace, paranoid that there's something wet on the back of my neck. Oh I hope he didn't just spit on me.
I stop swinging on my chair and twist around, mindlessly grabbing at my book to hand the teacher our homework. Luckily she doesn't make a comment about me not facing the front. Once she's past us and on to the next row, I begin to notice him.
Oh no. Not this year as well.
His nose is a light pink and his blue eyes are wide as he watches me. He looks so innocent. I'd think so to if it wasn't for the fact that for every year since pre-school he's sat near me. Every. Freaking. Year.
I raise my eyebrow. Why is he looking at me? His blond curls peek out from beneath his blue wool beanie. I wonder if he purposelessly tried to match it to his eye colour. Not that I care. He failed at replicating it either way. Realising I've been staring at him for a while I panic and the words leave my lips without permission. "You're not allowed hats in class".
I cringe at my tone. It sounds like a snide remark. Nobody even cares about the school rules anyway. Then again, why bother come into school just to make everyone else sick? And why do it and always sit behind or beside me when there are at least four other vacant seats? He tugs it off and smiles at me, shrinking into his chair bashfully.
I turn away and scoot my chair in. I don't even register the heat from my cheeks.
Authors note ~ hey everyone, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I know its a late update, I just have so many stories but I know the next few chapters and I'm hoping to update some of my other stories. I'm posting it just under a year later... sorry. At least its near my birthday though. :) And yes, Katniss and Peeta now each other. (And are kinda shy...) Please review, tell me what you think, I love your feedback! Thanks to those who have followed this.
I'm also contributing to Mores2sl which is an amazing way of donating to charities in order to read a load of everlark and non - thg fics. So if you're interested check the page out on tumblr or their website, because who doesn't love quality everlark. :)
I'm on ao3 - kdlovehgk. Wattpad - kdlovehg and kdlovehg at tumblr. Come say hi! Thanks for reading.
