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Chapter 3:
Shit! Shit! Shit! I hate Treder. He kept us late in gym today. And of course he had us play field hockey outdoors because the weather is nice, except for the fact that it rained last night and the field is mostly mud. Everybody was a mess and there was no way I could go without a shower. It made me late by about twenty minutes. I'm running across campus from the gym to the academic building, working up another sweat even though I got out of the shower. I must look nuts. The few people that are still on campus are sauntering around because there's nothing to be late for. School is done for the day.
One of the clocks reads twenty-seven minutes passed three. There's no way she would wait that long. Not even if Prim asked her to. But I promised Prim I would see her again. I don't want her to think I'm blowing her off. The hallway for my grade is empty. There's no way she's going to be there. Why am I hurrying like this? There's no chance. I skid to a stop when I turn the corner toward the exit.
She's there.
My sprint catches up with me and my heart is pounding in my chest. I'm baffled. Katniss is standing in the same place she stands everyday as she waits for Prim. That's not an unusual sight. However, the clock above her head reads 3:29. She and Prim never stay this late.
I attempt to calm my panting while simultaneously thinking up an excuse for being out of breath. I walk quickly though. I don't want to push my luck anymore than I already have.
She straightens up when I'm within a comfortable distance. She holds tightly onto the strap of her bag. I'm carrying that bag today. She could be hauling bricks for all I know, but I've got to be courteous somehow.
I swallow. "Hi," I exhale.
"Hello," Katniss replies softly. She's not smiling, but for once, she doesn't meet me with a scowl right off the bat. That has got to be a victory if I ever saw one. "Why are you out of breath?"
I swallow again. "I just got out of gym." It's always half-truths with this girl. But I guess that's how things usually go when you're just starting off with a girl. It's the only typical thing about our relationship. I glance down the hall and toward the open exit doors. Katniss and I are completely alone. Where is my wingman? "Where's Prim?" I ask.
"She wasn't feeling well last night. My mother kept her home from school," Katniss explains.
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." I am sorry. I tuck my hands in my pockets and kick at a crack in the floor. So much for walking Katniss home. I try to push down the selfish part of me that is lamenting right now, but it's not easy. "It wasn't from too many cookies, was it?"
She cracks a small smile and shakes her head. "No, no."
I do feel bad for Prim. No one likes being sick, especially in the warmer months. Maybe I could send her some muffins or something. There aren't many items in the bakery that are good for illnesses; nothing equivalent to the effect a bowl of chicken soup can have. I notice Katniss adjust her bag, the way she does when she's uneasy. I'm reminded that we're completely alone in the hall, perhaps in the whole building. The clock reads 3:36. No one stays this late. "You waited for me?" I say the words the same time the realization dawns on me. Katniss waited for me. There were no plans or bribes involved. She knew I would come and she waited.
"I didn't want to be rude," she says proudly.
"You? Never," I say sarcastically.
She rolls her eyes and huffs. "Prim asked me to tell you so you wouldn't worry."
"Of course she did," I mutter. It's too much to assume Katniss wanted to see me. I try not to let it get to me, but it's pointless. Everything this girl does gets to me.
It's so quiet in the hall I can hear the clock ticking. Katniss can hear it too. "I should go," she mumbles. She takes a few steps backwards.
I reach for her arm. "Wait!" I say hastily. She flinches before I can grab her. I pull my hand back as suavely as possible and put it back in my pocket. I'm doubt it looks as casual as I'd like. "Do…do you have any plans for the day?" I stumble.
"Why?"
Because, whether she meant to or not, Prim gave me an opportunity and I'm not going to waste it.
"Why don't we do something?" I suggest, like I would with any other girl.
One of Katniss' eyebrows lifts up. "Do something?"
Clearly, I need to stop relying on clichéd expressions with Katniss. Vague requests only confuse her. And as much as I enjoy seeing that look on her face, it's not good for communication. "I don't have to work. Do you have to hunt or anything?"
"No. I—"
"Great," I interrupt. I immediately scan my brain for an activity for us because I doubt Katniss will make a suggestion. "We could walk around the square." Girls always like that. Window shopping and running into their friends just makes their day.
"No. I can't do that," Katniss says. She takes another step toward the door.
Right. Now that I take a second to think, I doubt Katniss would care what items are for sale in the textile shop. I don't care much for that either. What does Katniss like? She likes…being outdoors. "We could go to the park." There's a nice park in town. One of the more pleasant things to see in Twelve. The grass is just turning green. There are soccer fields and even a few trees. So many names surrounded by arrow-pierced hearts are carved into those trees. Kids go there all the time.
Katniss shakes her head.
Wait, that park is in town. Katniss has never been there. Why would she? She probably doesn't feel comfortable in town at all. The only times I ever see her is when she's hauling her bag of dead animals around. I wrack my brain for an answer. There is one other park. I think it's a park anyway. It's not kept up or anything. I've seen it, but never hung out there. "How about the park in the Seam?"
"No!" she answers, sounding startled by the idea.
She may be uncomfortable in town, but I don't mind going to the Seam. It's different there. It's not as scary as I thought it was when I was young. My mother would have you think it was the third level of hell. I've been to the Seam maybe five or six times, mostly because my friends were curious. They make bets about going to Seam from time to time; daring each other to go to that black market spot where all the illegal trading goes on. And some of them are brave and stupid enough to go, usually to buy liquor. But I'm not suggesting to Katniss we do anything like that. I know the Seam is full of good people, Katniss and Prim for instance. But I don't ask again, because the appalled look on her face convinces me it's a bad idea.
I try to see the common thread in my ideas to figure out why she's so adverse to them. She just doesn't want to hang around with you, idiot. Well, sure, maybe. I try to ignore that thought.
Another notion pops into my head. All these places are swarming with people. I'd be thrilled to be seen with Katniss, but she may not feel the same way. That hurts. I admit it. That would explain why she ignores me in class day after day. But why wouldn't she want to be seen with me? Not to brag, but I'm a well-liked guy. It might have something to do with Hawthorne. It's possible she and him might have something going on. But she hasn't said anything about him, and she can be friends with whomever she likes. Then again, she may not want to be friends with me at all. She only waited because Prim asked her to.
This is way too much to consider when I'm merely trying to ask a girl to spend an hour with me so we can become better acquainted. I reach for the only viable option I have left. "We could go to my house." I brace myself for the "no".
Katniss blinks a couple times. She tilts her head to the side. What is going on her head?
"Your house?" she finally says.
"No one will be there," I say without thinking. She looks down at the floor. Damn it. That probably sounded like I wanted…geez. "I mean, my brothers and my parents are at the bakery right now for the rush. We can have tea and scones," I rattle off. Tea and scones? What the hell? I sound like my mother inviting over one of her friends. Wow, do I know how to show a girl a good time or what?
Katniss sways from side to side. She looks wistfully out the exit. "I really should go home."
"Katniss, please?" We've come to that point. The point where I beg. It's happened three times now, and as much as I may value my dignity, I do it anyway. And I'll probably do it next week. And the week after that. Because I'm an idiot, a masochist. Because I know if I suffer through this eventually I'll get to that point where the shell is gone and she smiles at me like that harsh part of her personality doesn't exist. I sigh and suck it up. Even this is preferable to not talking to her at all. "If at any point you're having a miserable time you will be free to leave without any explanation."
"I could leave right now without any explanation," she says coolly.
I shrug. "True."
Katniss turns and slowly walks toward the exit. I hang my head in defeat. I should have guessed she wouldn't be all that impressed with the begging. I miss my wingman. I hear the squeak of her shoes and I look up. She's standing in the threshold of the open doors, her body becoming a silhouette against the bright sunlight.
"Are you coming?" she asks.
I don't even answer because I'll screw it up. I'm beside her faster than I would care to divulge and smiling way too big. This girl makes me crazy. This girl probably thinks I'm crazy.
We walk several blocks, passing houses instead of people. Campus is empty and we don't need to walk through the square so there's nothing to see but the houses. They're all the same; painted white and beige to further emphasize that they're not a part of the Seam and away from the coal dust. Although, they require a lot of maintenance because of it, and depending on the street you live on, you may or may not be expected to keep up with it.
Katniss is quiet as she takes in the view. There isn't anyone around. Most people are still at work. There's no one to see us. I really want to ask if the risk of being seen was the reason she didn't want to go to the park or to the Seam, but I hold back. Part of me doesn't want to know the answer.
I don't mind the silence as much as I did on our last two encounters. She doesn't appear to be annoyed or angry with me for once. I notice her hand dangling at her side. It's just there, teasing me. My fingers flex with the urge to take her hand. If only I could be sure she wouldn't jump when I did it. I shove my hands in my pockets instead.
I have to start talking or I'm going to lose it. "How was your day?" I say through a nervous cough. It's more or less small talk, which I hate, but sometimes that's the only place to start.
"It was fine," she says. Her eyes continue to scan the houses.
I wait for her to say something else, but she doesn't. Katniss. Little Miss Conversationalist. She never makes it easy on me. This is much harder without Prim. "My day was fine, too. History test was tough today, but I didn't study much for it."
She peers over at me. A smirk on her lips. "Not at all?"
"I can't concentrate when it comes to History." For a lot of reasons.
"Prim's right. You are a bad student," she says haughtily.
"I wasn't planning on being a history teacher." I'm going to be a baker. That's all there is to it. It's not a bad job though. I'm good at it. I could make a good living at it.
A piece of hair falls out of her braid. She tucks it behind her ear. "I didn't do well on that test either."
"There goes your career in teaching."
"There wouldn't be much point to it anyway," she muses. I'm unsure of what she means. "Who knows if anything they tell us is true?"
I'm shocked. Not as what she said because I've had that thought before as well, but at the fact that she said it. She says a treasonous thing like it's no big deal. I guess the things I said last week about the Capitol stuck with her. She doesn't think I'll go to the Peacekeepers about it. Although, if I wanted to go to the Peacekeepers, informing them of her activity in the woods would be a much bigger crime. Other girls don't talk like this. No one talks like this. It amazes me. "You think they're making up our history?"
"It all comes out of the Capitol. Do you trust them?"
"Not really."
"So there isn't much point to studying for the tests." She smirks. Who knew we'd have an interesting conversation about History class of all things? That was our go-to small talk topic.
The conversation has finally started to flow and something else that happened today occurs to me. "I'll tell you what's truly pointless, field hockey. I got hit in the head with a hockey stick during gym today." I rub a spot on the back of my head. I wince. It's still pretty tender. I'd forgotten about it in the rush to see if Katniss would still be there.
Katniss sort of laughs. When she sees me cringe, she stops. "Are you okay?"
"I'll live. I guess." Treder didn't even say anything when it happened. Jerk. I'm so glad this is my last semester of gym.
"Let me see it." She touches my shoulder, forcing me to a standstill. I can't really see what she's doing because she's standing partially behind me. She lifts up on her tiptoes. I lean over to compensate for the difference in our heights. Her fingers brush through my hair. I swallow. I can't believe it. She wouldn't even come near and me and now she's got her fingers running through my hair, a little bit. It's clearly medical. I'm not complaining. "There is a bump there." I knew that, but whatever. She sinks back down to her normal height. I'm still leaning over. "Did you give him a good knock back?"
"Nah. I wouldn't want to really hurt the guy," I joke. I have the ability. I'm no weakling, and I may have felt like giving the kid who hit me a whack in the moment, but it passed quickly. I don't have it in me I guess.
"You should put a cold compress on it," she recommends. She steps back.
I remember to stand up straight. I touch the spot she just had her fingers on. "Your mother teach you that?"
Her eyes narrow at me just a little bit. "You know she's a healer?"
"Uh, yeah. Doesn't everyone?" The answer is no. Not everyone knows that. People from the Seam, sure, but not the people from town. Seeking help from a woman in the Seam would be a last resort for most people around here. Luckily, she doesn't push the issue. And even more luck, we're at my house.
"We're here," I note. I lead her through a side door instead of the front. The front door is just for guests who don't know that we use the side door because it goes right into the kitchen. If we came in through the front door, we'd risk getting dirt on my mother's living room floor. I think about giving her a tour of the house, but decide against it. For most, our house wouldn't be something to brag about, but with Katniss, she might think I was trying to rub it all in her face. It's really hard to know where I stand with this girl at times.
"Make yourself at home," I say. I sound awkward. I've never had a girl here before. I usually use dates as an excuse to get out of the house. I go to the stove and get a quick fire going for the tea. I feel awkward. I put the tea kettle on the stovetop and find the scones. The scones are eight days old, but if you soak them in the tea they're not so bad. I still feel embarrassed serving them.
I step away from the stove and lean back against the countertop. I watch Katniss walk around my kitchen. And it's so bizarre. She's here. In my house. She's adorable, looking at my mother's knick knacks with a crinkle between her eyebrows. She takes interest in a large fireplace that takes part of a wall. It's the only nice thing in our house. We don't always have wood to burn in it, despite being surrounded by a forest. She touches a black pot that hangs next to the hearth with her fingers, making it sway and creak. She covers her mouth with her hand. I recognize the gesture from a million other girls. I've never seen her do it.
"What are you laughing at?"
"Nothing." The other girls always say that, too.
"Water is heating up. Would you like to sit down?"
We both take a seat at the kitchen table. The table has been in the family for a long time according to my dad. The entire table top is smooth from decades of use. Thousands of loaves of bread have been kneaded here. She sits with perfect posture in her chair while I have my elbows on the table. My mother would scold me. In fact, she'd chew me out like never before if she knew I had a girl in the house, let alone a girl from the Seam. I don't want to think about that just now. "So, what do you think?" I ask nonchalantly.
"It's very nice," she says politely, channeling her inner Prim. I can only imagine what she really thinks of my mother's carved rooster collection.
I readjust so my chin rests in my palm. "It's like every other house on the street."
She leans back in her chair and loses a bit of her posture. Her shoulders sag. She pulls her braid over one shoulder and plays with the tail end of it and it's just…it's perfect.
"Don't move," I say suddenly. I start dashing around the kitchen, opening and closing drawers like mad.
"What?" she asks in alarm.
I find what I'm looking for: a small slice of paper that doesn't have anything else written on it and a pencil that needs to be sharpened. Oh well. It'll work. "Don't move," I repeat. I sit back down at the table.
"Peeta—"
"Don't talk either."
Her eyes dart around, not understanding what I'm doing. I don't blame her. I must look nuts, for the second time today. I prop the paper up on a cutting board and start scratching away. She eventually resumes her position, choosing to ignore me and my insanity. I look up at her and down at my paper, recording the sight. I've never studied Katniss this close. I realize that sounds creepy, but it's not in objectification, not always. The details of her appearance tell so much about her story. Her fingers are callused from hunting and the skin on the back of her hands is slightly chapped, still recovering from the cold winter. Her hair is glossy and layered in that intricate pattern she wears everyday because it's practical and covers the fact that she must go several days without washing it. Her neck is long and elegantly proportioned, but there's a scratch extending several inches from her ear. If I asked about it I wonder if she'd tell me. Her lips are full and soft; there isn't a thing wrong with them. I can't see her eyes because she's staring down at her hair, but I'm sure they'd have something to say.
I stop when the tea kettle starts to whistle. I take it off the burner and grab a couple cups. I don't like tea much, but my mother always makes it when we have guests. Katniss is staring curiously at the drawing when I set the cups and the kettle down. She looks like she's afraid to touch the little scratching.
I push it toward her. "You can keep that."
She pushes back her chair violently. I think she scratched the floor. Her hands are in fists and she's absolutely seething. I've known people who don't appreciate art, but still.
"Peeta, what do you want?"
"Huh?'
"Whatever you want just tell me what it is! Some kind of favor?"
"Favor?"
"Yes, to pay you back for the bread."
"What bread?" I shout. My head is absolutely reeling.
"The bread you gave me."
I make a definitive gesture for her to slow down. "You're going to have to add some more words to your sentences."
"The bread you knocked into the fire so that it would burn and you should have thrown it to the pigs but you gave it to me."
What…oh. "You mean from when we were kids?"
"Yes!" she scoffs, like it's taken me ages to get with the picture.
This hasn't been on my mind in a long time. It was never on my mind when I decided to talk to her. And all this time she's thought that I wanted something from her. I do want her friendship, but not as a result of some debt she needs to pay. That's how she thinks. Everything is a transaction. It's really getting frustrating. "Katniss, I don't care about that. I mean, I'm glad it helped you, but you don't owe me anything. That needs to be very clear."
Katniss runs her finger down the length of the strap of her bag that she never set down. "I'll always owe you," she whispers.
"Why?"
"It didn't help me, it saved me. I would be dead if not for that bread."
"Then I'm really glad I did it." I stand up, but I don't know what to do now that I'm standing. I choose to step closer to her, but she shies away. "But I didn't do it so I could get some favor from you five years down the road. I did it because you were…" I'd never seen a starving person before that night. And to see her. The girl that I cared about digging through my parent's garbage cans. "You needed it. That's all."
Katniss' eyes drop to the floor. I don't know if she's accepted what I have to say. I hope she does. She can't owe me. Not always. We'll never be friends. We'll never be anything.
"You had a welt on your face," she says without lifting her eyes from the floor.
I unconsciously wipe at the spot where the welt used to be. "Oh yeah, I remember that part, too."
"Has your mother always been a witch?"
My mouth falls open. "Did you just call my mother a witch?"
Her head pops up. Her eyes are a little panicked. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say—"
"It's okay," I assure her. My mother. Witch. Whatever.
She glances over her shoulder toward the fireplace. She smiles bashfully at me. "She has a cauldron." She waits for my reaction. I can either be offended or I can laugh. And undoubtedly, I need to laugh. I laugh because we were just yelling at each other like we had a fight and we're not even really friends and my witch mother has a cauldron and it's all so ridiculous. I fall back into my chair. She laughs with me. Nothing has ever felt so good.
The laughter passes. I wait for her to sit back down, but she doesn't. The hot water is still sitting on the table. The scones are untouched. That's probably a good thing. They taste like rocks.
"I should get home."
This time I don't fight her. It's past four and likely that Miche or Dad will be home soon. "Okay. Tell Prim to get well soon."
She makes her way toward the door. I stand up like a good host and walk with her. I'm sure she could have made the five foot walk on her own. "I will," she promises. She pauses at the threshold. I'm only inches away. It reminds me of dropping other girls off at their houses at the end of a date. Usually, I'm thinking of whether or not I should go for a kiss. I shouldn't even let the consideration enter my mind at this point. I'll only be disappointed.
Katniss bites her bottom lip. She doesn't know how teasing a gesture like that is. "Does she still…?" she asks tentatively.
I don't know what she means. She answers by brushing her cheek with her fingers. Oh. The welt. "No. Not since we got to be taller than her." I try to smile or something, but I can't. It's not funny.
She nods for some reason. I wonder why she wants to know.
"I would never do that," I blurt out.
She looks up at me. "What?"
"Hit a kid. I'd never do that. I'd never hurt anyone." I'd never hurt you.
She nods again, her face is unreadable. "No. You wouldn't." The door is pushed open and she steps out into the street. I can only see her for a few seconds until she's obscured by the neighbor's house and out of sight.
I feel exhausted. I leave the hot water and the uneaten scones and trudge upstairs. I'm shocked by the sudden pain in the back of my head when I lay down on my bed. Oh yeah. I get up again, run a rag under the cold tap in the bathroom, and hold it against the bump. It feels better.
