KATNISS

The days at school have been getting easier. Today flies by and before I know it, it's 2:45 and I'm gathering my backpack filled with homework from my locker and toting it to the girls' locker room, where I meet up with my varsity soccer team for our first practice.

The girls on the team are close friends of mine, but we never spend time together outside of things that have to do with soccer. I trust them and sometimes we can read each other's minds during plays, but I get sick of people easily. Madge and Johanna are enough for me.

"Hey, Katniss," my captain, Sarah, says. She's got one cleated foot on the wooden bench between the two rows of lockers as she ties up her shoes and adjusts her knee-length socks. "Missed you over the summer."

"You, too," I say, and let my heavy soccer bag fall to the ground with a big thump. I busy myself by pulling out my shorts and practice jersey out as the rest of the team files in. There are 17 of us in total, but I'm not the most social butterfly.

Christina and Ellie sit on either side of me on the bench and talk over my head as I pull off my school shirt and slip the canvas jersey on. I tune them out as it flutters down comfortably; fitting close while still giving me room to breathe, and then pull my hair back into a tight French braid before changing into my black shorts.

Once everyone is dressed, we head out onto the field with our water bottles in tow. Coach Boggs is already out there waving us over, indicating with his hand motions for us to hustle.

Tryouts were in August and I had kept my head low but done well, and obviously made the team. Gale had come with me and cheered me on at first, but then he got bored and spent the rest of the time on his phone. When we went and looked at the list and saw my name, though, he had lifted me over his shoulder in celebration and carried me all the way out to his car.

My eyebrows crease down into a frown as I think about one of our last happy memories together. I don't want to remember him right now, or any time for that matter.

I throw myself into the drills during practice, only looking up into the bleachers when Prim gets here. She looks insecure and nervous, clutching the straps of her backpack as she walks purposefully into the stadium, but then excitedly waves to me once she sits down. I wave back to her and do my best at a smile, then push myself hard for suicides.

When practice is over, I don't bother changing out of my clothes to walk home with my sister, not even my cleats. I meet up with her and give her a weak hug, tossing one of my limp noodle arms over her shoulders.

"Sorry for snapping earlier," I say, all energy drained from my voice.

"It's okay," she says. "I liked watching you play. You're really good still!"

"Thanks," I breathe, and keep my arm around her for the whole walk home.

On Wednesday after school, I'm back in the tailor shop. I have AP Bio homework open in front of me, and I'm chewing on the end of my pen like my life depends on it. When the door opens, I hear the bell in the very back of my mind, but my concentration is so heavily focused on the problems of the worksheet that I don't get jarred out of my zone until I hear my name.

"Uh, hi, Katniss."

I snap my head up and, with a startled expression, see Peeta standing right in front of me. I press my hand to my heart and let out a long breath, willing my pulse to slow down from how much he scared me. "You made me jump," I say. "Surprised me."

"Oh, sorry," he says. "I'm…uh, I'm just here to pick up my shirt."

"Right, right," I say, and push out my chair to stand up. I go into the back and pick his shirt from the rack; I had finished it the night he dropped it off. I carry it back and then hand it over, processing his payment as we make light conversation.

"Was it an easy fix?" he asks.

"Oh, totally," I say, swiping his card through our ancient machine. We badly need an update, this thing goes down way too much and takes forever to load. "Just took up the hem. It was like, the first thing I learned how to do." I give him a smile, and then flick my eyes back to the machine.

"How long have you been working here?" he asks, looking around the place.

I watch him as he looks around. The blonde of his hair has darkened slightly since the summer, turning into more of a gold instead of the sand it had been before. I don't think I ever caught the color of his eyes during the one day we spent together, but now I can't help but notice that they're the most crystalline, pure blue that I've ever seen. They're different than my sister's; hers are so deep that they're close to sapphire. His are more like sky blue, standing out against the light trail of freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheekbones.

"This'll be my third year," I say.

"Do you like sewing?" he asks.

I shrug. "It's okay, and I'm pretty good at it." His card finally goes through and I hand it back to him. "You can see for yourself, I guess. Hope you like how it turned out."

He gives me a half-smile that I find myself wanting to hold onto. "I'm pretty sure I will."

He turns around and walks to the door, but turns around and looks at me over his shoulder before stepping out. "Bye, Katniss," he says.

"See you," I say, and raise one hand in a wave.

PEETA

School doesn't change. I go through each day with my head down, trying to stay out of the way of Cato and his group of bullies. During passing time between classes, I stay pretty safe and under their radar. I've found routes around the hallways that they don't use. After school, though, when I'm on my way to the bakery is when most of the shit happens. They all stand in a group at the end of the senior hallway, and there's no other way for me to get out than to go through them.

I went school shopping as soon as I could, but overestimated my size and the few new shirts that I bought are too long. My dad told me about the tailor shop in town, so I have one of the shirts in my backpack to take there after I'm done at the bakery.

I duck my head and try to walk as quickly as possible through the thick group of people. For a second I think I've made it through until I feel myself being tugged backwards by my backpack and then shoved forward again so my feet stumble over themselves. Luckily, I don't fall and make an even bigger fool of myself, but it does take a second for me to regain my balance.

"See you tomorrow, princess," Cato calls after me, and I hunch my shoulders up and keep walking. "Have fun baking cookies with your daddy!"

I burst out of the front doors of the school and can feel my face heating up with anger. I bunch my fists at my sides and throw open the front door to my car, then throw my backpack inside with all the force I can muster. It works a little bit at helping me release my pent-up rage, but it doesn't resolve the problem.

I drive to the bakery and change shirts as I sit in the parking lot. When I walk inside, Dad is behind the counter adding some items to the display case, and he waves in my direction. "Hey," he calls out.

"Hey," I say back, and pull my apron from the hook on the wall. I tie it around my neck and around my waist, then join my dad behind the counter.

"How was your day?" he asks, sliding the display case shut again.

I shrug.

"You haven't talked much about school since we moved here," he says. "You making any friends?"

I shake my head. "No," I say. "Pretty much the opposite, actually."

"What do you mean?"

I roll my eyes. "It doesn't matter."

I start to walk to the back, but Dad stops me with a hand on my shoulder. "Hey, what's going on?" he asks, and his eyebrows are furrowed with concern. "You don't seem like yourself lately."

I shake him off gently, rolling my arm back just enough so his hand falls. "Do you mind if I just work in the back today, start baking tomorrow's cakes? I had a bad day."

He stares at me for a long time, but eventually nods. "Go ahead," he says.

Once my shift is over, I feel depleted. I don't like hiding things from my dad, like how I'm being bullied for the first time ever at school for reasons that I don't even understand, but I don't want him making a bigger deal out of it than he already is. I'm almost eighteen years old; I can get through it on my own. My worst nightmare would be him intervening and trying to do something to stop them. It would only make it worse.

I tell Dad that I'll be home in a little while, then get in my car and head to the tailor shop. When I get there, the light's on inside and I notice that there's only one person sitting behind the front desk. Their head is bowed as they work on sewing something, so I try not to be too startling when I walk inside.

"Be right with you. Just have to finish this," she says, and I recognize her right away.

Bent over the sewing machine with her tongue sticking out between her lips is no one else but Katniss Everdeen. My heart clogs my throat and I have the sudden urge to turn right around and run as fast as I can away from here, but I force my feet to stay anchored to the ground. There's no one else in this tiny building, she's going to have no choice but to interact with me. That is, once she lifts her face away from the sewing machine. I almost don't want her to, but I take that thought back once she actually does. Her gray eyes seem brighter than before, standing out against her dark brown hair. Her lithe fingers are still poised over the article of clothing she'd been working on, and even in their thoughtless position they look like a work of art. Her whole entire being is art, there's no denying that.

She blinks at me; her long, inky eyelashes grazing her skin. It's almost like she's moving in slow motion; I feel like I have so much time to study her. There's a strand of hair that's fallen in front of her face, and I want more than anything else to be able to brush my finger against her skin and move it away, but there might not be anything creepier than doing that.

"Hey," she says, nodding at me. Her lips pull up in a slight smile, and my stomach jumps. "What's up? We had theater camp together, right?"

Oh, god. I didn't really expect her to remember me, so I'm floored when she does. We only spent one day together; it would've been totally realistic for her not to remember who I am.

"Yeah," I say, trying to keep my cool. My hands need something to do, so I inconspicuously twist the flannel shirt I brought. "Hey, Katniss." The expression in her eyes changes minutely, and her lips part just slightly but no sound comes out. I cover for her after realizing she probably doesn't remember my name. "It's Peeta," I say. I smile at her to show her that it's okay, but her cheeks flush pink anyway.

I feel like I could die. I made her blush.

"God, I'm sorry," she says, reaching her arms out towards me. It takes me a second to realize that she's going for the shirt, but I eventually hand it over.

"It's really long," I say, before she can even ask what's wrong with it. "I need it taken up, if you do that." I want to smack myself. Of course she does that. It's a tailor shop.

"Definitely can do that," she says, her face downturned again as she writes in shorthand on a little slip of paper that she attaches to my shirt. "I can have it done by Wednesday, and you can pick it up any time after that."

I nod and feel the urge to stay, but know I shouldn't. Without knowing what else to do with my hands, I bury them in my pockets and hunch my shoulders. "Sounds good," I say, and start towards the door.

"Nice to see you again," she says, as my back is turned to her.

My heart leaps. My mouth grows dry, but I will enough saliva to be able to speak. Luckily, I'm able to say, "You, too."

I hurry home and walk in as my mom and dad are sitting down at the table for dinner. Dad waves at me, and Mom narrows her eyes in my direction. "Where've you been?" she asks, setting her fork down.

"Oh, I was uh, getting a shirt fixed," I say. "At the tailor's."

"I could've fixed your shirt without you having to pay money to have it done," she says, raising her eyebrows. "Why did you go spend money on that?"

"I don't know," I say.

"And what's with the dopey smile on your face?"

I had felt myself smiling when I walked through the door, but it had faded from my face as soon as the third degree started. "I don't know," I say again.

"What do you know?" she retorts, and my dad sets a hand on her wrist.

"Leave him be," he says gently, then meets my eyes. "You want some dinner?"

I shake my head quickly. "I'm good. Not hungry. Night." I try to force a smile, then I disappear up the stairs and into my room.

Once the door is shut, I collapse on my bed and hold my head in my hands. Nothing feels like it's going right, and I can't stand the way my life has been since we moved. I don't even feel like the same person anymore, and no one looks at me in the same way as they used to. My mom and I have always butted heads, but it was never anything like this. It's like she blames me for having to uproot our lives, when I'm suffering just as many consequences as she is. Probably more. But she'll never know about that. I just wish I had someone who knew; someone who I could talk to.

I change into my pajamas and sit at my desk to get some homework done. I feel myself nodding off while reading Jane Eyre for AP Lit, so I close the book and turn in for the night.

On Wednesday, I wake up nervous thinking about the fact that tonight I'll be going back to the tailor shop to see Katniss again and pick up my shirt. The day luckily passes quickly, and I smile through my whole shift at the bakery and my dad doesn't ask any questions. By the time closing comes around, I practically rip my apron off and throw it on the hook so I can hurry to go see her.

I pull up and wait in my car for a second so I can gather my thoughts. I don't want to look crazy, I want to look nonchalant and casual. She probably doesn't think I'm cool, but I don't want her to think I'm a spaz either.

I walk in and smile to myself as I see Katniss chewing on her pen like a maniac and staring down at her homework like the intensity of her gaze might solve it. I don't want to break her concentration, but I have to.

"Uh, hi, Katniss." I hadn't meant for it to come out so disjointed, but it's already out there. I vow to myself to stammer as little as possible. Even though I'm the farthest thing from it, especially around her, I want to come off as confident.

Her head lifts up quickly and she presses a hand to her heart. "You made me jump," she says, letting out a long breath. "Surprised me."

I immediately feel guilty. I thought she would hear the door open. "Oh, sorry," I say. "I'm…uh, I'm just here to pick up my shirt." I curse myself for the pauses and extra words. This is not how I want to sound.

"Right, right," she says, and hurries up from her chair and out of view. I hear some rustling around in the back, and then she returns with it in her arms. She stands in front of me and hands me the shirt, then relaxes with her hip popped to one side. As we stand in closer proximity than we ever have up until this point, it's hard not to catch a whiff of how she smells; like vanilla and flowers. I take advantage of the small moment between us and talk before it gets awkwardly silent.

"Was it an easy fix?" I ask, as I hand her my card to pay.

She goes through the steps of processing it as she replies. "Oh, totally," she says. "Just took up the hem. It was like, the first thing I learned how to do." She flashes me a smile, and I almost collapse to the ground.

"How long have you been working here?" I ask, desperate to keep the conversation going. I don't want to stop talking to her. Not only is it the first normal human interaction I've had in weeks, it just so happens to be with the girl who I have the biggest crush on.

I survey the little building. It's not much, but it's pretty cute and it looks like it does the job for what it's here for. When I look back to her, I see that she's already been looking at me.

"This'll be my third year," she says.

I say the first thing that comes to my mind. "Do you like sewing?" Idiot. Fucking idiot.

She shrugs, seemingly not fazed by my stupid question. "It's okay, and I'm pretty good at it." My card goes through and she hands it back to me. She nods toward my shirt. "You can see for yourself, I guess. Hope you like how it turned out."

I smirk at her involuntarily. "I'm pretty sure I will," I say. I don't know if I'm flirting, but I hope I am. I turn around to leave, and just as my hand is on the door I look over my shoulder and say, "Bye, Katniss."

She waves at me and replies, "See you."

I sit in my car for a long moment, just going over the whole scene that had just played out. My whole body feels light. Now she finally knows who I am, and maybe we can have a start at being friends. I don't want to get my hopes up in being anything more. Friends is good enough for me. She probably wouldn't be interested in being anything more with me, anyway. I don't need to ask for anything more.

I go in through the back door when I get home to avoid conversation with my parents, and head straight up to my room. I take the shirt out of its bag to hang up in my closet, and am suddenly overwhelmed with the scent of vanilla and flowers. The smell hits me like a wave, and I widen my eyes and blink them hard to make sure I'm not having some sort of olfactory hallucination. For a split second I wonder where that smell – Katniss's smell – is coming from, but then I figure it out.

It's my shirt.

I tentatively lift it up to my nose and breathe in, and have to steady myself after. She worked on it and her perfume or shampoo or whatever she uses to make her smell like that must have soaked into it.

I feel creepy standing in the middle of my room smelling my own shirt that happens to smell like the girl of my dreams, so I toss it down onto my bed, away from me.

My brain is going crazy. I need someone to talk to, and the only person who I can think of is my big brother, Abe.

I dial his number and hope he's not doing anything too important on a school night. Luckily, he picks up and sounds happy when he answers.

"Hey, Peeta!" he says.

"Hey, Abe," I say back.

"What's up? How are you?" he asks. "Haven't heard from you in a while. How's the new school?"

I plop down on my bed just inches away from the shirt. I know I probably won't ever wear it now. "It's okay," I lie, and then take it back. "Actually, no. It fucking sucks."

I tell him in great detail about Cato and his groupies that jack off on picking on me. There's no one else who I can tell this to, so Abe gets the brunt of all my life's woes.

"Jesus Christ," he says. "Now I remember why I do not miss high school."

I hang my head. "I'm not looking for advice or anything," I say. "I just don't have anyone to talk to here."

"No friends yet?" he asks.

"Nope."

"Any girls?"

I debate lying, but come to the conclusion that it's not worth it. Abe and I have always been the closest between the three of us, so I have no reason to keep anything from him. "Uh, yeah, actually," I say, a bit quieter than before.

"Yeah?" he asks, his interest piqued.

"Yeah," I say. "She's…" I sigh. "It's not like, reciprocated or anything. But she's really, really beautiful, and like… I have zero chance with her. But I think we might be friends, or something like that. I don't know."

"Don't sell yourself short," he says, but leaves it at that. "What does she look like?"

"She's kind of small," I say. "Long brown hair, really cool gray eyes. She works at the tailor shop and I just came from there, actually."

"You see her?"

"Yeah," I say.

"You guys talk?"

I chuckle. "I mean, yeah, a little. Small talk and stuff." I choose not to tell him about the shirt and how much it smells like her, and that I just stood in my room and breathed it in. That would be going one step too far. We're brothers, but I know Abe would draw the line at creepy right about there.

"Well, the answer is obvious," he says. "You have to keep going in there."

I scrunch up my face, though I'm aware he can't see me. "What?"

"Find things that need to be fixed. Go to fucking Goodwill if you have to, get shitty shirts and bring them in to her. You need a reason to talk to her, right?"

"Yeah…"

"So you need to find something. Don't let her forget about you. You're better than that, come on. If you keep going in, she's gonna know you care."

"Or she's gonna know I'm creepy."

"Or that. But if she's as cool as you make her seem, she'll see it the other way," he says. "You never know what could happen."

"I guess," I say.

"Trust me. Just do it. Find cheap shirts. Bring them to her. Sit back and watch a budding romance bloom."

"Shut the fuck up," I say, rolling my eyes. "Okay, I'm hanging up now. See you at Thanksgiving."

I hang up with a smile on my face. I feel a lot better after having someone to talk to, and I think I might just have to follow his advice.

I fall asleep with the shirt bunched down by my knees, but I can still smell her.

After school the next day, I make a trip to Goodwill and try to find a couple shirts to bring to Katniss that would be realistic for me to actually wear. It proves to be harder than I thought, and by the end of it I just end up picking out three random ones and hoping they turn out okay.

I debate when to go back into the tailor shop without it seeming weird. Today would be way too soon, but I doubt she works on Friday nights. I decide to go sometime over the weekend and hope that she's there, because if she's not then it's all for nothing and not worth it in the first place.

On Friday at school, I'm feeling happier than I have in a while. For the first time since moving here, I have something to look forward to. It's stupid and really small, but at least it's something.

In gym, the volleyball unit is over and we're onto our basic conditioning section. It consists of a lot of running around the upstairs track, lifting weights and complaining about it, at least from everyone who isn't me or Cato and his group of idiots. The latter is living for this segment because it's all they know how to do.

I don't shy away from lifting weights, either. In fact, it's something that I excel at, too, because of all the heavy lifting I've had to do at the bakery over the years. Plus, it's something that I can do alone without having to worry about any teammates or partnering up. It's the least embarrassing thing that Mr. Abernathy has forced me into so far.

I'm in the middle of doing a back squat with the bar over my shoulders, holding a good amount of weights on either side. My face is scrunched up with concentration as I come up from the ground when I hear a soft voice next to me.

"Hey, Peeta."

Standing at my full height now, I set the bar on the rack and wipe the sweat away from my forehead as I turn to look at her. Katniss is standing alone next to me, dressed in black athletic shorts and a loose heather gray t-shirt that says 'OHS Soccer' on it. She's holding her arms in front of her body, one hand clasping the opposite wrist at about hip-level. She has a small smile on her face; one just big enough to light up her eyes.

"Hey," I say back, and right when it comes out I wish I would've thought of something more intelligent to say.

She turns slightly over her shoulder, and I follow her gaze to where her friends are turning on the treadmills. "See you later," she says, raising one hand in a tiny wave.

"See you," I reply, and then stare intently at the bar I had just set down as she walks away. I wonder if I should've asked her when she works next, or if that would've been too much. I don't spend too much time lingering on it, though, because I'm happy just knowing that she noticed me.

After school as I'm walking out of the building, I go through the arts hallway and stop when I hear sound coming out of the choir room, right before the glass doors that lead outside. I can tell that it's the meister singers who are in there from the mixtures of boys and girls; the only other choir is the treble choir and that one's made up of all girls.

I pause a good distance away from the doors and just listen, resting the back of my head against the painted concrete. They're just ending a warmup – practice started only recently – and when I start to walk towards the doors to leave again, I see her.

Katniss is standing in the group of female singers closest to the door, looking down at a piece of sheet music that was handed to her with a concentrated frown on her face. When the teacher starts to play the piano, Katniss alone starts to sing all the while still staring down at her music, and I can't help but stay and listen. I never knew that she could sing; there would be no way for me to know, but she is really good. Her voice lifts and carries through the closed door and settles in the quiet air of the hallway, and I stand in place until she's sung her last note. Then I hunch my shoulders, pull on the straps of my backpack nervously, and hurry out to my car.

I wait until Sunday to bring another shirt into the tailor shop, and debate for almost half the day if I should go or not. I work my morning shift in the bakery and my dad notices that I'm distracted, but doesn't say anything about it. I know he notices only because I catch him looking at me more than once when he thinks I can't see him.

When 2 o'clock rolls around and my shift ends, I ball my apron up and throw it in this week's laundry. "See you, dad," I call out, and he waves me goodbye.

I stop home and change my clothes, I'm in and out before my mom can realize I'm even there, and then head back out. I had picked up a random one of the shirts from my chair in the corner of my room, and now it sits next to me in the passenger's seat as I make my way through town.

I sit in the parking lot of the little shop for a few minutes with my stomach jumping from nerves. I finally get myself together enough to step out of my car and walk inside, and am met with a pleasant surprise when I do. Katniss is sitting behind the counter, hunched over a dress with a few needles sticking out from between her lips.

Her hair is falling in wavy tendrils around her face and her eyebrows are knitted together with concentration. It smells like her in this small space; the same vanilla and flowers from before. I smile to myself and then shut the door a bit loudly behind me, and her head jolts up from the clothes she had been focusing on.

"Oh, Peeta," she says, her voice sounding pleasant and a bit surprised. "You're back."

I walk closer to her as she folds the dress into a sloppy square and sets it off to the side. "Yeah…" I say, showing her the shirt I brought. I'm getting a good look at it at the same time she is, and I see that it's a bright yellow polo with the collar ripped in two places and a mysterious stain on the chest. "This shirt…"

"Has seen better days," she laughs, and takes it from me. "Jeez, what did you do to it?"

I run one hand through my hair. "I… honestly don't even know," I say. "It needs you."

"Seriously," she says. "I'll do my best." She examines the stain, narrowing her eyes at it with the material centimeters away from her face. "Don't know what I'll be able to do about this, but I'll try."

"Thanks," I say, and know I can't leave yet. I don't want to. "So, um…" I trail off, trying to think of what to talk about. I can think of a million things, but am suddenly self-conscious of every single one of them. "I heard you singing in the choir room after school on Friday." As soon as I say it, I regret it. Is that weird? Is it stalker-ish? I don't want her to think I'm creepy.

Her cheeks flush pink and she shakes her head. "You did?" She looks up to meet my eyes, and I nod.

"You sounded good," I say.

She scoffs. "Doubtful."

"No, you really did," I insist.

"Well, thanks," she says. "I have a solo for the fall concert, and I got the sheet music for the first time on Friday. I had literally never seen it before, so like…" She sighs and rolls her eyes at herself. "It probably wasn't that good. It'll be better eventually."

"Do you like to sing?" I ask, and then hate myself again for asking such an obvious question. She wouldn't be in choir if she didn't like to sing.

She chuckles a little bit. "Yeah," she says. "I guess. I've been like, singing for a lot of my life. Just for fun and stuff. My sister always tells me how good I am, and I'm okay. I guess."

I shrug. "You sounded pretty good to me."

"Well, I promise I can sound better," she says with a smile. "You should come to the fall concert and hear me there. It's in a couple weeks."

My heart starts beating ten times faster. "Sure," I say. "Definitely."

There's a small, silent moment shared between us where we just look at each other and smile, and then she grips my shirt tighter. "So, um, I'll do my best on this."

"Okay," I breathe, and then make my way towards the door.

"I work on Wednesday," she says. "Come back then. I'll probably have it done."

I smile again, I can't help it. "Okay," I say, then give her a wave as I walk out. "Bye, Katniss."

"Bye."

The whole walk to my car with my back turned to the little shop, I can't keep the huge grin off my face.

In gym the next day, we're running around the outdoor track as a class and I'm going pretty fast on my own. With my eyes directed towards the ground and my hood up to keep warm, it's easy to get lost in my own head. So when I hear a voice right next to me, I can't help but stumble a bit.

"Hey, Peeta."

I look to my right and see Katniss running alongside me, keeping my pace easily. I flash her a breathless smile and she returns it, although hers comes much easier. "Hey," I say.

"Can I run with you?" she asks. I nod. "Cool. My friends go way too slow."

"Feel free," I say, and we keep going steadily without exchanging any more conversation. Too soon, class ends and I lose her in the pack of students. When all of us head back inside, I see the back of her head amongst her big group of girlfriends, all talking animatedly about something I can't hear. I make myself small as I head into the guys' locker room, and go into a bathroom stall to change so Cato won't torture me. Luckily, he's distracted by something else today and doesn't give me any grief, and I escape the gym without so much as a wayward glance in my direction.

On my way to lunch, I hear that all-too-familiar voice behind me again and flip around before she can even get my full name out of her mouth.

"Hey," she says, breathless from running to catch up with me. She has numerous books held tight to her chest; her backpack nowhere in sight. "Mind if I sit with you today?"

"Oh…" I'm so caught off-guard that I don't know what to say.

"It's totally okay if you don't. But…" She shrugs. "I've noticed you sitting alone for the past couple weeks and…" She shrugs again. "I mean, we're kind of friends, right?"

I nod slowly. "Of course," I say. "Yeah, it'd be nice to have some company. Do you want me to hold for you?" I gesture towards the books in her arms and she shakes her head.

"Oh, no, it's okay," she says. "I got them."

"You have like, a million," I say. "Let me help." I take them from her arms and can see her shoulders visibly relax with relief once I do so. "I'll just set them down at the table while you stand in line. I have cold lunch."

"Okay," she says. "Be back in a sec."

I sit down at the half-moon shaped table and unfurl the brown paper bag that I packed with a croissant sandwich, Greek yogurt, a few cheese buns, and a couple squares of dark chocolate. I'm halfway through the sandwich when she makes her way over to me, square piece of pizza on her plate with a carton of chocolate milk in one hand.

"Don't hate on me," she says as she sits. "But I love this school pizza." She takes a bite and then smiles through it. "What? Stop staring. I know it's like, mostly plastic probably. And I'll most likely die from it really early. But it tastes good!"

"I'm not hating, I'm not hating," I say, laughing.

"Have you ever tried it?" she asks. I shake my head. "What? You're fucking kidding. You didn't have the infamous square pizza at your old school?"

"No," I say. "We didn't have that."

"You guys must've been savages over there or something," she says. "Where did you go again?" I tell her, and can tell she has no idea where it is. "Well, you gotta learn someday. Better make that day today." She extends her pizza out to me, holding the crust in one hand and using the other to keep it from dripping down onto the table.

"Oh, god, no I couldn't take your prized pizza away from you," I say, eyeing her. She's laughing.

"Come on, just try it. Don't make excuses."

I roll my eyes. "Fine," I say, and replace her hand that had been holding onto the crust. She keeps the other one as a catch-all as I take a bite, and then pulls it away as I chew.

"So?"

I scrunch up my face. "This tastes like cardboard and you're fucking nuts."

She busts up laughing; her eyes turn into tiny slits and she throws her head back so her whole neck is exposed. I haven't seen her so free up until this point.

"I guess I'm just used to it," she says, still giggling as she finishes the piece of pizza.

"That's gonna have to change," I say after I finish my sandwich. I dig the cheese buns out of my paper bag and then offer her one. "Try one of these."

"Oh no, I don't wanna steal your food," she says, the straw of her chocolate milk still in her mouth.

"I have plenty," I say. "Me and my dad make these all the time."

"Oh, I almost forgot that you own the new bakery!" she says excitedly.

"Well, my dad does," I say, my voice noticeably lower. "I get enough shit for just working there."

She crinkles her eyebrows. "What? Who?"

I roll my eyes. "It doesn't matter."

She crosses her arms on the tabletop while holding the cheese bun I offered in one hand. "Is it that shithead, Cato?" My silence apparently tells her everything she needs to know. "God, he can't ever leave anyone alone. He just moves from one person to the next. Before you came, him and his stupid ass group of idiots had some other target." She cracks her knuckles seemingly out of habit, but makes it seem like it's for effect. "Do you want me to say something? He doesn't really mess with me."

"No," I say adamantly. "No, don't do that. It's okay."

"Are you sure?" she asks, turning over the cheese bun.

"Completely sure," I repeat.

She raises her eyebrows with a shrug and then takes a bite out of the pastry. "Holy shit, Peeta, this is really good," she says, and her eyelids flutter. "Damn. You made this?"

"Yep," I say proudly, and dig in my bag to have one myself. "Pretty good, huh?"

"Better than pretty good," she says, and relishes her last few bites. "I'm gonna need like, a hundred more."

I laugh and hand her the last one that I had just taken a bite out of. "Here, you can have mine."

"Oh, no!" she says, hands up. "I was kidding. You have that."

"You totally weren't kidding," I say, discovering some hidden confidence. "Have it. Like I said, I can make them anytime."

She looks at me bashfully and then takes it from me, taking slow bites to make it last longer than her last one. "Now I know I'm gonna have to stop by your bakery just to get some of these," she says. "My sister would love them. Do you guys do any white chocolate stuff? She's totally crazy over that."

"Yeah, we do," I say, making a mental note. "You guys should stop in. I can make her something on the house."

"No way," she says. "We'd pay you."

"You can insist all you want, but we don't make friends pay."

She gives me a look I can't quite interpret. "Be careful. Prim is going to fall in love with you."

I chuckle and look down at the table. "Okay."