A/N: Wow! The reaction to the last chapter was epic. Thank you to everyone who reviewed.
This chapter is rated for adult language.
Reviews are always appreciated. Enjoy.
Chapter 4:
I'm not late today. Both of my girls are there. My girls. I wonder what Katniss would say if she heard that. Prim would like it. Maybe I'll test it out on her first.
After the eye-opening experience Katniss and I had last week, I have high hopes for whatever comes next. And when I say "high hopes," what I mean is I have relatively low expectations. It's more like, I hope Katniss will lighten up, reveal the girl under the shell with less provocation. And I think she will, as long as she believes what I told her last week. I understand why she was so hostile to me. She thought I was trying to get something from her because of the bread I gave her in the past. But things are different now. She knows the truth; well, she knows some truth. She knows enough truth for right now.
I tackle my way through the thinning crowd to get to the Everdeen girls. Prim's eyes light up and she bounces on the balls of her feet when she sees me. Katniss leans against the wall. Her eyes don't light up. In fact, she looks as sullen as usual. She casts her glance to the floor. It's not very encouraging. I focus on Prim for the time being.
"Peeta! I brought you a present," Prim says impatiently before I can even get a greeting in. Her cheeks are flushed with enthusiasm. She's been waiting for this moment all day, maybe since the last time I saw her. Katniss rolls her eyes, but offers the slightest of grins to her sister. No one could be sullen when Prim is so excited.
I won't disappoint Prim. I smile big and bounce on my own feet once. "A present? For me?" This will be a good opportunity. I can show Katniss how to graciously accept a gift. I expect a drawing or a hand-written card or something. Sweet little girl stuff.
"Yes, I'm sorry I couldn't give it to you last week. I was sick," Prim apologizes as she digs through her schoolbag.
"Your sister mentioned that," I reply, but say nothing more because I doubt Katniss told Prim about going to my house. Katniss pushes a stray piece of hair behind her ear and readjusts the strap of her bag. She keeps her eyes on Prim. Yup. She definitely didn't tell Prim. "Are you feeling better?" I ask politely.
"Much better." She beams at me, finds the gift, and presents it to me in her little hands. "Here." It's not a card or a drawing. It's some kind of plant? No. I don't know what it is. It's something wrapped in leaves. I hold my hand out and she places it in my palm. I still don't know what it is. Prim notices. "Open it," she orders with a giggle.
I peel away some of the leaves from the little bundle. They stick to whatever is inside. There's a soft, white mound under the leaves. It smells strong and kind of like…well, like the outdoors.
"It's goat cheese," Prim illuminates. "I make it with milk from my goat, Lady. It tastes wonderful with bread."
And I don't know what to say. Prim is smiling and excited and she gave me cheese. She gave me food. Food she prepared herself and could stand to eat given how skinny she is. Food she could have sold or traded. It's a small amount, only enough for one person, but still, every little bit counts. I don't know what to say. "Oh, wow," I manage, sounding artificial. Prim is delightedly oblivious. She's still smiling. She thinks I'm impressed and overwhelmed by her gift. I am overwhelmed, but not for the reason she thinks. It's not I'm that ungrateful it's just…I don't know. "Thank you, Prim," I say, reminding myself to just be a friend and accept her gesture, but I feel uneasy about it. Katniss eyes me closely, and that doesn't help. I quickly cover the cheese up again and put it in my bag.
"How was everyone's day?" I ask to change the subject. I don't give Katniss a chance to tell me I can't walk with them. It's a given by now, right? She doesn't fight me on it anyway. Prim takes the lead and Katniss and I walk on either side of her. Prim is chatty, as usual.
"My day was going great until reading class," Prim grumbles, but it's not all that convincing. Even when she's complaining she sounds soft and sweet. There's no way to drive the sweet out of this girl.
"Hold on, I thought you liked reading?" We pass through the exit doors and are hit with a cool breeze. It's not as warm as it has been in past weeks. Prim and I tug our jackets closer around us. Katniss doesn't.
"I did until today," Prim pouts. She's even got the lip thing going. She might be too old for that sort of thing, but I don't mind it. It's Prim. She gets away with it.
"What happened?" I ask dramatically. I sound overly concerned and once again, artificial. Katniss sees it. I can tell by the way she bites at her grin. She may not always enjoy our conversations, but she likes listening to me talk to her sister.
Prim continues her explanation. She doesn't notice the falseness in my voice because to her, overt concern is legitimate. It's a very serious situation. "Last week we were assigned to write a poem about one of our favorite things. And I wrote about my cat, Buttercup."
Of course her cat's name is Buttercup. I wouldn't be surprised if she had a pig named Daffodil and a turtle named Sugarlumps. "Did you get a bad grade?" I inquire.
"No. My grade was fine." She shoves her hands in her pockets, pretending to be modest. She probably got an A on the assignment.
"Then what's the problem?"
"Today, Mr. Wells made me stand up and read my poem in front of the whole class," she moans, exuding the kind of look that says, "feel sorry for me." I remember Mr. Wells doing the same thing when I was Prim's age. I even recall being asked to do it. I wrote a poem about drawing with a brand new box of pencils. And yeah, people snickered at me when I read it aloud. After that I stopped trying so hard. Once you hit the sixth grade, attention like that becomes a deterrent, instead of encouragement. Prim is different. She tries hard. She gets A's. I'm sure she deserves them. She needs to be reminded of this.
"He made you? Or did he think your poem was so good he wanted you to share your brilliance with everyone else?" I nudge her like I did week before last. She fights a smile, sticking out her bottom lip again.
"I don't think my poem was brilliant," Prim mutters.
"I'm sure it was. Mr. Wells doesn't have the dumb kids read their stuff in front of class." Prim merely shrugs in response. And a weird part of me likes seeing her this way. All dejected about something so small. It's like she's unaware of how hard the world is yet. She's lucky to have that kind of innocence. It's a rare thing. I glance at Katniss and appreciate how warm her eyes are, despite the steely color of them. She appears relaxed and just as amused as I am about Prim's predicament. Katniss lost her innocence by the time she was Prim's age, but she won't let that happen to Prim. Furthermore, it happens to be those sweet, innocent people who are the most fun to tease. I lean closer to Prim, my face hovers close to her ear, and I murmur, "Will you read me your poem?"
Prim's horrified face snaps towards me. "No," she says, crossing her skinny arms over hey chest. Where have I heard that before?
I stand up straight again. I hear Katniss laugh through her nose. She covers her mouth—like she did last week with the cauldron thing. I wink at Katniss, so she knows it's all in fun. Her smile kind of falters when I do that. I can't actually see it because her hand shields half her face, but I can tell. She's got that crease in between her eyes. That same crease she gets when she questions what I'm doing, which happens to be more than half the time we've spent together thus far. Who knew she'd be so taken aback by a wink? I'll tell you who. Me. I should have known because other girls would blush at that kind of thing. And Katniss doesn't do what other girls do. I'm learning.
I give my attention back to Prim since I've got a good rapport going with her. "What if I said please?" I ask.
"I'd still say no," Prim says haughtily. She lifts up her chin and takes a few quick steps so she's walking ahead of us. I take advantage and drift a little closer to Katniss. She doesn't shy away or step to the may not have noticed I moved, but whatever.
Once again, I owe my wingman.
"Aw, and I thought you were my girl," I whine. Prim turns her head around; her eyes are softer than before. I knew she'd like the pet name. I give her the absurd pouty face, but it's not effective. She purses her lips and twists back around, keeping her proud chin up. Her blonde hair bounces with each determined step.
I sigh dramatically. My shoulders sag with mock disappointment. Another cool wind picks up. Quite a few people in the square rush into shops to get out of the cold. It's not that cold, but we've been spoiled by the recent good weather.
"With eyes that shine like a Harvest moon," Katniss suddenly recites. It's the first thing she's said all afternoon and the oddest thing she's ever said in general.
Prim comes to a standstill just as we're about to pass by the textile shop. She faces us and her big blue eyes are seething. "Katniss!" she shouts, but it's not scary. She's like an angry kitten. She bares her teeth, but she's still cute.
"Glowing in the darkness, observing the black room," Katniss continues with a soft lilt in the voice.
"You're being mean," Prim whines.
Oh. The poem. "No, no. I'm enjoying it," I cut in, trying to reassure her.
Katniss smiles and brushes the stray hair back again. The wind is really starting to pick up. There are some dark clouds rolling in too. Of all days not to bring an umbrella.
"I'm afraid that's all I can remember." Katniss shrugs. We both look at Prim expectantly. Katniss has already given the first two lines. Prim can't leave us without the rest.
Prim bites her bottom lip and kicks at the ground a few times. She stares the sidewalk for several seconds, sighs, and finally relents. However, she says it fast and with no emotion whatsoever. She's not happy to recite the poem. "His eyes find light I cannot see. He scouts the room for hidden enemies. It's there. He strikes. He saved us all. From something menacing, gray, and small." Her face glows a little red, whether it's from anger or embarrassment, I can't say. Without another word, she turns around and trudges forward.
"That's very good," I say. There's no dishonesty in my voice. I liked her little poem. "I feel like it could also be about your sister." Hunter. Scouting for enemies. Yeah. It fits. I do something very brave and give Katniss a nudge with my elbow, just like I do with Prim. Katniss narrows her eyes at me. No surprise there. But she doesn't hit back, thankfully.
"I don't hunt mice." Katniss states in her defense. She raises her chin up confidently, much like Prim does. It's fun to see the mannerisms they share.
We come to a lull in the conversation. It happens. Katniss remains well within arm's length of me. I'm pretty satisfied with that. See what I mean about relatively low expectations? She keeps her eyes on the people and the buildings. Always hunting. Prim stays ahead of us, still a little peeved at us both. She drags her fingers along the brick facings of the buildings. I'm getting more comfortable with the silence between us. It's not as tense and emotionally charged as it was in the beginning. Once again, I'm thankful for last week. We got things out in the open and the baggage that was keeping us apart is gone. Some of the baggage anyway. There's more there on my part. I'm willing to share it with her, but only when I'm sure she's not going to run away. When it's going to make her happy to hear it. I'm afraid getting to that point could take a long time because telling anyone that you've had a crush on them since age five is a big bomb to drop. Ah, well. It will be worth it.
Suddenly, Prim perks her head up. She turns around and walks backwards so she can see us both. I pay attention to what's coming so she doesn't trip. "Katniss' birthday is this Saturday," she says cheerfully.
Katniss scowls. And I know Prim didn't tell me to just to share news. She said it to get back at her sister for having her recite the poem.
"Oh. Happy birthday," I say with a little enthusiasm.
"Thanks," Katniss mutters without looking at me.
I want to be more excited, but it's apparent Katniss didn't want me to know about her birthday. Why shouldn't I know? We're friends. We're kind of friends. We're on the path to being friends. Who am I kidding? Maybe I'm nothing to Katniss. I'm just the guy who entertains Prim so she lets me hang around.
"Do you have any big plans?" I ask.
"Not at the moment," she answers coolly. This wasn't a question she wanted me to ask nor is it a topic she wishes to discuss. And it's not fair. I tell her things about myself. I tell her how my family eats stale food and what my mother was like when I was a kid. I shared it all freely. I'd answer any question she asked and she won't even tell me about her birthday. Prim however, is an open book about it.
"The Hawthornes usually come over for our birthdays. Do you know them?" Prim asks.
Both Katniss and I stiffen up. I barely notice it in my peripheral vision. I know why I'm bothered, but I can't be sure why she is. Not unless, there's something she hasn't told me. "Not really," I reply to Prim. I know the oldest one, Gale. He's got some siblings, but I couldn't tell you which ones are his.
"We have a feast," Prim describes with a dramatic wave of her arms. "Bread, strawberries, cheese, milk, and whatever Gale hunts. On my birthday we had a turkey."
"Prim, that's enough," Katniss abruptly scolds.
Prim's face loses all its animation. Even I'm taken aback by Katniss' sudden outburst. Prim's day isn't getting any better. She turns back around and keeps her chin to her chest.
"Well, that sounds fun," I mumble. No one says any different. No one invites me to the party. Is that why Katniss didn't want to talk about it? Did she think I would expect to be invited? She didn't want me to come because her boyfriend would be there. Or she didn't want me to come because she doesn't like me. Or both.
Birthdays are one of the more pleasant memories of my childhood. I always got a cake with a different theme of decoration every year, until I was about thirteen and my mother said birthdays are for children, and I wasn't a child. But the cakes I remember. One year it was the jungle, another one was a lake, and yet another was soccer. When I was a kid I would beg my dad to tell me what the theme was going to be for a month, and he never revealed the secret. I'm glad he didn't because the surprise was the best part of it. We didn't have a feast per say, but we'd have some sort of special game for dinner and the bread would be fresh. However, I almost wish it wasn't with the way my mother would remind us over and over to be grateful for it. I was grateful, but she also insinuated that I didn't deserve it.
I imagine that birthdays in the Everdeen house are nothing like that. They're genuinely happy occasions where friends and family share a meal and celebrate the passing of another year. If that's true, Katniss must hate her birthday because it means she has to be center of attention. They may not have much, but what they have is enough. And everything is treasured and appreciated because it's given and shared selflessly.
Then I remember the goat cheese I'm carrying in my bag. A gift. One Prim could have given to her sister or shared with the Hawthornes. They'll have less at their feast because I have it. I know why I felt uneasy. I shouldn't have it. My birthdays weren't perfect and neither was my childhood, but I always was fed. I shouldn't have something like this.
The sky has turned significantly darker when we reach the end of town. It's important we all get home soon before we get soaked in the rain. Prim doesn't need to get sick again. We stall where the sidewalk turns to dirt, where we should be sharing our goodbyes. However, there's this thing in my bag that makes it feel like it weighs a ton, and I can't ignore it.
"Prim? Can I talk to your sister for a minute?"
The corners of Prim's mouth perk up a bit. "Sure. We don't live very far from here. I can make it the rest of the way alone. I'll see you at home, Katniss."
Katniss looks like she's about to protest, but Prim turns on her heels before she can say anything. Always the excellent yet unintentional wingman. They must not live much further away like Prim said, because Katniss doesn't chase after her. Although, Katniss looks a little annoyed. I can't tell by her face, she keeps that remarkably stoic, but the way her hands slide over her bag, and the way she moves her weight from one hip to the other, tells me she's uncomfortable. I can save her one worry though. I'm not going to ask if I can come to her party.
Carefully, I take the goat cheese out of a pocket of my bag and hold it out to Katniss. "I don't think I can accept this."
Katniss eyes me, then the cheese, then me again. Her mouth hangs open a little bit. Once again, I manage to surprise the girl, but not in a good way. "What?"
"I think you should keep it."
Katniss takes a step back. She glances over her shoulder, looking for Prim I would guess. She's out of sight. Katniss faces me again and looks like she did last week when she accused me of demanding a favor, except it's worse, because she's more than angry at me this time, she's hurt. "If you didn't want it then you shouldn't have taken it," she says bitingly.
"It's not that I don't want it, I just think—"
"You can tell Prim you're returning her gift."
"You know I don't want to hurt Prim's feelings."
"Then why are you trying to give it back?"
"It's…because…," I struggle. I don't know how to say this and not offend her. But it would seem that it's a bit late for that. And she shouldn't be offended really, because this has nothing to do with Katniss personally. It's the simple reality of our circumstances. "You know why," I conclude.
"You gave her cookies, something of value to you. She's not allowed to do the same?" Katniss asks with raised eyebrows.
"I'm not trying to be a jerk here," I insist. "We have different…resources." We often end up with a batch of stale cookies that don't get sold. It's pretty typical. I wasn't going to wait to give Prim old cookies that we would have otherwise thrown away. That's not a gift. What Prim gave me…it should have been a birthday present. It shouldn't be mine.
Katniss doesn't see it this way. She looks about ready to knock me out. At least I know how to take care of the bump if she does. "Yes. I'm the poor urchin from the Seam and you're the rich merchant from town," she says, her voice a mixture of anger and sarcasm. "My family can't possibly survive without a glob of cheese."
"Why do you have to make everything so difficult?" I raise my voice to her.
And then she says it. The one thing I suspected, but tried my damndest to believe wasn't true. "I didn't ask to be your friend, Peeta." A light rumble of thunder echoes in the distance. Intermittent raindrops begin to fall around us. "And the last thing I'm going to let you do is hurt my sister."
I shake my head at that comment. Even if she doesn't want me to be her friend, even if she doesn't like me, she knows that's my last intention. I'm upset that she would even think it. "I'm not trying to hurt her. I'm trying to do the right thing," I swear. Why can't she just get it? It's not right for me to take this from her. I don't deserve it.
"Then keep it," she says quickly. She starts backing up toward the Seam. More and more raindrops wet the dusty ground. "And keep your cookies and your bread and anything else you feel the need to bestow upon my family. I don't need it."
And she's gone. I try to call out her name, but it's masked behind another rumble of thunder; this one much closer than the last. She doesn't hear me call for her. She doesn't come back.
I'm a mess when I reach my house. My clothes are soaked through. Prim's gift is ruined. I throw it in the trash and rinse off the smudges that melted onto my hand. I take a quick shower, turning up the water as hot as it will go, though even the highest setting isn't all that warm. I want to rinse away this awful day, but it fails to work. I put on some dry clothes and lie on my bed, running the disastrous scene through my head again and again. It started off well enough. Katniss joked with me, at Prim's expense, but it wasn't cruel. We talked about her birthday, and yeah, that wasn't a high point, but it wasn't terrible. But Prim's gift. Why did it have to be food? If it were anything else I could have accepted it gladly, but not food.
I've seen Katniss go without. Her arms were so thin I could have wrapped my hand around them. Her eyes were empty and frightened and ready to give up. Slumped up against a tree in the rain, in a storm like today's, about to die.
I rub my hand over my face vigorously, pushing the image from my mind. I should have explained myself better. I should have just confessed how much it scared me to see her that way. How much it scares me that it's still a possibility. Because there are no guarantees. Not for any of us.
I must have been lying here a long time because I hear people come in the house. Mom yells at someone about something. Who knows? As long as it's not me, I don't care. Someone comes up the stairs. There's a knock.
"What?" I shout. The door opens without a response. Rilee comes in, looking a little worse for wear. He got drenched in the storm, too. He's dripping onto my floor. They probably closed the bakery early because people don't like to shop in the heavy rain.
"What the hell did you do to Hawthorne?" Rilee says with disdain in his voice. He avoids yelling so he doesn't alert Mom or Dad, specifically Mom.
I sit up on my elbows, confused, and unwilling to deal with my brother. "What are you talking about?" I gripe.
"Today, after gym class, I made a remark about him missing a goal and he shoved me up against the lockers."
"It sounds like you made fun of him and pissed him off. That's got nothing to do with me," I deflect. And to be honest, it's probably not the first time Rilee's ripped on Hawthorne. He and Rilee are in the same grade, so they have a lot of the same classes. My brother is a jerk most of the time. I'm surprised Rilee doesn't get shoved up against lockers more often.
"No, it has nothing to do with a little dark-haired girl you've been walking home from school every week."
I sit up further. I wait for the joke, the bluff. There's nothing. "I don't know what you mean," I lie.
"Oh, please," he says dramatically. "Did you think it was a secret? You know what the gossip is like in town. Everyone sees everything," he scoffs.
So people have noticed. Whatever. It's innocent. "It has nothing to do with Gale Hawthorne."
He starts pacing at the end of my bed, but my room is not very big, and he has to turn around after only a few steps. "Everyone knows Hawthorne and that girl have something going on."
"Katniss," I interrupt.
He stops to look at me. "What?"
"Her name is Katniss," I tell him. He should at least know her name. She deserves better than to be called, that girl. My girl, but not that girl.
"Whatever," he says with a wave of dismissal. "Just back off."
My fingers are clenching the fabric of my sweatpants. I didn't notice until now. Something going on with Hawthorne. If she had a boyfriend she would have told me I couldn't walk her home because it would bother him. Most girls would be proud to say such a thing. Katniss never said anything. She never insinuated she was dating anyone. But the way she reacted when Prim mentioned him. What did it mean? Are they together? Like Rilee said, everyone assumes they're together. Do their parents disapprove of them dating? That doesn't make sense. Their parents are friends. They have parties together. I pinch the bridge of my nose. I'm frustrated. "I'm not doing anything wrong," I tell him, because it's true.
"Then why are you keeping it a secret?"
"It's not a secret. It's private."
"Fine. Just keep in mind that Hawthorne is bigger than you and he knows his way around a knife."
"Stay out of it, Rilee."
"I've got no problem with that. I'm not going to get my ass kicked just so you can slum it with some coal miner's daughter."
I'm off the bed. I'm pressing Rilee against the door by his shoulders and I don't know how I moved so fast. We're about the same size, but he's not expecting it, and it's easy to get the upper hand. I don't think I really hurt him—more like I shoved him hard and didn't stop holding him there. There is a loud crashing sound when his back hits the door. When I see the slight panic in his eyes, I let go.
"What the fuck, Peeta?" he shouts. He rubs the back of his head. Was it his head that made the sound?
I don't respond. I stand there breathing too hard and hearing Rilee's words run through my head again and again.
"Have you lost your goddamn mind?" he shouts again. He's not interested in an answer. He slams the door as he leaves.
My mom is yelling. She probably wants to know what's going on. I don't hear her come up the stairs, so I ignore it.
I fall to the bed. I listen to the sound of the rain hammering against the roof for a while. The thunder crashes and shakes the windows. I remember to push a new empty bucket in this one spot by my bed where the roof always leaks. The bucket that was there is full already. There are loud taps as water falls into the bucket. I hear a few before I fall into a fitful sleep.
Oh no. Angst! Try to stay calm. All storms pass eventually.
