My apologies that this took a lot longer than usual (and I do take forever. Again, apologies on never updating like every week just like everybody else) because all of the drafts and plans that were in my flash drive got erased. So now it's all gone.. I was kind of depressed at first, but I can start fresh with different events happening in this. But oh, well. The world is not a wish-granting factory (TFiOS).
The grass has a small layer of dew still settling in to the roots, also hanging onto my sandals. Rhye curls her tiny fingers around my forefinger. The wind is slightly pinching my arms. The light jingling of the black metal fences. The casual red dress hangs under my knees. And when Rhye frees my hand, she hides behind my back, clutching the back of my leg. Her purple backpack makes her a lot smaller than usual that I attempted to persuade her to get a smaller backpack.
I reach behind me and take her small arm, dodging the short braid I weaved this morning. I don't look but I know it's the fabric of the dark blue jacket she's wearing that my fingers brush.
"Rhye," I whisper, trying to contain the nervousness that tries to urge its way out into my voice.
It's her first day of school. What if she doesn't speak? What if she's asked to sing? What if it's a recurrence of Peeta and me when we were five years old? Did I forget to pack her lunch?
I keep walking toward the small building surrounded by a playground in a sea of green, pushing the thoughts from my mind, as Peeta laughs behind me. A wave of music. I pivot to the side when Rhye lets go of my leg.
When I do, I catch Peeta's hands hooked around Tristian's waist the second tristian comes running in front of Peeta. Tristian squeals, covering his eyes in embarrassment that his father could catch him. And that he's too slow.
Then Peeta begins to recline backwards, my heart racing in anxiousness. I hurry towards him and wrap my hands around his arms that hold onto Tristian. When I fixate on a good grip, I lean back and heave him back up.
"Peeta," I attempt to growl, but a smile cracks my face.
"I'm sorry," he says, his lips pressing against my forehead. "Tristian spazzed out a bit."
But of course I forgive him. The countless amounts of times when he forgave me. When I smacked his face when the nightmares hit me hard. The time I licked the last bits of frosting. When I wasn't watching Tristian as I cooked and found Peeta's prosthetic leg on the couch the second I heard Peeta wake up from upstairs. And many more.
I feel a tug on my dress. I look down and find Rhye pouting.
"I don't wanna go to school," she mumbles.
"You have to, Rhye," I say softly.
"But no one will like me," she complains.
I kneel on my right knee, sweeping my hand under my knee so that the dress doesn't brush the grass. "Rhye, it's just the first day of school. I'm sure lots of people will be as nervous as you."
She looks down and bites her lower lip. But she doesn't say anything.
"Rhye, there's nothing to worry about," I assure her with a smile. "We'll pick you up in the school and you can tell us the stories of the kids and teachers you met."
Peeta shifts his weight down next to Rhye. "Rhye, I promise you that there's nothing to worry about. Everybody will be nice to you if you're nice to them."
She nods slowly. She favors Peeta more than me ever since Peeta's flashbacks have evaporated. Maybe because of the string of tenderness in his voice that calms her down. His voice penetrates every wall that tries to block from any form of bowing down.
I pull Tristian in my arms when he attempts on climbing up Peeta's shoulder. Tristian presses his warm cheek against my nose.
The high-pitched, yet loud, bell rings.
Peeta and I straighten up. Tristian's arms hook around my neck. Rhye loops her fingers around Peeta's hand.
And we walk.
A woman, about thirty years old, stands in front of a clear wall of plastic- a board version of the Holo. But I push that thought from my mind. The woman has short red hair and green eyes. A green dress drapes around her body.
The classroom is unbelievably filled with a variety of colors. One wall is blue. Another is red. Then green. And lastly yellow. In between the colorful walls are toys of every color, chalkboards and a painted wooden shelf for the children to store their backpacks. A place perfect for children.
When her eyes have set on me, they widen. A smile cracks her face and she walks towards me.
I feel wetness on my collarbone and realize the saliva streaking down Tristian's cheek and onto my shoulderbone. Then the blubbering of his gibberish. "Tristian," I hiss in a whisper.
"Hello," the woman smiles, sticking her hand out. "I'm Cara Harris."
I shake her hand slowly. "I'm K-"
"Everyone knows that," she interrupts. "But I'll be your daughter's teacher."
I nod. "So when does class end?"
"It'll end in four hours," she answers. "At two."
"Thank you," I say softly. And she walks away.
Peeta kneels next to Rhye in front of the shelf for belongings. I walk up to them and hover above their heads.
"-be okay," Peeta finishes. He looks up when my shadow has casted over him. He smiles, his eyes softening. "Rhye's still scared."
I jump to fixate Tristian under my arms, sighing. "It'll be alright." I try my best to give her a Peeta-esque smile, but failing because my lips are trembling in fear.
Silence will fill the house when she's gone. Tristian will have no one to play with for four hours straight. And the house will constist of four people instead of its usual five.
"Katniss," Peeta says gently. He stands up, his hands on my arms. "Katniss," he whispers in my ear.
I shake my head, though I feel like the walls are caving in, taking in the oxygen with them. "It's alright, Peeta." I catch Rhye's eyes below me, and I harden.
His hand pushes the hair from my eyes. "It'll be fine," he whispers.
I rigidly nod. I don't say anything.
Cara Harris announces that the class will start soon, meaning Peeta, Tristian and I have to leave. I bend down and kiss Rhye's head. She presses her lips against my cheek, her arms around my neck for a long time. Then she and Tristian exchanges kisses on their cheeks.
"We'll be here the second class ends," I assure her.
"Okay," she mutters.
And we leave.
I spend the four hours watching Peeta frost cakes and walking through the woods with Tristian, giving Tristian varied snacks in between hours. His voice has died down since we had to leave Rhye. The silence bothers me. For a boy who talks at every chance he gets, the silence is very foreign to me.
When we reach the edge of the woods, I finally speak up to Tristian. I kneel down to his height, my thumb running running over every centimeter of the back of his hand.
"You miss Rhye?" I ask softly in the baby voice Peeta uses to coax words or food in and out of his mouth.
He nods once.
"Let's go, okay?"
He begins to bounce up and down, his arms stretched forward, signalling me to pick him up. He giggles, the laughter filling the emptiness and silence since Rhye started school. I swiftly pull him under my arms and position him so his head is against my collarbone.
I walk to Peeta's bakery and tell him it's time to go. Behind the counter, he tells one of his assistants to take charge for the rest of the day, increasing his wage per hour until Peeta decides to come back and fill the shift.
"There's this girl that played with me in the swings and there was this boy who looks at me a lot and the teacher was really nice to all of us and the lunch tasted good and some people looked at me," Rhye spills out quickly as we make our way inside the house. "And two other girls and me were running in the field."
"I told you the first day of school will be fine," Peeta says as he pulls Rhye's backpack from her small body.
"A boy?" I ask defensively.
She nods. "He was watching me."
Maybe it's Peeta and me all over again, I think. Without the Games.
Tristian wiggles from my grasp and went away with his gibberish to Rhye.
Vera makes her way down the stairs and greets Rhye. Then she listens to Rhye's stories of her first day of school.
Peeta and I head to our bedroom.
"Nothing to worry about," Peeta assures me with a smile.
I push the red drapes apart, soaking in the sunlight. "I'm just going to sleep."
He walks over to me, his hands on my waist. "Everything fine?"
"Yes. It's just that the worrying tired me out," I explain, which is true. Worrying about Rhye's first day and Tristian's reactions to the lonliness of Rhye's presence drained every bit of energy that I wanted to have Peeta carry me on the bed.
And he does. My arms wrap around his neck the second his arm is under my knees and the other across my back. He carefully fixates me on the bed. He presses his lips against mine softly and leaves the room.