~ NIGHTINGALE ~
By SincerelyAlice [new username]
Chapter 9: BURNING LOW
[A/N] It's been a few months since my last update. I apologize to all of you who have this fanfiction on wait. This chapter is a longer one, so I hope that can satisfy you all somewhat. Really I've been very busy with school and my 2 jobs, but I am making a new effort to update more. Also, I am looking for a beta. If anyone would like to, they can send me a PM. If I had a beta I would be able to update chapters quicker and I think the quality would improve on the writing if someone else would help me edit. So send me a message if you are interested.
Also, I will take submissions for art for this story...I understood that you can now put up pictures for a fanfiction?
Anyway, thank you again for all of your patience. For those of you who forgot, this is what is going on:
Katniss volunteered to take Prim's place in the Hunger Games, and in turn Gale volunteered to take Peeta's place. Katniss is not yet sure why Gale volunteered, what he has answered with was somewhat vague to her. Peeta is hinting at knowing why Gale volunteered in this turn of events. Haymitch thinks that he has a strategy that Katniss and Gale should use in the Games, but he has not yet revealed his idea.
In the previous chapter, Katniss and Gale took part in the opening ceremonies. They were lit on fire, Katniss was red and Gale blue.
We are taking a short break to look back at what is going on in District 12. See you all at the bottom!
PEETA'S POV:
School was taken off today for the opening ceremonies even though they wouldn't be played until at least six o'clock, and that would be live. It was, apparently, a few hours later by timezone in the Capitol, but I had no idea how much later.
My older brothers were going out for the afternoon, but I'd agreed to stay home with Dad to help him out in the bakery for the day. That meant getting up at five in the morning to start the morning's bread so that we could open up by six am.
"Hello, Peeta," said the young girl, whose blue eyes suddenly couldn't meet his own. Her gaze met the wooden doorstep where she stood, and she shifted uneasily from foot to foot. She then seemed to gather up the necessary courage to look back up. She did not seem to have expected seeing Peeta at the door. Peeta was tall in stature, and also thick-set, but Prim could see in his soft facial expression, now set into a warm smile, that he was as kind as his father. He did not seem to have expected seeing Katniss's little sister there either.
And so she shouldn't be timid when asking this favor of him…
I sighed, roughly running my fingers through my hair. The sick feeling of nausea gathering in my stomach wasn't just because I'd decided not to eat anything before work. I knew that I was already dreading tonight. I tied a white apron, stained from use, around my waist. I wouldn't be thinking of that...at least not now. Maybe later.
It wasn't too strenuous really, waking up at five. It had actually become a sort of normal for the Mellark household. Early mornings. But it wasn't too strenuous really, kneading the dough, shaping it, and then baking it. We always make the actual dough the night before, and then keep it cold until the next morning.
More often that as of late, it had been me up before the sun rose. While my older brothers had been taking on more interests, and elsewhere, (and Mandarin in one particular female) I hadn't really given an alternate occupation much thought. It had become… sort of assumed that I'd take on the bakery after my father. And what that meant was that my father was working me really hard and teaching me everything in increments.
I'm not really sure what would have happened had I remained the male tribute of District 12.
I slipped on the worn red and black checkered oven mitts, before giving them a frown. No, I really wasn't too bothered about the fact that I had no choice in the matter. After all, it seemed as if I had never had a choice in anything in the first place.
I furrowed my eyebrows because I knew what was really bothering me. I could no longer find it in me to care.
I used the back of one of the mitts to wipe the sweat from my forehead. It was getting real hot down here. The ceramic ovens were all located beneath the bakery, but the heat could rise through vents in the ceilings. Anyone would prefer to be upstairs, icing the desserts or assisting customers. That's what I'd done when I was younger, and my older brothers were the ones who had helped out with the more difficult duties.
Anyone, I thought, would rather be up there. Sleeping. I brushed some of my wet blonde hair from my eyes. Dad would always solicitously advise me not to stay down here for more than an hour at a time, and it was nearing that long. It just got too hot.
My being reaped was still something I could not fathom as actually having happened. I felt like…more than anything…that I shouldn't be here. That I really wasn't, and that my form here was just going through the motions. It seemed like I was not the only one with that notion; when people saw me they looked right through me. There was the guilt, some form of survivor's guilt that I got because of Gale's being there. I tried to reassure myself that he would have volunteered regardless of who was chosen. But I did not really know that, and it was an unfair accusation to make against him.
I sighed, trying to lose myself in what I was doing. I'd put the dough in a little over twenty minutes ago, so it should be done by now. I decided that I'd check in on it. I swung open the door of the oven and peered in. I felt sweat run down in a trail on the right side of my face. Deciding that I couldn't see well enough, I used the mitts to pull out the top tray. If that loaf was done, the others should be as well…
Suddenly, there was a clanging of pots behind me, and being so startled I dropped the metal tray, which, along with the loaf of bread, clattered to the ground. I stood up quickly to turn around, effectively banging my head on the top of the oven.
"PEETA!"
Hissing in pain, I promptly sunk to my knees. Quickly slipping off the warm oven mitts, I brought my hands to my forehead where I knew the burn was that I had just gotten. I found myself unable to access the damage other than that there was damage.
I slowly opened my eyes to find where the voice had come from, and saw my mother standing at the base of the stairs, unsure of whether to come forward or not. She seemed, more than anything, out of place. which is an accurate accusation because I don't think in any of my sixteen years of life I'd seen her down here. And at five thirty in the morning no less!
Finally, as if making her decision, she took a step forward towards me, where I was still crouched on the ground.
"Peeta, I-"
"Turn them off," I muttered under my breath, but loud enough for her to hear.
"What?" she asked, now weary.
"Turn off the ovens," I said, now a little louder. The second time I was unable to suppress the growing irritation in my voice.
My mother seemed taken aback, but regained her composure. She then did as I said. She walked around me to where the three central ovens were located. She stepped precariously around the metal tray that still lay on the ground.
With a sharp intake of breath, I was able to get back on my feet. I turned around to watch my mother as she stood before the ovens, a little unsure of what she was supposed to do. But finally she was able to make sense of how to work the dials, and with a click she turned off the heat.
"Thank you," I said, my hand straying to my forehead again. I looked down at the loaf that was on the floor, but it was crisscrossed with black burn marks from the tray. It could not be sold like that. Somehow that familiar image stung at me, and it was more than the burn across my head stung. I turned from my mother before I felt the first of some salty tears leak out of my eyes.
"Let's get you upstairs," said my mother, and one would think that there was concern behind it. However, I knew that was not true.
"I just have to do this ...first..." I replied, but seeing the basement suddenly dim to black, I stumbled forward only to catch myself on the adjacent wall.
"Peeta!" my mother cried, coming towards me at once. "Come on, I'm bringing you upstairs."
I realized now that the dizziness in my head was too present for me to ignore. So I obliged wordlessly, and my mother let me lean on her shoulder as she led me back up the stairs. Her slim form did little to support me, but as soon as I made it out of the basement and away from the fumes I began to feel better and definitely not like I would faint.
I was sat down at one of the tables while my mother went off to get my father...or perhaps, something for my burn on my forehead. I held my hands to my face tenderly, making sure not to touch the skin surrounding the burn. I let myself close my eyes.
I'm such an idiot, I thought. And I was just this close to being a tribute in the Hunger Games. Obviously I couldn't even bake a loaf of bread without endangering myself...and my mother. What if something had caught fire?
I heard my mother reenter the room, and I looked up to see she was holding a damp washcloth. Before she could reach me, I stopped her with a question.
"Why were you down there anyway?"
My mother blinked, as if she honestly hadn't expected the question. But she didn't say anything, instead, she approached me and dabbed the washcloth onto the burn. I immediately cringed at the feel of the cold on my forehead, but my mother held the side of my head firmly in place. After the initial cold, the sensation began to feel better on the burn. Still, I remained stiffened and uncomfortable with her harping over me.
"I just...wanted to see how you were doing," my mother replied quietly, and I tried to see what expression she wore on her face to accompany this bizarre answer. However, she was looking away, and so I couldn't see her face.
I recognized this for what it was, and let me explain. Ever since my almost being reaped, my mother had been acting sort of different around me. So I guess I shouldn't have been too shocked at her coming downstairs. It was some emotion she was emitting, some emotion somewhere between pity and gratitude. And of course none of it was vocal- the most emotion I'd seen out of her was when she'd cried when I'd returned to the audience after Gale had volunteered for me. After that- nothing. At least it wasn't like how it was before...but I couldn't necessarily say it was better than that.
Altogether, it had made for an awkward couple of days. And it's not like my brothers were any different...but they took more to avoiding me, expecting some sort of repercussion from me. Mandarin was now too old to play in the Games, but my two other brothers were both of age and could have volunteered to take my place. I wasn't mad at them because in all honest truth, I could not expect that kind of sacrifice from either of my eligible brothers. That's what made Katniss's selfless sacrifice for her sister so special. I could not expect that from anybody, especially not for me.
Gale hadn't sacrificed himself for me, really.
"You alright, son?" I heard my father's voice from somewhere else in the living room. I detached myself from my thoughts long enough to find the source of the voice.
"Yeah...just a burn and a bump," I replied with a small smile.
"No need to help out for today," my father replied. Before I could even open my mouth to protest, he continued, "We were going to close up early today, but I think we should just close for the whole day."
"That sounds like a good idea," said my mother, now looking towards my father. "Could you replace Peeta's washcloth? I think I'm going to make some tea."
My father and I watched as my mother left for the kitchen, her fleece robe and all.
"What was she doing, going down there anyway?" I asked, once I was sure she'd gone.
My father just smiled broadly back at me. "She wanted to check up on you."
I pressed the washcloth firmly against my forehead, even though it'd grown lukewarm. "Yeah, okay. She could have been watching where she was walking."
My father's eyebrows just creased with my sullen response. "Now, don't say that. She feels bad as is."
I said nothing to this, more so because I couldn't really believe it was true. For years, my father had tried to convince me that my mother did care, just in her own way. That there was something in her to love.
My father asked, changing the subject, "Are you still up for going to the opening ceremonies tonight? With the Everdeens?"
"..Yes."
It's not like I could have skipped out on seeing them anyway- my father was just asking if I felt like staying home to watch instead. However, my ailment did nothing to alter my decision, one that I'd made yesterday. Even if I didn't want to follow through with my decision I would anyway.
"My mother and I...well, we were just wondering if you and your family would like to see the opening ceremonies with us," said Prim, twiddling the tips of her blonde braids nervously. She'd been wearing her hair like that since Katniss had left.
I didn't answer right away.
"I mean, we asked the Hawthornes already but Hazelle already said that there were just too many of them and they were staying home to watch anyway."
I seemed to internally relax a little at hearing this piece of news, but still I gave no immediate response.
"Brutus? You still did not change Peeta's washcloth?"
"Sorry, dear," replied my father, standing up from his chair. He gave me a sheepish smile before taking the washcloth from me to run it under cold water. I gasped as he removed it from my grasp, the searing pain from the burn returning tenfold. I lowered my hand and bit the side of my lip.
My mother emerged from the other room, holding a silver tray with three steaming cups of tea. It took a good few minutes to boil the water for tea. I realized then that for a period of time my father and I must have just sat in silence.
I couldn't bring myself to tell my mother that I didn't care for tea, it was too bitter the way she made it... we couldn't afford sugar to spare for tea. Still, I just took the teacup closest to me. She only made tea for me when I was sick, because I never said I wanted any otherwise. The tea was in the fine china, the only kind my mother allowed herself to use. The teacups were a gleamy white, etched with blue roses.
Maybe it was the blue eyes that eventually broke Peeta. He smiled again and assured Prim, "Of course we'll be there. I'm telling you for all of my family that we will be there for you and your mother for support." Peeta knew that his father, especially, was very fond of Primrose Everdeen.
"Thank you, Peeta!" cried Prim, and all awkwardness aside, she gave Peeta a hug. Or rather, she latched her small arms his midsection. Peeta, in turn, awkwardly bent forward to pat the top of her hair.
I watched warily as my mother took a sip of her tea. She seemed to really enjoy the hot beverage; it was something she drank every morning. Of course, morning for my mother usually meant at least nine o'clock... I couldn't help but notice how tired she looked, but the caffeine in the tea seemed to help.
My mother finally regained her awareness, and looked me back in the eye. Hers were blue, like mine, although darker. Just a little red. We shared an uncomfortable silence before I finally took a sip of my tea.
However, I couldn't even get a mouthful down without having to put the cup back down. The temperature of the tea clashed horribly in my head, intensifying the feel of the burn. I couldn't drink anymore, at least not while it was this hot.
My mother, because she'd been watching me so intently, noticed my discomfort and put her teacup down as well. She looked away again, and I took it away just for awkwardness...and I thought maybe I'd seemed unappreciative of the tea she'd made for me...
But then I remembered what my father said. And I really looked at my mother, perhaps for the first time in too long... and what I saw was unsettling. It was guilt that she wore... and it wasn't that I couldn't drink the tea because it was too hot. She felt bad because, on her account, I'd gotten hurt in the first place.
Even if I didn't believe it or didn't want to, I couldn't deny it now. My mother was trying. And the least I could do was try as well.
I stood up, slowly as to avoid any dizziness, but then smiled down at my mother. I held the teacup in between my hands.
"A little iced tea would do me some good, don't you think?" I asked, motioning to the teacup.
She looked at me warily before taking the porcelain teacup from my hands. She didn't quite return the smile but her mouth was pulled in a way it looked as if she was trying to. And it was a start.
"Whoah, Peeta! How'd ya get that?"
I rolled my eyes as I was asked this question for the third time now. Lio, seventeen, stared with curious eyes at the long white bandage that I'd wrapped around my forehead.
"Can I...can I poke it?" Lio asked, sounding almost in awe.
"No, Lionel," said our mother sternly, who was washing the dishes. She had appeared not to be paying attention. Lio automatically flinched, resting his hand back on the kitchen table. There was an abrupt silence, the sound of the water running from the faucet and the clattering of silverware serving as background noise.
"Mother, did you make breakfast?" asked Theo, who, with scrunched eyebrows, was eying his scrambled eggs with something like wariness.
She was still scrubbing down the plates with a sponge, but did not say anything.
I saw my older brothers share a significant look. And I knew why. Our mother never, ever cooked. It was something she hadn't done when she was younger, and being married to a baker meant it was something she didn't do now. I moved aside some of my bacon to see that the plates she'd used were some of the fine china.
"Your father had to clean up the mess downstairs," she replied curtly.
"Geez, Peeta," said Lio, looking at me expectantly. "What did you do?"
I didn't answer, I just took another bite of toast. For my mother's sake, I wasn't revealing to the others that the real reason I'd bumped my head was because she had come downstairs early to "check up on me."
I had a bite of the bread. Hmm. It had actually come out alright. We'd already agreed to bring over a few of the extra loaves to the Everdeens.
"Is it okay if I see Ivy tonight, Mother?" asked Mandarin.
"Yes… but do remember that we are going to the Everdeens before the ceremonies start. So I expect you home by six o'clock."
"Thanks!" said Mandarin graciously, laying down his fork and knife. "May I be excused?"
"Yes."
Mandarin smiled broadly before bounding up to his bedroom, probably to change so that he could go out to see Ivy as soon as possible.
Upon his loud exit, the twins, Theo and Lio, were able to soundlessly slink away from the breakfast table, leaving only me remaining.
I laughed. The two of them, even collectively, had hardly eaten a thing.
"May I be excused too, Mother?" I asked.
"Yes. Do you plan on going out today?"
"Maybe…" I replied, evasively. "Why?"
"I just wanted to know."
I rolled my eyes, even though she wouldn't see it. What did she think I would be doing? "I'm sixteen years old."
She did not respond to this, which was a little weird, but I dismissed it before leaving the kitchen and going up to my bedroom. I expected Mandarin to at least to ask me about what had happened this morning.
Mandarin and I shared a bedroom, and he was so into what he was doing that he did not notice my entrance until I appeared behind him in the mirror. He had a little start, then turned to face me eagerly.
"You know Ivy's been dying to meet you," replied Mandarin, straightening his black frames, before turning again to eye himself in the mirror. His dirty blonde hair was getting really long, and it was always messy. Our mother got on him for it all of the time. That was why his trying to tidy it was so amusing to me.
I shook my head in disapproval, but I was really laughing to myself at his antics.
"Really? That's why you want me to tag along? Ivy wants to meet one of your brothers?"
"Well she'd want to at least meet the normal one..." said Mandarin, but seeing that I didn't buy into it, he sighed and continued, "Okay, I'll admit it…we haven't been dating long enough to be past that awkward 'oh we're alone now so we have to find something to talk about' stage…"
I couldn't help but, "I knew it!
"And for the fifth time now, you look fine," I added, ruffling up his hair again to set him off. It was kind of funny how Manny had been acting lately. Of course, the only one who saw him like this, the frantic and lovesick Mandarin, was me. He did not express himself so vividly around the twins or the parents.
"Would you come if you had a friend with you?" asked Mandarin, now back on the original request, and eager for me to oblige.
"I don't know..." I replied, honestly unsure if given the choice, who I would bring.
"How about..." Mandarin began purposefully, "A double date?"
I blushed, and this was enough for Manny to continue.
"I remember you told me a while back that there was this girl you liked...you still like her?"
Realizing whom he meant, I immediately shook my head. Not that I was saying no to his specific question, just that it was an overall "no."
Well-used to my sensitivity on the subject, Mandarin just tsked at me. "Alright, little brother. But someday you will tell her how much you love her. And maybe she'll say she loves you too."
"Manny, I can't believe you're talking like this already!" I said, playfully shoving Mandarin's face away from mine. He readjusted his glasses, which I had set crooked.
"Now, Peeta..." he began, undaunted, but I cut him off before he could continue.
I shook my head in mock disapproval at the airy hopelessness in his voice. "How long have you been seeing her?"
"Three weeks and five days..."
"Exactly," I replied with a final smirk, before leaving his bedroom. I'd realized what I'd wanted to do today, and it certainly did not involve being a third wheel on my older brother's date.
I'd taken to going outside. It was part I had no idea what I wanted to do now that I didn't have to help out Dad, part my head kind of hurts, and part ...well... part I had a lot on my mind.
From up here in the apple tree, I could see as far as the woods beyond the electric fence at District Twelve's limits.
I could only wonder how Katniss was doing. She must have been at the Capitol since yesterday...right? I realized that I really knew little about what happened between the tributes' appearances on television. How was seeing her on the screen going to feel? I mean, I'd been watching the replays of the reapings plenty of times, but I knew that this was going to be different. I mostly held mixed feelings…
I watched as younger children ran down the street, towards the bakery. They seemed blissfully ignorant to what was going on, ecstatic because they were off of school and oblivious to the reasons why. I smiled from where I sat in the apple tree and waved down towards the group of children. Upon noticing me, only a few actually waved back.
Then, one of the tle liboys noticed that there were some apples gathered under the tree. Immediately the kids raced towards the base of the trunk and began to pick up as many of the fallen apples as they could carry, the girls filling their skirts with the ripened fruit. They usually weren't too bruised, anyway. The branches were too high for anyone from the ground to pick the fruit, but my family and I would never chastise anyone who strolled by for taking the fallen fruit from the ground.
Once they physically could not carry anymore of the fruit, the children skipped down towards the street, dropping a few of the apples as they went. A few more turned around to smile and wave towards me again. The children really looked like they were from the Seam. All kind of dirty and darkened by the soot from the coal.
Katniss and Gale were probably eating gourmet Capitol food… the thoughts intruded again, how easily it could have been me there. How easily I would not be sitting up in this apple tree. The children would still be running around, they would still find the apples beneath.
But they would still be hungry.
"What is that on your forehead?" Mrs. Everdeen asked me, before any exchanged greetings, promptly upon me and my family's entering the town square.
I looked uneasily between my father and my three brothers, unsure of what or how to answer.
No response given, Mrs. Everdeen took this as consent and she quickly closed the gap between us. She began to peel at the inexpertly wrapped gauze on my head, looking very concerned with what may be underneath.
I felt my mother's long fingernails clutch possessively at my arm, tensing up with Mrs. Everdeen's movement.
"That will not be necessary, Edna," my mother cut in, and rather coldly. She pulled me back towards her.
Mrs. Everdeen's blue eyes widened, not realizing that she had somehow offended my mother. She let go of the loosened piece of gauze she had been holding between her fingers. She pulled at her hair nervously. The gauze trailed between my eyes, and I decided to leave it as is.
"Um, here you go," said Lionel, trying to initiate a new conversation.
"The bread," finished Theodus, and the two boys held forward the loaves of bread that we'd brought for the Prim and her mother.
"Oh, thank you," said Mrs. Everdeen, taking them in her arms. She gave my family a small thin-lipped smile, kind of like one Katniss would give. I felt my heart throb just ever so slightly.
The adults then entered into casual small talk, but I could sense a sort of weighing tension over them. The opening ceremonies would be on very soon, and I think the anticipation of it was giving everyone a little anxiety.
Unknown to the others, Prim had lifted herself on her tip toes, asking me quietly if she may take a peek at what was underneath the gauze. I lowered myself onto my knees so that she was able to examine the wound on my head. I was letting her look at it with no objection because, besides being unable to say no, she seemed so sternly intent on giving her synopsis. She pulled away at the gauze so gently that it did not cause me any further pain, and the look in her eyes was similar to Mrs. Everdeen's. Once she had finished looking at it, she re-wrapped the gauze around my head tightly.
"Mother," said Prim, softly. She pulled on the hem of Mrs. Everdeen's dress to gain her full attention. "He's got a burn. And it looks as if it could get infected."
The adults fell into an abrupt silence, now all looking down at Prim and I. I got up to my feet, now a little self-conscious at my being examined by a twelve-year old.
"Infected?" repeated my father incredulously, looking at me again. "Now, what could we do about that?"
"I could treat that for you, if you would let me," said Mrs. Everdeen uncertainly, her eyes trained on my forehead. I felt myself flush a little at all the attention. Mrs. Everdeen then turned towards my mother, more for her approval than my own. "It would really no trouble. Consider it as thanks for the bread."
I cut in, "I-"
Welcome to the 74th Hunger Games!
The lot of us startled, the spokesman's voice resounding throughout the entirety of the district. Ceasing what we had been doing, we came in closer to the crowd so that we could see the image now appearing on the television screens better.
"Don't worry Peeta, I'll give you something for that burn," whispered Mrs. Everdeen under the noise. I just nodded.
I felt someone put their hand on my shoulder, and I turned to see that it was Mandarin. He squeezed my shoulder affectionately, and I leaned in to him appreciatively. Manny really had helped me to alleviate some of the guilt that I'd been feeling.
They were replaying the reapings again before the opening ceremonies started. I watched for District 12 in particular. I'd seen this video clip tens of times. First, Prim's name is called, she begins walking down the aisle. Katniss steps forward to volunteer to take her sister's place. So that Katniss could move forward, Gale must hold back Prim. She looks to be in hysterics...
Then there was that same, ghastly close-up of my face as the me in the video heard my name called by Effie Trinket. The screen was split in half so that Gale could also be seen. He does not appear to be indecisive; rather, he walks forward with unprecedented precision. This is not lost to the spokespeople, who commend his decisiveness in those keystone seconds. He then cries out to the crowd, an echo of Katniss's, "I volunteer as tribute!"
After Gale's proclamation, my face takes the full screen for a few seconds, and the registering shock on it seems to be reflective of all who has gathered there. That is when the me on the screen returns to the crowd and to all the others. I am not a second thought to the Capitol or Panem anymore. Gale's image replaces mine. He then turns to his mother and says what looks like a last goodbye to her. He stoops forward and kisses her softly on the cheek before parting.
I looked away then. I'd seen it tens of times. Then why, even when I watched it now, did I still see that something did not seem to correlate correctly?
It was this very slight detail from the first clip to the second of Gale, and it bothered me. There was a very slim rip in his collar in the first, but none in the second. Chronologically, it did not seem to make sense. How could this have been overlooked by the Capitol? Sure, the coverage in District 12 is of relatively poor quality, and especially because the cameras were flitting between so many people… but didn't someone realize that the second clip was really recorded before the first one, unless Gale had sewn up his shirt in the time between them?
Manny squeezed my shoulder again. He must believe that I was looking away from the screens because I was feeling depressed again. I felt someone take my other hand, and I saw that it was Prim. She was smiling up at me, trying to stay strong. Was it for me?
But who or what ripped the collar of Gale's shirt during the reaping anyway? Could it have been Prim, when she wrestling in his grip? It was a difficult angle to access, but it looked as if he had no rip running towards Katniss's sister... in the confusion I doubted anyone could have noticed if it had been then…
If this claim was true, this would suggest…
Gale had exchanged words, given Mrs. Hawthorne a parting kiss before my name had even been chosen. While his shirt collar was still perfectly intact, as the clip would suggest.
The female tribute is always chosen before the male, as Effie Trinket would say, "Ladies first." So Gale had held back Prim when Katniss had climbed the scaffold, before my name was called. Before Gale had volunteered for me.
I watched as the two, Katniss and Gale, shook hands. And there it was, his collar had that rip in it!
I let go of Prim's hand and I backed away from Mandarin. They both eyed me curiously, but I provided no explanation to my sudden withdrawal from them and the others. The two of them turned back to the television screens and towards the speakers, which had begun playing the music for the opening ceremonies. I paid either no notice.
This exchange between Gale and his mother…it could have been even before Katniss had been chosen!
And with no further ado, let the opening ceremonies commence!
Now, the importance of this moment cannot be understated...
That I only knew the half of it was very unnerving to me. I had to have this fully figured out before anyone else...
[A/N] Thank youfor reading! Leave me a review, let me know you're still reading this story of mine! And if you're interested in becoming a beta, please let me know! I'm looking for one. :)
I hope I explained Peeta's discovery enough. And it is certainly relevant! Check Chapter 1 if you do not remember a rip in a shirt...
P.S. There is also a Hunger Games poll on my profile if you want to vote for who should win in this fic.
Bye. :)
-Alice
