My mom wasn't too thrilled when she saw her home and bakery messier than when she left. Both the girls sleeping over both the nights. Feeding an army of homeless. Extra showers. Girls sleeping with boys.
Katniss actually falls asleep on one arm of the couch sitting up with her blanket cocoon to keep her warm. Prim passes out at her feet and I sleep on the other end of the couch, curling up to keep my feet out of Katniss's face.
The next morning, Katniss asks if she can sleep in one of the beds, so I let her. She sleeps all day while Prim helps me in the bakery downstairs. Dinner is interesting with Katniss still sleeping in Rye's bed and Prim at the dinner table. My mother takes a liking to Prim almost instantly. With her little voice and good manners, she hits the ball out of the park with my mom. She request to be excused from the dinner table then proceeds to wash off her plate.
She is turning in early, asking to sleep with her sister in the bed.
My parents and I still sit at the dinner table.
"How do you like Primrose?" My dad asks my mom as she continues to eat. Prim is brushing her teeth in the bathroom.
"She seems like a sweet girl. I really haven't talked with the other one. She has been asleep ever since I got back from Steven's." She says. Both my dad and I blown away at how laid back she is about the girls staying here without her consent.
"She's different, but a hard worker and very kind to the people she loves." I pitch in.
"And how would you know how kind that is?" My dad teases me, half-jokingly.
"I have watched her with her sister, obviously." I defend.
"She better be a hard worker if she will be staying here." My mother says.
I nearly spit my food out of my mouth. Turning to my dad, he winks at me.
"Oh thank you Mom!" I say, trying to hide my excitement.
My dad gets up and pats my shoulder. "But if I see anything that looks like funny business, they are back on the streets. No exceptions." He says, "And don't tell the others. We are not becoming a shelter."
"I promise. No funny business." Unintentionally, I start to put the dishes in the dishwasher. My mind begins to wander about how to make their situation better. If they only can stay until they get their situation figured out, how long is that? Where is their mother now? There are two identical high-rise buildings that are north of where I live that are for assisted living. Is that where she is? Is she alive? Is she completely fine, holding a job and well equip to parent her children and Katniss just isn't being honest?
I drop a plastic cup in the sink and it splatters water over my shirt.
Seems like I will just have to ask her.
The next morning, at about seven, Katniss knocks on my door. She is dressed in new clothes, and showered, her hair down. Is she doing that because she knows I like it like that? She is very, very awake. I sit up leaning my head against my headboard as I tell her she can come in.
She lingers in the doorway. "It's just my bedroom, not a dungeon. Come on." I tell her through a yawn. "How long have you been awake?"
"Since four." Her toes dig into carpet nervously.
"Seriously? Why didn't you wake me up?"
"Wake up an almost stranger in the middle of the night? That's not my forte." She answers. It's either a sarcastic remark or a jab at the fact that I had just done that to her a few days ago.
"Funny. Give me a second to wake up and I will make some coffee."
"Actually…Your mom already made me some. We talked this morning." I should have thought of that, my mom is always the first one awake.
"Oh really." I say, adjusting the pillow behind my back. She looks at me awkwardly when I do that and I can't help but smile at her pureness. "It's just a pillow. Come in here," I say motioning with my hands. "I don't want my mom to hear this next bit."
She pulls her hand away from the doorpost and takes three steps forward before settling on the floor about four feet from my bed.
"Was she pleasant? Did she say how long you guys can stay?" I ask.
"Yeah, she was. She said we can stay until I figure out what to do."
"How long is that?"
"I don't know." She starts to pick at the carpet, obviously ready to end the conversation.
I scroll on my phone, trying to hide that I keep looking up from it every few seconds to see her. My Dad bursts in a few minutes later and says this is funny business. I glare at him. "Seriously?"
"My house, my rules."
"Whatever." I turn to Katniss, "Do you want to get started in the bakery?"
She nods.
"Is that appropriate?" I prod at my father.
He just shakes his head. "Just get down there kids. You know your mom hates working the register." He says staring at me.
I teach Katniss how to make some other bread, as she teases me that I need a new hobby beside memorizing recipes. Prim comes down around nine, eager to help. Prim helps me pass out food to the people lining the sidewalk. Katniss stays inside.
My mom says that Prim is underage and cannot work in the bakery. I shrug it off and explain she is as much family as anyone. Katniss smiles.
This goes on for a few days until we find ourselves at the dinner table, my parents still downstairs finishing up.
Prim attacks her tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwich as if it is going to bite her back. "I see the table manners are just an act for my parents." I laugh and she squints her eyes.
Her sister sits at the kitchen table staring blankly at an old family picture hanging on the wall.
"How old are you here?" She says getting up and moving closer to the wall. I follow.
"Well, Rye broke his arm in sixth grade, so that puts me at eight years old?" I say, eyeing the white cast on his right arm.
"You were so cute." She explains, the skin on her cheeks quickly turning pink as she realizes what she said. I know it's just the generic response to an old picture, but I can't help but feel flustered over the compliment also.
"You were cute too, then." I say, continuing her thought, "We must have been in third grade here?"
She nods.
"Mrs. Walton?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"That was the year Quentin bit off his tongue, right?" I laugh at the memory.
She chuckles. "I forgot about that. We were on the soccer fields when Margaret kneed him in the jaw."
"I can't believe that she did it. Wowza." I say.
Prim chimes into the conversation. "Margaret Thomas? Is she the one who?" She eyes her sister.
Katniss nods.
"Come on. You can't do the sneaky thing in front of me." I whine, suppressing a smile to Katniss's lips.
"She dated one of Katniss's friends. That's all." Prim says it as if it's the most well-kept secret in the universe.
I burst her bubble, "Gale Hawthorne. And that was like freshman year?" I ask casually.
Katniss nods with tight lips.
Gale Hawthorne. We never really talked; he was one of the upperclassmen that all the younger girls swooned at. Very reserved for such an intimidating person, standing over six feet tall with muscles like a professional athlete. He wasn't on the football team with me, and he didn't wrestle. So my theory is that he was born muscular. Everything I associate with him, is with Katniss, so, I can't help feeling biased toward him. They always were together, and I desperately envied that relationship.
Hersh tried to snap me out of my infatuation with her by saying they were dating. However, there was never hand holding, or even a quick hug exchanged, so I tried not to believe it.
Gale moved away a couple years ago because his mother couldn't take the guilt. His father was the drunk driver that killed the Everdeen's father.
I could say there is some tension between the two families, leaving both mothers widowed and their children fatherless.
I can hardly wait to change the subject.
"Do you want to go on a walk?" I ask, not specifically to either of the girls.
They exchange a look like my head just shifted backwards. "Are you crazy?" Katniss asks, squinting her eyes.
"A little, but it hasn't bothered anyone yet."
Prim is happy to go, but her sister calls us crazy and stays in the bedroom. I help her get some warmer clothes on. One of my scarfs, a jacket that Luke's wife left here when they were dating, and some boots that we picked up at a Goodwill a few days ago. I copy, and we enter the blizzard.
"This is ridiculous." I say, "I can't believe you agreed to this."
"I went more to just prove Katniss wrong and sometimes she needs some time to herself once in a while." She adds, "Keep that in mind."
Prim smiles and starts to skip in front of me in the winter glow. The sidewalks have been salted at least six times this week, so I am not worried that she is going to slip.
Since they started staying with us, Katniss has opened up to me, teasing me. Telling me I'm wrong. Responding in conversations with more than head nods and 'Okays.' In the bakery, she has even taken a liken to my mom, of all people. The woman who kicked her off our property, leaving her to die. The woman who gave me a nice slap to the face after I threw her the bread.
She asks about my family with genuine concern. Could this be progressing?
But I know she recoils when she thinks that she has gone too far. Her walls building up around her, caging her inside her own civil prison. I wonder if she is insecure about herself.
That's crazy.
Just to think that three months ago, I never thought that I would have a conversation with Katniss Everdeen, let alone have her sleeping in the same house as me. One of the nights, in the same bed.
"I will keep that in mind," I say finally.
A little over three weeks pass since the 'freezing' incident. After pointlessly scouring newspapers for places to rent, Sae offers her and Prim a bedroom. We get a tour of the place. And just like Hersh's house and my house, it's the same floor plan. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms.
The sunlight that shines through the small window paints the whole room a beautiful sunshine yellow, where I almost forget that gray snow still covers the ground. The view outside is the lake about a half mile away, and faces the trees that Katniss likes the most about the water.
She winces as Sae tells her what the rent is.
The down payment is just a little over what Katniss can afford now.
I turn her away from Sae to propose my idea. She wants this place so bad, I can see it in her eyes, in her steely gaze. "I can help with the little extra if you would like. Like a loan."
"I want to earn my money." She says, closing the door to that conversation, and pivoting back to Sae, her arm resting against mine. It shoots warmth to my stomach, almost butterflies. "I want it. Can I get you the down payment on Friday?"
"Sounds good to me girl."
This couldn't be a better situation. In a little less than a week, Katniss is going to be living just down the street from me. Baking by my side. If my plan works, we could be holding hands. Kissing soon.
Why do I feel so sick to my stomach?
We get back to the house, when I propose my idea.
Prim suggested it in the first place. "Let's celebrate. To financial happiness. To… satisfaction!" I say exuberantly, hiding the fact that I do not want her to go. To the fact that I wish time could stand still, or repeat the last couple of weeks over and over and over again.
"Okay. What are we going to do?" Katniss asks as Prim begins her rehearsed coughing fit.
"Let's just get in the car and go."
"Prim sounds like she is getting sick, maybe I should…"
"Really?" Prim interrupts. "I am definitely old enough to take care of myself, especially with just a cough." Prim says. This is her idea.
Years from now, she will make a great sister-in-law.
"If you say so." She turns to me. "Can we just go downstairs? That's somewhere."
"No." I repute. "Tell me some place that you have always wanted to go to, but never got the courage to?"
She thinks for a few moments, until tears well in her eyes.
"Hey, hey! This is supposed to be happy. "I say, running my hands down her arms, wishing I could pull her in a hug without her pulling away.
"I know where I want to go."
We get in my mom's car, and she directs me down different streets and turns and down two alleys. "Where are we going?" I ask, with one hand on the wheel.
She looks down at her lap. "It's right up here. Take your next left." The sky is darkening, the clouds covering the sky in a dark gray, blocking the sun. The pointless sun. I look at the temperature gauge in the car that says 10 degrees. I shiver. Katniss moves her arm up, "Right here. Turn here."
We follow a path that looks like something in a park, until the sidewalk starts to enclose tombstones and synthetic flowers.
She wants to visit her dad.
"You can stop here." I put it in park, and she takes a deep breath. "Just stay in the car for a second. It's not too far in, so don't get freaked out."
I turn the headlights her way, so I can see farther in. She disappears into the graveyard, her silhouette fading in the fog that has begun to set. The people are dead, but why do I feel so uncomfortable with this?
Passing the time, I try to find the tallest tombstone. Farthest one to the right. I count them, 138 above ground, the others are sporadically placed so I can't count them. My mind wanders to my grandmother, who is buried in Lamb Hill on the other side of town. She still has a pull on my decisions I make. She has made me a better person, even though she has been gone for almost four years.
Five minutes pass, then ten.
At twelve minutes, my legs are shaking and I am regretting not wearing my ski jacket. A gust of cold air freezes the tips of my ears as I open my door, the interior lights illuminating the walk, reflecting. I shut it quietly, leaving the keys in the ignition so the lights stay on.
I don't want to startle her, not in a place like this.
Using the flashlight on my phone, I shine it all around in search of my mourning co-pilot.
And once again, as if it is becoming the norm, I find her shaking in the cold, balanced on her feet as crouches down. Her fingers are tracing the carving on the stone, going over the name Hunter Everdeen.
Staying in the shadows, I leave her peacefully, resting against an oak tree that has lost all its leaves. It's so dark. I wonder how she found his.
She stays crouched there, whispering as if he could hear her. She whimpers her cries. I can't help thinking that this is not celebrating.
Her voice loudens: "I found a place to stay. I have been at the Mellark's for a few weeks, they let me work in their bakery. The youngest son is really nice. I think he is a lot like you. You would have liked him." She turns her head, probably realizing her voice is getting louder.
I heard it.
I smile.
She whispers a conclusion to her one-sided conversation and turns to leave patting the curve edges of the stone.
I come out of the shadow, ready to make her feel better. She thinks I am nice, so isn't that the right thing to do?
"Hey," I whisper.
She startles. "Like the number one rule about a cemetery is to never to creep up to someone. Especially at night."
Her face is puffy and I go against my instincts and wrap my arms around her arms. She rests her head against my shoulder and leaves her body stiff.
I pull away, quickening my pace to get out of the cold. "Let's go to a place that makes us happy."
"Don't treat me like that. You have no idea how hard his death is."
"Sorry. I know. Sorry." I apologize.
She goes through the glove box and finds some Kleenex rolled up. "He died today, six years ago." She sniffles. "It's just hard."
"It's natural to cry. I bawled when my grandmother died, and that wasn't that long ago. And I am the guy." I think back to church, wanting to give her some reassurance. "Jesus cried, and he was perfect."
She nods.
We keep driving on my street until we pass my house and she directs me to go down an adjacent road.
It's her street.
She's like a bad Tom-tom. She gives me directions only a couple feet before the turn. Good thing I know where she lives. I'm not so jolted.
Her house is definitely older than mine is. She lives in the historic sector of our town, some of the houses around it in great condition. Hers has not seen any repairs since the Everdeen father died. The chain link fence around the perimeter of the yard sags in places where the poles can't hold it up. The snow is piled in the corners with unraked leaves underneath from the previous season. It is still the same beige paint as years and years ago, cracking and peeling in spots. It's numbered 536 in chrome numbers.
She has walked up the vacant home's sidewalk before I can take off my seatbelt. I follow her up to the door.
Nothing stands out more than the white piece of paper taped to the door: Foreclosure.
"Yeah it happened at the beginning of November. My mom couldn't pay the house payment so… Yeah. Here we are…at my old house." She leans down and begins to dig through the snow right next to the door like some kind of ground animal. She grabs a rock that is buried with a container glued to it, holding a key. "Let's see what's inside." She says confidently, putting the key in the door. It doesn't fit the lock. "Are you kidding?" She tries again, twisting the key upside down, turning it left and right, pulling the doorknob in and out. "Are you seriously kidding me?" She yells with her mouth close to the door.
"Is there a back door?" I ask, trying to calm her frustration.
"Yeah. We can try that."
"Even look through windows." I suggest.
Nothing works. The blinds are closed, the locks are all changed and the windows are sealed shut. She huffs in frustration.
"Come on." I say. "It's freezing. It's my turn to pick where we are going, somewhere with a heater. And somewhere where you won't cry."
"Is this some kind of game to you? Have you ever been locked out of your own home? Do you understand the frustration? Do you know what it feels like to live like this? I don't think you do Peeta." Her hands are moving violently in the air, as if she is trying to fan the flame of a forest fire.
And I realize I don't know what this feels like for her, I don't know how to comfort her in this mindset.
Prim's advice comes to me. She needs some time to herself once in a while.
I maneuver myself out of the bush I am standing in and make my way to the car.
Throughout my life, my parents got along decently. Would I say they are soul mates? No. Would I say they tolerate each other? Yes.
I remember Samantha Hughes in second grade. Her parents owned a restaurant downtown, where many of the tourists would get coffee and cookies, sit out on the patio and enjoy downtown. The mother had light blonde hair and brown eyes. I had met her once, seeing her across the schoolyard when she went to go pick up Sam. She always had a nice hat on. The mother died of cancer.
I was in room 10, and she was in room 8. Our whole class decided to write I'm sorry for your loss cards and send them over to her, in hopes it would help. But the requirement and goal for the homework assignment was to just make her feel better. Some of my classmates drew pictures, some brought stickers from home to decorate the envelope.
I went home and asked my dad what I should do. He said, "She probably loved her mom very much. You know when you do a puzzle and there ends up being a missing piece? That's what it will be like for her without her mother. She will cry, cuddle with her daddy, and watch reruns of cartoons." He dabbled chocolate frosting on my nose, wiping my tears of concern away with his clean hand. "I think you should just be friends with her."
So in my card, I included a coupon for a free pastry at the bakery, and that I wanted to be her friend, just as my Dad had said.
The next day, when we visited the other classroom, Katniss sat at the table next to her, surrounded by nine or ten other desks filled with children- their undivided attention on Samantha.
Sam and I had the same morning kindergarten class, and Katniss had it in the afternoon. We never crossed paths or were in the same room as each other. But there she sat, holding the crying girl's hand at school when the girl's cheeks turned red with embarrassment over the had on dress made of orange cotton, with flowers of a million kinds blooming all over the fabric.
My class lined up to give our cards to Samantha.
But instead, I ran to the back of the line, opening the envelope in a hurry. I scribbled with a crayon on the bakery coupon: Bring a friend!
Sealing up the envelope with my spit, I returned to the line, obviously gaping with an open mouth at the little girl with a brunette braid. With silver eyes that sparkled with glossy tears for her friend's sake.
I gave her the card, and smiled at Katniss. She smiled back with her front teeth missing, bringing both her hands to her cheeks as she rested her elbow on the table.
I gave Sam my warmest blanket too, to cuddle with her dad.
I realized in that moment how beautiful Katniss Everdeen was, with her chubby cheeks and her kindness and her hair and her selflessness.
So when Katniss was in my third grade class, no doubt, I was excited.
And even though Samantha brought her little sister with her for the 'bring a friend' scribble instead of Katniss, I felt good in my seven-year-old heart because I made her happy at the bakery.
Then her dad died when we were freshmen, and I gave her a card, sliding it through the crack in her locker while she was in class. I didn't put my name on it.
Twelve years later, she is still that kind. Sometimes.
She gets in the car a few minutes later, buckling her seatbelt without a word.
"I'm buying you dinner." I say putting the car in gear before she can refuse.
We pull into a drive-thru and get cheeseburgers, in an attempt to cheer us up from the low we are in.
"Smile." I suggest. "It releases endorphins that make you happy."
"Chemical reactions." She says, as if I am an idiot.
"You like science, right?" I say wiping ketchup off the side of my mouth with the back of my hand. I lean my chair back, adjusting my hands to behind my head casually. She has the window cracked on her side, and I am wondering if her nervous system works. Can she feel the cold?
It feels weird without Prim here to tease us. My poor wingman fake sick back at the house. And once again, I get the nagging feeling that this is another date.
"Yeah. It was my favorite subject."
"Hersh Addison. He was in your chemistry class, right?" She tilts her head, resting it against the seat belt.
"Yeah." She drags. "How'd you know?"
Katniss Everdeen, there is so much I know.
I start. "Can I tell you a story?"
"You are going to tell me anyway so, shoot."
"So eager." I laugh nervously and continue, "Do you remember Sam Hughes?"
"Samantha? Yeah. What about her?"
I should stop. If I blow this moment, she is going to think I'm a stalker, which, is actually true. It makes me sick.
"She was nice." I say.
"Oh." She states, confused. "Is there more to the story?"
"Remember when her mom died?" I explain how I went home and asked how to make her feel better, and the card. "You were in her class then."
"Yeah, I was."
"You wore a dress with flowers on it. I remember standing there in the line thinking, 'She is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.' And the rest is history."
When we get back, Prim is asleep on the couch with some reality show playing on the TV.
"Just leave her. She's fine." I do as Katniss says, putting a blanket over her as she repositions herself on the couch. Her sister kisses her cheek and I get the shivers imagining what that would feel like on me.
We say goodnight before going into our rooms. I fall asleep almost instantly, forgetting to take my shoes off. It's a blissful sleep. I dream of a wedding, the edges of the memory fuzzy. The nameless bride walks down the aisle, her gown coming to just below her feet, cascading on the ground in white fabric waves.
I wake up a few hours later to a scream, and the sounds of thrashing. Jumping up, I bolt to Rye's bedroom door. It's locked. I can still hear her screaming as I fumble with the key that is above the doorframe. Who is in there? What's happening? My dad comes out of his room startled, he narrows his eyebrows.
"Is this appropriate? She's screaming!" I say in a hurry, opening the door to see her tangled in the sheets. "Hey! Hey! Katniss!" I beg. I grab both her shoulders to turn her over. Her eyes are closed, her forehead covered in a sheen of sweat. Getting only inches away from her ears, I yell. "Wake up!" Her eyes bolt open, untangling her arms from the sheets and reaching up for me like a baby wanting out of her crib.
"Oh God."
"It's okay, it's okay. It's going to be okay." I plead. "Do you want me to get Prim?"
"No." She says firmly.
"Glass of water? Some food? Some socks? Another blanket? How can I help you?"
"I think," she says, catching her breath. "I'm good."
"Okay."
My dad waits in the hallway for me. He raises his eyebrows. "Yep." I say, before walking back in my room.
I stay awake, waiting for her screams again.
I don't know how much time passes, but the sky is starting to stretch a little color over the dark as the sun makes its entrance. I move my pillows and blankets into the hallway, putting my head against her shut, unlocked, door. Two minutes later, I hear her whimpering.
My dad walks out of his bedroom down the hall, irritated.
I look at him sternly and pretend to draw an x over my heart. I cross my heart. To show him that I won't do anything stupid. To show him he can trust me. I am 19 years old.
He draws a slice on his neck. I know what it means. No funny business. Then he nods, turning around and shutting his door to try to get a few more hours of sleep. I take a deep breath and wake up Prim. I explain that her sister is having an attack.
"She hates me in there when those happen." She reinforces before almost instantly falling right back to sleep.
I groan. Katniss is going to kill me for what I am about to suggest.
Opening the door, she sits up, leaning her head against the backboard. The hallway light illuminates half of her face, her palms pressing into her eyes.
I walk in and sit myself on the edge of the bed, my butt touching her feet. She has her knees up to her chest.
"Hey, Hey. It's okay."
She moves her hands away to look at me, and I flash a tired grin. She puts her hands back over her eyes.
In biblical times, the walls surrounding an ancient city were their main defense system. The walls were ten feet tall or higher, sturdy. But the only weakness in the structure was the wood door that let safe people in with deliveries and to the farms outside the wall. They would put most of their interior soldiers as guards over the vulnerable entrance.
Katniss' walls are crumbling, the guards are scrambling to guard the door.
"Can you please just go." She states.
"No."
"Excuse me?"
"I want to help you. Remember down by the lake? Tell me what's wrong. I just wantto help. Please." I insist.
She scowls at me, her palms still pressed to her cheeks. We sit silent for a few moments.
I take my time scanning Rye's room. He decided on a dark blue color, the same shade as Jimmy Johnson's jacket. That was the only decoration my mom would let him decide on. She didn't like unneeded nail holes for picture frames or shelves, or mismatching bedspreads. The rug my mom bought matches perfectly, accenting as charcoal gray.
As he left for college, he said that he didn't see the point in bringing all of his teenage decoration to college with him. He was "growing up". New lifestyle, new scene. So still on his wall are his five, six, or seven posters, hung with duct tape, of Jimmy Johnson, his NASCAR god. He basically worshipped him from the time he broke his arm. I study each of them as if I have never seen any of them before, as the bed continues to stay still.
"Please just go." She says.
I shake my head, "It helps to voice your feelings sometimes."
"Thanks for the advice Mister touchy-feely. Now I am trying to go to sleep."
The same thing happens again the next night. My mom complains to her in the bakery about how, honestly, she can't get any sleep.
On the third night, in my bed, I lay uncomfortably on my back as I use my pillow to muffle her cries. My dad is getting irritated, and my mom is at her breaking point. We all can't sleep. Then it stops. I hear the door moving on its hinges and the soft footfalls down the stairs out the back door. She doesn't pass by my window. She doesn't turn on the porch light. She doesn't wake up her sister.
Where is she going?
I follow, once again.
"What is wrong with you?" I shout across the road, cringing.
"What do you care?" She snaps back, continuing away from me. My feet stomp across the road, as I rush toward her. "Stop acting liking you actually care."
"Acting? Nothing I am doing is fake. All my intentions are real and true. I do care."
"This is what I mean! You are too much like him!"
Your father." I say, the pins off the lock lining up. This is why she is shutting me out. "That's good, right?"
"He's dead Peeta! And you aren't!"
"Is that a bad thing that I am too much like him? That's why you keep pushing me away because you can't stand being around me when you need it. Am I a painful reminder of your dad?" I ask.
"Yes! Yes! It makes me remember how much I miss him. How much he-." She struggles over the word.
"How much he loved you?" I ask calmly, pausing for a few seconds to catch my breath.
"My mom hates me." She admits. "I pushed her and pushed her. When I went to my old house with you, she was there. She didn't say anything, she hardly acknowledged I was there. She didn't unlock the door. She didn't even move her eyes to me, she just flinched when I pounded on the door. I don't have any family here, beside Prim and she is struggling just as much as I am. She isn't even in school and I don't want to take her to register because the school district already knows my family and they will put her in a home because 'where is her mother?'" She buries her feet into the snow. "No one likes me, beside you."
My feet are so close to hers that I tap the front of my shoes to her toes. I take my hands and put them to her face, the gaps between my ring and middle finger around her ears.
"Stop that." She says, shaking her head. I keep them there.
"Katniss. I remember Delly. Delly Cartwright, the shoe store's daughter. She told me that she wanted to be your friend because of what you did with Sammie. I remember Hersh saying that you were something amazing with how you took care of your sister when your mom went crazy." I pause, using my thumbs to wipe her rapidly falling tears. "I know your sister. She told me that you are the best sister that she could ever hope for. That even though you are stubborn, and like to sit in the snow for unreasonable amounts of time, she never, never questions the fact that you love her. You take care of so many people. The only person you neglect is yourself. So many people love you."
"Nobody loves me," Her eyes focusing on my zipper, sniffling her tears away.
"You are so wrong," I explain, wrapping my arms around her waist. "Do you hear me? You are so wrong." I run my hands up and down her back and she rests her head against my shoulder, her tears wetting my sleeve. I whisper, "That day in second grade that I talked about before, that was the day. That was the day that I decided something. I went home that afternoon, asking my dad different advice from before. This time, I asked him about Katniss Everdeen, the girl I promised in my heart to keep safe. You are so kind and so passionate and so." Her eyes meet mine for a few seconds. "You are so loved. Maybe not by a whole town or city, or your family. You are loved by me, and that should make up for every other imbecile that doesn't."
She's a mess, her tears have turned to sobs and I have never seen a girl so wrecked and destroyed. Her snot is rolling down her chin, her brown hair sticking to her forehead.
On the inside, I am having a civil war. I just connected my heart with my brain, and said that I loved her. I love her. That is important. That is very, very important. Was that the right time, when she is falling apart in my arms? When she is at her weakest?
She shows me different when her arms wrap around my neck, her lips lightly rubbing against my neck as she gives into me on this cold winter day in the middle of the night, the hedge lining the Morgan's insurance company yard scratching my back.