Chapter 2: All Trades Must Be Fair

I get to school early the next day. Primrose was a little cantankerous at being roused from bed a full thirty minutes before we usually get up, but I hurried her along the way a mother hen would. We slipped out the door of our simple homestead shack leaving Mother still sleeping.

Entering the school play-yard, it suddenly dawns on me that I have no idea whether or not Peeta will be here early, so perhaps risking Primrose's surly mood was all for naught. Less than a handful of students are already waiting by the gates at this hour, spread out across the cobblestones and then the green that extends beyond that under the sapling trees, by the gates.

Wait…. is that?... Yes, there he is! What luck! I spot Peeta standing underneath the statue of Lucy Gray Baird, our district's very first Hunger Games Victor. Taking Prim by the hand, I stride purposefully up to him, where he is chatting with two other boys sporting similar blonde moptops – his brothers, I reckon. One of them is only a grade above Peeta and I, and has a reputation for being a trickster. The other is probably around the age of Hazelle Hawthorne's oldest boy, whose name I can't remember at present.

Spying me, Peeta lets out a beaming smile and a wave as my sister and I approach. I see his brothers glance to each other, their lips pursed somewhere between amusement and intrigue.

There is an awkward silence for a moment. Then, I clear my throat and silently shoo Peeta's brothers away. I want this conversation – this transaction – to be private.

Peeta's brothers share another look, their mirth on full display now, chuckling and ribbing their youngest sibling.

"Finally worked up the nerve to talk to her, eh, Peetey?"

Peeta turns about as red as the sassafrass I've seen amidst my Mother's Healing herbs. "Clear out, Rye!" He throws out his hands to shove at his brother, but Rye dances out of reach, he and the other brother hustling away towards the green at the far side of the yard. Peeta turns back to me, grinning apologetically. "My…. brother's an ass," he mumbles almost sheepishly.

I can't help but let a tiny giggle escape me. "That's OK. Guess I should be so lucky I never had a brother, then." Digging into my school bag, I procure what I packed in there the night before. Originally, I had thought of sneaking it out of Mother's medicine cabinet without her being the wiser, but decided against it. When I asked Mother if I could bring it to school in the morning, I kept it short, muttering about a debt needing to be repaid even as my face blossomed in an odd shade of pink. Though not Seam-born, Mother understands my need to always settle a debt, so she allowed me to take this from her stock.

I hold the compact, circular tin out to Peeta now, making sure to look him in his….. entrancing blue eyes…. as I do so. Peeta gazes at me right back, and I feel his hand grasp the tin.

His fingers brush just the slightest bit along mine as he does so, and I exhale the tiniest of gasps. Electricity shoots up my skin where we've touched, and then just like that, the shock is gone again as I drop my hand, ducking my head along with it so that he doesn't see me blush.

"For…. for your eye."

The skin around Peeta's right iris has darkened into a pronounced purple even in the less than 24 hours since I saw him last. Observing him study the tin, I elaborate, "It's morphling."

"Really?" Peeta's eyes brighten, his face sagging in relief where it had stiffened upon my naming the substance. "Oh, thank Panem! I thought I was going to have to stick a needle near my eye!"

My giggle from before balloons into a full-throated laugh. I even smile, a little. Strange – I can't remember the last time I've smiled at anyone or anything that didn't have to do with Prim. "I don't think that would have been very safe…. But you're right, most morphling is applied with a syringe. That's the proper way to do it."

Peeta is unscrewing the cap and peering at the contents. He dips his nose in once to sniff. "So how will this work?"

"It's a paste. Just lather it around the injury and you should feel the relief in moments." Peeta scoops some of the morphling paste out with two of his fingers, examining it. I want to huff at him impatiently, but refrain. "Oh, here…."

Sliding my hand up to catch his wrist, I guide his fingers covered in the morphling paste to a spot just above his right eyebrow. Holding each other's gaze, I slowly and methodically lather and work the paste into Peeta's purpled skin. The morphling absorbs after a few moments, and I feel Peeta exhale in comfort; he's close enough that his breath tickles my face. Turning back to the tin, I scoop some paste onto my own fingers and set to work around the rest of his eye, absorbing and lathering the stuff smoothly and tenderly.

"So," Peeta chirps conversationally as I continue to work. "You're acting strangely cryptic as you slather goop along my injured face…" I snort out a laugh at this. "Are… are you a Healer?"

"My mother's the best Healer in the district," I shrug self-deprecatingly, almost bashful. "You pick up a lot just by standing around and watching her treat people…. Even if you can't stand the sight of blood."

Peeta wriggles as his own laugh overtakes him, and I yank him upright and closer to me firmly. "Stand still!" I hiss in a commanding, prissy tone. "If this paste gets in your eye, you'll be wishing I had stuck it with a needle instead!"

Peeta keeps admirably still as I continue to lather him. Or at least his body is still – his mouth won't stop moving.

"And your father? What does he do? – other than sing like no one else."

I start a little, so that I nearly slime Peeta directly in the eye with the paste. "Where did you hear that?" I scold myself for the harshness of my tone.

"Oh, around," Peeta hedges. "People say that when he sings, even the birds stop to listen."

My expression hardens. "They did," I warble sadly.

"Did?"

I glance away from him, down at my feet. "My…. my father was one of the miners who died. January 24th, last winter."

Peeta's blue orbs bulge. "Oh. I'm…. I'm sorry."

I shake my head, blinking back the tears as I lift my gaze back to his. "It's not your fault. But…. thank you."

There must be a drafty chill here in the play-yard, for I feel myself shiver quite suddenly. Odd, considering it's the height of spring and the sun has brought plenty of warmth. I finally lower my hand, working the remaining bit of morphling paste in between my own fingers. I gulp. "There," I actually whisper.

Peeta's grateful grin seems to heat me more than any of the sun's rays might. "Thank you, Katniss."

I nod. "You're welcome."

For a moment, we just stare at each other, the spell broken by Primrose, who is now tugging at the hem of my dress. "Katty! Katty, I see Rory Hawthorne! – can I go play?"

"May I go play?" I correct her grammar schoolmarmishly. I hear her marble-mouth my correction in response, and my lips crack into a smirk. "Yes, you may."

I spare a glance as my baby sister skips and scampers across the play-yard towards Rory Hawthorne, who is in her year. His daddy died in the same mine collapse as my father; Rory's the second oldest of now four kids. His mother and my mom's dear friend, Mrs. Hazelle, gave birth to a girl days after the accident. I spot Rory's eldest brother standing near him, scanning the play-yard in an almost brooding way. We lock eyes for a moment, and I quickly turn away. I don't know much about the eldest Hawthorne son, just that many girls in his year and several other grades tend to daydream over him.

I turn back to find Peeta studying me in curious amusement. I self-consciously tug at my braid – nervous habit – and feel my cheeks burn. "What?"

"Katty?"

I flush fuchsia even further. "Her pet name for me."

Peeta chuckles musically – it's a rich, deep, baritone sound. "I like it." A slight pause, and then he quips dryly, "Much better than 'Peetey,' anyway."

I giggle, smiling softly as I take him in. He smiles back at me and I feel something pool low in my belly. Something that I can't quite name. In the shadow of this statue, I vaguely note how Peeta takes one crucial step into me….

The bell rings shrilly, and Peeta and I drift out from each other and into the sunshine, the Baker's son covering his ears.

"I… I better go," I stammer, turning to dash over to Primrose and make sure she's guided safely to her homeroom class. "I'll…. see you at lunch."

"Y-yeah. See ya," Peeta lamely waves. I grin ever so softly and hustle Prim into the building.

Adjusting my goggles on my face, I watch as Peeta applies the pulsating beam of the pressurizer to the sample of coal we've been studying. We are conducting an experiment to see if, when enough pressure is applied, coal lumps really can turn into diamonds. Across from me, my friend grits his teeth and presses down harder on the trigger. My vision zooming in on his thumb, I feel my mouth suddenly go dry and there is an acute…. ache between my legs as I imagine where else…. he could place his thumb….

BANG! There is a sudden, yet small and controlled explosion, as the lump of coal breaks apart, sending shards flying as projectiles. I let out a yelp and leap back, and I think I hear Peeta swear slightly under his breath. "Shit!"

We students shield our eyes against the glare as our teacher, Mr. Storrow, flicks the lights back on, rushing over to our lab table with a fire extinguisher and putting out the small blaze. The tabletops are made out of something called phenolic resin, which makes them fire-resistant.

"There now, you see?" Mr. Storrow chuckles, sending another blast of foam out of the fire extinguisher. "What did I tell you? There is just no way that that kind of pressure…. that Peeta was applying….. can make a piece of matter such as coal change into another type of rock altogether. Well done, Mr. Mellark."

I can't help but giggle at the perplexed look on Peeta's face, like he doesn't see how blowing up a lump of coal is worthy of praise. Beside him, Madge Undersee, the Mayor's daughter, is shaking her head with a smile.

Mining Safety is technically classified as an elective here at the district school, even though every student is required to take the course at least once a semester for every year of both Lower and Upper School. The lectures become more rigorous the higher we matriculate and for good reason: at least two-thirds of the people in this room will someday be going down into the mines themselves, including me, in all likelihood. I just feel so grateful that Peeta will never have to. He's too good a person to be risking his life down in those mines.

Mr. Storrow checks the clock on the wall. "OK, class, hurry and write down your conclusions and then line up at the door! We are going to be walking down to the Abernathy Mine for our field trip! Dex Stalag, the Foreman, has graciously agreed to give us a private tour of one of the shafts – spelunking! Isn't this exciting? Oh, and please leave your belongings here; we'll be back to pick them up at the end of the day!"

There is a flurry of activity as we write down the conclusion of our experiment in our lab notebooks. I feel my palms start to sweat so that my pencil keeps slipping from my grip, but I manage to jot my notes down. I find it bitterly ironic that the largest mine in District 12 is named for Haymitch Abernathy, who never had to work down there a day in his life. I suppose it is the spirit of the thing, naming what little we have in the way of landmarks after our Victors, sparse as they are – Lucy Gray Baird's name has hung over the train station for as long as I can remember. And everyone refers to the mine as Abernathy Mine.

Just the same, it would have been nice to rename the mine after one of the fallen from this past winter….

I feel a light touch on my arm as we line up at the door. Surrounded by the other twelve-year-olds, the orderliness of it makes me feel like we are headed to our very first Reaping, which will be….. gulp…. this coming summer. Panem above, I wish Daddy was here….

"Hey…. You OK?" Peeta's voice is gentle against my earlobe.

I nod, turning to him so that I can see that his face is so close, our lips are inches from touching. Leaning back just a hair, I instead discreetly slip his hand into my own. He bristles in surprise for only a moment, but then I feel his fingers lace through mine and he squeezes, causing me to smile gently. "I'm fine."

Peeta eyes me skeptically. "You don't have to go down there with the rest of the class, you know. Mr. Storrow left that option open to stay aboveground on the permission form…"

"I want to," I state firmly. "I need to…. for closure."

Peeta still appears concerned, so I fix him with a brave stare. "I'll be all right," I croon.

He nods. "If you say so." As we near the school entrance, I discreetly drop his hand; he doesn't appear to mind.

As we step out into the early summer sunshine, I can hear more than a few of our peers loudly complaining up ahead at how far the walk is going to be. I can't resist rolling my eyes – Prim and I have to traverse the width of the district twice a day, every day, to get to class – oh, but the Merchant kids are complaining about how their feet already hurt? Peeta can only shake his head in amusement.

"It's like they've never gone on a walk before…."

I chuckle. "What, cause some of their parents can actually afford a car?" Automobiles are a rare Capitol luxury – aside from the Mayor, only a handful of the richest Merchant families can afford to own one.

"I guess. Still…. a hike like this makes me miss our family's truck…" And he's off, regaling me with a story. One of Peeta's earliest memories, from when we were toddlers, was seeing his dad's delivery truck impounded by the government. Apparently, the Capitol didn't like how his father could make his deliveries so easily, and also give extra foodstuffs away to the Community Home as charity. District 12 is very strict about its laws regarding philanthropic donations.

My nerves are rising apace the closer we get to Abernathy Mine, and I find myself leanining against Peeta as we continue to walk. He seems to understand, slinging a friendly arm around my shoulders in a show of support – something I never thought I would want, but am grateful for just the same. It's nice to have someone to talk to you who isn't your sister, matching you step for companionable step…. at least until Madge Undersee drifts back to fall in step beside us. I nod cordially to her. I've never really spoken to the Mayor's daughter – I didn't today at lunch, staying quiet as my new seatmates chatted together. Though we share several classes together.

With a heart-shaped face and blonde hair that sparkles in the sunlight, Madge Undersee is classically beautiful, and always dresses impeccably. But what do you expect from the richest kid in the district, with luxuries that only the Victors themselves can match?

"You two don't seem to be in much of a hurry to get there," Madge chirps lightly.

I don't answer, leaning into Peeta a little more. I leave him to making conversation for the both of us.

"Katniss is a little nervous about going down into the mines today." We are just passing Victors' Hill now, atop which sits Victors' Village – population: 1. Pretty soon, we'll be able to see my house. I feel my knees knock together and I nearly go dropping into the dirt. It's an effort to make myself put one foot in front of the other.

"Claustrophobia?" Madge cranes her neck around Peeta to ask the question of me directly, her face furrowed in sympathy. It's hard for me to look at her; I don't want this prissy rich girl's pity! "Delly Cartwright got a waiver to stay aboveground because of that. There's no shame in it…."

"What's Delly gonna do? Sit by the outhouse all by herself and eat her lunch?" Peeta and Madge continue to chat and commiserate as we pass by the lane leading down to my house and then go another mile or two until we can see the West Entrance to the Abernathy Mine. I can see Dex Stalag, the Foreman, waving us forward and smiling in greeting.

Immediately, I freeze up, glancing to Peeta strickenly. "I thought the permission form said we'd be meeting up at the East Entrance. By…. By Goat Man's place and the…. the Slag Heap." I feel my cheeks grow warm at the thought, although their pallor stays a ghastly white: I've heard of some kids in Upper School who go down to the Slag Heap by the East entrance (we'd have to walk in a wide arc to get there from here) to do…. stuff. Even then, I wouldn't have minded going down in one of the shafts over there. But here…. the West Entrance is where I used to wait for my daddy when I was a little girl. It's where I waited on…. that day. Not quite six months ago. I feel my palms start to sweat again, I'm trembling all over. I don't even care that several of my classmates are giving me funny looks, as I break away from Peeta's arms, hugging myself and retreating over by the outhouse. I note Dex Stalag giving me the most sympathetic of looks, but I don't respond to it. I can hear murmuring behind me and then sense Mr. Storrow drifting closer.

"Katniss? Is everything all right?" He checks his notes on our returned permission slips again. "I have you marked here as one of the kids who will be going down in the lifts. But if you're feeling uncomfortable…"

Peeta waves him down. "Give us a minute, Mr. Storrow." Taking my elbow, he leads me round the side of the outhose, away from the prying eyes of our classmates, all the while ignorning my bemused look. I feel my eyes prick with tears out of gratitude, even as I feel embrassed by my display of emotion. Dear, sweet Peeta!

"I can't do it, Peeta…. I can't go down there where he…. and have all our classmates staring, and I…." My breath hitches, the words catching in my throat.

"Hey, hey, hey, look at me, look at me, right at me," Peeta whispers tenderly.

I do, my orbs glistening with dampness, and he quite unexpectedly brushes a thumb along my cheek, catching tears already falling. "The choice is yours. I won't judge you, and neither will anyone else, whatever you decide. You wanna stay up here, you can sit and talk with Delly; she's wonderful, and I'm sure she'd appreciate the company."

I whimper, shaking my head. I've never been good at making friends, though thanks to this boy, I am starting to make something of an effort, at least during lunch hour.

"I'm not a coward…."

"No one is saying that you are," Peeta soothes me emphatically. "But if you wanna try and go down there, I promise you, I will be right there with you every step of the way."

I smile weakly, wetly at him. "Where did you get so good with words?"

"Part of being a baker is being a good salesperson. Someone has to work the front counter who doesn't scare away half the customers – that leaves my mother out."

I giggle, already feeling a tad bit better. I'm also becoming aware at how Peeta's hand, which was earlier brushing my cheek, has drifted down to hold my chin in his fingers. I feel myself swaying into him – to my shock, he is closing the distance right back, and it makes me stagger back a step or two until I collide with the wall of the outhouse. Peeta follows me, his soft hand never leaving my chin, as he bends towards me. His sapphire eyes make a sweep of my face – did he just peek at my lips?

Heart pounding in a way it never has, I can feel Peeta's body heat. He's inches away now; my lashes are fluttering shut….

There is a crunch of gravel and Peeta and I step apart before …. something can happen…. just as Madge Undersee rounds the outhouse. For just a split second, she glances between the two of us, like she's trying to figure something out, but then she gives up.

"Everything OK?"

Wiping at my eyes, I stare at my feet, and nod.

"Yeah, we were just talking…" Peeta says.

I feel a soft hand slip into mine, and I glance up in surprise to find Madge gazing at me kindly. I am disconcerted when I can find no duplicity in her stare. "Your daddy died in the mine collapse this past winter, didn't he?"

I nod glumly.

"You want me to stay up here, with you and Delly? We can have an hour of girl talk."

I shake my head. "I…. I have to go down there."

Madge nods. "You're brave. I sure can respect that." I almost stagger back a step, blinking in shock. The Mayor's daughter thinks I'm brave? Madge is still staring at me, and finally nods, deciding something. "I'll stay with you and Peeta in the lifts then."

"Madge, you don't have to…"

"I want to, Peeta. It's going to take more than one friend to help her along, if she really is set on doing this." I blink dumbly again. Madge considers me her friend? I feel the Mayor's daughter tighten her grip on my hand; Peeta takes the other.

"You ready?"

"I…. I think so," I glance up at the other girl, eyes pleading with her to not let me fall. Madge seems to understand the beseechment in my stare, and we step out from behind the outhouse to where Dex Stalag, Mr. Storrow, and the rest of the class are waiting. Some of my peers actually applaud, and I didn't think I'd be rendered any more speechless than by the Mayor's daughter declaring she and I are friends.

"That's the spirit!" Mr. Storrow crows.

"We're off!" Dex calls. He dashes forward to pass out a trio of mining helmets. "Here is your gear…. The lifts are this way…."

We all squeeze into the lift leading down into one shaft, packing in like sardines. Peeta and Madge are bunched up against me on either side.

When we're all gathered, Dex smiles back at us. "We miners have a song we like to sing going down to work each morning. Anyone know it?"

I do. I know it by heart; my daddy used to sing it even as he was walking down the path away from our house in the mornings. I suddenly realize that I've raised my hand when Dex nods to me. My alto voice rings through the lift:

"When we stand as one, all out together, when we stand as one, all out as one…. The ground is empty and cold as hell, but we go down together when we go…"

I can hear the grinding of gears as the lift begins to descend, and I keep on singing, even as I hang onto both Peeta and Madge like a lifeline. I don't get through the whole thing, voice trailing off after several stanzas when I start shaking like a leaf, but it's too late to turn back now. I gaze up at Peeta, only to find that he is staring at me almost in wonder. My stomach squirms disquietedly.

"Hold me," I whimper, pleadingly, astonishingly vulnerable. He does without hesitation. I feel Madge loop an arm around me as well.

According to Dex, this is one of the safest shafts in Abernathy Mine, and we don't descend very far at all. As we are stepping out of the lift, I make a point of turning to Madge.

"Thank you," I gaze at her, filled with gratitude. "You know, I used to think you were just the rich girl who lives in the mansion, but…."

Madge just smiles. "There's more than meets the eye to any one person, Katniss. Including you. I'd like to think we're friends."

I hesitantly smile. "Well, I've never been very good at making friends, but…. I am your friend from now on. Trust me, it's a short list."

Madge smiles. "That's OK. I'm just honored to be on it."