Chapter 1: Fresh Bread and Strawberries

Gale and I emerge from under the fence at the edge of the Meadow with only a burlap sack and a wicker basket between us. It was a light hunt today, almost relaxing in its ease and lack of urgency, because we've bagged so much in the past week or two that we have left over game meat for our families that is so far keeping well.

My hunting partner and I pass through the Seam with long strides, quickly skirting the Hob and crossing over the dividing line into Town. We only have a few regular clients amidst District 12's elite, and from past dealings with those Merchants, I can tell Gale prefers it that way – he has a palpable mistrust for whom he derisively calls 'Townies.'

With him slinging the burlap sack over his shoulder and I holding the wicker basket, we steal into a back alley and mount the back loading dock of the town bakery. I rap on the steel rear door with purpose and wait for the Baker to answer. He will be pleased with the haul we've gotten today.

So I am surprised when the person who greets us is roughly my age, though with the same ashy blonde hair and stocky build of his father. Peeta Mellark and I are classmates in school, though we've rarely spoken beyond pleasantries during business dealings like this one. Our only true interaction was once, years ago when we were children; he threw bread to me when my family and I were starving. Yet despite being near strangers to each other, the man's face and deep blue eyes positively light up when he sees me.

"Morning, Katniss, Gale! I think I know what you've got for me…."

I don't know what to do with the twinkle in his eyes besides lightly frown, as I take the burlap sack from Gale and un-cinch it, procuring a trio of dead squirrels and holding them aloft. "For your father, as requested," I state perfunctorily.

Peeta makes a show of inspecting them, which I expect; his father is the same way, though it is more to humor us. His son now smiles, impressed. "Right in the eye, every time!" I oddly flush pink at his praise, and hope that Gale doesn't notice. Peeta nods to us and disappears back inside with the squirrels. He returns a moment later with four loaves of bread that he pushes into my arms. The crust feels warm against my skin, and my brow furrows into an indignant scowl.

"These are fresh from the oven," I accuse. Gale's and my trading policy with the Baker has always been consistent and clear: we only take bread that either is or close to being stale, for it's pastries that the Mellarks couldn't sell anyway – a logical and mutually beneficial business transaction for us both. That Peeta would so flagrantly flout this guideline leaves me bristling, and I make my displeasure known in a tone that is haughty, prissy and brusque. Beside me, I can feel how Gale has stiffened, his cool suspicion justified and matching my own: as Seamers, our sense of owing compels us never to accept charity. It just means paying back debt later. More to the point, I am a proud district woman with a clear sense of knowing what I am entitled to. I never ask for more than is reasonable.

I expect Gale's coolness – though not voiced – never mind my vocal complaint to be enough to get Peeta to back down. So I am almost…. impressed when he insists, "Katniss, please just take the bread. It's a slow morning, so really, taking fresh product off our hands, you'd be doing us a favor."

That is precisely what I don't want – I've always detested favors, either performed or given. Still, I am struck by Peeta's cultured manners enough that I acquiesce. "Much obliged," I mumble, the phrase saturated with a heavier weight of meaning. As I stalk out of the alley, Gale following me even though he looks like he would have pressed the point had he been in charge of the transaction, I'm already thinking up ways I can pay Peeta back that would be commensurate to his kindness. Feeling the wicker of the basket in my fingers, I turn my attention to our next and last stop of the day.

Ascending an outside staircase, Gale and I come to the landing of a side door of the Justice Building. My hunting partner knocks this time, and the door is answered in a timely way by a striking young woman with flowing blonde hair, much like any other Merchant. What sets her apart is a set of deep, green eyes.

Madge Undersee is the teenage daughter of the district Mayor. I have always known that Gale harbors a dislike for my privileged classmate, which isn't anything new, given his disdain for Townies. Where this girl is concerned, I once thought as he did, until I came to discover that Madge is kind, her offers of friendship genuine and without regard for class lines. Upon learning that she and her family have a guilty pleasure for strawberries (in this district, a rare delicacy that can only be found growing wild, in the woods beyond the fence), Gale and I have made a point of making regular berry deliveries to the mayoral residence.

With a small, sincere and friendly smile, I lift the wicker basket and hand it off to Madge. Her green eyes sparkle at the batch we've brought. "Oh, Katniss, good! I was wondering when the next batch would come through. Thank you!" Where her gratitude is concerned, she means it, and like before with Peeta Mellark, I find my face flushing in a way that leaves me confused.

Our arrangement with the Undersees is not nearly so clear cut as the one we have with the Mellarks, but Madge nonetheless always manages to give us something. Often, it is spare morphling lying around that can be used in my mother's healing stock – never more than a few syringes, for I know Madge's own mother, who has been bedridden for as long as I can remember, certainly needs the medicine.

"Thanks, you two!" Madge beams at us gratefully, her bright gaze fixing on me. "See you in school?"

I find myself stuttering, "Y-yeah. You bet." I smile weakly; Gale just grunts at Madge's neighborly tidings, and my hunting partner and I descend the iron staircase, our trades for the day complete.