KATNISS

As soon as Madge says those words, I want to sink down into the passenger's seat and disappear, never to be seen again. My face is hot and probably unbelievably red, and I have no idea what to say to fill this staticky silence.

I'm not uncomfortable because the idea of kissing Peeta puts me off. I'm uncomfortable for the exact opposite reason.

Now that Madge put it out there, the image sits front and center in my mind. The image of kissing him. More than just the image, too. I'm suddenly thinking about what it would feel like to kiss him, and what it would feel like to be kissed by him.

I've never been kissed before. I've never really seen the hype. No boys have caught my attention for more than a passing moment - until now.

I swallow hard and press my fingertips to my cheeks in a manner that I hope isn't obvious. But, given the fact that the three of us are in a confined space and Madge is still staring into the front seat, I'm not sure how successful I am.

"Remember when we were five, and you stuck your hand in that bees' nest because you were 'just trying to help them'?" Peeta asks, glancing at Madge in the rearview mirror.

"Yeah…"

He snorts. "This is like that. I'm gonna sting you if you're not careful."

Madge shrieks with laughter, falling back against the seat as she giggles. "Whatever," she says. "I am helping."

I blush some more - I can't seem to stop - but I'm smiling, too. I like the way they laugh and tease each other. It reminds me of me and Prim. It makes me feel comfortable.

"You're a meddler, that's what you are," Peeta grumbles, but his tone is lighthearted.

"Whatever," Madge says, dragging out the 'R' sound at the end of the word.

Peeta turns to me when we pull up in my driveway and, when his eyes catch mine, my breath hitches. Somehow, I keep forgetting how blue they are. They're like the sky on a cool fall day, azure and endless.

"We don't have to kiss," he says, "but can I get your number? I need a way to send you the playlist."

"Oh," I say, "sure."

I reach between my feet and unzip my dance bag, fumbling through its contents to look for my phone. My hands are shaky and clumsy, not good for much of anything, and it takes me way too long to find the stupid thing.

When I finally sit up, Peeta gives me his phone and I hand him mine so he can enter his number. As I type, I watch him take a silly selfie, presumably to use as his contact picture, so I do the same thing. I snap a shot of me softly smiling - too self-conscious to pull a face like he did.

"There," he says. "I'll text you tonight, okay?"

"Oh, my literal god," Madge says, practically squealing. Peeta shoots her a look over his shoulder and she claps a hand over her mouth. "I'm shutting up!" she says. "I'm shutting up, I swear."

When I lift my eyes again, Peeta's cheeks are as pink as I'm sure mine are. "Thanks for the ride," I say, one hand on the door. "And for Prim's ice cream. Really. And… and for driving."

"No problem," he says, never looking away from my face. "Thanks for coming."

"Mm-hmm," I say, then open the door.

"See you tomorrow?" he asks.

I nod and allow myself to smile again. "Yeah," I say. "See you tomorrow."

I leave the car and duck my head on the way into the house. Since my hair is still tied up, I can't use it to shield the wild, uncontained smile on my face, so I do the best I can to hide it with my shoulders.

The insane expression is still painted on my lips when I walk through the door and nearly run right into my sister. "Were you spying on me?" I ask.

"No," she answers, much too quickly. "What are you all smiley about?"

I force the corners of my lips down and kick off my Uggs, then open my bag to take out my leotard and tights so I can throw them in the wash. "Nothing," I say.

"Uh-huh," she says, narrowing her eyes. "Sure. Does it have anything to do with the boy who just dropped you off? For the second day in a row?"

"You are extremely nosey," I say, slipping past her to head inside the house.

"I ask the right questions," she says. "That's what Mom tells me. So, who is he?"

"I have something for you," I say, switching the subject. I head back towards the door and grab the ice cream from where I set it down. "Here. It's chocolate."

She pops open the plastic lid and her periwinkle eyes light up. "I love you!" she says, then hurries to the kitchen for a spoon. A few seconds later, she comes out with one in her hand and points it at me. "But you are not off the hook, young lady. I must know all the details!"

"There are no details," I sigh, plopping down at the kitchen table. I work my fingers into my bun and shake my hair out around my shoulders - the tension instantly leaving my scalp.

"Liar," she says, chocolate coating her teeth. "You never hang out with boys. Actually, you never hung out with anyone 'til like, two days ago. So, spill."

I take a deep breath and roll my eyes. "It's just Madge and her cousin," I say.

"Madge from dance?"

"Yeah."

"Who's her cousin?"

"Prim!" I say, widening my eyes. "When did you become so obsessed?"

"Since I'm not allowed to date and I'm living vicariously through you, who has a major huge crush that you refuse to tell me about for some reason," she says, tipping her head to the side in a know-it-all fashion.

My jaw drops. "I do not have a crush," I say.

"Sure," she says, taking another bite. "Tell that to the giant smile on your face a second ago and the fact that you still haven't told me his name."

"His name is Peeta," I say, if only to prove her wrong.

Prim raises her eyebrows, prompting me to say more. I don't know what to say, though. Simultaneously, my mind is blissfully empty and way too full.

"And?" she says.

There's so much I don't know about Peeta, but so much that I've learned just from watching him these past few days. I've learned that his eyelashes are so long that they touch his cheeks when he blinks. I've caught myself wondering how they don't get all tangled up. I've learned that when the sun catches his hair just right, it shines golden. I've learned that he has a line of freckles across his nose that not even his bruised eye could dull.

He's beautiful, really. I've caught that word crossing my mind more than once when I look at him, when I think about him. I can't believe I've been thinking about him as much as I have.

"And he's… pretty," I say, then I immediately want to take it back. I'm hopeless. I've always been awful with words.

Prim snorts and scrunches up her eyebrows. "Pretty?" she says, then laughs. It's not a mean laugh, not at all, but I sock her shoulder all the same. "You're so weird," she says, then smiles so hard that I have no choice but to smile back.

…

Later that night, I'm in my room and Prim is in hers, either asleep or doing a great job of pretending. I'm at my desk, working on an essay for AP psychology, the sheet of paper illuminated by the gooseneck lamp to my right.

I'm concentrating hard on writing about the effects of agoraphobia when my phone lights up with a text. I don't spend much time texting, so it's foreign to me - the way it buzzes against the desk makes me jump.

I stop writing and glance over to see who it's from, wondering if it's Prim asking for a glass or water or maybe our mom letting me know that she's working a double. But it's neither of them - it's Peeta.

I drop my pencil and my heart hammers, my pulse beating hard at the base of my throat. He said earlier that he'd text me tonight, and now it's tonight. So, why am I beside myself?

I shake my head, close my eyes for a moment, then tell myself that I'll finish the essay before I check my phone. I gear my attention back to the paper, picking the last sentence up where I left off, but I only get about three words down before my phone buzzes again - somehow more insistently this time.

My pencil stops in the middle of the letter 'B' and I silently fight with myself whether or not to check. I want to. But I shouldn't. I should finish writing first. The essay is due tomorrow, and I'm already cutting it close.

But, in the end, the logical part of my brain doesn't win out. I pick up my phone with an urgency that I've never experienced, and open Peeta's texts.

RECEIVED, 10:03pm: Heres the playlist I promised :) Hope you like it

RECEIVED, 10:04pm: If you don't, its fine. I'll just cry myself to sleep, dont worry about it ;)

I catch myself smiling at the screen like an idiot. I bite the inside of my cheek and wonder what to say back - then wonder why I'm wondering. Shouldn't I just say thank you, wish him goodnight, and move on? I can listen to his music tomorrow.

Before I have a say in the matter, though, I'm tapping on the link and the first song starts to play. 'Loverboy' by A-Wall.

Yeah, you can call me lover boy

They say I throw my heart around

And you can be my lover girl

I'll pick you up, drive you around

I'll show you how to fall in love

We'll be the talk of all the town

Now everybody wants to be like us

They're getting jealous, feel it now

Oh, wow

Much like in the car, my cheeks are flaming as I listen to the lyrics. I cover my mouth with one hand and press my chin to my chest, unsure of what to do with all these feelings. I feel like there's a scream, a good scream, trapped inside me - but I don't know what I'm supposed to do about it. So, I let my head fall further so my forehead is resting flat on my desk, then I listen to the rest of the song.

He put this song on the playlist for me. Does that mean he feels this way about me? Should I care? Does it matter?

Of course it matters. This is the most I've ever felt in my entire life. Good feelings, at least. I've never been this buzzy, this amped up, yet somehow mellowed out by a sweet, sappy goop inside my head that feels a lot like honey.

The song switches before I have a chance to repeat it, and 'Out Of My League' by Fitz and the Tantrums comes on.

'Cause you were out of my league

All the things I believed

You were just the right kind

Yeah, you were more than just a dream

You were out of my league

Got my heartbeat racing

If I die, don't wake me

'Cause you are more than just a dream

If I keep blushing like this, my face is going to burn off. Does he think I'm out of his league? Because, if that's the case, he's delusional. Peeta Mellark is one of the most popular boys in the entire school; everyone knows him. Everyone loves him. All the girls want him and all the boys want to be him. Maybe some of the boys want him, too. I don't know.

There's no way he thinks he's out of my league. No one knows who I am. No one thinks about me. I fly under the radar, and that's the way I've always liked it.

I realize, as I'm caught up listening to his music, that I haven't replied to his message. I still don't know what to say, but I have to say something.

SENT, 10:22pm: these songs are really good :)

I want to say more than that, but I don't know how to put it into words. It's not like I could do any better in person, either. No wonder I've never had a crush before; this is way too difficult.

My phone drops to my desk as I go back over that thought. I just admitted it, I just thought the words. I have a crush on Peeta.

"Oh, my god," I mutter to myself.

Maybe I don't. Maybe I think that's what all these uncontrollable feelings are - just because I've never felt them before. Maybe the chicken I made for dinner was spoiled and I'm coming down with a stomach bug. That would explain the flipping feeling happening in my gut, at least.

RECEIVED, 10:23pm: Yeah? You think so?

The way my heart jumps when the notification pops onto my screen makes me doubt the chicken theory, but I try not to let on. Even to myself.

SENT, 10:23pm: yeah :) i like them a lot. ive never heard them before. Thanks for showing me :)

Two smiley faces in one message. This is getting out of hand.

RECEIVED, 10:24pm: Patiently waiting for mine now, pop princess….

I press my lips together to try and quell the insane smile growing on my face, but it doesn't do much to help.

SENT, 10:24pm: on it!

An exclamation point? Since when do I use exclamation points in my texts? This is silly. I don't have any idea what's going on with me.

I push my essay to the side and get more comfortable in my chair, scrolling through my various playlists on Spotify and finding songs to send to him. I try to find a good variety - from Taylor Swift to Adele to Ravel and plenty in between.

I don't let myself overthink before I send him the link. I just do it.

SENT, 10:50pm: mine, for you :)

Again with the smiley faces. This has to stop.

RECEIVED, 10:53pm: That's a whole lot of TS right off the bat, lmao

I immediately second-guess myself, but before I have a chance to ruminate on the thought, he texts again.

RECEIVED, 10:53pm: I like it. Especially cardigan :)

I'm glued to my phone as he goes through the songs on the list, telling me what ones stick out to him. A few of his favorites are 'Angel Baby' by Troye Sivan, 'Butterflies' by Kacey Musgraves, and 'Daydreamer' by Adele.

Every time he tells me a new highlight, my heart lodges itself tighter in my throat. He likes my music. He likes the songs I picked, even the classical ones, he tells me.

RECEIVED, 11:34pm: I can practically see you dancing to the Ravel one if I close my eyes

I truly had no idea what it meant to swoon until tonight.

…

The next morning, Friday, I wake up with my cheek resting on my unfinished essay and my alarm blaring from the other side of the room. I jolt, sit up straight, and the paper comes with me - still attached to my face.

"Katniss!" Prim says through the door, banging on it. "Your thing's been going off forever. Are you up?"

"I'm up," I say, peeling the paper off and blinking hard at it. I left it mid-sentence, the letter 'B' still unfinished from the night before. And, beside me, my phone is dead.

This is bad.

I shove the essay into my folder and smack my alarm clock to shut it off, then take a quick shower to wake myself up. I don't know what time I fell asleep last night, but it must have been late. I haven't felt this groggy in a long time - and it probably doesn't help that I slept the whole night with my head resting on wood.

Prim and I catch the bus to school and I don't get time to charge my phone until I'm sitting in the cafeteria, rushing to finish my AP psych essay. The screen comes back to life just as I hear footsteps approach, and I'm placing the last period on the page when Peeta appears in front of me.

"Hey," he says, grinning.

The light is positioned behind him, backlighting his body like some sort of halo. I smile back and say, "Hi."

"Did you fall asleep on me last night?"

I look down and tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. "Yeah," I say. "I'm sorry."

"It was late," he says. "I shouldn't have kept you up."

"No," I say. "I shouldn't have kept you up."

He shakes his head and says, "It's okay. I never sleep."

"No?"

He shakes his head again. "I get bad nightmares," he says. "But talking to you helped. And your music did, too."

I smile again. My face is really getting a workout.

"Yours was good, too," I say. "I forgot to tell you that 'Make You Mine' was great."

"By PUBLIC?" he says, and I nod. "Yeah. I like that one a lot."

As I look up at him from where I sit, I can only think one thing.

I like you a lot.

…

Prim waits for me in the lobby during my private lesson the next day. After another late night spent texting Peeta, it's the first time in a while that I've felt focused for a long stretch of time.

And it's a good thing, too, because Miss Effie works me hard. She asks me to repeat combinations from my solo again and again, so many times that I'm surprised there's not a path worn into the scuffed, black floor.

After the two-hour lesson is up, I'm sitting near the barre taking my pointe shoes off as Miss Effie writes in a notebook. I sense her eyes on me as I take the wads of paper towel out, and I look up as I crack my feet after the shoes are off.

"You've been doing good work, Katniss," she says. "But every class, every lesson, I need you to work harder."

"Yes, Miss Effie."

"And not just me," she says. "Northwestern needs you to work harder. You know as well as I do how elite their program is." I nod, and she nods back. "This is the time of year that I see so many girls start to slip," she continues. "You're my most promising student. I don't want that to happen to you."

"It won't," I say. "I promise."

"Good," she says with a smile. "I'll see you in class on Monday."

I stretch my feet after she leaves, then gather my things to change in the dressing room. I put on my usual sweats and cardigan, and, of course, my Uggs, then head out to the lobby where Prim sits reading my old copy of Speak.

"Finally!" she says. "I'm so hungry. Can we go to Sae's?"

"Since when do you drink coffee?" I ask, nodding towards the door.

"I don't," she says. "I want a cinnamon roll. Can we?"

A few minutes later, we're en route to Sae's - the coffee shop that just opened in town. Prim is talking my ear off from the passenger's seat - she was clearly bored and under-stimulated while I was in my lesson - but I'm only half-listening. She's going on and on about one of her friends and how the two of them are trying to get invited to prom.

When we pull up to the coffee place, I'm quiet and bone-tired. She leads the way inside and hurries to the counter, and I take my time walking in, sauntering up behind her and playing with her braid as she looks at the menu board.

"Let's get it to go," I say. "I'm exhausted."

She begrudgingly agrees - mostly because I'm paying - and orders her cinnamon roll. I'm hungry, but I don't want to spend money here because it feels like a waste. We have food at home.

As I'm thinking about that, I hear someone call my name. "Katniss?"

I look over my shoulder in the direction of the voice only to find Peeta and Madge sitting at a small, circular table near the window. They're both smiling hard, as usual, and Madge is waving me over.

I brush Prim's shoulder and head towards them. As I get closer, my blood pumps harder and my stomach starts its new twirling thing, and it only gets worse when Peeta's eyes meet mine.

When he looks at me, I notice a long scratch down his cheek. It doesn't look too deep, but it's angry, red, and swollen. His smile doesn't quite reach as high on that side, like it hurts to move his face.

"Fancy seeing you here!" Madge says, ripping my attention away from Peeta's newest injury. "Did you just come from the studio?"

"Yeah," I say. "I have a private every Saturday."

"Of course you do, star student," she says. "Wanna join us?"

I let my gaze roam back to Peeta, who hasn't spoken yet. He seems a little diminished today, like something was snuffed overnight. It's not like he's frowning or even outwardly sullen, but it's something. I can't put my finger on what.

Maybe it has to do with the cut on his face. I want to ask about it, but I shouldn't. It's not my place.

He must notice me studying it, because he brushes his fingers over it and says, "Ran into a door."

I don't miss the way Madge's eyes flash at him. There's something layered in her expression, too, that I can't read.

"Ouch," I say. "It looks like it hurts."

"It really does, Peeta," Madge says pointedly.

"I'm fine," he says, shrugging us both off. "I'm always fine, aren't I?"

Prim bounds over and interrupts the conversation then, a pastry bag in one hand. "Ready," she says, then notices who I'm talking to. As soon as she does, her eyes get wide and an all-too-pleased grin appears on her face. "Are you Peeta?" she asks.

"Yeah," Peeta says. "Last time I checked."

Prim giggles a little, then tucks her hair behind her ear. If I'm not mistaken, now she's the one smiling like a fool. I guess Peeta has that effect on girls, the Everdeen girls especially.

"My sister was right," she says, "you are pretty."

Instantly, my heart drops all the way to my feet. I cannot believe she just outed me like that. Peeta looks between my sister and me - a pink flush on the apples of his cheeks, and a sparkle in his eyes that definitely wasn't there before. He opens his mouth to speak, but I'm too afraid of what he'll say. He probably thinks I'm an idiot. Who am I to call him pretty? He's probably so insulted.

"We gotta go," I say, then grab Prim's elbow to yank her away from their table, out the door, and to the car.

Once we get home, I start in on her.

"I can't believe you!" I say, blowing through the front door as she walks casually behind me.

"What did I do?" she asks. "You did say that."

"It wasn't for him to know!" I say.

"Because you have a secret crush," she says.

"Shut up," I say - and it comes out with more venom than I expected.

"What in the world is going on out there?" Mom calls from the living room.

I saw her car in the driveway but it didn't register with me that she was home, I was too busy being irritated with my little sister. "Nothing," I say, glaring at Prim.

"Hi, Mom!" Prim says, scurrying to meet her. I follow close behind - it's been a few days since we've seen her.

"What's all the fighting about?" Mom asks, sitting in her favorite armchair with a pair of Prim's jeans in her lap - a pair that used to be mine - as she stitches up the holes.

"We weren't fighting," I grumble.

"Katniss is totally in love with this boy, and she's mad at me because I blabbed to him that she thinks he's cute," Prim says, spilling her guts to Mom like she always does.

"A boy, huh," Mom says, keeping her eyes on her working fingers. "What's his name?"

Before I can answer, Prim speaks for me. "Peeta," she says.

Mom picks up her head, a disconcerted expression on her face. "Mellark?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say, silently wondering if she really thinks there are any other Peetas in this town.

"Hmm," she says, shaking her head as she goes back to work.

"Do you know him?" I ask. I'm too curious not to.

"I know of his mother," she says. "And what I know isn't good. She's a real piece of work."

Her tone is serious, dead serious, and flat in a way it almost never is. Her words hang in the air, too, heavy and palpable. It makes me wonder if those marks on Peeta's face came from something other than clumsy accidents.

…

That night, I'm lying in bed, reading for class, when my phone buzzes. I toss my book to the side, not even bothering with a bookmark, and pick the phone up - hoping to see one specific name on the screen.

I can't help but smile as another text comes in - because it is him. It's Peeta.

RECEIVED, 8:34pm: Hey tiny dancer

RECEIVED, 8:34pm: What are you up to?

That ball of nervous energy starts toiling behind my ribs - tiny dancer. He called me a nickname.

I start to type a reply right away, but then I erase it. Am I getting back to him too soon? Is he going to think I was waiting by the phone?

Well, that is pretty much the case. I had the phone tucked right beside me so I would feel it if it vibrated, even if I fell asleep while I was reading. But he doesn't have to know that.

Maybe I should wait.

I lay the phone on my chest, face-down, and stare at the ceiling. I count silently, but I only get to fifteen before I pick it back up and finish what I was saying.

SENT, 8:35pm: hey :) just reading for class

RECEIVED, 8:35pm: Whatcha reading?

SENT, 8:35pm: jane eyre. its not bad. ive read it before, so im rereading

RECEIVED, 8:36pm: Of course youve read it before. Overachiever ;)

SENT, 8:36pm: i am not! its just a good story, and i like to read. me and your cousin actually have the same favorite book

RECEIVED, 8:37pm: The book thief?

SENT, 8:37: yes! have you read it?

RECEIVED, 8:37pm: I haven't, but now I might have to if it's so good

SENT, 8:38pm: it is! Soooooo good, i mean

RECEIVED, 8:38pm: if you say so ;)

SENT, 8:38pm: i do say so :)

Conversation flows easily between us - easier than it's ever flowed between me and another person. It doesn't take a genius to see that I don't make friends easily, so this is completely new territory - yet I'm not scared. Over anything, it's exciting.

Talking to him makes me happy. I've never experienced this before. I used to find conversations like the one we're having trivial and pointless; I only ever used my phone to text my mom, Prim, and a project partner from school every so often. I've never just texted to text because I've never had anyone to do it with.

And now, I do. And I really like it.

I really like him.

RECEIVED, 8:40pm: It was good to see you earlier btw

RECEIVED, 8:40pm: Outside of dance and school I mean. I liked it :)

My heart is fluttering like mad, like crazy. I can barely catch my breath.

SENT, 8:41pm: i liked seeing you too :)

I think back to our interaction at Sae's and can't help but be reminded of how Prim ran her mouth - there's no way I can avoid addressing it.

SENT, 8:42pm: sorry about my sister though. i love her but she can be a lot

RECEIVED, 8:42pm: I didn't mind haha

RECEIVED, 8:43pm: Was she being legit? Did you really call me pretty?

I close my eyes and let out a long groan. Here comes the part where it gets ruined because he thinks I'm a freak who only cares about looks. Who calls a boy pretty, anyway?

Still, I don't want to take it back. I stand by what I said, but that doesn't mean I wanted him to know about it. Freaking Prim.

SENT, 8:45pm: yeah im sorry…. it was weird… she wasnt supposed to TELL you

RECEIVED, 8:45pm: No I'm glad she did :) I like that you called me that

SENT, 8:46pm: you dont mind being called pretty? isnt that weird?

RECEIVED, 8:46pm: To other guys maybe but not to me. Handsome, beautiful, pretty, whats the difference really at the end of the day?

SENT, 8:47pm: okay pretty boy :)

My heart practically rockets out of my throat when I type that and send it. I can't believe I've gotten so bold. My face is hot and I'm about to burst out of my skin .

SENT, 8:48pm: you must have a weakness for beauty then…

RECEIVED, 8:49pm: Not a weakness. An eye for it maybe. And especially when it comes to you :)

I smack both hands over my face and kick my legs under the covers. Peeta is going to be the death of me.

…

In ballet on Monday, Miss Effie gets our attention as Madge and I are lacing our shoes with the rest of the girls along the wall.

"It's a big, big, big day, girls," she says, clapping her hands together. The sound is sharp and reverberates all throughout the room. "It's a partner work day. The boys will be joining us."

As soon as she makes the announcement, the studio door opens and the boys' class files in. I'm familiar with all of them - we've been in the same company for years - but we don't affiliate often. Only during forced classes like this one.

I resist the urge to groan, but Madge doesn't. Luckily, it's quiet enough so only I can hear.

"I'll be choosing your partners," Miss Effie says. "Delly with Castor. Bonnie with Marvel. Madge with Thom."

Madge throws her head back and I have to hold back my laughter. She always gets paired with Thom, and I've heard her complain that he smells like soup - all the time.

"Stop laughing," she says, nudging my shoulder. "I see you."

"Katniss with Gale."

"Oh, bitch," Madge says, glaring in my direction. "I hate you."

Every single time we have a partners class, I get paired with Gale. Without fail. It might be because he's the strongest male dancer, or it might be because Miss Effie has a twisted sense of humor and knows how he feels about me, and how I don't feel about him.

"Trade me then," I whisper.

"For real?" Madge hisses back. She's made it very clear how badly she'd love to dance with Gale. Everyone knows by now.

"And no trading," Miss Effie cuts in. "Alright! Let's warm up."

Madge gives me one last look, then I get to my feet and head over to Gale. "Hey, Catnip," he says, using the nickname that I never sanctioned. "Good to see you."

"Mm," I say, avoiding his eyes.

We're focusing on weight placement for our first warmup, which means that Gale stands behind me and places his hands on my waist. Madge and Thom are positioned beside us, so at least I have a little camaraderie for an otherwise uncomfortable position.

His hands are too tight, but I don't say anything. I just try not to think about it. Instead, I think about the texts from Peeta over the weekend - we must have traded hundreds of them. Since Saturday night, we barely stopped messaging each other for more than a half hour.

"Boys, take the girls forward and backward, then side to side," Miss Effie says. "And girls, it's important that you allow them to do it. Stay completely firm, no bending."

"How was your weekend?" Gale asks. He's speaking incredibly close to my ear, and it makes my shoulder lift involuntarily. He adjusts the grip of his hands when I move like that, resting them a bit lower than they should be placed.

"Fine," I say.

It was better than fine, of course. It was the best weekend I've had in a long time. I thought about Peeta the whole time, along with most of today - even though I didn't get a chance to see him at school. And, strangely enough, Madge came into the studio alone today.

"Keep your bodies completely solid," Miss Effie says.

Madge catches my eye and raises her upper lip, subtly looking over her shoulder with just her eyes. I bite my cheek to keep a chuckle at bay, then decide to ask her what I want to know.

"Where's Peeta?" I whisper.

She lifts her eyebrows, moving from side to side as Thom guides her body. "Don't worry," she says, her voice lilting. "He'll be here. He had soccer."

At that moment, I accidentally lose the rigidity of my waist and list to the side, stumbling off balance in a way that I haven't done in years. Gale catches me, fingers tightening around my hips, and I get up again straight away. I look around madly, making sure that no one noticed - and I'm in luck. They didn't.

"That's not like you," Gale says. "We should concentrate."

"Uh-huh," I say, wishing he wasn't right.

Time passes and, towards the end of class, we work on shoulder sits. They're the first kind of lift that we learned, but we all need a refresher.

"Now, girls, it's important for you to stick your bums out," Miss Effie says. "To get a good solid seat on the boys' shoulders. Delly," she says glowering towards the tittering blonde girl in the corner. "There's nothing funny about this."

I've done shoulder sits with Gale more times than I can count. But, this time, I don't want to do it. I don't want to place my body on him like that. I'm not sure why - but it's not like I have a choice in the matter.

"Boys, create a tabletop with your shoulder," Miss Effie says. "Shift along your neck, and make your girls as comfortable as you can. Let's get started."

Gale positions his hands firmly around my middle and lifts me up, and I rise into a perfect shoulder sit, feet pointed, arms in position. And, as soon as I do, I see Peeta through the gallery window.

I'm smiling when Gale sets me back down on the ground and Madge, of course, notices. She follows my eyes, sees her cousin, then looks back at me.

"See," she says, smirking, "told you he'd be here."