KATNISS
I come in the front door as quietly as I can, making sure to pull it shut slowly behind me so the lock barely clicks. I made it in before curfew, but I'd still prefer not to wake my mom or my sister.
I toe my boots off and bring my dance bag to my room, and I think I'm in the clear once I close myself in. I throw my sweats and leotard into the hamper, run a makeup wipe over my face without turning the light on, then change into pajamas.
But when I open the door back up, Prim is standing right there. "Where were you tonight?" she asks.
With one hand to my heart, I gasp and jump. Her tone isn't accusatory - it's curious over anything - but still, she scared me. "God," I say.
"Sorry," she says. "I heard you come in."
With wide eyes, I glance down the hall. "Was I loud?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "I was listening for you," she says. "Where were you? I missed you tonight."
I chew the inside of my cheek and wonder whether or not to tell her the truth. She's closer to our mom than I am, but if I ask her not to tell, she won't. I trust her with everything, but still…what me and Peeta have feels special. I'm not sure if I'm ready to share it yet.
But I'm also excited about it. I just had my first kiss - many first kisses. Who else am I going to tell, if not her? I need to tell someone.
"I was with Peeta," I whisper, pulling her into my room and shutting the door.
Her eyes go wide right away. "Oh, my god," she says. "Doesn't Mom think you were with that girl Madge?"
"Yeah," I say. "You know she would never let me hang out with him alone."
Prim's face lights up with interest. "You guys were alone?"
I nod and say, "He kissed me."
She smacks her hands over her mouth. "You kissed a boy?"
I glance at the door like our mom might be hovering there eavesdropping. She sleeps like the dead, and Prim and I are whispering. There's no way she can hear. But still, I'm paranoid. I've never had a secret like this.
"Yes," I say. "Well, he kissed me. And I kissed him back."
I'm smiling like an idiot just remembering it, so I try to tone the expression down. I reach over and turn my desk lamp on, brightening up the room from its inky state, and Prim says, "Was it nice?"
I flop back onto my bed, eyes on the ceiling. "It was so nice," I say.
I sound like a dreamy, stupid girl. I can't believe my own voice. It's like it doesn't even belong to me.
I can't change it, though. I'm not sure I really want to.
"Was it slobbery?" Prim asks, then snorts with laughter.
I sit up and shove her. "No," I say. "It was perfect."
I lean back on my hands and think about it some more - how Peeta's mouth felt on mine, how it felt to touch his lower lip with my tongue. My body buzzes at the memory.
"You can't tell Mom," I say, looking at Prim with a stern, serious expression.
"Hello, I wouldn't," she says, then her eyes shift lower. "But you're gonna tell on yourself with that giant hickey."
With wide eyes, I clap a hand over the side of my neck and feel the sore spot right away. I get up and look in the mirror, hoping it's not as bad as it feels, but I'm wrong. It's worse.
There's a red welt near my throat, with purple splotches dotted throughout it. I touch it with the pad of my finger and find that it's still tender - this is right where Peeta was sucking on my skin.
Prim laughs to herself and gets up from my bed. "Maybe use some makeup?" she suggests.
"I don't have any!" I say.
"Mom's?" she says slyly.
"Okay, go," I say, shooing her. "Go. Go!"
With a smile, she leaves my room and heads back to her own. With my mirror still in view, I sit on my bed and pull out my phone, debating what I should text Peeta. I want to tell him about the hickey, but how do you open a conversation with that?
I bring my phone to life and pull up our text thread, moving my thumbs over the screen without pressing anything. After a few minutes, I lay down with my legs hanging off the bed and swing them as I go over the night preceding.
A boy kissed me. I kissed a boy. A boy that I really like and who likes me.
I never thought this would happen, not in a million years. It's all so much to take in.
Because Peeta and I spent so much time kissing earlier, it's all I can really think about. In a perfect world, we wouldn't have ever had to stop.
I lift my phone again, having finally thought of something to say.
SENT, 11:19pm: cant stop thinking about you 3
After I send the message, I wonder right away if the heart is too much. We just had our first kiss tonight, and I'm already sending him hearts? Am I doing this right? Am I going too fast? Are there rules to this?
I stare at my screen until I see Peeta's typing bubbles come up. As soon as they do, my stomach jumps with anticipation.
RECEIVED, 11:20pm: You're all I'm going to be thinking about for the foreseeable future
I press my phone to my chest and squeeze my eyes shut tight. This is happening. This is really happening. To me.
SENT, 11:20pm: i had a really really great night with you :)
RECEIVED, 11:21pm: Me too. I can't wait to see you again
SENT, 11:21PM: i know
RECEIVED, 11:21pm: And I can't wait to kiss you again ;)
My heart is going crazy and there are so many butterflies in my stomach, you'd think they were about to fly out through my mouth.
SENT, 11:22pm: you were my first kiss you know :)
RECEIVED, 11:22pm: How was I?
SENT, 11:22pm: perfect
I bite my lower lip, remembering how his mouth felt on me. Amazing, too amazing to put into words - 'perfect' will have to do.
SENT, 11:23pm: but you gave me a hickey :P
RECEIVED, 11:23pm: Oops. Tooootally didn't mean to do that…
I gasp and lift my eyebrows - it's dumb, because he can't see me, but I still do it.
SENT, 11:24pm: you did it on purpose?!
Instead of answering with a text, my phone lights up with an incoming call from Peeta. The selfie he took in his car just a few days ago takes up the whole screen and makes me grin like a fool. I have to remember to actually answer the call instead of just staring at his face.
"Hey," he says.
It's exciting, hearing his voice on the phone. This is the first time he's ever called me.
I scoot back on my bed and crawl under the covers, pulling the comforter up and over my head. "Hey," I whisper.
"I'm sorry, I should've asked before I… did that," he says. "Gave you the hickey. Are you pissed?"
I tip my head to the side, wondering why he'd think anger would be my first resort. "No," I say, smirking. "I mean, I… I kind of like it."
I touch the side of my neck as I say the words, feeling the perimeter of the mark he left on me, pressing on it to experience the ache.
"Oh, okay," he says, "good. If you didn't, I wouldn't ever do it again."
"No," I say. "I hope you do. Do it again, I mean."
My heart speeds up and my whole body ignites as I say those words to him.
"Soon?" he says.
"Yeah," I say. "Really, really soon."
…
The next day, my mind is so far away that I crash right into Gale as I walk into the dance school.
"Whoa, Catnip!" he says, holding onto my shoulders to steady me. "Walk much?"
"Sorry," I say, offering a polite, absent smile. I don't have the wherewithal to fake a real one for him - I'm too busy thinking about Peeta.
"Miss Effie is getting the studio prepped for you," he says. "I just finished my private."
"Oh," I say, "nice."
He gives me a once-over, then makes it very obvious when his eyes stop on my neck. He scoffs and says, "Wow. Who gave you that nasty thing, the blonde kid who hangs around here?"
I resist the urge to cover the hickey with my hand. Let Gale look, I don't care. No matter how much he thinks the opposite, I don't belong to him. We're dancer partners sometimes - that's it. That's all we'll ever be.
"Yeah, he did," I say.
"Bet you loved that," he grumbles.
"I did," I say indignantly, then wish I could take it back. That was a little far - too much information to share with Gale. "Excuse me," I say, then push past him to get to the dressing room.
I change into my blue leotard and white tights, and I'm still feeling righteous about the whole encounter with Gale as I tie a sheer black skirt around my waist. I lace up my pointe shoes, then make my way to the studio after I'm ready.
Miss Effie sends me to the barre once my lesson starts, but she doesn't say much. But even though she's not speaking, I feel her eyes boring into me with every move I make.
I track her as she circles me, wondering if I'm doing something wrong or showing poor form. I don't think I am, but there's clearly something that she wants to say.
"Katniss," she says, some time later. I've moved past warm-ups to work on my assemblés when she finally stops me.
"Yes, Miss Effie," I say, prepared for a scathing correction.
"A ballerina's body is her canvas," she says, "and it should be pristine at all times." She takes a step closer and stands behind me in the mirror, then gestures to my neck while making eye contact with my reflection. "This," she says, "should be covered. At the very least. If you don't have makeup, get a band-aid. I don't care what you use. What you do outside of class is your business, but I will not see hickeys in my studio."
"Yes, ma'am," I say, thoroughly ashamed. My face is on fire.
"If you come in with one again, you'll be asked to leave," she says. "Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, ma'am," I say. My eyes are welling with tears, but I refuse to cry. Not in front of her. Not over this.
"Good," she says. "Now, show me your first combination."
…
Alone in the dressing room after my lesson, I'm torn between two emotions. On one hand, I know I should feel knocked down and kicked. She put me in my place. It was the first time I've ever disappointed Miss Effie, and she let me know it. I should feel bad - and I did, as she was reprimanding me.
But a bigger part of me feels indignant. What's so wrong with a hickey? I'm almost 18 years old, and up until this point in my life, I've never had fun like this. It's not illegal. It's just a mark. She can't dictate what I do outside of class.
She can tell me to cover it, and I will. But that doesn't mean she can dissuade me from the situation that caused it.
I stand in front of the floor-length mirror and study myself. It's no surprise she saw the hickey - it sticks out like a sore thumb - but I just can't bring myself to feel bad. Getting it felt good. Being desired felt good. I don't want to apologize for this, so I don't think I'm going to.
I take a deep breath, feeling settled with my decision, and square my shoulders. I continue to look at myself as I remember how Peeta's lips, teeth, and tongue felt on my neck - and it sends shivers up my spine. I close my eyes and I can almost feel his body halfway on top of mine, his pleasant weight pressing me down into the couch, as he sucks on my neck and sends me into a state of… whatever that was.
I open my eyes again and widen my eyes in the mirror - because of that memory, my nipples are now showing through my leotard. So obviously, there might as well be a flashing, neon arrow.
"Oh, god," I say, then cover my breasts with my hands. I rub them to try and flatten the buds out, but as I'm doing that, the door comes open and Delly Cartwright walks in.
We stare at each other for a long moment, and I'm too stunned to move
"You okay, Katniss?" she asks, eyes moving between my face and my chest.
Finally, I snap my hands back to my sides. But a quick glance in the mirror tells me that my nipples are still on full display. "Yeah," I say.
"Oh, don't worry about that," she says, noticing my issue. "They keep it so cold here. I have that problem all the time."
"Right," I say, madly digging for my cardigan. "They should really turn the heat up."
On my way out of the dressing room, dance bag in tow, my red face could probably heat the entire school.
…
On the bus, I'm still thinking about Peeta. I can't seem to stop. It's been less than 24 hours since we were last together, but I miss him. Not being able to see each other until Monday sounds awful. I don't think I can last that long.
SENT, 2:40pm: what are you up to?
I look out the window while I wait for him to respond. Luckily, like always, he doesn't take long.
RECEIVED, 2:43pm: Just hanging out. Drawing.
His mood seems different. Off. I can't put my finger on how, but I can feel it.
Or maybe I'm reading into things.
SENT, 2:44pm: i just got done with my saturday lesson. still thinking about youuuuuuuu
I'm definitely doing too much now. I used to make fun of girls like this. Who am I turning into?
I don't want to stop, though. I want him to know that I was thinking about him.
RECEIVED, 2:45pm: I'm always thinking about my tiny dancer
I smirk to myself and scrunch my shoulders up to my ears. I'm his now? I'm his?
SENT, 2:46pm: you think we can hang out tonight?
He doesn't start typing right away this time. I have to wait a few minutes before he replies. I remember that I did interrupt him while he was drawing, so that's probably what he's still doing.
RECEIVED, 2:50pm: I want to see you. But the only way it can work is if we hang at your house
I bite the inside of my cheek. There's no way that can happen - not with my mom and Prim around.
SENT, 2:51pm: i cant :/ my mom and sister are home
SENT, 2:51pm: is your house a bad idea?
Once again, he takes a considerable amount of time to answer.
RECEIVED, 2:58pm: I don't know. It's just that my parents and brother are gonna be home too. So I just don't know
RECEIVED, 2:58pm: I really wanna see you
RECEIVED, 2:58pm: I just gotta figure this out
His version of 'figuring things out' seems different from mine. I can't have him over at my house not because my mother wouldn't be kind to him, but because I don't want her knowing what I'm doing with a boy. She would put a stop to it, I'm sure. I've never expressed interest like this before, so she'll think I'm going off the deep end. I don't tell her much.
But I know my mom is protective because she loves me. Peeta's mom, on the other hand, didn't seem to be coming from any sort of positive place when she screamed at him last night. Screamed at us, I should say.
She did tell him that I wasn't allowed back at their house. I forgot that - I was too caught up in what it felt like to kiss him and be kissed.
SENT, 3:04pm: but your mom did say i wasnt allowed at your house. im sorry, i forgot. i didnt mean to put you in a weird spot
RECEIVED, 3:05pm: Forget about that. Don't listen to her. I wish you didn't hear any of what she said
RECEIVED, 3:06pm: You should just come over tonight. She doesn't have to know
RECEIVED, 3:06pm: We can hang out in the hot tub outside. No one ever uses it
RECEIVED, 3:07pm: That way we can have some time by ourselves and be able to see each other :)
SENT, 3:08pm: even though your parents will be home?
RECEIVED, 3:09pm: They never notice what I do. Not unless I do something wrong
SENT, 3:09pm: doesnt this technically qualify as something wrong?
RECEIVED, 3:10pm: Not if they don't find out
…
I only have one bathing suit, and it's not horrible, but I'm sure Peeta has seen better on other girls. It's a dark green bikini - simple, but I guess it gets the job done. It looks okay when I try it on and stand in front of the mirror.
I think I've stood in front of the mirror more times in the last couple days than I ever have in my life. At that thought, I turn away from my reflection.
Prim comes into my room as I'm pulling on jeans and a hoodie over my swimsuit. "Where are you going?" she asks.
I stay quiet for a minute, my eyes resting over her shoulder. The TV is on in the living room, where she and Mom had been watching a show after dinner.
"She's asleep," Prim says - answering my nonverbal question.
"I'm going to see Peeta," I say. "We're gonna hang out in his hot tub."
Prim raises her eyebrows. "He has a hot tub?" she says.
"I know," I say, zipping my backpack.
"How long are you gonna be gone?"
"I don't know," I say. "A few hours."
"Where does Mom think you're going?" she asks.
"Nowhere," I say. "If she wakes up, she's just gonna think I'm in my room. He's picking me up and dropping me back off."
My sister gives me a dubious look.
"What, are you gonna tell her?" I say.
"No," she says. "But what if she checks?"
"She's not going to," I say.
"But what if she does? What am I supposed to say?"
"I don't know," I say. "Make something up. Say I'm with Madge again and I didn't want to wake her up."
"I don't wanna lie."
"She's not gonna wake up," I say, then check my phone. There's a text from Peeta saying that he's here, parked in the spot he dropped me off last night. "I gotta go. I'll be back later."
Prim doesn't say goodbye, she just gives me a strange, noncommittal look as I tiptoe past our sleeping mother and make my way out the front door. After I'm off the porch, I hurry down the sidewalk and smile once I reach Peeta's idling car.
"You made it," he says, when I open the door.
"Yeah," I say, suddenly shy.
We look at each other over the console, just smiling and not saying a word for a few long beats. Then, we both crack up laughing.
"Sorry," he says - I say it, too, at the same time.
"You're so pretty," he says. "I don't…I…my words get all jumbled up when I look at you."
"Me, too," I say.
"Because of how pretty I am?" he says.
I nod and he beams. Then, he says, "Can I kiss you?"
I nod again, lean in, and wrap my arms around his shoulders once he presses his lips to mine. I melt against him, close my eyes, and lose myself in the way his mouth feels.
"I missed you," I murmur, playing with the curly hair at the nape of his neck.
"I missed you more," he says, then steals another kiss.
He rests his forehead on mine, and I open my eyes to look right into his. "Pretty boy," I whisper - very quietly, because I'm not brave enough to say the words at full volume.
He smiles softly, but kisses me hard. When he pulls away, he traces the apple of my cheek with his thumb and stares at me with those beautiful blue eyes. I wish I could drown in them.
"Alright," he says, kissing me one more time, "let's go."
When we get to his house, we go around the back to head to the hot tub.
"It's a little dark," Peeta says, reaching for my hand. "Here. Follow me."
We walk hand-in-hand through the grass and stay close to one another. Every so often, he'll turn to look at me and we'll break out in giant, silly grins for no reason at all.
When we get closer, I hear the hot tub bubbling. "I got it ready for us," he says, then sticks his hand in. "It's nice and warm."
"Should we get in?" I ask. I feel like I need an invitation.
"Sure," he says. "I…sorry for… you know, sneaking you back here like this. It's just that…" He glances up and over his shoulder. "She…my mom…"
"It's okay," I say, stepping out of my jeans and pulling my hoodie off over my head.
I set my clothes in a pile on the deck and turn around, expecting to see Peeta in the same state. He's not, though. He's stepping into the hot tub with his shirt still on and I suddenly feel very self-conscious.
"Oh," I say, caving my shoulders in. "I didn't know. I thought we-"
"No, it's…I'm sorry," he says. He scrubs his hands down his face. "I have my swim trunks on. It's just…I keep a shirt on when I swim. Usually. Because…I…" He clears his throat. "I just do."
"Should I put mine back on?" I ask.
He lowers into the water and keeps his eyes on me. "However you're comfortable," he says. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make things weird."
"You didn't," I say.
As I get into the water - in just my bikini - I wonder what Peeta could possibly be insecure about. I know people have their own reasons for disliking their bodies or feeling strange, but I can't think of a single thing that could make Peeta feel this way. His body is perfect, just like he is.
But I don't pry, because that's rude. Instead, I put my hair up so it doesn't get wet and, as I do, my fingers skim over the hickey.
"Look what you did to me," I say, tipping my head to one side so he can see.
We lock eyes and he smiles slyly - I do, too.
"Miss Effie got mad," I say.
He reaches for my hand and I let him take it under the water. Our entwined fingers rest between our hips and he traces my knuckles with his thumb while we talk.
"Oh no," he says.
I shrug one shoulder. "I just have to cover them with makeup or band-aids," I say.
His eyes glint. "Them?" he says. "Plural? Last time I checked, you only have one."
I blush pink and feel beads of sweat begin at my temples. I don't know how to respond. I know what I want to say, but I'm not brave enough to say it.
"I can give you more, if you want," Peeta says, leaning back and spreading his knees as he gets more comfortable.
"I think you want to give me more," I say, inching closer to him.
"Maybe," he says, chuckling. "It's kind of all I've been thinking about."
We both lean in and meet in the middle, and he kisses me slowly and sensually. I've only been kissing him for a day, but it's already something I'm so addicted to. I never want to let him go.
He rests his free hand on the dip of my waist, my bare waist, then pulls his mouth away from mine. "Can I touch you there?" he asks, his fingers ghosting over my skin.
I run my fingers down his face and nod, falling in closer to him. He tilts his head to one side and opens his mouth over mine, then slips his tongue between my lips - and that sensation makes a bolt of electricity coil between my thighs and root itself there.
He grips me a little tighter, urges me a little closer, and I comply. With a shaky exhale, I unlace our fingers so I can wind both arms around his neck.
"Do you want to…" he says, trying and failing not to look down at my chest. He clears his throat. "Do you want to sit on my lap?"
"Yeah," I say, then swing one leg over to straddle his thighs. I don't know where to place my weight, though - I've never been this close to someone, not ever.
He places both hands on my waist and skims them up and down my sides, and that makes me lose my breath. When he holds my ribcage and gives it a little squeeze, I shoot him a loopy smile and lean in close.
"You can sit down," he says, running his hands up over my shoulders and back down again. "I want you to be comfortable."
I relax as best I can and rest my weight on his thighs. It feels nice once I do, and my heart agrees - it pumps double-time and tells me to do crazy things like tuck my face in his neck and kiss his Adam's apple.
I don't spend time overthinking. I just listen to the stupid thing and kiss Peeta's throat.
The sound he makes is all the encouragement I need. His voice vibrates under my lips, under my tongue, and forces a shiver through my entire body. When I open my mouth wider and suck his skin between my teeth, he jolts and I pop away with a satisfied grin. He's not the only one who can leave marks.
I go for his mouth again and he slips his tongue between my lips, dragging it through my mouth at a torturously slow pace. I sigh against him, arching my back and pressing my stomach against his, and he pulls me close with both arms wrapped low around my back. When he does that, I feel something hard and insistent pressing against the place where my pulse beats heavy between my thighs.
I whimper against his mouth and suck on his tongue, which makes him dig his fingernails into the small of my back. I want to move - I want to rub against him - but I don't dare. I'm not brave enough for that, not yet.
He drags his nails up and down my back, which makes an involuntary moan escape me and tumble into his mouth. Spurred on by this, I let my hands explore lower and, before I know it, I'm fiddling with the hem of his soaked t-shirt - I want to touch his skin in the way he's touching mine.
But I barely graze his stomach when he flinches away from me - in one ungraceful, jerky movement, he sits up straight and effectively forces my hands away from his stomach.
"Sorry," I say. I should've asked. He always asks. I went too far.
"It's okay," he says, but his eyes are darting everywhere, unable to find a place to land.
"Really, I'm sorry," I say. "I won't touch you again."
"No," he says quickly - very quickly. "You can touch me. I…I want that. Just…" He closes his eyes for a long moment and takes a deep breath. "Not there."
I don't ask why. I'm curious, but still - I won't ask. If he was ready to tell me, he would say why.
"Okay," I say, then bury my fingers in his hair. "Here?"
"Yes," he says, letting his head fall back to hit the rim of the hot tub. He looks up at me with shining blue eyes, his expression dreamy and happy again. He touches the back of my neck and puts pressure there, bringing my face close to his. "Tell me where I can touch you," he murmurs against my lips.
"Anywhere," I whisper, and in that moment I truly mean it. I'm so caught up in him that I'm not thinking about anything else - not a single thing. I only want to be kissed by him, touched by him, and do the same in return. That's all I want - forever.
No one ever told me that this is what having a crush is like. If they had, maybe I would've been interested in boys a whole lot sooner. I never knew how good this would feel.
"Anywhere?" he says.
I pull back, just slightly, and look at those crazy long eyelashes of his. I sit up a little straighter and find his eyes on my chest again, so I look there too. Much like earlier with my leotard, my nipples are showing through the thin material of my bikini. That's apparently one of Peeta's many talents.
"There?" he asks, eyes on my breasts, and I nod.
I can't help the way my insides quiver when he presses his open mouth to the hollow between my collarbones. He runs his tongue to the right, following the slope of the bone, then does the same to the left. And I melt.
He moves lower and sucks on small sections of my skin, dragging his tongue over places that he bites. I know what he's doing - and I don't plan on stopping him. For class on Monday, my chest will just have to be covered in band-aids. I don't care. At all. I only care about how amazing his mouth feels on my chest.
Peeta traces the swell of my breast with parted lips, breathing warm air onto my sensitive skin. I lose the rhythm of my breath and watch him look up at me through his eyelashes, then slide one hand up from my waist to tease the fabric covering me. He slips inside it from underneath, just his fingertips, but it's enough to make me bite my lip - hard.
He closes his lips around a freckle in the middle of my chest, the very ends of his fingers still grazing the underside of my breast, and I lean forward and press my face to the top of his head. I kiss his hair and close my eyes, getting lost in the clean, boyish scent of him as he continues to kiss my chest - moving closer and closer to my straining nipple.
I sit up and he looks me in the eyes again just before he closes his mouth around my breast. My insides tighten and my mouth falls open as he sucks on my nipple, and I almost come unwound from that - with his eyes on mine and his mouth on me in the way it is.
But then, in the next instant, his gaze shifts a fraction to the right. And when it does, he pulls away from my breast with a 'pop!' and stares at something behind me.
I turn around, following his gaze, to find what he's looking at. And I see it. There's someone standing in the upstairs window, watching us. Not his mother, thank god - from the shape of the silhouette, I think it must be his brother.
"Shit," he says, then shifts out from underneath me.
The mood is officially killed. I'm still coming down from the state he put me in, but Peeta seems to have snapped out of it on a dime.
"Will he tell your mom?" I ask. I'm practically panting.
Peeta's face is unbelievably worried, so different than it was just a few moments ago. Seconds, really. It's like he's a different person, having landed in an altered mindset so quickly.
"I don't know," he mutters, roughly running his hands through his hair.
"How long was he standing there?" I ask.
"I don't know," he says. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I got carried away…"
"Me, too," I say, feeling a little embarrassed. Was his mouth really just on my nipple!?
"Going too fast," he says, almost under his breath.
That makes an uneasy feeling appear in my gut. He's not wrong - we did just go much further than I thought we would. But I enjoyed it so much. It felt so good. Even so, was it wrong? It's not like we went all the way, or even touched each other below the waist. But still. It wasn't exactly chaste behavior.
Am I slut like his mother said? Would another girl have let him do that? Would another girl have kissed him the way I did? Am I doing all of this wrong, giving him the wrong idea? Or do I have the wrong idea about him?
There's so much to think about. So many things to mess up.
"I'm sorry," he says.
"You don't have to keep apologizing," I say. I want to touch him again but I don't know if it's okay to do it.
"I'm sorry- I mean… shit," he says, shaking his head. He looks at me and his eyes are glistening, almost like he's holding back tears. "I'm sorry. I fucked this up."
"You didn't," I say. "I feel like I did."
"You definitely didn't," he says.
"Well, it wasn't you," I say. "You don't mess things up."
"You're the only person who thinks that," he says, laughing humorlessly.
We sit together in silence for a few minutes, but as time passes, I get more and more worried that his brother will come out here - or worse, one of his parents.
"Maybe I should go," I say quietly.
"Yeah," he says. "I'll take you home."
Our moods improve in the car. When he pulls onto my street and parks the same distance away from my house, he gets out and I lean against the passenger's side door as he comes around to meet me.
With one hand resting on the roof on either side of my shoulders, I'm sufficiently trapped - and I like it.
"I really like you," he says, "but I'm scared I'm doing this all wrong."
"Me, too," I say. "To both."
"You're not doing anything wrong."
"Well, neither are you…" I say, holding his face in my hands.
He closes his eyes and rests his cheek against one of my palms for a moment, then leans in to kiss me. I hold onto it for as long as I can, pressing the front of my body against his, and I don't think I would've been able to stop if a jarring 'beep!' didn't disturb us.
I startle and pull away from Peeta, squinting towards my driveway. Prim is standing outside of our mom's car, one hand on the horn. As I look at her, she taps her wrist in the place where a watch would be, and I understand - I'm out past curfew.
"I gotta go," I say.
"I know," he says, then frees me by taking one arm off of his car.
I give him one last kiss and walk away, but I turn around after a few steps. I hurry back to him, hold his jaw in my hands, and kiss him hard as a final goodbye. "Bye," I whisper.
"Bye, baby," he says - and I hold onto those two little words for the rest of the weekend.
…
On Monday, I'm sitting in physics class when the guidance counselor knocks on the doorframe and asks for me. "Grab your things, hun," she says.
As I head into the hallway with her, I ask, "What's going on?"
"You need to take your sister home," she says.
"Is she sick?" I ask.
"No, she's fine," the counselor says. "The principal will explain."
"The principal?" I say, shocked. Prim has never done a thing wrong in her life. What is she doing in the principal's office?
I hurry ahead of the counselor and meet Prim where she sits on a chair in the office, staring ahead with a firm, angry expression. She looks more like me than she ever has.
"Primrose!" I say. "What's going on?"
"Katniss," the principal, Mrs. Paylor says, "I tried to get a hold of your mother, but I couldn't get through."
"Yeah, she's on a double today at the hospital," I say. "Can someone tell me what happened?"
"I'm issuing your sister a two-day suspension," she says. "For fighting on school property."
I stare at Prim, shocked. "Fighting?!" I say.
She shoots me a look. If it could kill, I'd be beyond dead.
"During third lunch, Primrose was seen swinging her backpack at another student's head," Mrs. Paylor says. "It made contact. The other student is fine, luckily. But, needless to say, that is not acceptable behavior at our school. I left a message for your mother, and I'll be waiting on a call back in order to talk over the next steps with her." Mrs. Paylor gives Prim a pointed look. "Violence is never the answer. You know better, Miss Everdeen."
We sit and listen as she continues to lecture Prim, and we get dismissed before long. Prim and I are silent as we walk through the school and it's quiet on the way home, too. But I turn to her for answers as soon as we get through the door.
"Why are you swinging backpacks at people's faces?!" I ask.
She glowers at me. I'm not sure if I've ever seen her glower in her life, not like this. "It was Quinn Mellark," she says, her voice low. "He was talking about you."
My gut twists. Peeta's brother. The one who saw us on Saturday night.
"What did he say?" I ask. I'm afraid, but I have to know.
"He said," she begins, chin trembling, "that you're a skanky little whore. That you're a slut who'll open your legs for anyone, even his worthless brother."
I practically fall to the floor. Not just because of what Quinn Mellark said, but because I never thought I'd hear words like that come out of Prim's mouth.
Two fat tears fall from her eyes and drip under her jawline. "How could you be with someone whose brother talks about you like that?" she says, her voice warbling and small.
I don't know what to say to that. I'm at a loss for words.
As I'm trying and failing to think of a response, my phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out.
RECEIVED, 2:03pm: I heard what happened. Can I see you?
I look up from the screen and glance at Prim. Without me having to say it, she knows who texted. I hitch my backpack back up on my shoulder and she looks at me with a wounded, helpless expression.
"Seriously?" she says.
"I won't be gone long," I say.
I go to kiss her forehead, but she turns her head away. I look at her for a long beat and she looks back, those blue eyes stony and defiant. "Fine," she says. "Whatever. Go, then."
So, I do. I open the door and walk back out, heading off to see Peeta.