Chapter Five: Telling Snow

"The best index to a person's character is how he treats people who can't do him any good, and how he treats people who can't fight back."

Abigail Van Buren

I wait for Snow to return for what seems like ages. I just want to tell him, take whatever abuse he wants to give, and get it over with. I've already told Prim. She's happy and excited about it, but also as scared as I am about how he might react.

I watch as she goes through the bags of clothes. Surprisingly, there are a lot of nice things to wear. Gale was pretty good about guessing our sizes, and like he said, whatever doesn't fit I can always use the fabric for something useful. I won't let any of it go to waste. Knowing that we won't be going in rags makes me slightly less nervous to start school on Monday.

Prim and I eat a few more cheese buns before I hide what's left behind a panel in the wall of our bedroom.

I give Mom one too, though she doesn't really acknowledge it. I manage to get her to eat at least one, having to tell her to chew and swallow constantly. She's so skinny from not eating that I'm afraid she's going to waste away to nothing.

My hands begin to shake when I finally hear his truck outside. This is it. This is the moment of truth; no avoiding it. What happens will happen, and I'll have to deal with the consequences.

He staggers in and slams the door behind him. I stand in the doorway of my room, fiddling with the hem of my shirt. I don't make eye contact with him. In fact, I try to avoid looking at him all together. It's easier that way. Prim tucks herself into a corner of our bedroom, her knees brought up to her chest, leaving only her wide, nervous eyes visible over them.

I jump as he throws his keys onto the counter with force and turns to me. Before he can start yelling at me about something else, I tell him what I need to.

No use in dragging this out.

"I got a job today. Please don't be mad?" I blurt quickly, my voice barely above a whisper. I close my eyes as soon as I say it, readying myself.

He reacts harshly, as expected, though not as angrily as I thought he would. He must still be a little high, because all he does is pull me by my braid and toss me to the floor.

"The roof over your head not good enough, you little bitch? You trying to say I don't give you enough?" he bellows. Of course you don't, I want to say. But I don't. Smarting off is never a good choice to make with him. It's best just to lie.

"That's not it! I just want to help out." I move against the wall, but I don't stand up. Best to just stay as close to the floor as possible - he'll just knock me down again anyway.

He kicks something across the room and I hear it break against the wall beside me. I wrap my arms protectively around my head.

"Who the hell would hire someone as useless as you anyway?" he asks with a derisive snort. I feel a little relief as he walks away and sits down on the metal fold-out chair.

I'm afraid to answer.

I don't want him to insult Mr. Mellark, or worse, so I stay silent. He tosses an empty beer bottle at me and yells again, "I asked who hired you! You gonna answer, or do I need to beat it outta you?"

The bottle hits the wall beside me, missing me by mere inches, and bursts into tiny shards.

I close my eyes tightly, my entire body trembling. I feel like crying, but I don't. It'll only make things worse if I do. I answer, knowing that he'll find out anyway, "The Mellarks."

He laughs and stands up again. He comes over to me and lifts me up by my braid. "Those fucking goody-goodies?" I wince in pain as he twists my hair in his hand and brings his face closer to mine. "You say anything, anything, about what goes on here… you know I know these woods. I know deep wells and forgotten lakes. No one will ever find a body if it goes missing. You hear me?"

He tightens his grip on my braid. I nod, but I don't say anything.

I'm aware that he knows these woods like the back of his hand and that he does know where old forgotten wells and lakes are. He's shown me. He's threatened me so many times over the years like this, and it's mostly why I haven't said anything to anyone. I don't doubt that he'd go to that extreme if he was forced to. Sometimes I wonder why he hasn't gotten rid of us already; probably because he has too much fun watching us suffer.

He spits in my face and punches the wall behind me. Then, surprisingly, he lets me go. My head throbs and aches at his release and I feel dizzy. I try to focus my eyes, but everything looks blurry for a few moments.

I wipe at my face as he walks away.

"Get outta here! I don't want to see your face. Remember what I told you; you know I don't fuck around!" I nod quickly, doing as he says without argument.

I go into our room and close the door behind me. It's dark, but I like it that way. I feel safe in the darkness; it makes me feel invisible. I quickly go over to Prim, who's crying in the corner. I wrap my arms around her and bring her to me.

"Shhh… everything's all right, Prim," I reassure her, running my hand through her hair. "Stop crying. I told him. It's over. I'm okay."

I actually feel very relieved. It went better than I'd thought it would. Now that it's over with, I can go back to avoiding him again.

Over the weekend, I keep my distance from Snow.

I stay outside as much as possible and keep myself busy. He doesn't say anything else about the job, and I don't bring it up again. He's probably happy because he's planning on spending my money, and of course I'll have to give him some. I won't have a choice. I am, of course, going to be hiding some away from him. I have a plan to save my money to get out of here eventually. That's the whole point of this.

I manage to get through the weekend with only a few slaps to the face, but not enough to leave marks on my skin. I have them on my stomach, legs, and arms - places where people can't see. But he avoids my face. He knows that'll be harder to explain away.

Prim and I go down to the lake early Sunday and bathe ourselves for school the next day. Gale had put a few bars of soap in the trash bags of clothes he brought, and we definitely needed them. I know he wouldn't tell me straight out that he had included them; he has more tact than that. But he knows how we live. And as much as it may be embarrassing, I'm thankful for the gesture. I won't say anything to him about it, though, because it'd just make things uncomfortable.

Besides, he knows how I feel without having to tell him.

When Gale comes by Sunday evening to take me into town, I lie to Snow and tell him I have to help with his mom. He buys it without question. Luckily, Snow isn't very observant and doesn't notice when Prim has new shoes that night. Or maybe he assumed Gale gave them to her. I don't know. Over the years, I've become pretty good at keeping secrets from him; I always have an excuse at the ready if he questions me.

But I always hope that he doesn't.

Before I know it, it's Monday morning; the day I start school and my very first job.

To say I'm nervous is an understatement. I feel like I'm going to shake out of my skin. I try to keep myself calm, but it does no good. Prim and I ride the bus into town, and she gets dropped off at the elementary school first. Before she exits, I tell her that I'll come get her before we walk to the bakery that afternoon.

When I finally get to school, I walk into my first class and find a seat at the very back of the room by myself. I avoid everyone's eyes and whispers and try to block everything around me out. I just want to get through the day being as invisible as possible. I don't expect to make friends or talk to anyone; I'm only here to learn.

And then I see Peeta walk into the classroom.

I look straight ahead and try my best to appear as if I hadn't noticed him. It's the best thing for all involved. I won't receive the unnecessary attention and the rude remarks that come with it, and he won't have to risk people treating him badly for talking to me. At least with the bakery, he can tell people it was his dad's idea and not his. Here, there's really no excuse for our interaction.

I stare down at the desk, studying the design of the fake wood beneath my fingertips. I run my index finger along the outline casually, all the while feeling my heart beat out of my chest and my face heating up in spite of me.

All I can think is: Please don't notice me, please don't talk to me…

"Good morning."

He's standing beside the two-seat table I'm sitting at, gazing down at me. I can see him from the corner of my eye, but I still won't look at him.

"Morning," I mumble back, hoping that he's only making a passing greeting and will walk away soon.

My eyes widen as I hear him pull out a chair and get ready to sit next to me. What is he doing? Is he trying to make things hell for us? I know he's nice, but this is uncalled for. He doesn't need to feel sorry for me. He doesn't need to prove anything by doing this. I've gone this long without making friends, and I'll be just fine continuing this way.

"What are you doing?" I whisper, barely moving my mouth. I don't want to draw attention to us. "You can't sit here." I take a quick glance at him. He looks confused and hesitant.

"Why? Are you saving this seat for someone?"

I look away. I notice there are two girls a couple tables away already whispering and glancing at us. I hear them giggle; just the sound of it makes me want to punch something. I sigh and shake my head in frustration.

"No. I just… people are going to talk." I narrow my eyes at the girls who aren't keeping it much of a secret that they are talking about us. "In fact, they already are."

This doesn't deter him any as he sits down beside me. I let out a long breath and avoid looking in his direction.

"Let them talk. Who cares?" he says.

I turn to him with a frown and tell him in a low, quiet voice. "Everyone cares. You don't need to do this."

"I know I don't need to," Peeta replies without even trying to whisper. "I want to. I don't care what other people say. Why would I want to be friends with people like that anyway?"

"I don't know," I answer, feeling aggravated and more than a little confused. "Why would you want to be friends with me?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

This takes me by surprise. I don't know how to reply so I bite my lip and look away.

"Because no one ever wants to."

"Well, I do."

"But… why?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. I'm genuinely curious... and a little suspicious. Why does Peeta, a good-looking boy who could be friends with anyone, want to waste his time on me? Is this some sort of joke? I don't find it funny at all.

"Because I find you interesting. Besides, we'll be working together almost every day. So I figure we might as well be friends, right?"

"Just because I'm working for your dad doesn't mean you have to go out of your way to be nice to me. I don't need your pity," I retort.

I stare down at the desk again, but I can feel his eyes on me. My heart is pounding in my chest. I feel like everyone is watching and talking about us now. I don't like it. It'd be so much easier if we weren't friends.

"I'm not going out of my way, Katniss, and you're far too strong to pity. I wouldn't have thought you'd care what people think—"

"I don't. Not about what they say about me," I state, my hands shaking. "I care about you being laughed at because of me."

"Well I don't care about that, so you shouldn't either," he assures me with a shrug. I glance over at him, trying to figure him out. He just looks back at me with the sincerest of smiles, then leans in closer to me. "I'm a big boy and I know exactly what I'm doing. That is, unless you're too good to be my friend?"

I shake my head and roll my eyes at being patronized.

"I'm not too good for anyone."

"You're too good for a lot of people, actually," he replies.

As class begins, I find myself so distracted, wondering about the intentions of the boy beside me, that I don't really hear a word of anything at all for the rest of the period.