Chapter 4: What Makes You Wake Up

A wiser girl would not risk becoming a repeat offender after just getting out on bail. And even if she wasn't all that wise, a more considerate girl would at least wait until after her hunting partner was released before daring to chance the fence again.

But after the gobsmacking events of yesterday, plus everything that transitively awaits me via the celebrity parading of my sister, I need to think. And my woods are where I clear my head the best.

Despite now having an arrest record that includes disregarding Twelve's borders and poaching on Capitol lands, I am fairly confident that Cray won't make such a spectacle of catching me again. The only reason he did so was because Gale and I were impeded on the wrong day at the wrong time and Cray needed to demonstrate a show of force just to prove his competency. With the Reaping in the rearview mirror and with only camera crews as any sign of the Capitol's presence, I can resume my border-crossing practices with impunity.

I still, however, don't feel right about hunting without Gale, so even though I retrieve Daddy's hunting bow from its hollow log hiding place out of habit, I carry it in a relaxed stance as I creep through the forest. If some game comes up that I would be foolish to let go of, I'll shoot it, but I won't feel pressured. With our recovered game bags now slung across my shoulders, Gale's and my families will be well-stocked in meat at least until the Games are over.

The Games…. I shake my head as I think over the Reaping recaps from last night. While much of the field seems fairly weak when compared to other years, the likely quartet of Careers, the girl from 5 and maybe both tributes from 11 (I don't know why I can't get the Rue girl out of my head) seem like legitimate contenders. Throw Rye Mellark into the mix for his wrestling skills, and that is a third of the field who could make a legitimate run for the Victors' Crown. Eight people who stand a decent chance of ensuring my baby sister doesn't come home alive.

I find myself fixating on Peeta's brother, to say nothing of how my thoughts are constantly tempted to hone in on the youngest Mellark son himself. He may be skilled in a certain form of combat, but would it take him past the Careers? More importantly, would it aid him in, if placed in a very specific situation, possibly protecting my sister? I shake my head cynically. Even if it could, I have no reason to believe that Rye would ever stick his neck out to shield my sister's life. Peeta's and my siblings only know each other in passing, at best. And just because two tributes might be district partners does not necessarily guarantee a higher loyalty than that one might give to other allies in the arena. Just look at the statistics surrounding same-district pairs/alliances in the Games, as I go back over my Hunger Games History notes from school. The last time two tributes from the same district were the final kids standing, my parents weren't even born yet. What makes me think that Rye Mellark will give my sister a second thought once inside?

Maybe because you know Peeta would protect Prim's life, if he were fighting, a small voice nudges me.

I shake my head to clear it. What nonsense! I don't have any evidence that Peeta would look after my sister in there any more than I have evidence for Rye doing the same. True, Peeta has sometimes offered Prim a free cookie whenever she would drag me to the Bakery window to gush over the pretty cakes, but that doesn't mean he would risk his life to shield hers.

Peeta… a warm, gooey feeling floods my chest as I finally submit to turning my thoughts over to the Boy With the Bread. He didn't have any reason to splurge all his allowance savings on freeing me from jail, and yet he did. I tried to give him a reward – hell, I propositioned the man! – and he wouldn't hear of it, asking me instead if he might invite me over to dinner.

Dinner… I meant what I told him on the back loading dock. It truly was lovely. And yet I can't shake the feeling that, despite my own mother and half his family sitting there eating with us, my dinner with Peeta last night felt like… a date. Like it was… intimate, somehow, despite all the extra guests. I could feel how he was staring at me all through the meal.

And I can recall full well how sometimes, I caught myself staring back.

The shrieking caw of a bird taking wing startles me out of my stupor and I bring my bow up fast, but too late; it's already moving out of range. Lowering the arrow in the notch, I huff in frustration. If I'm not thinking about one Mellark boy, I'm thinking about the other. Though it's unwise to conflate the two in my head. One's an…. honest, sincere, perfect…. handsome gentleman; the other's a showboating clown. Peeta seems to harbor a similar view of his closest sibling, which is fascinating because I've only ever seen them interact with each other less than a handful of times, and that was from a distance.

One such interaction immediately comes to mind…

FLASHBACK

"Come on, Katty! Come on! We have to get good seats!"

I'll say this about being friends with Madge Undersee – she certainly knows how to help you keep to a schedule. And there's never been a more enthusiastic, rah-rah supporter of school activities than her, which has subsequently led me to display more extracurricular participation and enthusiasm this year than in all my educational years previous.

I used to never follow the school sports season, fall or spring, until I realized Peeta was on the wrestling team. Then I would take to discreetly reading the reported stats on his matches in the local paper. But I've never in my life had the nerve to actually attend a match.

On this lukewarm, rainy afternoon in early summer, the gymnasium is packed and noisy for the final wrestling match of the season, kids our age acting out raucously in the bleachers. The prime seats in the first few rows are already taken, so Madge takes my hand and guides me higher up the stands.

"We'll probably get an even better view from up here anyway." She points to the scoreboard. "See that? For the wrestling matches, the HOME and AWAY scores flash the last names of the two competitors." She peers at me in a way that is almost teasing. "We'll know when Peeta comes out…."

I feel my cheeks burn. I don't know what Madge thinks she's implying, but she's still studying me curiously, and I quickly change the subject. "You said their last names will flash up? Peeta's brother could come out first!"

"You'll know when it's Peeta. Rye tends to do a lot of showboating," Madge smirks. "I've heard some of the guys say Peeta has taken to wrestling like a hog to slop."

That might be true, but Peeta is of average height, even on the shorter side, despite being broad and solid. I don't pretend to know anything about wrestling, but due to his height, he will probably be in the smallest weight class…. right? I bite my lip in concern.

Finding some empty spaces on the bleachers, Madge and I sit down, the Mayor's daughter eagerly grabbing my arm. "Isn't this exciting, Katty?"

I smile weakly, halfheartedly ruing the day that she overheard Primrose calling me 'Katty.' The pet name is something I only ever allow now from her, Mother and now Madge (on our hunts, Gale has taken to sticking me with the more amusing nickname Catnip. At least, it's amusing to him). I don't really mind the pet name – other than my own sister, Madge is still the only girlfriend I have, and we've taken to spending some time together after school hours.

Scanning the crowd, I spot a solitary figure seated up in one corner at the height of the bleachers, and frown. "Madge? What is Haymitch Abernathy doing here?"

The corner is slightly darkened, but I can still clearly make out Haymitch, predictably taking a slug from his flask.

"Oh, Haymitch likes to sit in at most of the sporting events. Coach Gintis, the wrestling coach? – he calls it 'scouting'. For the Games."

I gape at her in horror and revulsion. "But Victors don't have any say over who comes out of the Reaping Bowl!"

Madge shrugs. "Doesn't stop them from scouting for talent. Daddy says the Victors in the Career districts do it all the time."

I take one more glance back at the drunk. Even if he does perform some scouting for fresh blood, strong tributes who might make a go at the Victors' Crown, his skills in this area must not be great, as he has failed to bring home a single winner for as long as I've been alive and even before.

There is a roar from further down below, and Madge suddenly clutches my arm. "Oh, Katty, look! Peeta is up!"

My heart pitters and stutters weirdly as I can see the small speck that is my classmate, coming into the ring. His opponent looks to be at least his size, maybe even one-and-a-half times his size. And apparently, Peeta and this kid are the same age, in the same weight class!

The referee stands between the boys. "Ready….. set… FIGHT!"

Peeta and his opponent ram together, the opponent flipping my friend over his head. Peeta hits the mat hard, and there are groans. Now I'm the one clutching at Madge's arm, biting my lip in fear.

Peeta quickly gets up and launches himself at his opponent from behind. I am biting my lip so hard now, I am drawing a bead of blood. Beside me, Madge has to nearly scream in my ear:

"Katty…. KATNISS! OW! Let go!"

"Oh….. S-sorry," I stammer, releasing her arm from where I was probably cutting off her circulation.

She just grins at me. "It's OK to be nervous, you know."

As we watch, Peeta actually manages to pin an opponent who's bigger than him. The crowd begins to chant. "8….. 9….. 10!"

"WINNNER!" The ref nudges both boys apart and lifts Peeta's fist triumphantly on high. Madge and I actually applaud with gusto and I even whoop happily, beaming down at Peeta, a boy I hardly know, with strange pride.

Back and forth all afternoon it goes on like this. Peeta actually wins his weight class…. then he starts winning against bigger, older kids in other weight classes. People are by now chanting his name. Finally, the scoreboard flashes the last names MELLARK and MELLARK as we come down to two finalists: Peeta against his brother, apparently a year ahead of him.

Unless he's already sloshed, I imagine Haymitch Abernathy is sitting up with interest, high in the bleachers. I would be, anyway, if I was a Victor scouting for potential tribute talent.

The ref gives the signal for the two young men to do battle. "Ready….. set… FIGHT!"

The match is long and drawn out, with neither Peeta nor his brother giving an inch. Until, finally, Rye pins Peeta in a chokehold and keeps him there. Peeta struggles bravely, but he can't get loose.

I tremble. "I can't watch…." And I bury my face into Madge's shoulder. The crowd chants bloodthirstily.

"8!… 9!…. 10!"

"Game, set, match!" The ref hollers, and he lifts Rye's fists on high. "Winner!: Rye Mellark! Runner-up: Peeta Mellark! New record!"

Second place! Peeta got second place in all the weight classes! More than that, he broke a school record – the youngest person to get runner-up in school history!

Madge and I are squealing and jumping up and down. We stop abruptly, staring at each other, and then start squealing again and hugging.

"Katty?" She draws back, studying me with bemusement. "What's gotten into you?"

All I can lamely say is, "Nothing. Just…. it's the heat."

END OF FLASHBACK

I'm brought up out of the memory by a snowshoe hare walking by right in front of me, like I'm not even there! The little beast's temerity makes me bring up my bow fast at the moment it does notice me and freezes. I drop it with one shot, then stuff it into my already-full game bag. I check the sun. There's still hours yet before Mandatory Viewing in the Square tonight – hours before Gale is set to be finally be released – but Mother will probably be wondering where I am, and I need to get this game meat into our icebox.

I wriggle under the fence (back to being turned off), my pert little bottom squirming as I sneakily crawl back into the district. At least I'm wearing pants today. No one's around, but in thinking back to yesterday, it's probably just as well that we had to find our way over the electrified fence and not under. I imagine trying to crawl under the fence in my blue Reaping dress. Not only would it get dirty, I wouldn't want Gale to look up my dress.

I can't say I would mind nearly as much if Peeta got the same view.

I surreptitiously stop by the Hawthorne homestead and pass off their share of the game to Rory on the front porch. The middle Hawthorne son's face looks puffy and swollen, particularly around the eyes. As if he has been crying. My lips quirk up in a melancholy smile. My sister and Gale's brother have been playmates since they were babies; their mothers were pregnant with them together. I imagine Rory's taken Prim's Reaping as hard as he likely took news of his big brother's arrest.

"Any word about your brother?" I ask him.

"Mama's been scrounging for coin when she can," he warbles. "Do you think they'll let him out once we have enough? The bail price… it'll take some time yet…."

My smile grows more chipper. "Don't worry, kid. I have it on good authority that the Peacekeepers will let him off tonight. Cray seemed determined to give us only the minimum sentence, and that was for 48 hours."

Rory immediately brightens. "Much obliged, Katniss!" Next instant, his face falls. "I really am sorry about Pr-Primrose…"

I ruffle his hair. "The best thing you can be do is to be strong, kid. There's a good lad."

I head on home and load my half of the game into our icebox. Feeling soft fur brush at my ankles, I scowl at the sound of purring. I send Buttercup my best glare. The damn Devil Cat has been looking for Primrose, his beloved mistress, for the better part of two days now, his meowing becoming more plaintive until the sound is practically yowls. He knows something is wrong, just as surely as I do, and in a rare moment of sympathy, I deign to scratch him behind the ears.

"I miss her too…" Then, as an afterthought: "But if you don't keep it down, I'll still cook you." I know I won't though. It would be incredibly awkward if I did broil the little beast, only for Primrose to return home by some miracle and find her precious pet gone. Maybe… maybe after the Games, when – if. If! – Prim ends up dead, I'll put the cat in a pot. The mangy thing would not be useful as a reminder of what I stand to lose, and probably will.

Slamming the icebox door, I race upstairs and throw myself onto my bed, sobbing.

I must cry myself to sleep, for when I awaken, the shadows have lengthened across my bed, telling me it must be late afternoon. I hear puttering downstairs, telling me that Mother is at least up and about. I decide to change out of my trousers and Daddy's hunting jacket, in favor of draping my blue dress over my skin-and-bones frame. Then, I plod downstairs.

I make a quick stew from the rabbit I felled just this morning, and Mother and I eat in meager silence, all the while both stealing dreaded glances at the clock. We'll have to depart for the Square soon. The Capitol is very clear about which aspects of the pageant can be Mandatorily Viewed at home, and which cannot. The chariot parade, considered the Hunger Games' Opening Ceremony, is not to be missed or even passively watched on our old television sets at home. In past years, Prim and Mother and I have always found places to stand at the edge of the Square, usually under a nice awning of some Merchant building to escape the dry, oppressive heat. I've always wondered how the Peacekeepers reconcile crowd control during more public Viewing. District 12 is far and away the smallest district, but the Square gets full quickly. We nearly fill the space up on Reaping Day, and that's just the district teenagers!

I jump when I hear a knock at the door. Flashing back to two nights prior, I suddenly have a real fear that I've actually been caught again, and the Peacekeepers are back to arrest me. Standing, I smooth down my skirts and cross in a dignified manner into the foyer, pulling the front door to. I blink rapidly when I realize it is only Peeta on our front stoop. He's in a pressed shirt and slacks and I feel my face grow unbearably hot.

"Good evening…. Peeta," I manage. "How may we help you?"

Peeta grins jovially. "Evening, Katty. I, uh…." he takes of his cap. "I was wondering if I might have the pleasure of escorting you and your mother down to the Square this evening?"

The smirk of amusement steals across my face unbidden. "District ladies don't need an escort, Mr. Mellark." There's a teasing quality to my voice, as if I'm actually…. flirting with this gentleman caller. At any rate, the sight of this handsome Merchant boy on my front porch makes for a very strange sight indeed, almost as if he and I are…. courting…

"I have to disagree, miss," Peeta's ice-blue eyes sparkle with mirth, though it belies a hard, concerned set to his jaw. "After all, you are the sister of a tribute." At my stare, he prods. "Do you remember how the families of last year's tributes watched the Games?"

I do, in fact – I only knew our male tribute, the Seam blacksmith's son, as a passing acquaintance from trades. When he was Reaped, his widowed father was made to sit in a place of honor, on scaffolding high above everyone else in the Square. The memory makes something else come to mind and I blanche. The blacksmith had a Peacekeeper escort to Mandatory Viewing, at least every night it was public. Oh no…

Peeta reads the concern etched all over my face, and sends me a smile that somehow tricks my soul into thinking everything will be all right. "It's OK. The Peacekeepers stopped by the Bakery about fifteen minutes ago to take us all to the Square. An officer reminded us of the policy, some fellow named Darius, and stated they would be off to fetch you and your mother next. I asked if I could escort you in their place."

I blink in astonishment, heart oddly melting. "You did?"

"Yes, but only if I bring you straight back there. I even haggled my way into doing it for the duration of the Games! I just hope the Peacekeepers are grateful I'm doing some of their job for them!" He laughs a little. I can only stare at him, my lips slightly parted in amazement. How can this boy so easily give of himself, and give so generously to a poor coal miner's daughter like me? It doesn't make sense. I fold my hands in front of my blue skirts, gulping.

"Well," I say softly, a slightly breathless quality to my voice. "That was… mighty thoughtful of you… Peeta." I almost said Mr. Mellark again, but stopped myself: in jest or not, it doesn't sound as right on my lips as his given name. Peeta…. I smile shyly, at the same time my eyes prick with grateful tears. "Thank you."

We gaze into each other's eyes for a moment, the spell only broken when Mother emerges onto the front porch. "Peeta, what a lovely surprise!"

Peeta greets her with an over-the-top bow, causing me to giggle. How strange. I've never before had cause to giggle at anyone or anything that didn't have to do with Prim. "Ma'am. I'm here to accompany you to the Square, in lieu of a Peacekeeper escort. I've come to a tentative agreement with one of their officers – let's make sure you both get safely there!" And he gallantly offers me his arm. I know I'm blushing when I accept it with a soft smile and we stride down the dusty path. Mother trails behind, and I can feel her eyes studying me with curiosity and amusement. She can wonder all she likes; I wouldn't tell her, even if there were anything going on between Peeta and me. Which there isn't!

The Square is packed when we arrive, and I shrink into Peeta when I see the black structure of the scaffolding looming over the cobblestones. This is where the immediate families of the tributes are directed to sit. I can see the Mellarks are already in their places, plus a girl with red hair. Delly. I wonder how she managed to get a spot, though perhaps the Peacekeepers figure the male tribute's girl warrants unencumbered viewing of her boyfriend's death in primetime.

At the same moment we're crossing the Square, the double oak doors of the Justice Building, now dwarfed by the Jumbotron screen suspended across the government edifice, open and a familiar, broad-shouldered figure is marched out by a pair of Peacekeepers.

I breathe in relief, and break away from Peeta without thinking. "Gale!"

I dash into my hunting partner's arms, and he catches me, smiling tiredly. "Hey, Catnip." I feel Peeta right at my heels, coming to a stop just before us.

I lean back out of the hug, peering up into my hunting partner's face. "Did they treat you well?"

"It was all just sitting around. I think Cray was glad to see me go." Peering over my shoulder, I feel Gale's muscles stiffen against me. "Mellark. Something you want?"

I turn about in Gale's arms, smiling genuinely, if also weakly. "Oh, Peeta was kind enough to escort me to the Square. And he was the one who posted bail for me! He's… he's my… friend." I think it is only noticeable to me how I wobble on the last word.

Gale, however, is focusing on something else entirely. "He posted bail? For you? But I thought your mother…" Gale has gone ramrod straight in my embrace, eyeing the handsome Baker's son mistrustfully.

Peeta has the good sense to look sheepish, though he shouldn't be. It makes me… angry, actually, that Gale can intimidate people in this way. I've refused to be cowed by him when he works up quite a temper, but not everyone is as strong-willed as I am. "For the record, I tried to buy your freedom with the remainder, Gale, but Cray refused. I only just had enough from my allowance for one of you."

"We don't need charity, Townie!" Gale spits.

I shrug out of his embrace, gawping in mortification. "Gale, knock it off!" I chide vehemently. "Peeta took a risk posting bail for me; we should be thankful for his help!" Gale is staring at me a little in shock, like he hasn't seen me before. I feel Peeta reach for my hand, and despite it being in full view of my oldest friend, I don't slap it away.

"If you'll excuse us, Mr. Hawthorne, Katniss and I have prime seating as the relatives of the tributes. Mandatory Viewing is about to start." There's a cordial, yet firm, edge to Peeta's voice. I should probably rethink my assessment that the baker's son would be fearful of Gale. That he is not fills me with admiration, and I can't help but gaze at Peeta in wonder as he gentlemanly helps me mount the stair to the scaffolding platform. He even pulls out my chair for me; I flush as I take my seat. I feel actually comfortable having Peeta seated at my right, even if eternally bubbly Delly Cartwright is also one more seat down. Though, in all fairness, whatever happiness Delly had seems to have been snuffed out by the Games, at least for now. She was quiet throughout much of dinner last night, and she seems equally subdued here, outside of making small talk with Peeta and greeting me kindly.

The chariot parade begins with a splash. The Careers from 1 and 2 are decked out ostentatiously, depicted as ancient gods and goddesses, as is typical. When the chariots for 3 begin their trot to reveal its tributes ridiculously clothed as hard drive disks, I tune out the procession in favor of joining Peeta and Delly in their hushed conversation.

"How is your mother holding up, Katniss?" Delly asks me politely.

I turn my head to take in Mother at my left. She is staring at the screen passively, a handkerchief balanced on her lap and at the ready. I sigh sadly. "She's handling it as well as she is able," I murmur quietly.

Peeta nods. "I just hope Prim will keep her chin up."

I catch Delly studying me, as if working out whether to say something else. When she finally does, it takes me aback.

"Do you all miss him terribly?"

"Miss who?"

"Your father."

My eyes bulge. "Oh. Um…." I can't remember the last time anyone ever asked me about Daddy, a lack of inquiry that I've always taken as a blessing. "Um… Well, we just… we don't talk about it."

"Oh. I'm very sorry, I didn't mean to pry…" Delly tries to apologize.

"No, no, it's… it's OK," I smile weakly. "I don't… talk about it with Prim or Mother or… anybody." I can feel Peeta watching me intently.

"Because it was very sad," he guesses.

"Not at first," I'm quick to point out, clipped.

Delly smiles. "Your parents were in love…."

"Yeah," I echo her smile nostalgically, though it quickly dims. "That was the problem…"

"How could that be a problem?..." Delly seems in disbelief.

"Because love? The lovey-dovey version that you talk about? It's fantasy." I can feel how Peeta is uncharacteristically quiet next to me. "And one day, you have to wake up and… you're in the real world."

It's at this moment that I wish Delly would leave it alone, but of course, she doesn't. "Well, what made you wake up?" She sounds strangely child-like in her naïveté.

"He… he died. And…. she left." I don't elaborate on who 'she' is, and fortunately, I don't have to. For the first time, I actually feel guilty with myself for saying such things about Mother when she's sitting right there.

Peeta nods thoughtfully, clearly devastated for me. "I'm so sorry for you all."

"It's OK. I'm a big girl; I can handle it. I do worry – have worried – for Prim, though. She's so innocent, and she very easily makes a lot of friends. I've always just wanted her to be strong, you know? Face this world for what it really is. I want her to be happy, but I also don't want to set her up for heartbreak, believing in fairytales and 'dreams-come-true.'"

"But dreams do come true!" Delly gushes with the most verve I've seen from her in three days. "And maybe something wonderful will happen!"

I snort bitterly. "Yeah, well I forgot who I was talking to…"

I start when I feel Peeta take my hand. "Wonderful things can happy, Katty girl. You just have to keep your eyes open for them."

Gazing into his eyes, I find myself wanting to believe him, in spite of everything. You're a wonderful thing, I find myself thinking, as Peeta turns away to take in the screen again at the moment shocked shouts go up. His bright blue eyes widen, and a grin dawns on his face like the sunrise. "Something wonderful like that."

I turn to follow his gaze, and my jaw drops. The District 12 chariot has arrived onto the Avenue of Tributes at last, showcasing my sister and Peeta's brother…

… who are literally on fire.

They somehow don't burn up, though, and the Capitol citizenry explodes in a happy frenzy at the sight of some stylistic wizardry. It's more than I could have hoped for – our tributes have been dressed as lumps of coal going back decades. I wonder if we somehow got a new stylist worth his weight in coin.

It helps that both Rye and Prim have the pretty, Merchant look about them, for the camera seems to fall in love with them both. Rye is boogeying up in the chariot like the class clown that he is, winking at screeching girls in the throng. Prim, though it takes her more time to adjust to the enthusiastic reception, seems to finally relax before my eyes. Smiling, shyly waving. Before long, she is even blowing kisses to the crowd. It astonishes me to see Capitolites violently pushing each other out of the way, hands stretching, reaching into the sky as if my sister's kisses really can be caught.

"Prim-rose! PRIM-ROSE! Rye! RYE!" The crowd is chanting their names.

As the District 12 chariot pulls into the City Circle, Peeta steals an arm around me, laughing excitedly. "They might actually have a chance," he crows.

Smiling to myself, bubbling with hope for the first time since the Reaping, I indulge myself by leaning a little into Peeta's firm chest. As I listen to the steady beat of his heart, I also have to appreciate how he said 'they' might have a chance instead of just 'one of them.'

Even if, only one of our siblings can make it home alive. I don't dwell on the inevitability, though, preferring to forget the world, just for a night, burrowing in Peeta's arms.