Chapter 2

I wake the next morning with a raging hangover. As I rise in a very un-ladylike fashion from my bed, my hair a mess, my mind wheels back over the events of the previous evening.

Darius intercepted me... I got drunk in his house... he gave me toast... and then... we kissed...

I gasp and place a hand to my mouth, the mouth that Darius kissed the night before. Sweet Panem, I kissed him! And after sharing toast?! Oh God...

Without even realizing it, Darius and I accidentally conducted a drunken Toasting, the marriage ritual in District 12, or at least in the Seam.

My first thought is shame at myself. Stupid! What a stupid thing for me to do! Drunk though I was, shouldn't I have had the presence of mind to realize that the events I shared last night with the handsome Peacekeeper carried greater weight? My second thought is one of anger. Darius didn't exactly do anything to stop it. Perhaps he tricked me, the sneaky bastard!

But then I pause as I plunge into deeper thought, even amidst the fading cloud of the alcohol around my brain. Wait a minute... if Darius had indeed had nefarious purposes or intended to trick me into a wild marriage, he would have kissed me first, probably without my consent. Or at least taken advantage of me in my drunken state. I know he has always wanted to kiss me, and yet he did not. I made the first move, likely out of remembering that such was the traditional interaction, though not remembering exactly for what.

And here's the other thing: are we even really married at all? The traditions for one to become wed in District 12 are very specific, done in a certain order, and all steps have to be completed. Plus, not all rituals are necessarily observed across both Seam and Merchant classes.

I decide to find out. And I know exactly how.

I have never necessarily liked school, but Mother has always been insistent - the most she has ever been on anything - that her girls get a good education. Today, even though my mind is in turmoil and there are only a few days in the year left, school is a welcome distraction.

"As I mentioned yesterday, I thought we would end this year on a little fun! Now, I want you all to write a five-page essay on a District 12 tradition of your choice." my teacher tells us.

I waste no time in approaching her desk after class and offering to write about District 12 marriage law, the Toasting in particular. My teacher seems surprised by my choice (I do have a reputation of being a bit of a shrew, evidenced by my ignoring the leering eyes of my male classmates in the halls), but she allows me to pursue the topic. I leave the school building with my hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne, and his girlfriend, Madge Undersee, by my side.

"I'm going to write about Parcel Day!" Gale tells me.

I smile wanly. Technically, Parcel Day is a tradition, but it does not happen every year. Instead, it is contingent on one factor: whether or not District 12 produces a Victor in the Hunger Games. The last time Parcel Day occurred, Gale's and my parents were teenagers, when Haymitch Abernathy won... nearly a quarter-century ago. Before that, it had been double the time when Emmanuelle Southard triumphed. They say that in both cases, District 12 was showered with candies and spiced sugar cakes and many other confectionaries that would cost even Merchants a fortune.

"I'm going to write about the Reaping!" Madge offers up.

I really wish she wouldn't. She deals with the Reaping enough, being the Mayor's daughter and having to watch him officiate every year. We all deal with the Reaping enough, and the pains it brings.

Gale and Madge indulge me for a moment as I quickly duck into the school library and check out a few books. I pick Primrose up in the front of the schoolyard, wave goodbye to my friends, and we proceed home. As soon as we arrive at our house in the Seam, I take a seat at the kitchen table, and sit down to research and write my report. Mother comes in, wiping her hands on a towel.

"Final paper, dear?"

"Mm-hmm," I reply, not looking up.

"What's the topic?"

"I'm writing about Twelve's marriage traditions," I state flatly.

I notice Mother's eyes twinkle in surprise and amusement from my periphery. "Interesting choice." Even my own mother knows how opposed to romance I am! If I weren't so proud as a person, I should be ashamed. But my mother and I share very little in common; she knows and I know I am much more my father.

I work all through the afternoon and long into the night, even after Mother and Primrose have retired to bed. As I go through all the evidence that Darius and I are in fact not technically married.

It is true that no one in Twelve feels truly married until after a Toasting. But that is because a much more legal procedure (at least in the eyes of the Capitol) has to be conducted first. A couple has to be married in a court of law - meaning the Justice Building, sign some documents attesting to such a union, and be assigned a house. Obviously, Darius and I did not do any of this. And this step has to always come first. The only exception, of course, has been my parents, who had to marry in secret by Toasting the bread initially and then, after the uproar had died down, get married in the eyes of the law.

The Toasting also usually requires at least one witness. And so does the legal wedding at the Justice Building. But Darius and I had no witnesses. All we did was toast a bit of bread and I sealed it with a kiss. Well, I take it back. Without following all of the procedures, in kissing Darius I didn't seal much of anything. Except for maybe the sharing of a meal. And people don't usually kiss each other after a meal, now do they?

Satisfied that my research has determined I am not a married woman, I finish writing my report. It is fun to do, actually, especially when I get to explore offshoots of information. Like how almost no Victors of the Hunger Games have married. Emmanuelle Southard and Haymitch Abernathy certainly haven't. I consider going up to Victors' Village to interview and add spice to my report, but decide against it. Haymitch is generally rude and anti-social, and poor Emmanuelle is old.

Now there is only one thing left to determine. Should I tell Darius that he accidentally performed a marriage ritual with me, even if it probably is not binding? In doing my research and cross-referencing it with that drunken night, I have come to belief that Darius was not aware of what he was doing. Or at least, not aware of the toasted bread's significance. Should I make him aware, embarrassing as it would be for me, and then chalk it up as nothing more than a teachable moment?

I go to bed unresolved.

School has only been over for a few days when Mother dresses me up in my blue Reaping dress. For the first time, she preens Prim as well, and then escorts us to the square in front of the Justice Building. Prim and I check in for the Reaping - my baby sister's first - and stand in our respective age groups. In the crowd, I spy Gale and Madge standing together in the 18-year-old's group.

The Mayor begins by reciting the Dark Days speech, and then introduces District 12's two Victors. Regarding Emmanuelle and Haymitch, it is better to be brief, as they represent the worst Victory record of all the districts and both are in various forms and degrees of patheticness.

Effie Trinket, our escort from the Capitol then selects the one young man and woman for the honor of representing District 12 in the 74th Hunger Games. "Ciara Van Pelt!"

A Merchant girl of 18 takes the stage. At least Prim was not chosen. Then -

"Peeta Mellark!"

Peeta Mellark! My heart actually sinks. Not him! For I owe the 16-year-old youngest son of the Baker something of a life debt. He gave me bread when my family and I were starving. I never got to thank him. And now I never will.

Or so I initially think. It takes most of my courage to break away from Mother and Prim on our way home and run for the Justice Building. I hide, flustered, in the bathrooms until the line to see Peeta has dwindled. And then I march right in before I lose my nerve.

He is surprised to see me, to say the least, his blue eyes - bluer than even Darius's - widening at my presence. "Katniss? What are you doing here?"

I am shocked that he even knows my name. Flattered, even, in my own way. And this moves me to force out from my gullet, constricted by both terror and shame:

"Thank you!" I nearly shout the words in my effort to utter them. "For the bread. I... thank you."

The gratefulness does not seem to equal the kindness he showed me, never mind that it's long overdue. And as a young Seam woman, I appreciate more than most how a trade has to be fair. But how else can I repay Peeta? What more can I give him?

I get one crazy idea. And it has barely formed in my head before I have reached Peeta in one stride, pulled his neck down to me and kissed him full on the mouth.

It is only the second time I have kissed someone out of the blue - nay, at all - so despite my clear inexperience, I do my best to sell it, closing my eyes and slipping my tongue in his mouth and moaning as if I enjoy how he is now encircling me, kissing me back. And in a small measure, I do enjoy it.

"Thank you!" I gasp as we break apart. "I needed to give you something at least equal to what you gave me, so..." Flustered, I grab him and kiss him soundly again. God, what is wrong with me? "Thank you."

Peeta looks flabbergasted and elated all at once. He even looks like he wants to kiss me himself, good and proper. Well, he's going to die. I might as well extend him the courtesy. "Go ahead. Kiss me."

He does, pulling me into his arms and kissing me oh so sweetly. I let him hold me and the kiss for a moment before I step out of the embrace. Deeply flushed, I run from the room before the Peacekeepers can even collect me...

...Right into Darius, who wasn't on guard when I was let in.

"Katniss?"

"We accidentally performed a marriage ceremony. That night I visited you," the words are out of me in a ramble before I can stop them. "But it doesn't mean anything."

And before a speechless Darius can reply, I do what I do best.

I run.