A/N: Whasssupp errybody? I noticed I received so many more views last chapter than I did my first – about 220 on the first day of my posting Ch 1 to about 320 on the first of my posting Ch 2. I find that so awesome! It's on the riiiisseee. Thank you all for enjoying this, my first fanfc, so far and sticking with its "comically serious" approach. Awesome-sauce Marvel and dopey-dumb Glimmer make their appearances! AHHHH! Please leave a review if you don't mind, I really like to hear many different thoughts on this story.
Shoot-oooots:::
FA2015: Gah! So close to first review. Beaten by the great fadi08654745345670545..76345764578.868568 (Sorry finger spasm). Thank you for trying lol. That is a good assumption, though I won't be revealing who it is for quite awhile I think. Ikr without a Keira how does one live? Ohhhh check you out, all analytical and what-not on these relationships. SHH stop being so smart. Yeah you definitely should! It's on tonight (for me, I'm replying to your reviews a few days before I post the actual chapter) and I can NNOTT wait. Highlight of my Thursdays lol.
Anonanon: WHAT! WHO ARE YOU! YOU stole my guest name! What is going on here! Thank you for the smiley, nonetheless.
LA3000: This is true about Yoko. When it comes to the three of them, she's always felt a bit insecure, she felt like the third wheel, so to speak. And that was the last straw. Also, it wouldn't be a drama if there were no over-exaggerations :p LOL Maybe I should make a Keira-brother! That's a great idea... Hm... Juices are flowin'... Yes he is greatly annoyed. He's never been suicidal before in his life, he's loved his life, but with his somewhat anti-social behaviors his parents aren't so sure. Keira is in fact an OC – I love people who write about Foxface, but I wanted someone a little more fucked up in the head, lol. Foxface is elusive, and Keira is anything but. OH, and here it is, just for you (and cray-cray: MARVEL MAKES HIS APPEARANCE! AAHHHHH!
GuestRR: Tyty! I totes agree. I've had one of those before... sucks ass!
Cray-crayperson: Well ty that's very... something of you. Sorry about no Marvel! He's in this chapter, promise. So I hope you like it :) yeah Cato's a slight bitch. He's an overly popular jock, what's it gonna look like to the world if he's dating Peeta? Especially after the incident. I didn't spell your name wrong! I left off the person part on purpose 'cause cray-cray alone just makes me lol. Ah neat! My Keira typically is shit at that, but like with small shit. Not big shit, as we've learned last chapter.
Raven Knightly: What are the odds! :p
LoF15: That is not true at all man... I appreciate it though :) I wish I were as original as some of the other authors here.
Pikachu1132: Ty I figured it was time for a change.
LowFatSardine: Wooo sweet icon, loved FF XIII and XIII-2. Anyway – SSHH! SH! Things aren't gonna be eeexaccttllyy the same as the show, throughout my whole story thing, but will heavily be based on it of course. But yeah, you guessed it... NOW SH. You watch it, I take it?
Fadi, fadi, fadi: What am I gonna do with you. I really don't know. Your reviews are often-times the highlight of my day.
Yeah I have to say that was my favorite scene, also. It was so hard to write, though. I knew what I wanted to say but it was just a complete bitch to get the right words out, for a good flow. The final product was still a bit clunky but I'm glad you appreciated it :)
Damn your constructive criticism. I hate and love you for it. Well, it's not necessarily past-tense. I've got sentences like "My dad, who I just now notice, sees me struggling. He looks like complete shit:" etc etc. If I wanted past tense I would've said "My dad, who I noticed saw me struggling whatever looked like etc" right? And his voice IS harsh, because it begins that way, and stays that way for a few moments until he mentally states "my voice is now steady" or w/e. Does that make sense? Probably not haha. My English prof did tell me about that once and how I changed tenses a few times, guess I still need to work on that.
Oh those two sentences. They were just mishaps I overlooked. I corrected them and replaced the chapter, like you taught me to :). At least I think I fixed those parts...
Yeah just checked. Still a mini typo in there that I'll fix later lol. Sorry about the confusion.
LOL I loved writing the fist-palm scene. I've had that happen to me IRL with an "ex" and it pretty much went exactly that way. It was terrible but we laughed it off. It only furthered Peeta and Cato's distance, though.
Lol... Well, what is up with Cato? We don't know how the conversation would have gone if Keira and Yoko didn't show up. Maybe he would have retracted his past statement and told the truth? Or not? Who knows. But now we'll never get the chance to find out!
Right you are! The letter destroys Peeta at first, but then he finds it just a bit empowering, actually crossing off some of the things the writer suggested. Of course it still scars Peeta, deep. But it only makes him grow. I'm very impressed you noticed this!
Ah the dreams. I love them, they're so fun to write, even if they're not too long. Tying in the real sort of HG with my AU, I found it a blast. Having Peeta die (or did he? :O) last chapter in his dream I don't know how I'm gonna keep those going. But I might, if I feel like they should resurface. Not an every-chapter thing, though. Ty! Peeta's blogs will probably be replacing these dreams. (Actually I've decided to put one more in for this chapter! The last!)
Haha colorful! You are too good for this world. You like my review of your review? And review of your chapter? I think I'm getting better ehhh? :D Not as good as you or YA77 yet, of course. Thanks for the reviews as always, bud. They truly put a smile on my face.
DON'T OWN ANYTHING, BESIDES ANYTHING THAT IS BAD. Enjoy!
Chapter Three:"Are you being bullied? Pickle not as big as the other boys, hm?"
I strain my eyes open. Everything I see is nothing but a mass of dots, beautiful blues and grays, circling about each other for what seems to be no purpose at all. Slowly but surely my sight finds a focus, which happens to be the face of the man I love. He's looking down at me, face hovering above mine, giving me a slight glimpse of his pearly-whites when he notices my waking.
"Cato... How am I-"
"Sh..." He places an index finger to my chapped, crimson-stained lips. I can feel the dry blood remaining from my earlier episode with Thresh. "You need to save your strength."
I ignore his advice. "Where is he? Where's Thresh? Did he hurt you?" I wonder out loud. It takes more effort to say than I care to say. I must be in a pretty bad predicament. I force my head up, and look around to see we're both perched atop the Cornucopia – the place where it all began, and where it will all end.
"Don't worry, baby," Cato soothes me. "Big bad man is gone now, for good." A wave of relief washes over me, like a much-needed spout of falling rain, rejuvenating my body, rejuvenating the barren land of what was once a utopia. I set my head back down onto Cato's lap, and close my eyes, smiling.
"I'm just so glad you made it," I whisper. I open my eyes to stare at him, my angel, my hands looking for the soft skin that covers his bony cheeks. As they reach their destination, he flinches and backs away.
"What's wrong? Can't I feel what is heaven on this earth... before actually entering it above?" I chuckle. Cato doesn't find it amusing. Instead he's on his toes in a second, sending the back of my head crashing down to meet the cold, hard metal below. I almost enter unconsciousness from the added pain, but I manage to hold onto my senses.
"You know, Loverboy," Cato begins, drawing out my recently-given nickname. I felt special when Cato teased me with it, but now... There's a familiar tone present in his voice... A tone I haven't heard since our first encounter in the training center, when he was nothing more than a dick in tight clothing to me. "I thought I could hold up this charade until your demise, but this sappy shit? I can't take it anymore. I wanted to be a nice guy. It was obvious you had a crush on me from the get-go. Oh, how I pitied you." It's belittling... and cold... Have I actually passed out? Am I in hell?
"With that being said, I think you deserve to hear the truth before I kill you," he says as he paces back and forth before me, hands held behind his back. Before you kill me...? I feel the tears begin to gather in my eyes. I figured if I'd cry about anything during these Hunger Games, it'd be about Keira, Yoko or Cato.
And it was about Cato. But what I didn't figure was I'd be crying over the fact he himself, with his bare hands, was about to end my life. Not because I asked him to, not because he needed to. But because... he wanted to.
"You see, my interview hadn't gone as well as I thought it had. Brutus – you know Brutus, right? My mentor? The guy with the shaved head who always goes on about-" he stops in his tracks, looks to me, forgetting who exactly it is he's talking to. "Never mind," he says as he begins to pace once again.
"Because of a crummy interview, I had to find another way to get sponsors – a surefire way so that I could win." He comes back to my shaking, almost lifeless form before kneeling down, cupping my face in his hands. "You know what that way was, Loverboy?"
No... I can't accept it. I won't. This was just a game he was playing, right? He said he loved me, after that wonderful night in the cave... We bore our souls to each other. Have I really been that naïve?
I nod my head in understanding before he drops it back onto the metal and continues. "Wow, Peeta. You're almost smarter than I thought. 'Too little too late,' as they say, though," he chuckles. "All those kisses we shared, all those false 'I love you's' I threw your way – man, were you a sucker for those. And that night, in the cave, when we had sex?" He let the thought linger. "Eh. You were a decent fuck." He leaned in close to meet my tear-stricken face. "But other than the meat the sponsors sent, it meant nothing to me," he said with a sadistic smile. I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces, falling in miniscule, unimportant shards to the earth. Cato took a broom and carelessly brushed them away, never to be seen again.
With that, his strong, murderous hands found and wrapped themselves around my neck, like a snake about to constrict its prey into a broken shell of a being. "Goodbye, Peeta."
"Cato, I love y-"
Beep, beep, beep, bee – SMACK. My fist unconsciously went to high-five that noisy box of doom, the doom that inevitably would be my second first day of high school. I stretched all my limbs that were capable of stretching before rubbing my eyes open. The clock read 6:46. One hour and 14 minutes before school starts. I heard a knock on my door.
"Peeta! Wake up, it's time for your first day of school!" my mom exclaimed through the wooden barrier, sounding way more excited than I was.
"I'm up, I'm up," I mumbled.
I scrunched my face and groaned before tossing my blankets aside and throwing my feet over the left side of my bed, heels making contact with the furry carpet below. I made my way to the bathroom, instantly flinching as I switched on the lights. After waiting for the sudden sensory overload to subside, I took a look in the mirror. The person I saw before me hardly resembled the boy who was in this spot exactly a year ago. The boy from a year's past had no broken or sprained appendages. The boy from a year ago had a much brighter shine in his eyes. He had a quiet but immensely strong confidence about him. The boy I saw standing before me held no parallels with the one from 365 days ago – other than the name Peeta Mellark.
I grunted at the thought, shooing it away, before attempting to brush my teeth. It was surprisingly difficult with one hand, smearing toothpaste everywhere. At least we both have those shinier-than-thou chompers. Once the paste from my mouth had found its way down the drain, I re-entered my bedroom and sat on the chair before my computer desk.
I opened my MacBook Pro and began my search for a decent blogging site. My parents had me see a therapist earlier that week, and though I despised the idea, one sentence he had said clung to my brain like a monkey to a tree branch."It's important to let your feelings find their way to life, Peeta – punch a pillow, dance a dance, write a story – doing at least one of these things will undoubtedly improve your mental well-being." I chose to write. I loved my pillows and though I could move my hips like Shakira I didn't want anyone catching sight of that.
Let's hope you're right, doc.
I typed "good blogging site" into my Google search-bar. I clicked on a Yahoo! Answers link, finding someone who answered with "blogger dot com, I use it and it's hassle-free." If I didn't know any better I'd say she was getting paid for her kind words.
Click on URL bar. Type blogger dot com, enter. Well, that's weird. They already know my e-mail address. Type in password, enter. Name of blog... Type in "Invisible Boy Daily," enter. Click on ethereal template. Title of first entry...?
An Entry a Day Keeps the Doctor Away
Today marks the beginning of my sophomore year of high school – the first day of school. Well, not for everyone. Just me, of course. Technically it's the tenth – a Wednesday, halfway through the second week, students already becoming complacent with their deteriorating wooden prisons, also known as desks, which hold the elegant words "Kevin's a fag" and "Julie's a slut," discreetly, in the corner.
For the past two days of my life I've been trapped in my room by my parents, who argued over whether or not I should return to school. I, Peeta, had a rather unfortunate mishap the other day, of the suicide variety. I know what you're thinking: poor little lonesome child, sick of his meaningless existence. Well, it's not true. It was an accident. You better believe if I'd attempt it, I'd succeed.
My father finally gave in and decided to let me attend public school again. To be honest, I wasn't sure who was right and who was wrong. I could handle being agenda-less for a few more days, though. But I was aching to see my friends – er, friend. Yoko was still furious with me, not replying to any of my apologetic voicemails and texts. I left her one of each what felt like every hour since her blow-up at the hospital the other day. At least I still had Keira.
Enough of that. I would enjoy this day. Maybe my therapist was right – no, I don't need one, if that's what your thinking. Writing does improve my mental well-being: some thoughts needed an outlet, and not always of the fleshy, audible-seeking kind. I've decided I'm going to make this day my bitch, neck brace and all.
Save, publish, sign out, close laptop.
Feeling a little relieved now I glance back at my clock. 7:10. That left 40 minutes to shower, dress myself, eat and leave. I rarely ate breakfast so I decided I'd grab an apple somewhere along the way.
I hopped out of the shower 20 minutes later, towel clinging to my waist. I rummaged through my pigsty of a closet, looking for... I don't know, just something to wear. Keira usually helps me with this stuff. I decided upon a silky gray, long-sleeved button up shirt that would conceal most of the cast that held my right arm, wrist and hand; and a pair of rather form-fitting blue jeans, that had a rustic look to them where my thighs were. It took me awhile to get dressed. It was 7:43 by the time I had gotten my hair to look the way I wanted it to. Bed-head chic. It was kinda ridiculous, really – my hair now didn't differ much from the way it had when I just woke up. I thew my backpack over my left shoulder, after checking I had everything I needed, and stormed downstairs.
"Oh, honey! You are just so handsome right now, you know that?" my mom squealed as I ran into the kitchen, grabbing a green apple from the fruit basket. My favorite kind.
"Wow, I don't think you've ever complimented me on my way of dress before," I said as I took a bite of my apple and began to chew. "I'm completely humbled and honored," I bow.
"Well, that's probably because the show-stealing cast on your arm is distracting me from your messy hair..." she says. She's probably joking but I frown anyway.
I scan the kitchen table, noticing something important to my existence missing. "Where's dad?"
"He left for work, early. Something at the bakery came up." Damn. The one time I went looking for his fatherly advice I wouldn't get it. "Now come on, let's get you to school! I bet everyone in their right mind is gonna be eating you up for breakfast. If you weren't my son I would-"
"Holy shit, I'll see you in the car."
The ride over was nice and pretty void of conversation. We were listening to the radio mostly – if there was one thing in this world my mom and I could agree on it would be what was good music and what wasn't. We'd listed our favorite bands back and forth one day a few months back. She and I agreed upon The Beatles, Lynyrd Skynyrd, U2, The Red Hot Chili Peppers, Def Leppard, Fleetwood Mac, just to name a few. She named The Monkees before I asked, "The who?" to which she replied "Them, too." And I couldn't agree more.
I was looking out my window for something interesting to catch my eye for 10 minutes before I saw Yoko walking on the sidewalk. Thankfully mom didn't notice and kept on driving – otherwise she would have asked if we should give her a ride, to which I'd decline, which would open a whole keg of slimy, crawly worms. My eyes were burning holes into her skull, which she must have felt, as she turned around and stopped walking. I gave her a faint smile and waved with my good hand before she contorted her face and flipped me off. I frowned. Damn, what do I have to do to get on her good side again? My mom must have noticed my movements.
"Who are you waving at, Peeta?"
"No one, mom."
"Oh, I bet it's a really cute boy! Like Cato Morley, perhaps? You know him, right?"
Fuck. Better than you think.
"Not really. Sorta," I lie. Well, it wasn't a total lie – I don't know a whole lot about him, come to think of it, other than his favorite sport and the size of his penis.
"I think he swings both ways. He seems like that open-minded type of guy," she reassures me. No teenaged being would want to be Peeta Mellark at this very point in life.
"I can only imagine," I say, still looking out the car window, trying to drop the subject. Fortunately she catches the venom on my words and shuts up. I let out a sigh, glad that conversation was finally over. We pulled into the school parking lot a minute later.
"Have a good day, honey!" I throw myself out of the car as quickly as possible. "Don't fuck it up!" I hear from behind me. I turn around to meet my mom, stupid smile on her face, giving me two thumbs-up. I roll my eyes, turn back around and enter through the two massive front doors.
No one said doom would feel like this.
Every single person in that hallway had their eyes trained on me – students, teachers, the occasional creepy janitor who you can't help but wonder if they go through your shit. Apparently staring me down was the cool thing to do. I heard whispers behind my back, in front of my face, off to the side. "I heard his parents were getting a divorce." "No way, he just has no friends. Poor guy." "Damn, he looks fine, even with the casts. Wouldn't mind a piece of that."
All right, this was getting to be a bit much. I canceled my advance to the main office, and stood firmly in the middle of the walkway. "Can everybody just shut the hell up?" I yelled, furious. These people had no idea what had happened, what gave them the right to pity me? Or remove my clothing with their eyes? "Get a life!" Scanning my surroundings afterward I found my sudden outburst had an effect on these sheep – most were looking down, to the floor, ashamed. You should be. Besides one person, who merely laughed at the sight of me as she slowly approached with her lapdog, Glimmer, trailing not too far behind.
"Well, if it isn't the boy who cried suicide. If I were as desperate-looking as you, I'd do the same thing," Clove said, snidely, her innocent-looking smile vastly contrasting with her condescending tone and verbiage.
"Don't you have some innocent puppies to eat, Clove?"
"No, not today – today, you're my breakfast."
"I'm so flattered."
"You should be." Her hand reached for my left wrist, which held a death-grip on my backpack, restraining itself from strangling the life out of that little bitch. She began to inspect it."How's your wrist this morning? I hope the cuts weren't too deep."
"That is so depressing," Glimmer decided to chime in. I had forgotten she was there, vacant stare roaming my body, like she didn't know what to think of me. She brushed her hair back.
I yanked my wrist back from Clove's cold, deadly hands. "What do you want, Clove?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing..." she trailed off. That was almost a big a load as bullshit as Cato's excuse for his visit to the hospital. She smirked, temporarily becoming the spawn of Satan before speaking again. "When there's a bastard child in need, I can't help it if my caring, charity-case helping side rears its head." Glimmer let out a shallow laugh. "Haha, bastard child." My face began to contort with rage, and hurt, when I heard a familiar voice from in front of me. I hadn't noticed he was there until now.
"Hey Clove! Can I talk to you for a sec?" Cato barked out, coming to join our circle of happy children and good times. He looked at me and smiled. "Hey, Peeta."
The sight of him brought back the images of my dream. It was strangely relevant to my waking life, thinking back on it. I didn't smile back, but let out an irritated "Hey, Cato."
Clove wasn't too happy at our knowing each other. "Wait, you know this shrimp, Cato?"
"Yeah, we had some good times at camp." He winked at me, which only I caught. I couldn't help but smile then.
"You must have been drugged to have fun with this loser," she grunted, before turning around and storming off. "Loser!" Glimmer let out before joining her. Cato came closer to me.
"Thanks for rescuing me," I whispered.
"Anytime, any place," he grinned. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Clove's gonna have to get some new material before I kneel and kiss her feet," I joked.
Cato chuckled and left to join Clove, glancing back at me before joining their conversation, which I'm sure could only be about how much of a freak I am. Though he had lied about his impulsive confession the other day, Cato held this power over me. These reigns of emotion, and when I would stray too far from him and happiness, he would gently tug me back, back to his side. Why does this have to be so damn confusing...
I continued my march to the main office. I had gotten used to the constant stares and attention when I reached the double doors and threw them open. I came up to the front desk, where... no one was seated. I stood there, for maybe five seconds, before ringing the bell next to me. Five more seconds, still no one. Ring. Ring... Ringringringringringring-
"Can you stop that?" A man with wide, think glasses and gelled back jet-black hair erupted from below his chair, nearly giving me a heart attack. I regained my composure. What the hell was he doing down there?
"Well if you don't want the bell rung maybe you should actually sit in your seat, not next to it," I stated. "Or just get rid of it."
"I'll keep that under consideration. Now what do you want?" he replied as he pushed his glasses back on the bridge of his rather large nose.
"I just need my schedule," I let out. "I missed the first couple of days-"
"Ah, yes," he cut me off. "Mr... Mellark." He inspected me for a good time, with what only could be pity covering his face, looking me over, shaking his head. I rolled my eyes and tapped my foot, impatiently. "Wait here please." He briskly left to enter a smaller room, looking for what would hold my fate for the next year.
I leaned on the counter, waiting for what felt like a few years, before hearing someone yelling to the right of me. I glanced toward him, his back facing me. "What room was that?" he boomed, flailing the papers in his hands around. Why is he walking backwards? He was only a few inches taller than me, the back of his body surprisingly sexy: short, mud-colored curls raping his skull; varsity blue- and gold-striped varsity football jacket, loosely wrapping itself around his broad, yet lean shoulders; pants resembling mine, in color and in fitting. Wonder what his face looks like.
I shake my head, ridding my mind of those thoughts. I was already tripping over Cato's existence, I couldn't add another source of torture to my already full, masochistic schedule. I lay my forehead on the counter-top, waiting for the schedule that would never come. "Yeah, I'll get to it," the boy boomed again, his voice nearing in proximity. I bet he's still walking backwards like a dope. "Is that Mrs. Honch's room or Mr. Bur-"
BUMP. We both fall to the ground, paper flying everywhere. Why does this always happen to me? This time, the body on top of mine easily broke the 100 lb mark, so I wanted to waste no time and end the much heated contact, but the guy now above me was pulling himself up before I could become irritated enough to do so.
"Oh my god, I am so, so so sorry! I wasn't looking where I was going and-" He stopped his rambling when our eyes met. Beautiful, tiny earthen globes of green and brown devoured my form, leaving me breathless. "Whoa," he let out. He smiles, innocently. Whoa? What whoa? What's there to whoa about? Not me, certainly... Right? If anything I should be the one whoa-ing.
"Ouch," I mumble, trying to change the subject of... whatever that was, rubbing my head.
"Here, let me help you up..." I grabbed a hold of his hand and shot up. I looked into his face once more before dusting myself off. He looks familiar...
"I hope this doesn't happen often," I joke. "For your sake as well as others."
"Yeah, no, it doesn't, fortunately," he replied, laughing. "I'd probably get expelled. I was just being stupid. I'm so sorry, are you all right?" He looked me over, catching sight of my many broken and sprained limbs, fearing the worst.
"Don't worry about it," I brushed it off. "What exactly were you doing that requires walking backwards?"
"Well, it's not required, but it is fun. I'm running errands for the office before school starts..." he trails off, picking up the paper on the floor. He gets up and cocks his head to the side. "Wait, you're Peeta, aren't you?"
I laugh. "How could you tell?"
"Oh, sorry, I was just..." he stumbles, trying not to offend me. "I'm Marvel."
Marvel...?
Marvel! Cato's friend from so many years ago! I knew I recognized him from somewhere. Well, fuck. Now I'm only more closely associated with him.
"Peeta," I say simply, not letting him know.
"Peeta..." he says to himself. "That's a ni- that's a cool name." He chuckles, smiling.
"Better than Marvel," I joke.
"Any name is better than Marvel. I would have preferred Hubert, to be honest."
I laugh, genuinely. I rarely ever do so. "I wouldn't go that far."
"Yeah, maybe not..." We lock eyes for a few seconds before realizing what we're doing, and what we should be doing. Thankfully (or not) the man who hates bells returns and claims my attention. Does it really take that long to find a schedule?
"Here is your schedule, sir. You better get going before you're marked late," he advises, as he again pushes back his glasses.
"Thanks." I turn to say goodbye to Marvel before I'm interrupted.
"Excuse me, Mr. Mellark!" I roll my eyes and turn around. What now? "Because of your recent..." he looks me over again. I squint at him. "...Episode, you'll be meeting with the school guidance counselor once a week, for safety reasons Right now, actually."
"What?" I scream. "I really don't need to."
"Ouch, that's harsh," Marvel chimes in. Crap, I forgot he was there. Now he thinks I'm a loony. "Can't you give the guy a break? Look at him," he gestures to me, smiling. "He looks fine to me." I blush, damn it. It's no wonder why they're friends. There's no way I'm getting pulled in by this guy, I won't allow it.
"Rules are rules, Mr. Gunadi. The world would be running amok without them." Weird bald guy points his finger at the both of us, like we don't know this.
"Sorry, Peeta. I tried," he chuckles. "This guy's relentless."
"It's okay. I'll manage... Thanks." I smile.
"You're very welcome," he smiles back. "Catch you around?"
"Sure, why not?" I'd love that.
"Cool! See ya!" He runs off in a hurry, clutching his papers close to his side. I watch as his body disappears from sight. I sigh.
"A-hem." Dude, go the fuck away... "You should be heading to the counselor's office right about now."
"Whatever."
I come onto the guidance counselor's office. "Beatrix Adams," the door reads. It's opened a good amount. I pop my head in to sneak a peek at what I imagine to be this wise, all-knowing and all-powerful being that hears many a thing and advises people on how they should live. Instead, what I see is a young woman with curly blonde hair that stops at her shoulders, probably around the age of my parents, fiddling with two objects on her desk. What are they... I squint my eyes. Dinosaurs?
"Rawr, RAWR!" she screams for the T-Rex. "How you like me now, biatch?"
"Please, sir, do not eat me," she says, imitating a young British boy's voice, full of fright. "I do not taste well."
"I'll be the judge of th-" she begins, only to slowly look up and catch sight of me. I turn my head to the side, looking confused. She coughs and hurriedly throws her friends into her desk. She motions at the chairs. "Please, have a seat."
Seriously?
I impishly let my bag drop to the floor, and take a seat. Uncomfortable.
"Okay, Scott. I know rashes aren't too pleasant, but with just the right cream, you'll be right as rain." She smiles, not knowing I'm definitely not Scott.
"My name's Peeta," I inform her.
"Oh." She pauses. "Well, either way, if you have a rash-
"I don't have a rash."
"That's good, because... rashes... are bad..." she mumbles. "Why are you here again?" she scrunches her face at me.
"Aren't you supposed to tell me that?" A confused look comes across her, as she puts on a pair of glasses (that she obviously doesn't need) and looks down at a piece of paper on her desk.
"Right, right..." She pauses before looking up at me. "Peeta Mellark?" I raise my index finger in the air as an answer. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Yes?" Is this chick serious?
"Of course."
"I can just go if-"
"Peeta," she begins as she takes her off her glasses, all-too-smoothly. Damn it. "I've been told you've been experiencing some bouts with depression lately. Now why is that?"
"I didn't try to kill myself."
"Of course you didn't." I mentally slap her. She plays with her papers a bit more, my "file" I'm guessing, before speaking again. "You know, as your guidance counselor I'd like to say – I'm your friend! We're pals, buddies!" She gestures back and forth, me to her, with her hands. "You can tell me anything."
"All right..." I trail off. Her head inches closer, over her desk, eyes spilling over with curiosity. She's inches from my face now. "I didn't try to kill myself," I whisper.
"Ugh!" She throws her hands in the air. "This is going nowhere."
"You said it, not me. Can I go now?"
"No. I need to make sure you're okay. Are you being bullied?" She leans in closer and whispers. "Pickle not as big as the other boys, hm?"
"That was just unnecessary."
"Let's see..." She browses through a vanilla envelope, which reads "MELLARK, PEETA" on the top. She pulls out an all-too-familiar piece of paper. "Recognize this?"
"How did you get that...?" That damned letter is following me everywhere.
"I've got friends in high places..." She pauses. "Your parents gave it to me." Figures. "They're very concerned about you." She frowns with sincerity.
"There's nothing to worry about. I've told them this, and I'll tell you too, Ms. Adams-"
"B. Call me B," she beamed.
I blink at her. "Ms. Adams, I did not-"
"You know I was teased in high school? 'Bullied,' if you will." Shocker. "Classmates used to call me B.A, 'cause of my initials. For a while I thought it stood for 'badass,' and I was so thrilled I made my own shirts with the huge letters 'B.A. IS HERE' on the front. After two months of me grinning to myself like an idiot, I finally learned why they were calling me that. B.A. didn't stand for 'badass,' Peeta. It stood for 'bumpy ass.'" I shook my head in confusion. "I had a lot of acne... on my rear end?"
"God, that's appealing."
"Anyway, I didn't let that phase me. Sure, I cried myself to sleep for 6 months-"
"And you're saying that didn't phase you?"
She sighed. "The point is: I kept going. I didn't let them get to me after that. And you shouldn't either." Maybe the whack-job had a point. I shouldn't let whoever wrote the carefrontation letter win. I should keep my head up. "Make sense?"
"Yes, Ms. Adams."
"Good. Now get to class, I've got a colon-flushing in 20 minutes." With that I was up and out of that room, mentally preparing myself for our next visit. "Have a good day, Peter!" I heard from behind me.
I rolled my eyes. "It's Peeta!"