A/N: I'm dedicating this chapter to all the Gale lovers out there who cringe at any mention of the notorious slag heap. No more, I say.
Also, fluff warning. Just saying.
Six months before reaping
My parents' New Year's Eve party is always the social event of the season. That's not really saying much, living in District 12, but it gives my mother something to keep her occupied during the winter. All the planning keeps her in good spirits, and her headaches don't plague her quite as often as usual. Most of the merchants from town are invited, along with all the other officials and underlings my father works with, and even a few of the more well-mannered Peacekeepers. My job is to dress nicely, politely greet the guests, then, once everyone's had enough wine to forget that I exist, sneak off to my room. It never takes long.
This year, though, my mother has decided that I'm old enough to be a more active hostess, and insisted that my father extend the party invitation to some of the merchants' older children as well. My father thought this was just a grand idea, and doesn't that sound like just a grand idea, Madge?
For a socially savvy politician and his wife, my parents seem to lack any knowledge in the art of subtlety. Yes, Dad, grand idea. Perhaps I'll even make a friend or two. Or ten! I'll be popular and carefree, all thanks to you. This party will be a dream come true for me.
I know they mean well. But the truth is, I don't seem to fit in with the town kids. When I was younger, they acted like it was a big privilege to be seen with the mayor's daughter, competing for my attention. Maybe that would have been okay, but none of it felt genuine. I just wanted friends I could be myself with, but they saw me as a high rung on the social ladder. I didn't much care for that.
The Seam kids mostly think I'm a snob. It used to hurt my feelings when they'd whisper things about me at school, calling me a little rich girl, and a princess. It's hard to blame them, though. Their houses are very modest, their clothes more worn out than mine, and their families don't always have enough to eat. If I were them, I probably wouldn't like me either.
These days, I actually prefer being alone. I have lots of time to read, play piano, and entertain hobbies that my parents approve of. Last month it was baking, then pottery, now it's knitting. Unfortunately, all the solitary activities don't quite cut it with my parents. They worry that I'm antisocial, and, Madge dear, a beautiful, smart, and wonderful girl like you should have lots of friends around.
Yes, Dad, you're probably right.
I do count Katniss Everdeen as my friend, but we really only see each other at school. I don't even really remember how we started sitting together at lunch, and pairing up for projects and sports, but once we did, it pretty much stuck. She's from the Seam, and she's not exactly social either, so our friendship largely consists of sitting together quietly, each of us keeping to herself. Still, I like her. If my parents are dead-set on the idea that I need to make friends and socialize, I wouldn't mind starting with Katniss.
Unfortunately for me, she did not receive an invitation to the party.
She did, however, show up this morning with two wild geese that my father quietly requested from her for the party, and a large haul of winter berries. The berries that grow this time of year are too sour for my father's liking, but Nessie, our housekeeper, can use them to make a relish to go with the cooked goose.
"Have fun at the party," Katniss says, pocketing the money I've handed her.
"Yeah," I huff, rolling my eyes. She turns to leave, but suddenly an idea comes to me. "Wait, Katniss," I start.
She raises her eyebrows.
"We need an extra person to work tonight," I improvise. "My parents are so busy getting ready for the party, they asked me to try and find someone." Not exactly the truth, but my mother was looking rather frazzled earlier this morning, complaining to herself about not having enough help.
"Doing what, exactly?" asks Katniss.
"Oh, nothing difficult," I answer, a little too eagerly. "Just clearing plates, filling empty glasses, things like that. It wouldn't be too demanding," I assure her. "We already have Nessie and her sister doing the cooking, serving, and cleaning. I think my parents just want someone extra to take care of little details. It would probably just be a lot of standing around," I admit, "but they'll pay well."
Katniss mulls over my offer for a moment, then nods. "Okay, what time?"
I beam at her, so relieved that I'll have a friend here tonight, even if she won't technically be a guest. No matter. There really won't be that much work for her to do, so maybe we'll have a chance to talk, like real friends. And if I'm talking to Katniss, maybe that will appease my parents enough so that I can avoid awkward forced conversations with the town kids.
"Six-thirty. The party starts at seven," I tell her, trying to hide my bubbling excitement.
"Great," she says, giving me what amounts to a smile for Katniss, and leaves.
I close the back door and run through the house with renewed energy to tell my father that we've added one more person to the payroll for the night.
I've just put on my brand new party dress when I hear an insistent knock on my door. Actually, I've had the dress for a few months now- it was a gift for my birthday- but this is the first occasion I've had to wear it. Strapless, light blue with white trim, and embellished with intricately embroidered flourishes along the bottom, it's one of the finest dresses I own, straight from the Capitol. It's surprisingly tasteful and grown up, considering it came from Haymitch Abernathy, who, judging by most of the gifts he sends me, seems to believe I'm perpetually eight years old. Last year, he sent me a pair of bright pink polka dotted rubber rain boots and a matching umbrella. They're still sitting in the back of my closet, untouched since I opened them.
I haven't yet had time to put up my hair, but I open the door, already knowing that it's only Nessie on the other side. If either of my parents were to come knocking, I might think it's to let me know that the house is on fire. Nessie's hands are on her hips and she looks as if she's about to scold me, but after looking me up and down, she seems to change her mind. "Oh, honey, you look stunning," she says with a smile.
I smooth the front of my dress instinctively. I've never been very comfortable with compliments, even when they come from someone so close to me. "Thank you."
"Your friend is here," she tells me, a disapproving tone emerging in her voice, "waiting in the kitchen. I said you'd be down in a moment with instructions, since apparently you're in charge of things in my kitchen these days."
"I'm sorry, Nessie!" I exclaim, giving her my best innocent look. "I thought Dad would have told you. And anyway, I thought you'd appreciate the extra help," I say earnestly, as if I'd only been thinking of her, instead of coming up with an excuse to get my friend into the party.
She still has one eyebrow raised, and a knowing smirk on her face. She doesn't say anything else though, except, "Mm-hmm," as I dash past her through the hallway, down the stairs, and across the house into the kitchen to greet Katniss.
But when I swing the door open, I'm confused to see that Katniss has apparently transformed into an absurdly tall, broad-shouldered young man in work pants and boots, and a threadbare, gray button-down shirt that, I can only guess, was black at one time. He turns when the kitchen door swings shut and I recognize who Katniss's replacement is.
"Gale Hawthorne," I say, struggling to mask my surprise.
Gale stares at me for several moments with his mouth slightly open, probably trying to remember my first name. I've only spoken to him on the rarest of occasions, and even then, he hasn't exactly spoken back. He hands me strawberries, I hand him money and tell him thank you, and he grunts in response.
"Okay," I say awkwardly, but trying to keep my tone pleasant. "What are you doing here? Where's Katniss?" I ask, looking around the kitchen as if she might actually be here after all and I just haven't spotted her yet.
He shakes his head slightly, and resumes his usual surly expression. "She said you needed someone to work at the party."
"I sort of meant for her to come," I sigh.
He shrugs, which is apparently the only explanation I'm going to get.
I straighten up, and take another look at him. I suppose I got myself into this, for not telling Katniss my real reason for asking her to work. "Well, come on then," I tell him, and start out of the kitchen. He makes no move to follow me, so I turn, holding the door, and see that he's just standing there staring at me with that glazed look again. How does Katniss have the patience for this? Quiet, I can understand, but now I can't help wondering if he's not a little slow, as well.
After a moment of me looking expectantly at him, he seems to snap out of it, and follows me as I lead him through the house to the guest bedroom, which is one door past mine on the second floor. I open the closet and locate several white dress shirts, not quite as crisp as the ones in my father's closet, but they're larger. I can tell with one look that Gale would never fit into one of my father's shirts. My father isn't a small man, but he would look very slight standing next to Gale. I choose a shirt, remove it from the hanger, and hand it to him.
His eyebrows draw together as he studies the shirt in his hands.
"Well, there's nothing to be done about the pants, but this shirt should be fine," I explain. Any pants I could find in our house would probably look like shorts on his ridiculously long legs.
"Is this your father's?" Gale asks, finally using his voice again. It's low and stern, a little gruff. "I can't wear this."
I shake my head. "No, these ones don't really belong to anyone. We mostly keep them around for my uncle Haymitch when he stays here, if he's indisposed for the night. It won't be a perfect fit," I admit, "but it'll certainly work better than one of my father's."
He looks at me suspiciously, almost as if he thinks I'm playing a joke on him, but complies, and starts unbuttoning the shirt he has on. I turn on my heels to face away from him, but the standing mirror next to the dresser cancels out my intention to give him privacy. I look to the floor, but glance back up at his reflection when I notice his lack of an undershirt. I'm sure the white shirt will be fine, thick enough so no one will be able to tell. My next thought, taking in his lean muscular form, has nothing at all to do with proper dress, and it suddenly makes sense why I've overheard the girls at school admiring him. I force my eyes back to the floor though, remembering Katniss. Even though she's always denied rumors about the two of them being a couple, it still feels wrong to think of him as attractive.
"So, you'll be mostly sticking to the main room, taking plates to the kitchen to be washed, giving drink refills if you see empty glasses," I say, trying to keep my gaze locked on my feet, clad in the simple white heels I borrowed from my mother's collection. "Most of the guests will drink red, but a few of the ladies prefer white. It's pretty easy to tell. Just look for the snobbiest ladies whose noses are highest in the air, and give them white." I chuckle awkwardly at my own joke, feeling slightly asinine. The thought occurs to me he might not even know that I'm talking about wine.
I turn back around to face him when his shirt is almost buttoned. He looks at me, clearly surprised by my jab at my parents' guests. Now it's his turn to surprise me, because he actually smiles. It's the first one I've ever seen on his face, and I feel a bit flustered at the sight.
"Anyway," I continue, "just keep your eyes open, keep the place tidy, and do anything else Nessie tells you to. She's the housekeeper who let you in," I tell him.
"I know her. She's a friend of my mother's," Gale says, tucking the shirt in.
Of course. I always forget that Nessie goes home to the Seam at night. I'd guess that she and Gale's mother could be around the same age, so it makes sense that they would know each other. "Right, perfect," I say, then glance at the clock on the nightstand. "Well, I need to finish getting ready, fix my hair and all that, so if you want to head back downstairs-"
Gale cuts me off. "What's wrong with it?" he asks.
"Huh?" Apparently, he startled proper words from my vocabulary.
He looks down, those dark eyebrows of his furrowed, and starts attempting to fold the gray shirt on the guest bed. "The hair," he grunts. "It looks fine. You should just leave it like that."
My hand instinctively reaches up and pulls on a lock of my hair. "Oh, um, okay, I-"
"Or don't," he interrupts me again. "I mean, do whatever you were going to," he backpedals, concentrating hard on his pitiful folding technique.
I'm not sure how to respond, so I don't. I do, however, feel the need to end his struggling with the shirt, so I take it from him and put it onto an empty hanger and place it in the closet. It looks even more tattered hanging there in a row with all the bright white ones that are all practically brand new.
I look back and catch Gale rubbing the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. "I'll go get to work," he says, and disappears from the room.
I exhale loudly, only just becoming aware that I'd been holding my breath, then head to my bedroom, but only after standing and inexplicably staring at the doorway for several moments.
In my room, I spot the beige cotton dress I had picked out for Katniss sitting on my bed. Letting out a sigh, I hang it back in my closet. It's one of my older dresses, and very simple, but I thought it would look pretty on her. It's not that I wouldn't have lent her a nicer dress, but I doubt she would have felt comfortable in anything too fancy. Plus, though she's a few inches taller, I think she might wear a slightly smaller size than I do. I'm not large by any standard, it's just that Seam girls are almost always so thin.
Clothes don't get me terribly excited, not the way I hear some of the town girls gushing about new dresses and hair ribbons, but for some reason, I liked the idea of lending my dress to Katniss. Maybe some other time.
I take a seat in front of my vanity, and assess my hair. I almost always wear it up in a plain ponytail for school, keeping it out of my face, but tonight I had planned something slightly more intricate. It never occurred to me to just wear it loose to a party, like how it is now, my blonde waves falling past my shoulders. It doesn't seem formal enough somehow. I take the lid off a small glass container of hair pins, and start to sweep the hair back from my face, but something stops me. The gray eyes, the dark furrowed brows, the awkward stammering, telling me I should leave my hair as it is. It wasn't exactly a compliment, but for some reason I can't begin to fathom, I decide to take Gale Hawthorne's advice.
"Darling, you know the Mellark boys, don't you?" my mother is asking me, but I'm distracted.
"Hmm? Oh, yes, hello," I say to the baker's sons, standing in a row in front of me by order of height, like a set of blonde nesting dolls. The youngest is in my year at school, and we share several classes. He's fairly popular, and nice enough, though we've rarely spoken. The middle brother has a bit of a reputation with girls, and looks as if he'd rather be anywhere but at the mayor's house on New Year's Eve. The eldest, whom I've only seen at the bakery, smiles warmly at me. He looks the most like their father, who is engaging enthusiastically in pointless small talk with my mother. Thankfully, I don't see Mrs. Mellark around, but I'm sure she'll turn up soon enough and try to convince one of her sons to court me. She's definitely part of the group of town mothers who want their sons to marry for status, instead of something silly, like love. This group always finds me to be particularly charming somehow, even before they've met me. I steal a glance at the large clock above the fireplace. Quarter past seven. Great. The night has only just started.
After exchanging pleasantries with the Mellarks, I turn my attention back to the misshapen vase of flowers sitting on an end table near the piano. As soon as I can excuse myself without being rude, I dash over to grab the vase and whisk it away into the kitchen.
"Is there a glass vase I can put these flowers in?" I ask Nessie as soon as I swing the door open.
She peers over her shoulder at me, then turns her attention back to the berry relish she's transferring from a large pot on the stove to a serving dish. "In the top cabinet on the right, honey," she tells me, without inquiring further as to why I need it.
I set the eyesore down on the counter and reach to open the top cabinet. Even in my heels, I can barely get it open, let alone reach the glassware on the very top shelf. I start to huff about this ridiculous kitchen being built for giants, when suddenly, one comes to my aid.
"This one?" Gale asks, towering over me, holding the vase I had been coveting, a satisfied smirk on his face.
"Thank you," I say, still frowning. "No need to gloat."
I fill the glass vase with water and move the flowers over, slightly rearranging them and removing a few stray petals, then I dump out the water from the old vase and stash it in the cabinet under the sink, far behind the cleaning supplies.
When I stand back up, I'm startled to find that Gale's still smirking at me. "Something wrong with that one?"
I roll my eyes. "My parents just don't seem to know when to admit that there are certain art forms for which I have no talent. Pottery being one of them."
Gale's smirk changes into a genuine smile, which takes me by surprise for the second time tonight. "You made that ugly thing?"
My eyes go wide at his candor, and my mouth drops open. I'm about to defend my horrific creation, but instead, all I can do is laugh. "Yeah," I say. "Pretty bad, huh?"
"Hideous," Gale agrees, chuckling quietly.
"I don't know why they insist on decorating the house with my failed projects," I say, picking up the new vase and heading back toward the door. Gale snatches a freshly opened bottle of wine from the counter and follows me back through the dining room to the party.
"Parents think it's their duty to embarrass us every chance they get," he says. "Then they pretend that's not what they were going for at all."
"Yeah," I agree, "and they probably laugh about it when we're not around."
"It's an injustice. Although, you might deserve to be the subject of ridicule for that awful vase," he says, shooting me a wry smile.
I squint at him, trying to figure out what this light-hearted stranger did with the stoic Gale Hawthorne who first arrived at my house this evening. I'm not sure how to react to the change, but it suits him well.
He breaks away to fill the guests' glasses with wine, and I place the flowers back on the end table in their much more aesthetically pleasing display. When I glance back toward him, the broad smile has faded slightly, but I think I can still see a trace of humor in his expression. He looks up from pouring Mrs. Mellark's drink and meets my gaze. My first reaction is to dart my eyes in a different direction, but for some reason, I don't. Instead, I smile, and he smiles back. And even though Katniss isn't here, I get the distinct feeling that maybe I do have a friend here tonight after all.
"No, no," Mrs. Mellark chastises Gale loudly, startling the smile from his face. "Didn't you hear me? I wanted white wine, boy!"
Gale swiftly meets my eye again, letting his mouth drop open for a moment. I don't bother stifling my laughter.
After a few hours of being introduced to people I already know, and listening to just how much I have in common with the florist's daughter or the grocer's son, I finally manage to slip away into my father's den for a much needed break. I take a seat on the small brown leather sofa next to the bookcase, and curl my legs up under me. The heels are starting to hurt my feet, so I take them off and toss them to the floor.
Just when I begin to relax for a moment, the door opens and I realize I must have been spotted ducking in here, and followed, by the middle Mellark brother.
"Not much for parties?" he asks, smirking.
"Not really," I admit.
The Mellark boy, whose first name I simply can't keep in my head, shoves his hands in his pants pockets and meanders around the room, looking with interest at all my father's belongings. "Usually the kids from school throw a pretty good New Year's party out behind the school, but most of our parents made us come here this year," he tells me. I can't tell if he's bragging about his many social engagements or complaining that he's stuck here. "Are we allowed to be in here?" he asks, grinning mischievously at me. He unsheathes one of his large hands and runs his fingers along the surface of my father's prized antique globe.
"Don't touch that," I snap, and he draws his hand back. "And I am. It's my house. You, however, could get in a lot of trouble," I warn him casually. It's not true, no one would really mind much, but I want to be left alone, if only for a few minutes.
He doesn't seem deterred though. "Well, if I get caught, I'll just say you invited me," he says, claiming the seat next to me on the sofa, which seems to have gotten smaller in an instant. I don't appreciate the way he's wagging those blonde eyebrows at me. It's clear now, in this close proximity, that he's the most handsome of the brothers, more chiseled than the other two. He has a sturdy frame, like them, but his jaw is slightly more angular, his cheekbones more defined, while his brothers look rather soft. He's handsome, I'll give him that, but his arrogance earns him a scowl from me.
He ignores it. "I like your hair like this, Madge," he says, boldly reaching over and twirling a lock in his fingers.
My scowl turns to a stone glare and I swat his hand away. He gives me a playfully shocked look, and seems to be encouraged by the rejection. He leans further toward me, but before he can make another move, the door flies open and I exhale in relief to see my savior stumble in, in the form of Haymitch Abernathy.
Mellark stiffens and draws back from me, and we both stare at Haymitch, who doesn't seem to notice that anyone else is occupying the room. He looks around for a moment, then spots my father's globe and lunges for it.
"No!" I cry out, but before I can scramble to my feet, Haymitch roughly pulls back on the globe, spitting it in half horizontally. I gasp, horrified to think that he's broken it, but taking a closer look, I'm even more shocked. Tucked away neatly inside the bottom half of the globe is a large bottle of brown liquor, and four matching drinking glasses. My jaw drops in surprise. First at my father who, on the rare occasion he has to actually drink wine, never finishes a second glass; and then at myself, for not discovering this secret in all my years of snooping through my parents' belongings out of sheer boredom.
While I'm busy coming to this realization, Haymitch has already downed two glasses of the stuff, and is going for a third.
"Oh, Haymitch, no," I plead, putting my hand on his forearm. He drinks down the third glass anyway, before finally noticing me.
"Madge," he slurs happily, "I knew you'd be pretty as a picture in that dress." He's smiling at me through half-closed eyes, and gradually leaning more and more of his weight onto me. I look behind me for help, but it seems as though my wish from earlier has been granted too late, because Mellark has disappeared from the den.
"Seriously?" I grumble quietly, as Haymitch's weight threatens to bring us both to the floor. I manage to use all the strength I have to heave him toward the sofa, and he lands there. Or, his top half does. His bottom half is on the floor, and it doesn't take long for his top half to slide down from the sofa as well, and he allows himself to spread out on the carpet comfortably.
I run a hand through my hair, surveying the damage. Quickly, I pry the glass from Haymitch's fingers and place it back into the compartment, along with the bottle of liquor that's now almost empty, and replace the top of the globe. Now that my father's secret is hidden away again, I peek out the door into the hallway to search for help. No one there. I sigh, and slowly make my way toward the main room, trying not to be seen by anyone who'll try and suck me into yet another tedious conversation. After a desperate moment, I spot someone who could possibly help me standing against the wall by the piano, holding a bottle of wine, scanning the crowd.
"Gale," I whisper, trying not to draw anyone else's attention. It works too well, because even he doesn't hear me. "Gale!" I whisper louder, and he perks up. He notices me, and the frantic look that's most likely plastered on my face, and he walks over to me with a curious look.
"I need help," I tell him, and he follows me into the den without question. "Can you help me get him upstairs?" I ask apologetically, gesturing at the crumpled drunken man on the floor.
Gale gives me a knowing look and nods, because just about everyone in District 12 is quite aware of our only living Hunger Games victor's fondness for the drink. He manages to prop Haymitch up, stooping down underneath his right arm, while I place myself under the left. Gale's carrying most of the weight, but I'm keeping him balanced, and apparently distracted.
"Maysilee," he mumbles, frowning perplexedly down at me.
"No, Uncle, it's just Madge," I remind him patiently. I'm used to the slip.
"Madge," he seems to agree. "Pretty as a picture," he says, then turns to Gale, finally noticing him. "Didn't my Madge grow up pretty?" he asks.
Gale doesn't skip a beat. "She sure did, Mr. Abernathy," he says, glancing at me over the top of Haymitch's head as we reach the staircase. Even though I know he's just humoring the town drunk, I can't help but blush.
Some of the guests notice us starting up the stairs, and I hear a few hushed comments. Gale seems to pick up on it, because he says rather loudly, and in a more formal tone than I'd expect from him, "You're just fine, aren't you Mr. Abernathy? Just had a long day of celebrating. We'll get you settled upstairs and let everyone enjoy the party."
I spot my father in the crowd as we near the top of the stairs, looking relieved. I manage to smile gratefully at Gale. Luckily, we're out of earshot by the time Haymitch starts grunting dangerously about the Capitol scum and their parties, but Gale reassures him. "We're not in the Capitol. We're right here in Twelve, at the mayor's house."
This confuses Haymitch slightly, until he looks down at me with recognition. "That's right," he mumbles. "My little Madge is here." He grins widely. "I came to see you, you know. I don't see you enough," he tells me.
Finally, we reach the guest room and lead him inside. When we manage to sit him down on the bed, he falls back instantly and closes his eyes. "Don't see you enough," he repeats quietly.
"Well, you can stay for breakfast and see me in the morning," I promise him as Gale helps me reposition him on the bed. I move around to the foot of the bed and remove his shoes.
He lifts his head frantically. "You're the only good one," he barks gruffly at me, looking slightly angry, then shifts his glare to Gale accusingly.
"Now, Uncle, don't say that," I chide. "There are plenty of good ones." I place his shoes on the floor of the closet, leaving it open so he'll find them easily in the morning.
He lets his head fall back to the pillow and continues mumbling, but he's basically incoherent now, so I motion to Gale that we should discreetly leave the room.
Once we're in the hallway, he shuts the door behind us, and I lean against the wall and close my eyes for a few seconds to collect myself. When I open them again, Gale's staring at me.
"What?" I ask, sounding more tired than I actually feel.
"He sure thinks the world of you," he notes, leaning against the wall next to me.
I shrug, running my finger absentmindedly over a flaw in the wallpaper behind me. "Only on these occasions when he has an excuse to drink twice as much as usual. Some days, he doesn't even say hello to me," I explain. "Besides, I think just remind him of someone he used to know."
I expect Gale to inquire about who, but he doesn't. "I didn't know he was your uncle," he mentions.
"Oh, he isn't really," I tell him, feeling a little silly. "He just likes when I call him that. He doesn't have any family." I pause for a moment, then remember my manners. "Thank you for helping me with him."
Gale shakes his head. "Just doing what I'm told," he says and pushes off from the wall. "I should get back to work."
I stiffen, standing up straight as well. "Wait," I blurt before he can turn away. "It's getting closer to midnight," I stammer. "No one's eating anymore, and they're all getting drinks for themselves now. I doubt they're missing you much down there."
He frowns. "So, are you telling me to go home?" he asks.
My eyes widen in panic at his misinterpretation. "No," I say, a bit too enthusiastically. "I just mean, I was trying to take a break from the party when Haymitch found me, and I thought maybe you could use a break too, and..." I trail off, blushing furiously and focusing very hard on the polished wood floor.
He lets me hang for a moment before responding. "So, you want to get some fresh air then?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.
I look up at him, and he's not smiling exactly, but his expression, for once, seems to be inviting, and oddly warm. It's not a bad look on him, but it throws me off. I try to answer verbally, but for some reason, that doesn't work out, so I just nod.
"Okay," he says.
"Okay," I manage to say back. He stays planted in one spot, so I lead the way, starting back toward the stairs.
"Um, Madge?" He still hasn't moved.
"Yeah?" I ask, worried he's suddenly changed his mind.
He tilts his head toward my feet, and I look down. I'm still barefoot from when I kicked off my shoes in the den. "Right," I say, feeling sheepish. "Shoes might be a good idea."
I walk back the other way toward my bedroom, deciding to forgo the white heels for something more comfortable. Plus, I don't want to risk running into Middle Mellark while I'm retrieving them, on the chance that he went back to the den looking to twirl more of my hair and whatever else he might have in mind.
Gale follows me down the hall, but lingers in the doorway of my room. "Come in if you want," I offer. "I'm just going to grab some shoes and a coat."
He takes exactly two steps into my room, and looks around as if he's stepped onto the surface of another planet. I bite my lip, realizing that I've never actually had anyone outside my family in my bedroom before, and the thought of Gale Hawthorne, the moody boy from the Seam, being the first is just too strange. But, as unlikely as it may seem, here he is, and I allow myself a smile at the possibility of counting him as a friend.
I open the closet door to locate my heavy dress coat, and I hear a loud exhale from behind me. I turn to see Gale shaking his head.
"What?" I ask him.
"Nothing," he says quickly.
I narrow my eyes and purse my lips waiting for him to give me a better answer.
"My little sister would be in heaven if she saw all those clothes," he says, smirking.
I get the feeling that's not the reason for his initial reaction, but I let it go. "How old is she?" I ask.
"Four," he answers, then lets out a chuckle. "Going on sixteen."
I smile, trying to imagine a tiny girl version of Gale. I can't do it. Not with those eyebrows. "Sounds like we'd get along. My parents always say I'm sixteen going on sixty."
He laughs hard, surprising me, and probably himself. "Yeah, I can see why," he says, nodding toward the knitting needles and half-finished blue scarf sitting on my nightstand.
"Hey!" I start, but he has a point, and I have to laugh with him.
"Although," he says, giving me that half smile again, "I can't picture a sixty-year-old wearing that dress as well as you do."
I automatically look to the floor, unsure if he's still joking or if he just gave me a compliment. Either way, I blush, and focus my attention back on my closet, removing my coat from the hanger, and sliding my feet into some comfortable flats.
"So, your sister likes clothes?" I ask, remembering our conversation as we exit my room. He closes the door behind us.
"Yeah, she loves to dress up," he answers. "My mother does the washing for a lot of people in town, and Posy always begs to try on the dresses, even if they'd be enormous on her." He pauses, then flashes a guilty look. "My mother never lets her, of course."
I shrug, unsure why he felt the need to clarify that to me. "I was never very big on clothes," I tell him, as we make our way slowly down the stairs. "I know I have a lot, but they were mostly gifts, and it's not like I have any reason to wear nice dresses most of the time."
He looks at me oddly, but doesn't say anything. When we reach the bottom of the stairs, I realize we're back in party territory, so I grab his hand and hurriedly lead him out of the main room into the front hallway. Once we're away from the party guests, I slow down again.
"Don't want to get caught?" he asks. His hand feels warm entangled with mine, and I hesitate slightly before letting go.
"Definitely not," I say. "I wouldn't be in trouble or anything, my parents would just drag me into some more pointless conversations with town kids they'd like me to be friends with."
"That doesn't sound so bad," Gale notes passively.
"It is," I insist.
"I guess it must be, if you'd prefer taking a walk in the middle the night in the winter with a Seam kid who's supposed to be cleaning up after the party," he teases.
I wrap myself in my coat, then open the hall closet. "Even if there were a blizzard out there, it would be a vast improvement." I rifle through all the coats hanging inside, and pull one out that's about the same shade of gray as the shirt he was wearing when he arrived. "Is this one yours?" I ask, holding it out to him.
"Yeah," he says reluctantly, "how'd you guess? Because it's the oldest, rattiest thing in there?"
"No," I say, frowning. "It was the one with the longest arms." He's more sensitive about the state of his possessions than I would have thought. I figured boys didn't care much either way about how they looked, town or Seam.
"Oh," he replies. "That makes sense too," he admits. "Bunch of midgets at this party," he mutters under his breath as he buttons the coat, then smiles slyly down at me.
"Easy, behemoth," I say, wishing I was still wearing the heels that added a few extra inches to my stature. "At least I don't get nosebleeds down here."
Gale's jaw drops and he lets out a deep laugh. "Nice one, Undersee," he says, sounding surprised.
I flash him a proud, toothy grin, before taking one last glance back toward the party, then happily skip out the front door that he's holding open for me. Goosebumps form on my legs in the winter air, but it isn't quite as cold as I expected it to be so late at night. In a few weeks, it'll most likely be snowing, and bare legs outside will be unbearable.
"How close to midnight did you say it was?" Gale asks, his breath forming a tiny cloud in front of his face.
"I'd say about a half hour," I tell him. "Why?"
"Come on," he says, stepping down off the front porch. "I have an idea."
His face is hard to read, but I think I can detect a slight note of mischief in his eyes. Maybe it should put me ill at ease, but it doesn't. He's not leering at me like the Mellark boy was, and even though I barely know him, he seems trustworthy somehow.
So, I follow him. I walk briskly behind him, trying to keep up with his impossibly long strides. For someone so large, he's quick and light on his feet. After a moment though, he seems to notice me struggling and slows his pace to match mine.
We're quiet as we make our way into the empty town square, and Gale whispers that we should stick to the shadows to avoid trouble.
"No Peacekeepers out tonight," I inform him. "A few of them are at my father's party, but the rest take the night off."
"How do you know that?" he asks me, sounding doubtful.
I shrug. "I know their schedules pretty well," I say casually. "I have a really good view of the square from my bedroom. They take most holiday nights off unless there's some kind of gathering."
"Huh," is his only reply. He seems to believe me though, because he leads me through the center of town without bothering trying to keep hidden.
"You're not going to tell me where we're going?" I ask after several minutes, peering sideways at Gale.
He chuckles dryly. "If I told you, you wouldn't want to go."
"That sounds ominous," I say, frowning.
"We could always go back," he suggests, and I have to look over to see if he's teasing. I think he is, but it's so hard to tell.
"No," I reply, "I suppose I'll risk it."
I see him smile out of the corner of my eye, and I can't help but ask the question that's been in my mind for most of the night. "Gale?" I ask, and he turns. "What changed?"
He raises his eyebrows in question.
"I mean, from earlier," I clarify. "You seem like you're in a better mood is all."
He looks slightly uncomfortable and I begin to regret asking, but eventually he answers. "I just felt a little out of place at your house," he finally admits. "And seeing you..." he pauses, and seems to struggle to find the right words, "outside of school, kind of threw me off."
"You've seen me outside of school plenty of times," I remind him.
He kicks a small rock with his boot, sending it flying way out in front of us. I hadn't even noticed until now that we've left the paved road and ended up on the dirt path that leads away from town. I think for a moment that he might be leading me toward the meadow just past the Seam, but instead, we veer in the opposite direction. "Not looking like that," he says, shaking his head.
Once again, he's rendered me speechless by one of his surprising comments that I have no clue how to interpret. Luckily, he doesn't let the awkward silence drag out for too long.
"But anyway, Nessie called me on it," he continues. "She told me to suck it up and stop being strange," he says, rolling his eyes. Yeah, that sounds like Nessie. "Then she gave me a birthday present," he adds.
I stop walking suddenly and turn to face him. "It's your birthday?" I ask, my eyes wide. "Today?"
He continues along the path, passing me up, and I have to rush to catch up with him again. "It will be in a few minutes," he says. "Come on, we're almost there."
Before I can wish him a happy birthday, I look around to see what he means, and what our destination could possibly be, way out here. "Gale," I say with hesitation, "you're not taking me to the mines?" The thought fills me with dread. The annual field trips our school takes there are more than enough for me.
Gale laughs. "No, don't worry. We wouldn't have as good a view from there."
I let out a sigh of relief, and continue to follow him past the building that houses the foreman's office and the elevator that leads deep down into the mines. He leads me to the base of an enormous and unnaturally black hill, then he stops and looks at me. "Up we go," he says without a trace of humor, climbing a few steps up onto the steep mound.
I stare at him open-mouthed, unable to hide my disdain. "You're joking," I say incredulously. "The slag heap? This was your plan?"
A wide grin spreads across his face at my reaction. "It'll be worth it, I swear," he insists, and offers his hand to me. "Do you trust me?"
I look at his hand, then up to his face, at that incredible smile that's lighting him up from inside like a giddy child and giving me a strange fluttering sensation in my stomach. Yes, Gale Hawthorne, I trust you. Keep smiling at me like that and I might just follow you anywhere.
I slip my hand into his, and he wraps my frozen fingers securely in his warm grip, and I pull myself up. The surface of the slag heap sinks slightly under my feet, and I let out an involuntary squeak, fearing it might swallow me whole.
Gale keeps making his way up, still holding tightly to my hand, effectively dragging me up along with him. "It's easier if you climb faster," he says. "You won't sink down so much."
I try to follow his advice, not exactly having much choice in the matter, considering he's pulling me along. I start to lose my footing a few times, but Gale catches me before I have a chance to fall.
When we reach the top, I'm relieved to find a somewhat flat surface, and I smile with a sense of accomplishment. I glance down at my feet, and discover that they've been blackened by coal dust up past my ankles. Good thing I didn't wear my mother's white heels after all.
I realize that Gale's still holding onto my hand, and I look up at him, but he's looking past me into the distance. I turn to follow his gaze, then gasp. "Oh," is all I can say.
We can see the whole town from here. My house, the shining beacon in the center, just beside the town square, is lit much brighter than the rest, but we can see other houses lit up as well, despite the late hour. Even in the Seam, the electricity's on and the lights in the windows shine, creating a twinkling display below us.
Haymitch told me once that the only thing he could ever bear about the Capitol is the view at night from above. If you have earplugs to drown out the sound of the flamboyant pigs partying to their spoiled hearts' content, you might actually enjoy the sight. I'm sure our humble town isn't much to see compared to the bright lights of the Capitol, but from here, District 12 actually looks beautiful.
"I told you it'd be worth it," Gale says, giving my hand a light squeeze before letting go to remove his coat. He lays it down by our feet and sits down next to it, on the black surface, then gestures for me to sit down beside him on the coat.
"Aren't you cold?" I ask, hugging my coat closer around my body.
"Nah," he says, "this isn't cold."
I shake my head, thinking he must be crazy, but I accept the offer and sit down. "It is pretty from up here," I admit, when I hear a quiet rumbling noise and look to Gale. "Hungry?" I ask him.
He shrugs. "I skipped out on dinner to work at the party."
"You could have eaten at my house," I say, frowning. "There was a whole table full of food."
Gale looks at me like I've lost my mind. "For guests."
"No one would have minded," I insist. "I guess I should have told you," I say, feeling guilty that he's gone hungry the whole night.
He just smirks though, and reaches into his pocket. "Well, now I don't have to feel so bad about swiping these," he says, carefully pulling out a napkin from his pocket and unwrapping it to reveal several cookies, obviously taken from the dessert table at the party.
I gasp exaggeratedly and shake my head in mock disapproval. "I can't believe you."
His eyes widen for a moment, but he quickly realizes I'm teasing him and nudges me with his shoulder. He pops a cookie into his mouth and offers one to me, but I shake my head, and he puts them back into his pocket. "I'll bring the rest home for the kids," he says.
"Which house is yours?" I ask, looking toward the Seam.
"Hmm," he says, then points. "That one, I think, with the two windows. I'm not sure, they all look the same from here. Except yours," he adds.
"Yeah, I guess it's hard to miss. It's just a house though, not so intimidating," I say, feeling brave and copying him, nudging him with my shoulder. My teasing gesture backfires slightly though, because it feels like I just bumped into a large rock. "I'm glad Nessie made you get over it."
He laughs. "She's like my mother, no time for nonsense." There's a lightness to him when he speaks about his family, like in my room when he mentioned his little sister. It's hard to imagine the cranky Gale I thought I'd been acquainted with having such a tender side.
"Do you think they're awake right now, your family?" I ask, looking back toward the house he pointed to. "Celebrating the New Year?"
He shrugs. "Vick and Posy probably tried to stay up, then passed out hours ago. My mother and Rory might still be awake, playing games. Good thing tomorrow's Sunday, because the kids will probably all want to sleep in."
"Oh," I say, remembering, "and it's your birthday tomorrow. What will you do?"
He shakes his head. "Nothing much," he says. "It's just a day. We don't exactly do parties or cakes or anything. Besides, I'm turning eighteen. Birthday parties are mostly for kids, I think."
I look down to the bottom of my dress sticking out underneath my coat, thinking about the extravagant gifts I usually receive from my parents and their friends. Sitting next to Gale, on his birthday, I suddenly wish I was wearing anything but this ridiculous dress.
"Well, you said Nessie gave you a gift," I mention, trying to mask the shame I'm feeling. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to pick up on it.
Chuckling softly, he nods. "Yeah, she did."
"And?" I laugh. "What was it?"
He shakes his head. "It was just some good advice, that's all."
I purse my lips. Nessie does give good advice, and I want to ask what it was, but he's so choosy with his words, I decide not to press. "Oh."
He turns to face me, dropping his smile and letting those intense gray eyes explore my face, and suddenly the fluttering feeling in my stomach is back. It's not unpleasant, but it's strange and very new, and seems to make normal breathing an impossible task.
"She told me that the prettiest girl at the ball never gets asked to dance," he says, the half-smile returning to his face.
I swallow audibly, or at least, it sounds booming to me, as does my pulse. "That's a little cryptic for Nessie," I say when I finally find my voice. "What did she mean?"
"Boy," Gale says with a sigh, "she said you don't have a clue, and she really wasn't kidding. I think it was Nessie's way of telling me not to make assumptions about you. The prettiest girl at the ball never gets asked to dance because everyone assumes she's already taken. Or that they're just not good enough for her." He pauses, and I hope the darkness is enough to hide the blush that I can feel burning my cheeks. "Your house wasn't what made me nervous, Madge."
My heart is pounding so hard, he must be deaf not to hear it. "I've never heard you talk so much," I blurt, knowing it's not even close to being the right thing to say, but unable to think of anything else.
Gale leans in close, so I can feel the warmth radiating from him. My breathing pattern changes from ragged and shallow to non-existent as he tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear, and lets his hand linger on my cheek. He studies me briefly for a reaction. "It's never been my strong suit," he whispers, and leans in closer.
I've never been kissed before. At least, not since Sarek Crisp chased me across the schoolyard when we were six and planted one on my cheek after his friends dared him. And I don't think that time counts. It wasn't exactly a picture of romance. Not compared to now, at midnight on New Year's Eve, with a beautiful view and no one else around. No one but Gale Hawthorne and me.
He leans in until our faces are almost touching, and I close my eyes, feeling dizzy, the moment of anticipation threatening to last a lifetime before he brushes my lips with his. Slowly, he slides his hand from my cheek around to the back of my neck, letting his long fingers stretch up into my hair. I can only assume he knows what he's doing, and since I don't, I try hard to relax and let him take the lead. He's gentle, yet insistent in the way he moves his mouth with mine, and when he parts my lips to kiss me more deeply, tasting me, it doesn't feel strange or foreign like I imagined it might. Instead, it makes me want more of him somehow. He seems to feel the same way, because he expertly snakes a hand through the front of my coat to grip my waist and pull me closer to him. My stomach does a flip at the contact, thrilled and terrified that there's nothing between his hand and my body except a thin layer of expensive blue fabric, and I can feel tiny explosions going off in my chest.
The next second, we're startled apart by the sound of an actual explosion in the distance. We whip our heads to look toward the sound. The sky above my house is lit up with gold and silver, sparkling brighter than all the stars on the clearest night ever could, and I can't suppress an awkward giggle at the fact that my first kiss ended in fireworks.
The first one that surprised us is followed by two more, and from this distance they're even more spectacular than they would be from the party, where every year before now, the sound would ring in my ears for hours, and the smell of the smoke lingers in the air for too long. From here, they look magical.
"Happy New Year," Gale says quietly, pulling me back close to him again.
I look up to meet his gaze, marveling at how he could have been so handsome all this time while I never really noticed. "Happy birthday," I whisper, and I feel a smile on his lips as he presses them back onto mine.