A/N: I posted last night with some typos... Should be fixed now.
6 months before reaping
Sleep never came last night. As hard as I tried, I couldn't get the adrenaline to run its course and dissipate, and I just couldn't settle down. Every time I laid my head down on my pillow, I felt Gale's strong hand on the back of my neck. Whenever I closed my eyes, my lips started to tingle, feeling swollen, waiting for Gale to lean in and kiss me once more.
The moment the sunlight begins to trickle in through my window, I throw the covers off of me and spring up from the bed. Even in the comfort of my room, the air is cold, so I peel the top blanket from the bed and wrap it around myself, and venture downstairs to make myself some tea.
The main room has already transformed back to its usual state, no more buffet table, no empty wine glasses sitting out, all the furniture back where it belongs. Nessie must have gotten here early.
My suspicions are confirmed when I hear the tea kettle's loud and urgent whistle coming from the kitchen. I shuffle in through the swinging door, and Nessie looks up at me with raised eyebrows.
"Honey, don't you have a housecoat?" she asks me.
I hug the blanket around myself in defense. "It's not very cozy," I reply, smiling as I move past her to retrieve the perforated metal tea ball from the drawer.
She hands me the small tin of tea leaves, eying me suspiciously. "And what do you have to grin about so early in the morning?" she asks. "I know you couldn't have had much fun at the party, since you disappeared before it was over."
I fill the ball with tea and place it in my favorite cup, trying to arrange my face into a less telling expression, while Nessie pours the hot water for me. "Just in a good mood," I say evasively. "It's the first day of a new year, I'm allowed to smile."
"Can't argue with that," she admits.
I exhale, relieved to think she's done questioning me about last night, when she reaches into her apron pocket and pulls out several coins, holding them out to show me. "What are those for?" I ask, taking a sip of tea. It hasn't steeped thoroughly yet, but I'm impatient to feel the warmth in my belly.
"Gale Hawthorne disappeared last night too, before I had a chance to pay him for working," she says casually, and I choke on my tea. "Easy, honey, don't inhale it," she adds.
I cough for several moments, while Nessie stares at me. When I recover, she places the coins on the counter. I look down at the small pile, then back at her amused expression. I can't think of any response to her statement that wouldn't either be an outright lie, or give away more of the truth than I'm willing to admit, so I plaster on my best clueless smile and blink several times.
Unfortunately, she's familiar with this tactic, and isn't buying my innocence. We continue the stand-off for a few moments, until she makes a bold and rather unexpected move. "Well, since you're the one who hired him," she points out, "I think it only makes sense that you should be the one to pay him. After breakfast, why don't you go across town and deliver those to him?"
I get instantly light-headed at the thought of seeing him again, and I can't decide if it's in a good way or not. Of course, I want to see him, but is it too soon? What will I say to him? Will it be awkward to just show up unannounced? And, oh no, will I have to meet his mother? The notion fills me with dread. I am in no way ready for this. "I don't know where he lives," I tell her meekly.
Nessie seems quite pleased with herself as she removes the tea ball from my cup and dunks it into her own. "Oh, it's easy enough to find," she assures me with a smile. "And as long as you're making the trip, you might also bring over a few other things: his shirt that's hanging in the closet upstairs, along with your dress."
"My dress?" I repeat, confused. "Why my dress?"
"No one gets coal dust out of clothes better than Hazelle Hawthorne," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
My mouth hangs open for a moment."Coal dust?" I squeak.
She purses her lips. "Coal dust. As in that black stuff that comes off of coal. I doubt your mother will appreciate seeing it all over your nicest dress, nor will she like your explanation of how it got there, so I suggest you take it over to be cleaned before she has a chance to see it," she says.
My eyes must be the size of saucers. How is it Nessie manages to be aware of absolutely everything that goes on around here? I nod and sip more of my tea, slowly this time. "So, you won't tell my mother then?" I ask hopefully.
She smiles and drinks from her own cup. "Honey, you're sixteen now. And I know you're a good girl. Whatever you do with-" she pauses and gives me a meaningful look, "your clothes, is your business."
I grin at her in relief, unsure of just exactly how much she knows, but grateful that she's giving me a pass. I sneak in close to her, and she wraps an arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. "Are you this soft on your own kids?" I ask her bravely.
She rolls her eyes. "Don't get cute, honey, or I'll change my mind."
I chuckle, and give her a swift kiss on the cheek, knowing that she's only bluffing. "What's for breakfast?" I ask, happy to change the subject. "Do we have bread?"
"We do," Nessie says, crossing the kitchen to open the breadbox. "Bread, and muffins, and pastries with jam."
"Wow," I say, "where did all that come from?"
"The Mellarks brought quite a haul with them last night," she says, with what sounds like a hint of disapproval in her tone.
I'm not exactly sure how to interpret it, so I just shrug and finish the last of my tea. Thoroughly warmed up, I remove the blanket from around me and ball it up slightly, stowing it under one arm. Nessie glances over, then does a double take, and lets out a surprised laugh before covering her mouth.
"You might want to head back upstairs and clean up before breakfast," she says, and points toward my feet, "unless you want to explain that to your mother."
I look down and gasp when I see my feet and ankles, not quite as black as they were last night, but still incredibly conspicuous. "Right," I say, feeling my cheeks turning red. "I'll take care of that right now."
"Take your time, breakfast won't be for a while," she assures me, still smiling and shaking her head at me as I leave to run back upstairs and draw a bath.
Sunday breakfast is one of the only times I see my father for more than just a passing moment, so I always try my best to enjoy it, no matter how tedious it may be. My mother is chatting to no one in particular about how lovely the party was, catching us up on just about every conversation she had last night, while my father nods attentively, and I try not to stare at the crumbs escaping Haymitch's mouth as he wolfs down his toast.
Staring down at my own plate, I let my mind wander back to last night, the way Gale smells, the way his eyes wrinkle up slightly when he laughs, the sound of his voice, whispering in the darkness right before he leaned in-
"Madge?" my mother is saying, and I look up at her and blink a few times. "Doesn't that sound like fun?"
I raise my eyebrows. "Hmm?"
"Honestly," she scolds, "have you even heard a word I've said?"
I steal a glance at my father, who's no help. "I'm sorry," I say to my mother. "I guess I'm still a little tired. What sounds like fun?"
"The Mellark boy wants to take you out," she announces happily.
I stare at her blankly for a moment. "For what?" I blurt, forgetting my manners.
Haymitch chuckles gruffly through his food, and my mother frowns. "Well apparently he was quite taken with you last night, and his mother spoke to me, and he'd like to see you again. Doesn't that sound-"
"And you agreed to this?" I cut her off, trying not to sound panicked. I look to my father, who I'm sure will be abhorred at my mother's idea of setting me up on a date with a boy I barely know, and without my permission, but my heart sinks when he simply smiles and nods and takes another bite of his pastry.
"Well, yes, darling," my mother says, looking startled by my less than enthusiastic reaction. "I don't see any reason why not. He seems like a very nice young man."
I bite my lip. A reason why not. I can think of one very tall, dark, and handsome reason, but I don't think it's one my parents will accept. I can't believe this. I haven't even had time to figure out what's happening between Gale and me, and now my mother is playing matchmaker with the baker's awful wife. Does one night and a kiss- well, several kisses actually- make Gale my boyfriend? My knowledge on the subject of dating is pitiful at best. All I know for sure is that the budding feelings I have for Gale are ones I've never experienced before, and he can't be so easily replaced by some burly blonde boy who smells of flour and yeast.
But I can't tell my mother any of this. Her agenda at the party was trying to coax me out of my shell and socialize with the respectable town kids, so how can I tell her that the one person that I have any interest in at all is the scruffy poacher from the Seam who wasn't even on the guest list?
Desperately, I turn again to my father, who's chewing blissfully. "Dad?" I plead.
He swallows and clears his throat. "I think it would be good for you, Madge," he says. "They're a very nice family. It won't hurt to give the boy a chance." He states it as though it's enough to end the discussion completely. I don't have the nerve to challenge him, but I'm sure my face is giving away how upset I am.
"I don't see what the problem is," my mother says, shaking her head. "His mother was nice enough to bring us all this from the bakery." She gestures across the table, then closes her eyes and puts two fingers to her temple. "It's not as if you have any other pressing social engagements tonight."
"Tonight?" I repeat miserably. I swallow back a few angry words, and push my plate away from me, no longer able to enjoy the muffin that was apparently part of the bride price my mother and Mrs. Mellark agreed upon behind my back.
"Yes, tonight. He'll be here at five-thirty," she says, her brows furrowed. "I'm going back upstairs." She gets up from her chair and I feel a stab of guilt that my reaction to her effort has ruined her good mood.
"Mother," I say ruefully, "I'm sorry. I just wish you had asked me what I thought first." Because I would have had a chance to say no.
She looks at me for a moment, then nods, not in agreement, but to accept my apology.
"Which Mellark boy is it?" I ask, hoping to redeem myself in her eyes by pretending to show some interest.
She waves her hand in the air. "Oh, I couldn't keep their names straight," she says. "The youngest, I think. He goes to school with you."
"Peeta?" I ask, picturing the friendly boy who sits behind me in math class. Maybe he'll understand if I explain to him that I'm already taken. Or, whatever it is that I am.
"Maybe," she says, closing her eyes again. "I think that's right. I need to go lie down."
She makes her exit and my father gives me a hopeful smile, and gets up to leave the table as well. "She means well. You might even have fun," he says gently, and smooths the back of my hair in what's meant to be a comforting gesture.
Once he's gone, I let out a long and miserable sounding sigh. Haymitch reaches across the table to grab the partially eaten muffin from my plate, looking thoroughly amused by the whole exchange he's just witnessed, and stuffs practically the whole thing in his mouth. I shoot him the fiercest scowl I can muster, and head up to my bedroom.
I have no idea what to tell Gale about my upcoming date with Peeta Mellark.
The linen bag slung over my shoulder is weighing on me more heavily than it should, and I'm dragging my feet as I approach Gale's neighborhood. I was nervous enough at the idea of coming here before I learned of my mother's plans to hijack my night, and my beginnings of a social life, and now my anxiety has doubled. I chew my lip as I try not to let my imagination run away with me, picturing the all the different possible reactions he could have, anywhere from accusing me of being some kind of harlot who kisses a boy one night and dates a different boy the next, to flying into a jealous rage and beating the stuffing out of the Mellark kid.
I tell myself none of that would ever happen. I'll simply explain to him that I don't have a choice about the date, but this is the only one my mother will force me into. I'll make sure of it. He'll understand.
I'm so distracted by the situation that I almost forget to be self-conscious about wandering through the Seam, until I see a few kids I recognize from school frowning and pointing at me, obviously wondering what the mayor's daughter is doing here. I let out a sigh and walk a little faster until I reach the house with the long clothesline and the small crooked birdhouse in the front yard, just like Nessie described.
The yard isn't actually much of a yard, just patches of grass here and there, dusted by the telltale layer of gray that reminds me what side of the district I'm on. I swallow, trying to get rid of the nervous lump in my throat as I knock on the door.
I almost laugh when an eerily close replica of Gale answers the door. He's a foot shorter and several years younger, with smooth skin on his face instead of the perpetual shadow of stubble that Gale has, but those are the only differences I can spot right away. He looks confused when he sees me, since I am clearly not someone he expected to find at his front door.
"Yes?" he asks, in a voice that's slightly less gruff that his brother's.
I clear my throat. "Is Gale here?" I ask, my voice sounding higher than I expected.
The boy shakes his head. "No, he's out-"
"Rory, who is it?" a woman's voice calls from inside the small house.
He furrows his eyebrows and looks me up and down. "I don't know," he says into the house. "A girl looking for Gale."
The door opens wider, and Mrs. Hawthorne shoos the boy, Rory, back into the house and gives me a pleasant smile. "Gale's not home right now."
"Oh," I say, trying not to let the disappointment show on my face. "Well, that's okay. I wanted to return this to him." I take the bag off of my shoulder and retrieve Gale's shirt, holding it out to her.
She takes it, narrowing her eyes slightly. "All right," she says apprehensively.
My cheeks start to burn and I shake my head. "Oh, no, he just left it at my house last night," I stammer and she raises an eyebrow. "No, uh, I gave him a different one to wear," I try to explain, then stop myself and take a breath. "He worked at a party at my house last night, and I gave him a shirt to work in, and he forgot to pick this one up before he left," I finally get out.
Mrs. Hawthorne's expression softens. "You're Madge, then?" she asks, sounding amused.
"Yes," I say, shocked that Gale's already mentioned me to his mother.
"Your housekeeper is a good friend of mine," she says. "She talks about you all the time."
My shoulders drop slightly. "Nessie, of course," I say, feeling foolish. I reach into the bag again and pull out my soiled dress. "She mentioned that you might be able to salvage this."
She looks at the dress for a moment, then moves back from the door and gestures inside. "Well, let's take a look. Come in for a moment, won't you?"
"Sure," I say, hoping that my awkwardness isn't too obvious. I step inside and immediately wonder how this place can house someone of Gale's hulking stature. The ceiling is fairly low, and there isn't really any separation between the front rooms. To my left is a sitting area, with an ancient television in the corner and a sofa that sags slightly in the middle. The wall to my right is lined with cupboards, and I suppose that side serves as a kitchen, since there's a small dish rack next to the sink, and a square dining table in the center. The whole area is slightly smaller than my bedroom.
"I'm Hazelle," she says warmly, setting Gale's shirt down on a small table next to the sofa. "Rory, Vick, say hello to Madge. She's the mayor's daughter."
Rory, who was engaged in some kind of chasing game with Vick, obviously another younger brother, stops dead in his tracks to assess me again. The smaller boy, who looks a bit more delicate than Gale and Rory, crashes into his brother's side and they both tumble to the floor.
"That's it. Out," Hazelle commands sternly, pointing at the still-open front door. "If you're both done with your chores, then there's no reason you can't go find a better place to play."
Both boys scramble to their feet, and follow their mother's orders. "Nice to meet you," Rory says as he heads out the door, then takes off running after his brother.
Hazelle shakes her head and smiles at me again. "Now, then, let's see that dress."
I hand it over obligingly, and she holds it up to take a look. "Not too bad," she assess. "It's mostly just the bottom edge, and, oh, this bit in the middle here," she says.
I cast my eyes to the floor, hoping desperately that the black smudge on the waist isn't too obviously shaped like her son's hand.
She turns the dress around a few more times, and I notice a small sound from underneath the dining table. Curiously, I bend down to look, and find the tiny, dark haired girl I tried to picture last night and couldn't. In her lap, she's cradling a rag doll that someone obviously made by hand and has seen better days. She stares up at me and I'm reminded of a different kind of doll, the kind with impossibly long eyelashes and hints of pink on the apple of each cheek.
"You must be Posy," I say, giving her a grin and crouching down to her level.
She smiles back at me. "That's right, and this is Pancake," she says proudly, petting the frayed yarn attached to the head of her rag doll.
I stifle a laugh. "Well it's nice to meet you both. I'm Madge."
"I like your dress," she says, pointing up toward her mother, who has finished inspecting the damage and is watching us with interest. "You shouldn't have gotten it all dirty," the little girl scolds.
"You're right," I concede. "I wasn't being very careful."
"You should always be careful," she tells me seriously.
My grin widens, and I nod. "That's good advice. You know, I heard something about you."
"Mm-hmm," she replies.
"I heard you like to play dress up. Is that true?" I ask.
She smiles dreamily. "Oh, yes," she says.
"Well, if you think that my dress is pretty enough for you to try on, I wouldn't mind, you know."
Her eyes fly open at this, and she looks back to the dress hanging over her mother's arm.
"It'll be pretty big on you," I admit, "but maybe you could tie a ribbon around it to keep it up." The minute the words are out of my mouth, it occurs to me that this girl, who covets dresses and finery, is wearing what look to be slightly boyish and worn out clothes, possibly hand-me-downs from her brothers. She might not even have anything as simple as a ribbon.
Before I can find out if my suspicions are true, I take the white ribbon from my own hair, which was mostly for decoration, since I chose to wear it down again today. I tuck a few loose strands behind my ears and hand the ribbon over to Posy. "Here," I say, "This one would work."
She lets me lay it in her tiny hands, looking awe-struck.
"The dress, I'll need back, but you can keep the ribbon," I tell her. "It'll look pretty with your dark hair."
Posy scrambles up from underneath the table and tugs on her mother. "Mama, can I?"
I stand back up and Hazelle looks at me appraisingly. "It's Madge's dress," she says. "If she says it's all right."
I shrug. "She can't do any more damage to it than I already did," I tell her.
At this, Posy grabs the dress from her mother's hands and scurries gleefully into another room.
"Well, you just made her day," Hazelle says with a hint of a smirk.
I smile at this, but then realize I'm alone with Gale's mother. The only distraction from my unease having left the room, I rock back and forth nervously on my feet until I remember the coins in my pocket. "Oh, Gale forgot this too," I say, handing her the money. "Wage, for working last night."
"That's certainly not like him to forget," she comments, studying the coins.
"Well, it was late," I say, tugging at a lock of my hair. "I think he was tired. Long night." I think about asking her where Gale went, or when he might be home, because I still want to let him know about my date before it happens, but I'm scared that it'll lead to a line of questioning I'm definitely ready for. I couldn't tell my own parents about my new development with Gale, so I'm not about to spill a word of it to his mother.
She just nods, and I tell her that I'm not in a rush to have the dress back; she can send it back with Nessie whenever it's ready, and I head out the front door, setting out into the chilly afternoon to find Gale.
Kicking a pebble through the alley behind the sweetshop as I drag myself back home, I feel slightly defeated. I spent the whole afternoon looking for Gale in all the places I could think of, with no luck. The town square, the area behind our school where kids hang out on weekends sometimes, the meadow in the Seam, close to the fence. I managed to find his younger brothers in the meadow, playing with a group of other Seam kids. Rory seemed to recognize me from earlier, and I asked if he had seen Gale around. He glanced toward the fence, then doubtfully back at me, and told me no. The only two places I didn't search were the woods past the fence and the run-down old warehouse close to the mines where my father says that black market trading goes on. Of course, I realize those are the two places I would have been most likely to find him, but I'm just not brave enough to venture to either one. Facing his mother, even though she turned out to be quite pleasant, was terrifying enough.
The annoying lowering of the sun toward the horizon nags at me to get home and get ready for my date. I sigh dramatically and pick up my pace.
Nessie greets me when I arrive at the back door, and I give her a half-hearted wave before heading up to my bedroom. I pick out an outfit I might wear to school, comfortable and fairly plain, and tie my hair up with a new ribbon. Gale's the only boy for whom I will suffer my hair whipping around in the wind.
Looking for shoes to wear, I laugh when I notice the pair I kicked off and left in the corner upon getting here so late last night, still covered in coal dust, despite the long walk home. Maybe I should have taken those to Hazelle too. I grab a towel from the bathroom and wipe them off, and they look acceptable, if slightly dingy. The Mellark boy probably won't notice.
I glance in the mirror again, satisfied that the lack of effort I put into my appearance will ensure that he doesn't get the wrong idea. It's not that Peeta Mellark isn't worth looking nice for; he's a perfectly decent boy from what I've seen, and not bad looking. I picture his blonde hair, his strong arms, his polite smile. I'm sure other girls would be perfectly happy about being set up with him, but he just isn't my type. Not that I even knew I had a type until last night.
I hear the muffled ring of the doorbell, which irritates me because he's five minutes early. I had planned to be downstairs already, so the sound wouldn't bother my mother, who's been in bed since this morning. Our regular visitors usually knock, or use the back door, but newcomers tend to like the novelty of the doorbell, since ours is one of the only houses I know of in the district that has one.
I hurry downstairs and wave Nessie, who's headed to the door, away. "It's for me, I might as well answer it," I say briskly.
She retreats back to the kitchen, and I take a deep breath before answering the door. When I pull it open, I'm mortified to find that for the second time in two days, the person I expected to show up at my house is not the person in front of me.
The middle Mellark brother- definitely not Peeta- is flashing what I'm sure most people would see as a charming smile. It falters a bit when he sees my face.
Of course, this was the Mellark boy my mother meant, the one she said was so taken with me. I had pretty much blocked out my little encounter with him last night from my memory, choosing to focus on the important details of the evening, such as every single word out of Gale's mouth, and the tiny flecks of dark and light in his eyes. However, now that he's standing in front of me, I remember too well the way Middle Mellark pawed at my hair and made my skin crawl.
I may never forgive my mother for this.
Knowing I still don't have a choice in the matter, I step out onto the front porch and close the door behind me. I scowl at my date, wracking my brain, trying to remember his name. I've seen him at school, and countless times at the bakery. Phyllo? Flour? I can't think of it. "Look Mellark," I say harshly, "you ought to know right now, I only agreed to go out with you for my parents' sake, so just-"
He cuts me off, the smile wiped from his face. "Madge, no, I'm sorry," he says, managing to look almost genuine for the first time. "I know, I was a little bit of a creep last night, but my dad let me have some wine," he explains. "I never had any before, I might have had too much, and everything just got all fuzzy."
I purse my lips, mulling this over. I've certainly had enough experience with Haymitch's drinking to know that it can impair judgment, and make a person act in a way he might not be proud of. Or, I imagine Haymitch might not be proud, if he cared what anyone thought. "Okay," I say skeptically, my eyes still narrowed.
He smiles sheepishly. "I'm really sorry," he says. "I finally got up the nerve to talk to you and I blew it. I was hoping you might give me another chance."
I exhale sharply, and let my face soften just a bit. As hesitant as I am to believe that he might not be such a disgusting person, I don't want it getting back to my mother that I was completely hostile and unreasonable. She might insist that I go out with him again so I can act appropriately. "Apology accepted," I say, in a business-like fashion. "Just don't touch my hair again."
He lets out an awkward chuckle and we step down from the porch. "I promise," he assures me.
We get a few paces away from my house and I realize I've taken the lead, even though he hasn't informed me of our destination. "Where are we going?" I ask, not slowing down.
"Well, a bunch of my friends will be over behind the school later," he says optimistically.
Scrunching my face up, I picture myself awkwardly attempting to socialize with all the town kids I had to work so hard to avoid last night.
He laughs. "Okay, we can skip that," he says. "How about the bakery? It's closed, but we can go get something to eat."
"That will be fine," I say, maintaining the serious look on my face and walking quickly ahead of him. Apology or no, I still want to get this over with as quickly as possible.
The bakery is dark inside. He unlocks the front door and holds it open for me, then turns on only a small lamp instead of the bright overhead lights. "I don't want customers thinking we're open," he explains.
He gestures for me to sit down on the wooden bench next to the shop window, while he shuffles around behind the counter. The bench has no backrest at all; actually, it more closely resembles a long packing crate than a place to sit, so I have to shift around a bit to find a comfortable position. He smiles broadly as he hands me a roll, still warm, with cheese on top. I look at it for a moment, deciding weather or not eating the thing will encourage him too much and let him think I'm easily bribed into a good mood by delicious smelling food, but I am hungry. I rip off a small piece with my thumb and forefinger and pop it in my mouth. His smile gets bigger somehow.
"There's stew upstairs," he says enthusiastically. "I'll be right back."
"Wait," I say before he can dash away. He raises his eyebrows and I sigh, rolling my eyes. "I don't know your name," I admit without sounding apologetic.
He drops his smile and lets his mouth hang for a moment in surprise, then laughs. "It's Flynn," he says before running upstairs.
Huh. I think I prefer Flour.
I lean back against the window, taking a few more bites of the roll and watching people meander by the shops. I keep hoping pointlessly that I'll spot Gale on his way to deliver game to someone's back door, but it's evening now, and he's probably home with his family, sitting down to dinner. I entertain the thought of stopping back over at his house after I'm done here, but quickly dismiss the idea. I wouldn't want to talk to him in that tiny house, in front of his whole family, and Hazelle might think I'm crazy for practically stalking her son.
Flynn returns with two bowls of stew, still steaming, and hands me one. He sits cross-legged on the bench, facing me, with his bowl in front of him. I choose to keep both my feet on the floor.
The stew is hearty and good, but not so delicious that it would rival one of Nessie's meals. I briefly wonder what she's serving tonight, and hope that there's some left over that I can enjoy when I get home.
"Your mother made this?" I ask, trying to fill the quiet space.
He nods. "Much better than what she usually throws together. I think she's hoping to impress you."
"Shouldn't that be your job?" I retort.
He laughs warmly, almost making me smile and forget to keep up my icy demeanor. "You're right," he agrees, "but I'm still working on getting you to be able to stand being in my presence. I think I'm still a few steps away from trying to impress you."
I wince. "Actually, you don't need to bother," I tell him. "You seem not to be as vile as I might have initially thought, but it doesn't really matter, because I'm already seeing someone."
"Oh," he says, sounding slightly surprised, but not exactly discouraged. "So, if you have a boyfriend, why did you agree to come out with someone as vile as me?" he asks, smirking.
"My mother insisted," I sigh. "My parents don't exactly know about him, and I don't think they would approve."
He wrinkles his face up a bit. "Why not? I mean, they obviously don't mind you dating, if they pushed you so hard about me," he points out, dipping a bit of his bread into the stew.
I take another spoonful while he waits for an answer. Once I swallow, I bite my lip thoughtfully for a moment. "My parents would like me to spend time with people of a certain background, such as you and the other kids who were invited to their party last night," I explain carefully. "The boy I'm seeing doesn't exactly share that particular-"
"You're dating a coal miner?" he says in an accusatory tone I don't appreciate.
I jut out my chin. "So what if I am?" I shoot back. "Don't make it sound so scandalous. And anyway, he's not a miner yet. He's only just turned eighteen, so-"
"So he's still in school," he interrupts me again. "And he's in my year? I bet I even know him. What's his name?"
"That is none of your business, Mellark," I huff.
He smirks mischievously. "Come on, Madge, I deserve to know who my competition is. I bet I can guess," he challenges.
"I seriously doubt that."
He takes my bowl, now empty, and stows it in a small sink in the back corner behind the counter, along with his. "It would have to be someone clever enough to keep up in a conversation with you," he starts, sitting down to face me again. I roll my eyes and tuck my legs up underneath me on the bench. "Good looking, but a little rough around the edges."
I furrow my eyebrows, starting to get annoyed now. "Will you stop?" I ask, though it comes out more like a demand. "I simply do not know you well enough to go spilling my personal business-"
"And manners," he adds. "Someone with better manners than I have."
"That's for sure," I grumble. Although, remembering the way Gale poked fun of my height and lack of pottery skills, I almost crack a smile. Almost.
"Let's see, a clever and attractive Seam boy with a sense of propriety," he muses. "That narrows it down considerably. Could be Deerwood, or Sawyer," he suggests, watching me closely for a reaction. I continue to scowl at him. "Maybe Frakes? Hmm, not Hawthorne," he mutters.
I blink once, trying to keep my face impassive, but there's a glint of recognition in his eye, and I can tell I'm caught. "Why not Hawthorne?" I ask, as innocently as possible.
"Gale Hawthorne is not your boyfriend," he says in disbelief.
"No, he's not," I say smoothly, justifying the lie in my head because I still haven't discussed at length with Gale exactly what his title is in relation to me. "But I know him, and I'm curious to know why you deem him un-dateable."
"Well, he's a known criminal, for one," Flynn says matter-of-factly.
"If he is, then so is everyone who trades with him."
He rolls his eyes at my logic. "On top of that, what he does with girls, I wouldn't exactly call dating."
I frown, slightly taken aback. "What would you call it?"
"You sure he's not the guy?" he says, tilting his head. "You seem awfully interested in him."
"He spends a lot of time with my friend Katniss, that's all."
"Who, Ice Queen Everdeen?" he laughs. "I wouldn't worry. I doubt she'd ever let him take her up to the slag heap."
They take several moments to register, but his words hit me like a ton of bricks, so hard that my vision blurs slightly. I blink hard two, three times, trying to recover. "The slag heap?" I choke out.
"It's kind of a Seam thing," he says with a shrug. "Kids go there to make out, or whatever else. Hawthorne's shown his fair share of girls a good time up there. Or, so I hear." He shakes his head. "I always thought it sounded pretty shady."
"Right," I whisper. Suddenly I'm standing, unsure how I brought myself to move, since my legs feel as though they're made of lead.
Flynn is looking at me strangely. "Hey, are you okay?" he asks, sounding concerned. "You don't look so good."
I shake my head. "Yes," I croak. "I mean, no. I'm not really feeling well." It's the truth. The bakery is suddenly so stifling I feel like I might see the return of Mrs. Mellark's stew if I stay here one minute longer.
Standing up, Flynn puts a hand on my shoulder to steady me. "Do you want me to take you home?"
"No, I can make it on my own," I assure him, already reaching for the door. "Thank you for dinner, really. I'll see you at school."
He says something else I don't catch, because I'm making my way across the square as fast as I possibly can without breaking out into a full-on sprint. Never have I craved the safety and solitude of my bedroom more than at this moment.
I fling open the back door, startling Nessie, who's cleaning up from dinner. "Honey, what's wrong?" she asks, sounding alarmed, but I'm already bounding into the dining room.
My father is still at the table enjoying his dessert, a pastry leftover from breakfast, and he looks up at me casually. "Well that didn't take long," he notes.
At this seemingly harmless comment, all the emotions inside me explode in a molten blast of rage, directed at my father. "You can tell Mother that she'd better get used to the idea that I'll end up an old maid, because I am never going on another date for the rest of my life!" I shriek at him.
He shoots a flabbergasted look to Nessie, who's standing behind me, but I don't give either of them a chance to respond. I run up to my room and slam the door, bitterly hoping the sound aggravates my mother, and fling myself face-down onto the bed.
I barely have a minute to wallow in misery before I hear Nessie's knock, her footsteps across the room, and the soft creak when she sits down on the bed with me. "Want to talk about it?" she asks quietly, petting my hair.
I sit up swiftly, my face still twisted in anger. "I should be more upset with you than anyone," I say, my voice shaking.
"And why's that?" she asks patiently.
"Because you're the one who encouraged him," I accuse her.
Nessie tilts her head in confusion. "I encouraged Peeta Mellark?"
"No, it wasn't Peeta, it was Flynn," I explain, shaking my head dismissively. "And that's not who I'm talking about. You encouraged Gale, I know you did."
"Gale?" she says, trying to keep up with my train of thought. "I might have given him a little push in the right direction, yes," she says slowly.
"You made him talk to me, and he made me fall for him," I moan, feeling a few hot tears running down my cheeks. "And now I find out that he's nothing but a... a..." I trail off, not sure that I even know of a word that describes the degree of utter lechery Gale Hawthorne has suddenly achieved in my mind.
Nessie wipes the tears away with her thumb, then pulls me in close, and I rest my head on her chest. "He never even liked me at all," I whisper.
"Now, honey," she says soothingly, "I'd be surprised if that were the case. Is it possible there's just been some kind of misunderstanding?"
I sniffle. "What do you mean?"
"I'm not sure what's happened since this morning, when you were smiling ear to ear, to bring you to this state you're in now, but did you actually talk to our Mr. Hawthorne about any of this?" she asks.
"Well, no, but I heard that-"
"Talk to him, honey," Nessie says, pushing me back from her chest and looking me in my tear-filled eyes. "That's my advice."
I nod, sniffling some more, and Nessie takes her leave to get back to cleaning up, and probably to let my father know that I don't need to be sedated. I curl up on my bed again, hugging my knees to my chest. I don't want to talk to Gale, not anymore. I'm too embarrassed that I let him lure me up to the place where he's done who knows what with who knows how many other girls. He didn't try to go any further than just kissing last night, but that thought isn't much comfort, considering that it was my first time being kissed by anyone. The first kiss- the one I'm supposed to remember forever. Now, that beautiful, perfect moment is tarnished in my mind.
Then again, maybe Nessie is right. Maybe Flynn Mellark was misinformed, and I'm now mentally condemning Gale when he's actually innocent of any crimes of lewdness. I'm not exactly sure how I'm supposed to go about discovering if the rumor is true, since asking outright if I was just another conquest to now be tossed out like mining waste, doesn't seem like a question that could be worked into polite conversation.
The first step, I suppose, is just talking to him, like Nessie said to. And despite my anger at her for dispensing it to Gale in regards to me, she really does always give the best advice.