Hello! Thanks again for the wonderful response with favorites, follows, and reviews. Special thanks to MaidenAlice, Thundarrgirl, rayleen14, VMars lover, ignitetheballoon, SweetlovingPrim, Thynerdgurl, Chanceawakening, the Guest, Scriverner50, AVG18, mackie80, and Beautiful Lie 5105.

I had an amazing response to the last chapter with lots of really great comments, so I'm updating a day early! Heads up, I'm really iffy on this chapter and its montage-ness. It's different than the pace and format of the previous chapters, so I'd love feedback on it.

Suzanne Collins owns Hunger Games.

XXX

Over the next two weeks, the coursework piles up, teachers stop being so patient with me, and it's a struggle dragging myself out of bed in the morning and falling asleep at night.

I don't tell Peeta any of this during our meetings. Instead, we talk about our teachers, his job, what we're doing for Thanksgiving Break. But never the stress and never his family. It seems stupid making him meet with me for an hour just to talk about my life, but I can't bring myself to tell him he doesn't have to come.

Two days after our visit to the hospital, on his way to work, he finds me leaning against my tree despite the freezing cold, hunched over my homework. I can't focus with Johanna in the room, the study areas are packed, and I don't think the library has a single table open.

"Come to Bon," he says, offering me his hand and pulling me to my feet. "We've got a few places to sit that people forget about." He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, and I notice just how red his cheeks are in the cold. "I think the sugar cookies are on sale, too."

Turns out his mother isn't working, which explains the "great sale" he gives me. One hundred percent off.

He sits with me at a corner in the table on his break, sipping at some drink.

"I think your last five dates might be wrong," he says as I copy a timeline from my Government textbook.

I double check, and sure enough, I mixed the numbers up. That's when I realize it might not hurt to invite him along when I'm studying.

XXX

Patient as Peeta might be, I bite my tongue and keep my eyes planted on the Government textbook in my hands. He's trying to study and I've interrupted him twice already. If our positions were switched, I would've kicked him out by now.

Still, that doesn't stop the frustrated grunt that passes my lips when I realize I've still got another twenty pages to read before I can start studying for the test tomorrow.

He looks up, peeking over the top of his own propped-up book. "What?"

"Nothing."

Occasionally glancing up at me, Peeta returns to his studying. Even though he has a demanding job, family troubles, difficult classes, and all his peer counseling duties, he's still less behind than I am.

"How did you get all the reading done?" I ask, forgetting about my self-inflicted rule of quiet.

He shrugs with a meek smile. "Usually I don't. I just had more free time this week, I guess."

I blink, trying to figure out exactly where all my time went. The last week is a blur and mess of emotions that I can't hope to untangle.

Peeta seems to notice the jealous, frustrated look on my face because he adds, "I don't sleep much."

Flipping the page of my book, I reply, "I do." More than I should. But it's getting better.

XXX

Sitting on my bed, I toss my worn Spanish notes to the side. I've folded the sheet in half multiple times, trying to test myself on the words, but it's no use. I don't know any of them.

It's already obvious that I won't pass the quiz I'm taking in an hour, and even if I do, I have a feeling I failed my Government test this morning.

The familiar itching that leaves me breathless and trembling starts to seep through me. I cover my face, burying my hands in my hair as the old cycle of nasty thoughts makes its way through my mind.

I'll lose the scholarships. I'll drop out and never graduate. And Prim will never see me graduate like she wanted, even if I stay.

I get rid of the thoughts, if only for a moment, but one look at the extensive vocabulary list sends me ducking for cover—and a blade.

XXX

"You don't even take Calculus."

"I don't care. Let me see it."

Peeta pulls my notebook from my hands, then the sheet of paper I'm trying a few problems on. He takes my pencil out of my hand, fingers brushing against my own, and starts to tap it against the sheet as he reads the problem.

"The book says I should be getting negative one for my answer," I tell him.

The wrinkle above his eyebrow forms in a look of concentration that I'm growing exceedingly familiar with. He starts to write slowly, a large pause between each step, and I watch over his shoulder.

"You can't do that," I say as he tries to cancel two numbers that don't work.

"Yes, I can."

I reach forward to take the paper from him but he immediately covers it with the palm of his hand, pinning it to the table.

Tugging on the edges, I say, "Give it to me."

"I'm not done yet!" He lets out a short laugh, trying to pry my fingers off the corner of the sheet.

I stand up. "It's fine. I'll just ask somebody else."

"Wait," Peeta says, just before I start to walk away. "Go get Delly. She took this back in high school."

It's not fair, but Delly's probably the last person I want to ask for help. I found out they've been friends since they were kids, and there's an agitation that grows in my chest every time she's with us. I'm not sure when it started or why it's happening, but I try to avoid her whenever possible.

Still, I don't have any good reason not to listen to him, so I begrudgingly stand up and leave our study alcove, crossing the hallway and knocking on her door. She answers and her lips curve up into a smile when she sees me.

"Do you have time to help with Calc?" I ask, my voice flat. "Peeta told me to come find you."

She frowns, thinking, then glances back into her room. "Sure! For a couple minutes. I've been wanting a break from my essay, anyway."

I lead her back to our spot, stiffly taking my seat on the couch next to Peeta. Delly glances at the work Peeta's done then holds her hand out for a pencil. He gives it to her, then she starts to erase.

"Hey!" he says, reaching out a hand to still the pencil. "I got negative one. That's the answer."

"These numbers can't cancel out," she says, brushing her index finger along the sheet.

I lean back into the cushion behind me, watching them lightly argue so effortlessly. When I talk to Peeta, our conversations are almost always disjointed and sometimes awkward, and that's clearly my fault.

Delly talks a reluctant Peeta through the problem, occasionally looking over at me, but her explanation's nothing but a dull hum to me.

My right hand finds the clothed underside of my left arm, which is still tender and sensitive. I absently start to scratch, my eyes glued to a scuff on the table.

When I finally look up and rejoin the real world, Delly's rising to her feet. "Hope that helps, Katniss," she says, handing the pencil back to Peeta. "I'll be in my room for a while longer if you get stuck again."

Silent, I lean forward, pulling my hand away from my arm. When I turn to Peeta, I find him watching me, all the humor gone from his face.

I lift the Calculus book back to my lap and point at the next problem. Quietly, I ask, "Can you show me how to do this one?"

XXX

Inviting him to study in my room was a good idea, even though it felt uncomfortable at first. After a study meeting or two, I decide I don't like working alone as much as I thought.

He's next to me on the bed, cross-legged posture matching my own, with his back against the wall. His eyes quickly scan the page of his Psych book, twirling a yellow highlighter between his fingers.

It's been at least half an hour since either of us talked, and these are usually the moments I like best: the silent ones where I can work by myself until things start to get bad, then look up and find him there.

I'm not sure what it is, or how he does it, but there's something calming about glancing across from me and seeing someone normal. Makes me think I could be that way too, if I try hard enough.

Or at least I can pretend to be, for his sake. I don't think he'd be here if he thought I was still the crazy mentee from before.

XXX

Today, his presence doesn't help anything. Because, whether Peeta's cramming alongside me or not, I've got a large math test tomorrow that I'll never be ready for. Then I'll go on Thanksgiving Break and spend it with my mother, both dreading and anticipating my return to Bohm the whole time.

And he'll spend break with his family. Though apparently he'll have Delly to keep him company because their families are close, so he'll be just fine.

Trying to stop myself from traveling down that path, I rest the side of my head against the wall and close my eyes. Peeta doesn't seem to notice, or maybe he just understands that interrupting me will do more damage than good.

I start in on the Calculus two more times before this control tactic stops working. By then, the negative thoughts cut through my concentration like a knife.

Jumping to my feet, I quickly say, "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?"

My voice is jumpy and forced as I lie, "Bathroom."

He gives me a long look, then nods, gaze dropping back to his work.

I nearly pass through the door before I remember why I'm leaving in the first place. Awkwardly, I backtrack, pulling open the desk drawer and taking out the cold metal object inside. I put it in my jacket pocket before I turn around to make sure Peeta wasn't watching.

As far as I can see, I'm in the clear.

When I come back and throw the object back in its hiding place, Peeta puts his book down on top of my blanket. I ignore the gesture and walk to the bed, pulling myself back to my spot.

I bury my face in the Calculus notes that don't look any more familiar now than they did before I left. But, with a new calm that rushes through me in waves, I can't bring myself to care.

"You did that last week," Peeta says quietly, a hard edge under each word.

I take as long of a silence as I can, like I'm busy studying my notes. "Hmm?"

"When I was in here on Wednesday, you pulled something out of your desk then left."

Frowning, I scratch the back of my neck. "So?"

There's another silence, one that's so much heavier and darker than usual. In just a few seconds, there's a palpable shift that makes me feel like I'm sitting with a stranger. Especially when he sucks in a breath, lets it out once, then says, "You promised."

My stomach turns to ice, but I try to pass it off with a hollow snort. "Promised not to take things from my desk?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"I don't." I cling to my Calculus notes like a lifeline to keep my hands from shaking. "And you should stop making assumptions about what I keep in my desk drawers. It's nothing bad."

He shakes his head, wry smile on his lips as he eyes the desk.

"I don't have to prove anything to you," I say, and his gaze snaps up to meet mine.

We stare at each other, and I decide I won't be the first one to talk. This works out fine because Peeta has plenty to say.

"You shouldn't have to do that, either," he argues, nearly all the gentleness gone, though he keeps his voice soft. "I'm sitting right here. I can help you, but you ignore it. Then you lie about and expect me to trust you."

"Why would I—?"

"And every Monday that I've talked to you, you keep telling me that you're so much better than you were before. So I've been leaving you alone about it when the last thing you need is either of us pretending you're fine."

"I'm better." He opens his mouth to cut me off, but I raise my voice, speaking over him. "Well, I'm not swallowing Aspirin by the bottle anymore, am I?"

"That's not funny."

"No, what's funny is that you can actually be angry at me for not having the recovery you expected. Some counselor you are."

"You think I'm mad at you?"

I stuff the remainder of the school supplies in my backpack, throwing it over my shoulder and hopping off the bed. "Johanna's going to be back in about half an hour, so she'll kick you out if you're not already gone."

Without looking back at him, I march towards the door, resisting the urge to open the drawer again on my way out.

Peeta's voice is much softer now as he speaks up behind me. "Katniss—"

I step out into the hall. "Have a good Thanksgiving."