PEETA

I wake up every hour that night, each time paranoid that I somehow slept through my alarm and am running late. I jolt up from my mattress each time, and my eyes open only to find it 2, 3, 4am, so I just slump back down.

When my alarm does actually go off, it jars me out of a light sleep that I'd been drifting in and out of discontentedly. I feel like I've been hit by a truck; I've never slept this badly in my life, even when my mattress was on the floor during the summer.

I rub my eyes and glance at myself as I pass the mirror in the bathroom. My hair's messed up, I have bags under my eyes, and drool crust on my cheek. I look away and wipe at my cheek roughly, feeling annoyed and grossed out at myself.

I try extra hard to look nice. While Starving by Hailee Steinfeld plays, I spend time standing in front of my closet, leafing through last year's shirts. Because of the move, I never had a chance to go school shopping and because of that, I only have old, ill-fitting clothes to pick from. I try to look past it and just find something to wear, try and tell myself that it doesn't matter, but as I look through the shirts I can't help but notice that their colors are faded and they fit too short on my waist.

I must go through the rack at least three times before picking out a blue flannel paired with khakis that still look nice because of how little I wore them last year. All of my jeans are too short now; I must have gone through an unnoticed growth spurt over the summer.

I look in the mirror one more time before leaving and can't ignore the nerves jumping in my stomach. I know I should try and force myself to eat some breakfast, but the thought of eating anything just makes my stomach more upset than it already is.

Mom is still in bed and Dad is already at the bakery, working crazy hours so it'll be ready to open as soon as possible. When it finally does, I'll have to start working there again, which is nothing new to me. I've been working with my dad at the bakery since I was old enough to knead dough. I sigh and gather my keys from the bowl by the door and brace myself for the day ahead, then leave the house without anyone to see me off.

The drive to the high school is short. I drive past two elementary schools and the library, and then see the sprawling high school campus in the distance. It's not a big school – less than a thousand kids in total – but the building was redone recently so the facilities are still immaculate. The look of it is intimidating enough, and it makes me not want to step a foot inside.

I stay in my parked car for a while, staring down at my phone and hating myself for my too-short shirt. I promise myself that I'll scrape together some money and find time to go to Target and get myself at least a few new clothes. I'm already the new kid, and I don't want to add insult to injury by dressing badly.

The clock reads 7:40 and the final bell will ring in ten minutes, so I get out of my car and keep my head low as I walk to the front doors. There are kids mingling about in circles of friend groups, catching up after the long summer of missing each other. No one's eyes are on me, and I'm happy about that. I've never been the new kid before; at my old school, I'd grown up with everyone since kindergarten. I knew everyone and everyone knew me, and the first days of school were always something exciting. Before now, I'd never had a reason to dread them.

I find my way to my locker and keep my shoulders hunched up by my ears. My hand shakes as I fumble with the combination lock, and I get it wrong three times before it finally clangs open. I shove my backpack inside after pulling my crumpled schedule out of it, and smooth it out as best I can to see what class I have first. It looks like I have AP Psychology, Gym, lunch, Advanced Art, AP Literature, and then Personal Finance.

I look up from the piece of paper just as the 7:45 bell rings. My stomach jumps with anxiety again and I look at the numbers of the doors surrounding me to see if I'm anywhere close to the classroom that I need, only to see that I'm not. I walk with purpose down the hall as the last minutes before the last bell wind down, and luckily find where I need to be with one minute to spare. I rush into the classroom as everyone is already sitting and talking, and find one of the only empty seats near the front.

My face is hot as I sit there silently, staring down at the fake, plastic wood of the desk that'll be mine for the rest of the year. I pull out my binder and notebook and set them on my desk, along with a school-assigned planner that was mailed to my house a couple weeks ago. The teacher walks in just as the bell rings and introduces himself as Mr. Crane.

"Welcome back," he says. "I'm sure none of you want to be here right now after such a relaxing summer. Well, the truth is I don't, either." The class laughs. I try to join in, but it's hard to force a smile on my face when I still feel so nervous. Mr. Crane glances at his roster and then surveys the class with his eyes. "Looks like we have a new student in our midst. Peeta Mellark, where are you, my man?"

My heartbeat speeds up tenfold and my knees feel like Jell-O when I raise my hand halfway to make my presence known.

"Welcome to OHS," Mr. Crane says, and the class stares at me like I'm a sideshow. "Let's give him a warm welcome." The class claps for me, which I have no idea why they would do. It doesn't seem fitting at all. "I hope your senior year here is awesome, buddy."

I give him a terse smile, and then look back down at my desk. I have a feeling that the rest of the day is going to be just as painful.

When AP Psych is over, I find my way to the gym. I go to the wrong one at first and then get told that my class is in the 'big gym,' and I have no idea what that means, but I follow the directions that they give me and end up blustering into the 'big gym' a few minutes late.

The gym teacher has a wheezy voice that is hard to understand, but I hear him coughing right when I hurry through the double doors. "Looking for that new student and all I see are faces I already know," he says, and then looks in my direction after the doors slam shut. "Ah, there he is. Come on over."

I walk over with my AP Psych materials still in hand. I see some other kids with binders in their hands, too, so I don't feel too out-of-place, but most of them are emptyhanded.

"This is Pe…Pe…"

"Peeta," I manage to say, giving yet another forced smile. I scan the crowd of high-schoolers sitting cross legged on the gym floor and my stomach plummets to my feet when I see a familiar face. Katniss is sitting in the middle of the crowd surrounded by three girls talking amongst themselves. She's not talking, though, she's staring straight ahead but not at me. Up at the wall, past my head, totally zoned out and not paying attention. She looks completely lost in her own head.

"This is Peeta," the teacher, whose name I learn is Mr. Abernathy, finishes. "Let's try and help him have a good first trimester. Let's make it the best we can. Sound good?" There are various sounds of assent from the crowd, but no one cares that much. I'm relieved.

I don't want to catch Katniss's eye, but I keep looking over at her only to see that she's still staring into space. Mr. Abernathy starts going over the syllabus after handing it out, and as he's reading along the bullet-points, looks up at us to make sure everyone is following along. After flipping the first page, he looks at the group of us and shout/wheezes, "Everdeen!" All of us jump except Katniss, who glides her gaze down to him slowly. "I don't know what world you're in, but it's not this one. Join us, please."

She purses her lips and directs her eyes down to the sheet of paper in her hand, and Mr. Abernathy is placated. I keep my eyes on her until he starts speaking again, and then force myself to look away.

I sit alone at lunch, my tray of boxed mashed potatoes and a dry panini sitting in front of me untouched. After today, I promise myself, I'll pack my own food. I swirl the potatoes around with my fork and glance up occasionally, wondering if anyone will come over and talk to me. Over the 35-minute course of lunch, no one so much as glances my way.

Art is the only class where I feel myself all day. No one talks to each other, the teacher doesn't bother introducing me, and we all only have one thing in mind. Painting.

I let myself get lost in the colors like I always do at home. When I start, I don't have anything specific in mind but end up painting a sunset over the water.

The teacher, Mrs. Cardew, makes me jump when she appears over my shoulder. "That could be Lake Michigan," she says, crossing her arms and nodding. "St. Joe pier. Is that what you painted?"

I look up at her with surprise on my face. "Oh, um, no."

She looks puzzled, but interested. "Oh, then where is that?"

"It's just…water," I say. "I don't know what St. Joe is. I'm not from here."

She looks confused. "Are you new this year?" I nod, hoping she doesn't plan on introducing me because I thought I had dodged that bullet. "Where did you move from?"

"Up north," I say.

"Is this the coast there?" she asks.

"No," I say. "It's just coast. It's just nothing. I just saw it in my head and I painted it."

She nods slowly, approving. "Well, I like it. Welcome to Otsego."

She leaves and I smile to myself. Though I had been being welcomed for the entire day up until this point, this was the only time that I actually felt it.

The rest of the day passes slowly and without any interaction from my classmates. In AP Literature and Personal Finance, I was introduced to the class like a new pet again, both times my name mispronounced. Once school is over, it feels like a huge weight is lifted off of my chest and I head to the nearest coffee shop to reward myself with something that hopefully tastes good. It's the small-town version of a Starbucks, called Mezzo, and when I step inside it's nice and quiet. The ceilings are high – this place obviously didn't start out as a coffee shop – but it creates a nice atmosphere. I order a caramel mocha at the counter and then pick it up at the end, finding a table near the front windows to sit at while I sip it.

I take a look around as I blow on my hot coffee, and my eyes widen when I see her. Katniss, yet again, seemingly following me.

She doesn't know I'm here, though. There's no way she's following me, but a small, sick part of me wishes that she was. I know I'm wrong, though. We spent one day together over the summer, then she spent the rest of it forgetting me while I spent the rest of it wondering when the next time I'd see her would be. But it seems to be that the universe is on my side; putting her in my same gym class and in the same coffee shop after school.

I chastise myself for how stupid I am right after I think that. Mezzo is one of the two coffee places in this town, unless you wanted to go on the main strip to Biggby or travel 15 miles to Starbucks. She doesn't have a car; she probably walked here, and Biggby is not in walking distance.

It's all pure coincidence that we're both here, but I can't help hoping that she'll see me and come say hi. I'm surely not going to be the first one to go up to her. I don't want to seem weird.

I don't like the drink I ordered, so I tell myself that I'll order something different next time. I keep an eye on Katniss as I sit there, and she doesn't look up once. She stays with her head rested on her hand, her eyes cast downward. She looks sad, and I wish there was something that I could do, but I know there's not. She probably doesn't even remember who I am.

She leaves before I do, and I watch her go from the corner of my eye. I wonder if she'll see me sitting over here, but she just makes a straight beeline for the door without looking around. I let my shoulders deflate once she leaves, and get up to go myself shortly after.

When I get home, my dad is sitting at the table.

"Hey, Peeta!" he says, and I notice that he's cooked dinner and it's my place is waiting for me, still hot. "Sit down."

I shed my backpack so it falls and hits the floor and sit down next to my dad. "You're home early," I say. For the past couple days, he hasn't come in from the bakery until I was already in bed.

"Because I'm finally all finished," he says proudly. "Bakery opens up tomorrow. You ready for your 3:30 shift?"

I raise my eyebrows. "You're done early," I say.

"Yep," he says. "Better for business. I can count on you, right?"

I take a bite of the casserole that he made – it tastes better than anything I've had all day – and nod. "Of course," I say. "I'll be there."

The next day at school, the day goes the same way. In second hour, though, instead of just having to listen to Mr. Abernathy drone on about the syllabus, we actually have to start the volleyball unit.

I walk behind the crowd to the boys' locker room and then set my bag on the bench as I open my locker. In the mess of bodies in the small space, it ends up falling to the ground so some of my things fall out, including my 'Mellark's Bakery' t-shirt.

Before I can grab it, a tall, buff guy with a blonde buzzcut gets to it. He snatches it up off the floor and holds it up, raising his eyebrows. "Whose fucking shirt is this?"

Laughter circulates the group of guys, and I start picking up the rest of everything that fell out of my bag to put it all back in. I try to make myself as small as possible, but that doesn't prove to be very easy. I'm not exactly a small person.

"Is this yours?" The tone of his voice has changed, and I think he might just be offering to help, to give it back to me because it dropped.

"Oh, yeah, uh, tha-"

"It's his," the guy says, and whips it away from my outstretched hand. "Why do you have a shirt with a bakery logo on it? Are you a fag or something?"

My cheeks flame and I stare down at the grimy tile below our feet. "Um, no, I… uh, I work there."

"What?" He twists the shirt into a thin rope and then whips it so it cracks. It makes me jump, and for some reason no one else flinches. "Speak up," he says. "Can't hear you."

"I work there," I say. "It's my dad's place."

He scoffs and continues to whip the shirt. At this point, I don't want it back. I can just get another one when I go in later. "Your daddy's bakery?" he taunts. I don't know why he's making this such a big deal. At my old school, no one cared that I worked at the bakery. It was just a fact. I never thought it would be a problem here. "Little pussy boy works at his daddy's bakery." He balls the shirt up and throws it at me. It hits my chest and makes me take one step backward. "Sounds gay as fuck to me. Watch your backs when you get dressed, guys."

He throws his head back with laughter and I stay standing there, staring at the ground with my work shirt clutched to my chest. After everyone's eyes avert away from me, I shove it back into my bag and then take my gym clothes into a bathroom stall to change.

When we all come out of the locker rooms, the same guy shoulder-checks me as we head to meet up with the rest of the class and teachers. "Watch where you're going, pussy," he says, loud enough for everyone in earshot to hear. Some people's heads turn quickly over to see the commotion, and that makes it even worse.

"Sorry," I say under my breath, and he just laughs. I walk with my arms crossed over to where everyone else is, and a short girl with curly blonde hair meets my eyes.

"Ignore Cato," she says, just as Mr. Abernathy starts to talk. "He's an ass to everyone."

"Thanks," I mutter, and keep my head ducked for the rest of class.

After school that day, I go to Mezzo and realize that Katniss is waiting for her drink at the far end of the counter as I stand at the register.

"White mocha?" the barista calls out, and sets the drink on the counter. Katniss grabs it and gives the girl a taut smile, then retreats to the same spot she was in yesterday.

The barista working the register looks at me expectantly. I open my mouth and wait for words, but none come at first. When I finally speak, "White mocha," comes out. "Tall."

I don't have time to stick around today; I have to make it to the bakery. But since my drink yesterday tasted so bad, I figure I might as well try what she gets to see if it's any better.

I glance behind my shoulder to see if she's noticed me standing here, and she hasn't. She's on her phone, scrolling mindlessly.

She'll never notice me; I'm realizing that now. After what went down in gym today, I don't think I'm going to do very well at this school in the friend department.

I take my drink once it's ready and walk out of Mezzo without drawing any attention to myself and then head towards the bakery, ready to start my first shift.

KATNISS

On the Sunday before school starts, I'm walking home from Gale's as tears stream down my cheeks. My pace is quick and fervent; I can't get home fast enough.

It seems to take forever, and once I get there, it's dinnertime and my family is all sitting around the oak dining room table. Everyone's heads turn to me when I bluster in, and I do my best to make it look like I wasn't just crying my eyes out.

"Hey," I say, and my voice is waterlogged.

Prim's eyebrows shoot up. "What's wrong?" she asks, her voice wavering.

"Nothing," I say. "I'm fine."

"Come sit," Dad says. "Have some dinner. Your mother made casserole."

I look to Mom, who has an empty, but kind, smile on her face. Her eyes are elsewhere, as usual. "I'm not hungry," I say. "Thanks, though."

"Katniss, you should really eat," Dad pushes.

"You're gonna be hungry later and you won't have anything then," Prim says, repeating words she's heard Dad say thousands of times.

"No, I'll be fine," I insist. "I'm going to bed."

I start to turn away, but Prim doesn't relent. "But it's only dinnertime," she says, sounding confused.

"Really tired," I say. "Resting up for school."

"School doesn't start until Tuesday," she says.

"I'm just tired, okay?" I snap, and then turn my bak towards them as I hurry up the stairs.

I lay on my bed staring up at the ceiling, my room growing dark around me as the night passes by. I close my eyes to try and sleep, but that only makes the thoughts easier to hear.

There's a soft knock at my door later, followed by a long creak. I turn my head to see Prim standing there, a dinner plate in one hand. Now, I have to admit, the smell is making my stomach growl.

"I got you this just in case you were hungry," she says timidly, then sets it down on my nightstand.

She hovers in the doorway. "You can come in," I say quietly, reading her body language. She wants to stay and make me feel better. As my sister, she feels like that's her duty.

She sits next to me on my bed as I eat, swinging her legs. "Why were you crying?" she asks, not wasting much time.

I debate whether or not to come right out and sat it or to sugarcoat things. I end up deciding that it'll be easier on us both if I just tell the truth. "I broke up with Gale."

Her eyes widen. "Why?" she asks. Gale was always nice to her. She never knew the side of him that I do, and now she never will. I hope she never knows that side of any man; the controlling, manipulative, relentless side that won't give in for anything. The side that doesn't listen no matter how much you voice your opinion, not even when it feels like you've been shouting for years. I was tired of dealing with all of those aspects of Gale, so I did what I should've done way earlier and ended things.

Of course, once I brought it up, he made it seem like it had been his idea all along and he wanted to end things with me because I was a 'shrill bitch' who wouldn't put out. He made me cry with his insults and with the fact that it felt like two years of my life had just been tossed down the drain.

"We just don't love each other anymore," I say, putting it as simply as I could for her. She's only eight and doesn't deserve to be burdened with my toxic relationship, anyway.

"Is he still your friend?" she asks hopefully.

I shake my head. "No, probably not," I say. "It's just better if we don't see each other at all anymore. We're just done now."

"Oh," she murmurs, and then gives me a tight hug around my shoulders. "And he made you sad?"

"Yeah," I say softly.

"Why? Why did he make you cry?"

I sigh, discovering that I'm unable to come up with a viable explanation to give her. "He said some mean things to me." It's not a lie by any means.

"Like what?"

"Doesn't matter now," I say. "And I shouldn't repeat them, anyway. They were not kind."

"I don't like him anymore now, either," she says firmly. "He's not allowed to say mean things. Even when you're mad, if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all."

"You're right," I say. "I wish he would've known that, too." I wrap an arm around my sister and lay my cheek on top of her head. "Thanks for bringing me dinner," I say after a while.

"You're welcome," she replies, and then gives me another hug. "Are you still sad?"

I force a smile and lie to her. "No," I say. "You made me feel all better."

There's a sense of dread in my stomach starting the moment I wake up on the first day of school. With school comes insurmountable amounts of pressure and trying to keep up the face I've made for myself after years of growing up around the same people. I have a solid group of friends and I'm well known, but up until now Gale and I had been a prominent power couple at school. People are going to be shocked when they find out that we're not together anymore, and I'm really not looking forward to telling the story hundreds of times today. I debate writing a message on a piece of paper and taping it to my forehead, but that might be taking things a bit far.

I trudge through our shared bathroom and go into Prim's room to wake her up. She's wrapped up tight with her covers pulled over her head, and I can see them rising and falling with her steady, slow breaths. Her school starts later than mine, but Dad goes to work before either of us wake up so we have to walk together. It's good for her to get there early anyway, because she can get a good breakfast that I wouldn't be able to throw together here at home.

It's her first day of third grade today. "Prim, wake up," I say, and the covers shift. I pull them down so her head is exposed, and her eyes are just opening. "Time to get ready for school." A small smile appears on her face as I touch her cheek. "Morning," I whisper.

"Morning," she repeats, and then throws her covers back and sets her feet on the ground.

I hop in the shower and when I come out, Prim has laid a few outfit choices out on my bed. Before walking over to my own closet and finding something to wear, I stand at her side to see what she's deciding between. There's a pair of overall shorts with a pink shirt underneath, a green, knee-length dress with cap sleeves, and blue jean shorts with a white and purple polka-dotted t-shirt.

"Do the dress," I say. "It'll look nice for your picture." I already got my ID picture taken a few weeks ago, but for the elementary school, picture day is on the first day.

"Good idea," she says, and takes all of the clothes back into her own room.

For myself, I pick out a pair of leggings and a shirt that I've hardly worn since Madge got it for me for my birthday last year. I've been saving it for special occasions because I don't have a ton of nice clothes, and I figure today is as good of a day as any. It's a deep burgundy color with pretty detailing on the chest and sleeves that fan out around my wrists. I brush my hair out and then put it in a side braid, watching myself in the mirror as I do so. I put on a little bit of makeup; not too much, but it's the first day. I want to look nice.

"Will you do that to me?" I hear Prim behind me and meet her eyes in the mirror as she appears.

"What, makeup?" I ask, and she nods. I chuckle. "No way. But I'll give you a cool braid if you sit down."

I sit behind her on my bed and weave her straw-like hair into a plait that Mom would've been proud of years ago. When I'm finished, I run my fingers down the length of it and then pat her shoulders. "Looks great. And that dress looks really cute on you." She spins and the skirt twirls, and I can remember how I used to do that when that dress was mine. The skirt is perfect for it.

I hold Prim's hand on our walk to school. The morning is crisp; the grass is dewy and the sun is just starting to come up as we make our way there. Prim makes light conversation with me, but I don't feel much like talking. When we walk up to the school campus, which the elementary, middle and high school all share, we walk together through the front doors of her building and to the cafeteria, where breakfast is just being served.

"Are you nervous?" I ask while standing in the line with her. Sometimes I stay and eat, too, and today I'm looking for any excuse to put off leaving.

"No," she says, shrugging her shoulders in a carefree manner. She holds her tray with a smile as a few pancakes get put on it with syrup included, and then picks out an apple for herself. I choose the same things.

We sit down at a table together and then a few of her friends show up; Rue and Rory, the latter who is Gale's little brother. The two of them look like they've grown a couple feet.

"You can go now, if you want," Prim says, her blue eyes twinkling. She's happy. I shouldn't stick around any longer, I know that.

"Okay, okay," I say as I stand up. I kiss the top of her head. "Have a good day. I'll be here to pick you up at 3:45."

I walk out of the elementary school and head to the high school, where the bus riders are just starting to go inside. On my way to my new locker, I run into Madge and Johanna, my two best friends.

"Finding your locker?" Madge asks, then runs the material of my shirt between her finger and thumb. "This looks great on you! I knew it would. You should wear it more."

I give her a terse smile and run my finger along the locker numbers until I find mine. I twist the combination and it pops open on the first try, and I shove my stuff into it. I pull out my schedule and let out a long groan. "Gym second hour," I say with disdain.

"Me, too," Johanna says, studying her schedule on a half-sheet of paper. She peeks over at Madge's and then says, "Her, too."

"Sounds fun!" Madge squeals, and I sigh.

"I'd rather die," I say.

"Shut up," Johanna says, nudging me in the shoulder. "Drama queen."

As we start to walk the loop around the hallway to bide time before the first bell, Madge brings up just what I didn't want her to. "So how are you faring?" she asks, her voice soft.

"Don't remind me," I murmur under my breath.

Speak of the devil, as we walk through the senior hallway, Gale's hulking form stands above mostly everyone else. I hear the clang of his locker and then his brash laughter as he and Cato punch each other in the shoulders and cackle about something that's probably stupid.

"Ew," Madge says loudly, and takes my arm protectively.

He probably feels all of our eyes on him, because he flips around and locks his eyes on me as we pass. I stare right back, not sure what emotion I'm conveying or if he's even perceptive enough to read it. Probably not. The smile dies away from his face as he watches me, even as Cato continues to beat him. Gale's mouth settles into a straight frown, but he raises a hand to wave at me anyway. I quickly avert my eyes away from him, walk quickly past, and don't return the gesture.

"Have you guys talked?" Jo asks once we're far away from the scene.

I shake my head. "No," I say. "And we're not going to."

"You're done for good?" Madge asks.

"Yes," I say. "He's an ass." My upper lip raises in disgust, almost involuntarily. "He said some things that he'd never be able to come back from. He refused to take his dad's stupid sign down and called me a feminazi when I asked him to, like, all summer."

"Oh yeah, I saw that in his yard," Madge says. "That's so…ugh."

"Is this still about the whole thing because you wouldn't sleep with him again?" Jo asks. I meet her eyes and don't need to give a verbal answer before she knows. "What a fucking douche. How long does he have to ask before he gets the point that you don't want to?"

"And I told him that," I say, stopping back at my locker to pick up my stuff for AP Biology. "He wouldn't listen. Well, he would when I said it. Sometimes we'd fight about it and sometimes he'd let it go and just be a piss baby for the rest of the day and not talk to me. But then it would just happen all over again the next time he, like, saw a tiny part of my belly when I took my sweatshirt off or something."

Jo chuckles under her breath. "That's all it took?"

"Yes!" I say shrilly. "I'm telling you!" Both the girls start laughing now. "He started getting these reallyuncomfortable boners. Like, once I'd tell him no, they'd just be…sitting there. Under his pants. Looking at me."

"Sick!" Madge giggles. "Stop talking about it like that!"

We can't stop laughing, even as we walk to our first classes after the first bell rings. When it's time for me to part from them and go into bio, they both make their hands into binoculars around their eyes and pretend to be Gale's boner looking at me, googly eyes and all. I sit down at my lab station with a smile.

The smile doesn't last that long, though. At lunch, I can feel Gale's stare on me the entire time, even as Madge and Johanna tried to distract me, and it made me feel sick to my stomach. I go through the rest of the day in a haze and only snap out of it once I'm able to leave the building and head to Mezzo for the hour break I have before I have to go pick Prim up.

I sit there at a table in the back corner and think about how next week I'll be picking my job at the tailor shop to make some extra money both for myself and to help Dad out if he needs it. It's not my passion in life, but I know how to work a sewing machine so it's not hard. And talking to the customers is easy enough since they're mostly all ancient. When that starts, I'll have to somehow juggle school, work, my sister, and soccer all at once. It's a blessing in disguise that I don't have Gale to worry about, because he probably wouldn't fit in my schedule anyway.

I stay lost in my own head for the entire hour that I sit in the coffee shop, and then leave to go pick up my sister. She's happy to see me as usual, bouncing up and down with a backpack full of documents to be signed by Dad to bring back tomorrow. She doesn't stop talking the whole way home, and I wish that I still felt the way that she does; not weighed down by a single worry, nothing on her mind except how much fun she had today. She's lucky.

When we get home, Mom is sleeping upstairs and Dad isn't home yet. I make Prim a snack and she sits at the table and eats it while I unpack my backpack from the first day. Of course I have homework, so I sit down across from her and start to do it with half of my bottom lip between my teeth as I concentrate.

When Dad gets home, he ruffles mine and Prim's hair and gives us each a kiss on top of the head. "How are my girls?" he asks.

"Fine," I say, keeping my eyes on my paper.

"Really good!" Prim says enthusiastically.

"Good to hear," he says. "How about I start some dinner?"

Prim agrees, then hops up from her chair to follow him into the kitchen. I gather my things up in my arms, then move to my room to finish my work by myself.

The rest of the week passes in a blur, though by the end of it my morale is starting to look up. Gale hasn't stopped staring me down at lunch or in the hallways, but I've gotten much better at ignoring him and focusing more on what matters; which are my friends, school, soccer and work. I got my schedule for the tailor shop and I work on Mondays, Wednesdays and Sunday nights; which doesn't interfere with my practice schedule at all.

After school on Monday, when I'm walking Prim home she asks, "Will you watch a movie with me?"

I shake my head. "I can't. I have enough time to drop you off, then I have to leave for work."

"To do what?" she asks.

"Stitch, remember?" I ask. "I worked in the dress shop last year too. People bring me their broken clothes and I help fix them up."

"Oh, yeah." She nods, accepting my answer but still sounding disappointed.

I drop her off inside and take a quick second to change my clothes into worn-in jeans and a soccer t-shirt from last year. The job doesn't require a uniform; it'll just be me in the shop and customers whenever they stop in. It's not exactly a demanding or high-traffic sort of place. I sit there, wait for people to drop their clothes off, and fix stuff in the meantime. If there isn't anything to fix or if they're items that are too advanced for me, I just bring homework to do.

I wave my dad and Prim goodbye and tell them I'll be home later as I hurry back out the door. I walk the short distance to the tailor shop and the little bell rings as I walk inside, and the person who I'm relieving gives me a smile as we trade places. We don't exchange any conversation, I just sit down in the seat they vacated and wait for someone to come in.

A few people do as the night passes by. A middle-aged woman in need of her daughter's communion dress to be sewn, a different woman with a tear in her winter coat, and a man with a hem needed. When the entrance bell rings for the fourth time tonight, I'm hunched over the sewing machine, keeping the communion dress steady with one hand as the other threads the needle through.

I sense the person hovering by the doorway before I can lift my head up. "One sec," I say, not loudly. The place is small; I could have a normal-sounding conversation with someone right as they walk in. "Be right with you. Just have to finish this."

It takes me just a moment or two longer before I can take a break from the dress. When I look up, I see a boy standing in the doorway that I recognize from my one day of theater camp, a flannel shirt bunched between his fists.

"Hey," I say, giving him a nod and a slight smile. "What's up? We had theater camp together, right?"

"Yeah," he says. "Hey, Katniss."

My gut sinks when I can't remember his name. I don't respond for a second; I'm at a loss for words and don't know where to go from here.

"It's Peeta," he says, realizing the reason for my silence. He flashes me a forgiving smile and I can't hide my embarrassment.

"God, I'm sorry," I say, and reach my arms out for his shirt. He looks confused for a second, like he forgot why he came in here, but then it dawns on him and he hands the shirt over.

"It's really long," he explains. "I need it taken up, if you do that."

"Definitely can do that," I say, making check marks on a little sheet that I pin to the shirt. "I can have it done by Wednesday, and you can pick it up any time after that."

He nods, shoving his hands deep into his jeans pocket. "Sounds good," he says, and swings one leg in the direction of the door.

"Nice to see you again," I call out after his back has already been turned to me.

"You, too," he says as he's walking out the door.

I duck my head as the door shuts, hating that someone from school saw me working here. Up until this point, no one but Madge and Jo knew that I make extra money working as a seamstress, and I had wanted to keep it that way. It's just easier that way. It could be worse, though, because at least he's a new kid. At least it wasn't someone like Cato.

The rest of the night passes slowly as I work on some of the backorders that arrived before I came in. When it's time to close up, I flip the sign around on the door and shut the lights off, then put my fall jacket on for the walk home.

The next day on the walk to school, my backpack is heavy with my practice clothes. "When you get out of school, come to the soccer fields," I tell Prim. Last year, Gale would go over to the elementary school and bring her to me. Just like last year when, instead of Mezzo after our school got out and before hers did, and I would hang out at his house – that routine is no longer. I don't have his help anymore and she's going to have to learn how to get to me on her own.

"I don't know where those are," she says, sounding nervous.

"You do," I say. "Gale brought you over last year, every Tuesday and Thursday. And you'd come to games."

She shakes her head. "I can't remember going to games."

"You did," I insist.

"Why can't Gale bring me now?" she asks, dragging her feet in rebellion.

"I'm not his friend anymore, I told you that," I snap. "I'm not going to ask him to do that."

"Why?"

"We don't talk anymore," I say. "He's not a nice person. I don't want him around me or you."

"He was a nice person to me," she says. "So that means he should take me."

"No, it doesn't," I say, and grab her wrist a bit forcefully. She glares at me reproachfully, but I don't loosen up. "Just do this one thing for me please. You're not a baby. You're eight. You can remember how to get to the soccer fields if I show you, because I have practice right after my school gets done until 5. And you're not walking all the way home without me." I release her wrist and she pulls it to her chest. "Can you do that?"

"Hmph," she pouts. "You hurt me."

"Prim, please," I roll my eyes as we walk up to the school campus and pass the fields. "Here's where you need to go. It's not far from your building, you can even see it from here. I want you here by 4, which is fifteen minutes after you get out. Can you do that for me, please?" She hesitates, but nods eventually. "Thank you." I walk her to the front door and don't go inside to join her for breakfast because I know she won't want me to.