PEETA

I don't hear from Katniss the rest of the weekend, not so much as a single text. And I don't see her outside of her house, either. I know she has a soccer game, but it's away at Vicksburg so there's no point in going to the stadium.

I see her for the first time since the concert as we head to lunch on Monday. "Hey," she says happily, matching my pace and looking up at me.

I look around the lunchroom and see that the student council has been busy hanging up advertisements for the upcoming homecoming dance. Posters covered in block letters and glitter are everywhere. It's impossible to so much as turn a corner without seeing a five-foot long sign with HAPPY HOMECOMING written in bubbly, high-school girl handwriting.

"Hey," I respond after a beat.

When Katniss comes back from getting her lunch, she spends a while stirring around the starchy mashed potatoes with her spork. "All the posters are a bit much," she says, smirking at me.

"Agreed," I say.

"Dances are a bit much in general," she says.

I raise my eyebrows. "Not your thing?"

"No, no, I mean…I go," she says. "But…yeah, they're not my favorite."

I make an affirmative sound. "About the concert," I begin. "What was-"

"I know," she cuts me off. I give her a confused look. "I ditched you."

"Because your mom."

"Yeah." A beat passes where we just look at each other, sizing each other up. "She never comes out to see my stuff," she continues, looking back down at her Styrofoam tray. "I didn't want to like, scare her off or anything."

It dawns on me, suddenly. She wasn't 'ashamed' of me or anything like that. She was protecting her mom by not bringing me around; she was padding the world around her to keep her mother as sheltered as she could.

My body feels warm as my heart swells for her.

"It's okay," I say, and mean it. "Don't worry about it."

"For real?" she asks. "You're not mad or anything? I mean, you totally could be. I just up and left you and didn't even really say…"

"Katniss, it's okay," I assure her. "Really. It's fine."

"It's really fine or it's a 'turn on read receipts and tell me goodnight at 5pm' fine?" she asks, laughing.

I smile along with her. "The first one. For sure."

"Okay, good."

We eat for a while without saying much, just trading small talk and how our days have gone so far. As I watch her talk animatedly about her upcoming dissection in bio later today, I come to the realization that I want – no, need – to ask her to go to Homecoming with me.

The dance is in two weeks. I hope I'll be able to work up the courage by then. I tell myself that there's no 'if' about it, I have to.

That night after my shift at the bakery, I spend time Googling homecoming proposals thinking that I might have a chance if I come up with something witty. Everything I find on the internet just makes me roll my eyes, though; the rhymes that people have written are very unimpressive. The first one that I scroll by is: "Roses are red, tiaras are stunning, come be my princess at this year's Homecoming," and I grumble about it.

"Doesn't even rhyme," I say under my breath.

"It would be a sweet if you'd go to Homecoming with me" is a sign covered in candy. Unoriginal. "Will you make my hotline bling at HoCo?" Again, my eyes almost slide back into my skull from how hard I roll them.

After going to the very bottom of the Google page and not finding anything, I shut my laptop and give up. Katniss probably wouldn't like an elaborate proposal anyway, so I push it out of my mind and try to think of something else.

When I'm at the bakery later in the week, I think of it. Of course, it has to deal with cheese buns. Every time she stops in here I give one to her and they're her absolute favorite. When the flow of customers winds down and it gets close to closing time, I box up a package of four in a pink box and tie it with a white ribbon. I tuck it under my arm on the way out to my car, and set it in the passenger's seat gently for the ride home.

When I pull up in the driveway, even in the setting sun I can see a figure on the sidewalk in front of my yard. When my headlights shine on them, I see that it's Katniss squinting into the brightness with a soccer ball trapped under one of her feet. With a smile, she waves at me and starts walking up to my car.

I scramble and rip the jacket off of my body to throw over the cheese bun package in the front seat, and stumble out before she can look inside.

"Hey, what are you doing?" I ask, walking up to her. I lead her subconsciously back onto the sidewalk and start walking away from my house, because the last thing I want is for my mom to look out, see us, and then have a million questions and criticisms later.

"I was wondering when you'd get home, slowpoke," she says, kicking the ball to me. I miss, though, and it bounces into the street. We follow it and stand in the middle of the desolate road and kick it back and forth under the yellow glow of the streetlights.

"I was at work," I say.

"I know. But usually you're earlier than this."

I raise my eyebrows. "And you know this how?"

She throws her arms in the air defensively. "I have eyes and I live like, five houses down from you."

"Or you stalk me."

"Don't flatter yourself, pretty boy," she says, and kicks the ball to me extra hard. My reflexes come in clutch this time, though, and I trap it quick. "What took you?"

"Just had a lot of messes to clean up," I lie. "I was lagging."

"Bad night to lag," she says. "Because I need help with my AP Calc homework."

My eyes widen as I kick the ball to her. "I don't know anything about math," I say. "I'm in AP Psych and Lit. The only math in my schedule is personal finance, and I'm not even that good in there."

She sighs. "I need you, anyway," she says. "Maybe you can just be fresh eyes to look at it."

"I mean, I'll try," I say. "Where is it?"

"Left it up in my room," she says, kicking the ball up to her knee and then tucking it under her arm. "Do you wanna come up? My dad is working third shift tonight, and my mom and sister are asleep. At least Prim should be." She must notice the wary look I'm giving her. "It won't take that long, come on." She takes my forearm gently. "I'm not trying to pull anything funny."

I scoff and laugh at the same time. "I didn't think that you were."

"You're looking at me like I'm about to slip something into your drink," she says as she opens the front door with a long creak. "Sorry about…" She gestures around the house.

She doesn't finish her sentence and I can't tell what she's apologizing for. The house is tidy, quaint and personal. There are school pictures from years' past lining the mantel above the fireplace in the living room, and pictures decorating the wall on the way up the stairs, but she doesn't let me pause and study them for long.

"Sorry about it all," she says again as we go down the short hallway to her room.

"What?" I ask.

"It's small," she says.

"Who cares?" I say. "My house is small, too."

"Yeah, but…" she trails off, flicking on the light to her room. "It's different. Here. The sheet is right here."

I look at her confusedly and wonder what about her house bothers her so much. To me, it just seems like a house.

Before looking at her homework, though, I take a moment to glance around her room. I can tell it hasn't been updated for a while because the walls are still a lilac purple that it seems a younger Katniss would be a fan of. Her furniture is white and worn-in, and there are pictures of she and her friends tacked to corkboards on the wall. On the shelves above her bed are rows of disorganized soccer trophies and medals, all honing in on each other's space. Discarded clothes are covering a chair in the corner, and her dirty soccer uniform is hanging out of the hamper by the closet.

"Stop looking at my mess," she says, touching my hand. "I know it's a wreck."

"It's not," I say, looking down at the paper. My eyes practically bug out of my head when I see all the letters, numbers and symbols combined. "I have no idea what any of this means."

"Peeta…" she sighs, rubbing her temples. But she still wears a smile. "You're no help at all."

"I told you I wouldn't be," I say, facing my palms up at her.

"I know, you did say that," she says. "But I thought a miracle might happen. I can't do this. My brain hurts. I've been working on it for hours."

"When's it due?"

"Tomorrow," she groans, and plunks her head down on her arms.

"Yeah…" I say. "I have no idea. Best case scenario is that you go in early and ask your teacher what the hell is going on."

"Templesmith is no help," she says, defeated. "Best case scenario is that I pack up and flee the country."

"Aw, come on," I laugh. "I'd miss you."

"You come, too, then," she says, her voice still muffled by her arms.

"Deal."

"We have a homework quiz tomorrow," she says. "I'm gonna fail. I'm gonna get a big old zero."

I rack my brain for a solution and end up finding one that might work, and it all comes down to my brother Leo who teaches math back where I used to live. He teaches at the freshman level, but he definitely knows more than I do. "I can call my brother," I offer.

She crinkles her eyebrows. "What can he do?"

"He's a 9th grade math teacher." I shrug. "Can't hurt, I guess. Better than fleeing the country."

"True," she says, pointing in my direction.

"I can."

"Okay," she agrees, and lets me have the desk chair while she goes over to sit on the bed with her homework on top of her binder.

I dial Leo's number while stealing glances over at her. She has the eraser of her pencil between her lips, which is making the lower one pout out in an insanely adorable way. Her legs are long, lean and tan in the electric blue athletic shorts she's wearing, which are shrouded almost completely by her black hoodie on top.

Leo answers relatively quickly. "Hey, Peeta," he says, sounding surprised. "What's up? Everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, oh yeah," I say. We exchange pleasantries for a few minutes until I ask him. "Hey, can I get your help with a math problem?"

"Math?" he asks. "I thought you were done with all the hard stuff now. Didn't think it was your thing."

"It's…" I debate lying to avoid this conversation, but the truth comes out. "It's not for me. It's for my friend. She's in AP Calc and she's really stuck."

"She…" Leo says, his voice rising.

"Yes," I say, teeth gritted. "She needs help and I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Put her on," Leo says.

"No, I…I can just relay…"

"Come on, Peet, put her on."

I sigh and give in, extending my hand to Katniss with the phone in it. "He wants to talk to you."

Her gray eyes widen, but she takes the phone from me and presses it to her ear. "Hello?"

I don't really listen to the words they exchange, but I watch her as she talks. At some points, Leo makes her smile, but not hugely. Just a small, demure grin that pulls her lips up at the edges. As she follows his directions and frantically writes out the problem, her tongue pushes out between her lips with concentration and I can't help but smile.

"Okay, okay," she says, nodding. "I think I got it. Yeah. Yeah, I that's what I got! Thank you. I really do. I do get it now. Thanks, Leo. Yeah, I'll tell him. Okay, bye." She hangs up the phone and tosses it back to me. "Your brother's cool. I get it now and that took like, five seconds!" She giggles. "He also wanted me to tell you that…" Her cheeks flush red. "Next time you call just to solicit his math skills for your girlfriend, he's gonna have to charge you."

I've never felt my face get as hot as it gets after she says that. I cover it up with both hands and groan. "Oh, god," I say, long and drawn-out. "Please forget he said that."

"He's nice," she says. "And now we don't have to flee the country."

"Yeah, that's good," I say, and stand up from the desk. "I should get going. I have reading to do for tomorrow, and…" I shake my head. "I'm feeling pretty mortified after what he just said."

She chuckles and stands up with me. "Oh, Peeta, don't. Come on, I'll walk you out."

She stands in the light of her doorway as I walk the short distance back to my house, waving until she can't see me anymore. Once I'm faced the other way and walking quickly, I let my face break into the craziest, goofiest grin.

I can't wait to ask her to the dance.

After school on Friday, I go to the stadium while Katniss's soccer practice is going and wait in the bleachers for her to finish. I have the container of cheese buns in a plastic bag on my lap, along with a note that I wrote out the proposal on and painted in watercolors to match the box. I hadn't meant to go all out with it, but once I started, I couldn't stop.

My stomach is jumping during her entire practice. So much so that I can hardly concentrate on her darting around the field. When she takes her turn in the goalie stand, she turns at me, sticks her tongue out, and waves gleefully. I hadn't told her I was coming, and her surprise makes me happy.

A few other people are in the bleachers too on this gray, blustery day, but I can only see the backs of their heads as I sit up towards the top. At 5, when it gets over with, Katniss trots off the field with a red face, guzzling her green Gatorade-brand water bottle that she carries around everywhere, and stops to talk to a guy on the track a good distance away from me.

I can't tell who it is until they both turn and his side profile is visible. I recognize him instantly then; it's Gale, her ex, and they're both smiling, laughing and nodding about something I can't hear.

My face falls and all of my excitement dies away. I can read her lips saying 'yeah, yeah' or something along those lines, and I stand up from the bleachers and walk away before I can see anything else.

I'm fuming and angry at myself when I get into my car and practically throw the cheese bun box in the back seat. I don't want her to come find me, so I drive off immediately with no end destination in mind. My feelings are hurt that she'd choose him over me, because she obviously did, but I'm angrier at myself than anything. I should've acted faster, asked her sooner, or just not have been so stupid as to think she'd choose me at all. My hopes should never have been as high as I'd let them get.

I squeeze the steering wheel as hard as I can and clench my jaw. At a stoplight, I let my head fall back to hit the headrest and let out a long breath. My throat feels tight and clogged like I might cry, but I refuse to let that happen. I'm not going to cry over it. That would just make it worse.

When I get home, I see that I have a few texts from her on my phone.

5:06pm –hey where'd u go?U were supposed to stick around!

5:10pm –wantme to stop by ur house?

5:22pm –ok…ur cars not there…everything ok?

It's 5:30 now, and to keep her from worrying, I shoot a quick text back.

5:31pm –everything's fine.Just had to run.Sry I missed you

I go to bed early in hopes to forget about everything that happened, and it works. I wake up in the morning thankful that it's a Saturday and I won't have to see anyone at school, and go into the bakery feeling refreshed from the ample amount of sleep I got last night. Dad is already there when I get in, and he gives me a small wave.

We talk infrequently throughout my shift, and get so busy mid-morning that I don't notice Katniss come in until she's standing right across from me in front of the counter. She has on her soccer uniform, ready to head to a game, and an ivory colored visor because it's pretty sunny out today. When she turns her head to collect Prim from the tables against the wall, I can see that her hat says 'Always' on the back right above the hole where her ponytail is coming through. I don't know what that means, but for some reason I like it.

"Hey," she says with a smile. "Prim, pick something out. Anything you want."

Prim does an excited little dance, squealing as she does so. Then she squats down in front of the display case and carefully looks at the selection that she has to decide from.

"What happened yesterday?" Katniss asks me, leaning forward with her palms braced on the counter, looking concerned. "I saw you and then you were gone."

"Yeah…" I say, my voice fading. "I had something here I had to run and go do."

"Mm-hmm," she says skeptically, her eyes slits. "I don't believe you at all, I hope you know."

"What?"

She shakes her head. "You saw me talking to Gale, right?" She nods, affirming the answer herself. "It's not what you think."

I don't keep up the guise anymore. "I mean, I don't care who you talk to or anything like that," I say.

"We were talking about her," Katniss says, nudging Prim with her foot. "He picked her up from school yesterday and brought her to his house because it was cold and she didn't want to come to practice. He has like, a million little siblings that she loves." She nods slowly, trying to get me to join in. "And when I was done hearing him talk on and on, I really wanted to see you. But you disappeared."

"I…" My mouth opens, but no words come out. I feel so stupid for assuming, and for even thinking I had the platform to assume. "I didn't…"

She half-smiles. "It's okay."

"God," I say, and can't think of anything else to say. "It's just… him…"

"I know. He's an ass. He's the worst. But he still helps me with this pain in my ass sometimes."

Prim glowers at her and then points at something within the glass. "Can I have that?" she asks.

"Sure," I respond, and pull out an intricate cinnamon roll and put it on a little plate for her, stopping Katniss's hand when she hands her money to me.

"Peeta Mellark…" she scolds.

"Nope," I insist. "Not gonna let you."

"I hate you," she says, then nods back towards the tables. "Go sit down," she tells Prim. "I'll be over." She faces me again. "There's something I want to ask you. And if you really think I'm crazy, or pushing you, or that you hate this kind of stuff, just tell me. I'll understand. But, like…" She sighs and pulls on her ponytail, her eyes darting everywhere in the room but on me. "Would you want to go to Homecoming with me?" Her voice shakes when she asks, and when the words are out, she gives a watery smile.

My mouth drops open and my eyebrows must rocket to the ceiling. "Really?" I ask, and she nods.

"Unless you don't want to. In that case, please forget that I asked."

"No, no, no!" I say. "Of course I want to." I can't wipe the smile off of my face. "I…um, I was actually going to ask you. Yesterday. But then I saw you with him…and…just yeah. It went all wrong."

"You were?" she asks, sounding incredulous.

I nod. "I'll give you what I meant to give you yesterday. Wait one minute." I hurry to the back of the bakery and come back with the box, which I slide to her over the counter. "Open it."

She glances up at me curiously and then unties the white ribbon, picking up the parchment paper from the top of the box. In black paint over pink ombre watercolor, I've written:

Katniss –

I know it's cheesy,but will you go to Homecoming with me?

PS: I'm sorry for this but I had to.

Peeta

After reading it, she looks up at me with a huge smile on her face as she opens the box. "My favorite!" she says excitedly, and takes one out. "I've never gotten something like this. Can I pretend I didn't ask you already, so I can say yes?" I nod. "Then yes. Yes, I'll go with you." She giggles and then says, "Come out here. I need to hug you."

I come out from behind the counter with my apron covered in flour, but she doesn't care. She hurls herself into my arms and wraps her arms tight around my neck, and I keep a firm hold around the small of her back.

I can't remember the last time I felt this happy.

KATNISS

My soccer game is a blur because of how far my head is in the clouds. The day that the Homecoming posters went up at school was the day I had started hinting to Peeta, but he had taken so long that I thought it went right over his head. So when he told me that he had planned on asking me before I even said anything, it was a total surprise.

My smile lasts all the way through the weekend and into school on Monday morning.

"What are you so happy about?" Johanna asks snidely, sidling up to me as I put my things into my locker.

"Oh, nothing," I say, standing on tiptoe to place some books on the top shelf.

"Sounds like something," she says. "Spit it out."

I put my heels back on the ground and clutch my binder and books close to my chest. "I have a date for the dance," I say proudly.

"You're telling me that you…" she begins, raising her eyebrows and leaving her sentence unfinished.

"Peeta," I finish for her. "I asked him and he asked me."

She studies me. "Really? Him? Not like… I heard that Tanner likes you. You don't want to go with him?"

"No, I… who even is that?" I shake my head. "No, I don't want to go with whoever Tanner is. I want to go with Peeta. It's actually a really funny story how we decided. Because first I asked him, then found out he was gonna ask me all along…" She gives me a face. "What's the face for? What do you have against him?"

"Nothing," she claims.

"You've never even met him. You need to. He's a really great guy." I can't help the grin that sneaks onto my face when I talk about him.

"I can see that…" she says surreptitiously. "You've been spending like, every waking minute with him."

"Oh, not true."

"He's stealing you from us."

"Would you stop?" I say, stopping at my classroom. "I'll ask if he wants to sit at our old table with you guys today."

"Okay," she agrees. "Cool. Find out."

I say that I will, and then head into AP Bio. After that class is done, I hurry to gym so I can get there before the bell rings and we have to separate to get changed. We're luckily starting on our tennis unit today, though, and I plan on partnering up with Peeta.

I wave to him as the girls and boys go into their respective locker rooms and then giggle to myself as I throw my gym bag into my open locker.

"What is going on with you, Katniss?" My friend, Reese, asks. "You're so smiley."

"Just happy," I say, stripping off my school shirt and tossing it into my locker. I throw my nice bra in there too and replace both with a sports bra and an old t-shirt. My jeans follow and after I'm all dressed, I trot out of the locker room and go grab a racquet, then find a net that Peeta and I can use.

"Johanna wants to meet you," I say, once we've started hitting the ball back and forth. I have pretty good hand-eye coordination, and Peeta's hand is steady, too. The ball volleys back and forth with ease.

"Okay," he says, sounding suspicious.

"Would you be open to sitting at my old table with them today?" I ask. "I mean, we don't have to. But it would get them off my ass about it."

"Everdeen, language," I hear Mr. Abernathy wheeze, and I bite my lip.

"Oops."

"Yeah, that's cool," Peeta says, serving the ball up to me. "I'd like to meet your friends."

"Me, too," I say. "And I told Jo about Homecoming."

"Good," he says, sounding proud.

"Good," I repeat back, and feel my heart swell within my chest. I wonder what this means for us, but I don't have enough courage to ask yet. I don't want to ruin what we already have.

"What color dress are you wearing, by the way?" he asks, watching the ball that he hit whiz by me after I hardly tried to get it.

"Oh, I'm not sure yet," I say. "I haven't even gone shopping, god. Me and Prim…" I trail off, wondering how I'm going to scrape up the money for a dress. I know I'll be able to figure it out somehow, but my gut twists as I wonder if I'll have to ask Dad for a loan. I hate doing that. I try to avoid it as much as I can. I have my pay from the tailor shop saved up, but I give most of it to Dad already. And I'm sure Prim has some allowance that she's stockpiled, but I don't like asking her for help, either. "I don't know yet. Why?"

He looks at me like it's an obvious answer. "I have to match you," he says. "My bow tie, your dress." I must look confused, because he follows up with, "Come on now, Katniss."

I chuckle and scoff. "Excuse me," I say. "My date before you never took the time to think of stuff like that."

"It's common knowledge," Peeta says, shaking his head. "We have to look good."

"You will," I say.

"We both know you'll look way better," he says, returning the ball I hit to him.

On the outside, I smile. On the inside, I can't stop stressing about finding the money to get the perfect dress.

On the way to lunch after gym, I make a bold move and take his arm on the way there. I hear whispers behind us, but I do my best to ignore them and see that he's doing the same as well. I can tell he likes me holding onto him though. He doesn't do a great job at hiding his feelings on his face.

I go get my hot lunch, and then we walk together over to the table I used to sit at towards the middle of the cafeteria. Sitting around the circle are Johanna, Madge, Annie, Finnick, Delly, Thom and Bristel. There are two empty seats; one that Gale vacated when he and I broke up and the other that I vacated when I up and left them to sit with Peeta every day.

"Hey guys," I say, giving a small wave. "This is Peeta. Peeta, this is everybody." I go around the circle and introduce each of them, and he's kind and gracious to them all as he sits down. I can see them all sizing him up, getting a read on who he is by staring at him, and I will them to stop. I don't want this to be weird.

Lunch is only 35 minutes, but it feels like it goes by much slower because of how anxious I am that he'll like them and that they'll like him. When the bell is about to ring, I lie and say that I forgot something in the gym and ask Peeta if he'll come with me to get it, which of course he does.

"What did you forget?" he asks as we walk.

"Nothing," I say. "I just wanted to get out of there."

"Oh," he says, looking confused. We stop at the stairs and he leans on the railing as I sit on the bottom step. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," I answer. "But having you around my friends is weird."

"Oh," he says again.

"Not because of you," I say. "Well, kind of. But I guess…" I laugh at myself. "I guess I just don't want to share you."

He laughs. "Wow, Katniss. Okay."

"And like…I don't know. They can be judgmental. I don't want them to judge you."

"I can take care of myself, you know," he says, but his eyes are still twinkling.

"I know, I know," I say as I stand up. "I just like it better when me and you sit alone. It's just easier. Everything isn't as much of a big deal."

"I can't say I disagree," he says. "But it was just one day."

"Yeah," I say, sighing. "I can tell they liked you."

"You think?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say.

"They were okay, too," he says. "But you're right. I prefer just you any day."

He walks me to my next class, and then separates from me to go to his own. All through the lesson I'm lost in my own head again, thinking about him. I wonder if I'll ever be able to think of anything else.

When I pick Prim up from school, she hangs out in the tailor shop with me. "Will you go shopping with me after school tomorrow?" I ask her.

She looks up from the book she's reading. "I think you have soccer," she says.

"I'm skipping," I say.

"You can't skip."

"I can. Because I need to go shopping for a dress."

"A dress?" Her interest is piqued. "A dress for what?"

"Homecoming," I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

"The dance?" she asks. I nod. "You're going with Peeta!"

I don't know if she overheard us in the bakery on Saturday or is just a mind-reader. "Yes," I say.

She claps and wiggles where she sits. "You love Peeta."

"I do not. Prim, stop. Just answer my question, will you go with me?"

"Sure," she says. "Can I try on some dresses, too?"

I look back down at the shirt I'm repairing. "Sure," I say. "You don't happen to have any spare allowance lying around that you'd loan to me, do you?"

There's a long pause, and I don't look up to see her face. "Maybe," she says.

"I don't know if I'll need it. But I can pay you back if you just bring it."

"Okay," she agrees. "But only because it's Peeta."

At lunch the next day, I overlap Peeta's hand with my own and trace his knuckles as I talk to him. "What's your favorite color?" I ask him.

"Orange," he replies quickly.

I squint my eyes and then glance around the lunchroom. My eyes land on this girl Georgia, who tried to dye her black hair blonde a few days ago and it turned the worst shade of in-between. "Like Georgia's hair?"

He follows my gaze and stifles a laugh. "No. And you're so mean."

I shrug one shoulder and continue to touch his skin. It's soft and warm, unlike mine which tends to be cold and dry. "So, like what kind of orange?"

"Soft," he says. "Like the sunset." I nod, taking this information into account. "What's yours?" he asks.

"Green," I say.

"Really," he says. "Green." I nod. "Interesting. Are you thinking about dress colors?" I nod again. "I'm sure you'll look beautiful in any color," he says, charming as usual.

"You overestimate me," I tell him, poking his arm. "Me and Prim are going shopping tonight. I realize that I'm cutting it really close, so tonight has to be the night I find one. I think we're going to look around at Macy's to see what we can find."

He raises his eyebrows affirmatively as he chews. "I'm sure you'll find something," he says between bites.

"What are you wearing?" I ask.

"Black dress pants, white shirt, black suspenders. Then whatever color dress you choose, I'll match it with my bow tie like I said."

"You seem to have this down pat," I say. "Been to a lot of dances at your old school? I'm sure every girl was falling over herself to ask you."

He shrugs. "I mean, no, not really. I went with a couple different girls throughout the years but it was never anything special. Never anything like…" He shrugs again. "Yeah. Just dance dates. Never anything more."

"I see," I say, trying to read his face with a smile plastered on mine. "They missed out." His face turns as red as a tomato, and I want badly to reach out and press the backs of my knuckles against his cheek, but I refrain.

When I pick Prim up from school, she's bouncing with excitement. I told Dad that we might be a bit later coming home because I have to find a dress, and he was reluctant but ultimately said it was fine as long as we're home by 8.

When we get to the store, there are hardly any people and I tell Prim that this is a very serious mission because I don't have much time left to prepare. I tell her to find any knee-length, size 2 dress that she thinks is pretty and make a stockpile, and I'd try them all on at the end of our search.

We shop for what seems like forever, but when we come together and make a big pile of dresses in seemingly every color outside of my fitting room, I know that the hard part hasn't even started yet.

"Oh, boy," I sigh, and Prim sits down on the bench outside of my room. "Prim, come in here," I tell her. "I'm gonna need a zipper-upper."

She sits on a square cube in the corner of my dressing room as I try on dress after dress after dress. From turquoise, to yellow, to black, nothing is going right. Some of fabrics irritate my skin, some are too big, and some are just plain ugly.

"It has to be perfect," I say to her after probably twelve or fifteen duds. "It just has to be."

"It's gonna be," she assures me, sounding wiser than her eight years. "We're gonna find it. We still have a ton left. Just wait."

The perfect one doesn't turn up, though. We go through my entire pile of dresses and even after the very last one, are left emptyhanded and exhausted. I collapse on the floor next to my sister and feel her looking down at me, but can't muster the energy to look back up.

"Maybe we should do one more round," she offers.

My shoulders slump in towards themselves. "I don't know if I can," I admit.

"Come on, Katniss," she says encouragingly. "We have to."

I bury my face in my hands. "It's not here."

"You don't know," she says, pulling me up by my hands. "Let's go look one more time."

We walk out of my dressing room, headed towards the dress department again, but before we can even leave the fitting area I stop dead in my tracks.

"Prim, wait," I say. "Wait, wait, wait."

"What?" she asks, spinning back around to look at me.

"Look." I point forward, bringing her close to me. Hanging on the discarded rack is a short, deep red dress with a chiffon skirt and a jeweled upper half. It's sleeveless with a high neck and an open back, and from what I can see, it looks perfect.

I walk over to it and check out the size, then turn back to Prim with wide eyes. "It's a 2," I say, dumbfounded, and then snatch it off the rack.

I pull it haphazardly onto my body in the dressing room and then twirl around to look in the mirror. I cover my mouth with my hands and let out an excited squeal; this is the first thing that's looked not only good on me, but amazing.

I step out of the room and Prim's eyes widen. "Katniss, It's so pretty!" she shrieks, and stands so she can jump up and down. "You have to get it. You have to!"

"I want to, I want to," I tell her, and then lift the skirt to check out the price tag. I'm scared to look, but I force myself. I grit my teeth when I see the number, and then look at her with chagrin. "It's $100," I say.

"I can help," she says. "I've been saving up."

"I can do it," I say, calculating in my head. "Just no treats for us for a while. Can we do that?" She nods. "You keep your money," I tell her. "I can buy this. It's enough that you came here with me."

I undress myself and then walk to the cash register with the dress cradled in my arms. When I go to pay, Prim hands a $20 to the associate, even as I try to stop her. "Prim, no," I hiss. "I told you, I got this."

"I want to help," she says. "I want to. Please, Katniss?"

"Prim…"

"I want to be a part of it," she practically begs. "You said I could."

I give in then and let her pay $20 of the bill. "Thank you," I say quietly, once the dress is in a bag and we're headed out the door.

She grabs my hand and swings my arm. "I love you," she says, out of the blue. "You're gonna look like a magical princess for the dance."

"I love you, too, little duck," I say, and kiss the side of her head. We can't stop talking about the dance for the whole way home.

The rest of the week is abuzz with Homecoming prep and excitement, and Peeta and I are definitely part of it. Once I tell him the color of my dress, everything is solidified and seems more real than it did before.

The look of excitement on his face when I told him made my heart do a big flip and land in my gut. I've never felt like this towards anyone, so I hardly know what to make of it. Being around him makes me so nervous, but at the same time there isn't anyone else I'd rather be around. It's such a strange, contradictory sensation.

Instead of going to the Homecoming game on Friday night, I end up getting called in to cover a shift at the tailor shop. Peeta and I had planned on going to the game together, so I feel bad when I text him and tell him that I can't go.

I'm sitting at the sewing machine, repairing away, when I hear the bell on the front door ring as someone comes in.

"Hi," I say, without looking up.

"Randy here," I hear, and then look up with my eyes wide and excited.

"Peeta," I breathe, and pause my sewing. "What are you doing?"

He sets a brown paper bag down on the desk and pushes it towards me with a bashful grin on his face. "I thought you might be hungry. And maybe want some company. So I thought of a way to fix both those things."

I open the bag and pull out a few of my beloved cheese buns. "Oh, my god, thank you," I say, and take a huge bite. "You made my night."

He smiles again and sits down in a chair across from me, making small talk as I continue to work. He talks about the latest book he's reading for AP Lit, which is Pride and Prejudice, and how he's never really connected with it before now, but this time he really likes it. I listen and drink in every word he's saying, so interested in the stimulating conversation he can always keep up. I'm never bored around him.

"What's your favorite book?" he asks me, interrupting his own tangent about the AP Lit teacher and her affinity for him.

I take pause on my sewing and look up at him, studying his face as I think. His jaw seems more chiseled than ever as he chews on the peppermint gum that I can smell from here, and his blue eyes are sparkling in the low light of the little shop. His hair is a bit wild on top of his head, tousled from the autumn Michigan wind outside, but I love the way it looks on him.

"I'm not sure," I say, and continue to think. "Maybe The Book Thiefor My Sister's Keeper."

He makes a small sound. "Sister's Keeper would make sense. You are Prim's keeper, basically."

"True," I say, and nod. "What's your favorite?"

"Oh, god," he says. "I have so many. It's hard to choose."

"Okay, nerd."

He laughs. "Who you calling nerd, science geek?"

"Ooh, got me," I say under my breath, and we both giggle. "Answer the question, pretty please."

He thinks for a while. "Probably Twilight," he says, and I have to look up at him because his voice sounds so deadpan serious. He can't keep his straight face for long, though, he starts to crack up as soon as I meet his eyes. "Team Edward for life," he says.

"Get fucked, I'm totally Team Jacob," I say, my face splitting with a smile.

"Okay, okay, real talk," he says. "My favorite book is probably… Fahrenheit 451."

I raise my eyebrows and pick the shirt up away from the machine. "Never heard of it," I say.

"Very dystopian," he says. "Kind of hard to explain. You should read it sometime."

"Sounds like a lot for me," I say, snapping out the repaired shirt and hanging it back up. "And another one bites the dust," I say in reference to finishing it, and he starts to sing the the song, and I giggle. "You're an idiot," I say. "A very charming idiot, but an idiot."

"I'll take it."

When it's time to close up shop, Peeta offers to drive me home and I don't put up a fight this time. Plus, spending time with him beats walking home in the freezing wind any day.

His car is warm and cozy as we drive down the main road, and he turns up the radio as Cake by the Ocean by DNCE comes on.

As the volume gets louder on the song, so does the volume of his voice. He starts to sing along very badly and very passionately, and he creates such a spectacle that I double in half laughing so hard that I can't breathe.

"Talk to me, baby!" he shrieks. "I'm going blind from this sweet craving, whoa-oh! Let's lose our minds and go fucking crazy!" Of course, he shouts the expletive over where the radio censors it out. "Ah ya ya ya ya I keep on hoping we'll eat cake by the ocean floor!"

I wipe the tears away from the corners of my eyes. I still can hardly breathe. "You sound like shit!" I shout over the music, but my words get lost with his singing and my continued laughter.

"I keep on hoping we'll eat cake by the ocean floor!"

I catch my breath for long enough to turn the stereo dial down. "What the fuck are you saying, ocean floor?" He nods enthusiastically. "Wrong lyrics, you dumbass!" He rolls his eyes and turns the music back up, uncaring, and continues to sing horribly until we turn into our neighborhood.

He pulls up into my driveway and turns the radio off. I feel winded and spent from how hard I've been laughing, and just sit there shaking my head. "You're insane," I say.

"I prefer spirited," he corrects.

"That, too," I say. "So tomorrow. I have a game at 1, but it'll be over by 2:30. Then I'm going home to get ready. You coming to see me play?" I get out of the car, but bend over so I can still see him.

"Wouldn't miss it," he says. "And anyway, I'm your good luck charm."

"Big-ass ego," I say. "See you tomorrow." I wave to him as he drives away, and then again when I see him pull up in his own driveway.

I try to force myself to sleep when I lay down, even though it feels like I could stay up all night because of how wired my excitement has made me. Before I shut my light off, I turn over on my side and look at my dress that's hanging on my closet door, in perfect view. I smile as I stare at it, and my stomach jumps with jitters at the prospect of tomorrow night.

"Go to sleep, go to sleep," I will myself, and shut my eyes. After what seems like forever, I still am lying there awake as ever, though, so I pull out my phone and squint at the brash brightness. After my eyes adjust, I pull up Peeta's messages and text him.

11:04pm –cant sleep!

I see his typing bubble come up within seconds of me sending my message. I feel the corners of my lips pull up as I wait for his response.

11:05pm –me neither and have an early shift tomorrow!Wtfis wrong w us

I type back right away.

11:05pm – way too excited. Just want it to be tomorrow night NOW tbh

I wonder if I came on too strong and chew on the inside of my lower lip.

11:06pm –same here.I cant wait to u in your red dress ;)

My cheeks heat up so quickly that a rush floods through my entire body. I blink my eyes open wide and my heart speeds up tenfold.

11:06pm –im sure you clean up better than I could ever dream of, pretty boy

I press my phone to my chest as I wait for his message to come in.

11:06pm –doubtful.Very very doubtful,pretty girl

I practically shriek as I lay there in the dark, but I don't want to wake up my family so the best I can do is thrash around and smile my face off.

11:07pm–youre actually going to kill me.Omg.I have to go now before I totally EMBARRASS myself.Gn peeta ❤

Adding the heart emoji was taking a leap of faith, but I feel good about it. And luckily, he responds in the way I want him to.

11:07pm –night Katniss❤

There's absolutely no way I'm sleeping now.