I keep intending to make these chapters longer, but then have trouble finding a good stopping point and just want to post it for you. So, here's chapter two.
As for the song the title of this story is derived from, here's your clue: it's by a very famous American musician of the past century who passed away in 2003.
Chapter 2
When I go back to school on Monday morning, Miss Blackwater announces that we will be presenting our stories to the class, so we need to find our partners again. I'm in a great mood as Katniss makes her way over to me again, smiling as she sits down.
"Hi," I greet her and she nods. Miss B. says we'll be going around the room starting by the door, so Katniss and I will be second to last to present. After the first few stories, I'm bored so I start doodling on a piece of paper from my notebook. In a few minutes, Katniss notices and grabs her pencil to start a game of tic-tac-toe. She beats me twice before I win one round, and then she seems to have lost interest in the game as she points to my hand holding the pencil.
"What?" I whisper, as she appears to be asking me a question. I let go of the pencil and hold out my hand to her.
She inspects it for a moment and then whispers, "You're left handed."
I look down at my hands, making an "L" shape with the thumb and pointer finger of each and finding that she is correct. I hadn't even noticed myself.
"Why?" she asks me, and I shrug in response. She picks up her pencil again and flattens my hand down on the piece of paper and then traces around it, then motions for me to do the same for her. Then, she starts drawing something along the fingers, and it takes me a moment to realize she's making them into turkeys. She starts to write her name under hers, before she looks at me, and whispers, "How do you spell 'Peeta'?"
I go to write it myself, but she shakes her head, so I whisper back – the way I've been practicing all weekend – P-E-E-T-A. She then starts drawing smaller scribbles that appear to be baby turkeys, although I've never seen one. After the first too, I take the pencil from her to draw more; she isn't that great of an artist, but I don't mind. When I'm up to nine baby turkeys, Katniss giggles and Miss B. seems to finally notice that we aren't paying attention.
She clears her throat and we both look up, the other kids now looking in our direction. I shrink in my seat as she reprimands us for being disrespectful, but Katniss doesn't seem ashamed. After several more moments, she draws some flowers and hearts around our turkey family until it's our turn to present. Katniss holds up the illustrations as I narrate for the class, and when we return to our seats, I motion for her to take the turkey drawing with her back to her usual seat. She shakes her head and pushes it back towards me, telling me to keep it with a smile. I keep the drawing taped to the wall next to my pillow for years after that.
The following summer, shortly before school starts and Katniss and I are now six years old, I'm working in the kitchen with my father one Sunday when there's a knock at the back door. My dad, his arms covered in flour, asks me to answer it, and I'm pleasantly surprised when I open it to see Katniss standing there with a tall, handsome man who must be her father. I hadn't seen much of her since school had let out in June.
"Peeta!" she says to me with a smile and a wave. I smile back at her when my father walks over to see who it is.
When he sees Mr. Everdeen, a look of what must be shyness crosses over his face for a split second before he smiles back and greets the man. Katniss wraps her arms around her father's leg as he holds up two plump squirrels to trade for bread. My father inspects them for a second before he looks to me, asking my opinion of them. I just nod back to him, feeling bashful that the attention is turned to me.
My father walks back to bag the loaves in exchange while I stand there, quietly watching as Katniss hums and laughs at her father's feet.
"Chickadee, are you going to introduce me to your friend?" her father asks her. She steps away from him and grabs my hand as she tells him my name and that I'm in her class at school. He bends down to shake my hand and my father returns with the bread and holds it out to him.
Katniss happily snatches it as my father takes the squirrels, making polite conversation with Mr. Everdeen.
Katniss looks excited as she tells me that soon she and her dad will be able to pick strawberries again. I tell her that I've never tasted a strawberry myself; my mother rarely lets us eat any of the treats we bake. In fact, she never lets us eat "the merchandise;" it's my father who occasionally sneaks us a bite.
She frowns before telling me she will bring me some to share in secret as soon as she gets them, and I'm happily anticipating the fulfillment of her promise, if only because it means she will talk to me again soon.
The first of first grade, I'm opening my bagged lunch as I make my way to a picnic table in the grass where Delly and my brother are sitting, when I feel someone poke my shoulder. I turn and smile as I see Katniss standing there, and she grabs my wrist and holds her fist over my hand to drop a small bag of four red strawberries into my palm. She gives me a conspiratorial smile as she pulls me away to sit under a tree to eat the berries in secret so that we won't have to share with anyone else. And afterwards, when she licks her fingers, I feel a little fluttering in my chest that I struggle to make sense of for years to come, when Katniss brings me this treat every September after.
It's the week before the Harvest Festival in late October when I'm nine years old, and I'm putting the batch of pumpkin pastries my father and I made earlier this morning out on display. My brother Rye is sweeping the floor while my mother is in the back doing the books while my eldest brother, Graham, is baking in the kitchen.
Then, the front door opens and a pretty face walks in next to her father, who's softly singing a song that sounds much more somber than the Valley Song, but just as beautiful.
Katniss smiles when she sees me, and I almost drop the pastry in my hand at the beautiful sight. Mr. Everdeen tells my father that they would like to purchase a special treat for his younger daughter, Primrose, whose birthday is in a few days. I take Katniss' hand as I lead her back to the kitchen, under the premise of showing her what I've been making, but with every intention of sneaking her a bite. I'm showing her the turkey shapes I'm icing on some cupcakes while she watches me with curious grey eyes, when we hear my mother's voice, looking for my father as she whines that the profit margins aren't at the level she would like to support his three sons. It's no secret that my mother wanted her third child to be a girl, and she reminds us all on a daily basis that she's been cursed with me. Graham is suspiciously missing when she walks into the kitchen and her cold eyes land on Katniss and me.
She scowls, "Peeta, what are you doing bringing a seam brat into the kitchen?" she grabs my arm roughly then and yanks me towards her. "I've told you before, they are filth! You can't let these vermin in the kitchen, we'll have to throw out this whole batch of cupcakes now that they're contaminated!"
Her voice, as well as her anger, is rising and I flinch, knowing what's about to come. I close my eyes as I see her drawing her hand back, preparing for the impact.
But it doesn't come. Instead, I feel a soft hand pull me backwards and open my eyes to see Katniss has moved to stand in front of me, shielding me from my mother. My mother is frozen in shock as Katniss speaks up.
"Don't you touch him!" she shouts, furious.
My mother finally finds words as she snaps back, "Excuse me?"
"Don't touch him!" Katniss repeats. "He didn't do anything bad. A mother isn't supposed to hurt her children!"
My mother makes a sound of disgust, but even she can't hide the awe at such a small girl displaying such nerve. After a few moments she speaks again.
"And just who might your filthy little girlfriend here be, Peeta?" she turns to me, still shielded by Katniss' small body and fury.
I'm stuttering as I start to answer, but Katniss beats me to it. "Katniss Everdeen," she says proudly, showing no intention of moving out of the way.
Recognition crosses my mother's face at the last name, and when she connects the dots of just whose daughter Katniss is, the anger returns to her full force as her face reddens.
"Get out!" she spits in Katniss' face. "Get out and never come back. You are forbidden from this bakery!"
I'm surprised at the raw hatred in her voice, but Katniss doesn't flinch until my father and hers walk through the door to see what all the commotion is about. My father looks worried and a little scared as he realizes what's happening, but her father seems serious and impassive as he walks over and scoops Katniss up, ignoring her protests, and walks out the door as she calls for me over her shoulder.
My parents get into an argument about my mother causing a semi-public scene, while she denies responsibility and blames it on me for being so stupid as to bring a seam brat into the kitchen. I wait for my father to call her out on the derogatory term, but he doesn't. He tries to look calm as he turns to me, instructing me to go upstairs.
From my room, I can vaguely hear their argument continue. I pull the blanket over my head as I try to drown them out, feeling frustrated as hot tears come to my eyes and willing myself not to let them fall. After what seems like an eternity, they finally quiet down, and moments later I hear heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.
I brace myself, expecting it to be my mother, rolling pin in hand, but it's my father. He walks in and sits on the bed next to me, remaining silent for a few minutes.
"I'm sorry, son," he begins, breaking the heavy silence. I look up at him and he continues.
"I don't think it's a good idea for you to hang around Kat – um, that little girl, anymore," he says, awkwardly avoiding speaking her name.
My stomach drops. "What? Why?! I won't bring her in the kitchen anymore, I promise!" I plead.
But my father just shakes his head, defeated. "I'm sorry Peeta. Your mother is concerned about the effect this could have on the business. She wants to send you to the community home, and this is the only compromise I could make so that you could stay here." He truly looks sorry, but I'm angry. It's not unheard of for some families in the district to send away their youngest children to the community home, unable to support another mouth to feed. That should never be the case with the family who owns the bakery, though, and my father knows it.
"Why don't you just yell at her? You're my father! You have a say in my life just as much as she does!" I shout, standing up as my father shushes me. "Why do you let her push you around?!"
My father doesn't meet my gaze. "I'm just trying to do what's best for you," he sounds monotone as he says this. Before I can respond, he gets up and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. I collapse onto the bed and groan into my pillow, too angry for tears now.
I don't know how long I stay like this before Rye comes in and sits down on his bed.
"What's wrong baby bro?"
I wonder how he didn't hear all the yelling from earlier, but I guess he must've run out the door as soon as he heard my mother's booming voice. It's what any of us would do in situations where we have the chance to escape.
I sit up, feeling my face burn as I solemnly tell him, "I'm not allowed to be friends with Katniss anymore."
I fully expect him to make fun of me for my infatuation, as he has countless times before, but instead he just nods.
I lay back down and put my hands in my hair, pulling with frustration, when I hear him say, "I'm sorry, brother." It may not sound like much, but coming from Rye, who's existence seems to be focused on teasing me at every possible chance, it means a lot. It's not often that Rye offers his sympathies, and now it only provides further proof of how miserable the situation is for me. I go to bed that night feeling hopeless and defeated, my energy drained after the rollercoaster of emotions from today.