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Katrina

I felt free, uplifted, shocked. I was alive.

How was I alive?

"Your mother and step-father are in police custody," the social worker told me. I had stitches all over my body, a bruised rip and a once collapsed lung. How was I alive?

"We've matched you with a foster family in Doylestown," she told me, she was a mousy woman, Dianne Simpson.

"The suburbs?" I laugh, "I'm moving on up in the world." I looked around the room, there were hundreds of ways for me to kill myself here, but I was filled with a strange desire to live. To fight.

It would go away eventually. Probably May 8th next year, my eighteenth birthday.

I was in the hospital for the next week before meeting my new family, the swelling had gone down in my face and I was beginning to look human again. Dianne ushered in my new family, they were so pretty and suburban the fit mother with bleached white teeth, the well-built father who had a few extra pounds followed by three boys all blonde haired blue eyed copies of his father. Guess they were trying for a daughter.

"Katrina, this is Thomas and Lisa Mellark, and their sons Ryan, Andrew, and Peeta," I nod, unable to speak. Would they hate me? Would they hit me? Would they refuse to feed me? I had been in all three situations before.

I open my mouth to speak but the mother is on me, "Oh you poor thing," I wince as she wraps her well exercised arms around me.

"Lisa, please, give the girl some breathing room!"

I don't know where it comes from, but I hug her back, I had never received a motherly hug before, she seems shocked by my affection and pulls back. I studied the boys, the older two were definitely twins, especially with how they acted, the youngest studied me. When our eyes met I felt a pang in my chest, like I was remembering him from somewhere.

"Dad's always wanted a daughter," Andrew teased nudging their father as he pulled out clothes for me to wear, jeans and a light blue blouse with some sneakers.

"Yeah, why would your mother and I give you another sibling with how you beat on Peeta?" Thomas asks rolling his eyes.

"Don't worry," I finally speak up squeezing my hands, I have hairline fractures in both my hands from the fight with my mother, "I can dish it back," I smile a little as the two boys whoop and holler. Peeta has since excused himself.

Lisa's hand is on my thigh, "You'll have to forgive our youngest, he just lost someone very close to him, but he'll warm up to you," I nod as the nurse comes and removes my IV, covering it up with a ball of cotton and tape. Everyone leaves me be as I sit up, I know I won't be able to dress myself, I can barely bend over.

"Misses Mellark?" I feel my blush creep to my cheeks.

"Please Katrina, call me Lisa," I nod and correct myself.

"Lisa, could you… I know this is weird, but help me dress?"

She closes the door and pulls the blinds, "Of course sweetheart," I can't trust her, this is just an act, the second we get to her house she'll turn, they all do. She was just in this for the money.

"I know what you're feeling, Katrina," I jump at this as her cold hands are helping me untie my gown, "I was in the system until the day I turned eighteen," her voice is sad. Is she lying? Trying to get me to trust her? She had muscular arms, she could probably do a better job at beating me than my mother.

She helps me clasp the bra, it's brand new, we have to remove the tag and everything, I've never had a new bra before…

She smiles at my silence buttoning up my blouse for me, "I bounced from house to house from the time I was six to when I turned sixteen… Then I found the Mellark's, or they found me…" she smiles as I sit on the bed and pull on the brand new jeans, come to think of it I had never worn new clothes before in my life, "When I turned eighteen I expected them to kick me on the streets, wash their hands of me… But no, they helped me get a job, I gave them one hundred a month for rent until I graduated high school, then they helped me get financial aid for college," that's definitely a lie, families don't do that.

I slip my feet in the sneakers, new as well. God damn suburb people were rich, buying clothes for strangers, "Here," she hands me a brush, "Actually, I don't want you disrupting your stitches," yeah, probably keeping you from your book club, or Country Club, or the gym…

I'm still sitting on the bed as she brushes out my long black hair, she's gentile, loving. I'm terrified.

"C-can you braid it?" I try and press my luck, mother's braid their daughter's hair… Well, good mother's.

"Of course! You have so much of it!" she starts at my widow's peak and works my hair until it's all neat and tied back. I look at my reflection, behind the stitches and the green bruises Katrina was hiding in there.

Maybe I did have a future…

Ryan and Andrew took to the very back seat of the Mellark's Pilot, climbing over the row behind the front seats and immediately finding themselves in a debate over people whose names I didn't know.

Peeta sat next to me, the foot between us like a mile, he didn't look at me, or acknowledge my existence, "So where are you from?" Thomas asks as we get onto the Turnpike.

"North Philadelphia? Right by Temple," it's started to rain and I trace droplets down the window.

"Did you ever get shot?" Ryan asks playing with my braid, he's eighteen but right now reminds me of a rammy child.

"Ryan!" Lisa hisses from the front seat.

"No, it's fine. Philly's not that bad of a town," I turn around wincing a little from my ribs, "No I never got shot, my pops shot someone though," my hands go to my mouth. I've said way too much, "I'm sorry! Please don't hit me!" I flinch waiting for a blow to come that never does, I was hit in my third home for saying this before, they didn't want me plaguing their children's minds with such violence.

"Don't apologize, and no one's going to hit you," I cross my arms and sink into my seat, just wanting to disappear, Peeta's eyes are on me, curious, studying my every movement. I stroke my braid, nervous, would he hurt me? Would he try and touch me?

I grip the seat panicking but a warm hand cover's mine, "Katrina… Are you ok?" my cheeks are soaked. I should move my hand but instead I grip his, tightly through the pain. There was that feeling again, I recognized him, somewhere. It's dim like a candle in a blizzard, trying to lead me home but still so far away.

"I'm fine…" I mumble finally pulling my hand from his, the heat lingering.

"Peet, your brothers, your mother and I have to go to the Everdeen's to get the rest of Katniss' clothing for Katrina, you get her settled ok?" I didn't notice before but the car had come to a stop. We were in the middle of town, surrounded by old buildings, it looked just like Old City. The only big name store I saw was a Starbucks which was surrounded by ghetto looking white kids. They didn't know what the ghetto was, hopefully never will. In the road was a large dark stain, too big to be an oil leak, it gave the road a rusty red twinge. Blood maybe?

There is no city smell here, in fact it smells almost floral, and quiet, oh the quiet.

"Katrina?" Peeta calls opening the door to what I assume is his home, he holds open the wrought iron gate and the white door that leads straight to a staircase. The stairs creak under my weight, "It might get a little warm in here in the summer, we live above my dad's bakery," I nod taking in the home. It's larger than the one I lived in back in Philly, but cozy. The first space we walk into is a large living room with plush couches never used to hide drugs, separated from the kitchen by a half wall, everything in Misses Mellark's kitchen is stainless steel, not dented by heads, hands and feet like my mother's. They have a formal dining room with a massive cherry table, polished to perfection. It's never seen a razor to cut cocaine into neat lines.

Peeta's hand finds my lower back, "You're room is this way," he leads me down a bright hallway filled with pictures of the family fishing, on the beach… I had never seen the beach before.

One catches my eye and I stop dead in my tracks, Peeta dancing with a short little thing with hair the color of dark rich honey, tanned skin and bright eyes, they're wearing sashes. Homecoming King and Queen.

"Your girlfriend?" I ask touching the black silk around the top right and bottom left corners of the picture frame.

"No… She was a close friend…" he sighs and looks down at me, "A drunk driver hit her a few weeks ago, she didn't make it," I felt the tugging again from the pain in his voice.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up…" I mumble stepping away from the photograph.

"She wouldn't want everyone to mope around, its fine. Just weird, she had this effect on people, made them want to try harder," he shrugs, smiling faintly, "Here, my room's next to yours, the twins across the hall, and here…" he opens the door directly across from mine, "Is the bathroom, you have to share with my brother's and I… Sorry," I nod and walk into my bedroom. It's a light shade of blue with a girlish touch. Every piece of furniture has that creamy white color and gentile curve with antiqued drawer pulls. There's even a TV in here, I've definitely never had my own TV.

"Kat…" Peeta's hand is on my shoulder as I begin to cry.

"I slept on a bare mattress on the floor with a comforter I stole for the last two years," I sit down on the bed and stare at the ceiling fan, the tears leaving my eyes, "I don't deserve any of this. I'm just a foster kid…"

"Hey!" he snaps sitting on the bed, he plays with my braid idly, flicking the tip, "My mom was a foster kid, you say something about them you speak ill of my mom. I don't care what kind of shit you can dish out, I can take you," I just roll my eyes.

Silly boy.

The Mellark's come home, arms full of the dead girl's clothes. We're the same size and everything. I don't mind wearing hand-me-down's, especially such nice ones. There were brand name clothes in these boxes.

"The Everdeen's wanted you to have this," they hand me a laptop, the only computer I had ever touched was a beater at school, "They wiped it clean but didn't need it sitting around the house," the tears came again, maybe these were nice people.

"I can unpack on my own," I told them quietly, "You've already done so much…"

"We'll be right down the hall if you need us," I nod and close the door behind them. I rush to the window opening it up letting in the cool floral breeze waft in the room before digging through the desk to find a pen. I took off the sneakers and tugged at the insole until it came free before writing my homes down.

DeAuguste

Smith

Scott

Renyolds

Martinez

Hamilton

DeAuguste-Roberts

Mellark

"What are you doing?" a voice asks I jump, it's Peeta.

"N-nothing!" I go to shove the insole back in my shoe but he stops me reading my list, I jerk away, "Don't you knock?" my voice is harsher than I mean for it to be.

"The door was ajar… Are these your families?" I nod slowly and shove my shoe back together, ashamed.

"You're not supposed to see that," I whisper going back to unpacking, putting shirts and pants on hangers.

He just shrugged, a hand in his pocket as he took my growing pile of shirts and put them in the closet, "You don't need to help me," I snap.

He puts his hands up defensively, "Easy there, you're wincing every time you move, I have to do something," I huff, he's right.

"Sorry, not used to someone wanting to do stuff for me," he rolls his eyes.

"Well get used to it, my mom likes you. She always wanted a little girl, but three boys instead," I smile a little, handing him three hangars of soft sweaters.

I stay quiet through dinner as the twins dominate the conversation about the upcoming baseball season, finally I speak up, I'm not sure where the words come from, "Don't count the Phillies out already," I cut in, "I mean yeah Washington is looking pretty hot, but have some local pride," they gawk at me while I tear the cheese off my pizza setting it to the side as I eat the crust, saving it for last.

"What about the Yankees, or the…"

I roll my eyes, now devouring my cheese, "Really… The Yankees?"

Thomas laughs, "She'll fit in just fine," I smile a little, feeling just a tiny bit more at home. I help with the dishes after dinner, no matter how much Lisa tells me it's fine.

"You'll have to leave for school a little earlier tomorrow to get your schedule and to find your classes, Peeta's in your grade so he should be able to show you around," I crinkle my nose… School?

"I walked out of my last school," I tell her drying a plate, "Right in the middle of history."

She puts the plate away, "You shouldn't do that here… Please don't…" her eyes are pleading, I want to promise her I won't. That I won't throw out this gift…

But a crash from the other side of the house breaks our moment, "Moooom!" one of the boys shout.

I finish the dishes and put them away, "You don't have to do that you know," I jump as my foster father grabs a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

"I feel like I had to do something… You've already done so much…" I whisper looking down at my socked feet, instead of talking more I bolt out of the kitchen into my room. Falling into the bed ignoring every single bit of pain, I sob for what feels like hours before falling asleep, cocooned in the soft sheets.