Author's Note: Thank you so much for all the awesome feedback - I'm still working on thanking everyone individually, but do know that I am so grateful for all your wonderful feedback! It looks like I've got a lot of Buckeye fans reading this story - which is awesome! I went to Duke so be prepared, Buckeyes, I'll probably calling on you for your familiarity with Ohio State in future chapters!

Huge thank you to Ivory for being so wonderfully awesome!

Enjoy!

Summary: There are also three types of people in Dawson, Texas: those who are trying to flee, those who embrace their small town fate, and the Mellarks. Mellark Ranch; largest cattle ranch South of Dallas, employer of ranch hand, Katniss Everdeen, and home of Ohio State Buckeye running back, Peeta Mellark. And Peeta Mellark is coming home today.

Lone Star State of Mine
Chapter Two: SuperStar

"I'm invisible and everyone knows who you are."

Ohio State University.

Or The Ohio State University. Established in 1870, or so I assume by the school crest worn on Mr. Mellark's favorite, and probably only, sweatshirt. Main campus is located in Columbus, Ohio – a fact I obtained while getting the mail one afternoon - and a little over one hundred miles north of the Mason Dixon Line. The school hosts over 40,000 students, another tidbit I'd received from Mr. Mellark one day while bailing hay. All the other bits and pieces of information I've gathered from Mr. Mellark seem trivial to the main topic of Ohio conversation: sports.

I don't consider myself to be an expert on much. In fact, I don't consider myself an expert on anything. But I believe I could impress Alex Trebek with my extensive knowledge of all things Ohio State sports. The Ohio State University athletics are known as the Ohio State Buckeyes – don't worry, I'm just warming up. They compete in the NCAA's Division I level. They have over thirty varsity sports teams. They are considered to be a part of the Big Ten Conference, (don't ask me what that truly means), and are one of only four schools to have won national championships in men's basketball, baseball, and football.

And yet do you know what Dawson, Texas thinks The Ohio State University's greatest athletic accomplishment is?

Getting a Mellark to leave the great state of Texas.

They haven't done that in generations. Mr. Mellark's great-, great-grandparents started this ranch and ever since the bloodline hasn't ventured far. And rightfully so - why would you leave a good thing? This ranch has truly become a small piece of paradise and it doesn't take a county eye to see that. The landscape is well groomed by nature and the buildings have been well maintained by a caring hand. There is always work to be done, but when you love the finished product it makes the blood, sweat, and time that much more worth it.

Even the Mellark members that grow up and move off the land don't move far. It's like there is some sort of magnetic draw between the proper lines of this place and Mellark DNA. Mr. Mellark's siblings all live close enough, the farthest living in Austin. Peeta's brothers are all within thirty minutes, his oldest deciding to live within the city limits of Dawson. Mellarks and Texas simply seem to go hand-in-hand, like peanut butter and jelly or sunrises and sunsets. You don't mess with that sort of chemistry.

Unless you're the youngest Mellark.

"Rumor has it, Mrs. Mellark is in rare form." Gale fills the silence as we make the short trip up to the main house, "She's been decorating and cooking all day. Even called in Madge and her mother to help. I guess the standard kitchen help wasn't enough."

The eye roll that I give is immediate and almost second nature. Mrs. Mellark is almost as well-hated as her husband is well liked.

"But of course," I say in my most proper tone, "Only the best for her pride and joy."

Gale's scuff is heard over the music coming from his radio and I glance over at him with an amused look. Gale isn't someone with many words, which is well enough considering neither am I. We spend a lot of our time talking of simple things and it suits us, but when it comes to the youngest Mellark I always have a question bubbling in the back of my throat. One that I have yet to have the nerve to ask.

What happened between Gale and Peeta?

I think one day I'll get my nerve, but that day has yet to come. I'm not sure if it's because I don't wish to upset my best, probably only, friend or because I'm afraid to know the answer. Afraid that the answer will change my opinion of the boy who has always been a symbol of hope for to town. To me.

We are apparently one of the last to arrive at the main house; Marshall Beetee is standing with Samantha Wiress, no doubt talking work. I don't think those two would know what to do if Mr. Mellark forced them to take a day off. Jackie Seeder is busy sweeping the wrap around porch; probably something Mrs. Mellark has had her do every time someone walked across it. Peeta's two brothers, Reese and Clement, are standing near their father, talking animatedly with one another. And everyone else is waiting around aimlessly waiting for the guest of honor.

"Hey, look on the bright side," I say, reaching across to playfully smack Gale's arm to get his attention before we climb out of the truck, "At least she's a decent cook."

"Yeah, so is Sae down at Red's," Gale mumbles, tossing his keys on the floorboard and climbing out.

He always was one to look on the sunny side.

I slam the door shut and start towards the porch, knowing I'd have better luck chatting with Seeder about chores than trying to pull Beetee and Wiress out of their growingly intense conversation about the upcoming drive. Gale heads toward some of the other ranch hands, the hope of the world opening up and swallowing him whole etched across all of his features. His eyes dart ever so often, like everyone else's, toward the entrance to Mellark Ranch.

The driveway up to Mellark Ranch is straight as an arrow and probably the length of two football fields. Any person wishing to go unnoticed doesn't use the main entrance; your trail of dust would give away before you even got close to the main house. Mr. Mellark usually jokes that it was his great, great grandparents' way of preparing for the future generations and making sure the youth of those ranch couldn't sneak in or out without the adults knowing the morning after – the dust still floating in the air. And now that he's older with three boys more than willing to push their luck he appreciates their attention to detail.

And finally, with a nearly audible sigh from Mr. Mellark, the familiar dark blue Chevy pick-up truck turns inside the fence and starts down the country runway of Mellark Ranch. Mrs. Mellark, having the sixth sense that she does, finally steps out of the house just as Peeta's truck pulls up next to the other trucks in the drive, looking much newer than most of the workers' worn-out handed down versions.

He's always surprised, and I believe genuinely so, when he sees the collection of people that are gathered for his homecoming. Everyone always says that Mrs. Mellark demands that we be here, but I know in my short time being here that most people are just glad to see him again. All the Mellark boys are good people, but there is just something about Peeta that reminds everyone of Mr. Mellark and that's comforting. Mr. Mellark makes sure to be the first to greet his son, not that anyone would begrudge him that right, with a large bear hug that the he openly accepts.

The interaction makes my stomach twist. I'd give my last breath to be hugged by my father one more time and it's intimate moments like this that make me realize just how raw that wound still is. How raw that wound will always be. My dull nails dig into my forearm as I cross them. I don't envy for much, but in that moment I envy the look of pure joy and pride that Peeta is getting from Mr. Mellark. I glance away, looking at the doorway where Mrs. Mellark still stands looking like a cold statue, waiting for the men in her family to exchange their greetings.

She doesn't wait long before stepping forward and there is a noticeable change in the attitudes of the help: we've all learned it's better to be not seen or heard by Mrs. Mellark. Her family, though, seems to pay no mind to the matriarch standing atop her southern palace.

"Dinner is ready," she announces. Her voice neither welcoming nor warm, but everyone knows that expecting such a tone from her would be like expecting snow on Christmas in Hawaii.

Everyone takes that as their unspoken invitation to head into the main house and start the slow journey inside. I've been inside numerous times, especially when I first started at Mellark Ranch, but I still find it hard to get used to the grandeur. The decorations are beautiful, but it's simply the size that astounds me most. The dining room could easily substitute as our high school's cafeteria. The kitchen is large enough to fit two islands and a small dining table that I assume is for just the Mellark family meals. There is an entertaining room off to the side that has fit nearly thirty people for numerous Superbowl parties throughout the years. I suppose it's all for the best, though, since Mr. Mellark insists on playing host for nearly every sporting event and holiday in existence.

Gale and I have just stepped inside when a familiar voice comes up behind him, "Hey Gale, how have you been? Reese was telling me you joined his softball team this summer."

"Sure did." Gale says, his jaw in clenched as he looks at the blonde standing in front of him.

Peeta watches him for a moment, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jeans. I contemplate walking away. I'm not sure why I even stopped in the first place, it's not like Peeta called out my name. But I can't seem to make my feet move; instead I want to elbow Gale in the ribs for being so cold. These two used to be friends and yet the question bubbles in my throat once more; what happened?

"Awesome." Peeta smiles, sensing the cold reaction, but doing his to push past it. "Well, don't let Reese fool you – he likes to pretend he's some kind of pro, but we all know he can't hit the broad side of a barn."

"Noted." Gale nods, not even bothering to look at Peeta, but past him toward the dining room where everyone is starting to sit down.

Peeta must make a silent decision that this battle isn't one he's willing to tackle tonight and finally just nods as if to signal his forfeit. He then does something I'm not expecting; he looks past Gale and smiles at me.

"Hi Katniss," He waves, "It's good to see you."

Before I can even open my mouth to respond he's being pulled away by Clement's arm around his neck, the two laughing about something. I turn my attention toward Gale and shake my head. I'm not sure why there is bad blood, but apparently it's bad enough to make my friend act like a total jackass.

"Way to be Mr. Congeniality," I mumble, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Because you're one to talk." He counters, turning back toward the dining room, "Come on, I'm starving."

The meal gets underway like many before it; everyone takes a seat along the large dining table and starts to dig in. There are bowls of this passing one way while dishes of that are heading the other. It's loud and seemingly pure chaos, but not a piece of food is dropped and no one is left empty handed. When I first arrived at Mellark Ranch and attended my first real "feast," I was a complete wreck. I was too afraid to ask for anything and didn't want to get in the way. I kept looking toward Gale to help me through it. I thought the whole evening was some kind of test, that I would be questioned on everything from my work ethic to my people skills – or lack there of.

Now I've come to realize they're just another part of life on Mellark Ranch; a piece of the life that I've come to feel completely included in. Inclusion is an entirely new feeling for me.

My eyes move along the table toward the other end where Peeta is engrossed in a conversation with his two older brothers. Growing up in Dawson it was hard not to know everyone, but it was especially hard not to know everything about the Mellark boys. The Mellark name, by birth, made them infamous in our small town, but it didn't help that they all seemed to be born with excellent genes. For example, a Dawson townie might know the name of their neighbor's dog, but everyone knew that Mrs. Mellark named her three boys after whatever it was she had craved during her pregnancy; Reese for Reese's Peanut Buttercups, Clement for Clementine oranges, and Peeta for pita bread.

Nothing stays a secret when you're a local celebrity. And that's exactly what the Mellark boys were growing up.

Reese, the oldest of the three, knew of his good looks in high school and made his rounds easily. The wake of broken hearts seemed to be endless. His high cheekbones and 100-watt smile must have made the evitable hurt seem like a distant fate. Clement, the middle, has the rugged good looks of his father and the quiet reserve that made him come across as mysterious. A mysterious man; the kryptonite to many southern girls. Unfortunately for many, Clement, unlike his brother before him, had eyes for only one beautiful brunette who he made his wife a year after graduation. And finally there was the baby of the family, Peeta. He has Reese's 100-watt smile and Clement's sweet demeanor, but he has something entirely Peeta; his kindness. It wasn't superficial charm that makes Peeta so well- liked, but his genuine concern toward others. And it doesn't hurt that the mop of dirty blonde curls always falls just-so, or that when he smiled he has a dimple on the left side.

Not that I've noticed before.

"Earth to Katniss," A voice breaks me from my trance and I look over to see Wiress giving me a rather intuitive smirk. "You going to finish your chicken or can I steal from you what Beetee took from me?"

"Don't listen to her." Beetee leans past her to speak to me, "She's been chowin' like one of the hogs all night."

She quickly shoves him back over into his chair and laughs, "It's because I'm always around you – and when I'm around you it's eat fast or don't expect to eat at all. It's not like you couldn't afford to miss a meal or two."

"Ouch, Darlin'. That really hurt," Beetee's voice mocks hurt as he reaches across the table for a nearby pie, "I suppose I'll have to drown my sorrows in coconut cream."

"A typical Thursday." Wiress grins, patting him on the shoulder.

I laugh, sliding my plate to the side so Wiress can take the piece of chicken she requested. She thanks me before turning back to look at Beetee, having fallen into yet another conversation that would probably over everyone else's' heads. I'm convinced they are the two smartest people on this ranch.

Glancing around the table again, I realize most people have started to finish their meals. Some have moved on to dessert, while others lean back in their chairs, completely stuffed, and sip on their drinks. Gale pops a small piece of brisket into his mouth while arguing with Darius about the Cowboys' starting line-up. Apparently Darius is under the impression Romo needs to throw in the towel before he needs a walker. Gale might be sending him to an early grave for even suggesting such an idea.

Peeta has finished his meal and is now completely mesmerized by whatever it is his father is talking about. Mrs. Mellark has long left her place at the table, probably to go where she is most comfortable - away from everyone else.

Wiress is right; a typical Thursday.

Once everyone has had their fill we all start to push away from the table. Some will hang around to talk, but within moments someone has suggested a pick up game out in the back yard and most of us are making our way outside. Like saying no is even an option. Clement runs upstairs to his old bedroom to grab a ball and Reese and Peeta argue about who gets to be the other team captain. Reese wins; Peeta never pushes hard enough.

"Ate without me, I see? Has moving up North really changed you that much, Mellark? Can't wait for an old friend, Hershel? You better still have cold beer available."

Haymitch Abernathy.

Dawson's very own Eric Taylor, minus the Clear Eyes, Full Hearts motivational speeches. He's lead Dawson to a many of victories and sent many of his players off to large colleges with full rides. He's full of himself and the most unfortunate part of it all is that he has every right to be. Peeta walks up and shakes the older man's hand, the two sharing some small talk.

Mr. Mellark's laugh can be heard through the dining room as he gets up from the table to meet Haymitch. He sticks his hand out to greet the man, both smiling from ear to ear.

"Being without cold beer and having you within a twenty mile radius is hazardous to our health." Mr. Mellark grins, leading the man into the dining room, "Please, eat what you want and you know where we keep the beer."

"You're a smart man, Hershel. I take back everything awful I've said about you in the past." Haymitch reaches for a piece of okra and pops it into his mouth, "Except I stand by the fact that your offspring can handle the ball better than you ever could."

At this Gale quickly excuses himself to head out back, mumbling something about favoritism. Never before have I felt that my friend was bitter toward the Mellarks, but in that moment I feel like there was a lot that maybe he hasn't been telling me. I quickly follow Gale, somehow believing I have found the courage to confront him about his extremely sour attitude, but once I reach the porch I see he's already tossing the ball with Darius and I'm not about to pull him away from the one thing he's always loved: football.

"I'm trying to remember if I stole his lunch money or something back in school." Peeta's voice is light, but when I turn to look I can tell Gale's attitude is obvious to him as well.

"He – um, I –" I try to find an excuse, but there really isn't one. And why am I trying to find one anyway? Gale is my friend, if he's upset with someone I should be to.

Peeta steps forward and shakes his head, "Don't worry about it. I thought two years away would change things a little bit. It was awhile ago, he'll get over it someday."

So he must understand what Gale's poor attitude is for. I wanted to ask him. I want to try to figure out how he could leave for school two years ago – stay away nearly that entire time – and come home knowing that his childhood friend would want nothing to do with him. But the loyalty in me says I should confront Gale first. Give him a chance to explain his part of the story.

Peeta glances over at me, obviously noticing the wheels turning in my mind, "And if all else fails I'll just have to turn up the charm. I did grow up with Reese after all. I'm sure I learned a few tricks along the way."

The lopsided smirk he gives me makes my insides twist in a rather pleasant way.

"Move it, Buckeye. You might make the Ohio State cheerleaders swoon with your talent, but your big brother can still outrun you!" Clement calls from the backyard.

Within a second Peeta bolts off the porch and is sprinting toward his brother. My eyes follow him the entire time. In fact, my eyes seemed to find him throughout the entire game.

I lean against the wood railing as the twilight sky began to grow dark, the game in full swing. My dad would have really loved a night like this; he probably would have been the first to suggest a pick up game. Like most in Dawson, football coursed through his veins just like blood did. He lived for a warm summer night and small town camaraderie. He would have liked working on the ranch. He would have liked the Mellarks.

He would have liked Peeta.