On Monday morning I am nervous to go to school. Since it's the first actual day of the project we will get the last two hours of the day devoted to it, which means I will have to spend two straight hours in the company of a boy who isn't Gale. I will have to make some form of small talk, which I am awful at, and at least appear to be sociable and friendly so that we can work together. I'm not good at that. In fact I am horrible at making new friends and I don't know what to say to somebody I barely know.
Especially not when the somebody in question is the boy with the bread.
As I study my reflection in the mirror and try to get my braid to look okay I tell myself that it might not be so bad. Peeta is a lot more sociable than I and doesn't seem to have any trouble making new friends. People like that seem to have an ability to at least carry a conversation for a while and think of things to say. With any luck we will be able to start the project without too much awkward silence between us.
On the other hand, he might be too sociable and expect me to chit-chat with him the entire time. I don't chit-chat. One of the reasons why I'm happy to be partnered with Madge is that she doesn't feel the need to fill every silence with talk. If Peeta expects me to be talkative then he's in for a disappointment and chances are we'll end up annoyed with one another. I should have picked one of the Seam boys who sits in the back and barely speaks a word. That would have been a better match for me. There's no way this is going to be an enjoyable project and knowing that it's going to last for months gives me a very unpleasant knot in the pit of my stomach.
"Aren't you ready for school yet?" asks Prim, walking in with her backpack already flung over her shoulders.
"Almost" I say, comb in my mouth.
"What's taking so long?"
"I can't seem to get the braid right" I answer, finally tying up my hair and grabbing the comb to set it down on the vanity.
"Looks the same as always" shrugs Prim. "Can we go now?"
I take another look at myself in the mirror and sigh. Yeah the braid looks fine but my cheeks look hollow and my eyes sunken, not to mention their grey colour seems especially dull today. I usually don't care about any of that but maybe I'm just getting tired of showing up at school every day with my poverty written on my face. I'm not the only kid in class who knows what starvation means but I can't help wishing sometimes that I could look like the more properly fed merchant kids.
Especially if I am to pretend to be living with, and therefore supposedly equal to, a merchant boy.
Somehow I make it through the first hours of school without the knot in my stomach getting too tight but I do my best to avoid looking at Peeta. When I first arrive in the morning I think I can feel his eyes on me but it must be my own imagination. In my last class before the project begins I focus very little on the subject at hand and a lot more on trying to think of things to say to Peeta so he doesn't think I'm too awkward and socially inept. What does a person from the Seam even have to say to a person from town? What do we have in common? The only things that spring to mind are school and the Hunger Games, which are both terrible topics to talk about. Even the weather would be better to talk about and that topic would only get us through thirty seconds or so.
When at last it's project time Mr. Stoker calls us up pair by pair and hands each one their first scenario. I don't look at Peeta when we go and get ours, instead I stare down at the floor and let him take the envelope Mr. Stoker holds out. We've been told we can either stay in the classroom and work or we can go to the assembly room. The assembly room has several round tables where you can sit and work and many Seam kids stay and do their homework here during winter because they don't have enough light at home to get it done. Peeta walks out of the classroom when we've gotten our scenario and I follow him without a word, assuming the assembly room is where he's headed.
We don't talk on our way over there. I bite my bottom lip, resisting the urge to bite my finger nails instead, and wonder if I should be the first to say anything. Peeta makes no attempt at conversation and seems almost as uncomfortable as I am which, oddly enough, is comforting. I wonder if he too noticed the looks some of our classmates gave us when we got up to get out scenario. It seems both merchant kids and Seam kids alike find us working together to be odd. I wonder if Peeta cares about that. Perhaps he likes it. People find the oddest things to be thrilling.
We reach the assembly room and he heads straight for one of the closest tables, tossing his backpack on the wooden surface and taking a seat. I sit down, leaving one empty chair in-between us. Then I wonder if that's a weird thing to do when we're supposed to be working together on this. Oh God, I hope he doesn't think we'll be sitting closely together, leaning over the work. I'm not comfortable being so close to someone I barely know.
"So" says Peeta, showing no reaction to my choice of seat. "Time to pretend to be adults. Isn't this going to be fun?"
He's probably being sarcastic but I'm too uncomfortable to be sure. I put my bag down on the empty chair between us and finger my braid nervously. We're supposed to spend at least one class each week on this project, at some points more, but according to the teachers we have to be ready to put in some spare time as well. It has just dawned on me that Peeta is from town and I've never seen him staying in the assembly room to do homework. He probably does it at home, having electric light every evening. If we have to put in spare time does he expect me to follow him home and work on it there? Or, good heavens, does he expect us to go to my place?
"Katniss?"
Peeta's voice brings me back to the moment and I blush, embarrassed that I've allowed myself to zone out like that.
"Yeah" I mumble. "Let's just get started."
"We haven't actually talked about how we want to work on this" says Peeta.
I look at him, confused as to why he doesn't just open the envelope and get started.
"What?" I say.
"They said we might have to put in a lot of extra time on this but I think we can be efficient enough that we can get the job done in class."
I scowl. What he said sounds right up my alley since it means I don't have to wonder where we will be working on this outside of class, not to mention I won't miss any time out in the woods, but for some reason I feel almost offended. Is he trying to avoid having to spend more time with me than necessary? Is he really partnering with me out of some weird fascination of the challenge, as he said the other day? Or is he fine with partnering with a Seam kid at school but doesn't want to be seen with me after hours?
"It's one of the reasons I was hoping you'd want to team up with me" continues Peeta. "You seem efficient and hardworking and smart and I think that together we can get this done without having to spend too much extra time on it. I have wrestling practice twice a week and my mother thinks that's far too much time spent away from home as it is."
Now I'm even more confused.
"You're mother thinks you're spending too much time away from home?"
"She wants me home helping out at the bakery" he clarifies.
"Oh." That hadn't occurred to me.
"You probably have better things to do, too, than throwing extra time on this weird assignment" he adds. Then he harks and reaches for the envelope. "Speaking of… Want to do the honours or should I?"
"Go ahead."
"Okay, then, here we go."
He opens the envelope and pulls out a number of papers stapled together. Again I feel nervous and uncomfortable. These scenarios are supposed to be based on us, which means that if our teachers have down their own homework those papers are a What If? for Peeta and I as a couple. It feels so intimate and I'm again relieved to see that Peeta seems to find it a touch uncomfortable as well. He studies the papers for a second and then lays them out on the table, placing them in-between us so that we both can see without having to lean in too close to one another.
"So here it is" he says. He looks up at me and offers me a smile. "I don't know about you but I'd be okay just treating this as what it is. An economics assignment. With an essay or two about life's troubles thrown into it." He nods to another table. "We really don't have to do anything like that."
I look in the direction he's pointing and see two merchant kids, apparently a couple for real, solemnly sharing a cracker in a pretend toasting ceremony. The absurdity of it, coupled with my nervousness, makes me laugh a little and I'm surprised at myself. When have I ever laughed in school before? Peeta turns and grins at me, a glint in his blue eyes, and I nearly blush.
I turn my eyes to the papers and I'm surprised to see that the first one only has a brief summary telling us that we're supposed to be fresh out of school and that before we can even get pretend-married at least one of us has to find some form of employment. Because I've never planned on getting married I haven't paid attention to how the process is carried out but apparently at least one person needs to have a job before you can be eligible for a house and you can't be married unless you can have a house.
"Well this shouldn't be a problem" I find myself saying, pointing to the sentence that says one of us needs employment. "You work at the bakery."
"I don't think we're allowed to cheat like that" says Peeta.
I glare at him. This is not off to a good start.
"How is that cheating? I don't cheat."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything" says Peeta. "I'm just saying that I think we have to think realistically."
"What's not realistic about you working at the bakery?"
"I'm the youngest of three" Peeta points out. "The bakery will go to the eldest, my brother Scotti. Ryean and I will have to find something else."
I'm surprised. For one because I realize I knew his brothers' names were Scotti and Ryean, for another because I hadn't even thought that Peeta wouldn't be working at the bakery for the rest of his life. As odd as it seems to imagine him anywhere else it makes sense when I think about it. People from the Seam very rarely buy anything from the bakery, merchant people do so on a few occasions but the majority of their customers are peacekeepers and, once a year, the people who put together the District 12 stop of the Victory Tour. They obviously make enough to sustain a family of five but all three brothers can't keep working there. At least not if they get married and start families.
"Right" I say, embarrassed at my failure to see the obvious. "Sorry."
"I mean, for a while I'll probably still be around. It's still my father who runs it and both my brothers are still unmarried. There's just this unspoken agreement in our house that once we marry we'll have to find something else to do, Ryean and I."
"So... What are you going to do?" I ask, feeling awkward asking the question but finding that I genuinely would like to know. I can't imagine the boy with the bread doing anything else than working at the bakery and I discover that it saddens me to think about it.
"They're kind enough to offer a list of suggestions" says Peeta, turning to the second page. I wasn't asking about the project but he either misunderstood me or is very subtly trying to steer me away from a touchy subject. Either way I appreciate that he doesn't make me feel awkward about it.
I lean over and study the list. As I read through it I can't help but wonder for the first time if there might actually be a deeper point to this whole thing than what the teachers are saying. There are jobs on this list that I never even knew were available, things I didn't stop to think that there was an actual person hired to do. It ranges from common to uncommon jobs, from cleaning at the Justice Building to working in the mines to unpacking crates at the train station. Some jobs seem downright ridiculous, like for instance being a masseuse for the peacekeepers. I don't know why but I have to fight a sudden impulse to jokingly suggest to Peeta that he pretend-take that job. It almost makes me blush again. Since when am I the type to make jokes like that? To someone I hardly know, someone I owe a great debt to? I must be more nervous than I even realize for my mind to come up with such thoughts. I'm glad I'm not the impulsive type who would actually voice that thought.
I look up at him and find that he's grabbed a notebook and a small pencil case from his bag and, as per the instructions on page one, is beginning to write the first outline they want us to turn in today.
"You know what?" he says. "I'm just going to write that I'll be working at the bakery. Maybe, in this make-believe reality, I'm the first kid in the house to get married and my parents keep me on until Scotti gets hitched, or both my brothers end up marrying women who inherit their own family businesses, and we can somehow scrape by on what I bring home from the bakery."
"Donuts and cookies?" I can't help but ask, feeling my mouth water at the mere thought even though I know this is all pretend.
He laughs, though not entirely happily.
"More like stale bread" he says.
Again I'm taken by surprise. I had never thought that merchant people would have to face hunger the way we do in the Seam but if Peeta's family are eating the bread that hasn't been sold and therefore gotten stale they can't have all that much to put on the table either. For some reason that seems even sadder than my own situation – having that kind of access to food and not getting to enjoy it.
Quickly, to not make him uncomfortable or to let myself think about it too long so I end up uncomfortable, I lean over the list of possible jobs.
"So that's the bakery for you. I'll still need something to do."
He opens his mouth to say something but he stops himself when Mallory Grey and her project partner stop by our table, presumably on their way to find a table of their own. Praying they won't ask to sit with us I focus entirely on the list of jobs, pretending it's the most fascinating thing I've seen in a long while.
"Hi" says Mallory.
"Hey Mallory" Peeta replies.
"Gotten started, huh?" she says in a surprisingly friendly tone. She walks around the table and leans over Peeta's shoulder. "Let me see how far you've gotten."
"I've just written down our names" says Peeta with a short laugh.
"Yes I see that. Shouldn't that be saying... Mr. and Mrs. Mellark?"
My cheeks burn red and I wish I could hide my face from her, from Peeta and from Mallory's partner. I am definitely not comfortable being referred to as Mrs. anything, even if it is just for a school project and even if it is just a classmate teasing. In particular I'm uncomfortable being referred to as Mrs. Mellark, as up until this moment that name is one I've always associate with that witch.
"She's keeping her maiden name" Peeta replies in a casual tone.
I dare to look up from the list of jobs and my eyes fall on him. He looks perfectly calm in the face of the teasing jabs. He's probably only engaging in banter with Mallory but for whatever reason his comment made me feel more at ease. I envy his ability to disarm a biting comment with a simple casual reply.
"We should go find a table" says Mallory's companion.
"Okay" she agrees. She gives Peeta and me a smirk. "Have fun."
They walk away and find a table further off in the room, thankfully far from where we're sitting. Peeta turns to me with an eyebrow raised.
"See? Scary, isn't she?"
I almost can't stop myself from smiling. Then I point to the list of jobs as I arrange my features in a more regular fashion.
"I suppose I could help out the butcher" I say. Then I feel embarrassed. Not that I usually care about these things but couldn't I have found something a tad more... Well, something that doesn't scream that I go out into the woods and hunt even though that is against the law. Peeta already knows this about me, but still.
"Bread and bacon" summarizes Peeta and writes it down. "Okay, great. I'm going to go hand it in to Mrs. Saunders over there right away since we're also competing for the jobs."
At my confused face he turns back to the first page and points to a line that says that it's first come, first serve with the jobs. If somebody else has already requested the job at the butcher's I can't have it too.
"Want to pick a back-up?" asks Peeta.
"No, it's fine" I say, feeling that I can't bother with it anymore. It's all make-believe anyway. "You pick for me if need be."
"That's a nice, docile wife right there" he teases. Then it's his turn to blush. "I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from. I meant it as a joke but..."
"It's okay" I say, not really sure what else to say.
He hurries off to the desk by the door where one of the teachers is overseeing the process. They're really going in for making this whole thing as realistic as they can, with the competition for jobs and everything. In a way I'm impressed. My eyes drift back to our scenario and I turn the page back to the list of jobs. I glance over at Peeta who is standing in line behind two of our classmates and I determine that I have enough time to quickly copy the list. Eight months from now I will be out there trying to find a job for real. It might come in handy to have some suggestions.
At first I write down only the jobs I can see myself doing, in the interest of saving time. I don't want to be caught copying the list when Peeta comes back. I look over to where he's standing and he's just begun to talk to Mrs. Saunders. I decide I can probably write down most of the other jobs as well so I do so quickly.
Peeta returns to our table less than a minute after I'm done.
"Oddly enough working for the butcher seems like an attractive career choice" he says, sitting down. "You told me I could pick for you so I went with managing the shoemaker's storefront. I hope that's okay."
"It's fine" I nod. "What does it matter, it's all just pretend."
"I tried to score you a job at the candy shop but it turns out they weren't looking to hire hungry teenaged newlyweds."
"Can't imagine why not" I say, almost feeling the urge to smirk at his tone of feigned surprise.
"So," says Peeta, "we have officially been allowed to pretend to own a house. Not a furnished one, of course."
"What?" I groan. "Do we even need furniture? This isn't for real."
"I can sleep on the floor if that's okay with you but I'd like to at least have a table to eat at" he replies dryly. "I think it's kind of stupid too but we might as well play along. I think what they want is for us to take the cost of furniture into consideration and to keep in mind all the practical things that come with moving into a new home. It's a convoluted math problem, nothing else really."
"Fine" I sigh.
We spend the rest of the class going over the scenario and all its details and making a rough plan for what we'll work on each week. We have to write down a plan for how to furnish our house and after discussing it for a bit we agree that we would choose to wait a while with getting married until we've earned enough money at our new jobs to pay for whatever things we need when we first move in. Very quickly I find myself okay with discussing our fictional relationship and I even find myself saying "our toasting ceremony" at one point without blushing or feeling extremely uncomfortable. I'm pretty sure Peeta is the reason why I'm so okay with this so fast. He treats it like a school project and nothing else, making no double-entendres and no teasing remarks about the pretend relationship. He somehow manages to make me feel like it's a puzzle we have to solve together and I have to admit I find myself drawn in just a little bit. He does most of the talking but before the class is over I've begun to feel a little bit comfortable making my suggestions and discussing things with him.
Then he gets up to hand our first report over to Mrs. Saunders and the mood seems to change. We're done for the week, thus we have no real reason to talk to each other. While he's handing in the papers I quickly get up and pack up my things and by the time he gets back I've already got my backpack over my shoulder.
"I guess I'll see you next week" I say.
"You're leaving?"
He seems surprised that I'm already ready to go.
"Well yeah."
"Oh. Okay." He begins to gather his own things and stuff them in his bag. "Thanks for today, I guess. See you tomorrow."
"Right" I mumble, feeling like an idiot again. Of course we'll see each other tomorrow and not next week.
I hurry off before I can say or do anything else stupid. Thankfully I got through this first day without any real problems or incidents and that ought to make me feel more relaxed about the rest of the project but one okay day is not enough to quell the nervous knot in my stomach nor the thoughts that keep circulating in my mind. Peeta and I have five months of cooperation ahead of us and that means ample time for him to grow frustrated with me and for me to discover things about him that I don't like. The thought of it is actually disappointing. I don't want to know all about his faults. I want him to stay the kind boy with the bread, the one who saved my life without probably even realizing it himself. And I want to keep him from learning just how grouchy and unfriendly and unpleasant I really am. He saved my life six years ago and though he may not be aware of that I want him to at least feel I was worth that horrible black eye his witch of a mother gave him.
My stomach growls when I leave school and head for home and my mind goes from that day out in the rain six long years ago to the successful hunt yesterday. At least tonight I know there will be meat for dinner. That makes me feel a little bit better.
A week later I'm actually less nervous before the final class of the day. Peeta and I sit down at the same table as last week, in the same seats, and he fishes out the scenario from his backpack. We'll be working with the same scenario all month and at first that seems like a lot of time for one part of the project but, as Peeta informs me right off the bat, there's a lot to cover.
"I read through it the other night" he tells me. "It's got all kinds of things we have to look over. And get this, it says on the last page that starting with the next scenario we'll only get one or two pages at a time and we have to turn those in before we get the next few pages. Is it just me or have they spent far too much time thinking this whole thing out?"
I nod absentmindedly, chewing on my nails while I eye through the scenario. Last week when we finished up I was starting to feel more comfortable and I felt okay earlier today but right now I feel about as nervous as I did when we started out. Peeta doesn't seem to pick up on it. He grabs his notebook and turns to an empty page, jotting something down in the top left corner.
"What's that?" I ask, disapproving of him doing any work on his own without my consent or input. I'm already irritated that he read through the papers we've been given on his own, which also means being irritated at myself for letting him take all of it home and not thinking to ask to take some of it with me.
"Just putting our names down" he answers my question, not looking up at me.
"Oh."
"Let's get to work, shall we?"
I nod and read the instructions for what we're supposed to do today, then I eye through the assignments for the upcoming weeks. There's still a few details to iron out regarding how to furnish our future home but there are also things like planning the toasting ceremony and even where we would find the clothes to wear for that day. We talked about it briefly last week but it seems they expect us to put a lot more thought into it. I can't even remotely see the significance of this. Writing down a list of who to invite and planning a meal just seems like a waste of time. However I must admit to myself that there are a lot of details about getting married that I never gave half a thought to before or even knew about.
"So vis-à-vis the toasting" says Peeta, folding his arms in front of him on the table and leaning forward a bit. "How do you want to go about it? We could break it down and each do our own part when it comes to wardrobe and guest list and those things and then merge it together. We could actually save that and each do our part at home over the week and just compare notes and such for the first five or ten minutes next week."
"You've given a lot of thought to this" I note with a small scowl.
"Yeah I, uh, like to be thorough I guess" he says with an awkward chuckle. "I like to think out a strategy ahead, you could say." He gives me a crooked smirk and reaches for his pencil, tapping it against his fingers. "One thing we do need to work on together is the menu."
"The venue?" I question. "Won't that be… the house they assign us?"
"Not venue, menu. What we should serve our guests."
"I know what a menu is" I snarl but the tone of my voice doesn't seem to deter him.
"It occurs to me now that I mention it that it's hard to plan a menu when we don't know how many guests we'll be having so we could perhaps settle on a specific number at least and write the names up at home."
"Peeta slow down" I say, holding up my hands to gesture pause. "Why do we need a guest list? We could just write random names and Mr. Stokes won't know the difference."
He looks into my eyes with the faintest scowl and I feel a little bit uncomfortable, as if he thinks I'm trying to take the easy way out on this.
"They may not know all the names but there is a point to it. Hey, if you want, we could just invite our families to our pretend-toasting."
"You'd be okay not having your two dozen friends there?"
"Well there is one or two I'd like to invite if I ever get married for real but this is make believe, so…"
I get the strange feeling that if we only invite our families it may seem like we're trying to keep the event on a tight budget and that gets me paranoid, wondering if that's only something a Seam couple would do. Merchants can probably afford to invite ten or twenty friends to their toastings. I don't really want to pull on that thread though so I shift focus to a different issue.
"Just pick a number of guests and we'll go from there. What I'm unsure about is the menu. Why do they want all this detail? What does it matter to them what we plan on eating? It's all fake."
"In reality it will be a money issue" answers Peeta carefully. "I suspect the day you get married you'll be able to serve fresh meat you felled yourself. When I get married I probably won't be so lucky."
I ponder that for a moment. Wouldn't a couple of merchant kids have enough money to buy something from the butcher shop? I suppose not since what he says suggests otherwise. The thought of planning a meal and then trying to figure out a way to afford it makes me feel very ill at ease, reminding me of how many days in my life I haven't known where my next meal would be coming from.
I jolt a little when I feel Peeta's hand on my arm but the touch only lasts a second, only to get my attention. He has clearly picked up on my discomfort but thankfully he seems to have the wrong idea why.
"Look, I know it's really awkward to sit here and write up guest lists and discuss a menu for our fake toasting ceremony. It feels so… preposterous somehow, I mean I never expected to be thinking about things like that before I'm even a legal adult. What do you say we forget about the toasting bread part and the signing papers part and the moving into a new home part and think of it as something else? Like… Like a graduation party." He gives me a reassuring smile and shrugs his left shoulder a bit. "We could pretend we're joining forces to have a celebratory shindig once we're through with school once and for all and that's why we need a guest list and a menu."
I smile faintly, finding his suggestion to be rather helpful. Not that I can imagine any circumstances under which I would ever have a graduation party, much less one together with Peeta Mellark, but it's much less meaningful and intimate than pretending to plan a wedding.
"Yeah" I nod. "I could do that. Okay, so we'll plan our graduation party then."
As we begin to work on the guest list and the menu and what it all will cost Peeta scribbles on his notepad and it takes me about fifteen minutes to realize that he's been the one writing everything down the whole time. When I look around the room it seems like most other pairs have the girl doing the writing, probably because girls are generally considered to have better handwriting than boys, at least in our class. Peeta catches me eyeing him and he looks up with a confused expression.
"What?"
"How come you're in charge of writing everything down?" I say.
He looks apologetic and a little uncomfortable.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't even realize. I'm a... take-notes kind of person, I guess. I just do it automatically, so I thought I might as well..."
I realize how unfriendly I sounded just now and I hate myself for my own social ineptitude. I hadn't mean to criticise.
"It's fine" I say. "Really."
"You can write if you want to" he offers, pushing the notepad towards me.
"No, go ahead."
"Sure?"
"I don't care either way" I say shortly, once again sounding less friendly than I had intended.
"Well... alright then..."
He gives me a wary look and then finishes writing the sentence he was working on. I scowl as I look back down at the scenario. I didn't have a successful hunt yesterday and I'm feeling hungry which is probably contributing to my temper right now but I'm finding it embarrassing to be so uncouth. I wish I could be nicer to Peeta. He's being nice to me and so far it has all seemed genuine. Many people can, in my experience, put on a nice facade and treat you kindly only because they want to be polite. Peeta is one of those people who comes off as genuinely friendly. The kind of person that has a way of worming themselves into my heart. The kind of person I ought to keep a safe distance from.
Another blush appears on my cheeks. Where did that thought come from?
"This is all ridiculous" I mutter, still in an unfriendly tone, hating school for putting us through this stupidity and for making me have to interact with Peeta. I want him to like me, which means avoiding contact with him is probably a wise strategy. He took a beating to give me some bread six and a half years ago and I don't want him to think it was a mistake due to me being such an unfriendly person.
Then again Peeta doesn't seem the type who would think it was a mistake no matter how rude the person he did it for. I wonder if he ever thinks about that day, or even remembers that it happened.
"Yeah" he agrees to my statement. "Still, never know, might come in handy."
"For what?" I mutter.
"The real thing." He looks up at me with a little smile. "Sooner or later all of this might end up being useful."
"Except we're not those two" I say, nodding at the couple who had a pretend toasting ceremony last week.
"Doesn't mean we'll end up an old spinster and an old bachelor."
"At least not old ones" I say dryly, earning me a chuckle from Peeta. I can't stop myself from smiling just the slightest bit when I hear it. I've never been good at making people laugh. Even if he's only chuckling to be polite it's still kind of nice. "I guess you're right though" I continue, thinking of the list of jobs. "Maybe this will be useful sooner than I expect."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, maybe."
"You and Gale?" he asks casually, drumming his pencil against his pad.
I look up.
"How do you know about Gale?"
"You guys show up together at our door, selling game" he answers, spelling it out for me like I'm a complete idiot, which I kind of am for asking.
"Oh" I mutter, looking back down at my papers. Wait, why are we talking about Gale all of a sudden? I look back up at Peeta. "What about me and Gale?"
"I don't know..." says Peeta, what looks like the hint of a blush on his cheeks. "I mean... He's your boyfriend, right?"
"What? No. Why would you even think that?"
"I see you with him all the time" replies Peeta, a smile slowly forming on his face. "So you're not going out?"
"No, not that it's any of your concern." I find myself both annoyed and, despite myself, a little intrigued. "What do you mean you see me with him all the time?"
"When you come to our house and sell squirrels to my father."
"That's the occasional Sunday" I retort. "You said you see us together all the time."
He shrugs, looking uncomfortable. His hand reaches up and massages his neck and I notice that his hair curls even back there.
"I mean..." he begins. "Look, it's no big deal. Sundays I don't always have to work at the bakery and sometimes my friends and I go out and play sports on the school field. I sometimes see you guys outside the Hob on the way over. And a couple of years ago I used to see you both around those parts in the hours after school."
This is new information. I cross my arms on the table and lean forward a little. Has Peeta Mellark been keeping track of me? If so, what would that imply? I'm not sure but I can't say I dislike it entirely. Not as long as it's limited to noticing me when I'm out in town.
"You're the only kid at school who sets foot at the Hob" he continues. "Except those whose parents or grandparents do business there but none of those kids are in our class. It's kind of unusual so it's hard not to notice."
Oh. Frowning I pull my arms off the table again.
"Well Gale is just my friend" I say sourly. "The only one at this table who might actually have a toasting ceremony is you."
"Me?" says Peeta with a little laugh. "With who? Mrs. Saunders?"
Almost against my will I chuckle at his comment.
"Probably not" I manage, chalking my chuckle up to nerves.
"Seriously," he snorts, "who would I be marrying?"
"I don't know" I answer, feeling like we're charting into troublesome territory.
"If you say Mallory Grey I'm going to tell your shoemaker boss to make you work double hours" he threatens jokingly.
"Probably not her either" I concede.
"Then who?"
I squirm in my seat, wondering how on earth we ended up talking about this. Peeta's love life is the last of my concerns and definitely none of my business. It's odd though that he even questions the notion of him marrying since that is definitely the norm and he's never had a shortage of admirers.
"You'll end up marrying someone, probably soon" I hear myself answering. "You've had three different girlfriends, you'll be able to find at least one wife."
"You've kept track on the number of girlfriends I've had?"
I freeze, except for my eyes which go straight to him. He looks rather pleased and smiles at me, drumming his pen against the fingers on his left hand. Dear God. What did I just say? I didn't even reflect on the fact that I knew how many girls he has dated. Now that I think about it I even know their names and roughly when they dated. I immediately try to brush it off in my mind as the kind of thing you just sort of pick up about your classmates, given that we are a small school and no matter how uninterested you are you're bound to absorb at least some measure of gossip. I don't want to give that answer to Peeta, though. I'm afraid it might sound convoluted or like an attempted excuse.
Thankfully there's no blush on my cheeks but I still feel like I want to vanish from the face of the earth. I don't know what to say to him right now. Here I was taking some odd joy in the thought of Peeta Mellark having kept track of me over the years only to realize I've apparently been keeping track of him as well.
"Lucky guess" I mumble finally.
"Oh" he says. Clearly he's not buying it. Why would he? If it was just a lucky guess I wouldn't have reacted this way. But he seems like he wants to let me off the hook because he stops looking at me and turns his focus back to his notepad. "Okay, then. Jumping ahead to after the toasting, since the work that is left is the stuff we agreed we would do separately during the week. What do you want to do about the rodents in our fictional home?"
This particular part of the scenario feels especially stupid to me. How do rodents affect our finances? Unless the point is to see if we bother getting rid of them or if they'll run amuck and eat all our food. Even so it's pretty far-fetched.
"I'll just stick Buttercup at them." Peeta gives me a funny look. "What?" I ask in a snarl, feeling on edge after my revelation that I somehow kept track of his dating habits.
"I don't know who, or what, Buttercup is."
"My sister's horrid cat."
"Oh, that makes sense" he says. "Buttercup to the rescue, then."
We continue working on the scenario and I keep waiting for him to make another comment about my strangely accurate knowledge of his love life. He doesn't. In fact he seems to have forgotten all about it. His behaviour confuses me because I can't seem to stop thinking about it yet he smiled at me and teased me a little and now he's acting like it never even happened.
By the end of class I'm mentally exhausted and I pack up my things and leave as quickly as I did last week. Peeta thanks me for the day, just like he did last time, but I leave without saying anything back to him. I'm thankful I have a whole week until next time because Peeta Mellark confuses me and I don't quite know what to think or feel when we're working together.