I'm really sorry it's getting to be so long between updates. Real life just keeps getting in the way, both my personal life and work, and lately I've been struggling with writer's block. I'm doing what I can to get over the hump and I promise I haven't abandoned any of my ongoing Hunger Games stories.
Now with that said, this chapter is another one of those slightly odd ones, I guess. To be frank (and a little spoilery I suppose) Katniss acts a bit irrationally, and a bit OOC. I went that way on purpose because of everything that's going on in her heart and mind at the moment. I hope you can give her (well, me) a pass.
Or chemistry teacher is sick, and with that being the last class before project hour our teachers decide that we should spend chemistry time as project time. This is announced to us by Mr. Stoker right before lunch and it gets my nerves rattling right at once. Biting my lip I rise from my chair to join Madge for lunch, gathering my books and sparing a glance at the back of the classroom where Peeta has been sitting all day. I immediately avert my eyes again at the sight of his bruised face. Shit. I've spent all morning trying to figure out what to say and how to behave when we meet up to work together. Should I ask about it? Pretend I don't notice it at all? Express sympathy? No, not sympathy. I would detest that if I were him. Maybe I should just wait and see what he does and how he acts. But he's been keeping a low profile all day and I'm not sure how to respond to that.
When the time finally comes that we meet up at our table I'm the first to arrive. Nervously I get my notepad and my pencils from my bag, setting it all down on the table and fussing with the pencils for a while to pass the time. Peeta arrives just a few minutes after me, punctual as usual. I still haven't had time to figure out how to act around him today and my first instinct is to put on a fake smile and pretend that everything is good, but then it occurs to me that I hardly ever smile so that in itself would be a tell-tale sign that something is not as it ought to be. Instead I try to keep my face as neutral as possible, which is difficult to do when you're actively thinking about it. As he approaches the table I don't even know where to look. When I look at him it's impossible not to notice the ugly purple welt over his right eye but not looking at him is conspicuous as well. I force myself to keep my eyes on his undamaged left eye. I notice that the usual small smile is gone from his lips but he doesn't look sullen per se. Just ordinary, I guess. Ordinary for most people. Peeta Mellark usually has a smile to spare.
"Hey," I say in a mumble, my hands fidgeting.
"Hey," he replies, pulling out a chair and setting his bag down on it. He then plops down in his usual seat and opens the bag, ruffling through it in search of notepads and textbooks and the like. If he's embarrassed about the black eye he doesn't show it in front of me. "Did you talk to Madge?"
"What?"
"Madge." He looks up at me from his bag. "About the financial aid thing?"
"Oh!" My cheeks burn red. I've been so preoccupied with how to be around Peeta that my plans to question Madge completely slipped my mind. "Uhm, no, I… I forgot."
"Do you mind going over and asking her now?" He nods in the direction of a table by the window where Madge sits alone, waiting for Harry to join her.
"Be right back," I mumble, quickly getting up on my feet and hurrying over to her, hoping to be able to ask before Harry arrives. I feel awkward asking the question but she gives me a helpful answer. There is indeed financial aid to apply for but she doesn't know much detail about the requirements. The confirmation that it exists is good enough for me and I thank her before returning to my own table where Peeta, a focused look on his face, is going over the work we got done last week. I bite the edge of my right pinkie nail, almost wishing I could go back and sit with Madge for a few more minutes until I feel less weird sitting at a table with someone who got hit in the face yesterday. Then I draw a deep breath and rebuke myself for being uncharacteristically cowardly. It's only Peeta, after all. If he doesn't seem embarrassed about it then why should I be? "She said yes," I announce. "There is something like that to apply for." I slide back in my seat and remind myself to look into Peeta's left eye as he looks up at me. "There are a bunch of requirements you have to meet, she doesn't know what they are, but if our teachers demand to know we can find out, otherwise we might as well leave that part out."
"Good," he nods. "Did she say anything else?"
"It's five days' salary – based on the income of the spouse who earns the least."
"Figures," says Peeta with a snort. He searches through the paper he worked on last week. It's been torn from the notebook but it doesn't seem the least bit wrinkled. "Okay I'll put that in here. Be sure to thank her for me, will you?"
"Yeah… Good job coming up with the idea!"
Not knowing what else to say I just sit there, biting my nails and pretending to look over my own work from yesterday. I can hear Peeta writing something, erasing something and then writing something new. After five minutes or so he stops writing and goes back to reading. A few minutes later he makes a noise in the back of his throat and sets his notes down on the table.
"Okay, I'm done. And you got your part done yesterday, right?" I nod and he nods in response. "Let's switch, then, and give the other's stuff a read. See if there's anything we want to add, or change."
Nervously I slide my work over to him, accepting the papers he sends my way in return. I can barely concentrate on looking over his calculations and written summaries, knowing he's going over the things I wrote a day ago. Peeta is much better at writing than I am. Not that I've read anything he's put together prior to this project but I've heard him recite some of his homework to the class, something our teachers love making us do and most of us hate doing, and I know he always gets top grades on essays, particularly English essays, while I myself am happy enough when I pass. Expressing myself in words is not my strong suit, neither in writing nor speaking. I feel foolish thinking about him correcting my grammar or spelling or wording.
"I think it looks good," he says, startling me. I look up at him.
"Huh?"
"What you wrote yesterday. I have nothing to add." He sets the papers down on the table and leans back in his chair. "What about you? Anything you want to add to mine?"
I haven't read more than the first two paragraphs. Deciding I trust him to have done a good job I slide the papers over to him anyway.
"No. Nothing to add."
"Alright then," he nods, gathering the papers. "I'll hand them in and we can move on to whatever tragedies or joys will befall us next."
He rises but instinctively I fly to my feet as well. Thus far it's been Peeta that hands in our work but I can understand if today he doesn't feel completely comfortable doing so. If I were in his shoes I wouldn't want anyone to see me, let alone several teachers and everyone I'd pass along the way. As soon as I'm on my feet though it dawns on me that I did not think this through. Offering to hand the papers in, especially now when he's already standing up to go deliver them, serves to make a deal out of his injury – and the shame that comes with it. It would be a futile gesture anyway since he's been here for hours already and enough people have seen him to have made a note of the status of his face. The worst part is that this isn't an isolated incident anyway; the Mellark boys have always shown up with a brand new shiner every so often, though as we've gotten older it's become less frequent. I might have gotten up on my feet with good intentions but all it's going to lead to is embarrassing him.
Thankfully he doesn't look embarrassed, or angry. He looks puzzled, eyeing me up and down with his good eye.
"Why are you standing?"
"Bathroom," I manage to say. "I have to pee. I might as well hand the papers in on my way."
"Thanks, but it takes a few minutes to walk to the classroom and back so why don't I hand in the papers while you pee and we'll meet up here at roughly the same time?"
Without a word I turn and walk in the direction of the bathroom, taking refuge there for the second week in a row. If I'm not careful this might become an undignified tradition. It annoys me that Peeta is the cause of it, that I'm letting a classmate affect me in such a strange way.
The chilly, worn down bathroom is empty when I walk in so I don't bother going to a stall. I pace back and forth in front of the dirty mirror and count to one hundred, then I walk out again. Peeta isn't back at our table. I sit down and wait, my eyes soon drifting to the envelope that holds the rest of our scenario. I know Peeta hasn't looked at the next pages. He said he wouldn't until we could look at them together. I'm tempted to reach out my hand and find out what they think would happen to us aside from losing everything in a fire but I think the better of it. If he can have the papers at home with him for a whole week without reading ahead then I can wait a few minutes for him.
When he comes back he fishes out a plastic bottle from his backpack and has a few gulps of water before sitting back down. I notice him wince and wonder if certain motions hurt his wounded face. I've never had a black eye. I don't know in what way it hurts, or how bad. Even so I am seething inside, hating the woman who did that to him. How can anyone lay hand on a face like that, on eyes like that? Especially when it is your own son! I have to pretend to be writing something on my notepad to keep my eyes away and my anger hidden. As Peeta sits back down he opens the envelope and pulls out the scenario and is about to turn the page when I remember that I have something to say to him, something that perhaps might make him feel a little bit better.
"The cookies were great." He pauses and looks up at me with surprise written on his face. "Better than great. Fantastic, really. Prim and my mother both send their thanks. Really, you… quite made our night last night."
He rewards me with the first smile of the day, even if it is a small one. But it makes me wonder and I can't stop a worried frown. I want to ask him if the reason why his features have been tarnished is the treat he brought me and my family but I won't ask the question out loud. He has no reason to tell me yes or no, and I suspect he will say no whatever the truth may be. I just hate the thought that he once again received physical punishment for bringing me food, to the point where I almost want to believe the black eye was the result of something different, like a wrestling match with his brother gone wrong. I realize he's looking at me and I resist the urge to fidget. The smile has disappeared from his face but he still doesn't look sad or angry or any of the other emotions I would be feeling if I were in his shoes.
"I'm glad you liked the cookies," is all he says.
"Loved them," I say meekly.
"I'll tell my father. He will be very pleased."
I look at him and nod. This time I actually do dare to look at the wounded eye, though it's almost completely swollen shut so it doesn't garner any eye-contact. Strangely it's still a fairly nice moment somehow, broken after a minute when Peeta harks and nods at the papers in his hands.
"Right," I say. "Moving forward with the project. Tell me, what happens once we have dealt with the fire situation?"
"Well, what you would expect, I guess…" says Peeta in a tone that suggests he's bored by their unoriginality.
"Pregnancy?" I groan.
"Actually no. I suppose not having a home and a bed to sleep in would serve to quench even the most passionate of marriages, or at least hamper the ability to go wild and crazy between the sheets five nights a week." I open my mouth, about to ask if that's how often married people have sex, but wisely realize what I'm about to do and shove what's left of the nail on my left index finger in my mouth, chewing nervously. "No, just that disasters apparently always come in threes. It's what my mother always says and it seems our teachers adhere to the same philosophy." He puts the paper down and pushes it towards me on the table in an angle that allows us both to read if we tilt our heads. "A close relative gets sick and we have to find money to help pay for treatment."
"We don't need money, we have my mother," I answer with a shrug.
"Yeah, they know that," says Peeta. "Read closer."
I squint and study the text, deciding after only a few lines that our teachers are ruthless sadists who probably cheer along during the Hunger Games even when no peacekeepers are around. Knowing that my mother is an apothecary and would be able to offer medical help they've decided to make her the sick one. With a snort I pick the paper up and read it more carefully, shaking my head at the sheer idiocy of it all.
"Our teachers are idiots."
"Kind of, yeah."
"They don't even specify what's wrong with her," I note, wrinkling my nose. "Nor what the treatment will cost."
"I think it says she's got a cough and stomach aches."
I give him a look.
"That could be anything from the flu to gastritis to cancer to-"
"Okay, okay, I get the point."
I read the text a few times over, drawing my bottom lip into my mouth and worrying it between my teeth as I mull the whole thing over. Peeta waits quietly for me to say something. Then something occurs to me and I almost indulge in a triumphant grin.
"I just had a thought!" I announce, setting the papers down.
"Oh quit bragging."
The comment stuns me at first but then the meaning of it makes its way into my apparently rather slow brain. The look on Peeta's face that underlines the comment makes me feel insulted for a fracture of a second until the joke really settles in my mind. Maybe it's the tension I've felt all day, or maybe it's a result of what happened between us yesterday. Whatever the reason I start to laugh and it draws him to laughing too after a few seconds. It's not the roaring kind of laughter from yesterday but I enjoy it nonetheless. The good-natured ribbing actually makes me feel good about myself, like I've been accepted. Like he's getting comfortable with me.
"Well go on, tell me what you were thinking," he chuckles after a moment.
"I'm thinking, too bad for them we have a secret weapon."
"Buttercup can cure people with his purrs?" That makes me laugh a little, too. "Because just so you know, I'm not wowed by the talents you've claimed he has so far."
"No, not Buttercup," I chuckle. "My sister. Prim."
"She can cure people through purring?"
"Peeta!" I say, playfully swatting at his arm as he reaches out to grab the papers. We share a look full of mirth. "No, you fool. My mother is training her to be an apothecary as well. We'll have her step up to the plate and help my mother get better."
"And she will charge us how much for that?" asks Peeta, sounding so serious that I nearly scowl. When he winks at me I roll my eyes, allowing one last smile before getting serious again.
"Come on, isn't it a good idea? It's quick and it's simple."
"Yeah. Saves us a lot of time, too." He writes the suggestion down and glances at the large clock over by the door. "So what should we do with the remaining forty minutes until break? Perhaps we ought to flesh the suggestion out a bit, write something about how exactly this would all happen."
"Sure," I nod. "At recess I could go find Prim and ask her for some advice on things to specifically mention. You know, treatment options and things like that."
"Good," nods Peeta, smiling slightly. "Excellent."
A few minutes before recess I leave the table and hurry down the hallway for Prim's homeroom, which is in another part of the building. I'm hoping to catch her as she leaves class so I can speak with her right away and get her input. It feels peculiar walking down the familiar halls when no one is around. I almost feel like I'm doing something I'm not supposed to, skipping class or something. Impatiently tapping my foot I lean against the wall outside Prim's classroom, watching the clock on the opposite wall tick towards the end of class. Soon I hear the rustling of people pulling back their chairs, gathering their things and talking amongst themselves. The door opens and Prim's classmates come spilling out into the hallway, eager to head home since this was their last class for the day. Most of them seem to be excited to be done. They all make so much noise. That's another thing that's always puzzled me. Why the need to talk and talk and talk just because school is done for the day? On days when I haven't eaten or slept particularly well and I'm suffering from a headache the level of noise the other students at my school are capable of producing really frustrates me. Peace and quiet is something I seem to value far more than many of the people I go to school with.
Prim comes walking out of the classroom, making me feel a bit better. She's with two friends, one of whom I presume is Mona. I try to look friendly as I walk up to them and say my sister's name. Upon seeing me Prim stops in her tracks, looking surprised but also happy. I'm secretly pleased that her awkward puberty phase hasn't made her feel embarrassed to be seen with me when her friends are around. With a smile she wraps an arm around my neck and pulls me in for a quick hug.
"What are you doing here, Katniss?" she asks.
"Just… need a little information from my medicinal sister."
She looks puzzled but nods and tells her friends she'll catch up with them in a few minutes. I take her by the arm and lead her back to the spot I was previously standing. Needing to raise my voice to make myself heard over the calamity I explain to her what the new part of our scenario is about and what I need from her. She thinks for a moment and asks me to hold her backpack while she rifles through it in search of her notepad and pencil.
"You couldn't be more specific about the diagnosis, or at least the symptoms?" she asks with a furrowed brow.
"I probably could but our teachers can't," I say with rolling eyes.
"Gotcha."
Her brow furrows as she thinks. She writes a few things down, thinks some more and then adds more to the list. After ten minutes I start looking at the clock, knowing my recess is over soon and Peeta will be waiting for me. Prim notices and gives me a crooked, teasing smile, drumming her pencil against the pad just like Peeta is wont to do.
"Will he come looking if you're gone for too long?"
"I like being punctual," I reply, causing her to giggle for some reason. She adds another couple of things to the list and tears the page from the pad, handing it to me and giving my cheek a kiss.
"See you at home, big sis. Say hi to your husband for me. Oh – and thank him for the cookies!"
"I already thanked him," I say as she begins to walk away.
"So thank him again," she says cheerfully, throwing me a look over her shoulder and winking at me.
As I head back into the assembly room, which is uncommonly lively at the moment with most of the students moving about and talking amongst each other as recess draws to an end, I feel a lot better than I did an hour ago. Not only because the issue of how to act around Peeta today has resolved itself. It's odd seeing Prim with a group of friends but it's odd in a good way. Next year I won't be in school anymore and it's good to know she'll have other girls to look after her should she need it. Though I have no doubt Prim will be the one looking after them. I'm just happy she seems to have made new friends.
A scowl comes over my face as our table comes into view through the sea of students. Peeta is back in his chair, notepad open in front of him and pencil in hand, and he's not alone. Mallory Grey stands beside him, resting one hand on the back of his chair, smiling as she talks to him in what I suspect is a coquettish manner. Peeta smiles back at her and looks at ease which doesn't sit well with me. We don't speak about Mallory very often but the few times we do he has expressed that he finds her intimidating and that he doesn't like her very much yet here he is being all smiles and friendliness despite his reserved mood today. It rings false to me and I don't like that kind of dishonesty. One cannot trust a person who can dislike someone yet act like they really like them when they interact. Besides, what is she even doing here? Recess is over in two minutes, shouldn't she be with her own partner, gearing up for the upcoming hour? She may have wanted to partner with Peeta but she had to choose someone else instead and she should go back to him and focus on her school work. I don't know where the thought comes from but I'm struck with a sudden urge to give her a fake smile and ask her if her own pretend-husband isn't suitable for conversation since she apparently needs to engage mine instead. The thought makes me feel ashamed and I avert my eyes and bite my thumbnail as I approach our table. My nails are getting quite the gnawing today.
"That is so amazing, I had no idea!" Mallory chirps to Peeta when I walk up and toss my backpack on the empty chair, announcing my arrival.
"It's no big deal," Peeta insists, his good eye drifting from her to me. "Hey there. Had a good recess?"
"Always," I mutter in a not too friendly tone, taking my seat. "Recess is over now though so let's get back to work, shall we?"
"Duty calls," says Peeta, looking up at Mallory again.
"I should get back to my own scenario," she says. "I'm pregnant so I have a lot of my mind over there these days. Joe actually put forward the suggestion that we shouldn't spend money on a crib when the kid can just sleep with us in the bed." She gives Peeta a conspiring wink. "I don't think my fake husband is cheap so much as he hates math."
Peeta chuckles lightly.
"Well good luck with that."
"I'll see you later," she says and takes her hand off of his chair. I get a small nod in my direction. "Katniss." She begins to walk away but turns after a few steps and addresses Peeta again. "Remember what we talked about!"
He nods and gives her a smile that even I can tell is fake. Then she heads off to her own pretend husband and her pretend pregnancy and Peeta draws a deep breath which he lets out through pursed lips. I give him a look from underneath my bangs, feeling oddly disappointed in him for putting up a façade like that in front of her. I wonder what it was they talked about that she wants him to remember but I am most certainly not about to do something as undignified as ask.
"Ready to pick it up again?" he asks as if nothing happened. He winces slightly and his hand moves to his face, his fingertips grazing the wounded skin. Was all that fake smiling painful?
"Sure," I say. He turns to his backpack and begins to pick up our material, which he dutifully put out of sight while we were both away from the table during recess. While he's busy with that my eyes fall on something on the table. I lean over to pick it up and frown. "Hey your good friend Mallory left her hairband here."
"That's not hers," he concludes after merely casting a brief glance at it while ruffling through his backpack.
"Oh?" How many girls have been up here to chat with him during the twenty minutes recess lasted? I thought he said he was going outside for some fresh air.
"Here, I'll take it." He holds out his hand, still keeping his eye on his backpack as he seems to be searching for something. Hesitating for a second I then place the headband in his hand, a strange feeling coming over me as his focus turns the piece of cloth, which he folds carefully and puts it in his jacket pocket. "Excuse me, I can't seem to find my pencil sharpener. It must have fallen out of my case."
"So use a different pencil," I say, a slight coldness to my voice.
He pauses and looks at me and I get the feeling that I've just acted inappropriately unfriendly for no reason. Again. He manages a smile that doesn't seem genuine in the slightest and dutifully puts his backpack away.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to take up a lot of time over it."
I have half a mind to suggest that if he spent less time cavorting with other girls in our class and more time focusing on the work the whole process would be much more efficient but I know it's an unfair accusation. Up until now he has been a diligent worker who more than pulls his own weight and he is free to do whatever he likes during recess. But we've only been at this for a few weeks and perhaps now his façade is beginning to fall. Anyone can play a role one hour a week for a month or two but sooner or later their real selves begin to show. I don't want to come to find out that the sweet, generous boy with the bread is not as sweet and generous as I've always believed.
"Katniss?"
His voice brings me out of my thoughts and I feel a bit bad. Here he sits opposite me with a bruised eye and his normally cheerful spirits dampened and I'm angry that he seems to be forcing that cheer anyhow. Something inside me suggests that perhaps the reason why this aggravates me so much is that it wasn't even an hour ago that he was smiling at me and making me laugh. If he can put on the fake pleasantry for the likes of Mallory Grey, what's to say he's not doing that with me? I know he chose me for this project more than I chose him and he's taken a beating from his mother for my benefit in the past, yet I can't stop the lingering doubt from coming up to the surface. When he asked me to pick him as a partner he didn't know me. Now he's worked with me for a month and I haven't been anything like the bubbly, giggling, smiling girls he normally hangs out with. I will always feel indebted to Peeta Mellark because of that bread and the burden would be worse to bear if he doesn't like me after getting to know me – if he feels I wasn't worth it.
"Are you okay?" he asks. I shake my head to clear it. I need to get my head in the game. Nodding to the envelope I urge him to get on with the third, and final, part of this scenario. He gives me a sceptical look but gets the papers out. "Before we continue this, did you catch Prim before she went home?"
This springs me to attention and I remember that I've got Prim's notes still folded in my hand. I quickly unfold it and hand it over to him without even looking at it myself. He puts the scenario down and studies the suggestions my sister made. In order to have something to do while he reads I reach for the scenario and eye through the two parts we've already concluded, making sure we didn't miss any instructions. The two parts are supposed to be covering events for roughly the first eight months of our second year of marriage but as I look at it the project seems to be even more futile than ever. They've put an insane amount of work into crafting it but it's lifeless and seems to be utterly missing the point. Is this really what they want to teach us that marriage is? There's never any mentioning of love or romance. When I think of my parents' marriage, the only marriage I've really seen up-close, I think of smiles and kisses and loving looks. Not of drafting budgets and writing essays about the value of material items. What do Peeta and I like to do together, in this fictional life? What kind of things do we laugh at together? What do we talk about when we are alone? I find myself wishing they had included something along those lines to breathe some life and soul into all of this.
"Your sister is clever," says Peeta. I look up, the compliment filling me with pride. "This stuff is great. We need to work this into our… Well, it's no longer another economics bit, is it? I think we should write it up as a one-page essay." He hands me back the paper from Prim. "This is good stuff. I bet it will be well received by the teachers. Nice job thinking outside the box, Everdeen. It reminds me of my ex-girlfriend who-"
"Focus, Peeta," I say sternly. "I don't care about your love life. I don't even really care about your fictional love life with me so let's get the work done, shall we?"
A look of hurt mixed with annoyance flashes across his face. I don't care. It exasperates me that we're supposed to be working and he keeps focusing on girls. The headband comes to the forefront of my mind again. What on earth was anybody doing leaving that behind at our table anyway?
"As you wish," he says coldly. "Do you want to do it as a math problem, then?"
"I'll write the essay up."
"No I'll do it," he says in a voice that won't be argued with. "It was my suggestion. Plus you did the leg work so I do the writing. You can get started on part three. It's not due until next Thursday so I have plenty of time to work on it with you once I'm done with this."
"It's my family that does the healing," I protest.
"I'm perfectly capable of writing a brief essay about it anyway," he retorts. "I've got Prim's suggestions."
"Do you even understand any of them?" I scoff.
He gives me a surprisingly effective glare with his one good eye.
"I can manage. I daresay I'm just as competent as you are at writing up something concerning emphysema or GI bleeds."
I scowl at him and he scowls right back. Neither one of us seems to want to be the first to break the staring match but after about a minute I decide to hand him victory, mostly because I can't stand looking at his black eye any longer. With a snort and a huff I turn to the final page of our current scenario.
"Should I tell you what it says or can you not be bothered until you're done paraphrasing my sister's suggestions?" I say in a snooty tone, not sure why I'm behaving this way.
"Geez," he says in a low tone and with a huff. I wonder if I've taken my sullenness too far but the memory of Mallory and his fake niceties fuels me on and I offer no apologies. "Go ahead, tell me what it says."
"It says we…" I get only a few words into the page before I cut myself off with a groan. "It says that as our second anniversary draws near we find out that we are expecting out first child, due to be born about halfway into our third year of marriage."
"Whoop-dee-do," he says in a low voice with all the enthusiasm of a seven year old who's got several pages of math homework to do before play time.
"I hate this," I sigh. If my mood was bad two minutes ago it's downright awful right now. I read through the rest of the text, quoting the important bits to Peeta. Most of the pregnancy-related details will surface in the next scenario but before we can close the books on our second year we have to do some homework and find out what baby paraphernalia our parents and other relatives have that we can borrow.
"The answer in my case is none," says Peeta, getting to work on his short essay. "Anything my parents have saved will end up in Scotti's nursery. If by some chance he doesn't produce offspring before I do, or he's done having kids by the time I get started, Ryean will have inherited all baby stuff."
"Yeah, unless neither one of them gets married or has children before you do. Or unless their wives have access to cribs and clothes and other baby crap and they don't need whatever exquisite piece of furniture rocked the Mellark babies to sleep twenty-or-so years ago." I'm still on the offensive, my voice ice cold.
"I get the hint, I'll look it up 'till next week," he sighs, not taking his eyes from what he's writing.
Despite the answer I don't feel satisfied. In fact there's not a lot about this day that I feel happy about, which surprises me given the fairly pleasant previous hour. And for the first time since this project began Peeta and I spend the better part of the allotted time working in a silence that is neither comfortable nor casual. Every minute feels like an hour and when the clock finally rings I immediately smack my notepad shut and grab my things, shoving them haphazardly into my backpack to get going. I hear Peeta mumbling a half-hearted "thanks for today" but I don't respond.
The rest of the week I have had a lot to think about. I've been feeling off all week, my mind preoccupied with thoughts of Gale but also, surprisingly, with thoughts of Peeta. Mostly it's been Gale, but every so often the memory of Peeta with Mallory and of the hairband come floating to the forefront of my mind. I don't know why that is, or why it should bother me, and that bothers me more than the rest of it.
On Wednesday I head straight for the woods after school is done and I stay there until well past dark. It's a few degrees below freezing and by now a light layer of snow covers the ground, making my surroundings seem lighter even after sunset. I don't have any luck hunting but I'm not trying to have any either. I'm mostly out here to think – and feel – but I'm not having much luck in either department. Finally I give up and head home, crawling under the fence at roughly eight o'clock in the evening. As I walk through the district towards the Seam I feel an odd sense of loneliness that I can't put my finger to. It's not the first time I've been out in the woods alone, far from it, nor is it the first time I've walked the streets after dark by myself. The loneliness comes from somewhere, or something, else and I wish I knew what it was.
A few blocks away from home I run into Gale. Both of us startle, looking the other up and down. He seems to be heading away from home, which is odd at this hour. He frowns and no doubt wonders why I'm not at home either at this point. For a minute or two we stand there awkwardly, neither one of us knowing what to say. Gale sticks his hands in his pockets and I bite my fingernails, wondering what to say.
"You're out late, Catnip," he finally says, his voice slightly strained. I relax at hearing him use the familiar nickname.
"So are you," I reply. "Going somewhere?"
"To pick up Rory. He's at a friend's house. My mother doesn't want him walking home alone this late."
"Oh."
Another moment of awkward silence follows.
"You, uhm…" Gale scratches the back of his neck. "You weren't in the woods on Sunday."
"No." After a few seconds I decide I should offer more of a response. "I had school work to do."
"Ah," he says in a tone that suggests he believes I'm making up excuses but he chooses to accept them.
"It was for the project," I clarify. "I wasn't able to get all the work done in time during class so…"
"Katniss you don't need to explain anything to me," he says. Another long moment of silence follows. I'm not sure what to do. It's never been like this between us before.
"Well, I… I should go," I finally say. "I should get back home. Prim and my mother, they… must be getting worried about me."
"Yeah," he nods. "Yeah, sure. Hurry home. I should get going too. Rory is waiting…"
I nod and fidget where I stand. Another long moment of silence stretches out between us until I finally mumble a "bye" and head for home. I resist the urge to turn back and look at him. The lonely feeling intensifies. It has never been this way between Gale and me before – never. And I blame the new romantic revelations. It has changed everything. There's no point in pretending we can go back to the way things were. Sure, our friendship is strong and will probably survive, but it won't be the same. Not by a long shot. Especially if I decide I don't want to be more than friends. Gale would never be able to look at me the same way and that works the other way around too. I would always be the girl who didn't want him and he… he would always be the boy who wanted me. Not my friend and hunting partner Gale, but the boy I turned down. And what if my feelings start to change later on, or I realize I actually have felt that way about him too all along? What then? I will have lost him for no good reason.
Haven't I lost enough in my life already?
Come Sunday I have made my decision. I spent most of Saturday night lying awake and thinking it over and in the end I came to the conclusion that there really is only one right choice to make. Once my mind was made up I went to sleep, only to be woken by my alarm two hours later. Yawning and shivering in the chilly room I got dressed and snuck out of the house to head for the woods.
The glade is empty when I arrive. I take my seat and fish out my small blanket, wrapping it around myself with a yawn, still shivering. Good thing it's cold out or I might have ended up falling asleep where I sit. Then again it's not just the temperature keeping me awake. My mind is made up but it will not be the easiest thing in the world to see the decision through.
I wait for twenty minutes and then Gale shows up. He seems relieved to see me yet he's more reserved than he was two weeks ago. I don't blame him. He told me what was in his heart and the next week I didn't even show up. No wonder he's a bit reserved. I offer him a small smile and pat the empty spot next to me on the log. He accepts my wordless invitation and comes over to sit. I'm glad when I see him fish out a thermos from his backpack and a few moments later I'm sitting with a mug of steaming hot tea between my cold hands. The smell makes my stomach growl.
"You look tired," he says.
"Nice way to compliment a girl."
"Is that something you want from me? Compliments?"
I don't answer. We sit silently together for a long while, watching the sun slowly rise over District 12's forests. I really love it out here. Winter is far from my favourite season but I do love how beautiful it makes the woods. Every tree branch seems to be glittering with frost and the thin layer of snow on the ground catches the early light of day. A few birds can be heard singing around us, sounding cheerful despite the cold. I finish my tea slowly and hand the mug back to Gale. He accepts it without a word. I wrap the blanket closer around myself and decide that it's time.
I don't look at him at first. I can't. I've never felt this uncomfortable around him but I'm telling myself that this feeling is natural. I'm about to take a very big step, one I've never taken before. I do not doubt that my decision is right. It's clear that I will lose Gale if I don't give a relationship with him a try and I can't have that. I love him, maybe just not like that, not yet, but what if he is right? What if that's the kind of love that will begin to grow on its own once I give it a chance to? Why should I throw my most important friendship away when the alternative is to give it a chance to grow and become so much more? Besides, how can I even be sure I don't have those feelings for him already, only I've been too afraid to realize it? If I turn him down now I risk turning down a lot of very good and important things.
"I've been thinking," I say, shivering in the cold morning air.
"About what?" asks Gale.
I hesitate.
"You know about what."
I turn to look at him and find that he's watching me closely. He looks calm, yet I can sense that underneath his cool exterior he is strung as tightly as a bowstring. I think he's nervous too. If I don't tell him what he wants to hear then we might never sit here again, together like this, and I don't think he wants that any more than I do but he doesn't have a choice, just like I don't.
"I'm not ready for anything that moves too fast," I say, trying not to fidget nervously. "I've never... been anyone's girlfriend before." The word itself feels foreign when it leaves my mouth. "So if we could just take it slow..."
The grin that spreads across his face could melt the snow around us but it somehow fails to ease my discomfort.
"Catnip!" he grins. "We can take it just as slow as you want to. Just as long as you're mine and you love me too."
I open my mouth to protest to the use of the word love but he mistakes my intentions and kisses me instead. This time, because my mouth is open, he moves his tongue inside. It startles me and I recoil but he seems to think I'm just gasping for air and moves in again. This time I'm a little bit prepared for it so I accept his kiss, trying to familiarize myself with the act. His hand ends up on the back of my head, the other hand caressing my cheek, and I find my own hands awkwardly fumbling with the hem of his jacket as his tongue moves into my mouth again. I close my eyes and try to figure out what I'm supposed to do. Gale seems to know exactly what to do, his tongue moving confidently in my mouth. Is this supposed to be something lovely, that thing I've read about in just about every story and every novel? Kissing, that thing that is supposed to be every couple's favourite thing to do, is this what it feels like? I'm not sure what I think of it but it's not exactly lovely. In fact it feels a little odd and very slobbery and Gale tastes of the cheap coffee most miners drink in the morning to help them wake up. Maybe I'm just not there yet. Maybe you have to get to the stage where you know you're in love before this feels amazing. Or maybe I'm just too nervous and self-aware right now. It's not painful or discomforting or anything like that so I suppose I don't really mind it very much. It feels odd, is all, though Gale moans a little into my mouth before he pulls back with a wide smile so I assume he doesn't find it weird.
"You're new at this, I can tell..." he smiles, a glint in his eyes that I've never seen before. I scowl, feeling insulted and belittled, but his hands are still in the same place they were when we kissed and I can't pull back. He laughs lightly and caresses my cheek with his thumb. "No, I like that. I like that I'm your first. It feels... right somehow."
"I'm not your first," I point out.
"You're the first girl it's ever meant something with."
He kisses me again and I try to figure out what that really means while his tongue explores my mouth. How many girls has he kissed without it meaning anything? Why did he kiss them if it didn't mean anything? I don't really care if he's kissed one girl or twenty but I can't figure out why anyone would do this if there wasn't some meaning behind it. I know that it happens, that it's fairly common even, but still. I can't seem to see the allure.
His hands are cupping my cheeks but slowly they begin to travel downward. They reach my shoulders and then continue down my sides until they're roughly where the back strap of my bra runs beneath my layers of clothes. His hands then shift direction and move forward, towards my breasts. Feeling very uncomfortable all of a sudden I push him off me and break the kiss.
"Gale!" I exclaim. "What are you doing?"
There's a look of surprise in his eyes, replaced for a brief second with what seems like anger and then turning into something else. Frustration? Acceptance?
"Okay, you're not ready for that just yet," he says. By the tone of his voice he is disappointed but accepts my rejection. I wonder if I overreacted since he would only have been touching my hunting jacket, strictly speaking, but I couldn't help the feeling that it wasn't okay. Then he actually chuckles and runs a hand through his dark hair. "Sometimes I forget how innocent you are, Catnip."
"I'm not innocent," I snort, crossing my arms over my chest. "I'm just not comfortable being felt up out here in the woods two and a half minutes after our first kiss."
He holds up his hands in a disarming gesture, his smile suggesting that he finds my reaction endearing. It only annoys me further. Does he suddenly see me as childlike and inexperienced? That doesn't rhyme well with what he wanted to do just moments before.
"Sorry," he says again. He chuckles slightly, as if he's a bit nervous too.
"Maybe that's enough kissing for one day," I say and begin to stand up.
"No!" His hand on my arm stops me. "No. I think we need a whole lot more kissing. In fact, who says we need to do any hunting today at all? We can take a day off and just spend the next few hours exploring each other. Kisses only, I promise."
"Gale," I say, frowning down at him. "Please be serious. Prim hasn't had a decent meal in days and I won't return home without game."
"Alright Catnip," Gale sighs and rises from the log. "How about we compromise? For every animal I bring down you give me a kiss."
I don't respond. Adjusting the quiver on my back I head off on one of the small paths that leads away from our glade. I'm not too happy with all this focus on kissing all of a sudden. I get that as boyfriend and girlfriend we're meant to engage in the activity on a regular basis but there's a time and place for everything. Also I suppose I was expecting us to start with closed mouthed stuff and take it step by step from there, not jump straight into tongue. I'm surprised at how easy-going Gale is being. He's usually dead serious when we're out in the woods and I know his siblings haven't eaten much in the past days either. Why he's more preoccupied with kisses than with hunting I don't know. I decide to treat his comments as jokes. It seems easier that way.
He only brings down the one animal and he gets a kiss in return for it. I, on the other hand, manage to rake up my number to four before we head back home. Gale wants us to stop in the glade on the way back and it turns out the reason is more kissing. I indulge him for a few minutes but then I feel compelled to remind him that we have hungry family members waiting for us to come back home.
"Okay Catnip, I get it," he chuckles, gently caressing my chin with his thumb. "I don't think your mother will approve of me much anyway if I return you back home with swollen lips and a flushed face."
Return me back home? I scowl and try to figure out exactly what he means by that. As if he's been borrowing me today or something? I groan inwardly, frustrated with myself. Had he said that six months ago I wouldn't have thought twice about it, written it off as good-natured ribbing. Today there's suddenly a possibility that it means something. I can't help but find it all so very exhausting.
"We should go," I say, rising from the log. I'm eager to end this foray into the woods and have a bit of space to think things over.