This chapter came with a new set of challenges that I guess you could call "world building". I still have my copies of the books lent to a friend so I've had to poke around online to try and find as many details as I can about the world and culture in District 12 that Collins built. Things like when the victory tour actually takes place (November? December?), what the Harvest Festival really entails and other things like that. In the end I decided that I might as well fill in the blanks for myself and make my own interpretation of it but if anyone is an expert on these subjects feel very free to give me the details.
I don't feel much different. Should I feel different? I've begun a whole new chapter in my life, taken on a role I swore I would never take. My relationship with the most important person in my life outside of my immediate family has changed for good. I should feel those changes affecting me, shouldn't I?
Staring at my face in the mirror I can't help but wonder if there's something wrong with me. I look the same as usual. A little more starved and sunken-in perhaps but other than that there's nothing different about the face staring back at me. I hold my comb between my teeth while my hands work on the familiar braid and I wonder how much effect all of this will have in my day-to-day life. I'm not going to be one of those girls who shows up at school all aglow, unable to keep myself from talking about my newfound relationship bliss, giggling and smiling and whispering secrets with my friends. Nobody it school is going to know the difference. None of their business, what goes on in my love life.
I may not feel different, but I definitely feel something in the pit of my stomach. An almost uneasy feeling. The path I took my first steps down yesterday is not one to be taken lightly. I'm no longer just me, I'm somebody's… girlfriend, I suppose. Gale's girlfriend. The mere thought sounds foreign but I tell myself I don't have to use that term just yet. After all, we never said we were going to instantly morph into one of those couples that walk hand in hand through town, whispering sweet nothing's in each other's ear, stealing kisses and making cute faces at each other and looking at each other with googly eyes. All we really decided was that we would give dating a try. That's the beauty of going down this road with Gale – we can have it be whatever we want it to be, and not be bound by the norms of how relationships usually go in District 12.
Finishing up my braid I give my bangs a quick comb-through and set the comb back down on the sink. Then I hurry to the kitchen to pack my meagre lunch for the day while Prim does her hair in the bathroom. My stomach growls as I stuff the small package of food into my backpack. A small tomato from our ever-shrinking supply and a quarter of a sandwich. I could have had a half but Prim needs the food more than I do. I resolve to head straight for the forest when school is done for the day. Out there by myself I can bring down something for us to eat and I won't have anyone for us to have to share it with.
The day goes by slowly, each class feeling like it lasts for a week. I spend the larger portion of the day in Madge's company but we don't talk much. We rarely do. I suppose I could tell her about what happened between me and Gale yesterday but I can't seem to find a reason to. I haven't even said anything to my mother and sister yet. I know Madge would be happy for me if I did tell her but I don't want to talk about it. What is there to say? Gale and I will try dating and that's all there is to it. I haven't shared much with Madge about my reservations when it comes to marriage so that leaves very little else to say. It will be different in a few weeks, when dating is something we've actually done and not just something we've agreed to start doing.
A few times during the day I look over at Peeta, wondering what the mood will be like between the two of us when we meet up for the last class. We haven't spoken since last week. I hope it will be less tense today, more like the normal atmosphere between us. I didn't like the way it felt towards the end last time. Working with him has been easy for the most part and I hope it can be like that for the majority of the time this project lasts. He catches me looking at him once and I immediately turn my face away. His welt has begun to fade but there's still a prominent bruise underneath the eye. It's still uncomfortable to look at.
At long last the final class of the day arrives and Peeta and I make our way to our usual table without saying much to one another. We set our backpacks down and get everything we need on the table, including the scenario. Peeta breaks the silence and although there's some wariness in his voice he seems to at least want to put last week behind us and move on without things being awkward again. He's a much bigger person than I am. I'm really not sure what my behaviour was all about last week so I can't expect him to understand it, but I do know that if our roles had been reversed I would have been far less willing to let it all be water under the bridge. Fleetingly the thought passes through my mind that his father must be one of the kindest persons in all of District 12 to have given these traits to his son, or to have raised him to be this way despite the cold-hearted and borderline cruel woman who inexplicably contributed to a large part of Peeta's DNA and upbringing.
"So I asked my parents what baby paraphernalia they still have lying around…" says Peeta, scratching his chin. He's got a bit of stubble today, which doesn't happen often.
"And?"
He rolls his eyes.
"And my mother kindly informed me that my oldest brother has a serious girlfriend and is of marrying age so I should not expect to get to use those things, as no doubt Scotti will be busy putting new babies in the cradle at a regular pace well before I get around to turning nineteen and convincing some poor girl to wed me and bear my kids."
"Does she not grasp the concept of the project?" I ask, wondering to myself what is wrong with that woman.
"I'm joking, Katniss. Or exaggerating, as it were." He chuckles lightly, not sounding very happy. "I think I got her a little worried, to be honest, before Ryean reminded her that it's for school and that both he and Scotti did the same thing."
"Oh."
He picks up a sheet of paper and waves it about a little.
"Ryean sent this with me. His calculation sheet from two years ago."
"He… kept… something like that?" I ask with incredulity.
"What can I say, my brother's got a bit of a thing for keeping track of where money goes and when we can save some."
"Peeta we can't use this," I point out. He scowls.
"Well why not?"
"Because it's cheating."
"How is it cheating?"
Sensing another argument coming up I bite back a groan and rub my temple with my index fingers.
"Because your brother just handed it to you. He did that work, two years ago. We don't even know if it's accurate anymore."
"I don't know why you're trying so hard to pick a fight with me," Peeta replies in a calm, rational tone that makes me feel deservedly foolish. "It's just a tally of the things my parents still have at home from when we were babies. So what if Ryean wrote it down? The exact same things are going to be on my list anyway." The scowl disappears from his face and he tilts his head slightly, studying me. "Katniss… It's no different than getting Prim's help last week. The task was to do inventory on what things our parents kept. Does it matter if I got the information from my mother or my brother?"
"Fine," I mutter. "I'm sorry."
"Where's your list?"
The second he asks the question it dawns on me that I never even got around to doing it. My face freezes for a second and then I make a valiant attempt at seeming unfazed. Shit. How could I have forgotten this? How could I not have remembered a minute ago when we were talking about his list? I can only imagine how much crap I'm going to get from him for having failed to do my part and then criticized him for how he did his part. At least he put some bit of effort into it and brought it up with his parents. I've had so many other things on my mind this week that all of this completely slipped my mind. Unfortunately I'm silent for a bit too long and Peeta's scrutinizing gaze seems to easily pick up on the reason why.
"You didn't do yours?" He says it carefully, not accusingly. Not that it makes it any better. I make a face and open my notebook to an empty page.
"I… forgot it at home, I think," I mumble.
"Okay." He bites his bottom lip and drums his pencil against his pad for a moment while I doodle on my own pad, feeling foolish. What must he think of me right now? "Okay, well… We'll recreate it from memory, then."
"No…" I protest. Since I didn't actually do it obviously I can't remember what I supposedly wrote down on it.
"Come on, we can manage. It won't take long."
I cringe, trying to think of an out for this one. Meanwhile Peeta leans over his notepad and looks eager to serve as secretary. I rack my mind but all I can come up with are Prim's baby clothes that I once tried to sell to earn some money for food. The memory brings back a wave of painful memories and I can't stop the series of images that flash before my inner eye. The terrible hunger. The way my mother was impossible to reach. The state Prim was in. Sitting out there in the rain, more desolate than I have ever been before or since.
Peeta. Peeta throwing that bread to me.
"There is nothing," I then say, hating my voice for trembling.
Peeta's brow furrows slightly.
"What do you mean?" he asks softly.
"Prim's old baby clothes… and that's about it. Everything else was… gone a long time ago. In the Seam you… you don't have much."
"Do you want to just add the baby clothes to Ryean's list and hand it in that way, with no specifics on which household contributed what?" asks Peeta, his voice so understanding that it's almost unbearable. "Or just… write something frank about how not everyone has a lot of things to inherit from their parents? I mean, what's the point of just writing up a list of stuff, anyway?"
"Because that's what people would do in real life," I manage to answer. "And to make us think about what stuff you need when you have babies."
"Knowledge that's going to be superfluous to both of us, perhaps, anyway," he says, a soft smile on his face. Our eyes meet but I quickly have to look away. I don't know what to do when he shows me this kind of friendliness. "Look, I was the one who kind of cheated here by taking my brother's list."
"You weren't cheat-"
"How about you go over it and pick out a few things you feel might be reasonably 'left over' for me to inherit, we cross the rest off, and I'll write something about how we won't have all that much to work with because, well, not all people do… Especially those with older siblings and those whose families have needed money more than holding on to cribs and other sellable items."
I come very close to protesting. Peeta hasn't screwed up here – I have. But I don't know quite how to handle this surge of emotion washing through me right now without my façade cracking so I nod and hold out my hand to take his list, gratefully accepting his suggestion. Our hands meet when he hands the list over and we both seem to still for a second, the touch of his skin against mine strangely comforting. I look into his eyes and find kindness but not pity there. I don't know how he's interpreting my behaviour right now but he's letting me off the hook and I can do little more than accept it. I feel so utterly tired of fighting the conflicting emotions inside and putting on an indifferent face outward so I gladly accept this opportunity to pretend everything is alright and just do the work he suggests.
"Peeta…" I say, my voice slightly hoarse. The look in his eyes is reassuring and I find myself wondering how come he is so kind and patient with me when I'm being anything but friendly in return. In fact I've been acting terrible recently, letting the stress of my changing relationship with Gale and the vast number of uncertainties that await me if I survive the final reaping affect the way I talk to him. If the tables were turned I would probably have written Peeta off completely by now but he hasn't done that with me. I hope he knows that his patience doesn't go unnoticed, or unappreciated. "I…"
"Don't sweat it, Katniss," he says. I know he's referring to the list but I want to reassure myself by letting myself believe he's just as much talking about my behaviour as of late. "You'll cover for me when I have a bad week."
Is he even capable of having a bad week? Sure he must be, but unlike me he probably doesn't make everyone around him miserable for it.
"I'm glad I picked you to do the project with," I tell him. I think I see him startle slightly, as if my words are surprising to him. "I'm glad you asked me to pick you. You're smart and you're kind and you're innovative. I… Well, I…" I feel myself blush but I force myself to continue. I feel I owe him this. "To be honest with you I… was concerned that I would have a hard time working together with someone, because I barely even know any of you boys in our class. Aside from with Gale I've never had much experience with teamwork and so I thought... Well, just that I might not do so well, working with someone I hardly know. You've made it really easy for me to work together and I appreciate it."
A bashful smile spreads across Peeta's face and he turns his eyes away for a second, a reaction that I find so endearing that a warm surge goes through my heart. It seems completely sincere and that makes me like him even more. I almost want to add that he's humble and that I like that quality in him, too, but I don't want to overdo it. He turns his eyes back to me and along with the bashfulness I think I see genuine joy there as well. It makes me feel a bit funny, in a good way. I smile and his own shy smile becomes wider.
"Thank you," he says. "I'm glad you decided to choose me, too."
"But why?" I ask, the question slipping out spontaneously before I can think to hinder it. "I know I haven't been very nice lately." I bite my lower lip and look down at my hands. My fingers are busy tearing pieces from the napkin I wrapped my meagre lunch in. "And I haven't been… pulling my weight."
"Yeah you have."
"Even if I have…" I look back up at him and find his eyes fixated on me. There's an intensity in them, as if he's hanging on my every word. For some odd reason the detail that catches my attention the most is that his eyes are not the same shade of blue as Prim's and my mother's. I resist the temptation to shake my head to clear it of such random thoughts, but the fact that the thought popped in to my head to begin with just goes to show that I'm not focusing the way I should be. I chortle softly at my own odd behaviour and shrug a shoulder. "I guess I can't make sense of why you chose to ask me to partner with you. There are any number of girls in our class who would love to do a project like this with you. Maybe you just wanted the challenge, I don't know… But I'm glad you took the leap of faith."
The smile on his face is warmer now, more comfortable. It still touches some part of me that I'm not sure it ought to. His head tilts just slightly and his eyes narrow a touch, as if he's trying to figure me out.
"You have no idea, do you?" he asks.
"No idea, what?"
"The effect you can have."
He says it so simply, so unabashedly, that I don't know what to make of it. It's a compliment for sure, but it can't be the kind of compliment a boy gives to a girl he likes. It falls too easily from his lips for that. But it's also an odd compliment to give someone in any other form of context. It confuses me and I lean back slightly and scowl. Peeta chuckles softly and shakes his head just a little, and I'm glad he's not offended by my spontaneous reaction to his words. His eyes meet mine again for a second and it feels like there's something in his look that I ought to understand but right now I'm too thrown by his comment to do so.
"Back to work?" he suggests in a friendly tone. I smile, relieved that he's giving me the option to just put this aside for now and focus on what we're here for.
"Back to work," I agree.
It doesn't take me all that long to go over his list so while he works on putting something together in writing I go over the other work we've done for this leg of the scenario and make a few changes here or there as I see fit. Mostly it's just a way to pass the time. I know that I'm not contributing much but for once I don't care. As long as Peeta seems fine with it I can always make it up to him next week. When we have only five minutes left of class he hands me what he's written and I read through it. It's not very long but it's to the point. I could probably make a few alterations to it but I can't bring myself to do so. I simply nod, tell him it's good and hand it over.
"Okay," he says, stuffing his books into his backpack. "I'll hand everything in to Mr. Stoker."
"No…" I say, slowly standing up and beginning to gather my things. "Let me do that. You have wrestling practice to get to anyway, right?"
He looks at me for a second, then nods slightly.
"Okay. Okay, thanks."
"Don't thank me… You've handed in everything else so far. Only fair that it's my turn, right?"
"Right," he says, the hint of a smile on his face. He stands as well and wraps his scarf around his neck. "Well thanks for today, Katniss. See you tomorrow."
I nod and mumble something incoherent by way of reply. He gives me a look that I can best describe as supportive and then he's off, his jacket thrown over his arm and his backpack in his hand. I watch him go, waiting until he's out of sight before I gather up the pages we've worked on lately and put them all in the envelope to bring to our teacher. Despite my previous determination to go hunting after school today I feel like I want to do nothing more than go home and curl up on the couch and rest. That's a dangerous feeling to have.
I go to our homeroom and hand in the envelope, muttering something in response to whatever Mr. Stoker says when he takes the work. Then I walk to the doors while putting on my gloves, giving serious thought to actually going straight home and taking some time to try and get over all these annoying and conflicting emotions inside. But as I begin to walk through the streets of the Seam I see starving children playing, their noses running and their cheeks hollow. What these children wouldn't give to have some fresh meat on the table tonight, even if it is only a few bites of a squirrel shared three ways. How easily Prim could have been one of those children. Going home to relax and worry about myself seems unforgivable when I have the means of providing food for my family.
I turn on my heel and head straight for the woods.
Tuesday afternoon I'm on the couch with a book, enjoying the last bit of sunlight coming in through the windows. My knees are bent for the book to lean against and my head is propped up against the armrest. It's a beautiful sunny day and it would have been perfect for hunting but I didn't really feel up to it. I got lucky yesterday, shot a wild turkey, so we don't have to worry about food for a few days. It's been a while now since I last spent an afternoon on the couch with a book and it feels luxurious. Prim is on the floor, stretched out on her stomach reading her history textbook. She has a big exam coming up next week and history is not her favourite subject. Her legs are bent at the knees, her feet up in the air, slowly waving back and forth. In the corner of my eye I see her shooing away Buttercup who always wants to lie on whatever book she is reading, as if he finds it highly unreasonable that she should be devoting attention to her education instead of his ugly self.
A knock on the door makes both of us look up from our literature. Our mother is not at home, out tending to a sick neighbour, which means one of us has to get the door. With a huff I fold a dog ear on the page I was reading and put the book aside, getting up from my comfortable spot on the couch.
"Expecting anyone?" I ask my sister.
"No. You?"
"No. It's probably someone wanting to speak to Mother."
"Or maybe it's your good friend from school wanting to discuss something project related," suggests Prim with a sly smirk, raising an eyebrow at me. "Like the two of you going on a date for instance. Purely for research purposes of course."
"Really Prim, this one track mind teenager phase does not suit you," I say, though my tone is only mildly chastising. "And no, it's not Peeta."
"Would it really be the worst thing in the world if it were?" asks Prim, turning her eyes back to her homework. "He's cute and nice."
I let that comment be and make my way to the door, wondering to myself how long we can expect Mother to be gone and if I should just ask whoever's at the door to come back later this evening. Hopefully it's not an emergency. When I open the door I'm surprised to find Gale standing there. He must be on his way home from his shift; his hair is a sweaty mess, he's in his work overalls and there seems to be coal dust all over him. I rarely see him like this. He usually cleans himself up between getting off from work and meeting up with me. I wonder why he's here at this hour. I hope no one is sick in his family, or that nobody's had an accident in the mines.
"Gale!" I say, relieved when he grins widely at me. If he's smiling like that then obviously nothing terrible is amiss.
"Hey you." He leans in as if to kiss me but thinks the better of it and pulls back again with a slightly awkward chuckle.
"What are you doing here?"
"Who is it?" comes Prim's voice from the sitting room.
"It's just Gale!" I call back to her.
"'Just' Gale, huh?" he says with a teasing smirk. He seems to be in a very good mood, which is nice to see for a change. "I would have thought after the other day I would be a little bit more than that to you."
"As far as Prim is concerned you're the same Gale you've always been. Do you want to come in?"
"No… No, I can't stay. I just wanted to stop by and see you."
"Oh. Well… You're seeing me." I don't really get it but he laughs lightly and reaches out his hand, his dirty thumb giving my cheek a caress that no doubt leaves a black mark. "You sure that's… all?"
"Well I was thinking…" He looks over my shoulder and then steps closer so he can speak in a low voice for only me to hear. "Have you told them yet? About us?"
I haven't. There's not much to tell as far as I'm concerned. We said we would try this out and see where it goes. Since we're taking it slow I've seen no reason to tell my family, although when I got back home on Sunday I felt sure they could read on my face that I had had my first kiss. Turns out I wasn't as easy to read as I had expected.
"Have you told your family?" I ask.
"My mother is really excited," grins Gale. "Of course, she thinks of you as a second daughter already, and has for years." He leans against the doorpost, his hand again coming up to caress my cheek. "But you haven't told Prim and your mother yet?"
"No," I admit.
"Then how about I come by for dinner this evening? We can tell them together."
"I think they would find it strange that you came over for dinner on a regular Tuesday," I say. "I'll tell them in my own time. You know, we said we would take it slow."
"I'll take it as slow as you want. We should tell our families though. It's not like we have anything to hide."
"No I know, but…" Crossing my arms beneath my chest I lean against the wall, making a face as I struggle to find the right words. Gale's excited expression begins to fade and the traces of a scowl begins to appear. I don't want that. He's happy and I want him to be happy. "I don't necessarily want to hide anything," I tell him. "It's just… I don't want to make too big a deal out of it too soon. Does that make sense? I don't want the pressure."
The scowl is now in place on his face but he doesn't look disapproving so much as he looks like he's trying to figure out what I'm saying. I find some measure of relief in that.
"I completely understand if you don't want to tell everyone we know right away," he says slowly. "But your family… To be honest I don't know what you mean exactly by 'too big a deal'."
I cast a glance over my shoulder, in the direction of the sitting room. I lower my voice a little, even though it's unlikely that she can hear us.
"Prim's going through some sort of boy-loving phase right now and both she and my mother are starting to sound like they think it's about time I got a boyfriend," I begin to explain.
"That doesn't sound much like either one of them," says Gale.
"I know… But right now I think they'd make a huge deal out of it if I told them about… Well, I mean, I think they'd more or less start planning our toasting."
"That really doesn't sound like them," Gale chuckles. "But okay, I see your point. We'll wait a few weeks, until you feel comfortable telling them." He gives me a warm smile that highlights his handsome features. "Sound good?"
I nod slightly. He opens his mouth to say something else and I roll my eyes, grab him by the hand and pull him inside, closing the door shut behind him.
"It's freezing outside," I point out. "If you're going to stay and talk you might as well come inside the house."
"Bossy, bossy," he laughs.
"More like cold," I say, fidgeting a little. "Well, uhm… Do you want to have a seat or something?"
"As I said, I really can't stay. A glass of water would be nice, though." I nod and head to the kitchen, Gale in tow. "Are they home?" he stage whispers, making me roll my eyes again.
"Prim is in the sitting room, as you already know," I say. I walk over to the sink and grab a clean glass, filling it up with water. "Actually, speaking of Prim…"
"Yeah?" He takes the glass and downs half of it in loud gulps. It fascinates me how he can be almost eerily quiet out in the woods and make so much noise drinking a glass of water in the safety of my home.
"I would appreciate it if you told your brother not to mention anything to her. About… this…" He raises an eyebrow and I scowl. "Look, they go to school together. I suppose they talk every once in a while. I don't want her finding out from him."
"Another reason why you should tell them yourself right away," he shrugs. "But sure, I'll ask him to keep it quiet." He gives me a wink. "Anything for my girl."
I don't know how to respond to that, feeling surprisingly awkward about it. I grab a glass for myself, just to have something to do, and fill it about halfway with water, taking just the one sip before I set it down on the counter. I hear Gale's soft chuckle and it both confuses and irritates me. He steps closer, setting his own glass down right beside mine. There's plenty of space for the glass on the rest of the counter but by setting it beside mine he has to step real close. I look up at him and see the warmth and intensity in his eyes. Then I hear Prim's footsteps approaching and I grab my glass again and hurriedly move a few steps away to put a bit of distance between us.
"Hi Gale!" Prim chirps as she walks in.
"Hi Prim." He sounds casual, perfectly normal. "How are you?"
"Swell. Thirsty." Gale is standing in the way of the faucet so I wordlessly hold out my glass to her and she takes it. As she drinks she looks from me to Gale, no doubt noticing the odd silence between us. "This is kind of funny, Katniss," she then says. "Am I to get accustomed to you having lots of boys over nowadays?"
I scowl. Gale looks perplexed, and chuckles uncertainly.
"Prim…" I warn, but she takes no heed.
"Peeta last week, you today," she says to Gale. "My big sister is becoming popular. It's about time, if you ask me."
I don't know how to react. I can't be mad at Prim. She has no idea that what she's saying is a bad thing to say. Had it been a few weeks ago I wouldn't have seen anything wrong with the comment either, written it off as a bit of fond sisterly teasing. I know she would never say or do anything to put me in an awkward position and in this case it is all on me that she doesn't know her comment is inappropriate. Not that it is inappropriate, it's just that it might be a touchy subject. I struggle to keep my face neutral and a glance at Gale tells me he's valiantly doing the same. I can tell he's clenching his teeth, his cheek twitching slightly, but he keeps his thoughts to himself while we have company. In fact he manages to sound almost casual when he speaks, though the look he gives me is most definitely disapproving.
"You had Peeta here?" His voice seems to break just a touch and he harks. "I mean… A merchant kid?"
"They don't bite, you know," smiles Prim. "He's actually really nice. He and Katniss are working together for this elaborate school project where they pretend to be married and they have to-"
"I know about the project," says Gale shortly.
"He did the same thing two years ago," I point out.
"Though my partner never came to my house."
"Your project lasted three weeks," I remind him.
Prim, who seems unaware of the tension between us, walks over to the faucet and Gale steps aside so she can fill up her glass again. She leans back against the counter and takes two more gulps before turning to Gale.
"I think even you might like this merchant kid," she says, a slightly teasing touch in her voice. "He's really kind. He brought us cookies! Well, his father sent them with him. They were amazing." For a moment I almost forget my desire to usher her out of the room before she says something else that will make the situation worse. The way her eyes light up at the memory of those cookies almost takes the scowl off my face. Then she continues talking and I regret not making her leave right away. "Oh, and I think he likes Buttercup. You should have seen it – or heard it, really. He and Katniss, they-"
"Prim, we were kind of in the middle of something," I cut her off, giving her a pointed look. She pauses and looks from one of us to the other, clearly not understanding what is going on. "Could you give us a minute?"
She raises her eyebrows but shrugs and heads for the sitting room, giving Gale a wave as she goes. Once she's gone I look at Gale and bite my bottom lip. He's crossed his arms and he leans against the counter, scowling deeply at me. The look he's giving me rubs me the wrong way. I don't know what he thinks he's disapproving of but Peeta was here for school work and it happened before I agreed to date Gale. Even if I had invited Peeta over for the kind of "fun" you usually have to go to the slag heap for at our age, it would have been none of Gale's business.
"Were you going to tell me about this?" he finally says, after probably five minutes of uncomfortable silence between us.
"What is there to tell?" I shrug. "We didn't get all the work done in time during class so we met up to finish it in time."
"That project was hardly taxing," argues Gale. "How did you even manage not to finish in time during class?"
Somehow I manage not to blush, thinking back on the conversation – and the images in my mind – that stalled us. None of that is any of Gale's business either. I give him my best stern look and cross my own arms, mirroring his position.
"Well we didn't, and Peeta was here, and we did the rest of the work then. I told you before that I had to catch up on the project on my spare time. Is it that surprising that Peeta had to do the same?"
For a moment we simply stare at each other, locked in some unspoken argument – almost like a battle of some kind. I don't really understand it. I get that he dislikes it but I don't know why he feels like he has the right to let it show – to even question that Peeta was here. A week before I agreed to date. Already I'm beginning to second-guess my decision, worrying that the choice I made has only led to complicating everything. Maybe Gale sees some of this in my face because he is the first to look away, the first to falter.
"Okay, well…" He sounds hesitant but no longer as disapproving. "Is this going to become a regular thing? Him coming over here to study?"
"I don't know," I tell him. "I hope not," I add truthfully. I had a good time working with Peeta in this kitchen but the project should be taken care of during school hours.
Our eyes meet again. There's another pause.
"Cookies, Catnip?"
"His father sent them," I say defensively. "Trust me, I wasn't happy to accept them. I don't like hand-outs."
He shakes his head, snorting with disbelief.
"Who even does that? Bring someone you barely know cookies? He's trying too hard."
"Trying too hard to do what?"
Gale walks up to me and wraps his arms around me. I tense up, my eyes moving around the room, unable to look into his.
"I have to get going," he says. "Come here. Not that we had an actual fight or anything, but let's kiss and make up before I go." He moves in to kiss me and I place both my hands on his chest, keeping him at bay.
"Gale, not here," I hiss through gritted teeth. "Prim is in the other room!"
He leans in and gives me a quick kiss anyway.
"She didn't walk in on us. We're in the clear." He kisses me again and then lets me go. He heads for the front door and I follow. "Listen, if you're not busy much this week, how about going for a walk together some night?"
"Okay."
"Good," he grins, stopping at the door. "Sunday is so damn far away. I need to see you much sooner than that. Tomorrow good?"
"I don't know," I say evasively. "Why don't I stop by you some evening, when I'm done with homework and everything?"
"You got it," he nods. He looks over my shoulder to make sure we're alone, then leans in and presses his lips against mine for several seconds. "Bye now, Catnip," he whispers. Then he opens the door and steps outside, moving quickly to keep the cold wind out.
"Bye…" I mumble at the closing door.
I remain in place for several minutes, staring at the door, trying to wrap my mind around what happened while he was here. How different everything was. Though was it actually because we're now together or am I just making a big deal out of it and that is the reason why things felt odd? I'm not sure I will be able to figure out the answer and I'm not sure it matters. At the end of the day, our new relationship status is the reason. I wonder to myself how much time it will take, how long my adjustment period will need to be. I'm eager to be done with it and go back to being my regular old self with Gale, back to being us, the way I'm used to. Maybe I should stop by his house tomorrow and take that walk. Maybe we should take a walk together every day for the next few weeks, until I've gotten used to our new arrangement. Perhaps then it will feel right to tell Prim and my mother.
The following Monday Peeta and I have the absolute pleasure of digging in to the next leg of the scenario – the leg in which the unavoidable children start piling up. A description that makes Peeta laugh when I say it, though he valiantly tries to rein his amusement in. I roll my eyes good-naturedly and tell him to have at it. I like when I'm able to make him laugh.
"Well, darling project-wife," he says, chuckling lightly. "We don't actually know what this next part entails until we do the whole dramatic opening of the envelope." He says the last part like an exciting punchline in a mystery story.
"Yeah, I'm on the edge of my seat here."
He makes a face, his fingers fiddling with the large, brown envelope that holds our pretend-future.
"It really isn't imaginative of them. Do you suppose all pairs get the pregnancy part at some point?"
"Most likely. Maybe we should consider ourselves special that we got the thrill of losing everything we own to a fire first, coupled with my mother's dreadful disease."
His mirth seems to have gone away and he looks at me with a serious, almost compassionate face.
"You know, I almost wish we could have written something early on about how we wouldn't try to have kids. I mean, it's pointless for us to do this part, isn't it? The irritating thing is that there are numerous reasons why people might opt not to have children – not wanting to being a pretty weighty one – but we both know that anything we handed in listing why we would make that choice would ultimately be seen as trying to avoid… you-know-what."
I tilt my head to the side, studying him with interest.
"I don't want to have children," I say, my voice automatically slipping into the hushed tones we always use when speaking about these sort of things. "Doesn't mean it will be pointless for you, though."
He shrugs.
"I told you, I'm not sure I want to be a father."
"Yeah… But still. 'Not sure' means you could still choose to be one someday. Like if the woman you fall in love with wants kids."
Our eyes meet for a long moment. He is the first to look away, holding the envelope out to me in offering but I shake my head, encouraging him to open it instead. He nods slightly and gets to it, fishing out numerous pages stapled together.
"Want me to read aloud?"
"No," I say, shrugging a shoulder. "Read it first, it's okay. I'm going to be sitting here silently, keeping my fingers crossed that they make it about something more than babies. If I'm going to be saddled with pretend-children I don't want everything else in my pretend-life to screech to a halt because of it."
"You're making me nervous," he says, and I think he's joking but I'm not entirely sure. He then begins to read through the first page and I see him scowl. He flips to the next page, eyeing through the whole thing briefly. He runs a hand through his hair, leaving the ashen curls in disarray, then draws a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He puts the new scenario down on the table and pushes it towards me but I make no move to reach for it.
"Okay, so year three is all about our upcoming bundle of joy," he says.
"Yeah, I figured," I sigh.
"It's going to be… a lot of stuff."
"Let me guess – calculate how much it will cost us to buy everything we need to have before the baby comes? Because there can never be enough calculating." I can't help but scowl and shake my head slightly. "You know, I find it ridiculous. People were procreating for tens of thousands of years before we had stuff like cribs and baby bottles and even diapers. How come it suddenly costs money to take care of babies? Do we actually need all the stuff we're told we have to get?"
"I don't know, Katniss," he shrugs. "Maybe the Capitol just sees it as a golden opportunity to get rich from convincing us we need to buy all that stuff they sell here at the market. Maybe child mortality rates have significantly gone down since people started having all that stuff. Maybe both are true, or not true, or it's all about something else…" He shrugs again and leans back in his chair, drumming his pencil against the table, producing an annoying sound. "Anyway, that's just part of it. For the scenario, I mean. We'll have to name our fictional bundle of joy, for one thing."
"Name it whatever," I shrug. "Doesn't matter. It doesn't actually exist and it never will exist."
"Still… It's going to be a part of the rest of the project. We can find a nice name for it, I'm sure."
"By your own words, it's an it. Not a baby. But sure, whatever. Like I said, pick something. I don't care. What names do you like?"
"Okay, leaving that for now…" he says, making a face. He leans back over the table and clasps his hands on the desk. "Here's one you're going to love. We each have to write an essay, minimum five pages, on our expectations of parenthood. What we look forward to, what – besides the obvious – we fear, what we think we'll be good at… There's, like, a third of a page just listing stuff that needs to be in this essay. And when we're done with that, we have to write another essay together, in which we discuss what values we think are most important to pass on to Fiction Baby and what we think a child needs growing up – including but certainly not limited to food, clothes and shelter. It's going to be a whole lot of work. This time around, yeah, it's all pregnancy and babies."
"What a child needs?"
"And how we want to raise this pretend love child of ours."
"No physical punishments," I say, looking him straight in the eye. It is probably a mistake to spell it out that I know what his mother does to him; despite the black eyes and other injuries he's never said a word to me to confirm that Mrs. Mellark caused them. I don't regret saying it, though. It's something I wholeheartedly believe, something I could never imagine doing to my own children, and it needs to be in that essay. Even if Peeta believes physical punishments can be justified I refuse to allow it, even for a baby that only exists on paper. Peeta meets my eyes steadily, and answers with a nod so small it's barely there.
There's a long moment of silence between us, a comfortable one. I almost feel compelled to reach out my hand and place it on top of his. Strange as it may be, I find myself feeling almost excited about our upcoming joint-effort essay on how to raise children. I quite enjoy discussing things with Peeta, hearing his opinions. I'm mostly used to debating things with Gale and he and I are both so hot-tempered that when we disagree on something the discussion can get pretty heated. Even when we are in agreement we can sometimes rile each other up to a point that's a little over the top. Peeta, on the other hand, is calm and rational and doesn't let his emotions and opinions get the better of him. At the same time he doesn't make me feel like he's the voice of reason and I'm irrational, the way my mother sometimes makes me feel when she counters one of my more passionate arguments with cool and calm sense.
"So what do you want to get started on?" Peeta asks. "Our separate essays? Seems we could write those at home."
"Yeah," I nod.
"Our joint essay? Or… the fun and innovative calculations?"
The corner of my mouth turns upward.
"How about choosing a name for our little bundle of economic burden?"
"I thought you didn't care about that," he challenges good-naturedly, raising his eyebrow.
"Well, on second thought I realize that leaving it all up to you would probably result in me being the pretend mother of little Cookie Crisp Mellark, and that is one name I'm not okay with, even in fiction."
He pulls his lips into his mouth in an attempt not to laugh. After a second or two he winks at me and gives me a grin.
"Actually I was thinking we'd go with Baguette. For a boy. Pastry for a girl."
"I don't know which is worse," I reply. He begins to chuckle and I follow suit. "I think I'm voting for Cookie Crisp, after all."
He shakes his head, chuckle turning into laughter. I watch with fascination as the ashen curls bounce over his brow with the movement of his head.
"Cookie Crisp?" he echoes. "Maybe we should leave the naming for later. Like, after the kid is born. And right now I'm hoping it's a boy."
"Who says I meant that name for a girl?"
"I'm really starting to see the merits of you never having kids," he grins and I can't help but laugh a bit as well. Our eyes seem locked together and it takes us a few minutes to settle down and get somewhat serious again. Our eyes stay on each other the entire time.
We spend about half an hour working on what we deem to be the dullest part – the by now tedious calculations – so we can move on to the more inspiring parts later. Not that I find any of it all that inspiring but I'm sick to death of the math portion of this project and I want it out of the way as soon as possible. We don't speak much while we work, mostly trading comments and questions here and there, but the mood between us is relaxed and comfortable.
"So are you going to the Harvest Festival?"
Peeta's query comes out of nowhere and takes a moment to sink in, my brain not expecting topics not related to the calculations at hand. I give him a slightly dumbfounded look. What's with the stupid question? The Harvest Festival is a more or less mandatory event that's supposed to symbolise how grateful we are for the bountiful gifts bestowed upon us by the Capitol. There are hardly any farmers in Twelve so there's very little actual harvest to feast over but that's never seemed to matter. I don't mind the occasion in itself as it brings a bit of warmth and cheer to an otherwise dark, cold and gloomy time of year but I resent how we have to go out in public and attend the official festivities. It reminds me far too much of the Reaping even if in this case it's an entirely different sort of gathering. You have to have attendance noted by a peacekeeper and if you're lucky you can slip away from the town square really fast and the powers that be will be none the wiser. If you're not so lucky you can be stuck in the crowds for hours. The festivities themselves mostly centre around a very meagre offering of food and some dancing that is supposed to be joyous and festive. It all rings false to me but meagre food is better than no food and I don't have any problem with that part of the program.
"I'm not on my deathbed," I answer Peeta's question. "So I guess I will be going."
"Great." He leans back in his chair and chews on the back of his pen for a second. "Why don't we go together? Check out how slim the pickings are at the food table this year, make sure to look very busy talking to one another so we're not roped in to dance, maybe score a few extra points on this project by seeming like we're doing research..." The last bit is said with a little too much lightness, like he added it just to take some edge off and make it seem more humorous when I can tell it's not.
"You mean like... a date?" I ask, dreading the answer.
He shrugs a shoulder and sounds a little too casual when he answers.
"If you want to call it that."
"I can't." I look down at my papers and try to sound casual too. "I'm going with Gale. We're... going out now."
It takes a second for him to answer but I'm keeping my eyes busy on the papers in front of me so I don't know what expression is on his face. For some reason I find I really don't want to know.
"Oh..." he then says. He harks and leans back over his own papers. "Sorry. I didn't mean to... That's great for you guys."
"Yeah," I mutter, hoping he won't ask any questions or want to talk about this development between Gale and myself.
"Back to work then," he says awkwardly.
"Yeah."
He doesn't say anything else and the silence is awkward, which I'm not really used to with Peeta. After a few minutes I glance up at him. He's working on some math problem it seems, his brow furrowed and his pencil drumming against his teeth while he thinks. Does he look like somebody who just got shot down and is feeling disappointed or upset? I've never had to make anyone feel that way before so I'm not sure. With Peeta I sometimes find it's hard to tell what he's thinking or feeling. He's very good at keeping his emotions close to his heart and I get the sense that he is someone who could be hurting deeply on the inside and nobody around would have any idea. I envy him for that. All of my emotions seem to be written on my face.
"You could go with Mallory Grey," I blurt out, stupidly thinking that by suggesting someone else he could spend time with there the awkward mood between us now might go away. I realize how ridiculous that notion is the second the words leave my mouth and the look Peeta gives me actually seems hurt.
"I'm not really fond of Mallory Grey," he answers shortly.
Right. Now I feel even more stupid.
"Sorry," I mumble under my breath.
He doesn't acknowledge my comment and I don't expect him to. I feel like a real idiot and a very insensitive one at that. It could be that he was just being nice in offering and that he thought we could have a good time hanging out at the festival as friends but there is also the possibility that there was something else behind his words and if that's the case I really gave a bad answer. Deciding that I've said enough stupid things for one afternoon I don't bother apologising. Doing that might just make things worse anyway. Better to just pretend the conversation didn't take place or that it wasn't such a big deal. Hopefully Peeta will have forgotten all about it by next week and things can go back to normal between us.
I hear him draw a deep breath through his nose and slowly exhale. I glance up at him for a brief second and wonder what he's thinking about right now. I can't seem to stop my own mind from drifting to what it would be like to attend the Harvest Festival with him, though I'm not sure why my mind should even go there. Shouldn't I be excited to attend it with Gale - my boyfriend? Why would my mind even entertain the idea that I might have a good time, a better time, with my project partner?
And why am I on some level relieved to know he won't be attending the feast with Mallory Grey?