With this chapter I took the liberty of doing my own interpretation of the Harvest Festival since I can't remember more than one or two details about it being given in the book. I allowed it to be what I wanted it to be. But if anyone knows more about it (does it get elaborated on in any official guides or such?) I would love it if you could PM me because I'm curious to know.
"Katniss, wait!" says Prim, giving my arm a gentle tug.
I stop even though we're running late and ought to hurry up. Our mother is waiting for us at home with a pile of clothes that need to be mended before the sun sets and the lighting gets too poor. Prim and I went out to buy her more thread and head straight back but the once so shy and withdrawn Primrose Everdeen has begun to come out of her shell and take an interest in socializing. Not in a particularly active way, not yet at least, but she likes to watch and observe and listen. Which is fine by me, even though I can't help but slightly lament the loss of the girl I've loved and protected for as long as I can remember, no matter how sure I am that the woman she is about to become will be just as amazing, if not more so. But her desire to walk around the Hob and soak it all in has made us late. And now she's stopping again, this time outside the bakery.
"Prim, sweetheart, we're already late," I remind her mildly.
"I know," she says, a touch of guilt in her voice. "But can we just… stop for a second? Look at the cakes?"
We really oughtn't to. Mother is waiting, Prim has homework to do when we get back, and I feel we're both getting a little too old to be standing outside the bakery ogling the delicious cakes and pastries that we'll never have the money to afford. It was one thing when Prim was younger but now that she's becoming an adult it feels a bit undignified. But despite all of that I can't bring myself to deny her this small joy. So I give her a little smile and a nod, coming with her as she walks up to the window to gaze at the cakes inside.
"Oh Katniss, look at that one," she breathes, pointing to the second one to the right. A beautiful cake covered in green marzipan, decorated with small, near perfect chocolate pinecones in a circle around the edges. At the centre of the cake is a lifelike squirrel carved out from what looks like a very thin slice of chocolate. In its hands the squirrel holds a real hazelnut.
"It's beautiful," I say with awe.
"I bet if you could buy any cake in the shop it would be that one," says Prim.
"I would," I nod. Other cakes in the display window are more beautiful but this one feels so right for me. I feel a twinge of sadness knowing I will never be able to afford a cake like this, unless maybe I fell a deer. And even if I did, cakes would be the last thing we needed. I take my eyes off the cake and point to another one. "And you would get that one, perhaps."
This one is heart-shaped, presumably intended for a toasting, and just like the forest themed one it's covered with marzipan, only it has two different colours. Bright red marzipan covers about two thirds of the cake, ending in a diagonal line running from top to bottom, and the last third is black. From our viewpoint the red covers the right side and parts of the left, as if symbolising standing opposite your love and seeing their actual heart. The diagonal line where red gives way for black is decorated like a vine with roses which I find a little stupid since I've never seen roses grow on vines. The vine and roses on the black side are red and vice versa. It's not the kind of cake that would appeal to me but I can hear Prim sight wistfully and I'm sure a lot of people would find it romantic.
"Someday I would hope…" Prim begins but she drifts off when a pair of hands reach down and grab the platter the cake rests on. We both look up and find ourselves face to face with Peeta.
Immediately I feel my cheeks heat up and I bite my bottom lip, turning my face away. I feel stupid and embarrassed, not just to be caught staring at the cakes at my age but at looking into Peeta's eyes for the first time since the awkward end to our project hour this week. I've been a little worried all week about whether or not it will be uncomfortable when we sit down to work on Monday and this moment is not helping.
"Oh it's Peeta!" chirps Prim. Her hand flies up and she begins to wave eagerly. And here I was hoping I could just grab her by the hand and walk away.
"So it is," I manage, hoping I don't sound as strained as I feel.
"Katniss why aren't you looking back at him?" she says in a chastising tone. "He's waving, it's rude not to wave back."
I'm very much tempted to remind her who started the waving mere seconds ago but instead I try to arrange my features in a casual, carefree manner and turn my face back to meet his eyes. He is indeed waving at us and I manage a half-hearted wave in return. I wish he would just grab the cake already and bring it over to whoever is looking to buy it. I'm sure their customers don't appreciate waiting around while he exchanges silent greetings with Seam girls who are too poor to afford the cakes they're admiring through the window.
It surprises me a little to see that he's smiling at me, not a forced or uncomfortable smile but a warm and genuine one. His blue eyes are friendly and even seem like he's happy to see me, which throws me off a little. The corners of my own mouth turn upward and even though my smile can in no way compete with his easy-going and welcoming one I think it at least seems not unfriendly. It relaxes me a touch that when our eyes meet he doesn't appear to be upset with me about earlier this week. Then he turns his eyes back to the cake, lifts it up on its platter and the moment is gone. He carries it off to the customer that is waiting for it, presumably some townie about to get married this weekend, and Prim and I are left standing there like we were before.
"Well…" I say after a few seconds of silence. "I think that marks the end of our window shopping for today." I take her hand and give it a squeeze. "Come on. Mother is waiting for the thread, and I'm going to get started with supper while she does the mending."
Prim's face lights up in a bright smile at the mention of supper. We have meat on the table today and her excitement is contagious, bringing a smile to my own lips. We begin our walk back home, discussing the cakes in the window all the way home. It feels like old times, like she is still my little kid sister.
We're fifteen minutes in to our project work for the week. I'm busy trying to finish my five page essay and Peeta is brushing up the language on his, both of us working mostly in silence. I struggled all week trying to get my essay done while Peeta, star student that he is, wrote nine pages and is now trying to trim it down. I have a feeling that might be because I sure as heck won't be producing nine pages worth of essay and it would look odd if one of us handed in almost twice as much material as the other. Of course he would write more than me on this topic. This interests him far more than it interests me but more importantly it's something that might be of use to him one day. It's something he's probably thought about at some point so putting those thoughts down on paper must have been quite easy. If I am to be perfectly honest with myself I'm glad he got so inspired. I believe he meant everything he said to me about possibly not wanting children because of the world we live in but somehow that makes me sad, just like the idea of Prim choosing not to have children would make me sad. Furthermore I don't want him to hold himself back on this because he doesn't want to make me feel odd or uncomfortable. Apparently there are a lot of thoughts and ideas in his head about this and I'm glad he's felt comfortable expressing them. For me on the other hand writing this essay has been like pulling teeth. It's been such a struggle that I didn't even manage to put a single sentence to paper until Friday evening after a walk with Gale, during which we talked about it and he insisted that I had a solid starting point – what I think I would be good at. He told me to draw from all the ways I've taken care of Prim over the years, which turned out to be very good advice. It even gave me an opening for writing about what my fears would be since there are things I fear for Prim that aren't directly related to the Hunger Games – such as starvation or not having enough warm clothes. Writing about practical things like that comes much easier to me.
Now, one weekend later, I still haven't written a single word about what I look forward to about parenthood. Unsurprisingly this turned out to be the hardest part. At the start of the hour Peeta asked if I was done with my essay and I told him the truth, and to my relief he just shrugged and offered to help me if I needed it but otherwise there was no rush. The whole thing isn't due until the end of the month anyway, which means I have two more weeks to work on it. Since Peeta wanted to keep polishing his mastodon of an essay we agreed to devote the first half hour to this and I've been sitting here racking my brain ever since. I'm beginning to consider asking him for some help but I don't like having to do so. Maybe I can ask my mother instead. Perhaps she can tell me what she looked forward to when she found out she was pregnant with me, and build from that.
My concentration is broken momentarily when Peeta hiccups. I cast a glance at him. His eyes are glued to the essay in front of him, his pencil drumming against his cheek. I return my gaze to my work and think nothing more of it until he hiccups again a few seconds later. I can't help but notice that his hiccups sound a little funny, not like what I would have expected from a guy in his late teens who is a stocky wrestler. The hiccups are not loud like Gale's but almost soft and a little high-pitched. He continues to have the hiccups for several minutes and after a while I have to press my lips together to keep back a chuckle.
"Do I need to scare you?" I finally ask, biting the back of my pencil to try and mask the grin that's spreading across my face.
"What?" he asks absent-mindedly, looking up at me. He hiccups again and then looks a bit embarrassed, his cheeks flushing in a way that's undeniably endearing.
"Hiccups can be tough," I say, as if we're talking about some much more serious ailment, such as a broken bone or a migraine.
"I'm a tough guy," he answers in a tone that matches mine. I grin, and when he hiccups again I can't hold back a chortle. "Yeah, okay, maybe a quick scare wouldn't hurt." His eyes go back to his schoolwork. "Hiccups may not be dire but they're annoying."
I pick up a piece of paper from the table and hold it up in a ceremonious fashion.
"Peeta Mellark!" I pretend to read in my best Effie Trinket impersonation.
The look he gives me is highly questioning yet not entirely unamused.
"Yeesh. That is some brutal comedy, girl."
Crossing my arms on the table I lean forward, my eyes peering into his.
"Did it work?"
"Guess we'll know soon enough." Just seconds after he says this he hiccups again. He shrugs and sighs with exasperation. "You fail hard at being scary."
"Well maybe I don't want to scare you," I say, tilting my head as I look at him. "Not really." The odd thing is that the words seem altogether true when I say them. "I'm your pretend-wife and all and it's not really in my nature to go around scaring the people close to me."
"So that Effie impersonation just now was supposed to be what, exactly?"
"… Brutal comedy?" I suggest in lack of a better answer.
"Anyway, this whole scaring thing…" He hiccups again. "Was your idea."
I have no suitable response so I shrug and give him a crooked smile before I continue to stare at my unfinished essay. I'm beginning to realize that I'm not going to be able to write the rest of it right now. The sound of Peeta's hiccups don't help either. Strangely though what I'm feeling right now is neither irritation nor frustration. I'm feeling relief, and just a tiny bit happy. Everything seems ordinary between the two of us, with no lingering awkwardness after last week's Harvest Festival talk. Peeta hasn't brought it up and I have no intention of breathing a syllable about it and it's as if the whole conversation never took place. I wouldn't have blamed him if he was irritated about the Mallory Grey thing still but he doesn't seem like the type to sulk for very long. I, on the other hand, am not the forgiving type. I can't help but think that Peeta sometimes reminds me of Prim. Perhaps that's why I enjoy his company as much as I do.
After a while he stops hiccupping and eventually we reach the half-hour mark and set aside our separate essays to work on something else. Namely more calculations. I hate that part, but right now I probably hate essay writing more so I voice no complaints. What we have to calculate right now pertains to income. With me fictionally being very pregnant, giving birth and then nursing a baby our income has been reduced to what Peeta brings home from his job at his parents' bakery. In the back of my mind I've been thinking that we've been secretly living off of the game I bring back from the woods and even though I don't mention anything about it to Peeta I'm a little perturbed that our fictional selves will no longer have that addition to our food supply now that I'm too reproductive to hunt. Peeta groans and rubs his forehead with two fingers as he looks at the new income side of our budget.
"I sure hope you like stale bread, darling," he says in a half-hearted parody of a Capitol accent. "Because I'll be sneaking home a lot of that to help keep us and baby… Cookie Crisp Pastry Baguette Whatever Katniss Peeta Junior nourished."
"Can we call the baby Kiddo for short?" I try to joke but it comes across just as lacklustre as it feels. I sigh heavily. "We do need to pick a name… though we won't know the baby's gender until we get to the part where the thing is actually born."
"Hey!" says Peeta in a mock-stern tone. "That's our imaginary child you're speaking of. You could at least have the decency to call the baby it."
I pull the corner of my mouth upward, mostly for show since I don't really feel like comedy right now even though I'm partaking in it as much as Peeta is. I draw a deep breath through my nose and let it out in a groan.
"Do you think our teachers are aware that this whole exercise might actually scare us all off from ever having kids?" I say. "Who wants to live off an income that's been cut in half at the same time as expenses increase?"
"Maybe that stuff just doesn't enter your mind when you're in love and married and want babies," Peeta suggests, though he definitely doesn't sound enthusiastic.
"To make matters worse your income is probably all we'll have to get by on for the rest of the scenario." I set my pencil down and scratch my neck. Peeta, whose eyes are focused on some random spot on the table, makes a face like he's considering what I just said. He no doubt understands exactly what I'm speaking of but the silence stretches on so I spell it out anyway. "By the time the first kid is old enough to be baby-sat during the day and I can go out and earn money again they'll probably make me pregnant again. And then again, and again, and again, until we can't make any form of budget hold up anymore because having six or seven children is real expensive, at which point they'll give us just two more babies so that we can problem solve some more."
I'm really sullen at this point but to my surprise Peeta starts to giggle, which soon turns into real laughter. He tries to keep it subdued but he gives me a look that tells me he's really amused at this point and I scowl at him and lean back in my chair, crossing my arms and giving him a challenging look.
"I'm sorry," he says, the laughter subsiding a little. "I was just thinking that you could have painted me that picture when I had the hiccups."
"It's not so much scary as it is sad."
"It's also a little funny. No offense but even for District 12 that picture is bleak."
"Yeah I know," I sigh. "I guess I just… I'm bothered by the futility of it all."
"Aren't we all."
It sounds so self-evident when he says it. Like the simplest truth. I look at him for a minute and he looks back at me, both of us seemingly pondering the reality of what we just said. And as if that was all that needed to be said we then lean over our old budget and begin to draw up a new one using Peeta's income, our previous expenses and all expenses we can expect when a baby comes into a family.
Thursday morning I wake up from a nightmare, screaming at my father to run. Of course this wakes Prim up and no matter how many times this happens it scares her just as much every time. The shock of it makes her break out into sobs and I hold her close to me and whisper reassuring words into her blonde hair, all the while feeling my heart pound hard in my chest and beads of sweat cooling on my forehead. I feel a strange mixture of anxiety from my nightmare, guilt for scaring my sister and relief to see traces of the young and innocent Primrose. It's nice, in a way, to be reminded that she still is a child. That I haven't lost her yet. Even if I would rather have been reminded any other way than these dreams of my father, that won't ever seem to go away.
My nightmare woke me up just twenty minutes before the alarm clock is set to ring. That's a positive. It means I got to sleep through most of the night. The worst nightmares are the ones that hit early in the night, stealing all the remaining hours of sleep I could have gotten. I very rarely fall back asleep after dreaming about my father's death. I can't seem to relax, feeling on edge, like I might have to run for my life too.
By the time the alarm rings Prim has calmed down, sheepishly apologizing for reacting the way she did. I smile softly at her and stroke her cheek as I assure her that she has nothing to apologize for – that I'm, in fact, the one who should be apologizing. She smiles back at me and I feel somewhat okay when we throw the comforter aside and get out of bed, both of us shivering in the cold morning air. We both find out clothes very quickly and put them on, speaking in soft, hushed tones as we prepare for the day.
Snow is falling from the sky as we walk towards school and a chilly wind blows but thankfully it's mostly at our backs. Prim's scare from earlier this morning seems to have evaporated entirely and she's in good spirits, talking about the upcoming festival and commenting on the decorations our neighbours have put up on their doors. I smile slightly as I listen, letting her do most of the talking. Halfway to school we stop at an intersection, waiting for a peacekeeper to drive past in his car. While we stand there waiting a thought occurs to me and I almost want to hurry up and get to school so I can sit down at my desk and write it down before it leaves my mind. This is something I could put in my essay as something I look forward to about parenting! Seeing my children's excitement about the Harvest Festival. It's small, but it's something, and perhaps I can build on it. It surprises me that I feel this eager to write this down but I take it as a good sign.
Our first class this morning is geography – a ridiculous class since it's only about District 12, and occasionally the Capitol. I know the district pretty well so while the teacher talks I write notes for my essay, knowing I can get away with it because Miss Bradley will think I'm taking notes on her lecture. I spend more than half the class doing this and when I put the pencil down I've managed to come up with a few other things I could imagine looking forward to if I ever had a child. I smile slightly, feeling pleased with myself. The day may have begun in a bad way but it seems to be picking up.
Later that afternoon I don't feel quite as cheerful. The sky has turned dark, the wind picking up and more snow falling down, and I can just imagine how cold the walk home is going to be. I don't feel as enthused about getting home to finish writing my essay. All I want to do when I get home is spend some time with Prim or possibly settle on the couch and watch something on the television. Though with the Victory Tour coming up there isn't much of value to watch, unless you really enjoy watching Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith harp on about this summer's Hunger Games and what we can expect from the tour.
While the teacher drones on about the energy value of coal, as if the economic benefit of the mining industry is ever going to be relevant to any of us, I find my mind wandering. My eyes trail over the old sun-bleached posters that decorate the walls of the room, most of them having been there when my grandparents went to school. Leisurely I glance at my classmates, noting which ones appear to actually be paying attention and which ones are whispering amongst each other and which ones are doodling in their books or notepads. Peeta seems to be doing the latter at first glance, leaning over his books, his broad shoulders a touch slumped. Then I notice him turning a page. He's not doodling then. Probably getting an early start on homework. I know he has trouble finding time for it sometimes, with having to help out at the bakery and having wrestling practice. There was a time when I would have been surprised to learn that merchant kids scramble to find the time for school work, at least for other reasons than playing the day away. There are a lot of things I used to believe about merchant kids that I've come to realize weren't necessarily true.
Since I'm sitting in my preferred spot far back and by the window and Peeta is in his usual part of the classroom further to the front along the other wall I only see his back and part of his profile. When he turns his face to the left I can make out his face better and I see that he is frowning. I suspect the back of his pencil will soon start drumming against his bottom lip or teeth and a few seconds later I am proven right. It makes the corners of my mouth turn upward a little bit.
Madge elbows me in the side, bringing me back to the present.
"Look alive. Mr. Jones is throwing questions around," she hisses.
I nod and mouth a thanks, blushing slightly from having been caught letting my mind wander like that.
"Peeta?" says Mr. Jones, his grey eyes narrowing as they focus on the boy I was just watching. I find myself just a little bit anxious that Peeta might not know the answer, or have even heard the question, with his mind focused elsewhere.
"Supercritical steam cycle turbines using anthracite fuel can achieve thermal efficiencies at around 67%, which is considerably more than the roughly 40% of the old days yet unfortunately less than the 72% achieved by the more advanced technologies in use before the Dark Days," says Peeta, every word falling out of his mouth with surprising ease. I can't help but stare at him for a few seconds, impressed by his ability to answer the question correctly despite not seeming to have paid any attention at all. I hear a couple of boys sitting close to me snigger and mutter something about overachievers who couldn't simply state the percentage that was the shortest answer to the question. I resist the temptation to turn my head and scowl at them.
"Very well," nods Mr. Jones. He moves on to the next question and the next student. Peeta returns his focus to the book in front of him. For my part I hold back a sigh and silently pray that the teacher won't direct a question my way.
I luck out, and ten minutes later the class is over and I can head home. While I stand and begin to stuff my books into my backpack I hear those same boys snigger to one another about Peeta and the other students who got the answers right. One of the two boys got a question just before end of class and he couldn't answer it, so presumably he's just being petty. All the same I find it asinine.
"I can't stand those overachievers," mutters the boy who couldn't answer the question correctly.
"I know," scoffs the other one. "Teacher's pets. Losers."
"Especially those self-important kids who can't just say a short answer, they have to elaborate so that they sound so very smart."
I'm not sure where it comes from, but I hear myself speaking back to them.
"Maybe you should spend less time being jealous that others do well in school and more time actually learning something." Both of them turn their eyes straight to me when I speak, both looking completely dumbfounded. I don't usually speak up in class and certainly not to interrupt a private conversation. I just can't stomach their pettiness today.
"What the hell is it to you, Everdeen?" sneers the boy who got the question wrong.
"Nothing, really, I suppose," I answer, putting my backpack on. "I just find it interesting that when other students, some of whom are from town and won't be going into the mines, can explain a lot more about the coal industry than the pair of you, you choose to find them stupid when in actuality you are the stupid ones. You're the ones who will have a need for this knowledge someday and you don't seem to care too much."
The two boys glare at me and under normal circumstances I would probably have felt uncomfortable. It's obvious that they find me annoying and probably a bit sanctimonious but their lack of approval is of no concern to me. One of them mutters something only half-intelligible that seems to suggest I should mind my own business and that I'm a lot less nice than I seem to be. I snort, roll my eyes and follow Madge out the classroom. We walk side by side in silence until we're halfway to our lockers. Then she gives me a look and leans in closer so she can talk to me without raising her voice to be heard over the general commotion.
"That was new," she comments. "I haven't seen you do anything like that before."
"I know," I say with a scowl. "I don't know what I was thinking. It's not like anything I say is going to make a difference."
"They were rude to talk down those who got the questions right," says Madge carefully. "But they weren't that mean. Probably just nervous and frazzled because they couldn't answer correctly themselves."
My scowl deepens as I mull that theory over. We reach our lockers and I open mine, reaching for my outerwear.
"Do you think I was out of line?" I ask Madge. "I had a bad nightmare this morning. I've been a little off all day."
"No, you were fine," she answers softly. She lifts out the books she won't need for tomorrow and places them in a neat stack on the top shelf of her locker. "I was just surprised. You don't usually do things like that."
"I just thought they were wrong, that's all," I say. "I couldn't have answered all of those questions but I'm impressed by those who can." I almost add that those who gave more extensive answers impressed me in particular but I choose to keep that bit for myself.
Madge smiles softly and gives me a wink.
"I actually think it suits you to speak up like that."
"Don't get used to it," I say, closing my locker with a bit of a shove to the door. "It obviously doesn't pay off anyway."
She wraps a soft light blue scarf around her neck and smiles.
"I have to go. See you tomorrow, Katniss."
I nod and give her a small wave with my hand. I glance out the nearest window and cringe inwardly, dreading having to go out into the cold afternoon. Prim is spending time with one of her friends today and I know our mother has a few house calls planned before dinner so all I have to look forward to when I come home is an empty house. Then again I suppose that gives me the perfect ambiance to finish my essay. I wrap my jacket closer around my body and head for the exit.
Friday comes and with it the Harvest Festival. It really does seem like all of District 12 is out and about. This year I have an unpleasant feeling in the pit of my stomach and I know the reason why. Even though we're on as good terms as ever my mind keeps going back to the question Peeta asked me and how I handled it. I can't help myself. My eyes try to find him in the crowd. Is it such an oddity? After all he asked me to go here with him, possibly as his date for the evening, and I turned him down. It's only natural that I should want to assure myself that he's having a good time, that I didn't ruin the festival for him. We're friends now, I guess, and as a friend I want him to be able to enjoy himself when the rare opportunity presents. So every couple of minutes I look around and see if I can spot him.
The Harvest Feast is in full swing, as is to be expected at this time of day. The events usually start around noon and carry on until late evening and by now it's late afternoon. Prim and I arrived about an hour ago and Gale met up with us shortly thereafter. His brothers and sister are around here somewhere too, supervised by our mothers. Prim wanted to stay with Gale and me and we were happy to let her, at least until evening. During the day the Harvest Festival is more of a family gathering but towards the evening young couples seek each other out and friends gather to have fun with people their own age. I know Gale wants for us to be alone in the crowd later but it's still daylight and Prim's presence doesn't interfere with anything.
The whole town square seems to have come to life and as always I'm surprised to see how cheerful people are. Some of it is faked, I know that much, but there is genuine gaiety as well. This is, after all, the one big occasion every year that doesn't threaten to rip your child away from you or forces you to celebrate the latest Hunger Games victor and relive the deaths of the district's own tributes. While the food they offer may be meagre and the festivities are hampered by the element of force and the careful oversight of the peacekeepers it's still an occasion to come out and meet people, get some food for free without losing dignity and face, and even dance a little. The fact that it happens during early winter doesn't hinder people's excitement much either. Thankfully there is no thin layer of ice underneath the snow that might cause people to fall and break their leg.
Prim eventually runs into some friends of hers and goes off with them, leaving Gale and I mostly to ourselves. We walk around the area, stopping by several of the small booths that have been set up by tradesmen and people from the Hob. It's tradition to buy your loved ones a gift during the Harvest Feast but Gale and I have already agreed not to adhere to that tradition. Not this year. We're still a mere couple of weeks into this relationship thing. We settle for studying the various things at sale, making a few appreciative comments to the craftsmen every now and then. Mostly we just enjoy the surroundings, though my mind keeps being distracted.
It takes hours for me to notice him and when I do he's not alone. He's dressed in the same clothes he wore to our last Reaping, his curly hair is unkempt but oddly fitting on him even for the occasion, and the smile on his face seems genuine and relaxed. I feel my shoulders slump a bit with relief, glad to know he is having a good time. I've been feeling a little bad about turning him down but clearly I don't need to.
Then a girl comes into view. One of our classmates, one of his fellow merchants, but her name escapes me and for the life of me I can't think of it even though I spend a good five minutes or so trying. She looks bright and happy in that way only merchant people can and in her hair is that headband that was on our table a while back. She says something and holds something up for him to eat. He takes the bite and she laughs and then he puts a hand on her arm and she takes his hand in hers. She moves backward in a dancing motion and he follows, off to dance then presumably.
I can't explain why but the sight burns inside of me, filling me with… disappointment. I guess I liked the fact that he asked me to come here with him, saw it as a sign that he enjoys my company more than as solely a studious project partner, but if I'm that replaceable then it never mattered to begin with. Perhaps this girl is going to be the fourth girlfriend he has. Perhaps she already is. Perhaps the last. It has to end somewhere, right? Some girl has to be the one he marries. Why not this one?
"Catnip?" Gale's voice barely manages to catch my attention but the arm he drapes over my shoulders is difficult to ignore. "Hello? You seem a million miles away."
"I'm just hungry," I say, the excuse falling easily from my lips. It has the advantage of being true, which helps.
"Food is not going to come from over there," chuckles Gale, nodding in the direction I'm looking. I wonder if he saw Peeta there a minute ago. I wonder if he would guess that's why I was looking that way.
"Maybe not but the people over there seem in quite good spirits which suggests they know when food will arrive. Also I just saw someone eat something."
"Probably something they brought with them."
That doesn't seem likely. Why would that girl bring along edible things to this feast where Panem provides the food for us? Even if she did, why would she give that food to Peeta and not eat it herself? I'm much more inclined to believe that she bought it in one of the booths. That's what I would do if I had enough money for it – stop at every booth selling something edible and have a taste of as much as possible.
"I bet they're keeping the food away for as long as they can because they know that's the only reason anyone's here," I say grumpily, wrapping my arms around myself. I hate how childish I just sounded. There's not even a small part of me that believes the statement I just made.
"You okay, Catnip?" asks Gale, looking puzzled by my sour mood.
"Yes," I say, managing half a smile. Poor Gale, I didn't mean to bring his spirits down. He should enjoy himself today. He works so hard in the mines and has so few chances of having fun and feeling young. "Just hungry, is all."
"I know plenty of things we could do to pass the time while we wait."
His tone is suggestive but I can't bring myself to play along. We're not officially a couple yet so I'm guessing he's jesting but all the same I don't feel like participating. I announce that I'm thirsty as well as hungry and Gale dutifully takes me to get something to drink. They have a large keg of fresh lemonade, a luxury we haven't had for at least three years, and Gale gets me a large scoop of the delicious, cold beverage and then tries to encourage me to drink his scoop as well. He seems to have forgotten lately that I don't appreciate charity and I don't see it as his boyfriend duty to be chivalrous in that manner. I do, however, manage not to scowl at him and instead simply decline the offer. Three times.
Seemingly despite my own wishes my eyes keep catching Peeta and the girl he's with for the next hour or so. I see them smiling and talking and laughing together, dancing together, sometimes leaning their heads close to each other to share words they don't seem to want anyone else to hear. Two blonde heads together, a matching set. It makes me wonder why he asked me to pick him for a project partner when the woman he will marry is going to be a merchant like himself. Why not partner up with someone who will provide him with scenarios he is likely to actually face? In fact, why didn't he choose to partner up with this girl?
Gale gives my hand a light tug, bringing my attention back to him. I force a small smile and follow him to where our families are waiting, trying my best to at least momentarily forget about the boy with the bread and the girl he's here with instead of me.
Evening comes and with it the sky lights up with stars and a bright shining moon, blocked only sparsely by the few, thin clouds that go sailing by. I tilt my head upward to observe the firmament above, drinking in the sight of the tiny-looking bright dots in the middle of all that blackness and the larger object that is the moon. I'm glad the sky isn't overcast. I like the view and it feels like it adds to the evening.
Gale and I sit beside each other on the back of a half-empty wagon. We haven't spoken in a while, both of us preoccupied with watching the festivities unfold. Dancing has begun again, this time to different music. The younger children have been sent to bed, their parents excused from the festivities, leaving mostly those of us in-between the ages of early bedtimes and having had children of our own. Several young pairs are dancing together in the town square, an area lit not only by the moon and stars but by the old lanterns that are hung up every year and always look like they're on their very last year before they fall apart completely. I've never been much for dancing at the Harvest Festivals. I don't like the attention. Even though I don't expect anyone to be following me with their eyes the whole time it's a small square and some are bound to notice me and while my dancing prowess holds up fine I become nervous when I think people might be looking. Most of the dancing pairs are made up of merchants, the more carefree among us, but a handful of teenagers from the Seam are out there as well, as are a couple of older folks from our part of town. I'm glad. I just wish there were more couples formed of one townie and one Seam. That we could come together more. When I was a child my parents were the only ones that weren't matched with someone from their own part of the district. Sometimes I wonder how different my life would have been if my father had been accepted by my mother's family and friends.
My eyes go to my boyfriend, sitting beside me on the cart. He's watching the dancing couples with a smile on his face. It makes me glad to see him enjoying himself. So much of his life is wasted down in those dark, cold mines and I want him to have as much fun as he possibly can, when he can. It's only a fragment of what he deserves. So in a spur of the moment decision I jump down from the cart and hold out my hand to him.
"May I have this dance, Mr. Hawthorne?"
For a second he looks at me with wide questioning eyes but then a grin spreads across his face and his eyes light up. He hops down and takes my hand, giving it a firm squeeze. Pulling me closer to kiss the top of my head he chuckles slightly and begins to move in the direction of the square.
"It would be my honour to dance with you this evening, Miss Everdeen," he says. When we reach the square and find an open spot he gives me a twirl and takes both of my hands, leading me into one of the traditional District 12 dances. "I must say you are taking me by surprise. I thought dancing was absent from your list of things you would be willing to do in public."
"Every now and then exceptions need to be made," I say, a warm tone in my voice. I'm not smiling, dancing at the Harvest Festival makes me feel a little too out of my element for that, but if I concentrate on him I'm sure I will like it just fine.
Our dance is awkward, uncoordinated. I've danced this dance a handful of times throughout the years but I've never taken an interest in it and therefore never gotten good at it. There are other dances I do better with but they don't suit the music currently playing. Gale fares a bit better but with me for a partner he can't quite save it. Not that it matters. He seems in high spirits anyway and that was the whole point.
I take a few steps in the dance that put me to Gale's right, giving me a clear view over his shoulder, and for the first time in a while my eyes fall on Peeta and his female companion. They are dancing as well, doing a better job than Gale and I though by no means perfecting the moves. Though that might be because they are so preoccupied talking and laughing that they barely seem focused on what they are doing with their legs. I turn my face away, finding I don't want to see more of it.
The song comes to an end and I join with Gale and the others around me in applauding the musicians before they start up the next song. Gale puts an arm around my waist to lead me back to where we were sitting but I suggest we go get something to drink first. The lemonade is long gone by now but there is fresh, cold water to be had. He is happy to oblige and we move through the crowd, trying not to get in the way of the dancing couples. It takes several minutes to reach the water barrel and when we get there we have to wait in line. I don't mind. The air temperature has dropped but the number of people around keeps us from getting cold. I stand beside Gale, awaiting our turn, wrapping my arms around myself. I'm starting to feel a bit tired. Maybe I should suggest to Gale that we head home soon.
Our turn at the barrel comes and I grab the metallic dipper and scoop up the cold liquid, drinking in slow sips to avoid a brain freeze. I feel sated while there's still a bit left in the dipper so I hand it over to Gale who finishes it promptly and gets another scoop for himself. While I wait for him I look around, watching the dwindling crowd around me. The young people will still be out for a while yet but most District 12 citizens above the age of twenty-five or so have head home by now or are beginning to make their way out of here. A few of the peacekeepers, the younger ones mostly, are becoming a bit lax, not slacking on the job but forgoing the strict formation they've been standing in and getting more comfortable, a few even exchanging words with people they know in the crowds. I spot Darius and give him a nod and he responds with a smile and a wave. I wonder if they would like to partake in the festivities or if this all pales in comparison to the fiestas they experienced in their youths in District 2 or, for some of them, the Capitol.
Gale's hand on my back tells me he's done drinking and we move away to make room for the next in line. Gale wants to go back to the cart we were sitting on and I nod, following him wordlessly, wrapping my jacket closer around myself. The chill is starting to creep in and the thinning crowd isn't doing enough anymore to keep me warm.
"I never seem to be able to make up my mind about all this," says Gale as we walk. "The Harvest Festival… Do I enjoy it or do I think it's a mere spectacle designed to-"
Thankfully I don't have to hear the end of that thought because a blonde haired girl bumps into him, cutting him off and nearly setting him off balance. Normally Gale wouldn't lose his footing that easily but he's distracted and he's had some alcohol to drink. He automatically reaches out a hand to steady the girl and I recognize her as being in the class below mine. I can't seem to remember her name but if I'm not mistaken her father is a carpenter and she lives near the bakery.
"Whoa, steady on," says Gale, helping the girl find her footing. She's been drinking more white liquor than is good for her, that much is plain to see, and she giggles like a little girl and pushes a strand of blonde hair from her face.
"Thank you," she says, her words slurring slightly. "I was gonna go…" She pauses, scowls and looks around. "Where was I going?"
I can barely hold in a sigh, crossing my arms and scowling. This is embarrassing. Gale chuckles softly and keeps his hand on her to steady her as she sways, looking around herself to figure out where she's going and no doubt also where she is and how she got here. He calmly asks her a few questions about where her friends and family are but she doesn't seem to know the answer to that either. How much has she had to drink?
And then, seemingly out of nowhere, another blond shows up.
"Jess? Jess? Are you okay?"
Peeta has a concerned scowl on his face and puts arm around the girl's waist to steady her. Jessamyn Adams, that's her name. Judging by the way Peeta is talking to her, not to mention putting his arm around her, I can assume he knows her better than I do. She turns her face to him and after a second recognizes him, grinning widely. She tries to say something but it comes out in an unintelligible round of slurry nonsense. Gale takes his hand off her and she stumbles to Peeta instead, clinging to him while she tries – again – to gain her balance. Peeta looks up and meets my eyes, surprise registering for a second. Then he flashes me a smile and a nod before leading Jessamyn away, asking her where her brother and sister are and drops a few other names I recognize along the way. Gale's arm finds its way around my waist as we watch them move to a corner that's far less crowded.
"Well that was… interesting," says Gale. "Man, do I hope Posy or my brothers never get themselves that smashed."
"What?" I say, barely paying attention.
"She's drunk, Katniss," chuckles Gale, misunderstanding me. "Well, at least someone she knows seems to be taking care of her for the time being."
With that he begins to walk again, taking me with him. I keep my eyes on Peeta and Jessamyn for as long as I can, watching as he holds back her long, blonde hair while she throws up. I wrinkle my nose, disgusted by the sight. I'll take Prim's odd sudden fondness for boys any day over the odd sudden fondness for alcohol some teenagers develop.
Sitting side-by-side with Gale on the back of the wagon I begin to feel I just want to go home already. I'm beginning to freeze and even though Gale quickly notices and lends me his jacket that doesn't make me feel much happier to be here. I do feel a bit more at ease when he puts his arm around me and pulls me closer, giving me some of his body heat as well as soothing my strangely unruly emotions. I lean my head against his shoulder and take a deep breath. He smells of the cheap soap we use in the Seam and of leather and sweat. Familiar smells, comforting smells.
After about ten minutes my eye catches something in the periphery and I lift my head a little to get a better look. It's Peeta, holding Jessamyn bridal style while her head slumps against his chest. She appears to be awake, her mouth seemingly moving and her hand waving slightly back and forth, but clearly she's not feeling very well. Peeta is standing next to his brother Ryean and the two have a conversation for a few minutes before Peeta sets Jessamyn down and the brothers each take one of her arms and wrap it over their shoulders. Together they get her moving somewhat on her own, though it's clear that if one of them lets go she'll slump down on the ground.
"Something the matter?" asks Gale.
"No…" I say absent-mindedly, my eyes still on the two boys helping the overly drunken girl home. "No, just… Getting cold. And tired." I turn my eyes to Gale. "I think I'd like to head home now."
"Sure," he smiles, hopping down from the cart in such an eager fashion that I wonder if he was waiting for me to say this. I allow him to take my hand to help steady me as I climb down on the ground as well. "We could take… the scenic route home."
"What scenic route?" I scoff.
"Whichever route takes the longest and gives us some time alone," chuckles Gale, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me closer as we walk around the area where people are dancing.
"Gale, I think the touching is getting to be a bit much," I mumble, moving away from him. "We're out in public. I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea."
"The wrong idea being that we're in love?"
Actually, yes, that might be exactly it. Biting my bottom lip I avert my eyes for a second, drawing a deep breath to gather some composure.
"My family still doesn't know we're together. I don't want the whole rest of the district to find out before they do."
"Nobody cares, Catnip," says Gale in a carefree tone.
"I care." He stops walking for a second, his eyes peering into mine. For a moment I wonder if we're about to have another argument. He's had a bit to drink and I know that deep down he's not a big fan of the Harvest Festival. He might be in a confrontational mood. "Look, Gale… Until my mother and my sister knows, which we agreed would be a few weeks from now, I don't think we should go about showing… public displays of affection. It's not fair to my mother and Prim, is it?"
He rolls his eyes, shifting his weight from one foot to the other while sticking his hands in his back pockets.
"Fine, Catnip. Fine. You win. As usual. But if you ask me this is just one more reason why your mother and sister ought to know about us. If you're not ashamed to be seen with me then what's the problem?" I'm almost certain the alcohol influences what he says next. "And I'll have you know there are plenty of women here who wouldn't be ashamed to be seen with me."
"I've been seen with you since I was twelve," I counter.
"Oh, come on," he scoffs. "You know what I mean."
"And you know what I mean."
He's quiet for a while, drawing his lips into his mouth and letting them out again. We stand close to one another in the crowd and the faint smell of alcohol is on his breath. Again I wonder if this has any effect on our conversation. I'm glad Gale's not the kind who likes to drink more than once or twice a year.
"Fine," he concedes. "No more 'inappropriate' touching while we're here." He says the word "inappropriate" in a very mocking fashion that irritates me to no end. "But I'm still suggesting we take a secluded road home and find some time to ourselves."
"Feel the mood, Gale," I say, nearly snorting the words at him. "I'm not in the mood. I just want to get home." I begin to walk through the crowds and he follows at my heel.
"Can I just ask one thing?" he says in a voice slightly raised to be heard above the surrounding crowd.
"Sure, fire away," I sigh, turning my face so he can hear my response.
"It doesn't bother you at all that my family knows but yours doesn't? You don't think Prim and your mother will be a bit upset when they hear about the two of us and then learn that my mother and siblings have been in the know all along?"
"They won't care," I answer without hesitation. Truth is I haven't given any particular thought to it and I'm not so sure.
"If you say so…"
We make our way to the other end of the festival area. Peacekeepers actually put up boarders for what constitutes Harvest Festival territory in order to make sure everyone attends. If you want to leave you have to do so through the main entrance point. Under normal circumstances it's a three minute walk from where we are right now but with all these people about and the additional booths put up it will take us longer than that. During the walk my mind gets working with what Gale just said about my family knowing. I'm prepared to write it off as nothing that will cause a problem. My mother and sister will be happy if I'm happy, the rest won't matter in the long run. But there is one thing he touched upon that he doesn't know is a lie. I haven't actually thought about it myself until right now.
His family aren't the only ones in the know.
There's someone else. One more person who knows Gale Hawthorne and I are dating. Peeta. I told him. Flat out told him, with no hesitation and no second thoughts. Granted he apparently thought we might be dating when we began working together so I can probably assume that if any of his friends at school have given my love life the tiniest shred of thought they might already be assuming the same thing. But it's not the same as me confirming it outright. The oddest thing though, is that I don't feel any worry about this. Even though I didn't tell Peeta to keep his mouth shut I don't think he will blab. Not just because there's really nobody he could mention it to who would give a damn but because it's not his style. There are many gossips among his friends, both male and female, but Peeta doesn't normally join in. I've never heard him utter a word about who might be dating whom. He leaves people's business their business. I respect him for that.
Casting another glance at Gale over my shoulder I decide not to tell him about this. He doesn't need to know that aside from his family there's a blond merchant boy who knows about us dating. If he knew he would no doubt insist that we tell my mother and sister immediately, and probably start walking hand in hand towards the Hob every Sunday. No. Gale is not to know about it. Not yet anyway.
It will be mine and Peeta's secret.
I almost took out the part where Katniss lets her mind wander in class and then gets into a discussion with two of her class-mates (on a related note, she seems to be real bad at remembering her classmates' names in this story). The scene is a little bit silly, I know, but I kept it in the end because it shows the "sticking up for people" side of her, even if it could have been done in a better way.
I don't think I have much else to say at the moment, except please leave a review and tell me what you think of the chapter! =)