I know it's been months since I last updated. I promise though that I haven't lost interest in the story. There's just been too much other things going on.
About the chapter - I borrowed a little from "Catching Fire" this time around. There's no point re-inventing the wheel when Ms. Collins did it so wonderfully.
Hope you'll enjoy!
"That's it for today," Mr. Stoker announces, setting the thick book he's been reading from down on his desk, sending a whiff of dust up in the air. The school day is almost finished, just one more class to go. Project hour. I smile slyly but the smile quickly vanishes when our teacher tacks on something after dismissing the class. "Mellark and Everdeen, stay behind. I want to speak with you."
Up until this moment I had been sure our teachers would find our acquiring the form brilliant but that certainty seems to be vanishing all of a sudden. There could be no other reason for Mr. Stoker to detain us after class except to chastise us for something and then perhaps doling out some detention time or extra assignments as punishment. My eyes go to Peeta who busies himself with the slow process of getting all his things together. He doesn't turn to look at me and seems wholly unaware that I'm glaring at him so instead I turn to look at Madge. She looks confused. I haven't told her about the form even though I trust her not to try and copy us to help boost her own grade. Peeta and I agreed it would be a secret between us, and so it has stayed.
"What did you do?" whispers Madge, her eyes wide and confused.
"I don't know," I whisper back, wondering if this is not even about the form. Maybe it's about something else. But what could Peeta and I have done to earn us the disgruntlement of our teacher?
"Good luck," she whispers, collecting her books in a swift and fluid fashion that Peeta could learn a great deal from, pressing them against her chest as she rises from her chair. "And fill me in later, okay?"
I nod, swallowing nervously as I gather my own things and watch Madge manoeuvre her way out of the classroom. We've made plans to meet up after school and continue our talk from yesterday. I came knocking on her door shortly before supper and while she assured me that I would be welcome at the table I didn't feel comfortable accepting so I only stayed for about half an hour. Long enough to tell her the gist of the problem – Gale and intimacy – but not nearly long enough to discuss it any length so she invited me over after school today. I'm looking forward to it but the truth is it also fills me with nervousness. Going to her house to talk as a spontaneous decision felt right and reasonable. Making plans ahead of time gives me hours to overthink and second guess.
Our classmates clear out in a matter of minutes and before long it's just myself, Peeta and the teacher. I've never been held back after class before and I feel a bit humiliated by the experience, as much as I nonetheless stand by our actions and even feel proud of them. Peeta and I slowly approach the teacher's desk, standing side by side while Mr. Stoker remains seated, his eyes on the homework that was handed in at the start of class. My eyes meet Peeta's and he looks calm and reassuring but I don't share his feelings. This can't mean good news. He's standing close enough that I could take his hand if I wanted to, and truthfully I do want to. I settle for letting the back of mine press against the back of his and I feel him pressing back, some of his fingers reaching back to tangle a bit with my own. I relax a little, reassured that at least we're together in this. As Gale and I are a unit, a team, when we are in the woods Peeta and I have become one in this project – in a way mirroring the team real spouses ought to be. As we stand there and wait for Mr. Stoker to speak my mind races with the possible infractions we might have committed. Are you not allowed to procure forms from the Justice Building for school work? If so, why would that man have given it to us? Did he get angry when I never showed up at his doorstep with game and decided to tell our teachers some lies about how we got a hold of the form? Or is this about something else entirely?
After what feels like an eternity Mr. Stoker finally looks up from the papers in his hands and studies us, his expression almost impossible to read.
"Where did you get it?" he asks.
"We… asked," Peeta answers simply after a second or two, his voice completely cool and confident in a way that I envy him. It's possible he's faking, but if so he's good at it. Mr. Stoker raises an eyebrow at him, giving me a brief glance before focusing on Peeta.
"Asked, huh? Asked whom?"
"The clerk at the Justice Building."
"I see." Mr. Stoker clasps his hands on the desk and leans forward. I still can't tell if he's about to punish us or if he's just curious. "And who gave you the bright idea to stroll into the Justice Building and ask to get your hands on a birth registration form?"
Peeta opens his mouth, and I know he's about to take the heat for this but there's no way I'm going to let him do that.
"I suggested it, Mr. Stoker," I say, my voice calm and firm. I allow myself a swift glance at Peeta, who is looking at me like he's trying to implore me to let him take the fall for it which is, quite simply, stupid. I don't leave people that I care about out to dry and I most certainly do not let them take the blame for the things I do. And I don't need Peeta, or anyone else, to fall on any proverbial swords on my account. For a moment a memory flashes before my eyes; Peeta with a bruised face tossing that bread to me. I swallow, guilt washing over me for having just felt ungrateful towards him. Had it been anyone else… but not him. I turn my eyes back to Mr. Stoker, finding it too painful to look at Peeta right now. One of his fingers curls around mine and squeezes it.
Then Mr. Stoker bursts out laughing. Stunned I can't help but turn to Peeta, seeing the same surprise and confusion I feel mirrored in his eyes. Our teacher shakes his head, still laughing, and rises from his chair.
"Well I must say… You are an industrious pair, aren't you? It's been a long while since I last had students who got so creative on this project." He turns and begins to wipe the whiteboard clean. In the corner of my eye I can see Peeta smiling softly, confidently. "What gave you the idea, Everdeen? Figures it was you. Mellark can't even seem to find the wits to shave, much less acquire official forms."
"It was his wits that got us the form in the first place," I reply.
"Yes, but yours that landed you at the Justice Building to begin with. Now let's hear it. What gave you the idea?"
"It was just logical," I shrug. "We didn't know what information they want on those forms so we went to the place where we could find out."
Mr. Stoker, who is now finished cleaning the board, turns back to us and smirks, something I have never seen him do ever before. It's almost a little creepy coming from him. He walks back to the desk and picks up a new envelope.
"Keep up the good work," he says, holding it out to us. I take it, pulling my hand away from Peeta's in the process. "I have to admit I'm curious to see what you two might come up with next. You make a good team. You complement each other well. Bring out interesting sides in one another, it seems." He tilts his head, studying us in a way that makes me feel oddly scrutinized. "Perhaps we should go with that for next year," he muses to himself. "Town-and-Seam pairings to as far an extent as possible."
"Yeah," I snort, pulling one arm out from the straps of my backpack and moving the pack to my front so I can put the envelope inside. "That's our secret. That one of us is merchant and the other Seam. That would be the full extent of our personalities."
Mr. Stoker looks taken aback and Peeta makes an almost goofy dumbfounded look, his blue eyes incredibly wide while his mouth attempts to stay neutral. I suppose it's no wonder they're both flabbergasted. I've never gotten that close to talking back to a teacher in my whole life. But what he said was so unnervingly stupid that I couldn't help it, and it takes all credit away from Peeta and me as persons, putting all of it on our different backgrounds. As if Mr. Stoker doesn't think us capable of creativity on our own.
"Well, recess is over in about a minute and a half," says Peeta after a hark, trying to sound normal and casual. "We should get going. Wouldn't want to be late in opening our next assignment envelope." He takes my hand and begins to lead me out of the classroom. "Come along my pretend sweet-pea. Thank you Mr. Stoker. My mother will be so pleased at… your being pleased. See you next class."
He moves his hand from holding mine to being splayed on my back, ushering me out into the hallway ahead of him. The door closes behind us and he continues to steer me down the corridor until we've rounded a corner. Then we both stop at the exact same time and I turn around and face him. Mirroring grins then break out on our faces and we share a brief, triumphant laugh at our success. I might be irritated with our teacher but I don't want to focus on that; right now I want to enjoy the fruits of our labour and celebrate our small moment of success.
"They loved it!" I exclaim, keeping my voice low since we're out in the hallway but not holding back on my excitement at our triumph. "That was amazing!"
"Mr. Stoker is right on the money," grins Peeta, his pretty blue eyes practically sparkling. "We do make a fantastic team!"
"Yes we do!"
Then Peeta leans in and plants a kiss on my cheek; his beard, which has now grown to almost a centimetre in length, feels oddly smooth against my skin whilst also tickling it lightly. It must be that sensation that causes me to lightly gasp and a tingling sensation to spread down my spine and out through my body. For a short, senseless moment I feel the mad urge to move my face just enough so that his lips are lined up with my own, wanting to know what his facial hair would feel like against my skin if we kissed properly. The desire to find out is so instantaneous, so startling and so strong that I pull him into a proper hug instead, finding comfort in the safety of burying my face against the nape of his neck where my lips can't do anything stupid like kiss him full on the mouth. My heart is pounding in my chest and I feel almost dizzy from everything that's happened in the past ten minutes. From being asked to stay after class to annoyance with the teacher to excitement over our accomplishment to the crazy misfire in my brain just seconds ago.
"Come on," says Peeta after only a second or two, pulling back from our hug with a smile that oddly enough seems a touch strained. "Recess is over and we'll have to be at the top of our game to keep outshining the rest of our class."
"Lead the way," I say, surprised at how hoarse my voice sounds.
He nods and as we begin to walk side by side towards the assembly room he gives me a playful nudge with his shoulder.
"I can't believe you snarked at our teacher…"
Our usual table is occupied so I find us another one by the windows. It's a little odd to relocate, the other table having become almost like a part of the project, kind of like our home if you will, but Peeta doesn't seem bothered. It's a beautiful day outside for once and the sun is shining through the windows from a clear blue sky and it's hard to deny that it's quite lovely to sit at the new table and be able to enjoy it.
I open the envelope and roll my eyes when they yet again have us drawing up a budget based on our new circumstances. As if the last one we made couldn't be applicable for a few more weeks or years or whenever they decide to expand our fictional family. Sometimes this project feels like it's 90% home economics and if the point is to teach us how to make and adjust a budget I'd say they've beaten the point to the ground. In addition to the budget we have a fairly large assignment in which we are asked to write about the different developmental stages in a child's first eighteen months. Luckily we still have the books we lifted from the back room of the library and my mother's knowledge t help us but this is going to take a lot of work outside of that. We agree almost instantly that next week we'll sit in the library and get as much work done as possible, in addition to asking our parents what they can tell us about an infant's development. The third part of this leg of the project is something I actually find rather interesting. It's about the actual relationship between two people in a marriage, a topic I've been wishing they could add even though I realize it is difficult to tackle in a school project where the number of actual romantic couples working together is slim. I mean, how can you write about your romantic relationship to a person you're not romantically involved with – a person you might only be talking to for one hour a week? Even so, for me this is what it's all about. How spouses deal with the various things that befall and stress them determines how happy they will be together. Love alone cannot sustain a marriage through thick and thin.
Our teachers have drawn up a scenario where Peeta has to work long, hard hours to support our family while I'm at home trying to adjust to motherhood and taking care of a baby with colic. Of course the damn baby has to have colic. Peeta finds it cute that the kid is actually referred to as Hunter in the text, something I didn't even realize until he pointed it out. We are each tasked with writing an essay about how we think we'd react in, and handle, the presented scenario, what we expect from our partner and what we think we can do to make things easier for our spouse. There are a few other questions thrown in there as well to flesh it out. The essays are due next Monday and a week after that we will get to respond to what our partner wrote and see what problems would arise between us if it were all for real. Then a few couples will be selected to have an actual discussion with a teacher present. Due to the nature of the assignment we're not allowed to work together on our essays, or even talk about what we're writing. It's quite advanced for a school project, we both feel, but it's also the most interest part so far and therefore I won't complain. I just hope we're not selected to do the discussion part.
As we work on the project, choosing to start with the budget, we each fall into our own section and work mostly in silence. As part of the budget this time around we're supposed to be writing up a savings plan for how we might be able to stash a few extra coins under our mattress to save for a rainy day, a pointless exercise since we've already been doing it as much as possible throughout the project but I have long since stopped rolling my eyes at the parts of the assignment that I find idiotic. We spent the first fifteen minutes talking at length about different savings ideas and now we're writing it up in two different parts, one for each of us to pen.
While we are working my attention begins to drift from the words I'm jotting down on paper to the person sitting at the table with me. It starts when the sunlight blinds me a little and I find I have to shift my chair a bit to avoid it. This puts me directly opposite Peeta and I come to notice how the light from the sun affects his appearance. He's wearing a blue sweater with a hood, an item of clothing from his wrestling team I believe, and it occurs to me how it seems to be the exact same shade of blue as his eyes. The sun shines on his ashen hair making it almost luminescent and whenever he looks up at me to make a comment or ask for my input I can't help but notice how impossibly blue his eyes look in the sunlight and highlighted by his blond hair and blue sweater. I become almost transfixed by the colour, almost unable to believe that a person can have eyes that blue. My mother and sister both have blue eyes but not like Peeta's in the sun. His eyes are framed by blond eyelashes that seem to be longer than I would think a boy's would be. There's something very delicate about those lashes, thin blond straws of hair framing his beautiful blue eyes, so long it's a wonder they don't tangle in each other every time he blinks. The eyebrows are only a touch darker and very nicely shaped. I know a lot of girls in our class who sigh about their eyebrows being so bushy and unfeminine. Peeta's seemed almost sculptured.
I force my eyes back to my work for a few minutes, wondering to myself how to best phrase what I'm trying to write. Peeta is far more talented than I am when it comes to anything related to language and I've been asking for his input a lot but I want to be able to get it done on my own. The fact is I feel like I'm starting to pick up a thing or two and starting to detect things that Peeta would point out in what I've written and fixing them. Things like not using the same word several times in a sentence; right now I'm trying to come up with synonyms for the word "money" instead of just writing that three times over.
Again my eyes drift up at him. This time I can't see his eyes very well as he is leaning his head over the work and his eyes are looking downward. Instead I take notice of the shape of his nose, something I've never really given a thought to – about anyone. His doesn't have a perfect slope but instead a light rise, almost like a faint bump, close to its bridge. I don't know why I'm finding it interesting all of a sudden. Thinking about it I actually find noses pretty odd – this big chunk of flesh and cartilage protruding from our otherwise rather flat faces. It should make us look ridiculous but Peeta's seems to fit him rather well.
Bewildered by these weird thoughts just stumbling into my mind I give my head a light shake to clear it and fold my arms on the table in front of me, deciding to truly give all my focus to what I'm writing. I can't be sitting here ogling someone else's nose for crying out loud. Especially when I've never given any thought to what Gale's looks like. I can't even conjure it from memory, can't recall if it's straight or bulky or narrow or anything else. I guess it's just normal. I really need to stop thinking about this.
For a moment I set aside all pretence of being fully focused on my school work and let the pen drop down onto the notepad, leaving a graphite mark where it falls. I know I may be as inexperienced in the field of sex and romance as I am experienced in the field of hunting and gathering but even I can understand that there a level of attraction when I'm with Peeta. From my part vis-à-vis him at least, and I'm fairly certain he feels some measure of attraction towards me as well. Though I have so little experience to guide me it strikes me as improbable that these sparks I sometimes feel could happen unless there's something occurring with both parties. Chemistry needs two participants. But attraction doesn't have to mean much of anything. Lots of girls in my class swoon over Finnick Odair whenever he appears during the Hunger Games or Victory Tour but I highly doubt that they have any deeper feelings for him or would run away with him if he asked them to. I find Peeta to be pleasant to look at and fun to be around and what's so odd about that? I find Madge to be beautiful and I enjoy her company but I wouldn't want to be her girlfriend. Why should it be so different just because Peeta is a boy and I'm a girl? Can't we merely find each other to be pleasant looking and not want to actually do anything because of it?
Peeta is fully engrossed in his work, his eyes travelling between the notes he took while we were talking, the last budget we handed in, and the instructions given by the teachers. His mouth moves every now and then as if he is mouthing along, something I believe he does when counting in his head. He hasn't noticed that my pencil has taken a break nor does he notice when I pick it up again. It's just as well. As far as he's concerned there's nothing more to our relationship than what was there before we sat down at this table. The rest is for me to make heads or tails of and I have a feeling that the less involved he is in that, the better.
"Katniss I can't make heads or tails of this," Peeta suddenly says, making me jolt a little, worried that he might actually be aware what kinds of thoughts are in my head. He is far too good at reading people, in my experience, and I'm not so sure I'm as good at keeping my inner feelings hidden as I would like to be.
"What?" I ask, licking my dry lips.
"Well I'm looking at our last budget and at the list of new expenses they enclosed this week, and there seems to be a discrepancy."
I scowl, though I'm relieved that he's completely focused on the project. I lean forward and he turns his papers around so that I can see what he's talking about, but we're practically sitting opposite one another and with enough distance between us that we both have to lean in to an uncomfortable degree. He's not sure where to point when the papers are upside down and when he turns them around again to get a better look he accidentally drags a few of my sheets of paper with him, creating a bit of a mess. Rolling my eyes I rise from my chair and move around the table, taking a seat next to him instead. Irrational reaction to his proximity be damned, we're here to do a project and if I can't keep my mind on that I've really sold him short by picking him as my partner.
"Here," he says, pointing to a line in the middle of the budget. "See that figure?"
"Yeah."
"Now look at this one…"
As I lean closer to have a good look I catch somebody approaching our table in the corner of my eye. Seconds later my scowl deepens as our peace and quiet is rudely interrupted by a person who I'll be thrilled to never have to see again after school ends.
"Well I'll be damned if my favourite faux-or-no couple isn't diligently busy as ever, closely together."
It is, of course, Peeta's annoying friend Rusty, who seems to be making an infuriating habit these days out of teasing us – or Peeta, really, one should assume.
"Go away Rusty," Peeta and I answer him in one voice, which of course only earns us laughter in return.
"Rust…" adds Peeta in a tone that suggests he's really tiring of this, and he lifts his eyes from the work and looks up at his wrestling buddy, letting his pencil drop.
"You're going to try and protest while you're busy speaking as one?" asks Rusty, and I don't have to look up at him to know he's smirking when he says it. I would have actually had to concede this one point to him if it wasn't for the thing we said being so short and really the only reasonable reply in that situation. I can only imagine they are words he is quite used to hearing. "What's next? Are you guys finishing each other's sentences yet?"
"Maybe you should go over to your own table and finish your own workload," I say dryly, glaring up at him. I rarely, if ever, speak this way to people I don't know but I want him to leave us alone. If he finds me unfriendly that doesn't bother me in the slightest.
Rusty's only response is to pucker his lips and widen his eyes in an overdone fashion before looking to Peeta.
"Is she this spicy when the two of you are alone?"
"I'm not sure, Rusty, seeing as how these days you don't seem to ever leave us alone," answers Peeta with a deceivingly friendly smile, crossing his arms on the table and leaning forward, his upper arm pressing lightly against mine. Then he picks his pencil back up and leans back, reverting to a more indifferent appearance. He looks down on his notepad as he writes something down on the margin, something I presume is mostly just to make him look busy. "I'm starting to wonder if you're not looking to date Katniss. All this attention paid to what we're doing, asking about whether she's… What was the word… Spicy?"
My jaw drops a little and I can't help but send a look Rusty's way but clearly I have nothing to worry about there. Rusty, who has once again taken a seat on our table and this time nearly squashed our envelope, seems to find this notion terribly amusing. I would be offended if I wasn't so relieved. I daresay I want to date him even less than he wants to date me.
"Yeah, no thanks Peeta," he laughs. "I like my girls a little bit more… merchant."
"Yeah?" says Peeta, finishing whatever he's writing and looking back up. "Then would you please go back to your own merchant partner and quit bugging us."
"Oh I can't help stopping by, my friend," smirks Rusty. "There's so much sweetness going on over here that I'm drawn in like a…" Momentarily his brow furrows. "Well – whatever is drawn to honey and other sweet stuff." I roll my eyes. Clearly he's an idiot. "You get the point."
"I really wish I didn't," sighs Peeta.
"Seriously though, Peeta," Rusty says, and something happens then that even I, who don't excel at picking up on social clues, can't miss. For the first time in one of his little visits Rusty sounds utterly serious and he exchanges a look with Peeta that clearly is a conversation unto its own. I don't understand what it's about except that it seems cautioning more than disapproving, though that is only a guess on my part. These two boys have known each other for a while and probably have all sorts of things going on between them that I know nothing of. Whatever it is about Peeta doesn't respond verbally but I can feel him tensing a bit beside me. Rusty, still looking serious, turns to me and while the corners of his mouth turn upward into a smile it's not as jesting as before. His eyes, green rather than the most common merchant blue, still seem serious and his tone makes him sound like he's only half-heartedly trying at levity. "Katniss. Give him a smack on the fingers or a kick in the groin if he tries to get too close to the honeypot." He winks at me and gets down from the table, creating a bit of a mess in the process. "See you at practice, Peeta."
"Good-bye, Rusty," says Peeta without looking at either one of us.
Awkward silence follows Rusty's departure. Peeta has pulled the right side of his bottom lip in-between his teeth and looks rather tense, appearing to give his full attention to the schoolwork in front of him but even if I didn't know him as well as I feel I do by now I would still be a blind idiot if I couldn't tell something was bothering him.
"What was that all about?" I ask.
"Nothing," answers Peeta. I think he's making an effort not to sound curt. "Rusty's just… being a jerk." He's quiet for a moment and I'm just about to ask a follow-up question when he talks again. "He's an idiot. Pay him no mind."
"Sure," I nod, even though I really want to know more about what was going on. I can't help but think it has to do with me, or else why would Rusty choose the project hour to come up and talk to Peeta about it? Why make all those comments about us? I make up my mind that if a similar scene occurs in the next week or two I will get more detail from Peeta. Until then I'll try and keep my nose out of his business. "Let's just… pretend he was never here. I would gladly do that." Then I scowl, momentarily losing focus as I think back at one of the things Rusty said directed at me. "What did he mean 'get too close to the honey-pot"?
Peeta rests his arm on the table in a somewhat exasperated way and gives me a very pointed look, for once lacking the warmth and humour he usually addresses me with. The realization hits me and I stammer out an 'oh', quickly picking up my pencil and getting back to work and to minding my own business. I couldn't possibly feel like a bigger idiot. Of course he could only have meant one thing, but when he first made the allusion he was referring to the both of us, to the table in fact, which is why I got confused. I thought it was some sort of merchant expression or something. Obviously I'm just dense.
"Some guys need to get themselves coited more than others…" Peeta says under his breath after a minute or two. "Rusty… needs to never have coitus, and risk spreading his genes. Ever."
I can't help but chortle. I dare to look over at Peeta and he glances my way, a muted smile on his face. The mood between us feels better, more relaxed again, but hand in hand with that I become aware again of his close proximity. In an attempt to shift focus back to the issue we were discussing before Rusty interrupted us I move my arm to point at the budget line in question, and in doing so my elbow knocks Peeta's pencil case off the table. I push my chair back and lean down to pick it up. As I do I turn my eyes in the direction of the table where Rusty works with his partner Jill and I catch him looking at us with eyes that – again – seem concerned more than just disapproving. I look the other way immediately, hoping he didn't see me looking at him, and sit back up properly again. I hand the pencil case back to Peeta and force a smile, harking my throat.
"You know, uhm, I… You're right that part does seem odd but I'm sure there's a perfectly sound explanation for it. How about we both give it some thought and a second look during the week and we can check it out again next Monday?"
"Okay," says Peeta with a touch of wariness, no doubt wondering why I think we need a whole week to figure out if a couple of figures really add up. He looks a bit drained to tell the truth, but I don't believe he'll tell me the reason why if I were to ask.
"Great. We'll each go back to what we were doing, then, and save this for next time." The hearty tone in my voice feels fake enough that I cringe inwardly. I reach over and clean up the mess Rusty left behind when he got up from the table, feeling another point of concern rising inside me. Biting my bottom lip hesitantly I cast a quick glance at Rusty and then look at Peeta, whose eyes are back in the books. "Peeta…" I say, lowering my voice. "Listen, can… can Rusty be trusted?"
"That depends, I suppose," he mumbles absent-mindedly. "In what context? Cheating on a test? Keeping a secret? Losing against me in the wrestling tournament?"
"Trusted to keep his mouth shut. I need to know that he won't be going around telling people how obvious he thinks it is that something is going on between Peeta Mellark and that Seam girl whose mother was merchant born." Peeta looks up at me, his expression difficult to read. "It doesn't matter that there's no truth to his claims; the rumour can do just as much damage as an actual truth. Nor does it matter that he might only be joking about it." I can hear myself getting a bit carried away and I reign myself in so that I don't raise my voice further. "And before you speak, I'm not worried about this because Gale doesn't trust me. I'm worried about it because he deserves better than to have people he doesn't even know gossiping about his girlfriend and her project partner."
"Slow down," implores Peeta, and I scowl at him. "Just let me ask, are you guys official now? Because I don't think anyone knows you have a boyfriend. I don't believe Rust would want to cause problems between lovers but if I can't tell him you have a boyfriend, telling him not to mention anything about you and I possibly being attracted to each other would just add fuel to the fire."
"Fine," I say after a moment's pause, my arms crossed. "Sure. Tell him."
"Okay. I will. I don't think he would talk about it anyway, actually, but if it makes you feel better then I'll ask him not to."
"I just hope he won't run off and talk at length just to be a jerk," I mutter, resisting the urge to send a scowl Rusty's way.
"He won't. I assure you. I know he has a… way about him, but he's actually a rather nice guy."
"Yeah," I snort. "That I seriously doubt."
I get up from the chair and walk back to where I was sitting before. Project hour is almost over but there's more than enough work to do and thinking about Gale has made me want to put some space between myself and Peeta. I truly hope Peeta is right and that Rusty hasn't made any comments to anyone yet. I don't believe for a second that he finds my life so interesting that he'd talk to anyone about it but Peeta is a different matter. Peeta Mellark, who from what I can tell doesn't frequent the slag heap, having something going on with a Seam girl would be especially juicy gossip. It makes me seethe inside to think about Gale having to hear people talk about his girlfriend possibly dating somebody else. If Rusty should open his big mouth I'll find a way to make him very, very sorry.
Soon the hour is up and the assembly hall turns into the same noisy and messy place it always is when all the students are getting ready to leave at once. Peeta and I are both stuck in our own minds and don't say anything to one another. I feel a touch of disappointment that we're ending the hour on such a note after the high spirits we began in. I feel I should say something before we part ways, anything that signals that I've enjoyed working with him as much today as any other day. But I can't seem to figure out what to say and Peeta is moving quickly, perhaps so he can have a word with Rusty in private before their practice starts. At least he's smiling softly when he throws his backpack over his shoulder and says goodbye.
"I'll look forward to reading what you pen in your essay about our struggling, straining marriage," he says in a humorous tone that would have made me smile half an hour ago. "And please don't worry about Rusty having a big mouth. I'll take care of it." He gives me a brief smile that warms my heart. "Thanks for today."
"Peeta wait!" I say as he begins to leave. He turns and meets my eyes expectantly. "I believe you about Rusty… But all the same, do one more thing for me, would you? As my school husband."
"Anything. Anything for my project wife."
"Wrestle him to the floor. Quickly. Hard. Repeatedly. Preferably in a way that makes him seem like he can't stand a chance against you." I give my request another second's thought. "And then do the same thing once more."
Peeta chuckles and nods, then heads on his way. I try not to smile widely like a complete idiot and hurry up gathering my things so I can go meet up with Madge.
With a pensive look on her sweet face Madge leans back against the wall, pulling her legs to her. She's on her bed and I'm sitting in the armchair which she's pulled up close to the bed. It's unreasonably comfortable, this chair. So comfortable in fact that I imagine that the houses in the Victor's Village have similar ones, and homes in the Capitol too. It's definitely more comfortable than her bed –which is both bigger and softer than my own – but Madge insisted that she doesn't like sitting in the chair and wanted to be on the bed instead. A lie no doubt but if she insists I won't argue the point. It's not like she's sitting on the floor. She's not even leaning against the wall itself; there is a very large and very soft pillow in-between her and the dove blue walls. I remember that I used to believe her wallpaper would be pink, and it might have been at some point. This colour suits her though. This whole room suits her, clean and elegant and classy. Cream coloured carpet, cherry wood furniture, a large bay window behind her desk and lace curtains. I could probably sleep in that bay window if I ever stayed over. It's got a lovely view to boot. I imagine Madge sitting by that desk and looking out that window for inspiration when she does her homework or studies for a test.
Schoolwork is the farthest thing from our minds right now though. I've just finished telling her all about what happened yesterday with Gale, all the details I didn't have time for then. Madge hugs her knees while she ponders and I wait for her to say something. Right now I'm not in as big a need for advice as I was twenty-four hours ago; having gotten to talk about it to another person was surprisingly helpful in and of itself.
"What is it that troubles you the most?" Madge finally asks after several minutes of silent pondering. "That you feel he's moving too fast? That you worry he doesn't think you're serious when you say you don't intend on being sexual with him?" How is it that she of all people speaks so naturally of something like that while I struggle not to blush when she mentions it? "That he was with another girl?"
"No it's not the girl. I mean I'm not wild about it but who am I to blame him for things he did before we started dating? He's allowed to have had a life." I let out a short, mirthless laugh. "I'm more wounded that he didn't tell me as a friend."
"That sounds quite odd," she frowns. "Your boyfriend tells you he lost his virginity to somebody else and you're mostly upset that he didn't tell you as a friend?"
"He was allowed a life before we began to date," I stress, scowling and trying not to sound as irritated as I feel about her questioning this.
"Katniss… It's still your boyfriend telling you he's had sex with somebody else. Aren't you jealous?"
I hesitate.
"… Should I be?"
"I don't know," she shrugs. She rests her cheek against her knee and gives me an odd look. "If he slept with somebody else now, how would you feel then?"
"Horrible! I would go after them both with my bow and arrows. But he's my boyfriend now, not… whenever it was he hooked up with whoever she was."
"Sure… Rationally you shouldn't be jealous of things he did before dating you. But love doesn't work on rationale. Not really. Not with things like these."
"Can we forget about his previous… intimate experiences and move on?" I ask, rolling my eyes with exasperation.
"Your reaction to what he told you interests me," says Madge simply.
"Why?"
She lifts her head and narrows her eyes as she studies me in silence for about a minute, while I begin to squirm.
"Do you love Gale?"
The question is simple enough and I'm glad to have an easy answer.
"Sure I do."
"And are you in love with him?"
"Well… sure I am," I reply, though it's obvious that I'm nowhere near as secure in my answer this time. I begin to chew on a finger nail while shifting into a different position, sitting cross-legged on the chair. Madge stays silent, seemingly waiting for me to elaborate which I find annoying. I glare at her but she seems undeterred. "What?"
"You don't have to lie to me."
"Why would I be lying?"
"Because you are."
"Oh that's logical," I scoff.
"It's okay if you're not in love with him," says Madge as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "The point of dating, in the beginning at least, is to find out if you are a good match for one another and give feelings time to develop. Most people aren't in love when they start to date. They like each other, they're attracted to each other, they might have a crush on each other, but falling in love can come later on. You don't have to be in love with Gale right now so long as you really like him and you're attracted to him. The love part can come later."
"Though we're not in the beginning," I point out tiredly, leaning back in the chair with a huff. "It's been… almost three months."
"But you want to be with him? You want to be his girlfriend?"
"Seriously Madge, what's with these questions?" I snarl. "I didn't come here to be questioned about my feelings for the most important guy in my life; I came here because we're apparently on entirely different pages when it comes to the physical stuff and I don't know how to get around that!"
"You could have talked to Gale," Madge suggests.
"Yes but I need to talk to you first to figure out how to talk to him!" I argue, my frustration growing by the second.
"You didn't answer my question," she says softly.
I stare at her for what feels like ages, unable to find an answer which frustrates me more than I can say. What's worse, I can feel tears beginning to burn in the corners of my eyes. I'm starting to deeply regret having turned to Madge for advice, the relief I felt a short while ago gone, and I have half a mind to simply stand up and leave. She opens her mouth but I can't bear to hear whatever theory she might have so I find my words and spit them out, hastily wiping the corners of my eyes with my index fingers before full tears can begin to fall.
"Gale is mine. I am his. I cannot and I will not lose him. End of story."
There's a moment's pause. Just when I'm beginning to believe I've convinced her she adds to my frustration even further.
"That's not really an answer to my question either, Katniss."
"What the hell do you want then?" I ask in a very unpleasant tone, and bless her heart for not being offended by the way I'm speaking to her right now.
"I wonder if the real problem between you is that he is in the relationship because he is in love and you are in the relationship because he is your close friend and you love him as such and you are afraid that-"
"I'm with him because I can't bear the thought of anyone else being his girlfriend," I cut her off. "Because I want to be his girlfriend. Alright?"
Madge thankfully takes her eyes off me for a moment, her fingers plucking with a stray thread on her pant leg. I take the moment to look upward and blink repeatedly, forcing away any other tears that might mistakenly think this is a good time to appear. With a deep sigh I then shift, lifting my shoeless feet up on the soft yellow bedspread and resting most of my weight on my left side. I feel mentally exhausted and no closer to figuring anything out then I was an hour ago. It can't be that Madge was right in what she tried to say. I'm not with Gale only to preserve our friendship. It may have started out like that but – no, that's not true either. We're supposed to be together. That's what everyone says and they say it for a reason. It's the only thing that makes sense. I can't imagine Gale being with somebody else and doesn't that mean I have feelings for him? All this awkwardness in our relationship, isn't that only natural when friends take the leap into being more than friends? The physicality issues, that's because he hasn't realized yet that I truly mean to never have sex. That's all there is, and once we're clear on that – fully clear on that – things will be okay.
But I don't truly believe that. Not really. Not the part about our physical relationship. If I did, why would I be here in the first place?
"And what about Peeta?"
Madge's question is so unexpected that I look at her blankly, blinking in confusion.
"What about Peeta? What does he have to do with anything?"
"Katniss I'm not blind," Madge says gently, tilting her head as she gives me another look that really annoys me. "I've never seen you smile this much in all the years I've known you, never smile as you've done in a few short months working with him."
"I smile!" I say defensively. "I've always smiled! Mostly out in the woods perhaps, but I smile! In the woods, with Gale."
"I see the way you look at Peeta, too. The way you look at each other."
"Madge. I'm telling you there's nothing going on between him and me. And I absolutely do not want to talk about it as if there was something. Can you please respect that?"
"Yeah," she says. "Just help me understand. Because from where I'm sitting you're having intimacy problems with a boy you love but don't really love like that, meanwhile you light up like the fireworks in the Victory Tour party at Snow's palace whenever Peeta Mellark speaks three words to you."
"I like Peeta," I admit, worrying by bottom lip between my teeth. "He's… nice. And clever. We make a good – a great team for the project. But I would say no if he asked me on a date, even if I were single."
"There are a lot of reasons why you might say no that aren't that you don't like him," claims Madge, much to my exasperation. I would have never expected her to be this forthright. I thought she might have a few words of advice to offer and maybe even be a shoulder to – well, not cry, but sigh on. Not much else.
"Look," I say. "We have an attraction to one another on a friend basis. And I don't want us to be friends when the project is over, which might be adding a bit of extra… tension."
"Can I ask why?" says Madge after struggling for a moment to find words.
"When would we even hang out, for starters? We have no place in each other's worlds. He's a popular merchant boy, I'm a not popular Seam girl. I have things in common with you but not all that many things with him." I make a face. "And it makes Gale uncomfortable."
"You'd turn your back on a friendship because your boyfriend doesn't approve?"
"No. But Gale's feelings are more important to me than a potential friendship with someone I'll barely see anyway." I shrug. "I guess I'm just enjoying spending time with Peeta as friends and I wish I didn't because we won't be friends once the project is over. When school ends we'll probably never speak again."
"Don't you barter with his father on Sundays?"
"With the baker. Not his sons."
"Well then…" Madge says, shrugging her shoulders as if she's giving up. "I'm not sure what to tell you. I think you like Peeta more than you let on and Gale less than you let on but that's only my assessment of the situation. I'm fairly certain there's a whole lot you're not telling me and that's all your prerogative. Only you can know for sure what you truly do feel. But if the problem lies elsewhere I'm not sure what advice I can give you, other than to talk to your boyfriend. You're such good friends and you've always been able to talk about things before. Why not now?"
"It's just odd," I mumble. "Feelings are involved now… and I don't want to hurt his."
"Why not at least give him the chance? Maybe talking to him about this will be so much easier than you think?"
"Maybe," I mutter. Thinking back on past experiences though, I doubt it. I feel I have made myself clear where I stand on the issue of sex but I don't feel like Gale understands that I truly mean it. He seems to think it's just a phase I'm going through, that I will one day mature or something and realize I want to be married and have infinite number of babies and be somebody that I'm not today. I wish I could talk to Madge about this but I don't want her to get the wrong idea about him, or my feelings for him. I wish I could talk to her about why he seems to want me to change into somebody different when he says he wants me more than anything.
"Give it a shot," says Madge. "And listen – give everything with Peeta a second thought. Because believe me Katniss, if your heart lies more with him the truth will come out sooner or later. Sooner, you might be able to salvage your friendship with Gale. Later, and it will be damaged forever."
"No," I say while shaking my head. "No Madge, I truly meant what I said before. Gale matters more than Peeta. I'll never risk losing Gale over the baker's son."
What I don't tell her is what I believe to be the true reason why I feel more and more connected with Peeta. He saved my life! It's a debt I will never be able to repay and now that I've begun to get to know him it's going to be more difficult to walk away from spending time with him. But it has to be done. For Gale, if for no other reason.
And, as I'm beginning to understand deep down inside, for Peeta. A romantic relationship with me would put his whole world in jeopardy. His family, his friends, everything. I cannot pursue a relationship with him unless I'm prepared to go all in – I couldn't let him endanger everything for me under any less circumstances. And if I did come to care that much for him I wouldn't be able to let him risk that much.
I quite simply could never be with the boy with the bread. And I don't see the use in torturing myself by thinking about it any further.
I'll be honest, it's been so long since I read the books that I can't really remember how Madge spoke and how she moved. So I kind of guessed and built something from that. I hope she didn't seem terribly out of character. I think she ended up fairly close to her book-self. Originally the chapter was going to open with Katniss having the talk with Madge but I thought it worked better at the end of the chapter so I made up an excuse why they end up talking on Monday instead of Sunday.
As always, thanks for reading and I hope you'll tell me what you thought of it!