Once again I am sorry for taking so long to update. I still have a lot of interest in writing this story, and no plans at all to abandon it, but real life is demanding so much of my attention these days that I barely have time to write. Which unfortunately shows in the chapters I'm posting, since they suffer a bit from me having to write a paragraph here, half a page there... Simply put, I know these past few chapters have been a bit messy, and I apologise for it.
I do like this chapter for the most part, though. I enjoyed writing it, in particular the different viewpoints put forward by Gale and Peeta. Hope you will all like it too!
"This is all complete and utter bullshit," Gale spits out. It's Sunday morning, we're out in our glade and he's been growling about the government in increasingly loud tones for the past twenty-or-so minutes. At this point I'm not even sure anymore what set it off or what the original issue was, but it doesn't really matter. I've heard almost all of it before, several times in fact. So I sit silently beside him on the log, wondering how bad his week has been in the mines when he arrives out here in such a mood. "You know what I just can't stand?" he goes on. "I can't stand how every year that damn airheaded twit Effie Trinket stands up there and hails the Hunger Games as not only exciting but a just and righteous punishment. As if any of the kids standing there fearing for their lives, or any of their parents for that matter, fought in the uprising. As if even if they had, the Hunger Games would be acceptable. I mean, do those fools in the Capitol actually believe any of that?" He scoffs, snorts, shakes his head in utter disbelief. "Effie Trinket sure seems to. I keep wondering if she genuinely is that stupid. If they all are, out there in the Capitol."
"I suppose that if you're told that's how it is from a very early age you grow up believing that it's true." Rubbing my mitten-clad hands together to generate warmth I look over at his gloveless hands, beginning to turn red. He is so caught up in his frustration that he barely seems to be aware that it's ten degrees below freezing. Perhaps his angered gesturing is helping to keep his body heat up.
"You and I have had to hear that crap every single year, just like everyone else here in District Twelve, and we don't believe it."
"That's because we also see the ugly side of it. Our parents don't exactly tell us it's the most fun event of the year." He gets up and begins to walk back and forth in the glade and I watch him from my spot on the log. "Either way, what good does it do to talk about it?"
"You're right. You're exactly right. Talking is useless. Talking won't get us anywhere. But we can't do anything more than talking. Not right now at least. But someday… Someday, Catnip…"
He paces back and forth for almost fifteen minutes, ranting and raging and giving the occasional kick to a shrubbery or a rock. I sit silently the entire time, aside from the occasional acknowledging hum, knowing that he just needs someone to listen. He needs to vent all the frustration and fear he bottles up six days a week in the mines. I know all this anger has to do with more than the Capitol and the Games; it has to do with everything in his life that hurts and frightens. Gale is one of the bravest people I know but that doesn't mean he isn't afraid at times. He's good at keeping his fears hidden, I suspect to the point that he loathes having to acknowledge some of his fears even to himself. But like all of us he needs an outlet, and that outlet is to rage out here in the woods. If the only thing I can do to help him is sit here and listen then that is what I will do.
Finally he stops and looks at me, the look in his grey eyes haunting.
"I can't help it, Catnip. I hate them. I wish that I didn't, and I'm not proud of it, but I do. I hate the control they have over our lives. I hate that they not only forced me to stand there in front of the Justice Building for seven straight years worrying that Effie would say my name but that I will still be standing there for years and years to come fearing that the name Hawthorne will be read. I hate that because I was born in the Seam I have no prospects other than slaving in the mines, the very mines that killed my father. Who the hell are they to decide what I should do for work? Why am I not as good as those blonde haired, pretty-eyed, fairer skinned people who happen to have come into the world in town? Why should they have the choice of working at this shop or that shop or the Justice Building even? Your golden-haired project partner, he's not going to be thrown into the mines when his brother takes over the bakery."
"That's not his fault."
"Of course it isn't. I'm not mad at him. It's just completely unreasonable that he should have so many options and I don't, solely because of where we were born." He stops next to a tree, reaching his hand out to brace his weight against the trunk. His hand is now bright red from the cold and the coarse bark of the tree ought to hurt a bit but he doesn't appear to be aware of any of it. "If he gets a better job than me based on skill and merit then I congratulate him for it but the truth is because he's from town he won't ever have to compete with the likes of me. We will never be measured by the same yardstick."
"Perhaps not but his name goes into the reaping bowl too, same as yours."
"Yeah, seven slips exactly. Never a single one for tesserae."
"I could say the same for Rory, Vick and Posy," I point out with a soft smile.
"Not exactly the same, but thanks, I guess…" He sighs heavily and runs a hand through his thick, greasy hair. "Tesserae… What a joke."
There's a moment's pause, and in Gale's silence I consider some of the things he just said about Peeta – about the merchants. I know he feels his lot in life is unfair compared to the merchants but I find it strange for him to speak of townsfolk like they were privileged on nearly the same level as Capitol citizens. They may be better off than us, but if anyone could have the choice they certainly would choose better than to be townies in this district. Gale doesn't see that, though. All he sees is the options they have that we don't, the way the names in the reaping bowls tend to be skewered due to the tesserae system, yet another element that oppresses him, that everyone that isn't Seam seems to have it better off. Peeta didn't choose to be born the son of a baker, any more than Gale chose to be born the son of a coalminer, yet the roll of fate's dice fell favourably for Peeta and everyone else in town, and for the likes of me and Gale we ended up born into essentially nothing. At least that's the way Gale sees it, the way I used to see it to be honest, but the more I learn about my project partner the more I come to understand that some of those privileges are merely on a surface level. I wish I could make Gale see that too and grow past the way he sees things now. It's a dangerous way to look at the world, and I wish he would try and see things from a different viewpoint, one that's not as emotionally destructive.
Gale looks over at me, dismay, tenderness and a hint of desperation all mixed into his face and his intense grey eyes. I feel a stab of pain in my heart, wishing I could undo everything that causes him to feel so beaten down. He has so much pride and dignity. He shouldn't have to be feeling like this.
"I mean, Katniss… They even control how we live our lives. If it weren't for the Hunger Games you and I could get married when you're old enough and you wouldn't have to be afraid of having children."
"Gale do you really want to have children?" I ask, bracing myself now that the subject has been brought up. "Knowing that it will be even worse if their names were called than if Vick's or Rory's or Posy's? Knowing that one or more of them probably will take out tesserae and increase the risk of being drawn?"
"I would love to have kids," he says, is voice softer now. He walks over and sits down beside me, wrapping an arm around me. I rest my head against his shoulder as he rubs my arm in a way that suggests to me that it's a lot more for his comfort than for mine. I take his other hand between my own and begin to rub it, hoping to warm it up a bit. "If we didn't live here I would be all for it. I would like to have a lot of kids. Teach them how to hunt, teach them how to find edible plants, take them exploring in the woods…"
"Yeah but we do live here," I point out, keeping in a sigh and wishing he would stop adding the 'if only' stuff like teaching his would-be kids this or that. It doesn't help, it only harms. We've had similar discussions before and I fear he's only going to start talking about it more often now that he apparently feels he must convince me for real.
"I know, Catnip," he says.
"So what's the point of dreaming that it could be different? Why torture yourself that way? We might as well wish for our fathers to come back to life."
He's silent for a moment, staring out at the frosty nature that surrounds us. The ground and the tree branches are covered in snow and a light snowfall comes from the sky above, which in this weather is bright white, making the entire world seem white and the line between sky and ground difficult to see. A pack of magpies sound their cackling cry somewhere nearby, disturbing the moment of silence. Gale's breath comes out in white puffs of air, the chill in the air making his cheeks look rosy. He looks healthy out here in the woods, the winter weather bringing life to his cheeks during this time of year and the summer sun giving him a tan during the other half of the year. It can almost masquerade the tell-tale signs that he spends six days a week toiling in the mines under dreadful conditions. I wish I could keep him here, right here in this glade, all year round. I wish I could protect him from what awaits him every morning when he heads down to those cold, humid, sterile tunnels deep beneath the surface of the earth. But I can't shield him from that, no more than I can change the impossible world in which any kids we might have would be growing up in.
"Dreaming is pointless – dangerous even," I add when the silence has stretched out for several minutes and I can't stomach his sudden lack of words.
"Dreaming won't get us anywhere," he agrees after a few more minutes of silence between us. His brow is furrowed, his eyes cold and determined. "We have to fight."
"Fight?"
"It's the only way. But I fear it won't happen during our lifetimes. At least not early enough to save us."
"Gale," I say, his name coming in a mirthless chortle. "Really, you're talking nonsense now."
"I'm not." His eyes are hard, full of determination. His jaw is clenched.
"Yes, you are." I lean my head against his shoulder and rest my hand on his leg, giving his thigh a reassuring squeeze. "Fight? Against the Capitol? The last time people tried that we ended up with the Hunger Games. Now we're even worse equipped to rise up against them. It's not going to happen so there's no point in wasting energy hoping for it. That energy is needed elsewhere. You know we can't afford pipedreams."
"What I'm talking about is not a pipe dream," he vehemently objects, but I don't back down.
"No, it's worse in a way. Not only is it never going to happen, it's very dangerous to even be thinking about it inside the fence. Gale you know this!"
"I can't just conform to the tyranny they're subjecting us to," Gale replies heatedly. "I know you're right but how long can this go on? There must come a breaking point!"
"I don't know. Maybe…" I run my hand up and down his thigh, giving it a squeeze that's meant to be comforting and a little bit apologetic. "But until then we're stuck living in District 12 and we're stuck fighting starvation and we're stuck with the Hunger Games. Those are the cards we've been dealt." I bring the subject back around to where it started, hoping he will begin to really see the point. "Those are the circumstances under which you have to decide if you want to have children."
He's quiet for a moment and I almost believe the conversation to be over. The magpies won't shut up but other than that the woodland animals aren't making themselves known. A fresh breeze blows through our glade and my mind begins to drift towards spring and the woods coming back to life, but Gale's mind stays on the previous topic.
"I wouldn't mind having kids. Even living here, I still think I would like to have kids. I don't want the Capitol to take that away from me, too."
"Sure," I say icily, lifting my head off his shoulder. "So much better to let them take your actual children and put them to death for all of Panem to see. Nothing's going to change during our lifetime, Gale." I give him a stern look but I'm not sure it has any effect on him. "We don't have the means to fight. Life in Twelve is what it is. And the Hunger Games are going nowhere."
For two hours, we walk down our old familiar paths, checking the snares – all but one empty – and searching for prey. Gale manages to bring down a couple of birds. We gather what edible plants we can find. I wish I had time to go down to the lake and carve bark from the willow trees to bring to my mother, but it's close to lunchtime already and we need to be heading back soon. Along the way we stop at the glade again to divide our spoils between us.
I'm sitting on the log with the things we've gathered piled on my lap, trying to figure out how to best split it. I don't think it's fair to take half each when Gale's family has two more people, and sometimes one of our families has more of one thing and less or none of something else, so that goes into account as well. Gale is drumming his foot against the snowy ground, seeming impatient or still angry. When I glance at him I see he's biting his lower lip and has his eyes fixed on some spot in the distance.
"This is such a joke," he eventually grumbles. "Except not the least bit funny."
"What's a joke?" I ask patiently, taking a handful of winter berries and putting them in Gale's pile.
"That we spend all these hours out here and this is all we have to bring home to our families."
"It's more than most people have," I remind him mildly.
"Yeah… That's kind of the point. It's so messed up." He sighs quietly. "How can people live their whole lives like this?"
"Because it's the only option available to us," I sigh. I make a final decision in the dividing process and begin stuffing my takings into my bag. "Come on Gale, nobody in District 12 likes this any more than you do. Can we please not talk about this more today?"
"Alright."
"Good." I nod to the pile sitting on the log next to me. "What do you want to do with your share of the non-meats? If we want to make it to the Hob we have to hurry up."
He sits down beside me with another sigh, yet when I look at him he's got a small smile on his face, like he's trying to better the mood. He's looking at me rather strangely, actually – as if he's trying to read me or something.
"Is everything alright with you?" he asks is a kind tone of voice. It throws me for a bit of a loop because it's such a contrast from mere moments ago.
"With me?"
"Yeah, you…" The smile on his face falters a bit. "You've been so distant with me lately. Like you're miles away in your mind. Even… Even when we kiss – sometimes. Where do you go?"
"Distant?" I echo with scepticism. Wasn't it a mere week ago that I was making out with him on his bed? But I don't want to talk more today; I want to head back home and start preparing an early supper. Putting on a half-hearted smile I try to deflect his question with a joke. "Come on Gale, you know me better than anyone. You know I don't have the imagination to be somewhere else entirely in my mind." I rise and bend down to pick up my quiver and my bow, pushing back the braid that falls over my shoulder in the process.
"Yeah…" he replies. "I do know you better than anyone."
The implication seems clear enough that I feel my cheeks flush. He knows I'm not being entirely truthful but he's letting me off the hook. I reward him with a more genuine smile and a quick kiss, and when I pull back his hand lands on the back of my neck and keeps me close as he presses a gentle, loving kiss on my temple.
"Gale…" I say softly, all at once both a bit ashamed at not being entirely truthful with him and moved by his displays of tenderness and understanding. "I'm always right here."
"Okay," he nods, his voice quiet.
"I think we're still not quite settled in to our new roles, is all. We'll get there."
Judging by the look on his face he wonders if we shouldn't already be there but he doesn't say anything. He just gives my brow another kiss, finds my hand and squeezes it and then moves away from me to grab his own hunting gear and his game bag.
"Come on, love bug," he says, uttering the endearment in such a comical way that I know he's trying to get me to laugh, and I do indeed chuckle. "Let's go put our weapons away and head back to the Meadow. It's late in the day already."
"Let's do that," I nod, relieved that the conversation – at least for the time being – is over. With Gale in the kind of mood he's been in today I can't imagine having a conversation about what goes on in my mind sometimes when we kiss without ending up in an argument.
"And maybe you can let me be chivalrous and treat my best gal to a bowl of Greasy Sae's stew?" Gale says, holding out his hand for me to take.
"That sounds nice," I smile, taking his hand in mine even though I find it so impractical to walk through the woods holding hands. The paths are too narrow for us to walk side by side which to me negates the need for the handholding.
We begin our walk back towards the Meadow and the fences. As we walk I catch the hint of warmth in the breeze that has begun to blow – not much but one of the first signs this year of spring approaching. Or it may just be nothing, a coincidence or just something my mind cooked up on its own out of a longing for winter to finally be over. Whatever the case may be, the thought of spring drawing near fills my heart with both relief and joy. I can't wait for the cold, dark season to be behind us. Even though spring also means the end of school and the Hunger Games lurking around the corner.
The following afternoon springtime seems far away again, though it's actually a beautiful day outside with the sun shining from a bright blue sky and no icy winds blowing. It's gotten colder again though, which isn't that big of a surprise since it's only February. Peeta and I follow our agreed upon plan from last week and head to the library, me hurrying to pick the best available table and Peeta rushing to grab as many good biology and cognitive theory books as he can find. He comes back with a pile of seven or eight, enough that I'm a little concerned the pile is going to topple over and he'll drop them on the floor. He sets them down on the table with a loud bang that turns a nearby head or two.
"Geez Peeta. How many books do you think we need?" I ask, lifting the cover of the book at the top of the pile. It's old and has that old book smell about it, the pages having turned yellow years ago and the cover so faded that I can barely read it. "And don't you think we ought to go for the more… recent books?"
"How many recent books do you think this library has?" he replies dryly, pulling out the chair next to mine and taking a seat. He brushes a blond curl from his eyes and wiggles out of his backpack, setting it down on the empty chair on his other side and starts to rummage through it in search of everything he might be using this hour.
"Fair enough…" I say with somewhat reluctance. "But do you really think we'll have the time to go through all these books today?"
"No, probably not," he says in a completely carefree tone. "I just grabbed anything I could find that seemed to have something in it about babies and development. Fiction section excluded," he adds with a boyish wink.
"All books on those topics?" I question, setting the top book to the side and beginning to leaf through the second one. "What about our classmates who might need a book or two? They get the fiction?"
"I didn't take every copy of every book," he replies, sounding amused. "There are, like… three or four books left back there." He finishes unpacking his bag and sits up straight, flashing me a smile. "You know, it's an eat-or-be-eaten world, Miss Everdeen. If our classmates wanted those books so badly they could have made sure to get here first."
"Wow, I had no idea you had such a competitive streak."
"I'm an athlete," he replies with a small, crooked smile. "Compete is what I do." His face suddenly changes as a thought occurs to him and he begins rummaging through his backpack again. "Oh, we should exchange essays right away. Before we forget."
"Yeah, let's," I say, unable to conceal my displeased groan. I enjoyed writing the essay actually but I feel so nervous handing it to Peeta and letting him read it. What if he thinks what I wrote is stupid? What if he thinks my thoughts and concerns are ridiculous or that I would be a shrew of a wife? His essay will no doubt be close to perfect, both in whatever viewpoints he expresses and how he expresses them. I get the feeling that Peeta Mellark knows what things you should – and more importantly shouldn't – say in an essay like this and will have chosen what things to express around that. Not that I think he just made his whole essay up wholesale, but I believe he knows to withhold some things. I, on the other hand, seem to lack such a filter.
My heart sinks a bit when I take the essay he hands over to me. I count five pages filled with Peeta's neat and tidy penmanship. How does he find the time to do stuff like this? I enjoyed writing mine but it was a time-consuming task, taking up most of my evenings this past week while I wondered what things to express and how to best express them, making several different drafts and then finally writing it down into the finished product. Mine is just over two pages in length and I hate that my handwriting isn't as neat and nice as Peeta's.
"Great," he says with a good dose of enthusiasm, giving my work only a brief glance before putting it in his large notepad to keep it from getting wrinkled up in his bag. "I'm looking forward to reading it."
"Likewise," I tell him, making sure I put his essay away safely too. I really am looking forward to reading it. Right now though I have a large pile of biology and psychology textbooks to rummage through. "By the way, did you bring the other textbook?" I ask, lowering my voice and glancing around to make sure no one is too closely nearby.
"Uh-huh," he nods somewhat absentmindedly, studying the index at the back of one of the books and making page notes on his pad. "You?"
"Yeah. It's still in my bag, though."
He gives me a grin that would annoy me if it wasn't so disarmingly charming.
"You have nothing to worry about, Katniss. Even if they do 'catch us' with that book in here no one's going to care. They're earmarked for destruction anyway."
"Yeah. It's not that." I grimace, feeling a touch awkward. "It just feels so… in-your-face. We…" I lower my voice to a whisper for the next two words, "broke in into a room we weren't supposed to be. Sitting here openly reading those books seems like asking for a trip to the principal's office, just for the principle of the thing. Pun not intended."
"You're Katniss Everdeen," says Peeta while smiling at me like my name was similar in status to the most popular winners of the Games. He keeps his voice low so that people won't overhear us but there's a light in his eyes while he talks that makes me forget he's practically whispering. "You sneak out past the fences and into those woods every single week. You do far more daring things than borrow a couple of old textbooks."
"Borrow?" I question, a smile starting to appear on my face. Mostly because I'm amused at his choice of words but also in part because the way he's talking about me is making me feel… proud, I guess is the word. Still, I don't see much similarity between my hunting in the woods and us stealing into a hidden room at the library and taking books we're not supposed to have. Hunting is a necessity for survival and it doesn't harm anyone – game excluded. Taking those books was not a necessity exactly and probably not worth the consequences, should there be any. I don't regret what we did per se, it's just that it feels a bit wrong. Hunting has never felt that way to me. I don't plan on elaborating on this for Peeta, though, so I act indifferent, perhaps a touch amused even.
"You can't tell me you're intimidated by that little daring-do of ours," Peeta smiles. He then furrows his brow and tilts his head, the smile fading into a serious expression. "Is something else going on, Katniss? Something worrying you?"
"No!" I quickly assure him. "No, no, not at all. Just, you know… It feels a bit brazen to be reading that textbook openly in the library."
"We can hide it under the other books," he winks and I laugh a little.
"Yes. We can do that." I reach forward and brush aside another strand of his ashen hair and his smile returns. "By the way, I was thinking we should divide this up between us. One of us takes the psychology bits, mental development and all that, and the other one takes the somatic bits."
"Sure," he nods. "Yeah. Great idea. Which part do you want?"
"Somatic!" I say, almost a little too fast.
I doubt he's going to protest, he's far too much of a gentleman for that, but all the same I do have a little defence speech ready. He understands people's minds better than I do, I can ask my mother about the physiology and all that, et cetera. The bottom line though is I can't imagine that I would do a good job with the aspects that relate to the mind and Peeta seems to have a knack for it - and I just don't find any of that stuff interesting. I would much rather focus on the somatic parts, the parts that are about physical development and which can be described in simple, factual terms. Writing about various theories and such frustrates me to no end. This person theorizes this, this person theorizes that, nobody actually knows anything for a fact and nothing can be proven yet they go on and on and on about it and describe it in ridiculously complicated terms and we're supposed to learn them and reference them for reasons unknown. It's not for me. I want tangible facts, one correct answer to each question, the end.
"Okay," says Peeta, as predicted offering no objections to my request.
"Great!" I say, trying to hide my relief. It's odd, but I can feel my heart beating faster and my whole body having riled itself up in case I had to make my little defence speech. Even though I knew I most likely wouldn't have to and even though it's not even that big a deal. Everything that's going on around me these days, with the upcoming life changes and the final reaping and working out all relationship issues with Gale, seems to be getting to me a bit more than I expected.
"Alright then," Peeta says, opening a large and presumably very old book. A minor cloud of dust flies up in the air and he coughs, then sneezes. The sound is kind of cute and I relax a little bit more and almost manage a smile. Peeta looks at the first page, tilts his head a bit to the right and nods slightly. "Jean Piaget – whoever you are, it seems I'm about to get to know you better." He struggles quite a lot with the surname and makes a face afterward that I can only describe as unintentionally goofy. "Obviously I botched his name, so right from the get-go this is turning out fantastic."
"Indeed. Enjoy your budding friendship with mister… what's-his-name," I say, giving up on the name without even trying. All I have to go on anyway is Peeta's bungled pronunciation; I don't even know how it's spelled. Peeta laughs briefly, but heartily, and turns to a blank page in his notebook to begin his work properly.
"Thanks Katniss. It's good to know I have your moral support."
"Hey, what are fake spouses for?"
He makes a dramatic face and gives me a theatrical air kiss. Without really thinking about what I'm doing I return the gesture, two kisses in rapid succession. He smiles so widely it's as if the whole room lights up a bit. I smile too, though not as widely as him, and roll my eyes before shifting focus to the array of textbooks he brought. I pick one at random and page through the table of contents, hoping to find some good information inside.
"I can't believe we still have books in our school library spouting theories on didactics and mental development and stuff like that, in which the theories were old even before the dark days," notes Peeta with a chuckle. "I mean, honestly – spring for some fresh material, District 12."
"Eh, it's probably the Capitol that demands we use those books," I say with a shrug of my shoulder. "You know how big they are on tradition."
"Fair point. You got me there." He flashes me a grin and a wink, then harks and shifts his face into a serious expression so fast it almost makes me giggle. I manage to keep my own face serious and with a hark of my own I let my eyes leave my project spouse and focus instead on the workload.
We sit there and work, the new milieu surprisingly comfortable and relaxing. I've done school work in the library before but not much this year and not really with Peeta for the project. It's much quieter than the assembly room, the furnishing and the atmosphere in general is cosier – for lack of a better word – and it's even a degree or two warmer than most other rooms in the building. I find I quite like it. Perhaps we should go here and work in the future as well. We would be abandoning our favourite table but we could always find us another one in here. And there's the added bonus of neither Rusty nor Mallory being around to bother us.
Out of nowhere the serenity around us is disturbed by a soft humming. It's coming from Peeta, which surprises me a great deal. I look up at him and find him looking to be completely engrossed in the book he's reading. His elbow is on the table and his chin and cheek rest in his hand, his head tilted a bit to the side. Underneath the table I can feel his foot brushing lightly against mine as it swings to and fro in rhythm with his humming. He's not loud about it or anything but it's still perplexing and it doesn't really belong at the library. The oddest thing about it is I'm not even sure he's aware that he's doing it. I take a quick look around and spot someone two tables over looking over at us with a puzzled expression on their face.
"Peeta," I say under my breath, hoping to be discreet. "Stop humming."
"Mmm?" he responds, looking up at me with a somewhat questioning look.
"You're humming the Valley Song."
"Really?" His cheeks turn red. "Oh. Geez, I didn't even realize. I'm sorry." With a cringe he looks over his shoulder to see if anyone seems to have taken notice of his musicality. "That's embarrassing."
"It's okay. Don't worry about it. I'm pretty sure only I heard you, and I thought it was a little bit cute." A wide smile spreads across my face and I chuckle softly. "You honestly didn't know you were humming?"
"No, not really." He makes an awkward face and the hand which his head was just resting on now reaches back and begins to scratch or massage his neck. "I guess I was just miles away in my mind. Oh don't give me that sceptical look. Haven't you ever done that?"
I know he's referring to the humming without really realizing it part, but my mind sticks on the part about being miles away in your mind. Gale's words, the look on his face when he said them, the way things felt between us in that moment, all of it floats back and begins to form one of those uncomfortable knots in the pit of my stomach. I brace myself, gathering my inner strength but making sure none of what is going on inside is visible on the exterior. This won't do. This isn't something I can be wrapped up in thinking about while we're doing our school work.
"My mind's not really much of a traveller," I lie, hoping Peeta won't find that comment meriting further discussion or prodding. I like the guy but he can be awfully nosy at times. I shrug my shoulder as if to signal that I consider the matter unworthy of a conversation and I turn my eyes back to my textbook. "And I definitely don't hum, or sing."
"That's not true," he says. His voice is kind, warm even, but I scowl when I look back up at him.
"No, really," I say with emphasis. "I don't do that. Anymore."
He looks uncomfortable, flashing me a quick apologetic smile before turning all his attention to the work in front of him. Obviously he wants to move on from this particular conversation as fast as possible. I feel uncomfortable too, having no more wish to talk about singing than talking about my sometimes-wandering mind. I know he means that I have a good singing voice, I've sung at school a handful of times when I was younger, but it's not something I do more than on rare occasions now. Peeta and I may have begun to develop an actual friendship to some degree but this is not something I feel he has the right to ask lots of questions about, and on that matter I am grateful to him for reading my cues and quickly shifting his attention elsewhere. Singing died with my father, more or less, and that's all there is to say about it.
We spend the next five or ten minutes working quietly, nothing heard but pages turned and pencils scribbling. Soon I start to find the silence bothersome. I don't want the atmosphere between Peeta and me to be uncomfortable. Things with Gale are complicated right now, things with my mother are never all that fantastic, things with Prim are starting to change with her aging and that's not entirely easy for me… I can't quite explain it but it sort of feels like the hour I spend with Peeta every week should be easy and light spirited. It's probably the least significant relationship in my life at the moment and as such it shouldn't be bogged down by drama or foul moods or anything like that. I would like just one hour of my week to be spent in unchallenging company. I don't want it to feel the way it does at this moment. Not that Peeta and I are arguing, but we're not at our finest right now either.
"The more I read about this, the more pointless everything seems," I hear myself sigh heavily. Then I laugh slightly at myself. Way to lighten the mood there, Katniss. Peeta's face is the picture of confusion when he looks up at me, his blue eyes wide and puzzled. "Sorry, I was just… I don't know. I meant to say something, you know, lightly conversational and instead said, well, that."
"It did sound kind of dreary," Peeta remarks. Already I can tell by his voice that the mood between us has lightened, and he's probably going to start trying to get me to smile again. "And not just a little bit confusing," he continues. "You read about how a child physically develops between birth and early adolescence and somehow forests and districts and potatoes lose their meaning."
"That's not quite what I meant," I say, struggling not to laugh. Seriously – potatoes? But my desire to laugh quickly dies when I think about what I truly did mean. The smile fades from my face and Peeta's face turns solemn as well, his head tilting to the left as he listens to me. "I just meant… What I meant to say was… It just… You know, parents spend all that time, money, effort and affection raising an infant into a child. Children spend all those years growing and learning and shaping who they should become. And then Effie effin' Trinket pulls one of their names from a reaping ball and it's all snuffed out. Like that," I finish with a snap of my fingers.
Peeta nods slowly. He grabs his pencil and underlines something in the textbook in front of him, then jots down the page number on the page open in his notepad. He's got each of his textbook titles written down there and each page he wants to revisit noted with it. He's so meticulous. I like that about him. Then he pushes the book to the side and crosses his arms on the table, leaning closer.
"I know," he says. "I know. It's… stupid and unfair and… and frankly I can't think of words heavy enough to accurately describe it."
"It's complete and utter bullshit," I say, staring distantly over his shoulder while I think back on the previous day and Gale's long rants in the woods. I'm not sure why but something about reading how a child grows and develops seems to make the senselessness of the Hunger Games even more staggeringly clear than before.
"Yeah," says Peeta contemplatively. "I suppose."
"You suppose?"
"It's…" He pauses and looks around to see if anyone is close enough to overhear. There's nobody sitting at the nearest tables but the general volume is so low in here that voices carry much further. He gets up and walks over to my side of the table, pulling out the chair next to me and sitting down, leaning in closer to me as he speaks, his voice a bit muted. "It's tyranny, Katniss. I don't know if I necessarily call that bullshit because it's far too serious for that."
"And yet you sound completely casual when you talk about it," I remark dryly.
"Do I?"
"Yes," I say, my eyes staring into his, my brow furrowed. There's none of Gale's anger, passion and battle in Peeta's tone of voice. He sounds academic, if anything.
"I'm not casual."
"Well you're certainly not angry either."
"No."
"N… no?" His easy dismissal of my accusation surprises me probably more than anything else he's ever said or done.
"I just don't think that me being angry is going to resolve anything," says Peeta. "I hate the Games as much as you do, as much as anyone does, but me being infuriated about it is not going to change anything."
"Just accepting it won't change anything either," I point out, thinking of Gale and his many rants against the Capitol.
"No, I know," says Peeta. "But, I mean... I have two brothers. If one of them had gotten reaped and died in the arena I would have been devastated and I would rage at the unfairness of it all." He looks pensive for a second, as if pondering how to best phrase what he wants to say next. I wait, almost with bated breath. He looks up at me and gestures with his hands, like that would help him find the words. Gale often does a lot of hand-gesturing during his rants, but Peeta's movements are softer, more restrained. Then he speaks. "Say that that had happened and I had the chance to go to the Capitol and kill President Snow's granddaughter in retaliation."
I nod my head slowly. I've heard Gale talk about similar scenarios though never quite so explicit and certainly not anywhere other than the relative sanctuary of the woods. I didn't even know the president had a granddaughter, unless Peeta is just talking in hypothetical terms.
"I'm with you so far," I say.
"If I did that then how am I any better? An eye for an eye, an arm for an arm... I don't buy into all that. Someone once said that an eye for an eye would make the entire world blind, and all that would happen in the end is that I would be just the same as the people we all think so poorly of, those who do this to us every year."
"You wouldn't be," I say, though as I say the words I'm not sure I believe them. I haven't actually thought along those lines before. Again I think of Gale and what he would say in response to this. "They would have taken your brother and they would have killed him on television for the sake of entertainment, after pushing him to try and kill other kids. You can't compare the two."
"I think you can," argues Peeta. "A life is a life, no matter what. President Snow's granddaughter's life is not worth more than anyone else's just because of where she was born and what family she was born into but it's not worth less either, and my brother's life isn't worth more than hers. It is to me, but not to the world at large." He draws a deep breath through his nose. "I hope you see what I'm saying."
I nod again.
"Yeah, maybe."
"Killing a Capitol citizen in retaliation for my brother would perhaps feel good at the time. I don't know. I don't expect it would but it's almost impossible to know how I would feel in such an event. Even if it did feel great it would be a hollow victory and it wouldn't bring my brother back. Sooner or later that rage would return along with the grief. More likely than not I'd just feel worse for what I'd done, no matter how justified it may have seemed at the time." He pauses, then looks straight into my eyes with an intensity that makes me gasp. It feels like my heart is beating stronger, faster, but I'm not entirely sure. "I don't want to become like them, Katniss. I don't believe that's the way to change the world. Anger and rage can consume you, turn you into something uglier than what you were before. Maybe we'll never be free of the Capitol and the Hunger Games. Not in our lifetimes, maybe not ever. I don't think anyone knows. All I know is that I deeply believe that if we were to win our freedom by fighting them on their own level we wouldn't really win at all."
"We would be free," I argue. What else is there? What else really matters as long as we're not?
"Maybe," he replies, not sounding convinced in the slightest. "Or we might end up in another form of enslavement. We might in fact end up trying to even the score and put Capitol children in Hunger Games. Satisfactory for some, I should imagine. For my own part I would just feel hollow and ashamed." He shakes his head. "You probably feel that I'm an idiot and weakling for what I'm about to say – but I'd rather be one of the people who risks going into the arena than one of the people who puts others there. At least the way things are now I can live with myself."
He stops talking and stares at his hands. For a moment I sit there quietly, taking in everything he's said. He's right, in a way I do think he is an idiot. How can anyone prefer being one of the people whose names are in the reaping balls, who fears having children because they might end up becoming tributes? There's also a part of me that, to my own surprise, agrees with him. We all hate the people in the Capitol for their part in the Games. How could we then possibly want to be like them?
I reach out my hand and put it over his. His hand feels warm and surprisingly soft beneath my own. He looks up at me at the touch.
"You're not an idiot," I say. "Or a weakling. I think... I think what you just said is one of the... one of the most excellent descriptions I have ever heard of the way things are."
There's a shift in his eyes at my words, as if he is relieved that I didn't put him down. He turns his hand around so that we're kind of holding hands and he gives mine a light squeeze. It feels surprisingly natural. Surprisingly good.
"You know, I do want things to be different," he says softly, almost vulnerably.
"Yeah," I nod.
"And if it takes fighting, if it takes a war or a revolution to accomplish it then I don't condemn that either. I suspect I'd take part in fighting, just like everyone else. It's just the thought of sinking to that level…" He harks and then draws a deep breath. "What is my freedom worth if I allow them to completely change me in the process? I want freedom as much as the next person, but if I can't stay me…"
"I know Peeta," I say gently, not sure where all this understanding in me is coming from. My hand separates from his just enough so that my fingers can caress his palm; his fingers respond and begin dancing with my own. "I know."
"There must be a way of fighting, of rebelling, and still retaining our humanity and morality." He sighs heavily and looks morose. His fingers pause, then intertwine with mine and squeeze, locking our hands together in a way that not only feels natural but also feels very good and reassuring. I don't know that I consider myself much of a hand holder but right now I find I'm dreading the point where I will have to let go. "Or maybe I'm wrong," Peeta continues. "Maybe that line of thinking is what keeps us under the Capitol's thumb. Maybe bringing the fight to their level is the only way we can ever be free."
"Peeta let's not think about it anymore right now," I say softly.
"Would you think it worth it, though?" he asks, looking deep into my eyes. "Raging a war by their rulebook if it led to a better world?"
I let out a short laugh, my eyes momentarily resting on our intertwined hands. My olive skin in his pale, complementing each other.
"Had you asked me that twenty-four hours ago I would have said yes." I meet his eyes again and I give him a smile that's both meant to be encouraging and appreciative. "I never even considered the things you just said."
He licks his lips.
"And now?"
"Now, I… I think there's a lot to what you are saying. I somehow haven't considered it before, you know? What lengths I would consider it acceptable to go to in order to become free." I let out another brief chortle. "You know, it's funny. Despite the rebellion leading to the Hunger Games and the obliterating of District 13, no one seems to take consequences into account when they talk about rising up again." I haven't actually heard anyone but Gale, and now Peeta, talk about this subject, though I get the strong feeling that those who secretly dream of overthrowing the oppressive government haven't taken into account the things Peeta brings up.
"I guess people don't truly want to think about those aspects," murmurs Peeta. "And it's all academic, anyway." He swallows, smiles softly. "At least for now. Who knows what will happen further down the road? Who knows how long you can push people down before they spring back up and fight to defend themselves. I can only hope that if and when that moment comes, there will be level-headed leaders and figureheads who keep their humanity in mind, and who aspire to make the world better and not just to turn the wheel so that those previously on the top are now at the bottom and vice versa."
"Uh-huh," I nod. My eyes are still locked with his and we've been looking each other in the eye for so many minutes by now that I'm almost transfixed. All the things he's said are starting to take root in me, like seeds planted in the earth and beginning to slowly grow. I've never thought of a rebellion as an actual possibility and therefore never given any thought to how such a thing would be carried out and what implications and consequences there would be. I've listened to Gale's thoughts on the subject for years and now I understand I've come to accept his views as the way it would be. Now Peeta has put an entirely different spin on it, shown it in a whole new light. And I realize somewhere deep within me that I agree with him.
We keep gazing into each other's eyes, the moment holding a grip on us that I can't explain and don't even want to. I can feel the energy between Peeta and me, a sensation unlike anything I've ever felt before. I don't know what it is or what it means, but for once in my life I don't feel frightened by it. It feels like something more ought to happen, only I don't know what it is.
We both startle when the bell sounds out in the hallway, signalling the end of the last class of the day. Our hands fly apart and we both sort of retreat in our own chairs, eyes awkwardly searching for some other place to look.
"Shit, I completely derailed us," says Peeta. His voice sounds so loud now that he speaks in a normal tone of voice again after having that whole conversation in muted tones. "God, I'm sorry Katniss. We squandered quite a lot of time."
"It was my fault," I say calmly, despite the feeling now running through me. All the draw of the previous moment has gone and reality come back in its place, cold and harsh. Whatever that was that just happened it shouldn't have. Not between people like Peeta and me. I know it, and Peeta does too.
"I don't know what happened there," he says, hastily moving back to his original seat. His hands are suddenly very busy gathering everything up in a hurry. "I didn't mean to be… I mean, I don't want our conversation just now to be misconstrued."
"It was just a conversation," I say, though I know without a doubt that something beyond that was going on.
"Sure," Peeta eagerly nods. His things are quickly disappearing into his backpack without his usual neat way of packing everything. "But I mean, all the same…" He pauses and cringes. "You know, I mean, if I had been in Gale's shoes I wouldn't have appreciated seeing my girlfriend in a situation like that. It could easily be misinterpreted, I mean," he hastily adds. Then he snorts and shakes his head, pausing for another moment. "I think I was behaving inappropriately with you, Katniss, and I sincerely apologise. I didn't mean to do so, it just kind of… I don't know, I kind of just slipped into it."
"We slipped into it," I say. For once I understand exactly what he is trying to say. That what started as an innocent conversation and developed into a surprisingly emotional moment, making two people seek some solace and reassurance in one another, would look different to an on-looking eye. And Gale would have every right to feel upset seeing his girlfriend hold hands with another boy and stare into his eyes. Without knowing that we were talking about death and destruction it could easily seem all wrong. Thankfully he doesn't know, and I see no reason to tell him.
"Well, either way, it was…" Peeta frowns, stuffing the last of his things into his bag, leaving only the library books which he will need to check out before he goes. "I guess I can get a little… intense at times."
"There's nothing wrong with that," I say, managing a smile as I begin packing up my own things, much less hurriedly than him. "Either way, what's important isn't how it looks. What's important is that you and I both know that there's nothing between us but being project partners. Possibly being friends." Except there is a whole lot more. The thing we've never once addressed. Him saving my life all those years ago.
Peeta smiles at my words but there doesn't seem to be a single sliver of real happiness behind it. If anything he looks defeated. Then he harks and throws his backpack over his shoulder, gathering his library books in his arms.
"True," he says. "Very true. I mean, obviously, right? You're in love with Gale, and I… Actually I'm seeing someone now."
I'm completely stumped by this revelation. So much so that I don't even think to ask who he's seeing.
"Oh," is all I manage. "Oh, well that's… that's real nice."
"It's still very early. Not sure where it's going to go, if it is going to go somewhere." He shrugs. "But it's nice, you know? Maybe I can… forget about the things I can't control or change and open my eyes to good things elsewhere."
I haven't got the first idea what any of that means. Slowly I pack up my things, feeling so oddly affected by the news that Peeta has a new girlfriend. Or does it not count as that just yet? He said he was seeing someone, which, as Madge pointed out to me, can simply mean testing the waters together. Still, this is surprising news to me, although it really shouldn't be. Much like Gale was ever popular with Seam girls, Peeta is popular with merchant girls, and for good reason. It's not often you come across a boy with such nice qualities and good looks. Of course he's dating someone.
I look at him, no doubt with a stupid dumbfounded look on my face. He's looking back at me with a small, crooked smile, library books pressed under his armpit.
"I need to rush. Wrestling practice."
"Yeah," I nod. "Uh-huh."
"We can both work on our own parts at home until next week, and reassess then to see if we need to put in any extra time together because of today's… digressions." Momentarily his smile seems genuinely warm. "Thank you for today, Katniss. Great work – and thanks for a very interesting conversation. It's not often I get the chance to talk to someone about things like that."
"Bye," I say, and then he's off, heading for the checkout desk where Ms. Dunhill will register the books to him for the following ten days.
Sighing heavily I pack up the last of my things. My head, and my emotions, feels like a jumbled mess after this last hour. I don't regret a single minute of it, even if it was a bit out of line. But when I leave the table all I seem to be able to focus on is the inexplicable feeling in my chest at the thought of Peeta dating someone. Whatever the feeling is, I don't want any of it. I wish I knew how to get rid of it, but I don't. So I'll just have to accept it.
Phew! So that was that.
The person Peeta quotes about an eye for an eye is, of course, Gandhi. The fact that he's dating someone was a last minute addition when I was having trouble wrapping up the chapter. We'll see if it goes somewhere or not. Probably not. He is still very much hung up on Katniss, after all.
Thanks for reading - I can't tell you how much I appreciate you all for still being with me. I would love to hear your thoughts on the chapter, whether positive or constructive. Hope I will see you all again soon!