I'm a bit scatterbrained at present, so there might be grammatical errors or other similar things. If you find any, please let me know, so that I can fix it. Thnx! =)
Peeta stays home from school for three days. Not quite enough, in my opinion, but at least better than nothing. We run into each other a few minutes before our first Friday morning class, his first morning back. We nearly walk right into each other, just as he's closing his locker and I'm zig-zagging between classmates to get to through to class. He looks better than he did on Monday, no cheeks flushed with fever, no glossy eyes, but his nose is still red, and he's got a handkerchief in his left hand. When he sees me he grins and raises both hands.
"Please don't kidnap me," he says, his voice still hoarse and stuffy but he sounds a lot less tired than he did when we last saw one another.
"Well that depends," I say, crossing my arms and trying to contain a smile. "Will you be a good boy and not keel over half-dead before lunch?"
He doesn't say anything, probably trying to spare what little voice he's got at this point, but he keeps smiling at me and with his right index finger he draws a cross over his heart. I flash him a quick smile and move past him to get to class. I regret that smile instantly, as I hear one of his dim-witted friends opening his mouth behind me.
"Did I just see Katniss Everdeen flirting with you?" says said dim-witted friend, flabbergasted by the sound of it. I turn my head and, not entirely sure which friend opened his mouth, give the entire group of guys standing around Peeta a scowl. The guilty party laughs, and I do my best to ignore him as I walk into the room. "Yeah that scowl was a lot more familiar!" I hear him add.
I find an empty seat and pull out a chair, feeling irritated already, and it's not even eight o'clock. Not that I want to be flirty with any of the guys at school, or have ever even cared what they think of me romance-wise, but it's a little bit hurtful to hear some guy speak of me as if the mere thought of me exhibiting such behaviour is unbelievable. I would like to be a lot better at the romantic stuff, I think Gale deserves as much, and while his opinion ought to be the only one that matters I would like to think I at least have the capacity to be convincingly flirty with any guy I choose.
With a sigh I push the thought from my mind. None of that matters right now, I suppose. I, along with the rest of my classmates, will be spending the next hour rehashing previous winners of the Hunger Games. There's been no official information about this, but we all have a sneaking suspicion that one of our main final exams is going to be about the Games. It has been almost every year.
As if it wasn't enough that we have one more Reaping to survive, merely a week after our graduation.
Later that day we get forty minutes of spare time, thanks to our math teacher haven taken ill. Like most of our classmates, Madge and I spend that time in the assembly room, me doing homework and Madge studying for the one major exam we know for sure is coming – coal. We work in silence, Madge and I, barely uttering a word between us for nearly half an hour. It's familiar and it's comfortable and being able to sit with her and be in each other's company without talking all the time is one of the things I've always liked about her. Somehow though it feels a bit strange nowadays – at least in the assembly room. The majority of the time I spend here nowadays is in Peeta's company and we talk quite a lot. You have to when you're partnering on a project, but it's more than that. He's talkative and inquisitive and somehow he's gotten me dragged into it. I've come to like it and sitting in total silence feels kind of weird. Just not weird enough that I'd start a conversation. I may have changed a bit over the years, but I haven't changed that much.
I look over at the table where Peeta sits together with a group of his friends. They talk in muted voices amongst each other and knowing Peeta it's about both schoolwork and other things, jumbled together. The boys seem to be debating something at the moment and I alter between looking down at my work and glancing over at them so that none of them will notice me and make a thing out of it. That's the last thing either of us needs, especially after that earlier remark about me possibly flirting with him. One glance goes in Madge's direction, making sure she doesn't notice me watching Peeta either. She seems to think I like him more than as just friends and I suppose I don't blame her for guessing that. She doesn't know our history with the bread and the dandelion. I could explain it to her, but I prefer keeping it to myself. I haven't even told Peeta about what that all meant to me and it seems he should be the first to hear.
When I look over at Peeta again the girl I suspect is his girlfriend, or soon to be anyway, has come up to the boys' table and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, her arms falling down over his chest and her cheek pressing against his. She's saying something to him and he's smiling warmly, one hand coming up to pat her on the arm. I almost forget I'm only watching him on the sly, I'm so engrossed in the scene playing out before my eyes. I scowl as I watch them, not sure I like the idea of him dating her. They don't seem right for one another. She kisses him on the cheek and then pulls away from him and quickly I turn my eyes back to my books in case she's heading this way.
I notice Madge looking at me, looking as if she's confused or surprised, yet somehow also… not. I can't explain it, and because she doesn't say a word I try to act as if there's nothing for her to react to. Not that there really is. But I make sure not to cast a single look in Peeta's direction for the duration of the day.
Come Monday Peeta has recuperated enough so that his voice is mostly back to normal. He's stuck with a cough, which he tries to claim is not too bad even though by the time he says that to me I've already heard him have several long coughing fits during the day. I would like to point out to him that he ought to pass on wrestling practice this week as well, but I don't bother. If he was dead set on going last week, and it took the combined efforts of me and my mother to dissuade him, then nothing I say or do is going to keep him away now. Especially now that he's missed more than one practice and needs to make up for lost time.
Our envelope this week contains a lot more than just the one sheet of paper. Peeta is the one who opens it, and I watch him eye through the first paragraph or so, after which a smile that I can only describe as being somewhat sad comes upon his face. He looks up at me, a touch of warmth adding to that smile but doing nothing to make it seem happier.
"This is… surprisingly bittersweet," he says.
"What is?" The answer hits me while I'm asking the question. "Oh…" Suddenly I understand that smile, and I believe my own is matching his. Acting on instinct I reach out and place my hand on top of his. "It's our last scenario, isn't it?"
"It is," he confirms with a nod. "The very last…" He laughs briefly, wistfully. "Who'd have thought there would be an element of sadness to seeing this whole thing end?"
I have no answer to that. If anything I am relieved that he feels the same way I do. With all the negativity I've spewed over this project one would think I'd be nothing but glad to know it is about to be over soon, but even though I've recognized for a few weeks now that I would also miss working on it, it surprises me to feel this much melancholy over it.
But there's no use in sitting here lamenting. I give Peeta's hand a pat before pulling my own hand back, and try to make my smile seem more upbeat.
"Let's make it one hell of a last assignment, then. Knock it out of the park. What do you say, project-husband dearest?"
"Well, darling," he replies, drawing out the a-sound while pronouncing it in his best Effie Trinket impersonation, "I think we should make this our best work yet." His smile becomes a bit more cheerful, too. "Set an example for future generations."
"Right," I chuckle softly. "Alright, then. What does our last quest entail?"
"Well, let me see here…" he says, a wrinkle appearing on his brow as he begins to eye the text again. "There are quite a lot of instructions for parts of it; I'll let you read through it all on your own in just a minute…" I watch his eyes move rapidly from side to side as he reads. He hums every other second, furrows his brow a bit deeper after a while, then turns to the second page. There are three pages all in all, and two thicker envelopes included as well. There also appears to be a list of some sort, and I'm tempted to read it while I wait for him to summarize our assignments for me, but I decide not to since it might not make sense to me yet. Finally he turns to the third page, skims through it in a rapid pace and then looks at me. "You won't believe this, but there's no budget this time." He lets out a brief, incredulous laugh. "I almost feel like I don't know who I am anymore."
"You make your jokes," I say, rolling my eyes slightly. "I'm cheering inside."
"You might not be in two seconds. See those envelopes?"
"Yeah?"
"We each have to write a big essay, seven to ten pages, summarizing what we've learned, what we will take with us into our soon-to-be futures, and wax philosophically about the purpose of marriage." He raises an eyebrow. "All but two of those words were theirs, not mine."
"Seven pages minimum?" I wail, running both my hands through my hair. "Are they trying to kill us before the Hunger Games might?"
"Oh, it gets better," he says. "The essays aren't the only thing that goes in those envelopes." He lets the instruction sheets drop to the table and smiles without any trace of mirth whatsoever. "We have to write an additional three pages discussing our partner's performance, including things we think he or she needs to improve upon in 'future life'," he says, making air quotes around the last two words. He scoffs, sounding near disgusted with the idea. "And I don't mean in general, but things they said or did or suggested as solutions to the assignments we've had."
"I think I might be nauseous," I groan.
"It's brutal," says Peeta flatly. "Not only does it feel like an assignment with the potential for cruelty and for creating some serious problems for people who are partnered with their boyfriend or girlfriend, but three whole pages?" He makes a miserable face. "What am I supposed to write about you? 'Ideal project partner' doesn't take up three pages no matter how large you write it."
Even with the enormous frustration, not to mention trepidation, I'm feeling right now I feel a wave of pride and happiness wash through me when he says that, and even though I only manage a little smile it is a very genuine one. And part of it is that I know he means it.
"Thank you," I say with all my sincerity. "If you figure out how to do that, please let me in on the secret. As far as I know, 'perfect project partner' doesn't take up a lot of space, either."
His smile is as small as mine, and it's a bit melancholic even though I can tell he's as genuinely moved by that as I was by what he said.
"I guess we ended up being a great match," he says in a very simple and honest way. "I guarantee you I would have been a crap partner if I had been doing this thing with Mallory." I laugh a little, not because it's all that funny, but because I feel a bit bashful. "I suppose some minds work better together than others. You know, bring out the best in one another?"
"Ideal teammates," I suggest, to which he nods. I blush a little as I put my next thought to words. "Fittingly… the way a real marriage ought to work." Quickly I clear my throat and embellish on the thought. "Except, you know, that instead of make-believe scenarios where you have to pour over books to learn about twins, it's… well, real marriage."
Before the moment can get too intense, or too awkward, Peeta gets another coughing fit. He turns away from the table and coughs into the bend of his arm for a good minute or so, his face turning red. Quickly I get up, a little bit relieved to step away from the table for a second to be honest, and head over to the water fountain by the entry. There's a dispenser full of plastic cups next to it and I fill one up with water and bring it back to him. He's still coughing when I set it down in front of him, though not quite so much, and he croaks out a 'thank you' before drinking it. Once the coughs have subsided he seems to need a second to collect his bearings and in the meantime I grab the three pages of instructions and read them myself.
It's a disheartening read. Not only is there a full page detailing instructions for the essay and the partner evaluation, the other page and a half contain one last scenario, divided into two parts. In the first part they have seen fit to give us more marital problems, as – shock and surprise – having three babies within the span of a couple of years can put a strain on a relationship. Not only are we apparently fighting, and have to write something together about why we think that might be – as if the aforementioned babies wouldn't be the obvious answer – and what advice we would like to give to our fictional selves. The second part is no more cheerful, as we might be happy as can be in our make-believe marriage again, but our children have now grown bigger and they are starving and we have to try and think outside the box to find extra monetary resources, or some other way of putting food on the table. There are at least some aspects that aren't so dreary. We need to write something about how we can best help our children with schoolwork, what kind of things we think they can do to help out around the house at various ages, and finally – and this part surprises me a great deal – a jump ahead several years into the future, when our children have grown up, married and left the house. This part only gets one bullet point but interests me more than all other parts of this assignment combined. It's about what we expect it will be like once our children leave home and it's only the two of us again, both the good and the bad.
"I have to say…" I murmur, "I'm pleasantly surprised."
"How is that?" croaks Peeta, still recovering from his coughs.
"Not a single thing about our children having the high honour of ending up in the Hunger Games, or dying of starvation or sickness, or one of us dying." I feel a shiver run through me as I think of what it would be like to have to write something that I can draw far too much inspiration from in real life. "Once I got to the end of it I half expected the last bit to revolve around getting to the age where one of us would have likely died."
"Always the optimist," says Peeta hoarsely, his face still red. He coughs twice more and gets up, cup in hand, presumably to go get more water. I follow him with my eyes for a second, then eye all our instructions again with a sigh.
"I hate this already," I mumble. It's almost as if our teachers intentionally made the last assignment such a huge chore in order to cure those of us who were starting to feel like we might just miss all of this.
I had been naïve enough to hope for a lighter burden this week, figuring that we'd get a brief moment of respite before kicking into gear with the last big workload. I could very much have used more spare time on my hands this week, since I've got enough on my mind with my personal life. Gale's birthday is coming up, his twentieth, and while we haven't said anything about it to each other I know he will be expecting me to pay him a visit that day. Which is exactly what I intend to do, that itself is not the problem.
"Geez, sorry about that," gasps Peeta, bringing me out of my thoughts as he plops down on his chair, half-filled mug in one hand and wiping his mouth with the other. "Thank you for getting me water."
I eye him sceptically, one eyebrow raised.
"I suppose there's no point in asking how you think you'll get through wrestling practice without coughing up a lung?"
"Because I have to," he answers simply. Before I can ask follow-up questions, or pester him in any other way, he opens his notebook and starts making dots for a bullet-point list. "Okay, so, how do you want to divide the work?"
Despite knowing that we've got quite a workload in these last few weeks, my mind begins to wander about halfway through the hour. I wanted to work on the part about finding extra resources and putting more food on the table, and that should keep me more than occupied, but now that the proverbial dust has settled from the disheartening assignments our teachers dumped on us my mind keeps going to a more immediate issue, one that pertains to real life. I almost wish we had opted for working first on the assignment that we need to do together, on why our pretend marriage is having problems and how to best solve them. That would have been sufficiently distracting as it would have involved continuous discussions with Peeta, but he wanted to wait until next week, when his voice will be back completely. So here I sit, working on my own thing and mostly in silence, while Peeta sits opposite me, chewing on the plastic cap to one of his pencils, channelling his most pedagogical sides for the assignment he's working on.
The issue that my brain keeps wanting to focus on is that of Gale's upcoming birthday. Specifically, how to best congratulate him, and not just in a general way, but in a girlfriend way. It feels like a lot of pressure, when I've never had any concerns about his birthday in the past. But I want to make it special for him this year. I want to make him feel appreciated. Birthdays have always been a bit of a thing in the Hawthorne family; Hazelle feels it is important that her children should all have one day a year when they get to feel special and be celebrated, and while Gale is certainly mature enough not to make a huge deal about it if I don't mark the occasion in some extra special way, I know I want to do something special for him. I'm still trying to find my footing as a girlfriend, and not falling flat on my face on this particular score feels important.
"Hello? Earth to Katniss?" The words reach me, but I barely hear them. A sing-song-y whistle makes me more alert and I slowly turn my head in my project partner's direction. Peeta is looking at me very sceptically and I immediately blush, realizing I've been ignoring both him and our project for several minutes.
"Sorry," I mumble, resting my chin in the palm of my hand and hoping that my fingers will cover my cheek enough that he can't detect their colour.
"I hope you were someplace nice," he says, shifting in his chair and picking his pencil back up, scepticism still in his eyes. "A beach at sunset perhaps, or a large buffet table just for you personally. And for Prim, I guess."
"No…" I sigh, trying to focus on the work in front of me, but it seems like my eyes won't register the words I've written down thus far. "I mean, yeah, of course."
"Hey, I wasn't prying, no need to lie," he says. "You don't have to talk about it, but given our rather gruelling workload for this last leg of the project, I will ask you to hold off at least twenty more minutes before losing yourself to daydreams."
"I was not daydreaming!" I scoff.
"Fine, whatever. But I do need you to focus on this, just a little while longer." He's quiet for a few seconds, his eyes darting between me and his notebook several times. "Unless something's up and you want to put a pin in this for now, get on home and schedule some extra work time later this week?" He adopts an almost annoyingly understanding tone. "That would be fine with me, really, because I have a sneaking suspicion this will demand of us an entire Sunday of extra work, anyway. Not going to miss that once the project ends…"
"That won't be necessary, thanks," I mumble, writing the last words of the sentence I was working on before drifting off. "You were right before. We ought to be as efficient as we can while we're on school hours."
"Okay," he answers in what's practically a mumble, his eyes now glued to what he's writing.
I cross my arms on the table and lean over them, looking at the sociology textbook open in front of me and trying to concentrate on finding the information that I need, but I feel bad. I've admonished Peeta in the past when I've felt he hasn't had his mind on the school work, and I have to admit that my accusations haven't always been well founded. It's not right of me to sit here and think about other things, especially to the point where I zone out and forget what I'm supposed to be doing. If nothing else I owe him honesty.
"It's Gale's birthday on Thursday."
"Oh. That's nice. You guys, uh…" He clears his throat. "Doing anything special?"
"Well, not really, but… I was distracted because I was thinking about it."
Peeta looks up at me briefly, a small smile on his lips.
"Don't worry about it."
"Yeah," I nod. "Thanks."
I keep my eyes on the work in front of me for the duration of the hour, but the truth is I get next to nothing done. I strongly suspect that Peeta notices, since I only write down one or two sentences in twenty minutes' time, but he's far too polite to ever comment or reproach me. I feel terrible about it and make a promise to myself that I will have my share of the work done by tomorrow morning, even though it's not due for another two weeks and even though Peeta won't know about it until next Monday anyway.
Project hour ends and Peeta begins gathering his things, pausing to cough into the bend of his arm. I immediately drift off again, my eyes travelling somewhere else in the room though I have little to no idea what I'm actually looking at. A hand appears in front of my face, slowly moving up and down accompanied by a whistle. I startle and turn my head to find Peeta leaning over the chair in-between us, supporting his weight by resting his other hand on the table, looking at me with concern.
"You're just someplace else entirely, aren't you?" he says, his words teasing but his tone serious. He straightens his back and puts the last of his things in his backpack. "If you don't mind me asking, what's so complicated about Gale having a birthday?"
"I want to get him a present," I tell him, unsure if he cares enough about this to listen but also not sure if there's anyone else who might. Peeta is a good listener and has a good head on his shoulders. Plus, he's a guy. He might be able to help me out, even though I have a feeling he's the last person I ought to be asking. In fact, if I hadn't known he was seeing someone I probably would have felt inappropriate asking him. "Which is to say…" I continue with a bit of hesitation, "I don't know if he wants me to. We've never exchanged gifts before but I'm his girlfriend now and I want to give him something, you know – show him that I care."
"Well he probably already knows that," says Peeta, his voice sounding a little strange. "Is there a reason why you think he might not want a gift from you?"
"We've never been much for that kind of stuff, either one of us. We both want to pay for what we get."
"How does that apply to birthday presents?" asks Peeta. "And from your girlfriend or boyfriend especially?"
"I give people birthday presents," I feel the need to interject. "Especially for Prim I try to find something great. But family is one thing…"
"I've never not given a girlfriend of mine a birthday present," he replies, cringing before he coughs again, this time into his palm. "I don't know Gale very well, or at all in fact, but I doubt that he would feel beholden to you if you got him a present for his birthday. If anything, I think he would really love it. And he'll return the gesture on your birthday, right? So it all evens out in the end."
"I don't think he wants me to spend my money on him. He knows we barely have enough to go around." The last bit is difficult to admit out loud, and I blush slightly as I say it, but it's not like Peeta isn't already aware.
"Gifts don't have to involve money." His eyes go to the clock on the wall and I realize he might be running late for wrestling practice. I force a smile on my lips.
"I should let you go. Thanks for the advice."
"Yeah, sure. Anytime." He puts his backpack on and runs a hand through his beard. "Thanks for today, Katniss."
"Hey Peeta!" I call out just as he's about to leave the table. He stops and turns back to me, even though he can't be late for wrestling.
"Yeah?"
It takes me half a minute to formulate my question, which I know is really bad of me when I'm keeping him from something important. I just don't know how to get the words out because I feel awkward asking him, while at the same time I'm determined, because I really want to get Gale a nice birthday present.
"When you said gifts don't need to involve money… What did you mean?"
"Oh, I don't know," he says, fidgeting as his eyes move from spot to spot without ever landing on me. "Just, you know, I mean you hunt and you gather, and you do all sorts of stuff, so…"
"Yeah, but so does Gale. And I doubt he wants a dead badger for a present."
"Katniss I'm really not the right person to ask," he says, sounding quite uncomfortable. "I've barely ever talked to the guy. I don't know what kind of gift he would want."
"But you have ideas nonetheless," I persist. "You're creative. You must have some idea of what I could get him…"
I almost want to ask him if he could draw a portrait of me that I could give to Gale, but I know I can't. For one that would be a gift that needed to be paid for, and for another Gale would never accept such a gift knowing it had cost me money – and he certainly wouldn't accept it if Peeta gave it to me for free. Which I would never agree to anyway. And even if it wasn't for all those things, I still would feel wrong asking him. His academic workload is just as voluminous as mine, and on top of that he's got his wrestling and the hours he works at the bakery, and on top of that he has his own dating life to prioritise. And even on top of that, there's the undefinable feeling that it would just be wrong, both towards him and towards Gale – who certainly wouldn't be glad to know that a guy he thinks likes me put time, effort and valuable supplies into drawing me. No, a portrait is completely out of the question, but then again I never truly entertained the thought in the first place.
Peeta looks very uncomfortable, no doubt wishing he had ran off to change for practice several minutes ago and left me at the table lost in my own train of thought. I should feel terrible for keeping him here, and partially I do, but I really want to get this gift for my boyfriend and I believe that Peeta can help me find an answer. Finally he draws a deep breath and lets it out in a huff, ceasing to fidget and looks me in the eye.
"If it were me… and this is me, like I said before I don't know Gale at all… But if it were me, anything you made for me would be something I would cherish. It doesn't have to be anything special, just something I knew you took the time and consideration to make for me."
"But I can't make anything. Except for arrows."
His eyes go to my braid, hanging over my left shoulder.
"You're great at braiding your hair. You should cut off a strand of your hair, braid it and give it to him for a keepsake."
My fingers touch my hair, my inner eye trying to imagine the look on Gale's face upon accepting such a gift from me. It would cost me nothing and it would be something from me, personally. Perhaps he would like that. I look up at Peeta, whose eyes seem to be on my braid as well, though I'm not sure he's actually seeing it.
"You really think he would like that as a gift?" I ask with both nervousness and softness.
"I, uh…" He clears his throat, which still gets hoarse every now and then after his cold last week, and begins to shift his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes going down to his feet. "I know I would." A soft smile spreads across my face but he doesn't see it. He looks at the clock again and clears his throat once more. "I really have to run. Take care Katniss, I'll see you around."
"Thank you, Peeta."
"Yeah," he says absentmindedly. "Uh, good luck. I'm sure whatever you get him, he'll love."
And with that he's off in a light run, skilfully slaloming between other students, whether they are standing still or walking. I remain seated for a few minutes, ponderously fingering the end of my braid, wondering if Gale really would appreciate a gift like that.
But it's not like I have any better ideas. And Peeta usually has good ideas.
It's early Thursday morning – so early, in fact, that none of the miners seem to have left home yet when I step outside the door and kneel down to light the lantern on the porch. Once it has been lit I put on a pair of thick mittens and adjust my game bag on my left shoulder, using my right hand to carry the light. My breath is clearly visible with each exhale and the snow crepitates beneath my feet as I walk the silent streets of the Seam. It's beautiful at this hour, the snow sparkling in the moonlight like diamonds, illuminating the early morning slightly with it's pretty whites in contrast to the darkness of the sky, the streets, the houses. It's cold, but a pleasant kind of cold, the air feeling crisp and refreshing, and thankfully there's no wind blowing. I wish I didn't have to go to school today, that Gale didn't have to go spend his twentieth birthday in the mines, that the two of us could trek out to our glade and spend the whole day there together, from watching the beauty of the rising sun to letting the surroundings invigorate us and fill us with some much-needed energy. But alas, if the calendar doesn't say Sunday we don't get to be out in the woods together.
It takes me about five minutes to walk from my door to Gale's, and in that time three or four men pass me by on the streets, heading towards a long shift in the mines. We nod to each other in passing, but don't speak to one another. None of their faces are familiar, anyway. But the district is beginning to wake up – the impoverished part, at any rate. In town I imagine many people are still sleeping under their warm comforters and blankets, and for those few who have some measure of money, like peacekeepers or the mayor's family, there is no need to stir from slumber for at least another hour. Not that there aren't a handful of town families whose businesses require them to be early risers. I lend a fleeting thought to Peeta, wondering if he's out of bed yet, perhaps already kneading dough and heating ovens with his parents and brothers. I don't know if his chores around the home and the business extend to helping out in the mornings before leaving for school, or if the gentle-hearted baker allows his boys to sleep in, especially on cold days like today.
I reach the Hawthorne home and walk up the two rickety wooden steps to the front porch. Removing my mitten I form a fist and knock on the door with my knuckles. Then I kneel down and set my lantern down beside the door, leaving it lit since I won't be staying very long. If I lean to the left I can see inside the kitchen, the room illuminated by kerosene lamps and a small fireplace. As I walked up to the house I saw that all five members of the family were up and about, which I doubt would be the case on a normal day, but today is, after all, somebody's birthday.
Hazelle opens the door, and smiles warmly when she sees me. She motions for me to come in and takes a step to the side to make room for me.
"Gale!" she calls warmly. "Katniss is here."
From the kitchen I can hear the sound of a chair pulling back, and I've barely had the time to remove my scarf before my boyfriend appears in the doorway, his whole face lighting up at the sight of me. I grin at him in return, happy that my surprise visit made him happy. As his mother walks back to the kitchen, probably to give us a bit of privacy, Gale strides up to me, captures my cheeks between his palms, leans down and kisses me in a way that is full of pent-up desire. I laugh a little against his lips, wrapping my arms around his waist as our faces pull apart from one another.
"Happy birthday," I say tenderly. "Twenty years old, Hawthorne. Not bad."
"Yeah, your man is all grown up now," he smiles, one hand affectionately brushing my bangs to the side. He smiles lovingly down at me, and I return the smile with as much warmth as I can. "This is a fabulous surprise. Already you've made my birthday the best one as far back as I can remember."
"Boy, you don't have the bar set very high, do you?" I tease.
"I'm serious," he says with a kind of loving sweetness that throws me off balance. It's the kind of way I've heard girls speak to their boyfriends at school but never in my life imagined coming from Gale. He laughs lightly, an ecstatic sound, and rubs his nose against mine. "And I have a feeling my day will only get better from here on out." He trails kisses from the corner of my mouth to my ear, his breath hot to the point of being uncomfortably so. "To say nothing of the rest of my life," he whispers. "It's like turning a page… A little over nineteen years without you, and the rest of my life…"
He doesn't finish the thought but it's clear as day what he means to say. I squirm, pulling away from his tight embrace, fighting to keep smiling and avoid scowling. Why does he insist on doing that? Speaking as if it's a done deal that we'll be in a relationship from now until eternity. We're supposed to be exploring still, and I get that he's made up his mind about what he wants but I haven't yet, and I dislike the pressure. It's barely been three months since we started going out! Can't I get more time than that to get in touch with my own heart and make decisions about the rest of my life? Why does there have to be a rush? We can't even have a toasting for another fourteen months, should we both desire to.
Since I don't want to start an argument on his birthday – I came here to make him happy, not to ruin his day – I masquerade my withdrawal from his embrace as needing a little space to move my game bag from my shoulder and reach inside it for his present.
"I thought I'd give you your birthday present now, rather than this evening."
"You got me a present?" he asks, sounding almost childlike in his excitement.
"You didn't think I would?" I ask teasingly, one eyebrow raised as my right hand searches through the bag.
"Well, I mean, you know I'd never want you to feel like you need to spend money on me just because it's my birthday," he says, his cheeks charmingly flushed a touch, and his hands tucked into his back pockets as he leans one shoulder against the wall. "And, uh…" He blushes a bit more, which is very rare for Gale Hawthorne, and I notice his eyes darting quickly towards the kitchen. He lowers his voice and tilts his chin down, putting a boyish look on his face as he peers at me through his dark bangs. "I was hoping you had plans on a gift that would cost nothing at all, yet has an enormous value…" He casts another quick glance in the direction of the kitchen and lowers his voice even further. "Say… Agreeing to spend the night with me. Celebrate my birthday the best way possible."
My jaw drops at his words and their implication, and my hand freezes in mid-motion, his gift sitting right there in the bag, at the tips of my fingers. Thankfully, I quickly reel from the shock and find my bearings, managing laughter that dismisses what he just said as a joke with little to no elements of truth within it.
"You really have become a jester in your old age," I say lightly.
The look on his face is hard to read. With a small smile on his lips he moves in closer, his hands still in his back pockets, and his eyes bearing into mine. His voice remains low when he speaks.
"I do hope you'll be spending some time with me… alone… tonight…" he says suggestively.
"Your mother is making you a special dinner," I protest uneasily. "Your brothers and your sisters are looking forward to-"
"After dinner."
"We'll see," I say, trying not to scowl. "I have school tomorrow and you've got work." I can see his brow beginning to furrow, so I grab the gift I brought for him and pull it from the bag, shoving it in his hand. "I got this for you. It may not be much, but it's with consideration, and I hoped it would be sufficient." I look around for my lantern, then I remember I left it outside. "I have to hurry home, or Prim and I will be late for school. I'll see you tonight. With your family."
I hear him call my name as I scurry out the door, but I pretend not to hear. Closing the door between us I momentarily lean against it, feeling uneasy and disappointed. I grab the lantern and hurry down from the porch and back onto the road that leads back home. Great. This is just great. Now I've gone and probably ruined his birthday, before breakfast even! And I came here to make his birthday a good one! Though to my credit, I suppose, I did succeed in doing so for the better part of three minutes.
As I walk home at a brisk pace, shivering from the cold and from disappointment, I ask myself – for what feels like the umpteenth time these past few months – what is the matter with me. Why can't I be a good girlfriend? Why does the thought of Gale wanting me alone in his bed all night the night of his birthday make me want to run away? I don't know if it's an unreasonable thing to ask of your girlfriend. Judging by the couples in my class, who seem to be on a daily mission to touch every part of each other's mouths with their tongues, it's not an uncommon thing to want. But it's more than just the request for me to spend the night that brought about my abrupt exit. It was that incessant talk about the future he wants for us. The future he takes for granted, despite my repeated reminders that I don't want marriage. Gale and I have been so in sync with one another for years, functioning together like two parts of a whole out in the forest. Why is it that we haven't seemed to be on the same page with one another for a single day of our relationship? And how come Gale, who has always respected me completely, seems to find it so easy to shrug off the things I find important between us when they don't align with what he wants?
I reach home and my feet suddenly seem to weigh a hundred pounds each as I tiredly walk up the porch steps and snuff out the candle in the lantern. I walk inside and sit down on the stool in the entrance hall, waiting for Prim to finish milking her goat. Mother is nowhere to be seen. Still asleep, probably. Though my mind was working a mile a minute during the walk back, now it seems blank. I don't want to spend more time and energy thinking about this. I don't want to own up to the fact that I'm a sorry excuse for a girlfriend. Briefly I ponder the irony of me being a far better wife in the school project than I am a real girlfriend. I close my eyes and lean back against the wall, sighing heavily. I didn't even find out if Gale liked the present I got him. I took Peeta's suggestion and tweaked it, using small twigs I found in the woods to make a tiny bow and arrows, with strands of my hair serving as the bowstring. I thought it was fitting. A gift I made myself, using my own hair, something symbolising me. Little had I known all I'd have to give him was… Well, me. Could that really be how Gale would want a first time between us to happen? As a gift because it was his birthday? I want to be angry with him for not just wanting but apparently expecting something like that for tonight, despite my continued insisting that I want to die an unmarried virgin. What stops me from anger is guilt over having more or less stormed out on him on his birthday.
The sound of the kitchen door opening and closing reaches me and slowly I get back on my feet. Prim comes walking in from the kitchen, her cheeks rosy from the cold but her mood apparently rather good. She smiles at me and trots over to the shoe rack to find her boots, having stepped out of her other pair at the kitchen door. Since she was outside milking Lady her outerwear is all on, and once the boots are on she only needs to put her backpack on and she'll be ready to go.
"How was the birthday boy?" she chirps, plopping down on the stool I was just sitting on, so that she can get her footwear on.
"Fine," I answer shortly, earning me a suspicious look from my perceptive little sister.
"Did something happen?" she asks worriedly. "Did he not like the present?" She adds that part in a horrified and disbelieving way.
"Nothing happened, little duck," I lie. "Come on now, chop chop. It's slippery out there so we'll have to walk carefully, which means we have to leave earlier."
"Done!" she announces, leaping to her feet. I hand the backpack to her and she slips it on. She then gives me a concerned look, her brow furrowed. "Something must have happened," she insists, walking outside through the door I'm holding open for her. "You don't look like someone who just got home from surprising their boyfriend on his birthday."
In a sudden fit of frustration and rage I slam the door shut behind us, making Prim startle and stare at me with wide eyes, and no doubt waking Mother. Clenching my jaw I stride down the porch steps and with a sullen expression on my face begin the walk to school, my sister scampering beside me, trying to keep up with my pace. I know I'm behaving like a child just now, but I feel ready to puke on the next insinuation that I'm a failure of a girlfriend. I know Prim couldn't have meant to imply that. She's far too loyal to me to ever harbour such thoughts. But whether she realizes it or not, I'm still reading that interpretation into the words she said.
I offer her no explanation to my irritable mood, but when we're about halfway to school I give her a look and try to make my voice sound casual.
"We'll be going over to the Hawthornes for dinner around six o'clock."
"We?" she asks with a dumbfounded expression.
"Yeah." Though I don't know if Hazelle will be expecting my sister, and possibly my mother as well, it just occurred to me that the two of them being there will dissuade Gale in a natural way from trying to convince me to spend the night in his bed. At this point I'm willing to bring two extra guests to their table just to avoid another awkward conversation. "It is Gale's birthday. We should all be there to celebrate him, don't you think?" Her beautiful blue eyes turn wide and unhappy, which immediately makes me concerned. "Prim?"
"Oh, it's just…" She sights and bites her bottom lip. "My new friends and I were going to study history together tonight." She continues in a rapid pace and in a tone that becomes more enthusiastic with every second. "I've never been invited to study with friends before, ever, and you know how much I hate history! We were going to make a thing out of it, quiz each other in a kind of contest and things like that. I've been looking forward to it all week!" The excitement peters out and the unhappy look returns. "Never mind. There will be other study nights."
"There will be, I promise you that," I nod. "And you're not going to miss out on tonight."
She looks at me with hope kindling in her sweet face.
"Really Katniss?" Then she clears her throat. "No, you were right before. It's Gale's birthday and he's like a brother to me, and now he's your boyfriend. I should go with you to his house tonight."
"Gale will understand," I insist, knowing that he absolutely will, since he was never expecting her to begin with. We stop at the road that leads to school, waiting for a pair of peacekeepers to pass by in their car. "We can invite him to dinner at our house this weekend. Have a bit of a celebration of our own."
With an excited squeal she throws her arms around my neck, thanking me giddily. I laugh slightly and hug her back, feeling a little bit better, despite knowing I'll be on my own with Gale and his libido tonight. Though as we pull apart from our embrace, and Prim sticks her small, mitten-clad hand in mine, and we begin to walk again, I can't help but wonder who these new friends of hers are – and how come I haven't heard of them before.
I know there's a lot of Galeniss in this chapter... I can't tell for myself whether this comes across or not, but it's not meant to be an uplifting read for any Galeniss shippers who might have found their way to this story. As things begin to fall apart for them, Gale will be featured more often. I contemplated for quite some time if I really should have Katniss ask Peeta for advice on what to get him, but in the end I decided to go with it. It might seem harsh from the viewpoint of us Everlark shippers, but from Katniss' POV she's asking advice from a boy who sees her as just a friend, presumably having feelings for the girlfriend he supposedly has. She trusts Peeta's judgment and his opinions, so she has nothing to lose by asking him.