A/N: edited 23/12/14

Chapter 2: The Dinner

Katniss

School is finally over.

After the reaping we were sent home, the Merchant girls giggling and squealing about their new partners and what they're wearing to the dinner tonight that is nothing but yet another overrated event in this damned project.

Prim bounces along the dry ground as we walk back home, her braids swinging with every step.

"Tell me, tell me, tell me!" she begs, swinging on my hand. "Why won't you tell me?"

"I'll tell you at dinner when Mom is home," I promise her. She stares at me with huge puppy-dog eyes, determined to make me break.

"You'll tell Gale though, won't you," she states.

"Does it really matter who gets told first?" I ask.

"Not really," she grumbles. I tug on her braid and tickle her until she's smiling again.

After dropping her off at our place and making her promise to leave a note if she's called out anywhere, I head straight for the forest. My skin is tingling and red from the sun and I sigh in relief when I get beneath the trees. Within ten minutes I've shot a rabbit down, though it's scrawny and barely enough for a meal. Nevertheless, I put it in my game bag. Meat is meat, after all.

Crickets chirp loudly as I walk through the brittle grass on the slope leading up to the rock overlooking the valley. Despite it only being a few hours since I was last here with Gale, it feels like a lifetime. I love being here. It's freeing, even with the warning of being back before Peacekeeper patrol heavy on my shoulders. Not many people get to see this view. I pull off my boots and close my eyes to wait for Gale, allowing my mind to sort through today's events.

Peeta Mellark. The baker's son. The boy with the bread. I can still feel the shock flowing in my veins at his name ringing out over the school hall. All I could think was:

Oh, no. Not him.

Rubbing my eyes, I open them at the sound of footsteps and squint in the bright light. Gale sits down beside me and sighs, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"How'd it go?" he asks. I groan and shake my head, causing him to laugh.

"It isn't funny!"

"It can't be as bad as you're making it out to be," he says. "Unless you really were paired with Bron? Or maybe Lee Reynolds?" I grimace, shaking my head, imagining the overweight, red faced, greasy-haired son of the barber with his beady eyes and leering gaze.

"Well, who's the lucky guy or gall?" Gale continues, waggling his eyebrows.

"Guess."

"Is it a he?"

"Yes."

"Seam?"

"No," I say. Gale sits up, suddenly a lot more interested.

"Alright then..." he says, mulling this new information over. "Any siblings?"

"Most of the townies have siblings."

"Is he a stuck up snob?"

"I don't – no, I don't think he is."

"Because most of the townies are stuck-up snobs," says Gale, tilting his head to one side and staring right at me, throwing my sarcasm back into my face.

"He seems like a nice person."

"So he's merchant, with siblings…"

"This isn't really narrowing it down," I note.

"You should just tell me then," Gale says, picking at a loose thread on the bottom of is shirt. I slap his hand away. Hazelle doesn't need another item of clothing to fix. "Besides, I don't know any nice townies."

"Of course you do."

"Who?"

"Think about it!" I say. "Who do you trade with almost every day?"

"Madge…?"

"Not Madge," I say. Gale frowns. I throw my hands in the air. How has he not guessed this already? "I'm paired with the baker's son?"

"Peeta?"

"Yes, Peeta. Which of the other brothers was it going to be?" I say slowly. "Fenton and Rye aren't in my year!"

Gale is still looking confused. "Peeta Mellark?"

"Jesus, Gale. You need to get out of the sun."

He climbs to his feet, heading back under the trees. "Huh."

"Why are you 'huh'-ing?" I demand, rushing after him. "Don't 'huh' me and then walk away."

"Nothing, I'm just saying that he doesn't seem like trouble," he reasons, jumping atop a fallen tree, bouncing slightly on the pliable wood before jumping down.

"Who are you? My father?" I ask sarcastically. "Why do you care if he's trouble or not? I'm a big girl now. I can look after myself."

"Look, all I'm saying that it would be more interesting if you were paired with someone more spontaneous."

I roll my eyes. "As if I have a choice in the matter."

"Exciting, maybe?"

"What?"

"And good-looking?"

"Good-looking?" I snort. "I don't see how attractiveness is an important part of the games."

Gale's eyes are hard as he whips around to stare at me. "My problem is that you're with a Merchant, Catnip."

"It's a school project."

"You know what Merchant boys think about Seam girls. I don't want him trying to take advantage of you."

"Seriously?"

"Aren't you at least a little annoyed?"

"I'm not really bothered," I shrug, walking past him down the trail.

"I wouldn't have thought…" he says, trailing off.

"What is it?" I ask, stopping at looking up at him,

"Nothing."

"Gale. It clearly isn't 'nothing'."

"I thought you wouldn't have wanted to be with a townie."

"I don't care that Peeta is a townie."

Gale runs his hands through his hair and smiles at me. "Alright." We continue walking and speak no more of it. A comfortable silence fills the air and I manage to shoot down more than I did this morning. Gale does equally as well with his snares. I hope this is a sign that summer is coming to a close a little earlier this year, allowing a larger amount of time for fall when there is an abundance of game in the forest ahead of what will surely be a horrendous winter.

My clothes instantly stick to my skin upon entering the Hob. I think this old warehouse is just as bad as the school. All around me, vendors sit slouched behind their stands, fanning themselves with anything they can find in an effort to keep cool. Merchants have these weird metal contraptions with fins that spin around in a cage, pushing air around and keeping them cool. I once walked past one and got caught in the breeze. It was like heaven.

"I'm going to trade for some shoelaces," Gale informs me. "Meet you at Sae's in two minutes?"

"I'll be there," I confirm, heading in the opposite direction and taking a seat at Greasy Sae's stall. I offer her a rabbit in exchange for a bowl of soup and wait for my food by rapping my knuckles on the uneven surface of the wooden plank acting as Sae's kitchen counter. She whacks my knuckles with a spoon to stop the sound and I sit on my hands, only removing them when the soup is ready. I don't really want food, especially hot soup, but I'm famished after hours of running around in the sun.

"How was the reaping, dear?" Sae asks, wiping her hands on her apron. "Who are you married to?"

"It was fine," I say, stirring the soup around in the chipped enamel bowl. "I'm with Peeta Mellark."

"You're very lucky them," Sae says with a twinkle in her eye. "He's a lovely boy, Peeta. Ever so polite when he comes and trades bread for odds and ends. Are you happy?"

"I suppose so."

"Excited for the games?"

"It'll be fine," I wrinkle my nose.

"She's worrying again, isn't she?" Gale laughs, sitting down beside me and trading for soup.

"Don't laugh at her, Mr Hawthorne," Sae scolds. "You were the exactly the same."

"Worried no one would like you?" I ask him, and he nearly pushes me off my stool.

Mercifully it's cooler when the sun dips below the mountains, plunging us into twilight. Everyone seems to be happier now we aren't burning, and I don't break out in a sweat on my walk back home. Prim pounces as soon as I step through the door, flood boards creaking beneath her.

"How long does hunting take?" she asks.

"Next time you can do it for me," I say. "See how long it takes then!"

My sister grimaces, the expression still unable to make her look anything but a cute twelve year old with daisies on her dress. "Now, guess who I'm with. Gale had to."

"Merchant?" she says, practically vibrating with excitement. I nod my head. "Baker?" I nod again, suspicious. "Peeta Mellark?"

"How did you guess so quickly?" I exclaim.

"Talia heard from her big sister that the boys were betting on who was getting with who and Mitch Jones won a load of money because he bet that Peeta would be with a Seam girl and then Valerie was crying because she wanted to be with Peeta and was with someone else and Talia told me when she came over to ask for ointment for her grandpa and that's how I know!"

"Gossip spreads like wildfire around here," I sigh, placing my game bag by the kitchen sink. "Is Mom back?"

"No, she's helping on the other side of the district."

A few hours later, however, Mom is home, her shawl wrapped around her head and shoulders to protect her from the mosquitoes. She still scratches at her arms though, and I can see the red bites on her pale skin. Prim runs off to find some rosemary oil. She brings back a small glass bottle. Mom twists the cap and dabs a small amount on each bite, the smell of rosemary filling the room. I inhale the smell. It reminds me of springtime. I finish the rabbit stew I've been cooking over the last few hours and slice the coarse bread made from our grain allowance, and bring everything to the table.

"Don't eat too much," Mom warns as I bite into a slice of bread. "You don't want to spoil your appetite."

"I'll only eat this," I say, holding up the bread.

"How was the reaping?" she asks.

"She's been paired with Peeta Mellark!" Prim butts in excitedly. Mom's eyes brighten a little.

"Ah, Farrell's son. He's a nice boy."

"You're so lucky, Katniss," Prim sighs. "Paired with Peeta Mellark and now you get a fancy reaping dinner."

"When you're sixteen you can do it as well," I remind her, but she complains that it's too long a wait for her turn.

The cherry wood clock on the mantelpiece chimes, signalling that it's six o'clock. I leave the table to wash. I use a bucket to fill the tin tub with a little water, pin up my hair, and climb into the tub. Stretching forward, I grab a bar of soap and wash myself clean, the little bits of oat and herb coming free and leaving my skin fragrant and soft. Once my skin is clean I let my hair down, running my fingers through the locks to unravel the complicated plait. Taking a deep breath, I submerge my head beneath the water and wait until my lungs are screaming before resurfaces and lathered up my hair in thick bubbles to wash away the oil and sweat collected there. I need a haircut before my hair gets truly out of control. I might just do it myself.

Now cleaner than I have been for quite some time, I climb out of the bath and wrap myself in a towel. Mom asks if I'm decent and peaks around the curtain over the door, asking what I want to wear. When I reply with 'just some pants and shirt' she looks horrified.

"You can't wear that to the dinner!" she gasps, leading me into our bedroom. "I have something for you to wear." She rifles through her little cabinet of precious things – stuff from her Merchant days like perfume or wedding mementoes – and pulls out a dress. It looks like it was once a stunning royal blue, but after multiple washes and years of use, it has faded, leaving it sky blue and very soft but still in excellent condition.

"Are you sure?" I ask quietly. Mom nods and I pull it on, buttoning up the front and tying the back into a loose bow.

"You look beautiful," she murmurs, sitting me down in front of Dad's cracked shaving mirror. It has a long jagged crack down the middle, but it's still useable. She gets this serene look on her face as she combs my damp hair. I watch her work. She's never been able to do this for me because I've always refused her after years of her abandonment, and this is a special moment. She then twists my hair up and slides a flower behind my ear. When my hair is done, she applies makeup to my face with a gentle but skilled touch, leaving me looking healthier than I have in a long time with flushed cheeks and thick lashes.

"How do you feel?" she asks as I blink rapidly, trying to get used to the heaviness of my lashes.

"Violated," I mumble, and Mom pats me on the shoulder with a laugh. I slip on a pair of pale brown shoes and smooth down my dress, grabbing a jacket to wear.

"Gale will be here in a minute or two."

My shoulders sag. "I don't need someone to walk me to the dinner."

"It's for your own safety."

"I'll be fine."

"Katniss, you're a young, beautiful girl on her own in the dark. Who knows who could be lurking in the shadows," she presses her lips together. "Please walk with him. It'll give me a piece of mind that you're safe."

"What about Gale? He needs an escort back into the Seam," I ask.

"Gale isn't as pretty as you are," she says with a smile as we go back into the kitchen. Prim sighs over my dress and hugs me tight before I go outside to sit on the porch steps and wait for my knight-in-shining-armour to arrive. A few minutes later there's a low whistle from the darkness.

"Whoa, Catnip, you clean up good," Gale says. My cheeks redden.

"It's just a dress."

"But it's Katniss Everdeen. In a dress."

We begin the walk to town. Bugs swarm around all and any light sources and the crickets are out in full force. The dusty ground of the Seam has just merged into the mismatched cobbles and paving stones in the Merchant quarters when I feel my nerves set in.

"Still alright about Mellark?" Gale asks.

"I'll be okay, Gale. You sound like my Mom."

"Just checking," he says, and we fall into silence. I can hear music and laughter as we turn the corner onto the street leading to the school. At the gates, Gale stops. "You do look nice, Catnip," he says softly, his hands deep in his pockets. "I'll be here at ten. No drinking, not partying, okay?"

"Go away, Gale," I say. Madge suddenly appears, rushing towards me, a golden headband in her hair and her made-to-measure dress rippling.

"Katniss!" she gasps, smiling wildly. "Hurry up, I've saved you a seat!"

"See you, Catnip," Gale says. Madge jumps out of her skin, finally noticing Gale, and blushes.

"Hello Gale," she says evenly.

"You look lovely, Madge," he tells her, his eyes darting to me for a second before he turns and walks away, the moonlight glinting on the back of his leather jacket. Beside me, Madge makes a strangled sound.

"It's okay, Madge," I say, knowing that she's having an internal crisis right now. She likes Gale, but in a silly crush kind of way. Nothing serious. I loop arms with her and we enter the building. The hall has been transformed. It still looks rundown, but the decorations (Effie chosen, of course) make it look special. A small group of Seam boys are on stage, playing music for money, and there are long tables set up around the room with a space cleared to be a dance floor. There are lights strung everywhere, and balloons weighted down with bricks.

"How did they afford all this?" I gasp, looking around.

"My father offered to pay," Madge says softly, embarrassed that she belongs to such a wealthy family, at least by District 12 standards. She quickly changes the subject. "You look amazing, Katniss."

"Not as good as you," I say, and she looks down at her dress.

"Oh, look at Valerie's dress," she coos. "Isn't it gorgeous?" I look up in the direction Madge is staring and see Valerie dancing with her friends, wearing a shiny yellow dress. I say nothing. The dress I pulled on just thirty minutes ago felt so special, and now I just feel pathetic and poor compared to the pristine clothing worn by my blonde peers. They probably all had dresses made for this occasion. I would have to save for months to get just a piece of fabric, let alone to have a dress made.

"Did you hear that some parents are trying to arrange their children to married?" Madge whispers.

"Have they ever gone through?" I ask, a little relieved that I don't have parents who will try to do that.

"Only a few," Madge grimaces, and then her eyes widen as if she's remembered something. She fishes around in a small purse on her shoulder and pulls something out, rolling it in her fingers thoughtfully. "Katniss?"

"Yeah?"

"I want you to have this," she presses a small metal pin into my palm. I observe it, the gold glinting in the light. The pin in a circle, a bird mid-flight with an arrow it its beak placed in the middle. A Mockingjay. "It was my aunt's, and she gave it to me before she died. I've never worn it though. I don't suit it."

"Madge – I can't. This is too expensive. I won't take it," I stumble over my words, trying to hand the pin back, fearing that I'll break it.

"No, please. I want you to have it," she insists. "It's a gift." I examine the pin again. It's genuine metal and skilfully crafted by hand. It would feed my family for months if I sold it to the right person at the right time. I swallow hard. What am I thinking? I can't sell this! It's a gift.

"T-thank you, Madge."

"You're welcome," she smiles. "But I do have one condition. You have to actually wear it. Not hide it away."

"I will," I promise, and Madge excitedly pins it to the front of my dress. We quickly sit down just as the music stop and Effie takes the stage, her pink hair perfectly coiffed atop her head.

"Welcome, welcome," she giggles. "I'd like to take a moment to say how beautifully dressed you all are!" I roll my eyes. She's kidding. To her we must all look like a bunch of rats in rags. She's from the Capitol after all. We tried out best.

"For those of you who are unaware, the Reaping Dinner is a chance for you to get to know your new partner before the games officially start! So please, everyone sit down."

Just seconds after she finishes speaking a tall blonde boy sits beside Madge.

"Katniss, this is Mitch," she introduces me, and we shake hands.

"You're Peeta's wife," he says, and it isn't a question but more a statement. I nod. "He's looking for you."

"You know him?" I ask.

"He's my best friend," he tells me, looking around. Madge looks nervous but happy at the same time. I must look like I'm about to be sick. "Peeta!" he shouts, cupping his hand around his mouth. Peeta spins around, smiles, and walks towards me, pulling out a chair and joining our little group.

"Madge," he nods.

"Peeta," she replies.

"Katniss," he smiles.

"Peeta," I mumble. Mitch lets out a breath of air.

"I can practically cut the tension between you two," he says, waving his hand through the air between Peeta and I. "Sexual or platonic, I'm yet to decide."

Madge laughs and covers her mouth. I can feel my face flaming and look away. Mitch winces all of a sudden and glares at Peeta.

"Fuck you, baker boy," he grimaces. I think Peeta kicked him.

Peeta

Mortified. My cheeks are on fire. I glare at my friend and kick him as hard as I can under the table. How could he say something like that? I pinch the bridge of my nose and clear my head before looking at Katniss, who is staring, her lips pressed together, at the revolving sparkly ball hanging from the ceiling. I look over at Mitch and Madge who have actually managed to start a conversation, while Katniss and I are like brick walls in comparison. I doubt – sadness heavy in my chest – that I'll be able to have to same level of conversation as my friends do.

"Katniss?" I ask carefully, keeping my voice low as to not spook her. She turns her head to face me and I'm momentarily left speechless. She's the only person I've ever met who's been able to do that to me, a fact my brothers and Mitch like to tease me about. "Sorry about, uh, about Mitch. His mouth and brain aren't connected even at the best of times." Katniss nods, smoothing her dress down. I tug at my collar. I've not seen Katniss in a dress since she was around eight or nine. Aged ten she traded dresses in for pants so she could run faster.

"It's alright."

"You look nice to night," I offer. She bites her lip. Jesus.

"Thank you," she whispers. "It's my mother's dress."

"I suits you," I reply. We fall into silence. I ask her questions about herself again. "Where did you get that pin?"

"Madge gave it to me as a gift," she says, and Madge looks over at us at the mention of her name. "I was just telling Peeta about the pin."

"It looks very rare," I note. "I bet it'd be worth a lot."

Katniss narrows her eyes. "I'm not selling it."

"No! No," I shake my head. "I'm not suggesting that. I was just saying how well made it is and how… and…"

"Oh," Katniss says, looking at the tablecloth.

The evening continues like this. I try my best to get Katniss to talk to me, to respond to my attempts at conversation beyond one word or short phrase answers. Every time though she seems embarrassed to say anything while I struggle along by myself. I knew she wasn't a talker, not like me, but I'd hoped that we'd have a better rapport than this.

Mitch comes to my rescue after twenty minutes of nothing.

"Would you girls like something to drink?" he asks, looking at Madge. I look at Katniss, who looks at Madge.

"Some punch, please. For both of us."

I stand and follow Mitch towards the punch table and ladle the drinks with a shaking hand.

"Is Katniss rude or what?"

"She isn't rude," I defend.

"Then why are you sitting in silence?"

"Your comment about being able to feel the tension didn't help my case," I hiss. "I'm trying to talk to her but she doesn't seem to like me."

"Everdeen doesn't like townies like you and me. Hawthorne's got pretty strong views as well."

"She likes Madge," I say. "What should I do?"

"Don't you worry," Mitch smirks, an evil glint in his eye. "I'll get the conversation rolling."

He takes the two cups I've already filled and returns to our table. I fill mine as quickly as I can, panicking about whatever Mitch is going to do. Back at the table, I hand Katniss our drink. Our fingers brush for a second but it's enough to make me feel like I've been burned.

"Sorry," Katniss apologises, noticing the way I pulled my hand away. "My hands are cold." She twists her hands together in her lap.

"It's alright," I say. Mitch watches and me and rolls his eyes when I can't think of anything else to say to her.

"You hunt don't you?" he asks.

"I do…" she replies warily. "How did you know?"

"Peeta here eats your squirrels. Doesn't shut up about th-"

"It isn't the best keep secret in the district," I blurt out. Katniss glances at me.

"I guess carrying dead animals around town isn't very subtle," she says, laughing softly. Mitch rolls his index fingers around each other in a circle, encouraging me to keep talking.

"How do you shoot them through the eye every time?" I ask. Mitch gives me a thumbs up and then focuses on Madge.

""Years and years of practice," Katniss says, seeming to feel more at ease. "You have to be silent, and know when to shoot, which angle… It takes a lot of practice to get it right."

"Wow…" I breathe. "What's the biggest thing you've ever caught?"

"I shot down a stag once, and Gale had to finish it off with his knife."

"And the smallest?"

"A mouse," Katniss says, smiling at a memory.

"I'd never be able to go hunting."

"Why?" she wonders, giving me the once over.

"I may be strong enough to carry animals, but I'm like a bull in a china store," Katniss smirks. "I'd scare everything away."

"Wearing those big clunky boots sure doesn't help."

"You wear boots though, don't you?"

"Uh-huh," she nods. "But mine have been used for so long that they've kind of moulded into my feet. When I wear them it's almost like walking barefoot."

"What's your favourite season?" I fire off. Her brow furrows as she thinks.

"I think I like spring the best, because the forest is coming alive again after winter," she smiles to herself. "What about you?"

"Winter."

"Why?" Katniss asks. "Winter is when the snow comes. It's cold and all the animals go into hibernation."

"But it's always beautiful in the winter," I say. "The snow falling, the icy ground, icicles, Christmas."

"I guess it is…" Katniss trails off, but she doesn't seem to agree with me.

And why would she? Winter must be a difficult season for her, trying to keep warm and eat enough when there is no game or plants to eat. I've seen her and Gale selling dry wood collected in the summer to people during the winter, but they always look cold themselves in their patched up clothing. My chest aches. To her I must sound like some ungrateful idiot who doesn't think before he speaks. She's right. I don't realise how much I have in comparison to her.

When the food arrives, Katniss' eyes look like they're going to pop out of her head, they open so wide. "Prim would've loved all this," she whispers to herself, looking worriedly at the food sat in front of her.

"You should try this," I say, pushing a mug towards her hands to distract her. She looks warily at it and picks it up, wrapping her fingers around the warm china.

"What is it?"

"Hot chocolate. It's good." Katniss timidly raises the mug to her lips and takes a sip.

"This is good!" she exclaims, gulping it down, licking her lips in approval afterwards.

"Katniss," Madge speaks up from across the table. "Try this."

"What is-"

"Just try it," Madge answers. Katniss takes the small pot from her friend's hand and dips part of a bread roll into the orange sauce, taking a bite. Her eyes widen as she chews, and she pushes the pot to me, motioning for me to try it as well.

"What is this?" she asks with a mouthful of food.

"I don't know," I confess. Katniss looks at Mitch, who shrugs.

"It's a sauce from the Capitol," says Madge. Mitch and I eat a little. Flavours burst over my tongue; exotic spices and rich cream. "It's good with chicken," Madge suggests.

We dig in and by the time we're finished, we've eaten the finest food we've ever seen, most of which we don't even know the name of. Effie and Mayor Undersee must have put a lot of thought into this meal, knowing that for many of us, especially those from the Seam, may never get to try anything like hits again. Mitch asks Madge if she'd like to dance, and they wander off onto the dance floor, Madge's cheeks pink. I look back at Katniss, who is slipping something into the pocket of her jacket.

"What are you doing?" I ask her, causing her to jump.

"Oh!" she exclaims, pulling her hands from her pockets and wrinkling her nose. "Nothing, nothing… I was just…"

"Were you putting food in your jacket pocket?"

"No, I wasn't doing that," Katniss mumbles, hunching her shoulders. "Please don't tell anyone."

"If you're gonna take something, at least wrap it in paper," I inform her. Katniss' mouth drops open.

"But it's…" she trails off.

"I don't blame you," I say, wrapping some chicken up and handing it to her. "I won't say a word if you don't."

"Thank you."

After a short pause, I pluck up the courage to speak again.

"There's only an hour left."

"Yes."

"Would you like to dance?" I ask. Katniss blinks. I swallow.

"I'd love to."

"Really?" I do a double take. Katniss nods, slips her jacket from her shoulders, and puts it over the back of her chair. I follow her onto the main dancing space of the hall. An upbeat song is being played, and my fellow classmates are spinning each other around, hand in hand, with smiles on their faces.

"Can you dance?" Katniss asks me.

"Bull in a china shop, remember?"

"Don't worry," Katniss grins, taking my hand. "I'll teach you." She steps forward and turns around, tilting her head to one side as I stand there like a fish out of water. "Take my hands." I do as she asks, and she grips them tight.

"What do I do?"

"You step to the left, then the right, and then you step towards me before spinning me out again. But you can alternate between steps," she chuckles at my bewildered expression. "You'll get the hang of it." Katniss steps to her right, and then to her left, before moving in close to me, her chest nearly touching mine. She moves back out again as I spin her around. She twirls on one foot, her skirt billowing out.

She's a natural.

Her face lights up as she dances with me. My heart swells when I realise that I haven't seen her happy like this for a long time. Around town she does smile occasionally, but it never seems to reach her eyes. However, tonight her eyes are shining. She laughs as we dance. And then, at the end of the night, she walks away with a smile on her face.

"Thank you, Peeta. I had a lot of fun tonight."

I stand at the doorway with Mitch as she walks away with Gale Hawthorne beside her.

"So, it went well, did it?" Mitch asks.

"I think so."

"You're gonna try and hook up with her, aren't you?" I stare at my friend.

"No. I'm not."

"Really Peet?" Mitch shakes his head. "You've been in love with her for years, and you're telling me you aren't going to do anything about it?"

"Just because you want to get into the pants of the Mayor's daughter, doesn't mean I have to take a similar path," I say, my words harsher than I intended. I leave Mitch behind. I won't let him spoil my mood.