A/N: edited 24/12/14

Chapter 4: The Date

Katniss

It's Friday, which means The Baby Games has been on the go for just over a week. The warmth that summer had provided thankfully melted into the cooler weather September brings, and the leaves on the trees are just beginning to change. The arrival of fall is welcomed with wide open arms. After such a long and dry summer, I can't wait for the first rain to come, for the earth to become fertile again and for my hunting sprees to become more successful. We're all a little leaner than I'd like, and in the next few months I hope to repair that and stock up for the winter.

I go over the events of the school day ahead of me to my sister as we walk to school, informing her that today is the day that the flour 'babies' will be handed out.

"Why haven't they given them to you yet?" Prim asks, her eyebrows knitted together as she looks up at me. "It's been ages!"

"I'm not sure. Apparently there's been difficulties in District 9 and they couldn't deliver much flour to anywhere but the Capitol."

"I bet the school gets the flour sacks from the bakery," Prim says. "That means you have a bit of an advantage."

"How do I have an advantage?"

"If you end up destroying the bag, you can always replace it with another one and Miss Trinket and Mr Abernathy will never know." Prim says, grinning up at me.

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Prim," I say sarcastically. "I'll be fine looking after a sack of flour," Prim giggles. I tug the end of her braid. "Don't underestimate me." I grin. "I've taken good care of you, haven't I? How different can you be to a bag of flour?" Prim stares up at me, acting like she's offended, only managing to hold it for a little while before laughing at me instead.

"Are we going to the bakery after school?" Prim asks once we've caught our breath.

"Would you like to?"

"If we have enough money…"

"You're in luck! I traded with Sae this morning. We'll buy a loaf and you can choose a cookie," I offer, watching as my sister's face glows at the thought of a rare bakery treat.

"I'll meet you by the tree," she promises at the school entrance, giving me a quick hug before running off to her usual group of friends, leaving me standing in the middle of the street.

"Heads up, Everdeen!" A voice shouts and I look around, just in time to catch the worn leather football that's flying through the air. I whirl around, trying to find the person who almost hit me.

"Good catch," a familiar voice laughs, and I turn to find Gale of all people standing behind me.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, throwing the ball back in the direction it came from. Since he turned eighteen he's been working at the mines and hasn't been attending school very often, if not at all, though he's technically got just under half a year to go. He doesn't see the point in getting an education when all he's going to do for the rest of his life is dig lumps of black rock out of the ground, and ignores his mother's insistence that he graduations. I suppose she's knocked a bit of sense back into him then, because he's here with a bag on his back instead of a pickaxe. Whether he's ready to actually take part in some lessons is another story.

"Some of us weren't needed this morning. A new chamber has been blasted off to the East and they're just making sure it's stable," he clarifies. "I thought I should come into school for a lesson or two and get my mom off my case."

"Attending two lessons isn't going to get your Mom to back down," I remind him.

"Well, it's money for food or a little piece of paper declaring that I'm not a complete idiot, and she has to choose between one of them."

"You could always use your graduation certificate as fuel," I say brightly, and he rolls his eyes. We say goodbye and walk to our own classes. I watch my friend walk down the corridor; his shoulders hunched over, and feel a frown appear on my lips. The summer was hard on both Gale and I, the stifling heat killing off so many of the animals we usually caught and traded. I could only imagine what it was like trapped hundreds of feet underground in a dark chamber, in the place where our fathers had been killed not five years ago.

Gale and I are alike in the sense that we have a lot – often too much – pride. Blood doesn't flow through our veins but determination to keep our heads high which is often our downfall. All we want is to keep our families fed, and I know that Gale has more mouths to feed. He's been at this for four years now. He's had to grow up fast and take responsibility for his family and has had to miss out on many opportunities for himself so he can put food on the table and keep a roof above his sibling's head. He has little to no choice. He has to work.

"You alright, Katniss?" Madge asks, appearing out of nowhere and making me jump. "You look upset."

"It's Gale. He's here at school, but only for a while."

"Then why do you look so upset? Surely you should be happy that he's on the surface. Even if it's only for a little time." I grimace. Madge smiles ruefully at me and squeezes my arm. She'll never understand.

"Students, students, settle down please!" Effie claps her hands together and continues to do so until we fall silent. "As many of you know, today you are going to be receiving your 'babies'!" The class shuffles into a wonky line, and I stand beside Peeta, waiting our turn.

"I don't understand why them two have to work with each other," Peeta comments, gesturing to Effie and Haymitch who are arguing at the front of the classroom. "They don't get along at all."

"Maybe that's how they work best," I say. Peeta shoves his hands into his pockets and leans against the classroom wall. We stand in a comfortable silence while we watch pairs of students receive the bags of flour that are representing their children.

"Are they from your bakery?" I ask him.

"Are what from the bakery?"

"The bags of flour."

"Oh!" Peeta nods. "Yeah, they are. We didn't get them until yesterday."

"I heard there was problems in District 9."

"Nothing on the new broadcasts about it, though," Peeta says, staring at the floor, deep in thought. Madge sidles up to me and nudges me gently with her elbow.

"You alright?"

"I'm fine."

"I hope the bags of flour aren't too heavy," she says, changing the subject to something lighter. "I don't want to be lugging it around in my bag for nine months, it'll be nightmare."

"They aren't that heavy," Peeta interjects.

"You've spent your entire life carrying sacks of flour like they weigh nothing," says Mitch.

"Not all of us are used to carrying heavy stuff," adds Madge.

Peeta turns to me, seeking backup. "I've seen you carrying deer before."

"Gale normally holds the heavier end."

"See, both of you has an advantage!" Mitch narrows his eyes.

"Jealous?" Peeta chuckles, jabbing his finger into Mitch's decidedly less muscle arm. I take a moment to discreetly glance at Peeta, watching the muscles beneath his skin flexing as he moves. The blue shirt he's wearing looks worn, but loved, and is tight enough to show off the results of working hard in a bakery day in, day out. He's been strong from an early age, winning arm wrestling matches with ease. He may not be the fastest runner, but he sure can lift the most. Even after years and years of seeing him do it, it never fails to amaze me how much he can carry.

Everyone's grain allowances are distributed by train, and, each time a new delivery arrives people flock to the train station behind the Justice Building to collect what they need. A few months ago I was there, waiting in line to sign my name and collect my family's grain. I remember watching the Mellark brothers arrive; a trio of broad shoulders, blonde hair and blue eyes that drew every woman's attention like a magnet. Fenton had flashed his business ID card to the peacekeepers guarding the train and just like that, the train door was slid open and the Mellark leapt on board.

They worked seamlessly – like a conveyor belt – and took sack after sack of produce off the train. Since carts aren't allowed on the platform for security reasons, they had to lug each 100kg bag from the train, across the platform, and to the cart waiting for them, and then pull it all the way back to the bakery. It was a hot day and hard, physical labour. Sweat quickly seeped through their shirts and stuck their hair down onto their heads, making all the women who had already been staring to fan themselves and giggle every time they went past. It didn't help that Rye, the middle brother, would wink at a different girl each time, just to get a reaction out of them.

For almost twenty minutes they moved back and forth, carting around bags on their shoulders. I can't deny that I too was staring. They needed to be strong for work like that, to be able to carry a bag almost double my weight, and the way their shirts clung to them was a sure-fire way to confirm, that yes, they did have the physical ability to do what many others couldn't.

My cheeks are on fire when I finally drag my eyes away, looking at my own skinny frame instead. Sure, I may be able to carry large animals, but my strength hasn't just come from years of exercise in the woods. It's also the thought of Prim- or my mother- dying if I don't bring in food. The image of Prim's skeletal frame huddled by the fire after Dad died is burned into my mind. That's what motivates me. Desperation. When I put on weight during the spring and fall I am visibly stronger, with lean muscles forming under my skin, but it's always lost during the extreme conditions of winter and summer.

"Smile, sweetheart," Haymitch smirks, crossing out mine and Peeta's names. I scowl at him.

"Here's your baby!" Effie trills, handing me a bag of flour. "Look after it well, and make sure you share chores equally! Next!" Madge and Mitch step forward while I walk to the back of the classroom with Peeta right behind me. I dump the sack down onto a desk and slump down into my seat with a sigh.

"That's no way to treat a baby," Peeta grins, taking a seat. "You can't just dump it on the table." I raise an eyebrow, pick the offending bag up and cradle it in my arms as if it were an actual child.

"Is that better?" I ask in a sickly sweet tone. He grins and shakes his head. I put the bag gently back down on the desk.

"I guess we need to sort out who's looking after it."

"I'll go first, if you want."

"And when shall I take it?"

"Next Friday?" I suggest. "We can alternate between weeks."

"Sounds like a plan," he grins, tilting his chair back until it's balancing on just its two back legs. It's a bad idea, given how old these things are. "You going to the party?"

"What party?"

"The one after school, celebrating 'surviving the first week of the games', or the bloodbath, if you will."

"That isn't much of a reason," I say. Peeta shrugs, his shirt straining. I look at the worn wooden desk in front of me, drumming my fingers impatiently.

"You don't need a reason to have a party," Peeta smiles. "Will you at least consider coming?"

"I don't know…" I say softly. "I don't like leaving Prim home alone, and Mom isn't exactly-" I pause. Peeta doesn't need to know about my mother's… condition.

"I know your mother is grieving, Katniss," he says carefully.

"Then you should understand why I couldn't leave Prim alone." I snap before I can stop myself. Peeta stay silent. I wonder if I've ruined the conversation.

"If you do decide to come, meet me outside the bakery at seven."

"Where is this party?" I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta smiling.

"At Bron's house."

"What about his parents and siblings?"

"He's my cousin, and his family and my parents and brothers are going to visit my Aunt. They won't be back until tomorrow evening," Peeta says. I blink. "At least consider it." Peeta urges. I bite my lip.

"Don't get your hopes up." I conclude as the bell rings.

School finishes after two more tedious lessons. I haul my 'baby' back home, relieved when I can slip my bag off my aching shoulders. The house is silent. Prim's at school still, at a club. I walk through our small house, checking all the beds.

"Mom?" I call. No answer. She must be working, which is a good sign. She's started increasing her workload more and more over this past year and I hope it's a signal to her beginning to return to her usual self. Here in the house by myself, if people come knocking at our door I would have to send them away because I'm not the nursing one of the family. I'd be no help at all if someone asked me for assistance, so I grab my father's hunting jacket from the hook by the door and step outside, glancing down the dirt track before heading towards the fence. I don't even realise that I'm running until I reach the hollow tree containing my bow and arrows, and I find that I'm out of breath. Better out of breath than stuck in my house with the risk of a patient turning up out of the blue.

I quickly track down Gale and shoot an arrow into the tree, just a foot above his head. He releases a strangled sound and turns to flee, before seeing that there is no threat. We spend the next few hours trawling the forest, stocking up on animals that we can trade or eat ourselves. The summer was harsh. The winter will not be forgiving. Preparation is vital.

We slip through the gap in the fence and cross the meadow and are walking to the Hob when Gale stops, checks the time on his hand-me-down, barely working watch, curses and hands me his game bag.

"I've got to go back," he says. "My shift starts in three minutes."

"What am I going to do with this?" I ask, holding up the bag as he runs in the direction of the mines.

"Trade it!" he calls.

"I'll give your share to Hazelle!" I shout back. He gives me a thumbs up and disappears behind some trees. My shoulders slump and I stare at the dust he kicked up into the air. "Be safe," I whisper.

"You have a gift, my dear," Sae says with a smile, looking down at the rabbits I've laid out in front of her.

"Gale helped," I say modestly.

"I'll give you twenty coins and since I'm feeling generous and summer is finally over: free soup."

"Thank you, Sae," I tell her, pocketing the coins and sitting down.

"Heard that there's a party going on, at the Whester household," Sae says, ladling soup into a chipped bowl and handing it to me. How she catches wind of everything going no in this district, I don't know. I suppose there's little else to do aside from bartering with people in the Hob every day. People talk. Sae listens. "You goin'?"

"Probably not," I say. "Prim will be all alone."

"Your mother is able to care for Primrose," Sae says, her eyes kind, creasing at the corners.

"She isn't."

"She is depressed, not dead," Sae says. I shoot her a look. "Give her a chance, dear."

"I gave her a chance, and look what happened."

"Katniss you really should-"

"Why are you standing up for her?" I ask crossly.

"Your mother came into the Hob not three hours ago and exchanged an offer of free healthcare in return for medical supplies."

"She doesn't even know about this place." I frown. At least, not of my knowledge.

"Damn well she does!" Sae says, exchanging soup for coins with another customer as she talks. "Your mother came here all the time when she first met your father."

"Really?"

"All the time," Sae smiles and stares off behind me, as if remembering a happy memory. "When her parents disowned her, she came here because she knew that your father would be somewhere among the stalls."

"He sat here?" I ask, looking down at the rickety, three-legged stool I'm currently perched on.

"Yep, bought soup from here every Sunday. Boy, was he a good talker," Sae notices my ashen expression and swiftly returns to talking about my mother. "When she found out she was pregnant with you, she ran from the Merchant apothecary across town and into this very building."

"But that's nearly two miles."

"I know. But that didn't stop her. She ran through the pouring rain, covering her boots in mud, and knocked Ripper over as she ran past me," Sae laughs to herself. "I swear, I've never seen a Merchant woman looking as happy as she did. Threw herself straight into your father's arms and kissed him for about half an hour, despite the fact that he was covered in coal dust and blood from hunting."

"Oh," I whisper, not knowing what I should say. I've never heard this story before.

"Let her look after Primrose," Sae says, bringing us both back to the present. "And you go to that party and act like any other normal sixteen year old girl."

"I'm not normal," I state, echoing my mom and wiping up the last of the soup with my finger.

"Not in the least, but that's not always a bad thing."

"I'll see you later," I say, slinging the two game bags over my shoulder and heading deeper into the warehouse to buy some more soap. After that I still have a heavy bag of coins on my hip, and four squirrels to trade. I head to the bakery, knowing that Mr Mellark is always willing to buy my squirrels. I don't think that they really need my game, but Peeta's father is too kind-hearted to turn me away. Mrs Mellark, however is the complete opposite. The evil witch despises me, and now that I've been reaped with her son, she probably hates me even more. (As if that was even possible).

I'm on tenterhooks as I wait on the doorstep at the back of the bakery. I peer through the window and see Farrell- Peeta's father- heading towards the back door.

"Is she there?" I ask quietly when he appears in the doorway, filling it completely.

"Workin' the till," the baker says softly, his blue eyes mirroring Peeta's.

"I've got four skinned squirrels," I whisper.

"Thirty coins," he says, pulling a small bag of coins from his apron pocket.

"Twenty and a loaf of bread."

"Fine."

I watch, listening out for Mrs Mellark's footsteps, as the man disappears into the bakery kitchen. I hear rustling as he puts my loaf in a paper bag and counts out my money.

I take them and smile gratefully. "Thank you."

"No, thank you!" Mr Mellark says, squeezing my shoulder.

"Farrell? Who are you talking to?" A shrill voice calls. Both of our eyes widen and I begin to back away, ready to run at a moment's notice.

"No one, dear."

"Where's Peeta?"

"He's out delivering bread," Mr Mellark says, lowering his voice slightly to talk to me. "I'll see soon, Katniss." I walk swiftly away, the paper bag containing coins and a loaf of bread clutched close to my chest. I keep my head down until I'm at the end of the road, and don't see the broad-shouldered person I collide with until I'm practically head-butting their chest.

"Oh, sorry!" I exclaim, stumbling backwards. The person grabs my arm to stop me from falling.

"Nah, don't worry." I look up to see Peeta standing in front of me. He releases my arm and grins. "Fancy seeing you around."

"I didn't see you coming," I blurt out, embarrassed at falling into him like a klutz.

"Neither did I," Peeta says, brushing it off. "My Dad's been overgenerous, again." He comments, looking at the bag I carry. Sure enough, there are a dozen or so oat and raisin cookies hidden at the bottom of the bag. I roll my eyes.

"He always is."

"Mom's going to catch him one day."

"Take these back," I insist, feeling guilty, pushing the bag at Peeta. "I don't want you to get into any trouble."

"I won't say anything if you don't," Peeta says. What is it with him helping me get away with things? The wind ruffles his blonde curls. I shake my head in amusement. "How's the baby?" He asks.

"Whose baby?" I ask stupidly.

"Umm… ours, I guess," he says awkwardly, his cheeks turning pink. He kicks at the ground, his shiny black boots getting coated in dust. I look down at my brown boots, the wear and tear they clearly display making me shuffle back a little as if getting some distance between us will make the social class less glaringly obvious.

"Oh!" I exclaim. "You mean the flour bag. It's fine. I left it at home."

"At home?"

"That sounds really bad, doesn't it?"

"You thought about tonight?"

"Uh, well, I don't know if-" he fixes me with an expression I can only describe as puppy-like, all big doe eyes and upturned mouth. Just like Prim, he knows it always works on me. "I think I'll come."

"I'll meet you at-"

"Seven outside the bakery." I finish for him, turning on my heel.

"See you then?" He calls after me.

"It's date."

Peeta

I totally saw her coming.

I stand there, dumbfounded, as Katniss walks away. I had to physically restrain myself from holding onto her when she fell into me. I run a hand through my hair and turn away as she disappears down the dip of the sloping path and begin to walk back into the bakery. I can only hope that she didn't see me blushing like a complete girl. Why can't I be cool around girls like Fen and Rye are? I mean, Fen is all charm and complements, whereas Rye is flirting and teasing. Maybe I'm a mix of the both. Charming, but flirting. I don't think compliments and teasing go well together. It would confuse people.

I step into the kitchen, wiping my feet on the doormat, and don't expect the suggestive expression Rye gives me when I turn around.

"She was out there, wasn't she?" he asks with a playful wink.

"Shove off." I say, pushing past him.

"Are you blushing?" Rye asks. I ignore him and I hear him beginning to chuckle.

Mom pounces the second I enter the shop. "What took you so long?" She snaps.

"Give him a break, Aymee," Dad protests from the other side of the counter. "He was only a minute late."

"Money?" Mom demands, ignoring her husband's pleas completely, her pen poised over the ledger in front of her.

"Forty silvers."

"Good," Mom says, putting the money in the till with a satisfied smile on her lips. "Now, go and ice the Dander's wedding cake."

"Yes ma'am." I nod my head, retreating to the back into the kitchen.

"Everdeen going to the party?" Rye asks me as I pull the cake from the pantry and set it on the rotating stand.

"Yeah, why?"

"Don't kiss her."

"I'm not going to kiss her," I reply, placing the coloured icing on the table.

"Don't do anything."

"I'm not going to do anything!" I say. "I'm not stupid!" Rye's lips twitch as he tries his hardest not to grin manically.

"You know she's fucking Hawthorne, right?"

"She isn't," I mumble, but a sliver of doubt creeps in, making my voice wobble enough to give away that I'm not entirely sure.

"How do you know?"

"I just do!" I say. Rye chuckles. After a couple minutes of peaceful silence, Rye speaks again.

"You're worrying about it now, aren't you?"

"No."

But, dear God am I worrying. Katniss hangs around with Gale an awful lot. Who knows what they get up to during the long hours spent beyond the fence? I shake my head and fill the icing bags with pink frosting. I doubt Katniss would do that. She wouldn't. The fact that Hawthorne likes her a lot is obvious, but I don't think she sees him in that way. She sees him as a brother – a tiny piece of reassuring information. You wouldn't sleep with your brother, would you?

I wonder what she sees me as.

A friend? An enemy? An ally?

At three thirty, Mom reluctantly closes the bakery and pulls on her newest dress. Dad takes their overnight bags down to the front of the shop. Mom lines Fenton, Rye and myself up and inspects us. Great-Aunt Grace lives in a large house at the outskirts of the district. She married young and when he died of a fever five years later, she was left with a house and three kids to look after.

But that was no problem. She had money. And a lot of it at that.

So, naturally, Mom always acts differently around her, and expects her husband and sons to be respectful and helpful when we visit. Anything to ensure that she gets a lump son when Great-Aunt Grace kicks the bucket.

"Tuck in your shirt, Rye," she orders. Rye grumbles but does as he's told. "Tie your laces, Fenton." Fen kneels down and ties his laces. "You're lucky to be staying here this time, Peeta."

"Why?" I ask. She narrows he eyes into slits.

"Because you are a mess. A disgrace! Look at your shirt! Look at your boots!" she exclaims. "Next time we visit, I do not want a repeat of last time just because you can't hold it together."

I can see Rye laughing silently out of the corner of my eye. Last time we visited Great-Aunt Grace; I spilt wine all over the cream coloured bearskin adorning the living room floor. It was an accident. Rye tripped me up.

"Yes ma'am."

"Now, listen here," Mom says. "I want you to look after this house. Do not allow anyone in. Do not mess around. Do your chores. Only serve from one pm to four pm. You understand?"

"Yes ma'am."

"One more thing, before we leave."

"Yes?"

"If you even think about bringing a girl here, or anyone for that matter, I will wring your neck with my bare hands," Mom jabs a pointy-nailed finger into my chest, looking up at me with beady eyes. Over the past two years, I've grown much taller. Mom's the shortest now. I think it intimidates her a little, and she uses as many threats as she can to ensure that everyone knows she's in charge.

"Ha! Peeta bringing a girl back?" Rye laughs. "That's likely!" Mom whirls round to face Rye.

"You can't talk!" She barks, her eyebrows knitted together. "If I catch you sniffing around Aunt Grace's maid again, I'll see to it that you are locked in your room for a month!" I bite the inside of my cheeks in an effort to stop laughing. Rye scowls and exits the shop, Fen and Mom following behind. Dad picks up the bags and gives me a wry smile.

"Have fun, son," he says. "But be careful."

Dad has a thing about drinking. When he was about seventeen, he went drinking with a group of guys from school and one of his friends was so intoxicated that he clambered on top of the blacksmith's horse. Said horse didn't appreciate the boy's drunken advances and swiftly kicked in the head. He died an hour later with blood coming out of his ears.

When Fen came home from a night out more than a little tipsy, Dad sat with him all night to make sure he didn't throw up in his sleep. When Rye didn't come home after a night out, however, Dad searched for hours with Fenton until he found his second son passed out in a paper party hat and a tutu. The mystery of where the tutu came from remains unsolved.

"I'll be responsible."

"I mean it." Dad says.

"So do I."

Dinner is a quiet. I cook one of the squirrels Katniss traded earlier with my father and eat it stretched out on the sofa, the TV remote in my lap with no family taking it from me and pushing me onto the floor. At five thirty, I mop the kitchen floors and the shop front. I fold the clothes I washed after Dad finally left and put them in their respective rooms. The clock on the wall strikes six. I draw the shutters on the storefront and hop into the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, I find myself standing in nothing but a towel, staring at my wardrobe. What do I wear? I'm guessing that Bron isn't requesting that his guests turn up in black and white ballroom attire, so I settle on a blue, button up shirt and my cleanest black pants. I drag a brush through my damp hair and stand in front of the full-length mirror in my parent's room examining myself. I mess my hair slightly. I adjust my shirt. I groan and walk downstairs, pulling my wrestling hoodie. Casual it is.

I double knot the laces on my boots. I peer out through the shutters, the street outside illuminated in a buttery yellow glow as the sun disappears over the mountains. I lock the back door of the bakery and pace around the kitchen. I eat a cheese bun to calm my nerves. Three short knocks on the door alert me of Katniss' arrival. I glance at the clock. It's dead on seven.

Counting to ten, a wait before opening the door. Katniss stands there, a small smile on her lips. She's wearing a green dress that cuts off just above her knees. She's still wearing her hunting boots, which makes me smile. Boots are Katniss. Dresses are not.

"I feel underdressed." I say.

"I feel overdressed." Katniss replies.

"You look beautiful."

"Thank you," Katniss says timidly. Her eyes roam over me. "You look handsome."

"I just threw this on." I say, earning a smile.

"You ready to go?" she asks. I nod, realising that we've just been standing there for thirty seconds. I leave the front light on, pull the key around my neck out and lock the front door, and we begin the trek to the party. The music can be heard from the top of the road and Katniss falters.

"You alright?"

"I shouldn't be here."

"Why not? Everyone's here."

"I don't fit in."

"No, you don't," I say. "That's why you should defiantly be here." I curse myself internally. How come when I'm around this girl, the connection between my brain and mouth is severed? That didn't make any sense at all. I knock on the front door, batting a moth away as it flies near my face.

"You don't like moths?" Katniss asks.

"They're creepy," I defend, grimacing as she lets the creature land on her arm. The door swings open and Bron appears, the moth leaves Katniss' arm, and Bron swats it against the wall with his sand. Katniss makes a small sound when he wipes his hand on his trousers like he didn't just kill something.

"What is she doing here?" he asks, his lip turned up as he glances at Katniss.

"Katniss is my plus one."

"Nah she ain't." Bron shakes his head, blocking the doorway.

"You said everyone was invited."

"Everyone but her."

"There are other Seam kids here."

"Yeah, and?"

"I'll just go…" Katniss mumbles from beside me, turning and walking away.

I lean in towards Bron. "I know you made out with Mrs Daniels last month." Even in his inebriated state he knows that I have one up on him and gives in to save his skin.

"Don't be any louder than you would in your own home," he mutters, turning away. I look at Katniss, who has walked some distance during our short exchange, and rush after her.

"Come on," I encourage her. She bites her lip.

"They don't want me here."

"Bron's an asshole."

"You better not make me regret this," she relents, and we walk back towards the house.