I don't know who I am anymore.

Once my father died, everything changed. My mother phased out and my little sister was too young to make money. No one in their right mind hired an eleven year old, even from my hometown, Maple Grove, West Virginia. Maple Grove is a very poor, impoverished town. Most of the men work in the mines. That's how we lost my father – a mine explosion.

But, back to the story. The point is, we needed money. Bad. So I played to my strengths. I took my father's old guitar, learned how to play some popular tunes, and played on the steps of the mall or the bank or Maple Grove Theater. At first, I wasn't making any money. Then, I gained what some call 'fans' who gave me a dollar every time they saw me. It wasn't much, but with the benefits we were getting from the mine owners for my father's death and the money I was making for singing and playing the guitar, we got by until I was old enough to get a real job. When I was sixteen, I got my first job at Scoops, the ice cream parlor in a neighboring town. But I found that my passion still resided in music. So when I wasn't working or doing schoolwork, I wrote my own songs on the guitar and continued to play on street corners in my downtime.

Eventually, I talent agent was passing through and he found me. He flew my mother, sister, and I out to Los Angeles. The rest, as they say, is history. I recorded an album that found immediate commercial success. I went on tour with another famous singer of the day, Glimmer, and that was when I really began to change. And today, as I sit in my dressing room before my the opening show of my second headlining tour, I'm contemplating my entire existence. Why have I turned into such a diva? Why haven't I talked to my sister in two years? Why did I even become a singer in the first place? Why, why, why?

"Katniss, you're on in five," my manager, Gale, says. Gale was my only friend. Other than Glimmer, of course.

"Okay," I say. I stand from my seat. And I do what I do every night. I put on a show and act like the nicest girl in the world. But when I lay in my bunk on my tour bus at night, I know that's not who I am. I've turned into someone I'm not. And I don't know how to get back to who I should be.

AEAEAEAEAEAE

"We've hired your personal assistant," Gale says the next afternoon as we walk into the venue.

"Really?" I say. "I never thought you'd find one."

Gale shrugs. "I told you, I took care of it personally. He was the most qualified on the list."

"He?" I ask.

"Yes," Gale says. "Peeta Mellark."

"Strange name," I comment.

"And Katniss isn't?"

"Touche."

Gale laughs. "His first day's tomorrow," he continues. "As you know, I have to leave tomorrow because Madge is due any day now." Gale was married to Madge Undersee, a politician's daughter. Gale had wanted to date me once, when he first became my manager when I was seventeen. He was two years older. But I denied him. Years later, he found Madge, got her pregnant, and married her before anyone could tell that the baby was conceived out of wedlock. "He'll basically be my stand-in until I return."

"When are you coming back?" I ask.

"Two months after Madge has the baby," Gale says.

We arrive at my dressing room and Gale leaves me alone. I begin to think. I'm twenty-one years old. I'm the world-famous Katniss Everdeen. I could have any boy I wanted. But I'd never had a boyfriend. I'd never kissed a boy. I'd never had sex. But, when I stop to think about it, I don't really want that. Not with someone where it will just be a fling. I want the real deal – a romance, they call it. I want someone to open the door for me, to pull the chair out for me, to hold my hand, to take me out on a romantic dinner. I want someone to tell me they're happy with just kissing me, they don't want to go all the way unless I want to go all the way. Yes, I want that. A gentleman. A handsome gentleman, who's tall and strong and gorgeous. Blonde, I decide. Blonde, with blue eyes. The bluest eyes anyone could imagine.

"You're dreaming, Everdeen," I sigh, standing up and walking over to the mini-fridge. "Guys like that only exist in dreams."

AEAEAEAEAEAE

The next day, Gale texts me to inform me that my new assistant is on the way to my dressing room. I reply with an 'okay' and wait. There's a slight knock on the door. When I open it, my knees go weak.

Blonde, I notice. With the bluest eyes I can imagine. He's tall. He's very muscular. He has a chiseled jaw, a pointed nose . . . he's gorgeous. My dreams have been answered, I think.

"Hi," he says. "I'm Peeta Mellark, your new assistant."

"I'm Katniss," I blubber after a moment's pause. "Um, come in."

Peeta walks in. He's wearing a white v-neck and fitted, dark wash jeans. I may be a diva, but I let my employees wear whatever they want. His blonde hair falls over his forehead. He brushes it out of the way. "So your manager is leaving for a couple months?"

I nod. It takes me a moment to collect my thoughts. "Um, yeah," I say. "His wife's pregnant."

"He's twenty-three, right?" Peeta asks. I nod. "I'm twenty-two," he continues. "Just out of college. This is the best job I could've asked for."

"I'm twenty-one," I say.

He smiles. "I know."

"You know?" I ask.

"I did my research," Peeta says. "Well, I mean, I knew a lot about you already, because you're just around so much, but I read a little about you. You're from Maple Grove, West Virginia. You have a little sister who's seventeen. I mean, I don't know much, but I know the basics."

"I don't know anything about you," I say. Nice one, Katniss, I applaud myself. That was good.

"Do you want to?" he asks.

I shrug. "We'll be spending an awful lot of time together."

He laughs and sits down on one of the chairs. I sit on the couch across from him. "Well, I'm Peeta Mellark," he says. "I'm twenty-two, but you knew that. I graduated from the University of Michigan with a degree as a Talent Manager."

"Why'd you study to be that?" I ask curiously.

"I always wanted to be a singer so I could tour," he admits. "But I'm God-awful. So I still get to tour, but I get to be behind the scenes instead." He pauses. "I grew up in Ypsilanti, Michigan. My family owns a bakery – they've owned it since the beginning of time, it seems like. Right now, my middle brother Rye's running it since my dad retired. My older brother, Jake, is married with kids and lives in Detroit. He's a lawyer."

"What's Michigan like?" I ask.

He smiles. "Michigan's beautiful," he begins. "It snows all winter. During the summer, it's always so nice outside. We used to make trips to Traverse City every summer."

"Used to?" I ask.

"My mom got sick," he says softly. "She died when I was fifteen."

"I'm so sorry," I say. "My dad died in a mine explosion when I was eleven." And I instantly feel a stronger connection to Peeta Mellark, my new assistant.

"I knew about that," he says. "And I'm sorry about your loss, as well." There's a short pause. "So, I'm your assistant. Does that mean I'll be, like, fetching your coffee?"

I laugh. "I hate coffee."

"Good, me too," Peeta laughs. "I can't stand the smell of it."

"Do you like the smell of cinnamon and vanilla?" I ask.

He nods curiously. "Why?"

"I burn those candles on the bus," I say. "As my assistant/manager, you'll be on my bus."

"Who else is on your bus?"

"Nobody," I say. "Normally Gale's on it, but he'll be gone."

"So, tell me more about yourself," he says. "What's it like to be Katniss Everdeen, world-famous pop-star?"

I smile. "It's fun," I say vaguely. "The fans are really sweet."

"You sound so enthusiastic," he teases.

I laugh. "Fame isn't all it's cracked up to be," I shrug. "I mean, it's hard. But then again, it's worth it."

He pauses. "You know, I also read that you're a diva. But you're a really nice girl, Katniss. Why do people call you a diva?"

"Because I am one," I say softly. "I am. I'm just a big bitch. That's why fame sucks. It changes you."

He looks at me. "I don't think you're a bitch. I'm really good a judging people by how they act. You're not a bitch at all."

"Thank you," I whisper. "But you don't have to lie."

"I'm not lying," he says. "I think you're beautiful. I'd be lying if I said that I haven't been nursing a giant crush on you since I first saw you on the music scene five years ago. And I'd really be lying if I said I didn't have a crush on you anymore. But it's not appropriate to date your employer, right?" He smiles and pats my shoulder. "I really, really wish it was appropriate." He walks out the door.

I wait about fifteen seconds before I snap to attention.

It's appropriate if I want it to be appropriate. I'm the employer, right? I make the rules.

"Wait!" I shout after him.