It's a Jungle Out There

by Blueberrychills94

When head cheerleader Katniss Everdeen is found in her bathroom unconscious and surrounded in pills everyone thinks the same thing: suicide. Her life is thrown into turmoil when nobody believes her when she says that she didn't try to kill herself and the only person she can turn to is Peeta, the boy who she has bullied for most of her life and is now tutoring her for math. OCC.

5. Chapter 5

A/N: Sorry this is a day late, I've caught the cold and feel like shit :/

I realize some of you are confused about the pairing for this story. The endgame is most certainly Everlark. I understand why some may be confused; my profile does make it evident that I also ship Peetato as well as Everlark. However, if my story is Everlark then the pairing will be Everlark and if my story is Peetato then the pairing will be Peetato. Make sense?

A MASSIVE thank you to Leftlone on Wattpad for making this awesome cover!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.

Chapter Five

"Mellark!" I yell, hobbling after him out of the bathroom. Mellark is too fast, his lithe frame making it easy for him to weave around the kids crowding the halls. He has disappeared within seconds. Honestly, I don't know why I felt the impulse to follow him. Something about the way he just darted off was so strange . . . Was I particularly offensive? I don't recall saying anything nasty to him. If I didn't have a broken leg, I'd have caught up with him no problem. But I do and I must haul a two ton cast around while beating people out of the way with my crutches. Mellark has already vanished before I can push halfway down the first hallway.

"Katniss!"

I close my eyes and grit my teeth. Just great. Plastering a fake smile on my face, I spin around and say, "Hey Marvel." He has that slimy smirk on his face that never fails to make me feel sick. He grabs my wrist and drags me into Cashmere's parent's room. "What are you doing? This room is out of bounds. You know those rumours about her folks doing coke and hiding it under the mattress!"

"Let's fuck with your stalker in the next room!" Marvel declares, shutting the door to make sure no one comes in.

"Are you mad?!" I exclaim. "No!"

Marvel thumps the bathroom door. The door in which he thinks Mellark is behind. He toes his shoes off and climbs onto the bed. I turn my nose up in disgust. God, he really thinks I'm going to do this. "Come on," he says, waving me over. "I'm sure you're tired, walking around on your bad leg for so long."

"Marvel, I'm not having sex with you," I say. "What sort of girl do you think I am?"

"A horny one?" he guesses. I pick up a pillow and throw it at his face. He catches it and smirks. It disappears a second later. "Why not?"

"I needed a date to the party, not a fuck buddy," I scowl.

"I figured date insinuated fucking too," Marvel says.

Oh for Christ's sake . . . "Even if it did, do you really think I'd do it with Mellark in the next room?" I answer.

Marvel laughs. "What do you think of that, Fatboy?" he says loudly. "Katniss is worried about fucking with you in the room next door! It's no secret you nerds are perverts because you don't get any I suppose."

No response. Not that I'd expect Peeta to rise to Marvel's bait anyway.

"Hey, Mellark, I'm talking to you!" Marvel yells.

"Marvel"- I begin. He cuts me off by waving his hand in a clear 'shut up!' gesture. He stands up and goes to the door. "Marvel, just leave him alone."

Marvel throws the bathroom door open. "He's not fucking here!"

"Marvel," I repeat. I'm shocked to realize that I'm starting to panic. If Marvel discovers that I let Mellark go then my reputation is in jeopardy but if he thinks Mellark escaped on his own then he'll tell Gale and they'll . . . I dread to think what they'll do. "Leave it, Marvel. Clearly he's gone. There's more important things to worry about than Mellark."

Marvel scoffs and swipes the purple sash which had bound Mellark's hands together from where I left it on the floor. Not the best place, I'll admit, but I dropped it when Peeta made a bolt for it like a startled gazelle. "Like what? The sex you're not giving?" he asks. "If I'm not getting some pussy tonight then I'm going to have to go for the alternative."

"Alternative?" I question weakly.

"I'm going to find that geeky son of a bitch and show him what it costs to make a fool out of us," Marvel angrily mutters.

"Marvel!" I grab his wrist as he makes for the door and cry out in pain when he refuses to stop for a few more seconds, hence dragging me along behind him. "Wait!" He stops and looks at me, nostrils flaring in rage. I already saved Peeta once tonight, I'm not completely sure why I'm determined to keep doing it.

I suppose the main reason is that he didn't choose to be here tonight. I can imagine that he would prefer to be at home doing his homework or something, not stuck at an all-nighter party babysitting a girl he's grown away from. If Peeta maybe had had a stroke or something and believed that he was welcome here, coming on his own free will, maybe my feelings would be different. Maybe.

"What?" Marvel snaps.

I think on my feet and throw my crutches to the floor, lifting my hands to the zipper of my jacket and pulling to down to reveal the tight tank top I'd thrown on in the off-chance that the jealousy would be too much for Gale to handle and that he'd drag me into a room and have his way with me. It's one of my better tops too, the ones that I love because they push my breasts up and make them seem bigger than they really are.

"I thought you said you wanted this?" I ask, cocking my head in faux innocence. Would it be rude if I threw up at the way he's looking at me right now? His eyes have darkened to this unnatural black colour. I recognize the look from when we used to date. "Or is Mellark more important than that?"

Marvel is on me in a second. He has always reeked of desperation. I don't know whether he just doesn't get sex outside from when we dated or he is just addicted to sex but every time it is proposed to him, it's like he has get to it immediately. He pounces on me-or any other girl he dates-like he's a lion and they're a piece of meat.

At least he's considerate enough to carry me because I ditched my crutches. He lies me on Cashmere's parents' bed and straddles me like my hips are a saddle. I suppose it isn't too bad. Sex is sex. I'm not going to pretend I haven't had it before and it's not like this is my first time. So really this distraction benefits me more than it would benefit anyone else. Well, maybe it benefits Marvel just a tiny bit more.

The thing is, Marvel isn't bad at sex. In fact, he's alright. I wouldn't say mind blowingly amazing-I've never had an orgasm with him-but the stuff he can do is pretty good. He can get quite a few moans from me but when put up against everyone else who I've done it with, what he gets from me is very plain.

I lift my arms as Marvel pulls off my shirt. He claimed my lips and massaged my bare breasts in his hands, his nickname of 'gropey' coming into play here. He pinches my nipples before sliding his lips down my chest and takes one in his mouth. I have to admit, this does feel nice, and I sigh in content, letting him do what he wished. I suppose 'content' shouldn't really be something once should feel during foreplay but that's exactly what I did feel. Completely . . . okay.

"How do you get your trousers off with this on?" Marvel mutters, his teeth grazing my hard nipple as he spoke.

"Just stick your hand in, the effort isn't worth the time," I reply.

Marvel latches his lips onto my nipple again and stuffs his hand down my pants. I wince, the feeling of his skin grazing my own in such an intimate place making my stomach churn. Why am I doing this again? He seems to have no clue on how to pleasure women as he sticks his finger right in and goes straight for my clit.

I jump in surprise, my gasp of shock being mistaken for pleasure. "Marvel, stop, you're doing it wrong," I snap, yanking his hand out and trying to slow my breathing. "Directly stimulating my clit hurts, you ass!"

Marvel doesn't seem bothered. He flicks the button open on my jeans and slides them down my thighs, stopping where my cast begins. I lie back and let him, shaking my uninjured leg out of jeans in case he decides to go right for the painful places again. When he takes his own jeans and pants off, he looks at me for a reaction. I almost forget to look impressed at his average sized cock and raise my eyebrows last minute, licking my lips as if I want this to happen. Only an idiot would fall for such an unrealistic act but . . . then again . . . Marvel was always a bit of a twat anyway and he would fall for anything if it meant getting some sex.

He strokes himself for a minute or two and I have to force myself to think of something else if I have any chance of getting wet. I think of Gale; of what it would be like if Gale was the one doing this with me. He'd be much more experienced, know much more than Marvel would. He'd caress my breasts while suckling on my nipples. He'd finger me delicately, not go right in for the kill with my clit. Damn, I wish this was Gale. I'd wouldn't have to pretend if it was Gale.

"Ready for me?"

Is that question really valid? I wonder how Marvel would react if I told him how I really felt. You know, 'fuck, no'? Instead I nod and breathe shallower so my chest heaves more, pretending to look like I'm so overcome with lust to the point that I can't speak.

Annoyingly, I remember every painful second where Marvel is inside me. He pounds me hard-nothing changed in that regard, still overeager-and thinks that just because he's also palming my boobs that I'm going to get off too. I'm not completely sure where that logic comes from, maybe it's a general guy consensus that if girls' boobs are being rubbed then they'll get off? Ha, that's a joke. That's like saying rubbing a guy's ass is enough to get him off!

Marvel is so lost in his own pleasure that he doesn't notice I'm drifting. At first I think I'm going to think of Gale again but I don't. I worry about Mellark. The thought comes into my head that maybe he's been caught by Gale and might be having the living shit punched out of him. The idea makes me want to get up now and go in search of Gale but I can't. I will owe Mellark even more . . .

For some bizarre reason, I wonder if Mellark would be any good at sex. I picture that he's above me instead of Marvel. I can't imagine him being as rough but the idea of the nerd above me . . . naked . . . muscles rippling and glasses askew . . . actually makes my blood heat up and I cry out in surprise as an unfamiliar rush flushes through me.

Fuck, did I just orgasm?

Marvel finishes too and looks proud of himself as his eyes take in my weak, flushed body. Yeah, fuck you asshole, it wasn't you that made me . . . Wait, does that mean . . . ?

"Time to find Mellark," Marvel pants after a couple of minutes.

"What?!" I bolt upright and try to grab Marvel as he gets off the bed. I'm not fast enough. "I thought you said"-

"The kid needs put in his place still," says Marvel. He winks at me. "I'll dedicate this beating to you and your monstrous orgasm, baby."

"Marvel!" I scream at him. "Don't you dare"-

Marvel salutes me and leaves the room after only putting his pants back on. He wants to make it clear that he just fucked me to everyone else at the party. Argh!

I quickly pull my panties back up and stuff my leg back into my jeans. My shirt is on the floor at the end of the bed and I have to claw my way over to it, dragging my cast along behind me like a deadweight. Once my shirt is back on-never mind the bra, no time-and I've liberated my crutches, I heave myself to my feet and move as fast as I can to reach the door.

The hallways are clear. That's odd. As I clamour down the stairs, I can vaguely hear cheering outside. I trip over beer cans and rubbish as I make my way to the living room window. There's a crowd outside cheering someone on. Oh fuck.

"Katniss!"

Clove rushes in from the kitchen, arms filled with more beer bottles. "Marvel is beating up Mellark! It's fucking hilarious, I'm just bringing out some refreshments. Y'know, for the onlookers. I was thinking a dollar a pop, what'dya think?"

"Why hasn't Mellark left yet?" I mutter, feeling annoyed with Peeta for not getting the hell out of the party while I was distracting Marvel.

"I think he wanted to. He was trying to peel Delly off the walls so they could go but she refused to be easy," Clove laughs.

"I have to help him," I say, pushing away from the window and hobbling to the door.

"Are you mad?!" Clove barks after me. She grabs my arm and spins me around. "Or are you just drunk?"

"Fuck off Clove, Mellark doesn't stand a chance! Marvel will kill him! He's drunk and he's angry! Do you really want to be responsible for selling beer at a murder site?!" I yell.

Clove's eyes widen. "Good point." She ditches the beer and runs to the door, holding it open for me as I limp out. We may hate the nerds, but I doubt anyone would want to see them actually . . . well . . . you know, dead.

The cheering of the crowd of drunks outside is nearly deafening. Clove knows the only person Marvel will listen to is me and therefore grabs one of my two crutches and uses it to beat people out of the way. I struggle after her, hopping through the pathways she clears. The crowd stinks of alcohol and sweat, the air thick with testosterone and fear.

I stumble when I get out the other side and Clove shoves my crutch back into my hand so I can regain balance. She freezes and takes a hesitant step back. "Uh . . ." she trails off.

"What?!"

The first thing I see is Mellark. I feel sick at the way he's curled up in the grass, clutching his stomach like he's about to throw up, his face bruised and bleeding. I think his nose is broken . . . judging by the way it's twisted anyway. After that I see Marvel, standing over Mellark's body like he's wants to jump in again, but there's a hand on his chest, holding him back.

Cato?

What the hell?

"That's enough, Marvel," Cato says firmly.

"I don't think the nerd has gotten the message!"

"Don't be a fucking idiot, Marvel. If you keep this up, he'll end up in hospital. If he ends up in hospital then there will be a police inquiry. If there's a police inquiry then you're going to get yourself arrested and I sure as hell am not going to lie for you." Cato gave Marvel a push and offered Mellark a hand up. "There you go squirt. Now get the hell out of here before someone else decides to tenderise you."

"I need to bring Delly home," Peeta answers. His voice is so quiet and hoarse, I can only assume this is what he said judging by Cato's response.

"I'm sure one of the very few sober patrons here will drive Delly home later," says Cato.

I watch Peeta as the crowd disperses. As he picks up his jacket and winces as he shrugs it on. He's limping away when I spot something in the grass. I pick it up and sigh at the sight of his glasses, with a broken lens and swinging leg. "Peeta!" I call. He stops and glances over his shoulder.

"What?" he croaks.

"Your . . . your glasses," I say, holding them out of him.

"Keep them. I have spares at home." Without another word he leaves. The crowd has panned out and the party as resumed but suddenly I'm not in the mood to have fun.

I pocket Peeta's glasses and start for home.

~xXx~

Mellark is in school on Monday. I don't know why this surprises me but when I see him sitting at the table near the window in form class I'm almost taken aback. It's clear that Marvel's beating took its toll, if the stiff way he moves and the bruises are anything to go by, but for some reason he hasn't taken off sick. Is attendance really that important to him? Even his nose is bandaged up, broken like I'd suspected.

"Did you hear?" Clove asks as soon as she plops into the desk next to mine. I jolt in shock, not having realized that I had been staring intensely at the back of Mellark's head ever since I sat down, trying to figure out what his deal is.

"Hear what?" I ask, breaking my gaze from Mellark's blond head to focus on Clove.

"Someone's been spreading stuff about Cato," she explains to me in a hushed voice.

I roll my eyes. "And? So what? People spread shit all the time. Only difference between them and this idiot is that it's clear whoever this twit is has a death wish," I say. "I mean, god, who decides-out of everyone in the school-that they're going to spread lies about Cato, of all people? They've clearly decided that either (A) they don't like the colouring of their skin or (B) they don't want to live anymore but can't be assed tying a noose."

Clove props her chin on her hand, clearly unimpressed by my reaction. Her chocolate eyes slide around in an arch and she mutters, "You didn't even ask what they're spreading about him."

"Fine," I sigh. "What are they spreading about him?"

Ever since Cashmere's party, it's been no secret that rumours have been bouncing around as to why Cato intervened when he did. I just thought that he was protecting Marvel, since it was clear that the antagonist himself had been past the point of coherent thought and would probably have beat Mellark until he died of internal injuries. However, random theories have been bobbing around from those sorts of people who have no purpose to their lives other than spreading things that are untrue about others. I haven't listened to any of the bullshit that has been slipping down the grapevine. Until now, that is.

"Something about Cato only stopping Marvel when he did because he has the hots for Mellark," Clove explains.

I snort. "What? Seriously? That's just stupid. Just because Cato's gay doesn't mean he fancies everything with a dick. Certainly not a dick from Loser's End."

"Tell that to whoever started the rumour," Clove says. "You'd think most would know that Cato wouldn't associate himself with a loser like Fatboy but since, well, I dunno, since it's about same gender couples or whatever the student body is believing it easier than they would if, say, someone started a rumour that you had the hots for the nerd."

I frown to myself. "His name's Peeta," I mutter. "Not Fatboy."

"Right," Clove says, dragging the word out slowly. "Anyway, here's the weird part, Cato hasn't come out and said they're wrong. Is that strange or am I reading into it too much?"

"I don't know Clove, it doesn't seem that strange," I tell her. "Cato is a smart guy, he probably knows that gossip is gossip. It will pass just like it always does. We just have to wait until another girl gets pregnant or trips in the hallway so her skirt flies up and exposes her ass."

Clove laughs and the topic drops. Gossip comes hand in hand with being in such a bitchy place. I don't think I've ever seen lies spread as rapidly as it does in High School. Sure, Middle School would sometimes have the odd mistruth but it was more of a subdued nature. Not sexuality or anything heavy like that.

I thought that since I'm getting tutored math after school I wouldn't have to go to Mr. Abernathy's pairs but it seems that I do. We're learning algebra and on this particular day we're split into groups and told to make a huge polygon out of small triangles. Each side of the triangles either has a sum or an answer. One side sometimes has nothing, which would be for the outside of the polygon. To make the polygon a sum must be matched with an answer.

Mr. Abernathy isn't annoying like the other teachers in the school, I suppose my loathing for him is rooted more in the subject he teaches. He lets us choose our own pairs. Usually, Clove, Glimmer and I would ask for a three way group, which Abernathy always allowed. Except this time Glimmer immediately joins up with Cashmere. Not that Clove and I were going to ask her over anyway. The bitch has practically ignored us ever since I came back. The only time we've spoken was the brief conversation at Cashmere's party.

"Algebra," Clove grunts between her teeth. She's struggling with the scissors, not having realized that they're left-handed, and is aggressively trying to cut out the triangles for the polygon. "Why couldn't it be the two times tables or something?"

I pick up each triangle and arrange them out in rows, just to have something to do. The weather outside is atrocious, the rain battering the window like thousands of tiny pebbles being fired at the glass. The greyness of the outside contrasts with the artificial light inside and the room is almost unbearably bright because of this. I look at the equations on the sides of the triangle and slowly arrange them around so they fit.

Clove pauses her cutting and looks at my hands moving the triangles around. She only has a few more to cut out and I'll have a look at those in a moment. "Just randomly guessing?" she asks.

"It's easy," I tell her. "Just do it backwards."

"Huh?"

I take the paper out of Clove's hand and snip off one of the triangles. "Look. 2x + 7= 47. Instead of adding it, subtract. Forty seven subtract seven equals . . . ?"

"Forty," Clove says slowly, if a little unsurely.

"And instead of multiplying, divide. Forty divided by two is . . . ?"

"Twenty."

"Exactly! So x is twenty!" I frown. "I think." I'm still not confident with this. When I'm doing it after school with Mellark, he checks over my answers for me. The green ticks beside each of my answers sort of gives me a comforting reassurance that I don't have in class. I almost go to his desk and bring him over to our table to ask what he thinks. I couldn't even if I wanted to though because he's been pulled out of class for something. Principal Snow probably wants to talk about what happened at Cashmere's party. Maybe force Marvel and him to talk about their issues with Ms. Trinket and her sock puppets.

"Well, here's twenty anyway," says Clove, taking the triangle with the number twenty on one side and putting it beside the 2x + 7 =47 one. "If we're wrong, well fuck it, what else is new?"

I basically do the rest. Clove isn't exactly as bad as me at maths but she isn't a whiz either. Where I get tripped up on everything, she stumbles at questions that involve letters instead of numbers, which don't make up an entire exam and explains why she passes and I don't.

The polygon turns out to be a hexagon. Huh. We actually did it. Abernathy passes us on his way to the storage cupboard (where everyone knows his booze stash is) and glances down at my work. "Good job, Katniss. The tutoring seems to be paying off," he says. I don't want to admit that he's right but . . . well, the evidence is right there on the desk.

Whether I like it or not, Mellark's smarts have been rubbing off on me.

~xXx~

"Thank you."

"What?"

"I said thank you."

"But why?"

I plop down onto the seat across from Mellark with a soft 'thump'. The library is completely empty, meaning I don't even have to bother being cautious about what I say. Mellark is staring at me incredulously, as if I have two heads. "Because your help is paying off," I reluctantly admit.

Mellark raises his eyebrows. "Really? I didn't think you'd ever open up to something like that. Even if it was helping," he tells me.

"Don't expect it often," I huff. I unzip my bag and slap my books onto the table. Despite myself, something that feels like concern wells up inside me and I find myself muttering, "Were you hurt much?"

There's a silence that isn't too long but is long enough for me to wonder if Peeta is going to answer me or not.

"I've had worse," he replies.

I risk a glance at him. "Your nose . . . is it broken?"

"Fractured," Peeta clarifies.

"I'm sorry about Marvel, really," I feel compelled to tell him. "He's a baboon at best. Clove and I were actually coming to stop him but . . . well . . ." I glance at my leg and back up at him. "I'm not very fast right now and, uh, I was kinda stuck upstairs." I don't know why I'm telling Peeta this. I shouldn't care whether he knows that I tried to stop the fight or not. In fact, I don't even know why I wanted to stop the fight in the first place.

"Marvel told everyone where you were," Peeta says. He brushes his hair over his left eye which seems to have taken a beating too. "He was pretty keen for your 'stalker' to know what you two had been up to."

I groan and cover my face with my hands in shame. "Oh god, I'm sorry. I only went to the party with him anyway to"-

"Make Gale Hawthorne jealous," Peeta finishes.

My eyes widen. "How did you . . . ?"

"You may be popular Katniss but you're as subtle as a train wreck on a boat," Peeta says. "Gale gets a new girlfriend while Madge isn't here and you're all of a sudden back with an old flame? It's like a game of Envy and Spite between you two. Can't people just say, 'hey, I like you, wanna go out for a milkshake?' anymore?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Milkshake?"

"What's wrong with that?"

Really, I shouldn't be surprised. Why would Peeta ask a girl anywhere other than a milkshake parlour or somewhere innocent like that? He doesn't seem like the heavy drinking type. Especially not in terms of alcohol. "Look, I don't expect you to understand," I say. "Have you even dated someone before? All you have is rumours about Cato having the hots for you."

Peeta snorts. "Cato? He doesn't even give me the time of day."

"Not that you really care, right? You nerds grew an immunity to that long ago," I say. "Besides, Cato's the only openly gay guy in the entire school. I'm not saying there aren't others-I'm sure there are-but out of everyone he'd crush on, why you? No offence but it's not like it would help your popularity status if someone like Cato did ask you out and you said no."

Peeta's eyebrow twitched. "We're getting off topic here," he pointed out. His voice held an edge to it. "I'm here to teach you trigonometry."

"Why so tetchy all of a sudden?" I challenge.

"I'm not tetchy."

"Yes, you are." I snatch the pencil out of Peeta's hand and hold it out of his reach. "Is it because you're single? I can set you up with someone if you want. Think of it as a thank you for helping me with this shit. What sort of girls do you like, I'm sure I know somebody within your taste range."

"Not everything is about dating, Katniss," says Peeta. He sounds exasperated. I suppose he has reason to be but I'm trying to figure out a way to thank him! Surely he realizes that I'm just trying to be helpful, which is something I don't do very often. If he dates one of my friends, maybe he'll climb up the food chain a little. Maybe people will stop calling him Fatboy and beating him up.

Maybe they'll see that he's not a bad guy . . .

The smile melts from my face. Wait, what?

"But it is, right?" I press, suddenly irritated with him. "Or is it what I told you about Cato annoying you? You'd be lucky if he had a crush on you since no one else seems to." I'm annoyed that Peeta has confused me; changed my perspective of him so drastically to the point where I'm just angry. The way I was when he first started tutoring me.

Peeta's eyebrow twitches again.

"It is!" I scowl. "You're one of those disgusting homophobes, aren't you?"

"Far from it." Peeta snatches the pencil back from me when my guard is down. He starts planning some trig questions.

"How so?"

Pushing his glasses up his nose, Peeta explains, "Why would I have a reason to be a homophobe if I, myself, am bi-sexual?"

My jaw unhinges in surprise. "No, you're not!" I exclaim. "You're lying!"

"I don't expect you to remember but I did date Thom in Middle School," Peeta tells me. "However, when he cheated on me with Delly I decided that maybe dating just isn't my thing."

I vaguely recall Peeta going around with some guy in Middle School. This was during his chubby years when he didn't walk as much as waddle . . . I also remember the same guy going behind the bleachers with Delly at lunch when Peeta was at Chess Club . . . Damn, how did I miss something so blatantly obvious?

"If I showed you my tits, does that mean you'd feel nothing?" I blurt out curiously.

"Please don't," Peeta deadpans. "I'm bi, not completely gay."

I cock my head and flutter my eyelashes sarcastically. "Does that mean you're attracted to me and want to see my tits?" I tease.

Peeta pushes the piece of paper he was writing on in front of me. "Trig. Now. Do those questions so I can find out what you know and what you don't." My latter question has seemed to throw him off and he stumbles over his words like a horror movie character in the dark.

"Aren't you worried about me going off and telling people?" I ask, taking the paper and pencil from him. I'm not planning on telling anyone but Peeta's honesty confuses me. Shouldn't he be worried about me gossiping to other people about the fact that he swings for both teams?

"I'm not ashamed of who I am, Katniss," says Peeta. He's taken out some homework to do while I complete the questions. By the looks of it Chemistry. He does the higher level work while most of us are just half assing the lower level. He looks over the top of his glasses at me. "Are you?"

His question surprises me. The blue of his eyes burns into me and I look away, focusing on the page with the trig questions on it. I'm not ashamed of who I am. Right? I've never really thought about it before, it's just always seemed like an easy answered question. Now I'm not so confident about it.

I try not to think about it. I throw myself into the work Peeta has given me and when I limp out of the library later with a piece of paper full of ticks and only one correction to do, I've banished the idea completely from my mind.

I am not ashamed.

I can't be.

. . .

Right?

A/N: Just as a reminder: Everlark is endgame. Peeta's sexuality doesn't affect this outcome. We're all rooting for the same people here, don't worry ;)

Please review with your thoughts!