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Chapter 30—Rye Mellark
Rye left the bakery with a bag of cookies in one hand and his guitar case slung over his shoulder. He let the door slam shut behind him. It still didn't completely mute the sounds of his mother's rantings, but after a block he couldn't hear her anyway. Not that it mattered much. Marigold losing her shit was no novelty.
The bakery was in trouble. Big trouble. Ignoring Rye's predictions that Peeta would never return, Farl had gone to Bannock's anyway to see if he could guilt-trip his youngest son to move back home. Farl returned alone. Turned out Peeta preferred to stay with people who didn't injure him.
The entire week had been a struggle. Even Rye had been shocked to realize just how much Peeta had done at the bakery, now that he wasn't there to do it anymore. When Bannock left to go work for Nathan Brown, it hadn't been anything like this, and Bannock had been there full-fucking-time. Rye always knew that Bannock was useless, but now he had empirical proof.
Rye missed Peeta more than he cared to admit. Yeah, his little brother could be an annoying shit who'd cockblocked Rye too many times to count. Rye would go to all this trouble to sneak a girl into their bedroom, and just when things got interesting, Peeta would walk in with a big, stupid grin on his face. Then he'd stand in the doorway, acting obtuse as all fuck, and introduce himself.
Peeta was so good at playing innocent and clueless, that not one of those girls ever believed that he'd done it on purpose. "Of course, he did it on purpose," Rye said, only once. "He does it every single time." That girl never came back.
But for all that he and Peeta had bickered over things like picking up their room (and which shirt belonged to who, and whose turn was it to do the prep work) Rye missed his brother, and selfishly wanted him back home. He would never ask. He knew Peeta was better off where he was.
The bakery was closed on Sundays. Although there was always prep work in the evening, Sundays were the closest thing the Mellarks ever had to a "day off." Yet this Sunday, Rye, Farl and Marigold spent most of the day baking. They stocked up on things, like cookies and scones, that had a shelf life of a few days.
When Rye was ready to leave, he bagged up one dozen sugar cookies, and handed Farl enough money from last night's earnings to cover the cost.
"What's this for?" Farl asked.
"The cookies. I'm taking them to the rehearsal tonight." Really, the only reason he bothered was because Prim had been invited. Katniss busted her ass to keep Prim fed, but the little girl was still painfully thin.
Rye stood there with his hand on the doorknob, ready to leave, while Marigold bitched at him about all the work that still needed doing. There certainly was a lot left to do. In fact, for the last few days, Farl had been suggesting that they hire an apprentice. Marigold wouldn't hear of it. She acted like it was some sort of frivolous spending spree, instead of the perfectly rational solution to the problem that she herself had created.
Rye he knew it was a waste of time to point out to his mother that this was her own damn fault. Marigold never, ever, admitted that she was wrong.
He did it anyway.
Sure, it was pointless and a little immature, but the honesty made him feel better. He watched with detached curiosity as she threw herself a real foam of a tantrum, while his father looked at him with exasperation. (Farl had taught them long ago to never antagonize their mother.) Rye waited until she was at the peak of her rage. Then he walked out, leaving his father to deal with her.
As soon as he had the money saved up, he was out of there. He needed a security deposit and the first month's rent to move into the boarding house. The landlord had gently suggested that he wait until he'd made it past his final Reaping before signing a lease. It was sensible advice, but the Reaping was still over three months away.
He had to make Five to Twelve work. Had to.
Madge greeted him at the back door, and, in her quiet but sincere way, congratulated him on the success from the night before. She took the cookies he'd brought, and promised they would be with the tea.
Rye walked down the basement stairs, trying hard not to be nervous. The Mayor was in one of the chairs, reading a book. "Rye, my boy! Come in, come in." They shook hands and Rye sat down.
"Well, I don't think I have to tell you what a huge win last night was for you," the Mayor declared, "so I'll cut right to the chase. I'd like Five to Twelve to play at the Spring Festival. You'll be in for a long night, four hours or so, with a decent break or two. However, before you accept, let me explain that this job offer comes with two non-negotiable conditions."
We don't have four hours worth of music, he thought, but just nodded to show he was listening.
"First, while the sign your brother painted is extraordinary, and nobody doubts his talent, it's arguably a little...provocative. I understand that he is only referencing your lead singer, but the symbols he chose to use are too easy to, ah, misinterpret."
Rye doubted anybody was misinterpreting anything. Yes, Katniss was the inspiration for the design. But since everything about Katniss' existence was one big "fuck you" to the Capitol, seeing discontent in the sign wasn't exactly a stretch.
He liked the sign a lot, but he liked the idea of being in the Spring Festival a lot more. Sucks to be you, Peet. "I'll explain to Peeta that we need something else."
"Thank you. Second, the performance will be video and audio recorded. I don't know that it's necessarily required, but the practice has been in place for as long as I can remember. The Capitol tends to view this sort of local event favorably. It reflects well on us, lets the Capitol know we're doing fine all the way out here in Twelve."
In other words, Rye thought a little bitterly, they're more inclined to leave the yokels alone if we look like we're behaving ourselves. Still, the Mayor had a point. "I don't have a problem with that," Rye said, "but I should probably make sure everybody in the band is OK with it."
"Completely understandable. And keep in mind that I'll have a copy here, so if you're interested in seeing how you look on stage, I'll be happy to let you see it."
"Actually, I would like to see that," mused Rye.
"Finally, there's the matter of pay. It's 750 for the evening's performance, payable upon completion."
125 each. "750 works," Rye grinned. They stood up and shook hands again. The Mayor left and Rye started setting up for rehearsal.
Several minutes later, Prim, Katniss and Madge entered the room. Madge and Katniss were arguing. Well, Katniss was arguing. Madge just looked bored. Prim walked up to Rye and hugged him.
"Madge said you made cookies," she beamed at him.
He hugged her back. "You're the reason I made them, sweetheart," he told her sincerely. Prim almost made him wish he'd had a little sister. Of course, any real little sister of his would be in the same awful environment that the Mellark boys grew up in. The thought of somebody like Prim at the hands of Mrs. Mellark made him shudder.
"What are they arguing about?" he asked Prim.
"Katniss tried to return that outfit she borrowed from Madge last night, said she could use some of the money she'd earned to buy something for herself in the Hob. Madge told her to keep it until it until the weather gets too hot to wear it. And now Katniss is being all stubborn."
"Shocker," Rye said quietly. Prim giggled.
They heard Madge exclaim, "Oh for god's sake, Katniss, come with me." Then she grabbed Katniss by the wrist and dragged her up the stairs.
Rye raised his eyebrows at Prim. She shrugged. "Madge is stubborn, too, sometimes."
They chatted while the other band members drifted in and got set up. After several minutes, Katniss and Madge came down stairs, Katniss with a bag of clothing in her hand and a slightly confused look on her face. Madge looked downright smug.
With everybody there, Rye quieted them all down. "We've been offered 750 to play the Spring Festival," he told them—there was a little bit of cheering—"but there's a condition." He explained the performance would be recorded and sent to the Capitol. "Anybody have a problem with that?" he asked.
The guys all shook their heads. Katniss looked like she was trying to fold in on herself and hide. "Spit it out, Everdeen," he said, a little impatiently. "This is a deal breaker, so if you have a problem, now's the time to say so."
"I didn't say anything," she pointed out.
He waited for a heartbeat. "Everybody OK with the filming?" Nobody said anything. "Right on. We're doing Spring Festival. Now let's get to work. We've got to add another two hours of music to our set list."
Rye spent the next hour running the band through a few new songs. He'd wanted to run them through more, but Katniss didn't know several of the songs he wanted to add. He bit back his frustration at that. Seam kids didn't have stereos in their homes, and Katniss didn't have the sort of social life that had included much in the way of music or dancing.
When Peeta arrived, he, Madge and Prim went upstairs. They returned a few minutes later with the tea-tray, the cookies and Mr. Undersee. Mr. Undersee glanced at Rye. "Everybody on board?" he asked.
"Yep. It's a go."
"Wonderful!" Mr. Undersee seemed genuinely pleased as he wandered over to speak with the others.
"Rye?" He turned and saw Prim standing there, notebook under one arm, holding out a mug of tea and a cookie for him. "What songs do you need Katniss to learn? Madge said if you give us a list, we can help her like we did last time."
"I'd appreciate that," he told her, taking the tea and cookie. "Can I put you in charge of Katniss' cultural education?"
Prim didn't answer him. Instead, she watched her older sister, who was standing next to Peeta. They listened to some discussion between Dalton and Mandor. Peeta's hand was on Katniss' lower back and she was smiling. Were those...tears in Prim's eyes?
Concerned, Rye crouched down a little so he could look her in the eyes. "Hey hey hey. Prim, sweetie, why the tears?"
Prim turned so her back was to the rest of the group. She smiled up at him, her beautiful blue eyes swimming. "Thank you," she whispered, discretely wiping her eyes with her shoulder. "This has been so good for Katniss."
Tears of gratitude? For him? He lowered his voice. "This has been good for us, Prim. As good as she is, we're damn lucky she agreed."
Prim shook her head. "No, I mean, this has been good for Katniss, like, personally. Being with you four. Being with Peeta. Being normal."
They looked over at the rest of the group. Mandor had resurrected his finger puppet show from the night before and was explaining to Dalton (and everybody else) god-only-knew-what. Something sexual, judging by the color of Katniss' cheeks.
"Maybe 'normal' isn't the right word," Prim sighed, "but anyway, she's a lot happier."
"I think most of that is Peeta," said Rye, taking a sip of tea and handing his cookie back to Prim. "Here, sweetheart, you take this. I've got access to plenty at home."
"I've already had mine," Prim frowned at the cookie in her hand. "And yes, a lot of it is Peeta, but not all. You guys treat her like she's one of you. She can't take herself too seriously."
"Prim, if you don't eat the cookie now, I'm sending it home with Katniss later. Either way, it's going to be handed back to you, so you might as well go ahead and eat it."
Roars of laughter burst out from the other side of the room. Mandor was bouncing his hands against each other. Dalton looked shocked. The Mayor was doubled over in laughter. Katniss had buried her face in Peeta's shirt. Peeta was patting her on the back with one hand and wiping tears of laughter out of his eyes with the other. Marsh was chuckling. Even Madge had a case of the giggles.
Prim took a bite of her cookie. Rye smiled a little and said, "OK, let's you and me start working on a song list while the rest of them try to dirty up your sister's mind."
They sat down in two of the comfy chairs, Prim tucking her feet up underneath her. He listed all of the songs he had wanted to rehearse earlier. While she was writing them down, she looked up at him suddenly and asked, "Do you have a girlfriend?"
"Why? Looking for a date? You're a little young for that, Prim," he teased.
Prim, who didn't fluster easily, blushed a very pretty shade of pink and said in a low voice, "Of course I'm not!"
"Oh, so you're just being nosy, then?" he grinned.
She quickly regained her composure and gave him a sweet smile. "Yes. So, do you?"
He raised one eyebrow at her. "Why on earth do you even care, Prim?"
"Because you deserve to be happy." She was so sweet and simple about it, he almost believed her.
Before he could answer, Peeta and Katniss wandered over. Grateful for the opportunity to change the subject, he told Peet about the Mayor's condition for the sign. Peeta didn't like it much, but told Rye to bring the sign back to Bannock and Nikki's. He'd paint over it and come up with something else.
The rehearsal devolved into a group gab-and-pick session after that. Nearly everybody contributed suggestions to the song list. Rye was pleasantly surprised to see that the Mayor possessed an extensive collection of roots music, and made several good suggestions for songs they could add. Mr. Undersee was very enthusiastic about it, too, saying, "Here! Listen to this one, it's from before the Dark Days." Then he'd play the song on his stereo, and the band members would pick out their parts with their instruments.
It's good seeing the Mayor like this. Here was a man who had gone as far as one could go in Twelve, entertaining a group of loud, often foul-mouthed, teenage boys (and the much better-behaved Everdeen girls) in his basement. The man looked years younger when he discussed music.
Then Rye had to go and ruin the night with his own big fucking mouth. They were working out the drinking song, "White Lightening." (Everdeen, it turned out, could really belt out a song about a family's illegal liquor still.) "Here's what we do," Rye announced. "We'll sing a whole set of drinking songs, and dedicate it to Haymitch."
"That isn't funny." The Mayor's stern voice cut off the loud laughter that had ensued. Mr. Undersee's face was pale, and his fists were clenched. "Let me tell you something about Haymitch Abernathy, Rye, since you weren't around to see it. He didn't get off that train and throw himself a party. He waited with all three of those coffins. And even though he wasn't responsible for the death of any tribute from Twelve, he apologized to every single parent who took their kid home in a box. He didn't even greet his own family until he'd done that. And don't get me started on what he went through after he returned."
All of the happy, noisy energy from the evening had vanished, leaving in its place a cold, stunned silence. "I don't want to hear any of you making fun of that man. Ever." Fists still clenched, he marched out of the room.
Rye wanted the ground to swallow him up, so he'd never be seen again. Madge got up after a moment in the silence, and followed her father, patting Rye on the shoulder as she walked by. "It'll be all right," she said quietly.
Well, fuck. He wiped his hand across his face, trying to scrub away his embarrassment. "I guess we'll call it a night. Everdeen, are you taking tomorrow night to learn some new songs?"
Katniss said, "I suppose so. I should probably check with Madge and make sure that's still on."
"All right. Everybody, assume we're off tomorrow night, unless you hear otherwise from me. We'll meet up again Tuesday night." Unless the Mayor decides we need to practice elsewhere. Or takes away the Spring Festival and then we don't need to practice at all.
They all rather dejectedly packed up their instruments and left. Madge was in the kitchen, saying goodbye to everybody. "Rye, Dad's in the parlor. Said he wants to talk to you before you leave."
"We'll wait for you," Peeta told him, worry in his eyes.
"No need. I know the Everdeens have to get home."
"We'll wait, anyway." That was Katniss.
Madge led him to the parlor, then shut the door behind him. Mr. Undersee was standing at a table against the wall, pouring himself a drink. He glanced up at Rye. "Rye, I owe you an apology," he began.
"No, sir, you don't," Rye cut him off. "I was speaking without thinking, it's a bad habit of mine."
Mr. Undersee kept the bottle in his hand—bourbon, Rye noticed. He had a grim look on his face. "I meant what I said not wanting to hear those sorts of things, but as for the rest of it..." The mayor drank most of the glass in one swallow. "I'm sorry for losing my temper at you, at all of you." He poured himself another drink, then recapped the bottle. "You're not responsible for sins committed long before you were born."
"I've got plenty of my own sins to atone for. And I'm sorry, too, Mr. Undersee." And he was. He was especially sorry that the Mayor seemed to have aged 30 years in the last 20 minutes, and it was largely Rye's fault.
Mr. Undersee tossed back the rest of the bourbon in his glass, and placed it on the table next to the bottle. "Come on, son. I'll walk you out." He led Rye back to the kitchen, mumbled a good night to the others and disappeared down the hall.
Rye spoke with Madge briefly—he and Katniss would be over the following night to work on the songs Katniss didn't know—and they all left. As soon as they were out the door, Peeta asked, "All right, Rye?"
"Yeah." He didn't much feel like talking and was glad he was walking home alone. "See you tomorrow." He started off towards the bakery.
"Rye?" He turned around to see Prim running towards him. Peeta and Katniss stayed behind, holding hands.
"What do you need, sweetheart?" He was really not in a good mood, but he couldn't be short with Prim. It would be like stepping on a flower. She slipped her skinny little arms around his waist and hugged him. "Prim?"
She looked up at him. "You just really needed a hug."
Rye put down his guitar. He wrapped his arms around her so he could hug her back. He kissed the top of her head so nobody could see that he had nearly come undone by the simple kindness of this slip of a girl. "Thank you, Prim."
"You're welcome," she said brightly, as she stepped away, "but you really do need a girlfriend. Then you'd get hugs all the time."
"Oh my god, Prim, go away." He was smiling, though.
Prim giggled as she ran back to her sister and his brother. She grabbed Peeta's free hand and waved at Rye. He waved back, feeling a bit better.
He walked into the bakery to find his father in the kitchen, doing bookwork. Marigold was nowhere in sight.
"Hey, Dad," he said cautiously. Farl waved him over. Rye stepped over and his Dad handed him some coins. It was what he'd paid for the sugar cookies earlier that day.
"I know why you're saving your money," Farl said quietly. "You keep saving it until there's enough to move."
Rye was confused. "Did Marigold finally agree to hire an apprentice?"
"No. And honestly, with the things she said today after you left, I couldn't bring another person into this. The bakery is finished, at least for the Mellarks. I'll hold out as best I can until you're safely away. Then I'm leaving."
Rye closed his fist around the coins. "That's what it takes to make you leave?" he said bitterly. "Losing the business. Not the beatings, not the craziness, not Peeta—it's losing the bakery. That's your final straw."
"The bakery is the only thing I ever had to give to you boys," Farl said. "I knew that if one of you had it, the others would always have jobs in town. You think I didn't want out of this?" Farl waved towards the upstairs, where Marigold was likely sleeping. "My only other option is the mines, Rye. Every time I thought about leaving and taking you boys with me, I'd think about what it means to live in the Seam. The poverty. The tesserae. I know living here was no treat, but the Games..."
"Are a death sentence," Rye finished the thought. "I know."
Farl rubbed his hands together. "Bannock became a carpenter. You don't want it. I can't hold out until Peeta turns 18. The bakery's lost. The only thing left to do is to make sure you get out as soon as possible. Then I'll move to the Seam, join the mines, and hope your mother has enough sense to turn the bakery over to somebody else."
Rye opened his palm and looked down at the coins in his hand, lost in thought. "Does she know any of this?"
"Not yet."
Rye absently jingled the coins. "Don't tell her yet. Let me..." He closed his eyes against the forming headache, and sighed, "Let me talk to Peeta."
"Peeta isn't coming back."
"Nope. Not as long as Marigold is here."
There was a solution. Farl knew it. Rye knew it. Rye was already 18. He could take over the bakery. He could kick Marigold out. It wouldn't be pretty. But it would save the bakery long enough until he could give it to Peeta.
It also meant he would be stuck here for another two years. And that's why Farl wasn't bringing it up. He was giving Rye an out.
Rye looked around the kitchen. There's nothing wrong with this place that couldn't be fixed with some kerosene and a match. Even if Marigold left, he'd fucking hate it here. "Dad, just...give me a couple of days before you talk to her. Please?"
Farl nodded. Rye made his way upstairs, and crawled into bed. Sleep didn't come quickly. His brain was too busy drawing overlapping circles of blame. He remembered what Prim had told him earlier in the evening, you deserve to be happy.
"Joke's on you, Prim," he whispered to the ceiling. "We live in Twelve."