I tried to post this yesterday (Thursday) but was having trouble with the website and gave up. To make up for it, I'll post two today! And hopefully the site being down yesterday meaaaaaaans I will have working view counts and emails soon! You have no idea how much that's been bothering me.

Enjoy Chapter 6. And chapter 7 which I will post in like 15 min

Katniss

Peeta is right. The classes do get better as I go along. Homeroom is still dull and the teacher is kind of a pill, but fewer people stare at me than they did the day before. I stick close to Peeta, anyway- he seems unbothered by all those things that bother me, and I hope to absorb some of his nonchalance.

Surprising even myself, I enjoy the grammar class. I might know more about coal than the written word, but I'm not stupid, and I catch on quickly. My mathematics class is harder, but we're allowed to work in pairs, and the teacher is infinitely more helpful than the first one I met, so it's really not bad. By the time I get to lunch, though, I'm exhausted. Who knew a morning of learning could be more exhausting than multiple days in the Hunger Games?

This time, Peeta and I do get to sit with our friends, although it still seems weird to call them that. The eighteen-year-olds- H, Nolan, Turquoise, and Thunder- are all there before us, talking animatedly about something that happened in their training. Daphne shows up right as I do, a stack of books tucked under her arm neatly, and Storm slinks in at the very last minute.

"Y'know, I think I'm starting to like it here," Thunder declares, chewing on a mouthful of raisins. "It's like the Career Academy, but better. Because you know you're training for a good cause. But also, the food is way worse."

Storm sneers at him. She's been sneering at everybody, lately- well, actually, that's not really a new development. "If your Academy was anything like this pitiful place, I can be sure you would've lost."

"How would you know, Storm?" Nolan asks mildly. "You've never been in the District Thirteen training facility."

Her face sours even more. "Thank you for the reminder," she seethes. I cannot recall the last time I heard someone sound so bitter.

I feel no sympathy for her, even though I also wish to be on the training side instead of the book-learning side. Actually, I think it's pretty funny. The more I think about it, the funnier it seems, and when I accidentally make eye contact with Peeta, we both burst out laughing.

"Oh, shut up," Storm growls, stabbing a green bean with what might be considered excessive force. "I don't need to take this from you, you little Twelve brat with-"

"You're so mean," Turquoise interrupts. While she's nowhere near as erratic as she was in the arena, she is just as outspoken. Terrifyingly, she now also possesses a leadership role. "No one cares, Storm. Hey, how 'bout these little white things? I think they're shortbread cookies!"

I tentatively lift one off my tray and bite into it. I've never had a shortbread cookie before, so I don't know what to expect. "It taste like…nothing?"

Peeta makes a face. He is more scandalized by low-quality baked goods than the rest of us. "They cannot call this a shortbread cookie. At best, it's a biscuit. At worst…"

"At worst?" asks H, prompting him to finish.

"It's a used sponge," Peeta concludes, picking up the biscuit with two fingers, aiming for as little contact with it as possible. "You can have it, Turquoise?"

"What makes you think I want it?" Turquoise demands. She passes it from her tray to Thunder's. "Here, for you."

Thunder pops it into his mouth happily. "Thanks, Turq. You're the best."

This is starting to feel kind of like friends, I reflect. At the very least- it's stopped feeling like enemies. Except for Storm, I guess, and I think that's mostly in jest these days. Now that I don't have to constantly be on my guard around these people, I'm realizing there's something downright pleasant in existing within a group.

My sense joy at our newfound camaraderie is dulled just moments later. Gale, approaching our cafeteria table like a vulture descending upon its prey. I know in my gut it's me he's after- Gale's never had anything to say to Peeta, and the rest of these people, he doesn't even know. It has to be me.

Unsure of what else I could possibly do, I pretend not to see him until he places himself at the head of our table. There's no ignoring him after that, but Gale locks eyes with me as if he thinks I might try. To be fair, I probably would. His face is hard, as tense as I've ever seen him and showing no emotion. I try not to look at him, but it's a losing battle. Gale and I are an old story. We're connected. Also, he's incredibly attractive, and it would be ridiculous to pretend he's not.

A thin layer of stubble on his chiseled face. The way District Thirteen's relatively-tasteless uniforms look perfectly fitted to him. The bluish-gray of his military jacket brings out the silver in his eyes. Eyes that look just like mine.

I notice all those things in an instant; I look away again. Anywhere but Gale- Peeta, Nolan sitting across from me, the biscuit on my tray with one bite taken out of it. Fascinating stuff, really.

Despite the somber and somewhat-dramatic lead-up, Gale speaks to me quite casually. "Want to shoot, Catnip?" he asks. As if our last interaction wasn't me shouting at him. I can't blame him, though- that's how our relationship has always worked, even before it became a relationship. We disagree. We yell. We move on like nothing ever happened.

I'm annoyed he's trying it so soon. He might not realize it, but the stakes of this fight are just a tiny bit higher than usual. Unfortunately, it works, and I'm curious. "What do you mean, shoot?"

A little smirk. I've given him the reaction he wanted. "Mockingjay privileges. I've got free access to the training grounds…and archery range. What do you say?"

Clouded as my judgment may be right now, I recognize Gale's question for what it is: a bribe. However, I am nothing if not bribable, and as long as I know what I'm getting into it's fine, right? "Sure, let's go," I say agreeably, pushing my chair back. I wasn't that hungry anyway. "Now?"

"Might as well," Gale replies with a shrug. He looks way too pleased and I'll have to make sure he knows this does not equal forgiveness. I am taking advantage of him, not the other way around.

"Katniss, we have class in fifteen minutes," Peeta reminds me, trying to hide the note of concern in his voice.

That's something of a wake-up call. I frown but eventually shake it off. "That's alright. I went to more classes than I did yesterday, right? I'll meet back up with you later."

Disapproval is written all over his face, but he doesn't argue with me anymore. It's Storm who speaks up, getting in the way. "You're going to the archery range?" she asks, her eyes narrowed like a snake's. "You wouldn't turn down a third, would you?"

She's looking at Gale in a way that quite frankly makes me uncomfortable. Fortunately, my mentor- that's all he is to me right now- brushes her off. "I would, actually. Per my contract, I'm only allowed one guest at a time. But don't think I wouldn't consider it."

He'd better not be considering it. I try not to let my irritation show as we finally leave the Careers behind. Training grounds. Archery range. Effie didn't mention any of that stuff when she gave me the tour, although I guess nothing military or weapons-related could ever be up Effie's alley.

Gale leads. We don't talk. I'm fine with that arrangement, although my curiosity only grows as he leads me through hallway after hallway. I'm beginning to think I'll never learn my way around this place- it would take years to fully grasp it, and I have no intention of spending years in District Thirteen.

Gale seems to already have it down, though. One of many things that doesn't make sense about him. Part of me itches to ask- has he simply not slept since he arrived here, preferring to spend his nights prowling these gray hallways? Was he given a detailed map to study several months ago?

But I don't ask. I realize, I don't want to know. The more I learn about Gale's involvement with the rebels, the things he kept from me for so long, the more reason I have to hate him.

To get into the training grounds, Gale has to scan his hand on a reader outside a blast-resistant door. He presses a few buttons on a keypad, then I scan my hand too. The door slides open, letting both of us into an enormous, but oddly empty military-grade facility.

I look from left to right frantically, trying and failing to take it all in. Many rows of targets, with yardage marked out on the ground. Training dummies, like they had in the Capitol. Racks of weapons, with hand scanners just like the one outside the door.

Gale nods at one of them, the one that contains bows. "Take your pick."

I look over the weapons almost hungrily. I've never shot because I enjoyed it- my skill in archery was developed out of necessity, not pleasure- but I'm eager now. In truth, a bow in my hand is one of few things that might make me feel like myself again.

There's a wide variety of bows, even more than I saw in the Capitol. All of them are more complex than the homemade wood bow I shot with at home, which is what Gale grew up with, too. They're all black or gray- again, practicality takes the spotlight- but with varying heights, draw weights, and release mechanisms. I decide on the simplest one available, and Gale unlocks its vault with another scan of his hand. He checks out a gray longbow for himself, and we withdraw arrows in a similar fashion.

As soon as I step in front of the targets, I'm glad I'm skipping class for this. Sighting down an arrow, with Gale at my side, I feel more at home than I have in months. For a while, we shoot in silence, both of us getting the bulls-eye or close to it once we've gotten accustomed to these weapons.

We only grabbed a dozen arrows each. That runs us out pretty quickly. We leave our bows at the twenty-yard line and start plucking our arrows from the targets, and that's when the conversation begins. It begins with Gale, of course. I feel no need to chit-chat- I never have.

"They're only training us with guns, now," says Gale. His voice echoes in the enormous room, empty except for us. "Apparently archery is outdated, by their standards."

I stick another arrow into my quiver. "I certainly wouldn't want to hunt squirrels with a gun. Bits would be flying everywhere."

"It's never been about hunting squirrels, Katniss."

I can't help but wince. Of course District Thirteen would have only one thing on its mind, and of course that thing would be battle. Before the Dark Days- the first rebellion- their trade was weaponry. I guess not much has changed in seventy-five years. Besides the whole "living underground" thing, I guess.

"So war is coming," I state. "And you'll be part of it, I presume?"

He nods. "Not on the front lines- they want me to be more of a symbol than a solider. But they couldn't keep me out of it, not for anything."

I guess that doesn't surprise me. No one hates the Capitol more than Gale, especially after he was reaped and had to watch his girlfriend die. I have anger too, and much of it is directed at the Capitol and the Hunger Games, but none of it has ever been as tangible as Gale's.

"I'm leaving next week," he continues, standing up. "They're sending me to District Seven. We've always had good presence there- the lumber industry has some of the worst working conditions, apparently- but they lit up as soon as the arena split. We're going to finish the fight there."

"Who's 'we'?" I ask somewhat dubiously.

Gale shrugs, and unfortunately he seems to mistake my curiosity for jealousy. "Lots of people- some refugees-turned-soldiers from the districts, a lot of volunteers from Thirteen. I'm sorry they won't let you fight- I did everything I could to get them to make an exception, but they wouldn't bend."

I shake my head. That wasn't what I was getting at, and I've had enough fighting for a lifetime. "It's alright. The less I do, the less likely it is they'll hurt my family, right?"

He pauses. His cold, general-in-a-tank expression wavers for a moment before he answers. "…I don't know."

He doesn't know. Something about that makes my blood run cold. Gale is pretty high up on the chain of command, somehow- if he doesn't know, I doubt anyone here knows.

Then again, maybe it's better not to know. Maybe there's nothing I could do anyway.

We take up our spots again, moving back to the thirty-yard line. More quiet. More shooting. The thwack of arrow against rubber. We fall into rhythm so naturally, but he messes it up by talking again.

"We'll get her back, Katniss. You'll see. It'll be fine."

I gnash my teeth in frustration. I have no interest in meaningless reassurances from Gale- this is his fault! If he'd just made my family a priority in the first place, everything would be fine and I'd be just as enthusiastic about the rebellion as he is.

I make the mistake of not replying, and Gale seems to be striving to fill the silence between thwacks. "Fire is catching. It's not just about Madge anymore- it's grown beyond her. Everyone wants to fight, Katniss. If you'd just seen it-"

"I've seen plenty," I say flatly, drawing back my bow. It feels stiff in my hands suddenly, and I miss the bulls-eye by a good six inches.

"I don't think you get it."

For the first time, I look away from the target, if only to shoot him an irritated look. "I don't get it?"

"How important this is."

I doubt that's what he actually means. But I won't be the one to tell him that, even though the truth is, Gale and I seem to know each other better than we know ourselves most of the time. "If you're looking to have your ego stroked, Gale, you're talking to the wrong person. I'd throw this whole revolution away to save my sister, and if anyone should know that, it's you."

He scoffs. Either I've hit the nail on the head or he thinks I'm being ridiculous- maybe a combination of both. "I think Mellark has a better idea of what's going on in your head than I do at this point."

I meant what I said earlier- we have bigger things to worry about. And those "bigger things" definitely do not include the years-old feud between Peeta and Gale, which I never cared about anyway. He's trying to goad me, I think- that would be typical of Gale- but I can't help snapping back at him, "Maybe he does."

"If that's-"

Gale is cut off by the sound of the door sliding open again. Instantly, we revert to our default positions- nocking a new arrow onto our respective bows- even though there was nothing wrong with the way we were standing before.

I pretend to sight down the target while sneaking regular glances at the door and the two figures striding in. Men, both of them. One blonde and windswept, the other with close-cropped hair and a shockingly square head. I'm startled to realize that I recognize both of them- one of them is the mentor from District One, Gloss, who arrived here in the same hovercraft that I did, and the other is Finnick Odair, victor from District Four and nationally-swooned-over heartthrob.

My anxiety increases while Gale seems to relax. He lowers his bow and waves to the approaching men like they're all old friends- and maybe there are. Clearly, there are things about Gale I do not know. "What're you guys doing here?"

Finnick shrugs. He's about five years older than me, I think, but his sea-green eyes make him look much older. Like all of the victors I know, Finnick has seen a lot of shit. I've seen him on television many a time but never in person. He is gorgeous. That is a plain fact. For a multitude of reasons, I would never be interested, but it's the truth. "We snuck out. I assume that's the case for you and Miss Everdeen too?"

"Call me Katniss," I tell him, a little uncomfortably. It's weird for someone you've never met to call you by your name, but I guess I could easily do the same to him. Although, I doubt something as simple as name-dropping could make Finnick Odair uncomfortable.

"Are you skipping class, Katniss?" Finnick asks me.

The full strength of his smoldering gaze is almost unbearable, but I bear it. I refuse to be intimidated by even the most attractive of men. "I am. What are you skipping?"

"Boring stuff." I would think that's just an excuse not to tell me- you know, because I'm a child by District Thirteen's law- but Finnick sounds so genuinely bored that I will not be pushing the issue. "We're here for some fun. Real fun."

What is Finnick's idea of real fun? His buddy Gloss answers that for me, a grin on his weirdly-square face. "We're gonna see who can throw the weights the farthest."

I can't help but roll my eyes- there are so many better ways to pass the time- but the boys seem genuine. Gale replaces his bow on the rack and I feel like I have to do the same, even though that bow was the only reason I agreed to be here. At least now I know where this place is.

I drift back towards the door, but Finnick calls me back. "Katniss, aren't you going to throw with us?"

"I'm more of a, um, baseball girl myself," I tell him completely unconvincingly. He waves me over to the weight rack and I am locked in.

Maybe this is good, I try to tell myself. Despite the overall goofiness of what they're doing, Gloss and Gale are actually in serious conversation, although they fall silent when I get close. Maybe I'll learn something- who knows.

In a way- maybe in several ways- Finnick reminds me of Turquoise. Not just because he's blonde and from a Career district- he possesses her strange way of commanding attention, and when he talks, people automatically listen. Annoyingly, this includes myself, but I let him explain the "rules" to throwing the weights as far as you possibly can. You would think something like that would be simple, but I guess it's not.

"Handicap is determined by age," he declares. "Katniss, you'll have the smallest weight, then Gale, and so on. Make sense?"

Feeling like children, Gale and I both nod.

It doesn't really matter if we understand or not, because Finnick just passes weights out for us in the end, curling each one a few times in addition to checking the labels. Embarrassingly, I can't help but notice his ripping shoulder muscles. Even in dull District Thirteen canvas, it is truly something to behold.

The four of us stand at the fifty-yard line. There's no way we'll be chucking this weights all the way to the target, but I think that's kind of the point. Finnick convinces Gale to throw first, and he agrees, his mouth set in a firm line. One thing about Gale: he is wildly competitive. That's been a source of argument for us plenty of times.

He's not the only one, though- far from it. I have a competitive streak a mile wide, and Finnick and Gloss have both won the freaking Hunger Games. While the latter may have been more so motivated by survival than any competitive spirit, it still seems relevant to the situation, and part of me hopes I'm about to see Gale get his ass kicked.

He's got a twenty-pound weight. Easy to lift, but not necessarily easy to throw. He swings his arm back and forth a few times, testing the momentum, before letting it go down the shooting lane.

Finnick and Gloss both erupt into cheers, the way guys do. I don't see what they're so excited about, but I guess I'm glad they're having fun. I watch Gloss make his throw, then Finnick, and then it's my turn. I'm oddly nervous about this thing that doesn't matter- I guess my own competitive streak is shining through. I test the weight in my hand. Ten pounds. No big deal.

Tired of overthinking, I swing my arm back, then forward. The kettle bell slips from my fingers late, flying almost straight up in the air. Why did I think this was a good idea? I barely suppress the instinct to cover my head, and Finnick lets out a whoop of laughter. He is having way too much fun with this.

Gloss is the clear winner. He might have been throwing the heaviest weight, but the guy has arms for days. One of his biceps is probably the size of my head. I can see how he won the Hunger Games, even though that was more than a decade ago.

"Well done, man," Finnick tells him, reaching over and clasping his hand in a sort of bro-hug movement. "I've trained you well."

Gloss scoffs. "You trained me? Yeah, right."

"I tell it like it is," Finnick replies cheerfully.

Gale and Storm, anyone? Honestly I don't remember if they ever interact again but they have the same energy imo. Also I'm aware this chapter is kind of mid; I'm sorry. Action starts back up again in the next one! Ish.

Finnick is only relevant, like, one other time in this book. I kind of wanted him to have a bigger part, but since Katniss has her Career pack in this version of the story, it just made more sense for her circle of friends to be people her own age she's trauma bonded with anyway. Annie is also here but I don't think I ever mention her by name.