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(Katniss Everdeen - Age 12)
She vaguely remembered finding the bread at their door on the January night her father died.
It didn’t register to her exactly where the bread was from until early April, on the night she arrived home soaking wet and clutching two still-warm, slightly burnt loaves of bread to her chest like a lifeline.
Somehow, she knew that the boy had been the one to leave them the bread in January, too. And on this night, he had again helped her and her family out.
As she cut a slice of nutty bread, she couldn’t help but wonder—why had he done it? What difference was it to him if they starved?
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“But as I collected Prim and started home that afternoon, I found him staring at me from across the school yard. Our eyes met for only a second, then he turned his head away. I dropped my gaze, embarrassed, and that’s when I saw it. The first dandelion of the year.” – The Hunger Games, ch. 2
As the next few weeks passed, she had started learning the woods outside the district on her own, thankful that her small size made her less likely to be noticed by the Peacekeepers.
She spent one morning with one of the bows she remembered her father hiding, working on her aim until she was consistently hitting her target. That same morning, she arrived home with several squirrels. Having decided to try to trade some of whatever she’d gotten, she left half at home and took the other half with her, deciding to brave Town instead of going into the Hob on her own.
It was still early enough that most of the shops were still dark, their owners likely enjoying their last moments of silence before the day began. But one building stood out from the rest, the smoke beckoning her forward. Of course.
She listened as best she could as she approached the bakery, hoping she didn’t hear the shrill voice of the matriarch of the family. She sighed with relief when she heard only the boisterous laughs of the baker and his sons, who were obviously in good spirits despite the early hour. Climbing the steps to the back door, she rapped at the door three times, looking around to make sure she was still alone outside.
The door swung open, revealing the baker’s eldest son. Before he could say anything, she pulled one of the squirrels out of her bag, holding it where he could see.
“Hold on a second, okay? I’ll get my dad, he’s stocking the cases.” He went towards the front of the shop, leaving her with a clear view inside the bakery’s kitchen. She glanced around, and realized that there was only one person left in there.
She’d started thinking of Peeta Mellark as the boy with the bread since that evening in the rain, and had also been trying to think of some way to thank him for what he’d done. No time ever seemed like the right time; nothing ever seemed adequate enough.
He turned around then, having been kneading a ball of dough before covering it in a bowl to rise. He seemed surprised to see her just standing there. They stood looking at one another for a few moments, before the door from the front swung open and the baker himself came bustling through, wiping his hands on his apron.
“Well, if it isn’t young Miss Everdeen! My son tells me you’ve got a squirrel or few with you—what can I give you in exchange?” He didn’t even seem to notice that she and his youngest had been essentially having a staring contest, but maybe that was normal for twelve year olds who rarely interacted with one another.
“I’m really not sure, Mr. Mellark,” Katniss replied. “This is kind of my first day trading by myself.”
“Ah, yes, I remember your dad used to bring me squirrels every now and then. Not often, since he was a busy man working in those mines and taking care of you girls, but it was always a welcome treat. Seems like a loaf of bread or half a dozen rolls per squirrel ought to be a fair trade to me, if my memory is right.”
“I’ve got three squirrels here.”
“Let’s see—Peeta, what’s in the oven right now?”
It took a moment for the boy to respond. “A few loaves of fruit and nut, I think. Also some of those buns you taught me to make last week.”
“When they’re done, bag up two of the loaves and half a dozen of those buns for her, will you? I’ve got to make sure your brothers aren’t making a mess of the cases.” She wasn’t sure, but she thought Mr. Mellark might have winked at his youngest as he turned to head back to the main shop. “Katniss, why don’t you step inside for a moment? No need for you to wait outside.”
She stepped inside, enough to close the door behind her and lean against it. Peeta had moved to the ovens to check on them, so he was closer to the door now than he had been previously.
“The bread should be—”
“There’s really no need—”
They started speaking at the same time. He laughed, flushing pink at the awkwardness.
“He wouldn’t have told me to give you fresh bread if he didn’t think the squirrels weren’t worth it.” Peeta stepped closer to her, and she wondered if he wasn’t also implying something else.
“Why did you do it?” She didn’t mean to just blurt it out. Honestly, she didn’t.
“What, you mean the bread?” He looked nervous, now that she thought about it. Did she make him nervous? They were only twelve, but maybe something about the idea of her hunting intimidated him. That made more sense than anything else she could think of.
“Yes, there was a loaf at our door the night my dad—and then that night in the rain, with the burnt loaves. And you got in trouble for those. I saw your face, the next day, at school. I wanted to thank you. But I also wanted to know why.”
“You were sad, and starving, and nobody deserves that, especially you. The bread the night the mines collapsed, my dad helped with. He wanted to help, too. He and your mom were friends when they were younger, did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t know that. I guess that explains why your dad has always been so kind to me and Prim.”
“He’s that way to most people, but I’m sure it doesn’t hurt,” Peeta said, smiling at her. She wanted to smile back, but she wasn’t sure she remembered how. It had been so long since she’d smiled, for anyone but Prim, and even a lot of those had been forced. To just want to smile seemed foreign and unfamiliar. “You said you wanted to thank me? Why didn’t you before?”
She looked at her feet, embarrassed to admit why now that she was actually face to face with him. “Nothing I could think of ever seemed like enough for something that essentially saved our lives. What do you do to thank someone for that? Plus, you were always with those other boys.”
“Just a simple thank you would be enough for me, but—if you really want to do something else?” She lifted her head, looking at him, nodding at him that yes, she really wants to do something else. A simple thank you may be enough for him, but it would never be enough for her. He scratched the back of his neck nervously before asking. “Could we hang out, maybe get to know one another?”
He had wanted to help her. He wanted to get to know her. Hanging out with a person and getting to know them usually led to being friends with them.
“Okay. I think—I think I’d like that.”