Panem High School {COMPLETED}

Chapter 32 - Peeta

(As you probably know, until now, I've had an order that I followed with POVs - Katniss, Johanna, Clove, Madge. From now on, I won't be sticking to the order as much (it is now Katniss, Peeta, Johanna, Cato, Clove, Gale, Madge). There are some things I have planned that will make it impossible to have a few of the characters' POVs, in the correct order, at least (don't worry, there won't be any deaths...I think...). I'll try to stick to the order, but no guarantees.

Also, I think my chapters might start getting longer, because I've discovered the secret to description, and realized I should probably put more in. And I've realized that I need to make my chapters longer because they've been really short.)

(Peeta's POV)

I really hope I can trust Madge not to tell Katniss. It would probably ruin our friendship, because it's obvious Katniss only likes me as a friend. Even Madge can't deny that. The worst part is, my brothers, Connor and Tyler, keep teasing me about how I need to "get a girlfriend." Of course I can't tell them. They'd find out who Katniss was and make sure she knew the most embarrassing things about me.

Right now, I'm working in our family's bakery. The red brick wall behind me, and the dark yellow ones that make up the rest of the room, give it a small, cozy atmosphere. There are a few tables and chairs scattered around, and the counter runs lengthwise across the back wall. The smell of the cookies baking permeates the whole room. It stopped having an effect on me a long time ago. There's no way we'd waste one by eating it, not if I want us to be able to send me to my school. I honestly doubt one cookie would matter, but Mom seems to think it will.

Every Saturday, I work in the bakery. I either ice the cakes or work at the counter, normally. I don't get paid very much, but it's a lot more than most 15-year-olds earn. Though, of course, Mom "reserves the right to withhold my paycheck if my work is 'unsatisfactory'." Basically, if I mess up and Mom notices, she probably won't pay me. Normally Dad can talk her out of it, though.

The bell over the shop door rings as someone steps in. I don't glance up from the cake I'm icing until the most beautiful voice in the world calls my name. "Hey, Peeta, I didn't know you worked here."

I fumble the icing tube, almost dropping it on the cake, before turning to Katniss. She looks so beautiful, with her brown braid resting on her shoulder. "Yeah, this is my family's. Bakery. My family's bakery." Smooth, Peeta.

Katniss gives me an "ok..." smile, then looks around. "This place really nice."

I nod, and mentally debate whether I should say "yeah" or "thank you" until it's too late to say either.

"So, anyway, I came by because Prim's birthday is in a few days, and I'd like to get her a cake."

I smile, slightly relived. Finally, a subject I'm comfortable with. "Ok, what kind of cake would you like? We've got chocolate, red velvet, lemon, white, coffee, chocolate mint, marble, peanut butter..." I trail off. Katniss is laughing.

"Oh my gosh, I don't know. What do you suggest?"

I think for a minute. "You know? I think Prim would like our strawberry shortcake."

"She does love strawberries," Katniss concedes.

"So, yes?"

Katniss considers this, then nods. "Sounds great."

"When do you want to pick it up?" I say, walking over to the register. We keep an iPad there to record cake orders. It's synced to one in the back, so whoever is working in the kitchen can know what to make.

"Um, her birthday is next Saturday, so Friday?"

I quickly type in the order. "All right. It should be ready at 4. Ok?"

"All right! Thanks, Peeta," Katniss smiles at me before leaving. Only after she's left do I realize I have a huge, probably cheesy, smile on my face.

I quickly go back to icing the cake. Mom hates it when I waste time by being "lazy." As I making an icing rose, I wonder if I should tell Katniss I like her. On one hand, maybe she'll appreciate the honest, and even if she doesn't like me, she'll still be willing to be a good friend. On the other hand, it might ruin our friendship. More like, it'd probably ruin our friendship. How wonderful.

I'm daydreaming, and not paying attention to the icing. Suddenly, I squeeze the icing bag a little bit too hard, and squirt pink icing all over the white cake. I freeze, staring at my mess.

The cake looks like a pink balloon exploded on it. I quickly grab a paper towel and try to wipe up the mess, but to no avail. I'll have to wipe all the icing off to fix it. How could I be this stupid?

"Peeta?" I stiffen at my name. "What did you do?" My mom's voice is brimming with anger, disappointment, and exasperation. I quickly turn around.

"Mom, I can fix it, I'm sorry, just let me-"

She cuts me off by smacking me hard enough to make me fall. "You stupid, clumsy child! I don't understand why your father thinks you'll ever amount to anything! You're just a brat who's too lazy to ice a cake the right way! You better fix this!" She stomps back to the kitchen.

I rub my face where she hit me. I can see a warped reflection of my face in the door of the small fridge under the counter, the one we have for icing. Already, a harsh red mark shows on my cheek. I slowly pull myself to standing, and adjust my position so anyone walking in won't be able to see my red cheek. I slowly wipe all the marred icing off the cake, and start over. After a few minutes, Tyler comes out to work at the counter.

"Good job icing, Pete," he says, then doubled over laughing. I glower at him. I hate when he calls me "Pete," and that's precisely why he does it.

Tyler is a senior this year, and thinks he's so mature because of it. Actually, when he's not working at the bakery, or at football practice, Tyler spends his time playing Xbox in our rec room in the basement. If I were a meaner person, I might tell that to all the girls who ooh and aah over him in school, but normally, I just try to keep my distance.

Connor isn't so bad, he's just so much older. He's already out of college, and with that large of an age gap, I never got to get close to him, really. And now that he's engaged, there's really no chance anymore.

I spend the rest of the day icing cakes. Tyler deals with all the customers, for a reason neither of us discuss but both of us know. By the end of the day, that reason is hardly discernible on my face, unless you know it's there.

My family rarely eats together, and today is no exception. My mom heats up some soup, then leaves us to our own devices. I get a small bowl and retreat to my room.

Someone knocks on my door, and I quickly hop up to answer it. Dad's smiling face greets me.

"Hey, Dad," I say, opening the door wider for him to enter.

"How are you doing, Peeta?" I shrug. Dad looks at me. "Don't let her get to you, son. You're a wonderful person. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." He quickly leaves.

I'm stunned. Dad never talks that much. Slowly, a smile creeps across my face. At least my Dad thinks I'm not worthless.