A/N: I'm baaaaaaaa-ack! To anyone reading this that hasn't read the prequel, please stop now and go check out my story 'Under the Setting Sun' before you read this one!

So, a minor detail… I ended up keeping this in first person. Feel like this is really about Katniss' journey, so it's best told from her POV. However, I made the mistake of starting Under the Setting Sun in past-tense and I had to keep it that way for continuity but it was hard to be consistent. So I'm doing this in present-tense. I bet no one would've even noticed had I not said anything.

Special thanks to bw1819 for letting me run my mouth about everything and nothing, just so I can get this show on the road.

Obligatory Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, its characters, concepts, or any quotes that may be contained in this work.

Chapter 1: First Snow of the Year

I turn the dial on the car stereo system trying to find a station that isn't currently on commercial break. I don't stay on any one channel for more than a couple of seconds. I'm sure it is driving Peeta crazy.

"I wonder just how many people are buying mattresses on a regular basis that would warrant so many commercials," Peeta comments politely. Annoyance is not evident in his tone or his face, convincing me he could feign interest in a box of rocks if he had to.

As Peeta signals to change lanes, I reach up one last time, hoping I'll land on something to preoccupy the thick tension between the two of us. His unsupervised hand darts up to do the same, and for a moment, our fingers entangle. We both retract our hands apologetically as if we had just touched a hot stove. That might as well have been the case based on the dull heat his brief touch left on my fingertips.

What am I thinking? I made the decision to end things with Peeta. I really wish my body would catch up with my mind.

Peeta concedes and gestures permission for me make the channel selection.

"Sorry that I keep flipping stations." I settle on one playing soft rock and lean back into the passenger's seat.

The duration of the song is spent looking out the window watching the houses flicker by. Neither of us seems to be familiar with the tune playing because we don't sing along, but Peeta drums his thigh with his fingers and taps the foot he's not using to drive.

We're only about two more miles from school, but it feels like an eternity. It doesn't help that we are hitting every single red light possible. The song ends and a new one begins right after it. It sounds vaguely familiar, but soft rock isn't exactly my genre of choice. I'd change the station again, but I don't want to be that person. I'm sure there's some unwritten etiquette about touching someone else's car stereo.

A pedestrian – most likely another student from our school – is crossing the street, so the red light lasts extra long. I begin nervously pulling at the loose threads on the hem of my denim skirt. In the corner of my eye, I catch Peeta looking down at my fidgeting fingers, then dart away quickly when he and I both realize how high up my skirt has slid as I'm in the sitting position. I try to tug it downwards as inconspicuously as possible so as not to embarrass him.

Peeta absentmindedly hums along to the song and I still can't pinpoint why it sounds familiar.

"Why do I feel like I've heard this song before, but I don't really know it?" I ask rhetorically.

He suddenly stops humming. "You don't remember?"

I quickly search through my mental database, still coming up short. "No… should I?"

"I shouldn't be surprised you don't." I get the feeling that was a cutting remark, so I furrow my brows at him. He chuckles to himself. "You were probably too smashed."

I recall the one and only time I had ever gotten drunk. Peeta and Delly had taken me to Madge's house for a party and, being the amateur that I am, I got pretty tipsy off one wine cooler. Come to think of it, I do remember Peeta playing guitar and singing. This same song comes to mind. I redirect my attention back to the tune emanating from the car's speakers.

"I knew I loved you before I met you

I have been waiting all my life…"

Now that I'm privy to Peeta's secret lifelong crush on me, I'm just now starting to see why he chose to sing me that song, and I'm wishing I hadn't brought it up. I slide my hands under my thighs and fight the urge to turn the dial again. I think Peeta realizes that I've finally grasped the song's significance and mercifully presses another preset button himself.

The talk show is covering its hourly spiel on sleazy Hollywood news – who's dating who, who broke up, who's in rehab, or who had a run-in with the law. Our ears perk up at the mention of Seneca Crane, but they only mention a new director for the upcoming movie, Nightlock, he had been slated to direct before his conviction.

"Is it just me or do you still find it kind of surreal that we were largely responsible for sending a guy to prison?" Peeta asks.

"All I did was fall ungracefully," I reply. "You're the one that found and turned over the evidence."

We finally pull into the crowded parking lot at Augustus Snow High School after a painfully tense ride. Peeta parks in one of the spaces designated for students with just five minutes before the bell is scheduled to ring. It's our first official day of classes. Yesterday was a half-day of schedule and locker assignments, homeroom orientation, and a pep rally assembly. I'm eager to get out of the car and make my way to my first period when Delly appears at the driver's side window and raps on the glass causing us to jump in alarm.

Peeta grabs his book bag from behind the seat and opens his door to greet our friend.

"Finally! I've been waiting for you a–" she begins to scold Peeta when she notices me inside the jeep. "Well, well, well!"

I raise my hand to greet her. "Hey, Delly."

"It's about time you two kissed and made up!" she assumes. "I was beginning to think I was gonna have to start playing 'Parent Trap' with you two just so I could –"

"Delly!" Peeta interrupts. When she stops talking and looks at him, I see him give a slight shake of the head. She purses her lips in understanding.

I turn to exit the car, sliding down the sides of the leather seats until my feet hit the asphalt.

"So, I'm confused," Delly says as the three of us begin the trek into the campus. "You're not back together, but you're carpooling?"

"Precisely," says Peeta.

She looks disconcertedly at Peeta and me walking on either sides of her. "So one of you is going to have to fill me in because I'm not going to be playing 'child of divorced parents' all year. I want to know what I'm getting into here."

Peeta turns down another hallway. "Well, you're going to have to ask your mother, 'cause I have to get to Spanish class. See you guys at lunch."

Delly clutches my arm and begins dragging me to our shared first period English class. "Alright, lady, I know I've been M.I.A. lately since Haymitch up and quit, leaving me to help train the replacement personnel director at the club – which, as you might imagine, is no easy feat without a current director for said replacement personnel – but seriously, between you and Peeta, someone should have at least called me to divulge the details of your fall out, so now that I'm even more confused, you better start spilling – go!"

Wow. I think she might have just said all of that in one sentence. I've missed talking to Delly – no, I've missed Delly talking to me. I never miss having to actually speak.

"Peeta hasn't said anything to you? Aren't you two, like, best friends or something?" I ask her.

"All he told me was that some guy named Gale came here from your hometown and got you all confused. He said you ended things. He doesn't really go into details since I've been so busy with work, but truthfully, I think he just doesn't want to talk about it."

"Can I plea the fifth, too?" I try, but I know Delly won't let me off the hook that easily if the death grip she's putting on my arm is any indication. "Okay, okay. Gale is my best friend from back home. He kissed me before I came out here, and made things all weird…"

Recognition shows on her face. "Aha… so the 'it's complicated' has a name."

"Anyway, after I found out we were staying in California, Gale showed up at my door telling me he got into USC," I continue.

"And the plot thickens," Delly narrates and I laugh at her enthusiasm. "So are you and this Gale guy together now?"

I expect to hear judgment in her tone, but there is none. Just plain old curiosity. "No. It's not like that."

"Then why did you break things off with Peeta?" Ah, there it is. At least, that's how her question makes me feel – riddled with guilt and shame.

We're at the door to our classroom, but Delly pulls me back to make sure I have full opportunity to answer her.

"It's hard to explain." I wring the straps of my backpack and stare down at my sandaled feet.

Delly is uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. I can only guess it is because she's waiting for me to make an attempt at an explanation, but I don't, and like always, she takes the reigns in the conversation.

"I get it. I mean, the dude kissed you. He obviously has some sort of feelings for you and you don't want to hurt him by dating someone else," she puts it simply.

How does she manage to make something that feels so tangled and befuddling in my head sound so elementary? "But someone is always going to get hurt in these types of situations. You can't avoid that altogether."

Our teacher calls us into the classroom just before the bell sounds overhead. We take two adjacent desks in the back of the class. Delly's words resonate with me. Someone is always going to get hurt. I know she means Peeta and that thought has plagued me for over a month now. It's not that I didn't realize I'd be hurting Peeta with my decision to end things. It's not that I had wanted to either. I just couldn't hang onto both of them and choosing to let go of Peeta seemed like the path of least resistance.

Besides, I'm not ready for wherever it was we were headed. I don't know that I ever will be, but Peeta was a good friend – a really good friend. When I had made the last-minute decision to end our summer romance, I hadn't quite thought through the probability that our friendship would become a casualty as well. But Gale has always been my faithful, reliable best friend, and somehow I knew that Peeta's and my relationship would interrupt that delicate balance.

A hastily folded notebook paper skids across my desktop. I look up at its sender ducking behind another student, trying to keep off of our teacher's radar. I unfold the sheet to read Delly's perfect cursive written in purple ink.

So there's something I still don't get…

If you and Peeta broke up, what's with the carpool?

I quickly scribble back: Believe it or not, we're neighbors.

While Mr. Ferguson is turned around, writing on the whiteboard, I reach my hand over to pass the note back to Delly. She opens it slowly, careful not disrupt the hush of the classroom with the slightest of crinkling sounds.

Delly takes a second to read my note, but I know she's done when she incredulously shouts, "Shut up!"

Immediately, Mr. Ferguson and twenty-eight other students whip their necks around to glare at her.

"Excuse me, Miss Cartwright?" he asks pointedly, over his sagging glasses.

"Sorry… I wasn't... that wasn't directed at you. I-I was just… sorry." Delly ducks her bright red face and slinks down into her chair while I cover my mouth to stifle a snicker.

Our class concludes uneventfully. We are about to part ways to our second period, promising to meet up at lunch, when Delly asks, "So, what's the temperature? I mean, can we all have lunch together or is that going to be too awkward?"

I think carefully about my answer. Avoidance has always worked better for me than resolution, but I'm afraid it will result in Peeta and Delly's faithful bonding, and I don't really know anyone else at school. "A little. But we're trying to work through it," I say.

Her face lights up and she replies, "Cool. We usually eat at the tables around the fountain in the quad. See you there!"

I crumple the brown paper bag in my hand as I scan the quad for Delly and Peeta. Bringing one's own lunch is a bit of a high school faux pas, but since I wasn't familiar with the quality of Snow High's cafeteria food, I decided not to risk it on the first week of school.

As my gaze skims over the area surrounding the large water fountain in the middle, I spot the two of them standing around a crowded table with about a half dozen other students I wasn't familiar with. I'm hesitant to join them. I don't know why I expected them to be eating lunch on their own. They're both well-liked and popular, judging by the company of friends they had at Madge's house party last summer. It only makes sense that they would have an entire clique to surround them.

I'm slow to make my way there, but Delly notices me several yards out and waves me over enthusiastically. When I finally arrive, she grabs my hand and eagerly introduces me to the others. I recognize one of the girls as Thresh's partner and object of affection, Larissa. Another, Trace, is the friend Peeta introduced me to at Madge's party. There are two other guys wearing letterman jackets embroidered with their surnames – Gloss and Chaff - despite the weather still being too warm for jackets, and two girls that went by the names Cashmere and Seeder in Snow Leopards cheerleading uniforms.

"Katniss," Seeder begins to ask. "What school did you come from?"

"Um, I'm actually from Detroit," I answer timidly, still clutching my unopened lunch sack. "My family just moved here recently."

"She and Peeta won the Cornucopia triathlon this summer," Larissa offers. I can't tell if she's genuinely trying to be friendly or if her voice is laced with bitterness at having lost. "Are you two still together?"

This causes the rest of the table to wolf whistle at the thought of us being an item. Peeta and I don't even need to look at each other to know we're both red in the face.

"Are you and Thresh still together?" Delly interjects, sensing we were practically deer caught in the headlights.

Larissa shifts her glare towards Delly. "No. We were just teammates."

"Well, there's your answer." Delly grabs Peeta and me and leads us to a nearby table where their backpacks were already deposited. "That girl needs to keep her nose out of other people's business," she says with a huff as she plops down in front of her tray of cold mashed potatoes.

Peeta and I take our seats in less dramatic fashion. "Del, it's no big deal. It was a fair question. Don't be so hard on her," Peeta says soothingly, but he looks back in Larissa's direction, giving her stunned expression an apologetic smile.

Delly smooths her hair over her shoulder and replies haughtily, "Well, I'm sorry for trying to be helpful. You guys barely answer my questions. I didn't think you'd want to divulge your private lives to people Katniss just met."

I'm truly grateful for Delly's intuition. She's right. I don't want to field questions about Peeta and me, but I think maybe we're making a bigger deal out of it than Larissa would have, and I tell Peeta as much.

He shrugs in defeat, taking a bite of his biscuit to preoccupy himself. "Ugh, these things are so dry," he complains before dunking it into Delly's pool of gravy and she reciprocates by popping one of his tater tots into her mouth.

I unroll the top of the crumpled brown paper and fish out my soggy turkey sandwich. I stare at the wilted lettuce as if it is the most interesting subject matter at the moment, but mostly I'm avoiding the sight of their relaxed rapport. It's a lot like Gale's and mine – easy after years of knowing one another and comforting in its reliability. But here at school, I'm on the outside. The third wheel.

I'm washing down the last bite of the first triangular half with a swig of Dr. Pepper when Peeta holds out a small bag of barbeque potato chips in front of me. I politely decline his offer, but he shakes the bag in front of me insistently.

"C'mon. Even your chewing is too quiet," he jokes. When I reach for a few chips, he looks back in Delly's direction. "So how are your classes so far? Do you like any of them?"

I chase a bite of my sandwich with one of his chips, grateful for the added crunch.

"Well, Katniss and I have Ferguson for English. He's all right, if not a little on the dull side. We're already assigned to read To Kill a Mockingbird which I've read a thousand times, so I guess the hardest part about his class will be to get on his good side," Delly responds.

"I always thought he was the nice teacher. Why wouldn't you be on his good side?" Peeta asks, prompting me to shoot soda out my nose in attempt to suppress my laughter.

I quickly reach for a napkin to absorb the mess I made on my face and table. "Maybe if Delly didn't yell at him to shut up in front of the whole class, she might still be in his good graces."

Peeta shoots an incredulous look at Delly. "I didn't tell him to shut up," she explains. "I was telling Katniss to shut up. I just didn't gauge my volume and timing, that's all."

"Sounds more exciting than my English class," Peeta laments. "Mrs. Goodwyn had us writing about the best thing we did this summer. What is this, third grade?"

Delly laughs and asks, "So what'd you write about?"

The three of us fall silent under the assumption of what he could have possibly written about.

"You know – work, the race, the trial," he sums up casually.

Maybe Peeta was trying to glaze over the obvious, but I couldn't help but feel a little hurt by my notable exclusion. The fact that I'm not considered the "best" part of his summer cuts me to the core, but I know it's unfair of me. I'm the one that left a permanent blotch on what would have otherwise been our best summer to date.

"Well, anyway," Delly so obviously digresses. "I have Señora Martinez for Spanish III, Coach Sloan for P.E., and of course, we have Chemistry together."

"Oh, Delly, how many times do I have to break it to you? You and I have never had chemistry together," Peeta jokes.

Delly punches him playfully on the arm and he counters by tickling her rib. I stuff the remains of my sandwich into my mouth and look off towards the splashing fountain, avoiding the awkwardness of my view from the outside.

"Katniss, what classes do you have left?" she asks in attempt to include me in their conversation.

I hold up a finger to signal her to wait a minute while I force the food down my throat. I open my binder to reference the schedule I have taped on the inside cover. "I have Swim next, then U.S. History with Fuller."

"Hey, we have sixth period together!" Peeta declares with more excitement than I think he intended. "I guess I won't have to look for you after school then."

I muster a smile that is followed by the warning bell. The three of us pack up our things and part ways to our fifth period classes. I'm walking alone towards the P.E. department when the crowd of students beside me thins out. Just a couple of feet to my right is Peeta, heading in the same direction as me. We lock eyes for just a second until some hurried group of guys in their signature blue and white jackets push past me, railroading me into Peeta.

"Whoa! Watch where you're going!" he shouts after them then looks back at me. "You all right?"

I nod and hug my binder tighter. "Where are you going now?"

"I'm going to weight training. The weight room is right across the pool," he says, pointing in the direction I was heading. "Mind some company?"

I sort of do mind, but I don't want to tell him so. The lunch awkwardness can be a bit stifling, and I was looking forward to some time away from him before our class and ride home together. But I don't want to make a bigger deal of his presence than I ought to, so I let him keep step with me as we wordlessly make our way to our respective locker rooms.

After swim, I quickly shower and change, then braid my wet hair down my back. I only have ten minutes between periods to change and trek across campus to my history class. I'm in such a hurry, I don't even care that my exposed legs are ashy and my braid is soaking the back of my shirt.

I'm breathless by the time I reach my classroom, but I'm relieved to find that Peeta has not arrived yet. I find a seat at the back corner of the class, already surrounded by other students to ensure Peeta won't sit next to me. I justify this thinking by telling myself I ought to meet other people and not just rely on Delly and Peeta to babysit me through the remainder of high school, but if I'm to be honest, I'm just as content to be a loner.

"Hey! Katniss, right?" The picture-perfect blonde to my left says.

"Oh, hi. Cashmere, was it?" I didn't even realize it was her when I chose this seat. Now I'm afraid Peeta will still sit nearby since I've picked a seat next to his friend.

"So how do you know Delly and Peeta?" she asks.

I'm about to tell her that Peeta is a friend from Detroit, but I'm afraid that would just raise more questions. Instead, I answer, "We all worked at Sunset Shores Country Club this summer."

"Awesome." Cashmere's attention is averted when the jock sitting in front of her turns around and asks her about some party she's having.

I tune out at that point, not wanting to eavesdrop on their conversation. I probably should have chosen my desktop to stare at instead of the door because as I do, Peeta walks in, also freshly showered, and scans the room for an open seat. His eyes meet mine, but since there were no open seats in my vicinity, he takes one three rows over.

Mr. Fuller, our history teacher, spends the first half hour of class on some weird ice breaker activity where we introduce ourselves and share something we like or enjoy doing that begins with the same letter as our first name. He snakes up and down through each row, giving each student an opportunity to share. I'm last so, even though I have plenty of time to think through my answer, I am also the last to get her part over with.

"My name is Peeta and I like…" he considers his answer for a few seconds. "To bake pastries."

The guys in the class snicker to themselves and I find myself mentally defending Peeta as I remember how delicious his baked goods actually are. Others give their superficial answers – Leon like the ladies, Marley like watching movies, Cashmere likes… cashmere. At one point, I actually have to bury my face to hide my involuntary eye roll.

"Um, I'm Katniss and I like…" Mr. Fuller has gotten to me much faster than I anticipated and I still haven't come up with anything relevant that begins with the letter 'k.'

My teacher and classmates are beginning to throw out suggestions just to get the exercise over and done with.

"Kangaroos?" Mr. Fuller offers and I shake my head.

"Karate!" My brows furrow in confusion at another student's suggestion.

"Kites!"

"Cats!" Cashmere suggests and we all stare at her in disbelief. Her neighbor leans over to whisper in her ear then she perks up and changes her suggestion. "I mean, kittens."

Either way, I remember Buttercup, a stray cat Prim had kept around our apartment building by feeding it scraps of her food. I hated that thing.

"Kayaking?"

"Kissing." I recognize Peeta's voice even though he keeps his eyes trained on the book he's scribbling on.

My face flushes. The brutish boys in the class slap his back to congratulate him for, what, a great answer? It's a good thing he's not sitting near me because I would have already punched him for sure.

"Kids," I answer quickly to dispel the excessive amount of attention I am getting. Thankfully, Mr. Fuller moves on to discussing his syllabus.

When class is over, I know I'm supposed to ride home with Peeta, but after his little jab at me, I'm really not in the mood to talk or walk with him. I make a beeline for my locker to deposit my textbooks and pack up my homework before I unenthusiastically head to the parking lot to meet my obligatory driver.

I find him leaning against the passenger door of his Jeep with his arms crossed, chatting with Chaff and Seeder. When he looks up at me, the two companions follow his gaze and wave politely at me before walking away. Peeta stands up and pulls the door handle for me with overly apologetic chivalry.

"Where'd you go?" he asks. I hop into the passenger's side and buckle my seatbelt without dispensing a single word in response. Peeta shuts the door gently and walks around to his side. Once he's planted in his seat, he studies me and says, "Are you going to speak to me?"

I clutch my backpack to my chest protectively. "Nope. Not if you're going to make petty remarks in front of everyone."

"Look, I'm sorry," he says somewhat insincerely. "It was just a joke."

I shoot him an indignant scowl. "Then in that case, it was passive aggressive, and if you're going to be mad at me, at least man up and just say so!"

"I'm not mad at you!" he shouts back. "I'm just…" Peeta combs back his hair and clenches it in frustration. "You know what? Forget it."

He throws on his seatbelt and starts the ignition. The drive back home is silent save for the ambient sound of the radio station we had left on from this morning. Neither of us bother channel surfing since we're not listening to it anyway. Peeta stops in front of my house, but doesn't shift his gaze in my direction, let alone offer a 'goodbye.'

Once I'm safely outside the jeep, I turn back and tell him, "I don't think I'll need a ride tomorrow. My mom can probably take me in the morning." I don't know for sure if this is true, but at this point, a five-mile walk seems more appealing than another tension-filled carpool.

"Fine," he mutters, his petulance rivaling my own.

I slam the passenger door shut and turn to walk into my house. I'm too proud to look back, but the roar of the accelerator tells me he's in a hurry to put three houses between us. And just like that, we've gone two baby steps forward and one giant step back.

A/N #2 – Just a heads up about updates. I spoiled you a little in the latter half of USS because I had the story direction solid at that point. But the beginning of the story is always a little slow for me, still trying to figure things out, work out the kinks and untangle my brainstorm, so please be patient. I'll try to post at least once a week, but I can't promise. Especially as a mom – life happens.