A Twist in Our Game (Hunger Games High)

Chapter 8

Just as she puts her pen down to give him the little 'A' to symbol 'Absent', he comes walking through the doors casually.

She looks at him in disgust, and pure offense. Like he's just insulted her mother, or something.

"What did I miss?" He asks, and Peeta and I both try to hold back our building laughter.

"Mr. Hadley, if this ever happens again, I will make a phone call to both your parents, and Principal Snow." Ms. Trinket threatens, to which Cato reacts to calmly.

In fact, he gives her a small smirk, "We wouldn't want that, now would we?"

"Well! I would think not," She says, still sounding very insulted. He sits down next to Peeta and I and throws his feet up on the desk- clearly just trying to tick her off even more. Some people let out a giggle, Peeta and I both laugh a little. It's always fun watching the student that never gives a crap. "Young man! Do you have any manners at all? It says on your location that you're from District 2, however with this behavior it appears you're from The Seam!" 

Anger conquers reason and I stand up from my chair, "What did you just say?!"

"Katniss, sit back down, you know how she is-" Peeta reaches for my hand to calm me down.

"No! I'm not gonna let her talk about home that way!" I argue.

"Sit down, Ms. Everdeen." Ms. Trinket says.

"No! I will not sit down until you apologize," I counter, receiving a few comments that only encourage me.

"Ms. Everdeen, you sit down now or I will have you sent to the Principal's office, do you hear me?" Ms. Trinket asks sternly, not phasing me.

"Oh, I hear you. But I'm not sitting down. You owe me and anyone here in this room that lives near or in The Seam an apology for the comment you just made." I say angrily, refusing to back down. 

Cato watches intently, taking a bite from his apple. Peeta rubs my hand, silently supporting me.

"Go. Now." She says through gritted white teeth that are so straight and shined they have to be fake.

I grab my bag and fling it over my shoulder and walk out of the classroom and down the hall.

"Where're you going?" Mr. Abernathy asks, looking drunk as ever.

"Principal's. Defending your home that your father once worked like hell to keep me and my family living in is apparently a crime, so... Shouldn't you be teaching a class?" I question.

"Allow me to walk you to the office, and as far as the class goes, they think I'm in the bathroom." He explains with a laugh that reveals how disgusting his breath smells. "So what'd you say to piss off Effie?"

"Effie?" I ask, the name sounds familiar and obviously has to be Ms. Trinket's first name but I think I'm more shocked that out of all people he's on a first name basis with her.

"Yes," He says, gesturing with his hand for me to continue.

"I just... You know what, I'm steps away from the office and it really didn't matter so if you still really want to know I'll talk to you later." I say, not wanting to get worked up yet again and lash out on another teacher.

"Sure, sweetheart. Good luck dealing with the snake." He smirks and pulls out a flask before turning around.

The snake? I wonder, but quickly ignore it.

I've only seen the principal occasionally at Talent Shows, a few prep rally's, and to announce the homecoming queens and kings. He usually just mingled in his office, awaiting the next student, or students to slip up so he could set them straight.

Normally I would be intimidated, but still I am enraged that a teacher of all people had the audacity to comment on the place my father paid for us to live in. The only place we could afford, and the only place that kept us sheltered from the pouring rain of spring or the icy snow in winter. The only place I ever referred to as "home". 

We didn't live there anymore, once he died we had money from his life insurance and I got a job at a gas station and sold berries and told Prim to make arts and crafts to try and sell also. With all of that we were able to buy a slightly bigger house but the house is still there, abandoned, but still standing. And when I can't think straight I tend to wander over there.

I'm not sure whether I should knock, or just walk in. Even though I may be mad I don't want to dig myself in deeper. Considering the toughest kids of all ages that have gotten into trouble walk out in tears or with their heads down, I know that I really should try my best to not overstep my boundaries with this one. 

I take a deep breath, and allow what my father referred to as my "poker face" mask my actual expression, and lightly tap my fist to the door, wondering what will happen when he answers.