Peaches Equal Love

         A warm drop of mushed peaches splatters across my face. I sigh and lean down to pick up the green plastic bowl. Standing back up, I snatch the rubber spoon from the floor as well and rinse it under the faucet. Let's try this again.

         "Okay, Prim." I puff my cheeks as I release a flustered breath. "Work with me, here, honey."

         I furrow my brow and bite the inside of my cheek in concentration. Pretty soon, I'm sure, the tender skin there will be chewed raw.

         I ease open Prim's tiny jaw and gently insert the spoonful of baby food into her mouth. To my delight, she closes her mouth.

         "That's my girl, Prim!" I exclaim, releasing the spoon to her sticky grip.

         I begin to turn away, satisfied, when more peaches spill from Prim's mouth and onto my new white shorts. Prim giggles in elation and chucks the spoon at my head. It misses by mere inches and lands with a thunk onto the newly-mopped, white-tile floor. I sigh again and run a hand through my thick, dark locks in frustration.

         "Primrose Everdeen," I begin in frustration, and her little head perks up at the sound of her name. "I know you're hungry, baby. Why won't you just eat your lunch?"

         Prim gurgles in response and swishes her chubby hands through the orange mess that now covers the table portion of her highchair. I groan, plopping down in the seat next to my baby sister at the dining room table.

         "It helps if you distract her with something before you try feeding her," calls a voice from the other room. It speaks around a mouthful of food. "You know, like a toy or something."

         "It would help," I hiss, "if you would actually get out here and do something."

         I hear a groan, and then footsteps leading away from the TV and closer to me. Peeta enters the room, crumbs from potato chips in a fine layer across the stomach and chest of the gray t-shirt he's wearing.

         He places his hands on his hips and raises his eyebrows in an expectant look. "Well?" he says. "What is it I can do for you?"

         "Well, for one thing, you can actually do your job," I shoot back, a scowl on my face. Then I hand him the spoon and the bowl of Prim's baby food, rising from my seat. "Okay, babysitter," I continue, acid in my tone, "work your magic."

         Technically, yes, Peeta is my babysitter. But he's only 18, a year older than me, and he was hired to watch Prim. Besides, he's the son of one of my mom's patients, and he was looking for some extra cash, so my mother put him on the job. Apparently the person who's practically been raising Prim her whole life (me) wasn't enough.

         Peeta takes the bowl and spoon from me and seats himself in front of my sister. I rinse my hands under the faucet in the kitchen and wipe them on my faded, thin pink t-shirt. When I re-enter the room, Peeta's got the spoon fit snugly into Prim's mouth, slowly extracting it when he knows she's actually eaten it.

         My mouth falls open. "Wha- How- What?" I ask in confusion. He shoots me a smug look and dips the spoon back into the bowl. I watch him with interest as he feeds my little sister, who, less than five minutes ago, was spraying me with a constant stream of the warm, sticky mess.

         He holds one of Prim's toys in the air while the baby watches, mystified. When her mouth falls open, Peeta quickly lowers the spoon in, and her lips close around it in surprise. When the bowl is nearly empty, Prim starts fussing and trying to wriggle out of her highchair. Quickly I swoop in and take her in my arms. That's enough Peeta-time for today.

         When I sit Prim on the kitchen counter and begin wiping her down, Peeta joins me with the remnants of Prim's meal and quietly begins to wash them. I can't help but allow myself to notice for the first time how attractive he is. The tendons in his strong neck wind up to meet his jaw, which is clamped shut in his silence. Stop. This is only his third time here, and I'm already crushing on him? No, no, not a crush. I'm allowed to admire a guy's body, aren't I? Like the way his shirt stretches across his shoulders? Or how his jeans hang low on the curvature of his hips, and his shaggy blonde mess of hair hangs just over his shockingly-blue eyes?  I shake my head to clear away these grossly lustful thoughts. This isn't like me. I don't creep on hot guys like this.

Sighing, I remove the bib from around Prim's neck, who by now has begun to suck on her hand and look around in wonder. I wish I could stare like a baby without being judged, I sulk.

         Peeta's voice startles me. "Katniss?" I look up at him. "You were just in a daze there," he chuckles.

         A blush creeps across my face. I hope he can't see it. "Oh yeah, sorry," I reply.

         "What were you doing? Just checking me out?" he says with a coy smile. I know it's for fun and that he doesn't mean it, but by now my face must be glaringly red. Don't even joke about that, I think to myself.

         I snort. "Far from it."

         He mocks offense, bringing his hand to his chest, and chucks the dishrag at me.

         I shriek. "Stop! Ew! That has Prim's baby food on it!" He laughs and watches me flail around, struggling to return the rag to the sink. I scowl at him and turn away.

         "Oh, come on, Katniss," he says, coaxing me to turn around. I don't. I know he'll throw it at me again if I do. Instead I cross my arms and stay put.

         "Okay then," he continues, "I guess I'll just... walk away now..." He trudges into the living room and I relax a little.

         Turning back to the sink, I go to grab Prim from her perch on the counter, but Peeta comes charging at me. He stuffs the dishrag into my mouth and pulls away, cackling evilly while I scream in disgust. Prim just gurgles in amusement.

         "OhmygodPeetaewewew," I howl repeatedly. Finally, when I've returned the rag to the sink and rinsed my mouth at least twenty times, I storm past him and into the living room. There, I plant myself on the edge of the couch, grumpily watching TV. Peeta follows me, muttering I'm sorry's and Learn to take a joke's.

         He hesitantly seats himself beside me with Prim in his arms. After a while, he gently lowers the baby into my lap, letting her pudgy snuggling offer all of his unsaid apologies. I wordlessly forgive him. And I don't stop him when he scootches closer, not even when our thighs touch and his arm wraps around my shoulders.