The Girl on Fire

Chapter One

"It's all right," he says. "The color is a bit pale."

"I know," I shake my head. "It seems no matter how much dye I add, it makes no difference."

My older brother, Aster, laughs under his breath. I lean back in the chair, watch as he takes a bite of the cookie, pale orange frosting smearing onto his lips. "Tastes good though. Maybe mother won't mind."

I nod. My mother is hard to please. But she had complimented my frosting work in the past, said it was all right. That I could do it for the bakery. But I could never get the colors right. Always something wrong with it, to her at least.

I try not to let it bother me. Her opinions. Creating art was something I thoroughly enjoyed doing. Brought me some sort of peace, I suppose. That was hard to come by.

I'd spend hours decorating our cakes. My family let me do it since I liked it so much. It seemed none of them really had the patience for it. I'd experiment with different shapes, colors, and ideas. Flowers on a meadow. Birds taking flight amongst the trees. My favorite, that I spent weeks to get just right, is the sunset. I had somehow managed to create a spectrum of color—reds, yellows, purples, blues, oranges. My mother said I was wasting our dyes, that I should spend my time actually helping around the bakery and not fooling around, so I haven't made it since the time I got it right and presented it to her. But I still spend my evenings watching as the sun sets over the town, and wonder how many possible combinations of shades a sunset can conjure, and how many I can replicate.

I got my hands on some pencils and paper from school to do some sketching as well. I'd sketch anything from my classmates napping on their desks, to my father baking bread. I'd try to capture the essence of the scene—how the classmate had fallen asleep because their parents were awake all night screaming at each other, so they never could achieve a good night's sleep. How the baker, my father, had baked for what seemed like all hours of the day, never saying a word to anyone.

Surprisingly, as it's early and the day of the reaping, the bell rings as a customer enters. Both Aster and I turn our bodies to greet none other than Gale Hawthorne. I'm so jealous of him. Tall, dark hair, brave. But his worst offense is being close friends with Katniss Everdeen, the girl who sings so beautifully, the birds stop to listen. And I do too. If I'm lucky enough to hear her sing again, that is.

I got to once. When we were just little kids. It was the first day of school, when we were only five years old. She was wearing this red dress—it was plaid, and her hair was in two braids. I remember thinking she was just lovely. Anyway, I first noticed her because of my father. He pointed her out to me, said he wanted to marry her mother, but she fell in love with someone else. A coal miner. Katniss's father, who passed some years ago. It wasn't odd when my father said this. I didn't question it. My mother is his wife, of course, but she's... something else. As I said before, difficult to please. I know my father feels that way as well. He's had his own share of abuse from her. I do love my mother. It's hard not to love the woman who gave you life. But it is hard feeling affection for someone who has rarely shown you affection themselves.

Anyway, Katniss caught my eye after that, from that point on. Especially since my father said Katniss's father stole her mother's attention with his voice. Said he sang so beautifully, even the birds stopped to listen. He couldn't compete with that, no matter how sweet my father is. So when we got to class and Katniss volunteered to sing a song for us, I made sure to pay special attention. I had to see if she had her father's gift, and if she did, what the fuss was all about. So I listened, and sure enough, every bird shut right up for her sweet, little voice. And I swear I stopped breathing myself, hanging on every note.

But Katniss Everdeen wasn't just a lovely singer. She was also incredibly brave, just like Gale. But it was more admirable with her. Maybe because she was beautiful, and I was something of a sucker for that. Or maybe just had an eye for it. But also because I admired how much her bravery came from her love for her little sister, Primrose. How she'd taken up hunting with a bow and arrow, despite it being technically illegal, at such a young age to ensure they had enough food. How she took on the role of her father after he passed away. She's a survivor. And she has this effect on me I just can't seem to shake.