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“You going to the department holiday party thing?” Gale Hawthorne asks in my general direction.
He is my academic twin, or that's what they call us. Same advisor, same class schedule, and very similar thesis tracks even though he graduated undergrad two years before me. We’re both Dr. Beetee’s prized students, each plucked from the masses of applications for his research team. We even sit side by side in the Research Design course every first year geography grad student has to take, no matter what subdiscipline you study. Physical, cultural, political, climate, medical, or media geography, we all have to sit through it.
I turn to my left to see Peeta Mellark, another first year but polar opposite in studies. He looks up from his reading and adjusts his glasses to see if the question was addressed to him. “Free food and drinks? Yeah, I'm in. What about you, Katniss?”
My eyes flit to Madge Undersee, on the other side of Peeta, and she's already nodding.
“Yeah, sure, I'm in. Just as long as I don't get trapped in conversation with Dr. Crane or one of you will have to rescue me,” I say.
“Agreed,” she smiles. “No one should have to endure that—I don't know how his students take him seriously.”
“No kidding, that guy creeps me out,” Peeta says.
While Gale is my academic twin, I think Madge could be Peeta’s actual identical or at least fraternal twin. They have the same sunny disposition, fair complexion, striking blue eyes, and light hair that's in direct contrast to myself and Gale. We make for an odd group, but most grad classes as like that at the university—attracting students from all over to study under the most prestigious academic leaders.
“Great,” Gale grunts. I'm still not sure if he was asking me, Peeta, or Madge, but it seems that we're all going now.
---
The department has gone all out, renting out the roof of the microbrew pub across from campus. It's a chilly Sonoran night, but there are outdoor gas heaters staged between tables across the space to keep the party guests warm. A hot appetizer station is flanked by the bar, both with long lines. Strands of twinkling lights hover above, giving the otherwise Spartan patio a festive feel.
I catch my reflection in the glass partition and am satisfied with what I see. My favorite hunter green sweater draws out the silver in my eyes, offset by the loose waves of my dark hair. It looked so nice earlier when I pulled off the elastic around the tip of my braid, I just shook it out and added a dab of lip gloss Prim gave me.
I’m lost in the memory when Peeta’s shining face appears on the other side of the wall. He's also dressed in a dark shade of green, but something's different tonight. I've always felt a pull toward him, from our first handshake in the quad. Between our vast differences, shared ideologies, and limited class interactions, I find myself doing the one thing I never set out to do—get close to anyone. I spend a lot of time with Gale out of necessity, and competition for Dr. Beetee’s attention. With Peeta though, it feels more like a choice to want to be around him—one I gladly make time and time again in this first semester of grad school. It still feels like a surprise though when I return his warm smile and tilt my head for him to join me on the patio.
“Hey, Everdeen, you made it! Did you finish your exams?” he asks.
“Yeah, so fucking happy about it too. Did you?”
“Yep, and glad for it. Abernathy's essay was a bitch though. I'm going to make sure he gets good and sauced tonight before he grades it. Are you going home for the holidays?”
“I am, tomorrow. I need to catch the airport shuttle though.”
“Oh, when is your flight? I'm leaving tomorrow as well, midday. You could ride with me.”
“Okay great, that'll save me a little money—thanks!”
“It's a date then,” he grins.
Gale and Madge fight through the crowd just as we've settled our schedule.
“What's a date?” Gale asks, shifting his eyes between Peeta and me.
“Oh, Peeta is taking me to the airport tomorrow—we both fly out around the same time,” I supply. “Did you two get food or drinks yet?”
“No, we just ran into each other coming up the stairs,” Madge explains.
“Wanted to make sure there were allies here first before settling in,” Gale says.
“Well I'm starving, how about we split up—you two get food and we’ll get drinks and meet back up here. A blonde for you and a stout for you?” I direct towards Madge and Gale.
“Yes, please,” she replies and tugs Gale off toward the food before he can object.
“What's with him?” Peeta asks, cocking his head in Gale’s direction.
“You mean the overprotective brother act? I don't know where he gets off on it,” I explain as we skirt the crowd. “I mean, I get that we’re like siblings here. We’re always competing, and he's always so demanding on himself, on me. He sends these gruff texts, gah. I should show you some time.”
“Sounds awful,” Peeta says.
“Yeah, but it usually ends there. We just work together for school.”
---
A few rounds later and many successful attempts at avoiding the creepy professors, Peeta and I are back in line for more drinks.
“Did fucking Johanna Mason cut in line? This line seems like it's getting longer, not shorter!” I shout, over the crowd.
“Katniss, shhhhh,” Peeta laughs. “She's not that far away! And yes, she most definitely did,” he snickers and leans into me. “I think she's getting a drink for Thom too.”
“Hmm,” I press on him to see the pairing over his broad shoulder, since that would be quite the interdepartmental gossip.
I gaze around and just about everyone seems to be feeling the effects of an open bar, myself included. Peeta smells good too— I absently wonder if he used cologne or aftershave. He’s always so fresh in class, but tonight he's exuding a different pheromone. Good thing I live just off campus and can walk home from here.
“Want to get out of here? I mean… go to the downstairs bar?” I stammer when I see surprise light up his face. Glasses! That's what's different about him tonight, he's not wearing his glasses. “ Maybe there's a shorter line?”
“Um yeah, that's a good idea,” he agrees and lets me lead him away from the party.
“So no glasses tonight?” I ask, navigating the stairs.
“Ah no, figured I'd spruce up for the party.”
“Well you look nice,” I blurt out, and a wicked grin spreads across his face.
“You are beautiful tonight too, always beautiful,” he says, and I know the rosy glow spreading across my cheeks is more than the Hefeweizens I've had tonight.
We weave through the thinner crowd downstairs to the bar when I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket. I fish it out to check the text while Peeta orders another round.
WHERE
ARE
YOU
GUYS
I scowl at my screen, re-reading the burst transmissions again and verifying the source. Gale. Gah. I told him we were getting more fucking drinks, right? I start typing my response.
WE’RE
FUCKING
“Hey, can you carry Madge’s? And here's yours,” Peeta says as he steers two more beers toward me.
“Hang on a sec, gotta finish this,” I say and scramble to finish my reply. Punching ‘send’ on every word like he did to amplify my irritation.
GETTING
DRINKS
And I shove my phone into my back pocket to help carry the beers. We move slower through the crowd to get back to the stairs, careful not to spill. We reach the top riser, and I feel my phone ping again.
“Hold up, I wonder what he fucking needs now,” I grumble.
WHAT THE FUCK
“‘What the fuck?’, what does he mean, ‘what the fuck’?” I think aloud as I read and re-read the message. I look out from the stairwell and can't see where we left him and Madge. I scan the screen again. “Oh fuck.”
“What is it?” Peeta asks, concern creeping across his face.
“Apparently we’re fucking!” I laugh, hastily placing the beers down so I don't drop them.
“Oh are we now?” he says, setting down the other beers.
“Yeah, the last two texts I sent didn't go through...so all he got was ‘we’re fucking.’”
Peeta barks out a laugh and we catch ourselves in a fit of hysteria.
“Well how bad am I that you're texting while I'm fucking you?” He asks through chuckles.
I'm hiccuping through my giggles now. “You must be pretty fucking terrible!”
“And how can we be fucking if we haven't even kissed yet?” he asks with a more serious tone.
A shift in energy rolls over me, taking in his words and piecing together their meaning. “Well, you should definitely kiss me first,” I say, all traces of humor vaporized. Emboldened by the alcohol buzzing through my system, I lean to his lips.
And it isn't terrible at all.