Chapter One
A knife whizzed past Cato's head and stuck with a thud in the board behind him. Initiate defense attack. He darted forward towards the person who had thrown the knife. The girl waited for him to get within a foot of her, and then she sidestepped at the last minute, her black hair flying around her. Cato was expecting this, though. It was the move she always made.
He whirled around behind her, whipping a foot out. He made contact with her calf, and she fell to the ground. There was no way, though, that she would just leave it at that. This girl, no, she'd fight until she could no longer.
She reached out as she fell, managing to snag a hand around Cato's shirt, bringing him down with her. Her hand still clutched Cato's neckline as their bodies hit the grass, but before either of them could move, a boot came down on the girl's wrist.
She grimaced, but no sound escaped her lips. Cato's fist clenched, and he was just about to swing a punch into the boot owner's side when he lifted his boot. The girl scrambled up, and Cato was quick to follow. He snaked an arm behind her back and squeezed her shoulder, trying to communicate the words of comfort that he couldn't speak aloud. Their trainer glared down at both of them.
"First, sloppy technique, both of you," their trainer spat. "Second, how on earth do you expect to survive ten minutes of the Games if neither one of you can catch me, of all people, before I do something like that? Really? In the arena, you won't be going up against fifty year old men. No, you'll be up against much more nimble kids your age. And honestly, Clove, quit pouting. You show weakness in the arena and you'll never get sponsors. Cato, quit comforting her. You two are competitors. Act like it." With that, he walked away, on to torture his next trainees.
"So, two days left, and Mr. Hodge still thinks neither of us have a chance."
How defeated Clove's voice sounded instilled an almost unbearable urge to go punch their sorry excuse for a trainer, Hodge, in the face.
Cato rubbed a circle in her back. "Is your wrist alright?"
Clove nodded.
"You know, neither one of us have to volunteer. We can stay here. Get married. Ignore our families' arguments." He took her hand in his.
Clove smiled up at him. "I know you wouldn't disappoint your family like that, and you know I can't."
"Well, maybe we'll be reaped. Someone would volunteer, and then there's nothing they can do. It wouldn't be our fault."
Clove let out a dry laugh. "Wouldn't that be something? For once, something would work out in favor of us being together."
Cato joined in her laughter. "Yeah, right?" Sometimes life just didn't seem fair. Sometimes it seemed that everyone was working against Cato and Clove. Sometimes Cato wished he and Clove had been born in another district, like eleven or twelve. No training, no volunteering, no pressure. Just living life.
Clove stood up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around Cato's neck. The hug only lasted a second. Then Clove stepped away, saying, "I'd better go. I wouldn't want my family to catch us together. Meet me outside the bakery at dusk."
Cato nodded. "See you then."
For a while, Cato stayed on the training grounds, slicing things with swords and trying his hand at the knives. Of course, he wasn't near as skilled at that as Clove was. She would probably always be better than him at knife throwing.
"Cato!" The shout came mid-throw. Cato turned around to see his father walking towards him. He braced himself for what was to come. "Hodge told me about your practice today. He might not see it, but you go too easy on that girl. If the reaping wasn't in two days, I'd have the right mind to stay up here during your training sessions myself."
"But the reaping is in two days, Dad. It's too late to make any major changes." He tried to force his voice to sound disconnected. He shrugged to add to the effect and turned back around to continue throwing.
His dad stepped up beside him. "Tell me, son, why is it that you've all of a sudden taken a liking to the throwing knife? You're much more skilled with the sword."
Cato didn't slow his throw. As the knife sailed toward the board, he answered without looking up, "Exactly. I could use more practice with the weapons I'm not as proficient with. Then I won't be completely dependent on there being a sword and a sword alone in the arena."
The knife hit the board with a clank, the blade not even close to sinking into the wood.
"You act like I'm such a fool, son! I can see right through your act. In fact, I saw that girl walking back home on my way here. She looked pretty upset. Didn't even notice me walking beside her."
"Of course she was upset, Dad," Cato said as he went to go collect the knives. "Hodge can be pretty harsh."
"And that was it, then? Just Hodge's comments?"
Cato swallowed. "Yep. Just that. Why don't you just trust me?"
He walked back to the place marked for throwing knives.
"Cato, it is not that I don't trust you. It's only that I want what's best for you, and you're trying to stand in the way of that."
"I'm sorry if I want to live my own life."
"I have wisdom that you really should listen to."
Cato threw the knife. It hit the board with another clang. Thrown sideways again.
"Come on, Cato, we're going home." His dad turned to walk away, but Cato hurled one more knife at the wood. The blade buried itself in the board with a soft thud.
With a slight grin, Cato turned from the training grounds to follow his dad back home.