Clove

Him. Oh God no, not him. Out of the thousands of boys being reaped, Starlet pulls out Hatchet's name. I stand, awestruck, as my weak little cousin makes his way up the stage to face me. I can read his fear in his eyes. He's one of the smallest kids from our district, the only one who'd never been trained for the Games because of his physical deficiency. And now it wouldn't matter. He was going to die. I was sure of it, and, by the look on his face, so was he.

"Any volunteers?" Starlet asks, smiling at the crowd. I scan the audience anxiously, waiting for someone to throw himself forward. For a second, my heart stops, and my breath catches, and I realize that Hatchet is going to die. My cousin, the only one with a truly good heart in our district, is going to be dead in less than a month.

All of a sudden, there's commotion down in the stands as a tall, muscular boy lunges forward, waving his arm in the air. "Me! I volunteer!" he shouts, stomping up to the stage without waiting to be recognized. Not that the wait would've been long at all; it's Cato, the only boy that would be insane enough to volunteer for such a lost case anyways. Why put him at the risk of death when someone else would obviously die? He's almost out of breath, but not quite, as he arrives to Starlet, barely throwing a glance my way before smirking at our escort.

"Wonderful!" Starlet cries in her awful Capitol accent we all know she's just faking. "Hatchet, it seems you may return with the other fourteen-year-olds. We have a volunteer! What is your—" she begins to ask. Stupid her. As if Cato needed prompting.

"Cato," he interrupts her, excited and staring the camera right in the lens. "My name is Cato, and I'm the District 2 volunteer."

I scoff and roll my eyes at his little display. Does he have any idea what he's gotten into? Oh, how I wish there was a girl as brutal as him to have volunteered for me. Not that I minded killing anyone—I was looking forward to that part—but at least in District 2, I didn't have to look like a princess or try to be nice to people who were betting on my survival skills. How dare any of them doubt me! I'm vaguely aware of Starlet telling us to shake hands, and as I turn to face him, I'm struck by the bloodthirsty, eager look in his eyes, as if he can't wait to get his hands on a murder weapon.

His grip is strong, and I take the opportunity to scan his body. Tall, big, even more muscular up close, with ruthless pale blue eyes and shortly cropped sandy hair. He could pull in some serious sponsors for his looks, and I bet after he's proven himself then even more of those pathetic little only-for-show silver parachutes will rain down on him. While I'll be doing, what? Surviving on my own, completely independent of sponsors who could waste me away with a flick of their wrist.

Cato

It's her, I think, tuning out Starlet's incessant chatter as we walk into the Justice Building, large, made of marble, beautifully designed. Clove is walking at the other side of our escort, as if she just can't get far enough away from me. But I remember her all too well. She's Hatchet's cousin, the cousin of the wimpy kid who got reaped before I stepped in and saved his sorry ass. Maybe she's thinking I did it for her. Well, I didn't. I couldn't care less about that little twig that was her cousin.

"Ah, here we are!" Starlet beams at us as we size up our…doors. Seriously, Starlet, I groan in my mind, reaching for the silver doorknob. What's so good about our doors? Then I notice that I'm going to be staying right next door to Clove. Oh, how wonderful. I get to hear her pitiful girly cries at night before we're catered away to the Capitol for the Games. She'll probably wimp out and dies first. Maybe, with enough luck, I won't be the one who kills her. Who knows?

Clove's already slammed her door behind her, and I can hear two objects—her shoes?—crash into the door with a loud thud! She's probably curled up into a ball crying right now. Wouldn't surprise me, either. Look at what Hatchet grew into; she isn't going to be any better, I'm sure. Starlet looks around for a while before getting the hint that she should just get lost. I walk into the room.

It's like a parallel universe in the Justice Building bedroom. Well, not parallel to the building, but to the district, definitely. The large bed is draped in red velvet covers, with pillows that look well stuffed, and suddenly I'm wondering how easily they'd be for my arms to rip them apart, when there's a knock on my door. Not Starlet! I cry out inside, already annoyed enough by our darling escort. I swing the door open, ready to take a swing myself, when I realize it's Clove.

"Can I come in?" she asks, arms crossed indignantly, as if she's doing me a huge favor. I'm about to slam the door in her face when she wedges her foot by the doorway. "You're allowed an hour for visits, but they're not letting anyone in yet. So can I come in?"

I sigh and pull the door open again, gesturing with my arm for her to come inside. She doesn't hesitate; instead she waltzes in as if it was her own room, which is what it must seem like, and she takes a seat on my bed, leaving only a golden chair for me. We sit in silence for a few seconds before she unfolds her arms and looks at her hands. "You must really think you're coming home," she says absentmindedly, as if she's talking to nobody in particular.

"Well, I am," I answer cockily, defiantly sticking out my chin. It's not any of her business, anyways. So what if I volunteered for her dorky cousin? She sighs, but doesn't lift her gaze, and I take her in mentally. Short, small, but looks quick and nimble. Her dark hair reaches halfway down her back, and is pulled into a ponytail at the back of her head. She's pale, and has dark eyes that look every bit as violent and unforgiving as I'm sure mine do. Good. At least she'll be fun to hunt.

"You probably think I'll die soon, don't you?" she challenges, finally raising her eyes to meet mine. I see the fury in her eyes that I'd seen so often in my own when I knew my father thought me a weakling, and suddenly she's not Clove the Prey, but Clove the Huntress. "That you'll get your hands on some huge weapon and tear me to pieces, and then go after the others. Or, maybe, another tribute will kill me because I'm just. That. Weak!"

I'm taken aback by the anger in her words. True, I'd already written her off. She was only fifteen, and she wouldn't be much use to me. Maybe if I formed allies before the Games began I would consider her, but most likely I would've just…gotten my hands on some huge weapon and torn her to pieces. "I can't afford dead weight," I snap, my voice failing me. I got the feeling that if I was in the arena right now, she wouldn't be the last tribute on my list for alliances. Not with her snarky little attitude.

"Well, if you're going to kill me," she tells me, standing up and reaching for the door, "give me a heads up. I'm sure that they wouldn't want to miss out on the show."

Clove

Who does he think he is? Here I am, trying to figure out how I would use different weapons—what if they didn't have any of my precious knives? I had to be prepared—while he was in his room, probably trying to think of a way to intimidate the other tributes, get a bunch of sponsors, give the Capitol a good show. Stupid Cato. If he really wanted to entertain his masters, his ventriloquists, then he'd be the first one to drop dead, give them some speculation about how a fearless boy from 2 could be done with so quickly.

I hadn't gotten many visitors—just Hatchet and my mother—so I was done well under the hour. The rest of the time, I sit on my bed, making swirling patterns on the blood red velvet on my bed. Finally one of the attendants comes in, offering me some bread and butter. To my pleasure, he's offering not the typical butter knives, but the cruel, sharp butcher knives. I smile as he walks away, probably having given me the knives on purpose. I look around the room, trying to find a suitable wooden surface for throwing practice, before my eyes rest on the beautiful door. Perfect. The dumb thing needed redecorating anyways.

I raise my hand, close my left eye to aim, and throw. It sticks to the center of the door with a satisfying crunch, and as I stand up to retrieve it the door swings open. It's Cato, who's surprised when the door stops short because of the handle of my knife. He checks the back of the door and grins, pulling out the blade. He tosses it back onto the bed, and I snatch it, then point it at him threateningly.

"Are you sure you want to come in?" I ask menacingly, lowering my voice about an octave. I know I must look ridiculous, but I'm still somewhat hurt by his insinuation that I'd be nothing more but dead weight if we teamed up. Which, knowing the tributes from the past—the Careers from 1, 2 and 4—and our mentors, Brutus and Enobaria, we will.

He laughs, as if I'm just this adorable little girl holding a knife out at him. "Aren't you supposed to wait until the Capitol to begin your training?" he asks sarcastically, which brings out a smirk from my part. We're technically not supposed to train until we're in the Capitol, but our district mostly ignores that silly little rule. Not like anyone actually cares.

His expression turns serious all of a sudden. "I won't kill you, you know," he says matter-of-factly, taking a seat at the foot of my bed.

I raise an eyebrow quizzically; this is news to me. "Oh? And why not? Have you suddenly decided that human life has actual value?" I teased, leaning back onto the headboard.

"Don't be ridiculous," he retorts, a glint in his eyes as he realizes we have something in common. No, I didn't think he'd suddenly decided that human life had actual value. That would make him a weakling, rather than a contender, in the Games. I wouldn't think twice about killing someone like that. "I was just thinking, if I killed you, everyone here would hate me. Especially your family. I save your cousin and kill you? That's not honorable at all."

"Since when do you care about honor?" I challenge him, sitting upright. There was truth to his words, though. If he kills me, people here would lose respect for him, and he'd be exiled, rather than escorted, to our overpopulated Victor's Village.

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Isn't that what this is all about? Bringing honor to our district?" he replies, and I'm suddenly thinking about it as well. Is that even true? I thought winning the Games was all about surviving, and then becoming rich and living in a large house. Pure self-interest, none of that honorable stuff. Still, what he says makes sense. If you win, it benefits not just you, but your whole district. The Capitol treats you better, which in the end is what really matters.

I'm about to say something when the TV I hadn't even noticed before flashes on suddenly, ready to broadcast the reapings all over Panem.

Cato

District 1, a strong-looking boy and a gorgeous girl. Marvel and Glimmer. Easy pickings for allies, as far as typical Career tributes go. Maybe Glimmer will even be "fun" to have around. Clove notices me staring and rolls her eyes, then pretends to gag.

District 2. Us. I notice for the first time how Clove doesn't even hesitate to get up on stage, jut like she hadn't hesitated to barge into my bedroom once I'd opened the door for her. She's brave. Even as she shook my hand, she showed no fear or intimidation. That, I think, can come in handy when we're allies.

Allies. Huh. Who would've thought I'd choose wispy little Clove, a pretty small girl compared to other girls from 2, as my ally in such a serious matter.

Clove and I make jokes throughout the rest of the reapings. The tributes from 3 are both small, skinny. The boy looks smart, but the girl just looks out of it. The tributes from 4 look useful, slightly better built than average kids. Of course; they're Career-trained, too. The girl from 5 looks fast, evasive. Not a huntress like Clove. The boy isn't worth mentioning. On and on we go until 11, where Clove bursts out laughing when a twelve-year-old gets reaped. She's so small, so skinny, so fragile. I get the sense that if we were to kill her, we'd probably tease her first, make her feel slightly less helpless before viciously murdering her. The boy pulls me up short. Definitely Career material. He's big, bulky, strong, could probably take us down. Clove and I exchange glances that say it all. He's coming with us.

Again Clove laughs when 12 brings out yet another twelve-year-old, bless their coal dust-covered souls, until a tall 16-year-old takes her place. Clove sits up, stunned. I can't say I feel differently. District 12 is notorious for no volunteers, and exactly two victors. The girl looks so desperate, so honest about volunteering, that I'm sure that any sponsors scribbling my name down on betting ballots are probably rethinking her chances of survival against mine. I want to strangle her for taking the attention away from me! I calm down just as another well-built boy gets called. Peeta. I'll have to keep that name in mind. He wouldn't be too bad to carry around as a Career for a while. Besides, he'll be fun to kill. He looks so scared!

After they sign off, Clove and I sit in awkward silence. She's no longer the little girl I thought was in the Games with me; now I can see she's also a ruthless killing machine. I know for certain I won't be killing her in the arena. She'll either win, or get killed by Glimmer or Marvel or some other Career.