PART ONE: THE TRIBUTES
CHAPTER 1
I wake up slowly, like every other morning, unravelling myself like a ball of wool. I let out a big yawn before realising, and quickly stifle it. Big mistake. Predictably, as if on cue, my younger brother Eric bounces into the room. "Clove!" he basically shouts. "You're awake!"
"Yes, I'm awake, what does it look like?" I groan comically. He smiles and crosses the room to sit beside my small bed. "Mum says you've got to get up early to go to training today," he says more quietly.
This time I don't groan, but get to my feet. I give Eric a small smile, and he smiles back, but I can see the worry that clouds his brown eyes. I hate seeing it there. Seeing it, and knowing that I'm the reason he feels that way. My smile probably isn't that convincing either, but I try my best. If Eric knew how scared I always got before every evaluation session, he probably would storm into the District 2 training academy and scream obscenities at the peacekeepers. And that would only get him killed. Or worse.
"Tell Mum I'll be down in a minute," I tell him, and he nods and leaves the room. I sigh, and run my fingers through my hair nervously, in anticipation of today's evaluation session. We are, of course, expected to go to training every day. The peacekeepers particularly enforce this, as all the worthy candidates for the Hunger Games need to be trained up to be career tributes. To provide the entertainment. None of the other districts, apart from District 1, are trained in this way, but as we are the main suppliers of Peacekeepers, we are looked upon favourably by the Capitol. It isn't really fair, but who am I to argue? Especially with my and my family's lives on the line. No, we don't question it. No-one does.
But today's training is different. Today is the day when your skills are evaluated and scored, and the instructors decide whether or not you actually have the potential to survive the Games. If you do well in your session, you are kept on at the academy, and trained until you reach the age of 18 and are no longer able to participate in the Games, or you are actually reaped. If you underperform… well, no-one really knows what happens to them. We are taught not to ask difficult questions. But they never come back to the academy. Not to mention the fact that today's training is the day before the reaping only puts fresh in your mind the possibility of actually being picked. Of actually being a tribute in the Hunger Games. I shudder involuntarily and literally shake my head to clear the bad thoughts from my mind. I try to pick apart my tangled thoughts and focus on reason. Since Mum has a good job at the big mountain that houses a lot of the Capitol's military supplies, I hadn't needed to sign up for any tesserae. That's good, I think. The chances of me being picked are about as remote as you can get for someone of my age- 16. The odds are in my favour. I wonder what my Dad would say if he were here? Stop it, I tell myself sternly. The last thing you need to be thinking of today is your father. "He left, remember?" I mutter to myself. "He chose himself, and service to President Snow over his own family." Mum says he had no other choice and it broke his heart to leave us. I don't believe that story as readily as Eric does. I think he just wants something to hope for, the belief that our father actually cared. I don't blame him. There's not a lot else to hope for at this point in time.
I sigh again and quickly slip into my special fighting gear, slightly more fancy than my every day training clothes, reserved for Evaluation Day. Black pants that look simple, but are actually made of a fine, stretchy fabric. A long-sleeved lightweight grey top. Small runner-type shoes whose soles actually have a very firm grip, perfect for that good stance so essential in fighting. I tie my hair back in a ponytail before heading downstairs to the kitchen.
Eric and my mother are already seated at the table, their breakfast half-gone. I sit down with them but I'm too fidgety with nerves to sit still or eat anything. My mother stands up and envelops me in a quick, warm hug. "You'll be fine," she says comfortingly, "You've never been criticised before, you'll pass." I nod, but even her words can't quell the worry quivering furiously inside of me. And then there's the reaping... I close my eyes, and breathe deeply. I don't have to worry about that until tomorrow. Right now I just need to focus on the training. I open my eyes again and gently pry my mother's arms off me. "Bye," I say to the wall, as I stride towards the door. I can't bear to see the worry in Eric's or my mother's eyes. The worry that I'll never come home again. Or even worse, their confidence in me. Somehow, that would be even worse. Like, if I fail I'll have somehow let them down. I throw open the door and step outside. I breathe deeply a few times before walking off towards the Training Centre.