Clove woke up with a smile on her face. Today was the day. The reaping. She'd been training for this for years. Sure, technically it WAS against the law to train for the yearly Hunger Games, but the Capitol and peacekeepers didn't care, as long as they got their show.

For the last fifteen years, Clove and her classmates had been trained in school to fight. District two was clearly superior to other Districts, according to the Mayor, and the victors of the games often came from two. Clove had learned all kinds of combat in school, but her true skill was throwing knives. She was small, but fast, lean and wiry, and could hit anything with a knife. It was beautiful, she'd always thought, the way the blade curved through the air, shining and spinning, and would then thud into the target. She was decent with spears and hand-to-hand combat, but day after day, during each training session, she would always return to the knives, throwing them through the hearts of the target dummies, lining them up, throwing two at once. This was where she'd met Cato.

Cato was a year older, excelling in swordsmanship. He was loud and arrogant, bullying the other students, showing off with his sword, cutting through the air in wide arcs, laughing cockily. He was admired though-no one would stand up to him, and anyone who trained with him would find themselves flat on the floor in a matter of seconds. Girls fawned over him. All except for Clove.

Sure, he was handsome, but she always focused on her training, putting his voice out of her head. She would not let anything stand in the way of her someday winning the Hunger Games, bringing honor to herself, her family, and her District.

She'd always rolled her eyes at the way he would boast and show off, and at how the other girls were always throwing themselves at her feet. She couldn't stand his attitude-how he was always showing off, acting like he was better than everyone else. But for some reason, she just had trouble taking her eyes off him. The way he would laugh, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled….but he was a distraction. And NOTHING could come between her and Victory. She'd tried, time after time, to put him out of her head, and finally just ignored him altogether. Cato definitely didn't fit into any of her plans.

But in usual Cato fashion, he didn't care.

Clove still remembered how it had happened.

He'd come over to the knife station one day, followed at a distance by several girls, whom he either didn't notice, or was choosing to ignore.

"Hey", he said. Clove still remembered it, the first word he'd ever said to her.

She'd nodded once at him, then returned to polishing her favorite knife, a small, sharp one with a carved wood handle, trying to ignore the prickling feeling running down her spine.

"So, you're pretty good with these knives?", the way he said it didn't sound like a question, more of a statement.

Clove shrugged. "I'm allright", she allowed herself to say. She still didn't look at him.

Cato didn't seem deterred. He reached across Clove and grabbed another knife, a wickedly large one with a curved, shiny blade. He grinned at her, and hefted it in his hands.

"Any pointers? You seem to always be over here", he said, smirking at her slightly.

Clove tried to hide her shock. Cato, asking for pointers? Ridiculous! He was already an incredibly skilled fighter, even if he didn't practice with the knives often. She narrowed her eyes.

"Why would YOU be asking for pointers?", she asked suspiciously.

Cato shrugged, and turned to the target. He lifted the knife in his hand, and threw it. It thudded heavily into the training dummy's arm.

"Not bad for a first try", Clove tried to hide a smile.

Cato turned to her, raising an eyebrow, smirking slightly. He crossed his arms. "So you can do better?".

Clove glared at him. This was a challenge, if she'd ever heard one. She picked up her knife and stepped forward. She looked at Cato one more time, and threw. It was a perfect throw. The knife flew through the air and deep into the dummy's heart. She was about to turn around when she heard applause. She nearly fainted in shock. Cato was applauding. And after a few moments, the girls following him joined in.

Cato bowed lightly to her, and smiled widely.

That was it. From that moment on, Clove was done for. She was hopelessly in love with Cato.

From then on, Cato would come over to the knife station every day, much to the obvious disappointment of his female following. He and Clove would exchange friendly banter while working on knife throwing, and eventually, one day, he asked her if he could walk her home. Clove would never forget that day as long as she lived. They'd been a few streets away from her house, when suddenly, he stopped talking and just looked at her. Clove could feel her heart beat faster. Then he'd leaned forward and kissed her. Clove could practically feel fireworks exploding in her head. When he'd pulled away, he'd turned red, embarrassed. that was a first. Cato never looked embarrassed. He'd opened his mouth as though to say something, then turned and quickly walked away. Clove felt dazed. She'd replayed the moment over and over in her head for the rest of the afternoon.

At school the next day, Cato had seemed oddly distant, almost embarrassed, and awkward whenever he'd been near Clove. After school, when he was leaving to walk home, Clove finally caught up to him.

"Wait", she called, running up and taking his hand. He'd looked at her, and his face had slowly turned beet red. "A-about yesterday, I"m sorry...I just...I didn't mean...", he stammered. It was almost funny, seeing Cato getting embarrassed. Clove was certain that must have been a first for him. Clove had effectively cut him off by leaning up and kissing him, right there, not caring who was watching.

From that moment, the two of them were inseparable. Clove had taught him to throw knives almost as well as she did, and he'd given her pointers with the sword. Clove knew she was ready for the Games.

Ont thing that terrified her though, was the thought of losing Cato. She was afraid the Games would tear them apart. Though she was confident that they were both capable of victory, she secretly harbored the fear that one of them would die in a Games. She didn't want to lose Cato. He was the best think that had ever happened to her. Her father had been trained as a Peacekeeper, and had been sent to work in another District. Clove usually only got to see him a few times a year. Her mother, though kind, was bitter about having been denied the chance to be in the Games when she'd been younger-a childhood injury that led to her having a crippled foot had resulted in her having almost no chance to win a Games, so she'd never volunteered, and never been chosen. Now, her energy was focused on Clove. She urged Clove to try harder, be better than everyone else. She'd even set up a target in their yard for Clove to practice throwing her knives on, and made Clove keep in shape by running obstacle courses each morning, even though they were trained for the Games every day in school. Though she was caring, and definitely loved Clove, Clove felt as though her mother didn't necessarily see her. She was too focused on Clove being the best and winning, something she'd never had the chance to do.

That was also part of the secret reason Clove had for wanting to win the Games. Cato had been the only person she'd confided it to. She wanted to win the Games so she could be free, not end up like her mother, trapped in the past, living out her ambitions through her daughter, nor like her father, a man who came home maybe five times a year if he was lucky. Nor did she want to end up in a stuffy factory, manufacturing weapons all day, or mining stone. She wanted to live. But stuck in District two, a nothing, she never could.

Children in her District had been taught about the Games from day one. People would re-watch older Games often, and the District Two victors were local celebrities, admired and respected. Nothing was a higher honor than being chosen for the Games-there were always volunteers in abundance as well.

Clove had been taught not to fear death, and instead to inflict it, mercilessly, that it was good to take part in the Games-not only did it help keep the Districts in their place, but it helped the Capitol, which was always there, a strong, solid leadership, which supported the Victors and kept the Districts from harm. They'd been taught that most of the people from the other Districts were lower anyways. Not as smart, more like animals. They were always taught not to show remorse. Clove could still remember the first Hunger Games she'd watched, back when she was four, at home. She could still see the bright red blood, everywhere, as the future victor stabbed at an opponent. She'd been told, and of course had believed, as everyone did, that the people in the most of the other Districts were lower. Most, of course, weren't worthy of Victory-Especially the higher numbered Districts-the people were as good as animals, and therefore, no one should feel anything at the idea of killing them.

Clove wasn't afraid to die in honor of her District, but she knew, that eventually, she would come out victorious, having survived, conquered, and would be a Victor, and she couldn't wait.