Reaping Day.
I dressed simply, because although I was seventeen and of age, I knew that I wasn't going this year. There was no need to look dressed-up when I clearly wasn't going to get any camera time, as there were too many girls lined up, all vying for the chance to represent District 2 in the arena.
The professors had already chosen the tributes for the year: Cato Riley and Ariana RosaLynn.
Both were eighteen years old and the most popular, strong, and intelligent students in our class of nearly seven hundred, all of us training to become the top students and claim our spots as tributes.
Ariana and I absolutely and passionately hated each other and were constantly competing out of pure spite, but this year she won her place as the number one student fair and square, and I lagged in second. Thus, I was obligated to allow her to volunteer as tribute.
A part of me was indignant, because I knew that although Ariana was incredibly skilled and a brilliant strategist, she couldn't perform under pressure and her instincts were anything but quick.
But the other part of me was so very relieved because if I had won this year that meant that I would have to go up against Cato… which meant certain death.
Not only because he was physically fitter and far more capable as a warrior and a survivor, but because… against my own interest, I admit I'd probably let him win.
Because even though I'm just another face to him, one ugly duckling amongst hundreds of swans admiring him, if it comes down to it, I don't think I can kill Cato.
It's not love, I think, but… well, I don't exactly know. All I know is, I'm thankful not to have to be in the arena with him. Maybe that's why I failed so badly on that last physical exam.
I say good-bye to my mother, who doesn't bother to come since she knows I won't be the tribute. The Reaping ceremony is popular in District Two, so none of the Peacekeepers will care if a few adults aren't present. My parents are extremely disappointed I didn't come in first. I promised them next year, and thought to myself, when Cato's won and can't be selected for the games anymore, I'll go.
I meet two of my friends at the front of a small bakery, Valentine and Iris. They're both my age and the three of us have been friends for quite some time now.
"It's Ariana for the girls this year, right?" Iris asks, more as a conversation starter than a true question. Everyone obviously knows its Ariana.
I nod shortly and keep my expression neutral as Valentine says, "Lucky her, getting to live a dream come true. It's a pity you ranked second instead of first, Clove. It could have been you with all the fame and glory and riches."
I shrug and reply simply, "Next year."
We get in line behind a group of boys, who are all jostling each other and laughing.
Right away, I notice Cato, getting all sorts of jokes and compliments from his mates, whom I recognize as Jaymes, Skylar, and D.A.
"Man, can you just imagine how rich you're going to be after this? And how much people will respect you?" D.A. was saying, slapping Cato in the back, "It's going to be so awesome. Like the professors always tell us about at school."
Cato smiles arrogantly, a half-smile, a smirk.
"Think about all the chicks!" Skylar adds, "You'll get to pick whoever you want as victor."
I wonder who will he pick when he comes back? Most likely the mayor's daughter, who happens to be Valentine. Valentine is a gorgeous girl, bright, and has stunning eyes and a charming smile. Or maybe Alexia, the most musically talented girl with a perfect figure and a carefree, attractive personality. I drop my eyes from Cato, trying not to think about how far apart we are.
He's a confident champion, an awe-inspiring victor with so many opportunities in front of him, filled with riches and fame and adoration.
And as for me, well… I could never be those things.
Next year, I tell myself, next year we'll be a bit closer. I'll catch up to him next year.
"Welcome to Reaping Day!" a tall man with golden glasses and bright orange curls announces in that strange Capitol accent.
I tune out as he repeats the history of Panem, accompanied by a video. I've seen this too many times. I sneak a glance at Ariana, who is standing tall, chin up, eyes alight, looking intently at the screen. I look over behind my shoulder at Cato, who is standing in a similar pose.
"May the odds be ever in your favor!" are the words that draw my attention back to the stage.
"Ladies first!" he says brightly and reaches in to pull out a name.
He unfolds the paper, but I am already disinterested.
He's going to call someone's name, Ariana will volunteer. And that's that.
"Clove Ivy!"
I start at little at hearing my name, but the calm settles in quickly.
Ariana, go for it, I think.
And I stand there for a moment until it hits me that- no one's saying anything.
And it takes me another long second to comprehend the silence- that means I'm going into the arena!
"Well, come on up!" the man calls from the stage.
Shock has rendered me motionless, I feel like my legs are weak jelly.
I can't-
"Why isn't she volunteering?" Iris whispers loudly to me, but I just shake my head.
"Ms. Ivy, up now, please!" the man says, more urgently.
I look around me, sure this is a dream or at the very least, a mistake. People are all confused, eyebrows furrowed together, most are staring pointedly at Ariana, someone even reaches over and pokes her, but she ignores them all, her chin still up high and then her eyes meet mine.
Her eyes narrow, burn into mine, and suddenly it all becomes crystal clear.
She wants me to go into that arena.
She wants to see me slaughtered, maybe even tortured.
In defiance, I react by lifting my head up high and smirking at her.
Though I'm trembling inside, I confidently begin to march up to the stage.
You think this is going to make me afraid? Hell, its fine with me if you waste away your precious chance to be a tribute for the Hunger Games. Why'd you even work so hard?
"There we go" the man says, sounding relieved, as I climb up the steps towards the center of the stage. My eyes never leave Ariana's, challenging her. It'll take it gratefully, you little-
"And now, the men!"
I barely pay attention as neither Ariana nor I break our eye contact.
Someone's name is called, someone I probably know but don't care to remember, something like "Aiden Cross", but my gaze never breaks from Ariana.
"I volunteer!" a strong, brave voice called immediately.
And suddenly that familiar voice breaks through my competition with Ariana.
Because I'd forgotten for a brief moment.
My eyes trace down the stage to the feet and then to the face of the boy who'd just volunteered as tribute.
Cato.
Cato's my fellow tribute.
And now, it's absolutely certain that one of us will die.
We're made to shake hands but I don't meet his eyes, and yet, because I have to look strong, I look past him, as though he is no concern of mine.
I see his eyebrows furrow and I know he can't possibly understand. Great, he probably thinks I'm a haughty bitch.
Wonderful, maybe that'll make it easier for him to kill me later.
We're pushed off stage into separate rooms then and I'm in a room alone.
And that's when the full impact of what I have to do hits me.
I start to shiver and once I start, I can't seem to stop.
I'm going into the Hunger Games.
In the next room, I hear the door creak open and close, and I guess that Cato's parents are here to visit him.
Parents… my mother never expected me to be drawn, so she probably has no idea… no clue that this is the last hour we have to see each other.
The shaking gets worse. I grip my hands into fists and cross my arms tightly.
I am Clove Ivy and there's no way I'm going to let this affect me so severely.
I trained for this and I'm as ready as I'll ever be.
I take a deep breath and then close off the door to emotions, family, love, friends, happiness, girlishness, I'm Clove Ivy and I know how to kill.