"Why him, Taxus?" I hiss to my trainer, who shrugs.
"You and him could help each other. You aren't so good with swords, and he needs some help in knives..."
"What, you want me to knife him?"
"Clove, come on..."
"Wasn't there anyone other than Cato Gunn for me to train with, and possibly be my district partner in the Games?" I practically screech, hurling the knife on one of the dummies. It hits right between the eyes.
"Clove, I know," Taxus says, running a hand through his thick, red hair. "But that's what the Committee Board of the training center wants." I open my mouth to retort, but Taxus adds, "Look, you and Cato are on the list of favors for entering the 74th Games. Come on. Do your best."
Well that changes things.
Here in District 2, there is a sort of procedure of training for you to enter the Games. First, from the age of six to ten, you train in a group of five to eight kids. Then, from eleven to thirteen, you train either with another two from your gender or alone, depending on trainers' decision. From fourteen to eighteen, you train with a partner from the opposite gender. Each year, the center's Committee Board picks a pair to fight in the Hunger Games from these groups, based on skill, charm, looks, ability, and everything in between.
I'm fourteen, now, and the 73rd annual Hunger Games will have the reaping next week. So next year, I will be entering at the age of fifteen.
If they pick me.
No, they will pick me! They will pick me, and I will win, and my mother and two little sisters and two little brothers will be safe!
"He's here. Clove, please try to be mature," Taxus says, as I see Cato Stewart closing the door to our section, a tiny, almost invisible smirk on his face.
This is going to be a year of hell.