Author's Note: In the books, Clove is fifteen and Cato is sixteen. In the movie, she's sixteen while he's eighteen. (I researched, don't judge me .) So I'm going to compromise them and have Clove as fifteen and Cato as eighteen.
Chapter One
It's just a little bit past dawn and I can't take it anymore. Quietly, I slip out of bed, already dressed from the night before, and into my slippers. In my fuzzy slippers, I'm almost soundless, no matter how dorky they are. I manage not to slip on the stairs and break my neck and went for the door. At times like these, I dislike having a big house. Of course, it can't be helped, what with my mother and father being so popular in the Career Training community. Plus, my two older brothers making a nice living by Peacekeeping in the nicer districts like One or Four. Still, as I switched my fuzzy slippers for my runners, I can't help but get slightly annoyed at the unused vastness that can easily reverberate my footsteps.
It's reaping day.
I quietly close the door behind me and start on an early morning jog to ease my nerves. It's not like I'm nervous or anything – far from it, actually. Honestly, I'm excited. This is my year, I know it. There are still two potential Games I could be entered into, but after four years, I'm far too impatient. For about an hour, I jog at a steady pace, focusing on my breathing. A little thing I've come up with that calms me down are the thought of the hundreds of knives I've worked with. The heaviness of each one in my hand, knowing exactly how to throw it. The sharpness of each tip and identifying the amount of pressure needed to puncture the skin. It's thoughts like these that will help me in the arena. With ease, I jog with nothing but blades running over the walls of my mind.
Without my noticing, I wind up in front of a blue door of a yellow house. It's roughly the same size as mine; two stories, two more floors below the ground level. The door opens even though I don't remember knocking. Maybe I did. I'm so out of it this morning.
A pretty blonde girl with sleepy blue eyes opens the door for me. From the looks of her, she hasn't even changed out of her nightgown. "Hey, stupid," she mumbled.
"Hey, Lune," I say with a half grin, sweeping past her and into her house. "How are you still asleep, today of all days?"
"Shut up, idiot," I could hear the frown in her voice as she shuffled after me. "Not everyone is as enthusiastic as you, loser."
Lune Pitney knows full well that my name is Clove Silver. Still, I don't recall a time where she's ever called me by anything but insults. Even then, she's my best friend, insults or not. We first met at the training academy that we're – legally – not supposed to have. But no one has ever said anything, so whatever, right? At least, that's what Lune says. We have the same mindset; winning is everything, no matter what it is. Maybe that's why we're so close.
"Yeah, right. I bet you're itching to get your hands on a javelin," I wave her off as I pick an apple from her countertop in the kitchen. I take a nice bite out of it while casually glancing around. Or, what I hope is casual. Her main floor is an open space, only countertops and furniture distinguish the TV room from the kitchen.
Lune presses a button on the wall and the smell of coffee floods the air. "He's not here, you know."
I bite into my cheek and wince at the taste of iron. "Who?"
"You know who, shortie. Want to know where he is?" she rubbed her eyes, looking to be half-asleep. But obviously conscious enough to torment me.
The television is on, despite no one watching. I'm suddenly very interested in the news castors filming the escorts on their way to their assigned districts. The apple in my hand shrinks as I eat away at it, keeping my back to Lune. But I can feel her eyes like small, acutely sharpened daggers digging into the back of my head. To get her to stop it already, I snort. "Why would I want to know where he is?" As the words left my lips, I immediately regretted them. I look at Lune from the corner of my eye and see her satisfied smirk.
Sometimes it really sucks when your best friend can read you like an open book.
"We should start getting ready," I say dismissively.
A loud, unnecessary groan droned out from her. "It's at two. And it's, like, eight right now! Can't we just relax for a while? I want to go back to bed…"
Although Lune has this pretense of being so nonchalant about almost everything, I know she's as on edge with excitement as I am. In the academy, she complains all through the standard workouts and even more in the cool downs. When I first met her, at age eight, I wanted to ram a butter knife into her eye. I thought I would be doing her a favor, since it would be much painless than the deaths she would receive in the arena – if she were reaped – since she seemed so useless. Honestly, why become a Career when you're going to be so stupid about it? But, once her hands brush against the javelins she's had specialized, Lune emits this aura of pure domination and determination.
Winning is everything.
I guess that characteristic of hers runs in the family. Her parents are also Career trainers in the academy, which explains our similar houses. Her father reminds me of a rather large bear; with his brutish face and hearty laugh. Everything about her mother is sharp and pointed; her features and her stare. Lune has certainly inherited her mother's stare, a stare like a small, acutely sharpened blade. In fact, it's Lune's mother who especially trained me to be the prodigal knife thrower I am.
"Well, since I plan on going to the Capitol today, I better look perfect."
I go to throw out the core of my apple and see Lune giving me a slightly approving look. This is pretty rare since Lune is usually so condescending. Or too lazy to praise anyone. "You've been taking out tesserae?"
A smirk plays across my lips and I go up her stairs. My dress is already in her room, hanging in her closet, waiting for me to show it off to the Capitol. Yes, I have been taking out tesserae. Not many people remember it. Yeah, we still have our poor areas, but District 2 is rich in our industries. How many people really need such an inadequate amount of oil and low quality grain every month? However, for a year's supply of such, one's name is added into the reaping. And one can get tesserae for family members as well. One for myself, another for my father, my mother, my two older brothers. The best part of it all? All entries are accumulative. As I'm turning sixteen in a few weeks, my name would originally go in four times. But thanks to the tesserae, my name is being entered into the reaping thirty times.
It's insulting to say I'm surprised to find out Lune knows about – and has probably taken – tesserae. We, unlike the standard mindless Careers, do our research. For instance; sure, anyone can throw a knife. But to actually kill something, you have to take a knife, feel its weight, see your target, and find the right aim and trajectory and force to put behind the blade for anything to be affective. And all of that has to be done in the instant you see your enemy. Lune can say the same with her spears.
I remember, at twelve, I found a book on edible plants and animals in Lune's bag. "Shut up, airhead," she said, snatching it out of my hand. "You can never be too prepared. Do you know how many Careers rely on the food supply in the Cornucopia?" A few days later, I borrowed the book from her.
We take an excessively long time getting ready. With about six hours to kill, why not? But really, those six hours are a blur to me; all I could think about was getting onto the stage in front of all District 2, in front of all of Panem. Soon, not as soon as I had hoped, we're showered, dressed, dolled up and in our roped off areas in our age groups. Huh, I didn't even notice my finger getting pricked by the Peacekeeper. Actually, I do. The Peacekeeper was my brother's friend that I had met in the academy…
Lune nudges my arm and I look up. Nare Kinton, the escort of our district, stands with the microphone in his hand. He's wearing a ridiculous bright yellow suit – the left side tight as if made as a second skin, the right flopping and waving in the wind. His long, matching yellow hair is styled pin-straight down for the ground, as if gravity were too much for it. He starts talking and I honestly can't pay attention whatsoever. I can feel Lune, in her ruffled ivory dress, trembling with excitement. I'm bursting with anticipation and stare at the large glass sphere on the stage that carry hundreds, maybe thousands of slips of paper, thirty of those slips hold my name.
I crane my head to get a better view, on my toes already. Lune holds my hand as Nare excitedly hops to the ball of female slips with the ever-so-original "Ladies first!" The slip is in his hand now. The slip is opening in his hand now. The slip is being read in his hand now.
Suddenly Lune squeezes my hand so tightly that I have to cry out. Hands are now around me, propelling me forward and I'm vaguely aware of Lune trying to hold on to mine. She must be jealous it's my name being called.
My name.
I've been picked.
I've been picked!
"I knew it," I say to myself, grinning ear to ear in triumph. I climb the steps of the stage with an air of confidence. No one can hear me say this to myself since the cheering is too loud to even hear Nare trying to ask for volunteers. There are none. At least, I think so. The crowd is cheering so much that anyone yelling as a volunteer would be drowned out. This only boosts my ego. Everyone seems to know me. Or, at least, my family.
Nare finally gets the crowd to settle enough to ask for the umpteenth time for volunteers. This time, it's clear there are none.
Unlike some of those backwards, poor districts – like 11 or 12 – being in the Games is a thing of honor. And in 2, we have this little unofficial system among us potential tributes. Let's say a kid from the poor parts gets chosen, anyone can volunteer to take the pitiful child's place. It's also the same if a boy or girl is below the age of fifteen, Career or not. However, if a suitable Career is picked, the only reason you can have to volunteer is if you intransigently believe you are a more capable tribute than him/her. This ensures that District 2 will have a higher chance of winning, and therefore sustaining our high status and wealth among the other districts. The fact that no one volunteers to take my place reinforces the fact that this is my year.
I can only grin down at the crowd, picking out people I know and beam at them. Nare moves on to the boys' glass ball and reaches in. I spot Lune in the crowd and I give her a wink. Suddenly the crowd thunders again and I realize I missed the name of the boy who will be my tribute partner. A young man, scruffy looking but still attractive, mounts the steps towards me. Not bad. Obviously a Career, but not an active one. Taller than most, shorter than some, has some meat on his bones. I can easily take him if I have to.
As the crowd begins to die down, I hear a single roar midst the crowd. "I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!"
Although I was expecting this to happen, I can't say I'm not amused by the slight surprise of my tribute partner and the delight of Nare. I see myself on the large screens surrounding the area so all may see the stage. It's odd seeing myself in such high definition; radiating with happiness in my dark green dress. Half of the screens are devoted to me while the others are to my two-minute-old tribute partner being booted off the stage. Hopefully my new tribute will be more of a challenge. I look away from the screens and see Lune scowling. Is she still jealous?
The new tribute takes goes with Nare to take his place as my new tribute partner.
I would be jealous too, if Lune got up to be a tribute before me. But she must be happy for me. She knows how much I've dreamed of this. Sure, I guess she's dreamed of being chosen as much as me. But she doesn't have as much pressure on her shoulders as I do.
"Tell me your name, young man," Nare more commands than asks with a perfect half-sphere smile.
But I guess I'll allow her to be upset for a little while. I give her a sympathetic smile to show her that I know that she's bitter about this. But then I notice Lune's eyes stray away from me and I feel slightly hurt. She can't be that mad at me, can she?
"…Pitney."
My smile falters slightly and Lune locks eyes with me once more, with an intensity I only see when a javelin is in her hands. Her lips move but it's so fast I hardly notice. I slightly raise an eyebrow that only she would notice. She mouths the words to me again, slower and it takes me a moment to realize. Pay attention.
I snap out of myself and glance at Nare. He's grinning down at me with his perfect, surgically rounded teeth. I realize he's beckoning me to shake hands with my partner tribute. How stupid of me, I almost made a complete fool of myself. Plus, I've lost time measuring up my potential adversary.
Turning, I reach out to shake hands with the boy who will be my ally and opponent. The first thing I register is how tall he is; I make it up to his shoulder. I look up to make eye contact. The second things I notice are his eyes. His eyes are an almost unnatural blue, a lightning blue that pierces right through me. The third thing I notice is his cocky smirk. That horrible smirk I know too well. The mocking smirk I face every day. The fourth and final thing; who he is entirely.
"I give you the tributes of District 2! Clove Silver and Cato Pitney!"
Author's Note: So! How did you like it? This is my first fanfiction I've written and I'm desperate for feedback XD Expect the second chapter... not too soon... =3 Thanks for reading!