Calm yourself Everdeen. Take a deep breath, remember those five important words.
3...2...1…
The arrow soars through the air and strikes eight on the target.
I let out a frustrated growl and throw my bow to the ground.
I haven't gotten a 10 during the two hours of practice. After fifteen years of hunting I could hit a squirrel perfectly in the eye, but lately I can't even hit a ten and it's on a bigger target. Archery, something that was at first a frustrating and challenging activity came to be something that was as easy as breathing.
Ever since I was 12, my dad has been my coach. I got my passion from him, but archery started in our family long before that. His talent started with my grandfather who taught Dad how to hunt. After he passed, my dad wanted to continue the legacy of champion archers.
I don't remember much about my grandad's stories since he died before I was born, but I know it had a lasting effect.
My father competed in college and won two individual national championships. He had the chance to be an Olympian, but then my mom came into his life. Ever since then, his love for her was greater than his dream for the Olympics.
My first competition was at the age of 14. It was the most terrified I had been in my life, but it was the most exciting moment too. I didn't win, but over the years I've started mastering this sport, and I know I have what it takes to make it all the way.
"Katniss, no need to stress yourself out even more."
I shake my head vigorously and glare at the target. "No, I need perfection! Those people at the competitions and trials will be perfect, and I need to be perfect too!"
My father grabs both of my hands and squeezes them. Anytime he hugs me it makes me melt in his arms. It's like a rainbow coming out after a storm. He makes me feel safe and sound.
"You're the closest to perfect I've ever seen, but if you keep stressing yourself like this, it'll hurt you, rather than help you," Dad says while packing our things up. He looks back to me with his kind gray eyes looking softly at me as he strokes my hair.
When I see him packing our stuff I frown and try to grab the bag.
"What are you doing? We still have more hours to practice," I say.
He shakes his head and slings the bag over his shoulder, " Let's end practice early today. You need your rest."
"What?! But da-", I protest as I lunge forward to get his attention.
"No buts," my dad says while sternly looking at me...
Deep down, I know he's right, but I can't help wanting to be the best and going to the Olympics.
Ever since I was a child, archery was my passion. When hunting season came around I would go out with dad and he would train me.
Ever since I was 5, I would watch the Olympics with my mom, dad, and my little sister. After long days of school where I was pretty much a loner, it was one of the things I looked forward to other than hunting. I think every time the closing ceremony came around I would cry. My dream of holding up the gold medal has been rooted ever since. I will not let my Olympic dream go to waste.
My dad places our bags down and places his hands on my shoulder.
"Just pretend that you're hunting. Don't think about the games, don't think about competing. Just close your eyes and take a deep breath." He whispers in my ear.
His words ever having such a soothing effect allowing me to take a deep breath and focus on my chest as it rises every so often.
In...out...in...out.
After a few more seconds of this, I hear my bow clink against the ground and it being picked up. Dad places it in my hands. I hear his deep voice in my ear again trying to lead me.
"Now, I want you to open your eyes and keep thinking about both of us in the woods," he looks at the target before us, "aim for the eye, Katniss."
When I open my eyes I can feel my sanctuary surround me. The smell of pine fills my nose and I can feel the breeze and humidity of the woods..
"Remember the five words, Katniss. Focus. Draw. Breathe. Aim. Release," my father says softly.
Focus.
Slowly, I pull my bow up, zone in on the target, then set my feet correctly. I stop worrying about anything else but that bullseye in front of me. Not the games, not the Olympics, just the target.
Draw.
After I focus on the target, I notch the back of my arrow onto my tightly strung bow with my right hand and draw my arrow. My dad gives me a slight nod to clarify that I'm doing this correctly even though I've done it a million times.
Breath.
I've used this same routine for years, even when I first hit the eye of a squirrel. Two breaths in, two breaths out. In and out. In and out. It feels like time has completely slowed down around me.
Aim.
I close my left eye and line it up to the red ten in the middle of the target, just like a squirrel's eyes.
3...2...1…
When I release the arrow it soars through the air like a lightening bolt and strikes the area between the 1 and 0.
I drop my bow down and smirk at the target. My dad chuckles and pats my back affectionately.
"That's my girl," he says with a smile, "now go and change, you have a big day tomorrow at the competition this weekend. You have practice again tomorrow so you need all the rest you can get. Remember, we're looking to bring home the championship for the third year in a row."
I crack a smile and nod.
Not to brag, but I know I'm one of the best archers in the state. These are the moments where I know all my hard work and frustrations have paid off.
"Can you take my bow to the car please? I'm going to the weight room for a bit," I say expecting him to question me.
Surprisingly he doesn't question me, but I can tell he's not happy that I've yet to listen to his advice. He nods and takes my bag so I run off to the weight room to let out some frustration.
When I get there I head straight to the punching bag. Even though I hit a 10, it was only one in a two hour period, and that is unacceptable. Unacceptable for me or any Olympian.
My fists start pummeling the bag in frustration. I can feel all the stress and the weight of the world piling on me.
Each strike doesn't seem to help, instead it gives me even more adrenaline. By the way I'm attacking this bag, it will burst any second...until I feel hands on my shoulder.
I jump backwards from the person behind me and place my hand over my pounding chest. I turn around quickly and glare at him.
"What the hell?! You almost scared me to death!" I say loudly
"Sorry, but if you break that bag, I'm not going to have anything to practice on when I need it," says a deep voice filled with amusement.
When I flinch away from the hands I scowl at a man behind me, but not for long.
My scowl disappears for a few seconds as I take him in. He has ashy, blonde waves that fall over his forehead and I can tell he's been sweating.
Oh...his eyes. They shimmer like a crisp lake on a cool fall day. It's almost as if I'm looking at frost. They're not chilling, but make me feel cool. His eyes quell the fire and anger within me.
He stands a few inches over me and definitely has the physique of an athlete, but I would never admit his beauty. I'm too stubborn to do that, and I can't worry about men right now. I have a goal to achieve.
"I advise you not to touch me again," I say with a scowl.
He lets out a light chuckle and runs his fingers through his hair.
"Advice taken. You almost done with the bag? I want to use it before you ruin it," he says.
"Oh, yeah, I'm done." I murmur as I back away. He gets closer to me making my heart flutter when he offers me a sweet smile.
"What do you do?" he asks curiously.
"What do I do?" I mimic his question.
"Yeah. You look like…" he stops to think for a moment then looks back to me, "like the shooting type of woman."
Even though I'm not in the mood to make small talk today, or ever, I decide to attempt to be friendly even though I've never been good with making friends.
"Archery. My dad is my coach." I reply.
He nods and leans over to grab some boxing gloves out of his bag.
"Ahh, I know who you are. Katniss Everdeen. Nice, very nice. You're the best archer in the state! Maybe even the country," he says impressed.
"Um, yeah. I'm...alright," I whisper.
"Alright?" He lets out a chuckle and shakes his head, "You have won the state championship for the past two years. You're freaking amazing!"
I let a smirk spread across my face and nod.
"Okay, I'm better than alright," I admit.
He laughs and sits down on the bench next to the punching bag. I stare at his hands and shift on my feet because I'm oddly feeling nervous around him.
"Well since you know my name, what's yours?" I ask curiously.
"It's Peeta. You know, like Pita bread. It's spelled differently though. P-e-e-t-a," he says with a chuckle.
"Oh…" I reply awkwardly.
I have to get out of here before I do something stupid. He probably doesn't even want to talk to me, just wants to get this stupid punching bag.
"Well, I'm going to go. I had a bad practice today," I say quickly.
He thinks for a second then looks up at me and nods in understanding. "I know what you mean. I can't tell you how many times that's happened to me the day before a wrestling competition."
He wrestles. No wonder he's so physically gifted.
"Oh, well...bye," I say curtly.
Before I reach the entrance of the door I hear his voice speak up again."Wait! Do you have a competition anytime soon?"
Why does he want to know anything about me? I'm just a girl who likes to do archery and has a few friends. I'm growing suspicious of his friendly demeanor.
I turn back around to him and I see he's changed into a tight green muscle shirt. I try so hard not to bite my lip while I stare at him.
"Oh..um...there's actually one tomorrow at Panem Stadium," I say while still gaping at him. "
"Okay. Expect to see me there," he says with a wink.
Dad drops me off at my apartment, I go to the trunk of the car to grab my bow and arrows. As I shut the trunk and go back to the window, I tell him goodbye. "Have a nice night dad."
"You make sure to get your rest Katniss, I'm serious. Stress is never a good thing, especially on you," he teases me.
I sling my bow over my shoulder and laugh at his comment.
"I think I know who I got it from," I reply.
He chuckles and starts his car back up. "You have a good night honey. I'll talk to you later."
"Okay dad. Don't stress yourself out about the competition," I say ironically.
He shakes his head in amusement, "Shouldn't I be telling you that?"
I groan and roll my eyes.
He winks at me then waves goodbye. I stand there with a smile on my face as he pulls off.
My dad knows exactly how to get me to do what he wants with his words and personality. I know where I got my stubbornness from.
I walk inside of my apartment and let my things land on the couch. Today wasn't a good day. All of a sudden I'm thinking about Peeta even though I'm still suspicious of his friendly actions.
Was it his smile? His laugh? Something drew me to this stranger and I don't like it.
I know I have to concentrate on my dreams, and thinking about men is not included in them. I shake my head to get rid of my thoughts about him and decide to take a shower. By the time I'm done eating and taking a bath, I'm completely spent.
I crawl into bed in my Michigan State T-shirt from college and close my eyes to sleep, but then I see him. It's like his image has been branded into my brain and behind my eyelids.
Eventually I'm able to fall asleep, but that doesn't stop me from seeing him in my dreams either.