I hated Saturdays.

Saturdays were unproductive. I didn't like to be unproductive. The Academy was closed to students and I more or less lived at the Academy. I could only do so much at my gym at home, as its facilities were poor in comparison to that of the technically illegal training centre that I'd dedicated my life to for the past 6 years.

I stretched out, feeling the crisp spring grass beneath my fingers and listening to the hum of the earth. It was no good, lazing around like this on the front lawn, but I'd already worked myself to the point of near collapse at dawn this morning. Being unable to sleep, I'd got up early and headed straight to my gym to distract myself from my thoughts.

Squinting as the sun peered out from behind the clouds, I tried to reason with myself that I deserved a break, that I deserved to spend this weekend resting my body and reflecting on this past week. I couldn't convince myself. I didn't like to be unproductive.

I sat up straight, narrowing my eyes and glancing around me quickly to make sure no one had been watching me do nothing. One of the benefits of living in the Victors' Village had to be the quiet. District 1 had the most living Victors out of all the districts, with newly-crowned Victors moving into the Village once every few years, but it still managed to remain peaceful. Most of the time, anyway.

As if on cue, an obnoxiously loud beast of a car roared to life across the street. It was a sleek, stylish silver vehicle that only few who lived outside of the Capitol could afford. Of course, it was my neighbours, the infamous Casanova family. I only wish they were as charming as their namesake. In the driver's seat was the equally sleek and stylish Gaius Casanova, the patriarch of his family and Victor of the 49th Hunger Games. His hair was as silver as the car he drove despite only being 44 years of age, however he had still retained his godlike good looks, which had had a great deal to do with how well he'd fared in the arena.

He pulled out of his driveway and tore down the street at a ridiculous speed. I knew where he was going. He was attending a meeting at the Academy, a meeting concerning the subject which had been the cause of my recent bout of insomnia. In this meeting, the higher-ups were going to be discussing who would be chosen to volunteer for the 73rd annual Hunger Games.

It was almost certain, that that someone would be me. Shivers of anticipation gripped me suddenly, sending shockwaves down my limbs. I had worked so hard. I had pushed myself far beyond my limits. I had subjected myself to the most intense forms of training, sessions of mental and physical torture that only a select few could bear. I had come out unscathed and I had come out ready. There wasn't a soul alive that wanted this more than I, of that I was sure.

Tremors still raced through me as I remembered just how far I'd gone to even be considered. I deserved to be chosen. My rankings in every class beat all the other students my gender, and most of the opposite gender, by a landslide. I had proved myself over and over, turned my body into a weapon and my mind into a machine. Still, there was this niggling doubt in the back of my mind that wouldn't quite leave me alone. What if I hadn't done enough? What if I still wasn't at the top of my game? What if they decided someone else was better for the job? What if?

I scolded myself internally. This way of thinking would achieve nothing. Deep down inside me I knew there was nothing more I could've done to convince them, the mentors and the Victors and the officials that I was the best. It still didn't kill that niggle, though.

I hated Saturdays.

Rising to my feet, I ignored the ache of protest from my tired legs. This past week had been gruelling, to say the least. With the Reaping drawing near, we'd been through a final set of tests, both theory and practical based, to determine who would gain the right to volunteer. It had been difficult but as always I had relished in the challenge. Challenges and being productive was what kept me sane, and right now, I was just stood here thinking. That wouldn't do.

Setting off across the Village, I once again acknowledged the quiet. A lot of the Victors would be at the meeting at the Academy, of course, and not many of them had families. The Casanova's were the largest family here, with Gaius and his wife having two sons left, one of which would undoubtedly be my district partner. Jet was the only person who always topped me in the rankings. He was a magnificent specimen. Even I, who had always looked past the beauty and the fame and seen him for what he truly was, could admit that he was the favourite not because his father had connections and a massive influence, but because he was born and bred to be a winner. Jet had his place in the Games set in stone from the moment he'd first picked up an axe.

Coming to the edge of the Village, I hoisted myself up onto the surrounding outer wall that separated us from the rest of the district and tried to enjoy the good weather we were having. To my disdain, another obnoxiously loud vehicle came from the opposite direction Gaius had left in, and this car was a fiery red. Marcus Casanova, Gaius's eldest son, perhaps? It was beyond me how any members of that crazy family were allowed to drive. Speeding up to the Village, the driver noticed me glaring disapprovingly and slowed down, rolling down their darkly tinted window.

"Are you nervous, orphan? You should be, because I heard that Reyna Auralius smashed the shit out of your scores in the final tests!" came a dreadfully familiar voice from inside the car.

It was possibly the only time I'd ever be disappointed not to see Marcus. Instead, Jet Casanova smirked over at me and waited for a barb in retaliation.

"Keep driving. In two weeks time, you'll be dead, so enjoy your daddy's money while you still can."

I usually wouldn't respond. My image meant everything, and to lose my composure in front of this arrogant piece of shit would make me not only look a fool, but I would also never forgive myself for stooping so low. Besides, what he'd said was a blatant lie. Reyna Auralius had shot an arrow 6 feet wide of the target and hit Venus Esmer in the thigh. She's definitely not someone I'd consider a threat.

Jet snorted at my dig and flipped me off, slamming on the accelerator and shouting some insult over his shoulder, although I couldn't hear him due to the stupidly large engine under his bonnet.

I sighed in exasperation, closing my eyes and again trying to achieve peace of mind, which would prove strenuous after that little exchange. Also, the meeting was still underway and would be for another 24 hours, at least.

I hated Saturdays.