Clove

Part one

Isn't it ironic how as soon as your life finally seems perfect you end up with something else to worry about? I think as I wake up. Cato and I have had had nearly a year without worrying about the games or being separated, almost a year of heart exploding happiness. Cato and Clove, Clove and Cato. Perfection. But it's reaping day today and the worry has crept back in. Not so much for Cato, he's an only child, he just has himself –and maybe me- to be worried about. But my brother Kallen turned twelve this year and it's his first reaping. It's unlikely he'll be picked. Unlikely but not impossible and I'm scared for him. Scared for me.

In our District, the games are an honor; the reapings are often chaotic with all the boys wanting to be District two's next hero. So even if Kallen or Cato were to be reaped, someone would volunteer in their place, probably. Except, there is an unspoken rule in this district that those who are top of the class in the training academy are to go to the games. If one of them were to be reaped, you would not volunteer for them. Cato is top of his class. So am I.

I hear a knock on the door and look up to see Cato leaning on the door frame.

"Morning beautiful" he says as he walks toward me. He frowns "You look worried" he says "what's wrong?" He runs his thumb over my cheekbone and tilts my head up so I'm forced to look at him. "Ah," his face darkens, "the reaping." I nod and make a face. "Come on Clove, it's never going to happen, it won't be us, too many people want it." I'm shaking my head before he can finish.

"But we're too good, if I'm reaped, I'm going into the Arena." Cato slips his hand into mine and squeezes.

"You probably won't even get picked; your name is only in what, four times?"

"Twenty" I say softly and his eyes snap up to mine.

"Twenty" he repeats. "How is that?" I shrug and pull my hand out of his.

"I'm sixteen, one for every year since I'm twelve, and every year I've taken out four tessare for everyone in my family." I say in a monotone, repeating the same story I tell every time I'm asked how I have my name in the draw so many times. See the Capitol is great like that, every year, starting when you're twelve your name goes in the ballot one more time to be reaped for the Hunger Games. So most girls my age will have their name in four times, nice and fair right? Wrong, because they exploit the poor, and in exchange for putting your name in again, you get a tessare, a meagre supply of grain and oil. There are five in my family and I've taken four tessare each year in addition to the compulsory entries.

Cato is still looking shocked, I laugh, "Cato, it's not that hard to understand, we have a big family and living in District Two doesn't automatically make you rich." I point out. Typically those in Districts One, Two, and Four are richer and better fed since we usually win the games; which means we get food packages from the Capitol in reward. And since we're better fed, we keep winning the games while the other nine Districts starve and watch as two of their children are killed in the Arena every year.

"But your dad. . . . ." He trails off and I know what he's thinking. I should be safe and well fed because my dad is one of the Capitol security guards. A peacekeeper. I shrug

"Doesn't make a difference"

"Let's go" Cato says suddenly, standing and starting to pull me up.

"Go where?" I ask, confused as the reaping doesn't start for a few hours.

"I don't know, for a walk, out, anywhere" he laughs "got to get your mind off the games Knife Girl" he says using the nickname he came up with when we were eight and I threw a knife at him during Training one day when we were young. I missed him of course; my aim at least has improved although my enthusiasm for the games has been lost. I groan

"That has got to be the lamest nickname ever. And shut up Cato, we both know I could hit you in my sleep now." I laugh as he puts his hands up and backs away, a look of mock panic on his face.

"No, please no" he cries "spare me!" Cato laughs then winks at me, "race you to the house?" He asks. I don't answer and instead push past him and start running. 'The house' is our special place. It's an ugly, old, abandoned building but it's ours. It's served as the setting for our imaginary games when we were young, a pretend school where we did our homework and finally was where we had our first kiss eight months ago. I beat Cato there; even with my head start I'm faster than him. I guess little people get a bonus there. I look around the room, covered in pictures of us together, drawings from when we were young and all our favorite toys and books. We hang out, talking, running around and generally acting like kids until we hear the bell ring, calling everyone to the square for the reaping. I grip Cato's arm as panic washes through me and he turns to face me. He smiles and brushes my hair from my face. "Relax Clove, you're badass with those knives, I think I might even be scared of you." He grins as I scowl at him.

"Ha ha, aren't you just the funniest" I say sarcastically but I reach for his hand and link my fingers through his. We walk to the square together and prick our fingers, pressing the blood onto the designated squares to sign in. Unless you are dying, you are required to be at the reaping and the peacekeepers actually check every house for people trying to get out of it. Just before we separate and go to our assigned areas, Cato leans down and pressing his lips to my temple, breathes "I love you Clove, whatever happens." I pull his head down and our lips meet then imitating the ridiculous Capitol accent, I reply "and may the odds be EVER in your favor."