His silhouette is inky black against the moonlit pond. I am not expecting him to be here by the water. My comfy leather boots have a silent tread. Often, in times like these, I find myself thankful for this. I am able to backtrack away from him unnoticed.
His name is Cato. Once upon a time Cato and I were an inseparable pair. Sometimes I wish that we were still friends laughing and playing in the pond. But I was only four years old, and he was only six.
Training had been the cause of the rift between us. In training Cato and his 'gang' began to tease me. When I turned seven it became physical. Maybe if I tried I could beat them. Actually by this point I know that I could. But I'm waiting for the right time. I want them to be so surprised that they wet their flower-print boxers.
Mostly I'm teased for my small frame. I appear almost a year younger than I really am. This can be very annoying. People assume that because I'm small, I'm useless. But I'm saving my abilities, and practicing every day.
Anyone who fights me, so basically everyone, beats me. Even my drunkard of a father fights me. My mother, Casta, isa pacifist and she's too scared to stand up to Harry. Actually she would be dead by now if Harry hadn't once been at least half decent. I don't really see the point of calling Harry 'Father'. I mean, if you can't handle being a father you can't be called one. It really is that simple.
My little sister couldn't care less about Harry. She ignores him and he ignores her. She's only a year younger than me. Her name is Jen and, even though I know that she is plenty independent on her own, I can't help but worry if something might hurt her. Also she hates it when I think of her as small. And when I call her Jenny. But she is twelve years old, plenty old enough to take care of herself by District 2 standards.
Sometimes even she fights me and she only just got started training. Most people start at eight years. But I started at six and she started at eleven. She doesn't know that I let her win.
The Training Centre in District 2 is actually slightly larger than the one in the Capitol that tributes use prior to the Hunger Games. Or so I've been told. Several victors work there as trainers. The only one that I care for is Felipe.
I think that Felipe sees through my persona, the silly façade that only I truly recognize. He knows how lethal and sharp I really am. Or at least I think so anyways. He too teases me, though only playfully.
Maybe he'll sneak me a donut and say that it will 'help me grow' because I'm so small. Or on a day that I'm a rush and can't finish my morning routine, he'll ask if I've been practicing knot tying with my hair.
One time he gave me a four-leafed clover on my birthday. Smiling innocently he had said, "Here's a clover for you Clover. I recommend wishing for some skills." Well… maybe that was a little mean, but I still thought it was funny. Despite that wretched nickname.
Only Felipe can call me Clover or Clovey or Clovely and get away with it. My last name, Ryan, too. Those names rub me the wrong way. At least nobody knows my middle name, Estelle. Clove Estelle Ryan. But those nicknames can get so irksome that I want to let them know about my secret. But I'm saving that.
If only they all knew. They would all respect me. Nobody would dare jump me. Well except for Harry, but, as I've mentioned, I don't respect or care about him. And he's a drunk.
However sometimes, when I'm on the verge of losing control, I have to think to myself. I think about the piece of paper in a shoebox full of secrets and memories under my bed. Under my stone gray covered bed in my stone gray colored room.
You can throw. You always keep them close. You never miss. And they don't know that. Yet.