Disclaimer: I don't own the hunger games.

I brace myself for the verbal abuse that is sure to come the second I walk into the big, bronze doors of the District 2 training academy.

I only found out yesterday that I had been moved up four age classes because of my skills with throwing knives, but others should now by know from the class list on the giant bulletin board in the lobby.

As expected, Aemilius, the second best sword fighter in the academy and known bully of kids younger than him, was waiting for me.

"Oh, Cleave-" "My name is Clove. But I could cleave your head in if you want me to," I say tauntingly. "Anybody got a mace?" I ask, raising my voice.

A man carrying weapons to a private training session looks up at me. He starts towards me, but when he sees Aemilius, he runs away. Even the coaches are scared of him.

"So, how'd you get yourself put in the sixteen year old class at the age of twelve? Did you influence the judges in any way, Cleave?"

"I'm twelve years old, you snotbag. Why would I need to convince them? Once they saw my skills, it was probably a no-brainer."

"Duh, it was a no-brainer. Did they think you had one or something?" he teases.

I curl my tiny hands into fists. I may not look threatening, but ask my brothers what they think of me. They know how much force goes into my punch.

"I don't know why they moved you up. It's not like you're going to even stand a chance at winning the games. You'd probably die in the bloodbath."

I feel my cheeks go red and I look down in shame. Oh, if only I had my knives in my hands. I could take down all ten people in this lobby in forty seconds.

But when I look back up, Aemilius is not alone. Cato is arguing with him. About me.

My heart almost stops. Cato Stone, the trophy swordfighter of the academy, is defending me? I admit that I have had a little crush on him since I started here at the age of nine, but what girl at the academy doesn't?

"Everyone in this academy has a chance at winning the games, Aemilius. Especially her. She's small and deceiving. You're big and stupid. I'd bet for her over you any day," Cato says. I just stand there watching them, my mouth hanging open.

"She has no chance whatsoever! She's not big, and she's certainly not pretty enough to get sponsors," Aemilius argues.

"Touché!" I call out. Then I walk over to them. Cato smiles at me, and I feel myself smiling back.

"After this, Aemilius, you won't be getting any sponsors either," I tell him. Then I punch him in the face.

I hear a crack and I smirk. A broken nose ought to teach him not to mess with me again.

Aemilius falls to the floor, clutching his now broken nose. "Watch out for natural behavior, Aemilius," I say smirking.

Cato looks at me in awe. "How can you punch like that when you're so small?" he asks. "I have five brothers back home," I say, shrugging.

"I'm just curious, but what is it that are you are so good at that the trainers moved you up to four age classes?" he asks.

"Throwing knives. I've never missed a target in the three years I've been here so far," I say proudly.

"I've never been good with throwing knives. Maybe you could show me how you do it sometime. What's your name again?" he asks.

"Okay. And my name is Clove," I say. The bell rings. "See ya later, Clover," he calls as he runs down the hallway.

~At lunch that very same day~

I put my tray down onto an empty table in the back of the cafeteria. Different age groups eat at different times, and since I'm the only twelve year old, I sit by myself.

I don't want to sit with any of the boys, and the girls certainly won't let me sit with them. I sigh as I start to eat my sandwich.

I wonder what are my friends from the twelve year old class are doing now? I miss them already.

Persephone with her curly red hair and Venus with her golden locks were always the boy magnets. They're probably putting on makeup or something. Minerva, our resident scholar as we used to call her, is probably throwing spears. She's quite good at that. And Artemisia is probably killing the archery range with her twin brother Phoebus.

I'm so preoccupied with thinking about them that I don't even notice when someone plops their tray down next to me. "Earth to Clover." I shake the daydream away. "Cato? Don't you have friends to sit with?"

"I'm offended, Clover. And yes, I do. I was here to see about that throwing knives thing. What about after lunch?"

It occurs to me that he's using me to get a free lesson, but I don't think one lesson will help him if he's as bad as he says. I agree.

"Do the kids in the fifteen class and above actually get the chance to kill prisoners? I've heard that rumor," I say.

He nods. "And after lunch, they're doing a prison purge. That's what we call them. The trainers go around and state their names and their crimes, and then assign a student to them. It's to practice for the games."

I make a face. "Okay. How about the knife lesson afterhours? I'm sure we can use the gym," I say. He agrees and the lunch bell rings.

When I walk back into the classroom, I am put in a line while they assign prisoners.

"Clove Araino. Prisoner 92571, Aemilius Bruno. Crime: Murdering the peacekeeper who caught him playing hooky today."

I couldn't believe it. I look at Aemilius and smirk. His nose is all swelled up. He bares his teeth at me. Cato is next in line after me. The trainers make us do them one at a time and make the others watch.

When it's my turn, I take the smallest throwing knife from the large selection. Time that everyone knows just how good I am with throwing knives.

I line myself up and take aim. After less than a second, the knife flies through the air, right on track. It implants itself right between Aemilius's eyes.

I see Cato looking at me with awe. I flash him a smile, and he grins back.

I look back at Aemilius's fallen body.

Watch out for natural behavior, Aemilius, I think. Sometimes it can be deadly.