One ill-aimed textbook into a bully's eye and I'm shipped off to military school.
Talk about an overreaction.
I remain stubbornly quiet during the ride there, trees and endless fields blurring by either side of the highway. Mom's silent. Typical. She's sitting in the passenger seat no doubt agreeing wordlessly with everything dad says. Dad is firing off one of his lectures, ripping me a new asshole as if I don't feel bad enough already.
"We aren't trying to punish you, Katniss. I didn't like the idea of military school either when I was a boy, but I learned a great deal about discipline and respect when I was there. Hopefully your last two years of high school will grant you the same," Dad says, grim-faced and determined. He's talking like this is a negotiation – as if I actually had a choice whether I could go or not. I scratch at my seat belt and it's all I can do to keep from rolling my eyes.
Wasn't it dad who always said that you protect family, no matter what? - that you draw a line in the dirt and if someone crosses it, then you damn well better stand your ground?
Well, I had to protect Prim - he should know that - and in all cases, what ended up happening was an accident. I didn't want the kid to get blinded, douchebag or not. I didn't want any of this.
It's not long before the school comes into view. It's a large base with high chain-link walls and a giant gate. I can see military jeeps parked in some of the garages off to the left; a cannon-statue mounted up and glimmering with the morning's heat off to the right. As we roll up to the gate guard, dad looks over his shoulder at me, shooting something of an encouraging expression.
"Here we are, Katniss. This is Panem Academy."
The goodbye is short after registration. Mom gives me a hug, dad gives me a nod; as if they aren't condemning me to the most depressing place ever. I see a class of recruits jog by in formation, chanting each offstep and it nearly makes me cringe thinking about how I'm going to be doing that soon. An overly excited counsellor named Effy is leading me to my dorm, pointing at the different buildings as we move along. I'm half listening to her drabble and half listening to my hammering heart as dread slowly spreads through my body.
I'm actually here. I'm here to stay.
It's a bone-chilling, terrifying thought.
"This is the dorm hall where all the cadets board during their time here. You're in block 12," Effy says, leading me down a white corridor. We walked until we reach the very end and she let's me walk in first. There's about 15 single beds lined up across the room, each perfectly made and pristine. There's only one that doesn't look inhabited, and Effy urges me over. "Your new home for the next two years. It's very exciting, isn't it?"
"Sure," I breathe, tossing my duffle bag onto the bed.
"-Oh no! Not on the bed," Effy says quickly, pointing to the floor. "Just put away your belongings and then you can store it in the underside compartment. Don't want to have messy living quarters on your first day, do you?" she says with a tinkle of laughter.
I blink at her. "Are you serious?" I ask, before pointedly dropping the bag on the ground.
"What? Yes of course. Don't you want to make a good impression? - Oh, just flatten out that crease there. Good. Back in tip top shape!" she says with a clap. Her smile is almost contagious. "Now, put your stuff away and we can get you a fresh set of uniforms. We can even fit in a quick tour before they finish first formation, and then you can go straight to class."
I nearly groan. My head hadn't stopped spinning and the last thing I wanted to do was get thrown into a class of people I'd never met before. "Already?"
"Of course. You're already starting your semester one week late, so there's no time to lose," she says, lowering her chin to look at me amiably through her lashes. "But don't worry, we don't usually get new faces around here aside from the younger recruits. So the odds are in your favour, I'm sure everybody will like you."
It turns out, much to my dismay, that Effy was probably the kindest employee I was going to meet at this academy. By an incredibly large margin.
Effy escorted me to my period 1 class, which was just arithmetic, and then left me with a map and couple encouraging words to get me through my day. Needless to say, I got lost getting to my period 2 class, science, and everybody had to do 20 push ups on my behalf.
So no, no new friends just yet.
Third period I got there early (by stalking a classmate who I overheard groaning about history - my next class, too), but I was barely through the door before a hand slammed into the locker beside my face and an arm was barring my entrance. The crashing noise nearly sent me through the ceiling.
"You're not going in there like that, are you?"
I look at the face connected to the arm, which is definitely intruding my personal space, then gape at it. The girl arches an eyebrow expectantly, dark bangs scattering across her forehead with vibrant red streaks.
"Your top two buttons," she clarifies, raising her free hand and for a moment I think she's gonna grab me by the collar and shake me. She stops short at the first button in question and starts fastening it back into place. "They're undone. Sgt. Coleson is going to make us do push ups," she says, making quick work of the second. Her fingers are deft and methodical, and all I can do is watch (because who blatantly invades personal bubbles like that? Who? - and what other response is there?).
"Sorry," I say, trying to back away, but the lockers are behind me and she's trapping me from the front. The girl's brows are knitted together in focus, as if the condition of my shirt was more important than satisfying the social norm to acknowledge me. She pulls on either end of my shoulders, flattening out the uniform. "I'm new."
Finally, pleased with her work, she smirks. Her face is way too close for comfort and her fingers linger. "You don't say."
And then I literally don't know what to say, because she's still standing there smirking at me as the seconds tick by with that stupid smug, wicked smirk and I can't tell if she's an asshole or predatory or friendly or weird and there's a 300-pound something dropping from my throat to my stomach-
"Stop bugging the new kid, Johanna," a voice from behind says, cutting through the tension. I look to my rescuer, a tall boy who has half a smile on his face, and shoot him a grateful look.
The girl only shrugs. "Just seeing what she's made out of," she says, backing off a bit. Her eyes scan me up and down, and she's definitely sizing me up. She crosses her arms, sucking on the inside of her cheek. "That's important here,"
"Don't mind her," the boy says, and - Johanna, I guess her name is - gives him a playful shove to the side. He sways back, eyes on me. "What's your name?"
"Katniss,"
"Catnip?" he repeats.
"No, it's Katniss," I start, but neither of them are listening anymore because a shorter blonde boy is calling them into the classroom, saying they'll be late. They start to abandon the hallway and I follow suit, filing into the classroom. I scout an empty seat by the back and make my way over, but a hand catches my arm. I look up and it's the boy from before.
"I'm Gale, by the way. That's Peeta there," he says, gesturing to the boy who had called us in. "We've got lunch after this, though you probably know that." He chuckles. "But anyway, you're welcome to join us if you want."
I pause for a second, almost declining immediately - because who were these people and why were they being nice to me? But then I think about how mom always says I'm convinced everyone wants something, and Prim says I should be nicer to people, and how the only thing that could possibly make this bad day worse, would be having to eat lunch alone in a full cafeteria. Suddenly lunch with these two strangers didn't seem like a terrible idea. So I crook my lip into something of a smile and nod. "Okay," I say. He smiles and lets go of my arm, letting me slip into my seat as class begins.
They advised me not to eat the powdered soup. I push the pasta around my plate idly, listening to them (and they had made a game of it, really) tell me about all the things they wish somebody had told them when they first got here.
Don't be late, ever. Don't ask if boots are shined with spit. Don't wander into the forest (or rather, don't get caught). Don't mess up morning formation. Or midday formation. Or any of the formations, because everybody gets punished and therefor everybody will hate you. Don't ask why the sergeants feel the need to yell orders instead of calmly stating them. Don't have fun or enjoy yourself ever.
Maybe I made that last one up.
They might as well have said that, anyway.
Peeta begins giving me the rundown of daily life at the academy. Apparently, being two years and one week too late, I know literally nothing about the basics. He's trying to teach me, but all I can think about is why anybody thinks it's important to make sure your forefinger touches the outermost edge of your eyebrow for a proper salute. Or why, when there's a wrinkle in your beret, it's most definitely the end of the world and everybody must do sit ups.
Johanna comes about halfway through lunch, sliding onto the bench in a not-ungraceful plunk. Her apple veers off her tray, but she swoops it up before it can roll off, and takes a crunching bite. In tow with her is another girl with half of her blonde hair shaved on one side, and an interesting display of vine tattoos (right on her scalp!).
"Can you believe they won't let me switch dorms a week into school? I have a freakin' water-damage gaping black hole ready to crash down on me as I sleep any day now," Johanna says, clearly agitated.
"Do you always have something bothering you?" Gale asks, with a slight smile pulling at the corner of his lip.
The blonde girl puts her elbow on the table, propping up her fork-hand before digging into her pasta. "Of course. If she didn't hate this place so much, she'd be bored to tears," she says. She runs a hand through her hair, looking up at me from her pasta.
"Not everyone volunteers to be America's hero. You know, some of us would actually prefer having lives," Johanna counters.
"Who's this?" the blonde asks, still looking at me.
"Catnip,"
"New kid,"
"Katniss,"
Gale, Johanna and I respond in unison. The blonde only blinks at me. "Katniss," I repeat. "And you are?"
"Cressida," she says. "Welcome to Panem." She leans in a little closer, as if telling me a secret. "It's not as bad as people make it out to be. Follow the rules, get good at them, and this place is a lot of fun."
"- for army brats like Cressida, maybe." Johanna chimes in. "The real fun is in breaking the rules and not getting caught,"
Peeta, who'd been busy eating up til now lets out a chuckle. "You've been caught tons of times, Jo."
"Bad luck," she states simply.
"I still remember the never ending push ups," Peeta replies.
"God, and that time you stole the key to the lab supply room. All that 5am running has scarred me," Gale says.
Johanna just smirks, leaning back into her seat casually. She brushes her smatter of bangs out of her face like she doesn't have a care in the world. Maybe she doesn't. "I did push back the due date for that report by 3 days for everybody; so I'd say I'm something of a hero."
"Right. Hero," Peeta drawls sarcastically.
"Never mind that," Johanna says, suddenly turning to look at me. She grins crookedly. "I want to know what you did to get here."
I pause for a moment, feeling the weight of all four sets of eyes on me. "Who says I did anything?" I counter.
"Come on, you come at some rando time halfway through the program; you don't look army grown or remotely interested in this stuff. Your parents sent you here because you did something," she presses. She's not wrong, and I suppose it's quite obvious that I don't belong here. But I don't want to talk about myself in front of four people I just met, one of whom isn't exactly nice. If I had to guess, the same thing happened to Johanna and her parents shipped her to Panem, too.
"It's nothing," I say, looking down at my pasta. I continue pushing it around with my fork. "It's just something I've got to do."
"Okay miss mysterious," Johanna says, and I can still feel her staring at me even though I'm looking at my plate. "I'll get you to tell me one of these days. I'm very persuasive, you know. You'll come to like that about me," she adds, with a sly little smile.
I spare a glance upwards, make eye contact like a deer looking at a panther, and somehow I don't doubt her at all.
Hey guys, just watched Mockingjay Part 1, and it kind of rekindled some old flames.
This is just a little bit of fun, not sure how long I'll continue with this project and only a vague idea about where it's headed. But we'll see what happens. Hope you enjoy.