Clove

Reaping day in District Two is more important than Christmas. It is the only day that offers up eternal glory like a bag of Capitol candy before the youth of our district. And we all want it. So, so bad. But I can assure you; nobody wants it more than me.

I wake up, mummified by my sheets, at four in the morning, like I've done every reaping since I was twelve. My heart's racing like I've just run to the nearest village and back. As it is, there is no need to run anywhere this morning. The people who are usually up in the mountains at the granite mines are all in town now. Most of them come down because they're required to bring their children, but they're not nervous. None of the miner's brats would ever be lucky enough to represent our district to the Capitol. We have proper pride here in District Two, unlike so many of the others. We only send winners to the games.

Unfortunately, most of these high mountain stragglers have set up camp around our neighborhood on the outside edge of town. The few hotels that line the nice part of Main Street have been booked ages ago by rich Capitol people. District Two is one of the most exciting places to be before the games, and lots of people like to make a vacation of it before the real fun begins.

I groan and roll over to my bedside table to grab my backpack. Trying to go back to sleep now would be utterly pointless. Four years worth of reaping days have taught me that much. I throw on my sneakers and grab a jacket before slipping into the kitchen and scrawling a note in my barely discernable handwriting:

Mum,

Off to the Academy.

Don't worry.

I'll be back in time for a shower before Reaping.

Pick something out for me.

You know I don't do fashion.

Clove

I grab a dull butter knife from the wall and aim it at the note. I throw it with enough force to drive the hilt through the yellowed paper and into the table. My arms shake a little bit. Goes to show that I'm too excited to be holed up in my house. If I stayed, I'd end up breaking things out of nerves and then my mother would kick me out anyways. But I know she'll worry if I just disappear without warning.

Even though it's mid-summer, the mornings are freezing. I decide to run part of the way to get the blood moving through my icy fingers. Though it's dark as hell, I've trekked this way so many times I could probably make it while knocked out cold. The Academy is about three miles west of my house in town, and technically outside of District 2 boundaries. Although every idiot knows that certain districts train for the Games, it's still not a great idea to flaunt it in front of the Capitol. The place where we train used to be called the Garden of the Gods. We thought it was fitting to retain the name. Our Tributes become gods once they win.

When I reach the edge of town, I'm sweating and out of breath, but still pleased. I made it in record time and it doesn't look like anyone else is committed enough to be practicing at this hour. I look around surreptitiously to make sure no one is watching me before drawing my id badges and flashing them before a fence post. It slides away silently, recognizing me as a student.

Most fences here aren't electric, like the other districts because we supported the Capitol during the rebellion. We keep them around the towns and villages to keep away wild animals or any stray muttations that escapes the Capitol labs strewn about the mountains. Being the closest district to the Capitol, we're the ones who experience the most horrific effects if any of their mad experiments go wrong.

But here at the Academy we always keep the fence around the Garden electrified. We're not terribly fond of visitors.

From the entrance where I'm standing, it's impossible to see that the Academy is any more than a collection of magnificent rocks. In the coming pre-dawn light they all take on a beautiful, rosy color, with vines and wild flowers growing up the side. It's an ironic disguise of peace, because this is the place where children become killers. No one can see the entrances to any of the classrooms and mock-arenas that are concealed behind or within the boulders.

I make my way past the survival and strategy classrooms without bothering to slow down. I'm not here for instruction today. On days off, the trainers aren't even awake back in town, or in the hidden bungalows further up in the woods. I scoff as I peak at the top of a hill that overlooks a giant amphitheater. Only students who've failed to go to the arena become trainers. It means that they were good – but they were not good enough.

That will never be me. No one believes that I will make it to the Capitol, considering my lineage and history, but all that will change today. I'm going to be a hero.

At the edge of the amphitheater was a shed full of the deadliest weapons imaginable – at least the deadliest weapons that were allowed in the arena. Guns, for example, were not. They killed people way too quickly, which defeats the fun. The Games were invented to entertain the Capitol. I don't waste any time with the bulky shields and swords, but go straight to the shelves with my favorite weapons.

Knives of all different sizes glow in the pre dawn, the biggest almost the length of my arm, the smallest about the size of my thumb. They wouldn't be much to look at unless they were in the hands of an expert. I pick up my favorite one and balance it in my throwing hand. A thrill of power and cruelty rushes through my head and I cling to the shed for a just moment to steady myself.

"Easy, Garlic. Playing with such heavy weapons isn't a smart idea for a girl of your size. Especially this early in the morning."

The voice startles me. I instinctively whip around and hurtle my knife towards the threat. It's easily deflected away by a slash of his sword. Cato Hummel stands in the middle of the arena leering down at me, like I'm an easy target. He laughs. "Testy, aren't you? Usually you think before you throw."

I'm furious that Cato snuck up on me like that. But I'm also angry that someone else got to the training ring before I did. "What the hell are you doing here, Hummel?" I huff.

"I'm disemboweling dummies." He gestures over his massive shoulders towards several plastic bodies that look like they have been minced. He leans lightly on his sword. "Getting rid of my nerves in a healthy way."

"Nervous?" I sneer at him before realizing that he's trying to insult me. I feel my blood boiling, and my ears slowly turning red. "What are you saying?"

"Well, I've never tried to murder a fellow student before 8 am before." He grins at me in a slightly maniacal way as if hoping that I lose my temper and give him some reason to come after me.

I take a huge breath, shrug and go back to picking out my knives. I will not let him ruin my day. My glory day. "Well, I guess that means I beat your record." It's an underhanded jab at his pride. Cato hates being beat at anything.

But he doesn't seem too perturbed. "Maybe," he says, "but you haven't actually succeeded, so I have you there."

"Keep talking and I'll tie your record for that one," I say before storming off to the opposite side of the arena. I've hit the first dummy square in the heart before I hear him following me.

"Too bad you aren't able to volunteer this year, Clove," He whispers in my ear. He knows that I'm only fifteen and Academy rules state that students are not allowed to compete until they've turned sixteen. And if you know what's good for you, you don't question Academy rules. "I hear the Capitol has great food. You might be able to pick up some tips to help your mother in the kitchen. But, on second thought, that wouldn't help much because you'd be dead before you could bring anything back to her."

My heart pounds so loud in my ears that I can barely hear anything. Cato knows how much it pisses me off when people make fun of my mother. I launch another attack at a dummy near the other side of the amphitheater and my knife lodges in its stomach. I imagine that it was Cato that I hit instead. Any other day I would have ripped his fat head off his shoulders to teach him a permanent lesson, but not today.

He doesn't know the measures I've taken to make sure I get to the Capitol. I'm not going for cooking tips. I'm in it for victory. For the glory that will return my family to honor. And for me. To prove that I am not weak like my father.

Because I'm not. I am strong. I'm stronger than any other student here at the Academy. And I am going to win the 74th Annual Hunger Games.

Cato is waiting for me to react, I know. Finally, I turn toward him and lovingly caress my knife. He's standing very close to me and I have to look up to smile into his face. I know have a wicked glint in my eye because for a moment his arrogant sneer flickers and he takes a half-step back from me. Somehow he knows that he's crossed the invisible line between my anger and wrath.

"See you around, Garlic breath." He winks half-heartedly and turns to calmly walk away from me. But I'm sure I can see a few hairs standing up on the back of his neck.

I say nothing before returning to my work. The sun peaks over the horizon some far-off district, shining gloriously down on my day of triumph. Cato doesn't bother me again. I don't notice when he slips out of the training arena and I'm left alone.