There's a bit of language in this one so, if you're sheltered...ya.

We arrive at the train station, and I am taken to my very own car, just next door to Cato's

Joy.

He is big, strong, but cocky. He should be not too much of a challenge to kill.

In District 2, we are not a poor district, compared to what I've heard about other districts, like 8, or 12. But these rooms are so luxurious, they make the Justice building look like a dump. So many buttons; some for food, to adjust the appearance of the room, and more.

I let my curiosity take over and make my way to the closet. When I open the door I see a screen, like a television, but with buttons in it, with selections of different types of clothing. I take one look at the screen, and then down at what I'm wearing and fall to the ground and cry. I cry because I do not want to die. Slowly at least. I do not cry for long because there is a knock at my door. A swift glance at the shades tell me I fell asleep on the floor.

"Rise and shine!" Orvo chirps from behind the door. "Time to get ready!"

I sorely rise and push the first buttons I see which give me a sky blue dress with grey leggings and white boots. I put my belt over the shirt so it hangs casually. I follow Orvo, whose

body hugging clothes that look like they were made for a girl. Cato soon joins us. Unlike me, he seems to have gotten plenty of sleep.

"Good morning, Clove," he says, oh-so-cheerily. I respond with an equally corny smile then stare in front of me till breakfast.

We meet our mentors. Apparently the guy is Cato's uncle. Fantastic. We have a family reunion in the house. The female mentor, Prica, looks very young. But then I remember which year she was from. Just a few years ago on the 72nd Games, she won by rigging snares and traps, and then slit the unlucky saps' throats with a tiny dagger she found in the Cornicopia, the only weapon she had, other than what she found in her victims' bags.

She was a true killer.

"So now that you know each other," says Orvo, "I'll leave you two to discuss your interview and training strategies.

He leaves, all is silent, and I might as well break the ice.

"I can throw knives, and I am good with snares."

Prica's face lights up.

"A fellow trapper," she says. "Very good."

"I can throw a spear," says Cato, obviously mocking me. "And I'm a pro with a sword."

Boys. They know nothing of psychological warfare, only bashing people's heads in. Curry glares at me when I scoff.

"Something you would like to add, Clove?" he says, his disposition like a statue. I shake my head and look away.

"So," Prica interludes, "do you two want to be coached together or separately?"

"Together." Cato does not even miss a beat in answering. All eyes are on me surprisingly and I just nod. I mean, hey we're allies, right? I might as well learn everything about him while we can. Then once we're in the arena I'll know how to face him later.

We eat an elaborate lunch with at least four courses (and it was barely noon). Not much was said around the table, except for some awkward questions about Cato's mother before she died; must have been his sister. I stab a piece of zucchini and grimace to myself, not at the vegetable, but the fact that Cato and I actually have something in common.

Neither of us have our mother anymore.

However, when Curry begins asking things about his father before he died, I feel bad for thinking lowly of him. I suppose it is a habit coming from such a well provided family. Even if it is a broken family.

"Um, Cato?" Maybe I shouldn't ask this. "Who were you living with after your parents passed away?

"His ex wife," he says, pointing to Curry with his spoon as if I should know this. "Yup, just me, Kimenes, and Aunt Brin."

"Kimenes?"

"My baby sister. We just call her Kimi. She was born half a year ago. That's how mom went. And then the chief introduced our household to a wonderful thing called whiskey." He raises his glass of sparkling cider as if it he was toasting with Champaign and takes a sip before continuing. "Poor bastard had no alcohol tolerance."

"That's a terrible thing to say," I interrupt. He laughs and says, "What? One shot sent him…"

"I meant what you called him," I grumble, chewing hard on a roll I snatched up. "That's a nasty word and…"

"Oh, my apologies, princess," he says, tauntingly. "I didn't realize in your part of the District people had other ways of describing others. Was that remark you made at the reaping..." He gasped sarcastically. "You're first swear?"

"Shut up," I mumble. He chuckles and pushes out from the table.

"And I suppose in your nice, spotless mansion there aren't words like bitch, whore, or even skank."

"Shut up," I snap a bit louder.

"In the land of perfection. I bet you never even needed to swear a day in your life, having everything handed to you on a silver platter. Just be prim and proper and 'daddy will get you whatever you want'. So what does mother think about this spoiling of their only child? Does she approve, or does she waste her life away too like I've heard?"

"SHUT UP!" I scream, jumping to my feet. "Just shut the hell up! You have no idea what goes on in my home! That 'wasted mother' you keep going on about? That's my step-mom! My mother was killed in a mugging, trying to deliver food to your slum of a town. Who knows? We may have even been donating to your family!"

And I storm out, leaving the atmosphere less cheery than a graveyard.

"Damnit," I mumble, sitting back down and realizing I went too far.

No duh.

Orvo and the mentors just stare; but as usual, Orvo looks as if he's about to cry.

"Man up, will ya?" I snap at him, throwing my napkin down and stomping to my room. Stomping in this case does nothing to make me feel better. In fact, it makes me angrier, because stomping on the velvet carpet that lines every train car makes no noise what so ever. I don't even hear the footsteps behind me when Prica comes up and grabs me by the pressure point in my shoulder and drags me into my room. For someone her size and age, she sure is strong.

"Listen here, kiddo," she says, shaking her fist at me. "I may not be much older than you but I have seen things you could never imagine. And let me tell you, your situation back home is the least of your problems."

"Then tell Clove that," I snap, stepping forward. "Our little princess still seems to be in la la land and doesn't realize what we are here for."

"She didn't volunteer. She didn't want this," she says, coldly. "Not everyone wants to be a part of these Games. I didn't. I wish I could take back a lot of things I did in that arena, but what I did was purely for survival."

"Looked like you were enjoying yourself out there to me," I scoff.

"You lose yourself in those Games," she whispers loudly. "The arena messes with you. It takes most of your strength just to maintain your sanity."

I laugh. I can maintain my sanity. I want this. I want to win. For Kimi; for us.

"Laugh all you want," Prica says. "Just don't forget to apologize profusely to your fellow tribute. She may just save your life in the arena."

Or vice versa. Prica leaves and I sit on my bed. I really should apologize. I just feel angry around those proper noble rich folks who think they're better than me. I lay back and stare at the ceiling, trying to think of the words to say I'm sorry…other than "I'm sorry."

Author's note: Yea I wanted a good fight between them to make things more difficult :-P When I wrote this I imagined Cato as Bender from the Breakfast club, taunting Claire. (Ha funny, since they end up together at the end. So what will happen next? Please Please Please review and tell me what you think.