"Hi, I'm Cato. Cato Hasselback," the blue-eyed boy says to me, tentatively holding out his hand with a smile.
"Clove," I say a little uncertainly, taking his hand and forcing a small smile onto my face. "I didn't see you before. Were you on the other bus?" I'm not normally one to ask questions, but for some reason I want to know a bit more about Cato.
"Yeah, I was on the other bus. Don't you have a last name?"
Again with the last name. "I do have a last name, I just choose not to use it." I pause for a second, then continue. "It's Murphy though. If you wanted to know."
He nods. "Well, I hope I'll be seeing you soon, Clove Murphy." He smiles.
I smile back. "The same to you, Cato Hasselback."
He drops back to his friends, and I walk back to Katniss and Glimmer, seeing as they're the only people I know. Pretty soon we're all ready, our luggage on the plane, and we're about to board. I look up at the flying kangaroo on the tail of the QANTAS jet. I've never been on a plane before; my parents never took me with them when they went on a holiday. They always just got me a nanny when I was little, but when I was older they just left me at home with some money for food. I step onto the plane and find my seat. It's next to the window, and no one's sitting in the row already, so I don't have to step over anybody. I sit down and glance out the window. Not particularly exciting. Everyone gets on and there's a red-haired girl that looks a little older than me sitting next to me. She doesn't say anything to me, so I don't say anything to her. We're told all about the safety procedures, and where the nearest exits are, and pretty soon we're ready to take off. As we taxi down the runway, I grab a piece of gum from my bag and start chewing, but the girl next to me doesn't have any, so she just sits there. We reach the end of the runway and rise into the air, and I look out the window as we go. After a few seconds, JFK looks no bigger than a Lego block. After a minute, all I see are clouds, so I try to get some sleep. I pull my headphones and i-Pod out again and flip through my playlists. I choose my relaxing playlist and set it to shuffle. It starts playing Adele's Someone Like You. I slowly fall asleep to the gentle piano and vocals.
Never mind I'll find,
Someone like you.
I wish nothing but the best,
For you two.
Don't forget me,
I beg.
I'll remember you said,
Sometimes it last and loves but sometimes it hurts instead.
Sometimes it lasts and loves but sometimes it hurts instead.
I wake up as I feel a sudden dropping feeling, and take off my headphones and put them, and my i-Pod, in my bag. I look at the flight tracker on the back of the seat and see that we haven't quite reached Sydney yet, we still have about half an hour left; I must have slept through the entire 23 hour flight. A voice comes over the intercom telling us that it's just turbulence. A few people are reaching for their sick bags, but even though I've never experienced it before, it doesn't faze me. In fact it's quite an interesting feeling. It stops after a few minutes, and pretty soon we have to put our seatbelts back on to land. I grab another piece of gum and start chewing. This time the girl next to me does something.
"Um," she says sheepishly, not quite looking at me. "Could I have a piece of gum? I forgot to bring some."
"Sure," I say, holding out the pack.
She takes a piece and starts chewing. "Thanks. I'm Finch, by the way. Finch Amberson."
"No problem. I'm Clove."
"Nice to meet you Clove. What are you here for?"
"Javelin and 200 metres. What about you?"
"I'm here for the 100 metres."
Our conversation sort of dies out, and we end up sitting in silence. After we've got off the plane and got our bags, we wait outside the airport for the bus. Once we get outside, I'm struck by the intense heat, and it appears that everyone else is too, since they're all shrugging their jackets off. I debate whether to take my jacket off or not, but eventually decide that I should, seeing as the ground's shimmering in the heat. I reluctantly slip out of my jacket and stuff it in my backpack, then cross my arms, hiding my wrists.
About a month after I left my parents I was diagnosed with depression and anorexia. I started cutting and starving myself. It was a rough few months, but after I started getting weekly psychology sessions I've been better. I still don't eat much, but that's because of my budget, and even though I don't eat much, I eat all the right things, and I don't cut as much anymore. I only cut when things get really bad, but I still do it. I stand on my own, having made enough acquaintances for today. I look over at Cato's massive form standing with some of his friends, all wearing the same shirts, and they're all laughing together. Cato notices me staring at him, and he stares back. I look away quickly, and he looks at me for a second longer before turning back to his friends. The bus arrives and we put our bags in the storage space under the bus then hop on. The trip to the hotel doesn't take long, and pretty soon we're pulling up and getting our bags out of the bus. We go into the hotel and get our room numbers and keys, and we find out that there's two people to a room. All the girls are on the top floor, and the boys on the floor below. On the floor underneath that, there's a small kitchen, a games room, and a room with a huge TV surrounded by couches and recliners where we can just hang out. I grab my key and get in the elevator and press the button for the top floor. All the other girls are still in the foyer seeing who's rooming with who, but I just want to get up to my room. I look at the tag on my key and see that I'm in room 10/10, the room at the end of the corridor on the top floor; the level comes first, the room, going from the lift at one end of the corridor to the other end. I drag my suitcase behind me as I walk at a steady pace towards my room. I reach the door and twist the key in the lock, and the door pops open. I pull the key out of the lock and walk inside, my eyes scanning the room as I go. The first thing I see as I enter is the colossal window above the two beds, starting just above the bedheads. I go and stand beside the bed and look out at the beautiful beach. From memory, I think it's called Bondi, but I'm not quite sure. I'll have to check at some point.
I look at the beds and smile at the cute doona covers on them; they must have picked them out especially for us. They're white with multicoloured spots all over them, with matching pillowcases, and a hot pink fitted sheet. I stand my suitcase against the wall and dump my backpack in the corner. I carefully stand my guitar against the wall, and then hear the doorknob being twisted. I whip my head around to look at the door, wondering if my roommate's someone I've already met, or if I have to make yet another friend. I don't really like making friends, I prefer to be alone. The door gets pushed open gently, and the red-haired girl from the plane walks through the door. She doesn't say anything, just smiles slightly, remembering who I am. At least I don't have to try and make another friend. She puts her bags down and glances at my guitar.
"You play?" she asks me, sounding genuinely inquisitive.
"Yeah, I have for about ten years now. I sing too," I say, a subtle hint of pride in my voice. "Do you play anything?" I ask after a moment of thought.
"No," she says, flipping a hand in front of her. "I used to think that it might be interesting to learn something, but my sport took up too much of my time, and I lost interest in it. I'd like to hear you play sometime," she says quietly, giving me another of her small smiles.
I smile back. "Sure, I'll play for you sometime."
"That'd be nice," she says, then turns to her suitcase and starts unpacking.
I turn to mine and start doing the same. After a quick glance at hers, I notice that it's quite a bit bigger than mine, but I don't really care. I have what I can afford, and that's enough for me. I stack my clothes on the shelves of the small wardrobe on my side of the room, the one closest to the end of the hotel. The ensuite of our room is on the other side, Finch's side. The door is on Finch's side too, and the flat screen TV, not a huge screen, rests on a wall bracket in the middle of the wall, the remote in a holder on the wall next to it. I notice the heat in the room and walk over to the window. I feel eyes on my back and turn to Finch.
"You mind?" I ask her. "It's a bit hot in here."
"Go ahead," she says, nodding.
I open the window, noticing the flyscreen covering it. I sniff, smelling the salt from the sea. It smells good, and I decide that I'm going to like it here.
I'm going to like it here a lot.
