This story is rated T for language and minor adult themes. Again, my name is not Suzanne Collins and I will own THG when Effie is late to the Reaping.
I think that's when it all began. It was only an innocent curiosity at first, but it quickly changed into something deeper, more powerful, the little stream turned into a raging river. I'm still not sure if it is- was - love so much as a raging desire. I'm not even sure if they aren't the same thing....
Johanna groans and smacks a hand to her forehead. "Shit," she declares loudly, running a hand through her short, spiky black hair and shoving a chocolate chip cookie in her mouth. "I have an appointment with Dr. Asshole after school today."
'Dr. Asshole' is Johanna's nickname for the therapist her father, a wealthy lawyer, makes her see. His real name is Dr. Aurelius. When her dad divorced her mom, Johanna went through a rebellious, emotional period and was, in truth, kind of hard to be around. She's better now, but she can still be a major bitch sometimes.
"That sucks," Katniss says, giving Jo a sympathetic hug. "When is your dad going to realize that the therapist is only trying to get his money?"
Johanna snorts, grabbing a second cookie. "Like he even cares. He has so much shit he's not sure what to do with it all." She's always been scornful of her family's wealth, like she doesn't know how lucky she is not to have to worry about money. My family isn't exactly poor, but we're not well off, either. My mother is always stressed out about money, which makes her angry. It's best to avoid her when she's angry.
Annie glances up from the book she's been reading just long enough to say, "oh, don't look now, but Cato's staring at our table."
I whip around with a gasp, barely even hearing Johanna's sarcastic, "yeah, right."
Annie's wrong, though. It's not us he's looking at. It's me.
Those clear blue eyes seem to see right through me, making note of the crazy thoughts running through my head. Just for a moment, I wonder what it would be like to have Cato's muscular arms wrapped around me.
I narrow my eyes at him as if this is his fault. I must be coming down with something, because the normal Clove would never dare think those thoughts, thoughts of warmth and whispers and quiet places.
One of the busty platinum blondes surrounding him, Glimmer I think her name is, places a hand on his arm and leans in to whisper something in his ear, pressing her boobs 'innocently' against him. He looks away from me, but not before he raises his eyebrows and gives me a slow, languid smile.
Shit.
I turn around to look back at my friends, who are staring at me as if I'd just turned into a neon green monkey, but I still can't breathe. Those eyes, I swear, they are going to be the death of me...
"What exactly is going on here?" Johanna demands of me, twisting her spiked black bracelet around her wrist and raising her eyebrows.
"Cato was staring at me," I mutter. Lame excuse. Something more is going on here, and it doesn't take a genius to figure that out.
"No shit, Sherlock. Anything else? Are you perhaps developing a little crush?"
Leave it to Jo. Always gets straight to the point. "No!" I shout, hoping they can't tell I'm starting to doubt that. "Are you fucking kidding me? CATO?"
"All right, then," Johanna says a little too sweetly. She's still suspicious, I can tell, although my other friends seem to be convinced. "If you're sure. I wouldn't keep looking over your shoulder if I were you, though. The only person who has a reason to be looking over there is Annie."
Annie turns a vivid shade of pink, mutters something about checking the time, and returns to her book, although I can see her sneaking little glances upward every so often. She's had a crush on Finnick Odair, Cato's best friend, for ages, and it's not that hard to tell that he likes her, too, and although Annie denies it, I suspect that they may have already started going out.
"Are you sure something's not wrong?" Olive asks me, giving me a cookie and a concerned glance. "You've been acting really weird."
Shit. I must not be as calm outwardly as I thought I was, if they've all picked up on it. Although that isn't surprising. I feel like shit and I'm overcome with a strange kind of nausea, like nothing I've ever experienced before.
"I'm fine," I say a little too enthusiastically. "It's just a new story I'm writing. Really it's nothing."
My mind is two thousand light years away, and a certain shade of sea blue is permanently branded in my head, right behind my eyes...
is she in love, or is she in love? If I get at least five reviews, I'll post another chapter tomorrow. Starting... now!