"Why did you do this?" My body swells with an overwhelming sense of anger, panic, and confusion. "You're aware that the Hunger Games is a fight to the death, right?"
"I know." Cato runs his hand through his short yellowish hair, making it stand on end. "I wasn't even thinking when I volunteered, I just…I wanted to protect you, Clove."
"Stop with the sappy stuff!" I brace my hands on either side of the door, tempted to start bashing my head into the wall. "I know you care about me, but you didn't volunteer just so you could defend me in the arena. Only one of us can come out alive—you realize that, don't you?"
"I've been watching the Hunger Games every year since I could talk, Clove," Cato replies coolly, leaning against the doorjamb so that his face is inches from mine. "I think I know the rules."
"Stop doing this to me." I push him away and turn around to face the train window, scowling. "Stop trying to kiss me all the time, stop inviting me to your room whenever you pass me in the hall. It's…you're my friend, Cato, and you're absurdly stupid, but we can't…we can't have the kind of relationship you want."
"Is this any way to treat me? I saved your life six years ago, back when you were still living with your dad. Don't forget that. You owe me."
"I remember every minute of that day. I relive it in my nightmares! But you're right, Cato. I'm so glad you saved my life, because who would've known I'd be reaped for the Hunger Games six short years afterward? I've escaped one hellhole, only to fall into another one," I hiss.
"Clove, this is the chance you've been waiting for to prove your dad wrong," Cato says calmly. "You're not worthless. Show him you can fight back."
"So which angle do you want me to take up, then? Should I play the part of the helpless little girl, saved by her district partner in the arena? Or would I fare better as the independent knife-wielding brute, ready to kill anyone she comes across? Take your pick."
"Just be yourself," Cato says, shrugging. "You're good with knives, you've got a chance."
"You. Are. Unbelievable. Is this some kind of joke to you? In less than a month, one of us will be dead. Maybe both of us." Real tears are working their way out of my system, spilling out over my cheekbones. "I don't even expect to win, Cato. To tell you the truth…I just want them to be in my position, to feel how I felt when my father tried to beat the life out of me." Them being the tributes I'm locked into the arena with—I don't know them on a personal level, so it doesn't matter to me whether they're dead or alive.
"Clove, that's no way to be thinking," Cato says, grabbing me up into a hug. But his words are empty, the effort and zeal behind them halfhearted. If I die, Cato has a great chance of winning. Maybe it's just better for both of us if I stay out of the way—I'll have my fun in the arena, but someone will take me down. I won't stand a chance, and Cato will have a clear path to victory.
Now that I have vowed to lay down my life, I don't have a problem hugging Cato—or kissing him, for that matter. We stand motionless in my chamber until our mentors, Brutus and Ginger, come knocking on the door.
Our eyes meet for a second, and then hers flick away—but I've already made my decision. I don't think she understands just how much danger she's in; Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire, has just made an enemy. I smile crookedly, looking out over the audience, a laugh rippling up through my chest. I know that sponsors are already lining up to invest in Katniss, to root for her, to cheer on the unlikely little duo from District 12. It pains me to see the Capitol citizens fawning over them when they could be fawning over us. Me and Cato. It pains me to have to look tough for the cameras, for my dad, when all I want is to break down and sob my heart out.
Katniss may be the girl on fire, but I am the girl with the knives. The girl with the temper, the girl with the traumatizing past, the girl who was too weak to fight back.
Until now, that is.