Author's Note: Hey guys! Sorry about the super long wait for this chapter. My computer suddenly erased this chapter while I was writing it, so I had to start all over again. Bummer, I know. But here it is! Enjoy!
Chapter 2: the Reaping
The day has finally arrived. The day that I have been anticipating for so many years, the day where my trainer said that I would be able to volunteer. Today is the day of my 3rd reaping. The moment my eyes open, I leap out of bed and run downstairs to my training room. Ever since my mother learned that my weapon was to be knives, she installed a state-of-the-art training room in an unoccupied space. It has targets of all kinds, mats to practice rolls, and all the other equipment I would need to practice at home. It would be equal to the official training center if my trainer Nolin were to be here.
The reason that I train nearly every morning is not because I think I need to prepare. It's because it's calming for me, and an outlet for any of my emotions. Throwing knives all has a rhythm to it; the flick of your wrist, the way your heart speeds up, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You may say that it's ironic, how adrenaline can be calming, but some things in life just are; you can't explain them. This is one of these mysteries.
I throw for a little over an hour, and now it's all out of my system. I run upstairs back to my room, because it is time to get ready for the reaping. What to wear, what to wear? I'm searching for something that is pretty, but not girly; strong, but not vicious. I don't want Panem to see my true, sadistic personality just yet; they'll see it later in the arena. Right now I want to come across as a contender, but not a ruthless killing machine.
I find something that I believe suits my needs. A form-fitting black lace dress, matched with black boots. Perfect. I slip them on, and allow my raven hair to cascade just past my shoulders. I even take the liberty of applying cheek tint so my cheeks look rosier. The black in my outfit says that I am a fighter, yet my pretty appearance will draw in sponsors.
"Clove!" my mother screams from the kitchen. My father passed away when I was a toddler, so I never knew him. "Are you ready for the reaping? You're going to the Capitol, so wear something nice!"
"Yes, Mother!" I holler back. "I'll come down now!" I descend the stairs and walk into the kitchen, which also has a small dining table. Of course, this is not our main dining room, but we usually reserve that one for fancy dinners. My mother is sitting at the table, already eating eggs and toast.
"Did you train this morning?" She asks briskly. She makes sure I train every day, regardless of my already perfected skills. In her delusional mind, she thinks that I still have room for improvement. I got past that stage a long time ago. However, I still do practice almost every day, not to improve, but simply because I enjoy it. Nothing is for enjoyment in her world. Everything is for a practical reason.
"Yes, I did," I say. She nods approvingly, her black bob swaying in her face.
"Well," Mother says. "I just want to make sure that you will become victor, without a doubt." I already am as prepared as one can possibly be. Why in Panem can she not see that? She's watched me train numerous times; it should be as blatant as the sun.
"Don't worry, "I respond stiffly. "Nolin says that I am his best student, and even he knows that I will come home."
"Alright," she concedes. "Come home and shower us with fortunes." I barely hold back a snort. That's all she's ever cared about; the riches. Not about me making it back safely. I mean, fame and fortune is the incentive, for sure, but there should be at least a part of her that worries about my well-being.
We eat the rest of our meal in silence, until we leave for the Reaping. When we leave the house is when my mother transforms from an uptight, power-craving woman to a social butterfly, full of laughs and gossip. Her conversation is usually about assorted people around the District, such as who likes who, who dumped who, etc. On our way to the square, it is all about me.
"Did you hear that my dear Clove is volunteering for the Hunger Games?" I hear her boast to a neighbor. "Oh, she's always had a way with knives, and I always knew that her talents would amount to something like this!" Times like these, where she is speaking with her friends, are the only circumstances where she chooses to compliment me, and that is only to higher people's opinions about us.
We reach the square soon, and the camera crew has just finished setting up. I go sign in, and head over to the 15-year old section. I wave to my friends Melaka and Indigo, and as Indigo waves back, Melaka gives me a cold look of acknowledgement. She wanted to volunteer this year as well, but I forced her to wait using tactics that I will not disclose. Let's just say she's still a bit sour about the incident.
Our escort, Aurelia Bramble, strides out to the stage, wearing a new get-up that is just as silly as the previous years. Her neon pink dress covered with psychedelic swirls would have been bad enough, but with her unnaturally blonde curls, ghostly makeup, and spiky high heels, it was painful to look at. Anyone who thinks that the richer districts have more dignified escorts is completely wrong.
"Welcome, District 2!" she trills. "It is now time to choose 2 lucky tributes to participate in this year's Hunger Games!" The excitement I've been holding in starts bubbling up inside me. "Now we will present our mayor to read the Treaty of Treason." The mayor steps up, but I do not pay attention to his words, as I am trying to contain the bubbles that keep rising higher. Keep the excitement down, be calm…
"Girls, are you ready?" Aurelia asks, and trots over to the girls reaping ball. You're almost there, Clove, you're almost there… "Clove DeGracia!" Me? Wow, that's perfect. I don't even have to volunteer. I plaster on my most charming grin to strut toward the stage, and take my place confidently. "I volunteer!" I hear someone say through my euphoria. Wait, what? A volunteer? I begin to panic inwardly. No one can take away this opportunity!
I take deep breaths to calm myself. "I decline any volunteers!" I say smoothly, looking right in the eye of the girl who tried to steal my moment. She looks about my age, with cropped blond hair and blue eyes. Her look shoots daggers at me, and she slowly slinks back into the crowd. This only makes my grin wider.
"Okay girls, no more volunteering!" Aurelia starts in the direction of the boys reaping ball. "Boys, it's your turn!" She plucks a name out and barely reads the name "Frederic Cortez" when a monstrous boy of about 18 lunges through the crowd.
"I volunteer!" he shouts. He sprints to the stage and literally pushes aside Frederic. He stands next to Aurelia and smiles cockily. "The name is Cato Nalir," he says. Goodness, he is huge. I am considered muscular for and tall for my age, but he is a human wonder. His biceps look like stone, and he looms over a head taller than me. No, Clove, you can't be intimidated. Remember how skilled you are, and you will probably allies. Relax, Clove…
"Looks like we have a volunteer!" exclaims Aurelia happily. "Now, give a hand for the tributes of District 2!" The audience applauds and cheers, because here, we support the Games. I've seen Reaping from the latter Districts, and they are hard-faced and scowling. That is absolutely no way to show patriotism.
Cato and I are escorted into the Justice building, where we are to say our final goodbyes. It finally happened, I think. Now all I have to do is carry through. Which should not be a problem… should it?
