Me, I'm dishonest, and you can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest.
Honestly, it's the honest ones you have to watch out for.

-Jack Sparrow

Recap / Seven year old Cato Elroy rested during a brief recess from classes, only to be labeled as 'mangy' by some of the older students in the Annex as they passed him. Deciding he would no longer be 'mangy,' he stole snacks from a messenger bag in the girl's locker room. To his misfortune, his victim found him and attempted to make conversation before promising to offer him more in the future if he stopped stealing from her. She was quick to make good on her end of the deal.

October, Hunger Games Year 66

It became routine.

Eight-year-old Clove Holloway would sneak into the boy's locker room, deposit the large bag of trail mix in his locker, and vanish into the day. This time, though, Clove had attached a hole-punched note to the familiar teal ribbons encapsulating the cellophane bag.

Clove glimpsed over the note doubtfully and made her decision, tearing it away, and holding it in the palm of her hand. It wasn't worth the trouble she decided.

"Whatcha' looking at?" his familiar voice inquired as he steadied over with a white towelette in his hand. Cato wiped his face and exhaled a relieved sigh. Clove didn't respond, prompting him to snatch the note from her with presumptuous roll of his shoulder.

"Cato!" she protested unhappily, but that didn't deter him from uncrumpling the note and glimpsing over it.

'Good luck today' it read in total chicken scratch.

"Thanks, Clovey," he said, with an arrogant, yet sincere smile spread across his cheeks. Cato pocketed the scrap with a widening grin when he saw what lied behind her. "More trail mix? You're the best!"

Cato sat on the bench adjacent from his locker, taking a handful into his mouth. He gestured for her to sit beside him since his mouth was too full to speak.

Clove huffed, mildly exasperated, "What would you do without me?" She began playing with the fraying ends of her ponytail.

"Probably — starve," he answered between mouthfuls.

Clove dismissed the theatrics as just another piece of the Elroy puzzle. His boyish smile and innocent disposition were increasingly hard to come by, but she figured moments like this made her shaky alliance with him worth the extra effort. "Chocolate's the best part," he told her.

Clove was impressed with how long he'd maintained his civility. She wondered what his comrades would say if they could see him now.

She stirred in her seat. "Um, are you nervous about exams?" Clove lifted her messenger bag on the seat and its weight rung against the metal. She withdrew a bag of apple slices and nibbled on the first slice slowly.

"No, but it looks like you are."

Cato rested a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. He watched her expression reform into confusion and he retracted his hand. "You did it last year, Clove, you can do it this year, and when you pass, you'll finally get to work with real weapons."

"I know that!" she griped defensively. "You sure never stop talking about that stupid sword of yours."

"Swords aren't stupid!" he replied, instantly shifting his posture more aggressively.

"They are if you can't get close enough to your challenger to attack!"

"That would never happen!" Cato barked. He simmered for a moment, before shoving her violently away from him. His eyes widened when she fell so far back that the back of her head made quick contact with silver bleacher.

Clove bounced back, holding her head with a look that could kill.

Cato looked unsure of himself and only asked, "Why do you always have to be so mean, Clove?"

Heat flushed her face. "Me? I'm not the mean one, Cato!" she snapped, hitting him back just as hard in the stomach. Cato faltered and she didn't miss his wince of pain. That quelled her anger for a moment and she said to him, "Weapons training probably isn't that fun if they hit you in the stomach."

"I—"

Without an ounce of reluctance, Clove lifted his shirt to examine the wound she'd inflicted. "I don't…" she murmured to herself, examining his injury. There was no slicing, no bleeding wound, not a bandage she could see. In its place was a doozy of a bruise with many smaller marks surrounding the injury. That couldn't alone be her doing.

"These don't look they come from any weapon here. Are you cross-training, too? That would explain why you're such a jerk all the time."

"Er, no." he said, frowning.

There was a soft brush of her fingers across the sorest part of his abdomen. "Hey, stop it!" Cato commanded, pushing her away from him. This time he was considerably more aware of how hard he was pushing her and withdrew.

This only sparked Clove's interest even more. He looked worried and for some reason that worry spurred even more of her concerns. "Who did this to you, Cato?"

"Who cares?" he responded, irate. Cato pulled a water canister from his locker and turned away from Clove.

"Who. did. this." Clove emphasized each word, drawing them out, and pulled at the circular collar of his red t-shirt.

Cato tilted his head to the side and allowed wariness to take over. At 4'0 feet tall and barely fifty pounds, she was hardly a contender against him, but that didn't mean she wasn't a threat.

Resigned, Cato replied softly, "Take a guess."

"Your family?" she asked, her face full of sorrow. "But why?"

"To make me stronger," he said, defensively. He wiped at his eyes self-consciously.

"We have to tell someone!" Clove exclaimed, abandoning her snacks, and gunning for the exit of the boy's locker room. Cato quickly snatched her right wrist and forcefully yanked her away from the door.

"Do you really think that will help?" he asked her, angry. "Don't even think about it. I'm serious! If you, if you even dare, I'll make sure this is the last time you ever come in the Annex ever again."

Clove struggled against him, "It's not fair!" To her credit, she didn't cry. To her credit, she tried to stand her ground, but there was just too much at stake. This indiscretion would forever cause a shift in their allyship. They would never be able to go back to casual friendship ever again, not with his secret hanging in open air. "Training hurts enough and now they're—"

He turned around and forced her to look into his eyes. "Listen to me. It doesn't matter." Clove continued to struggle against him, eventually slamming her elbow into the apex of his nose.

"Ah, Clove!" he complained, releasing her from his clutches and trying to stop the bleeding.

"I won't let them do that to you," she said, earnestly. Clove handed him his white towelette, which he snatched forcefully from her hand with a glare.

"Listen, you think what they do to me is bad? Well, what I'll do to your family will be way, way worse if you don't keep your mouth shut," Cato said, coolly.

Clove scowled, defiant, and resolutely unafraid of his threats. "I'm just trying to—"

"Just trying get your family killed, shrimp. I'm serious. Don't even think about it."

Clove inhaled an angry breath, balled her fist, and knocked him down with as much strength she could muster. He crumpled slightly, with a much more noticeable wince than before, and she looked down on him with a hostile expression, the fury unwinding before him. "You're a lot dumber than I thought, Cato Elroy!"

Written: May 16th, 2012
Edited: September 19th, 2014 (content); April 16th, 2017 + April 29th, 2017 (grammar)

Even though this story is complete, I regularly read new reviews, so please let me know of anything you liked, didn't, or questions you might have!