School starts next Monday, so I figured I'd get this out before I start going crazy again. Perhaps I can finish the last day in the Capitol this weekend that way I'll be writing about the arena during the school year, which supplies me with much greater inspiration!
Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins.
Clove
"Finally!" says Glimmer as a Peacekeeper enters the dining area with a list of tributes and calls her name as the first to perform in front of the Gamemakers.
"What are you going to do, Glimmer?" asks Riel, the girl from District 4. The lunch tables around us are even more silent than usual and the tributes occupying them looking vaguely green.
Glimmer winks at the smaller girl. "Not telling," she responds vaguely. "I might have some special tricks up my sleeve that I don't want to share publicly."
"Oh yeah?" the dark haired girl responds. "Are you going to dazzle them with your hitherto unseen wits?"
I snort loudly. Haddock, her district partner prods Riel rather viciously with his fork. "Be nice, Ariel." He clearly thinks he's defending Glimmer's honor and looks up at her gorgeous face expectantly.
Glimmer ignores his blatant adoration and looks thoughtfully at Riel. "And I suppose your strategy will be flashing the Gamemakers? You and your tiny – "
"Ladies, please!" says Cato, looking unashamedly amused. Their squabbles have become a regular part of lunch meals over the last three days. And although they seem vicious on the outside, it's easy for me to see that the two girls actually like each other quite a bit. Riel's sharp tongue provokes Glimmer to a constant competition of wits, which she never wins. But they both seem to enjoy the battle.
Nevertheless, Cato's command silences them. Although Glimmer bested Cato during their fight on the first day of training, it is clear she has no intention of challenging his leadership. For the last three days, she's gone out of her way to laugh loudly at his jokes, sidle up next to him while waiting for a go at whatever weapon he wanted to try out, and draping herself all over him at every meal. Occasionally, I've caught her appraising me out of the corner of her eye while doing this, expecting me to challenge her for Cato's primary loyalty.
Of course, this is exactly what Glimmer wants, a chance to pulverize me in front of the entire room full of tributes. I ignore her; although it nettles me a little bit that Cato allows such constant displays of affection. I would have expected him to shut her down quickly, but instead he just leers at me.
"Well, anyways," says Haddock, "Good luck, Glimmer!"
"Oh, I don't need your luck," she says, brushing her hand across the young boy's cheek before kissing Cato briefly on the neck. "You fools better have something good prepared."
Haddock sits back in his chair, crestfallen, as Glimmer prances away through the doors leading to the training room. "You're pathetic." I remind him, which wins me a sharp kick in the shin from Riel.
"It doesn't really matter that much," says Marvel, whose presence at the table seems slightly diminished without his partner. "We've worked with every weapon station here. There's nothing that anyone could do that would really surprise me."
"Sure, if you say so," I reply. "Go ahead and underestimate us. It's your neck."
Cato scoffs and tilts his chair back onto two legs. The peacekeeper returns and calls Marvel to his private session. "What's the highest score you think they will get?" he says nodding towards the other silent tables.
Riel raises her eyebrows. "Not above a four I bet."
"Well, there is District 11," I say. Cato glowers over at the dark boy sitting alone chewing his sandwich. Earlier that week, Thresh turned his back on Cato when offered a position in the career pack. Cato hates being rejected, and this particular time, it was also humiliating. It was as if this giant assumed that he could defeat the entire alliance singlehandedly.
Haddock leans forward and appraises the boy with us. "Well, he could be an six or seven. Did you see him with that sickle?"
"Yes," said Riel, "But it's not really a range weapon. He could -"
The argument proceeded in a friendly manner, each considering the pros and cons of using certain weapons. The peacemaker comes in a third time, and Cato's name is called. "You'll do great." I say without thinking.
He gives me a strange look. "Thanks," he says uncertainly and then walks to the door. He turns and looks back before they close behind him, his expression unfathomable. It's only then that I realize I just said something nice, even encouraging to the boy that made my childhood a wreck.
That afternoon, we sit together on the couch in front of the large net screen that takes up half of the suite. Neither of us feel like doing much before the scores are announced and dinner's already been served. Brutus and Isodele are arranging sponsors for our team, but I heard only one door slam an hour ago, and it wasn't the exit. The television in displaying some silly melodrama that neither of us are watching. On commercial breaks, I catch occasional glimpses of our own faces, or that of our fellow tributes in their opening ceremony costumes in commercials for the upcoming game. Twenty-four begin. Only one can remain. The 74th Annual Hunger Games begins in 38 hours! Tune in after this show for the revelation of your favorite tribute's scores!
"What do you think you'll get?" Cato asks out of the silence that's stretched between us. Since he left for his individual appraisal at lunch.
"Umm," I say trying to buy myself time. I had performed all of my normal routines for the Gamemakers. I hit every dummy square in the chest even from across the room. I performed the obstacle course flawlessly without losing a single knife from my person although many of the moves sent me to the floor. I demonstrated how to pin a human twice my size to the floor and still maintain use my hands so I could dissect them. I don't want to appear too confident for Cato's sake, so I decide to play it down. "I'd say nine or ten. It seemed like they were moderately impressed."
He grins mockingly at me. "Yeah, well, it's a shame you had to preform after me, then. They might have taken you more seriously if they had allowed you to go first."
The familiar pang of pride is more bearable than it once was. All the extra time spent with Cato over the last few days have lessened the blows. And perhaps, as Isodele so often pointed out during my rages, that was simply the way Cato went about making friends. He needed to be the one in charge, and this was just how he asserted his authority. Perhaps it has nothing to do with me besides that he feels threatened.
The thought cheers me. "Oh yeah, Mr. High and Mighty? And what exactly are you expecting?"
"Oh, an eleven at least."
"They haven't seen something like you since your brother came through," I say, laughing.
His jolly mood ends abruptly and he turns on me, his fists raised. "Don't you ever talk to me about my brother," he whispers icily.
The change perplexes me, though I'm far from scared. Years of observation at the Academy have taught me all I need to know about Cato. Yet his behavior intrigues me. "Daddy issues, Hummel?"
His face contorts for half a second before he lets his fists unclench and fall back at his sides. "More like family issues. Trust me, you don't want to know."
But I find I do want to know. I turn to face him, pulling my knees up to my chest. "Tell me."
Just the door bursts open and Isodele, Brutus and Barnaby stumble into the room. "Ah, I see you two got here early for the good seats," chortles Barnaby, seating himself in a plush armchair that promptly swallows half of his body mass. "No matter, no matter. 'Tis only fair that the heroes of the day get the seats of honor." Cato shrugs at me. Saved by the impeccable timing of television, I guess.
The show hosts start us out with a long-winded introduction, replaying flashes of our faces during the opening ceremonies before, finally, the scores come up. Glimmer first is awarded with a nine, undoubtedly for her strength. Many of the Gamemakers were present that first day when she wrestled Cato. Marvel comes up with an eight, and next it is my turn. I hold my hands tightly together to keep them from shaking. Most of my support will come from sponsors that see me as a more viable victor than the others. I need a score above Glimmer, because if we're tied, the money will undoubtedly go to the more glamorous of the two. That option doesn't look good for me. My face appears on the screen. Beneath is a flashing ten.
I release my hands and allow my breathing to return to normal. Ten is more than I could have hoped. The next moment, Cato's face appears and the ten is repeated beneath. My heart leaps. As good as Cato thinks he is, the impartial judges passed their verdict, and I am deemed just as deadly as he.
Cato's body tenses for a moment and he turns to me with a tight smile. "Looks like we're tied up top, then." Suddenly I see that outperforming Cato this early in the game, or even just tying him, could be very dangerous. I still need him to see me as an ally, not a threat.
Haddock and Riel both score eights, but the others average about a five. We're on top until Thresh also scores a ten. Surprisingly, this eases my mind. Thresh will be a bigger target for Cato's anger than I will. He's the one who defied Cato's offer and humiliated him in front of the rest of the careers, while I gave in and agreed to play by the rules.
And then I see it. On the screen under the small olive face of the girl from District 12 is a luminescent eleven.
The room goes silent as we all stare at the screen. Eleven! That score is rare, if not impossible. The hosts immediately begin picking apart our scores, supposing about what we have done to earn them and how it will affect the game play in the arena, but the television clicks off. Isodele stands a few feet away with the clicker in her hand, glowering at us.
"What can she do?" my mentor snarls.
Cato and I exchange bewildered glances. "Nothing," he responds.
"That's bull shit, Cato," says Brutus. "You don't get elevens for doing nothing."
"We never saw her do anything more dangerous than lighting a fire in the training room." I say.
"She was quite good at edible plants."
Isodele swears loudly and kicks the chair in front of her. "So she's one of those little sneaks that pretends to be weak and vulnerable." Her venom comes out of a very personal place. I know for a fact that the last remaining victim had been a recipient of a four in training, and had nearly burned Isodele's leg off in the finale of her Hunger Games.
"Calm down, Dele," says Brutus, "What leverage does the girl have? Her drunk of a mentor?" It's true that the only way a tribute can secure any type of sponsor is if they have a mentor who can advocate for them.
It takes a moment for the fury to die out of Isodele's face but when it does, she sits. "True. That's true." She looks at Cato and I. "And we have two tens to work with. Two tens working together. You did very well." I know that she says it for me, although it's aimed at the both of us. Isodele rarely praises my work, but it is a huge feat to tie the highest-ranked Academy tribute of the year, especially from a girl younger than him.
Cato's expression has changed from bewilderment to fury again. It was one thing to be neck and neck with another tribute and quite another to be outperformed by a peon from the mining District. On my part, it is clear that I am saved. Cato's anger had surpassed me. There are at least two other targets for him to satiate his jealous streak. As long as I continue to play the supportive ally, I will be free from danger. The girl from 12 is no problem for me. I will find out how she got her eleven, and I will destroy her. I will slice her open slowly and stare at the cameras while my worthless father watches the blood drain from her veins. And I will have the last laugh as the Gamemakers realize how much I was holding back for them.
The three adults, immersed in conversation, rise to leave the room. This is the evening where many supporters are secured. Some will wait until after the interviews tomorrow, but the scores are the most telling piece of information sponsors will get until we are fighting it out in the arena. Isodele, Brutus and Barnaby are out to scout out old friends, allies, and padded pockets.
Cato remains motionless on the couch, and it seems he will remain that way. Sighing, I lean down to grab his wrist and heave him up. "Come on," I say. "It's not the end of the world. We'll probably off her during the blood bath anyways. Who cares if she has an eleven? She can't fight off six of us at once."
Cato, now standing, twists his wrists out of my hands and grasps my arms just under my shoulders. Although I'm well muscled, his fingers complete a whole circle and I instantly feel my fingertips start to tremble. "Clove," he says, bringing his face in close to mine so I can see the fire in his eyes. They narrow. "I am going to be the one to do it."
It wasn't a question, it was an order. And it was something else. A challenge? He wanted to see how submissive I would truly be. I could lie and act like the meek little ally Isodele wanted me to be, but something tells me this wasn't what is necessary right now. Cato only wanted me because I had defied the rules of the Academy and challenged Isis. He laughed when I spit in his face. I realize now, he's been trying to provoke me all week with his advances on Glimmer.
I smile. "Only if you beat me to her."
