I do not own Suzanne Collin's The Hunger Games characters.

Chapter 2:

It was almost 8:30 at night and my parents still hadn't shown. Usually, they're here as soon as school gets out. By now, I have eaten the few things that I had packed that morning, but I had planned on getting the majority of my lunch at school. I am starving. It is 8:45 when my parents finally get here. They walk over to the door to the cell and I get up, expecting an officer to come over and let me out, but that doesn't happen.

"What is going on?" I ask confused.

"We don't have the money to get you out," my mom says, but I can tell instantly that it is a lie.

"So?" I say confusedly.

"So you are going have to stay here," my father responds.

"For how long?" I can feel my anger growing.

My parents exchange looks.

"We don't know," my mother says. That is all they say, before turning around and leaving. Just leaving, not saying anything else to me, not saying sorry, they just leave. I take a plastic water bottle out of the side pocket of my backpack and throw it at the wall. Then I take an empty container, then a large book. I throw everything in my backpack and then the backpack itself. The boy in the corner has woken up by now and I can hear him yelling at me but I ignore him. I let out a scream of frustration and punch the cold wall. Pain surges through my fist and I punch the wall again and again until I am so tired that I collapse on the bench and fall asleep.

When I wake up my stomach aches with hunger. I check my phone, which is almost dead, and it is almost six o'clock. I feel like I am going to throw up. I just stay laying there. I open my eyes and see that the boy is getting up. He walks towards the door where a broad-shouldered blonde boy is standing. I shift a little to get a better look at the boy and I let out a pained gasp. My hip is killing me. I look down at my hip and see a few small spots of blood on the fabric of my jeans. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the two boys looking over at me, so I roll over onto my injured hip, gritting my teeth to keep the moan of pain from spilling from my lips. When I hear the door of the cell close, I wait a few minutes before gingerly picking myself back up.

I walk over to the door of the cell and ask "Can I go to the bathroom?"

One of the officer nods and comes over. He opens the door and escorts me to the bathroom. As soon I get in the bathroom, I pull my jeans down, and then I pull the bandage off. I clean the wound with some water and soap and then I try my best to clean the bandage, but it doesn't really work. Sighing, I put the bandage back on and go to the bathroom.

At four in the afternoon, I am still in the cell. I have eaten the food that they provided me, but it hasn't done much for me. My phone is long dead and I am about to fall asleep when I hear the door to the cell open. I expect to hear the footsteps of someone coming in, but none do.

"Ms. Whitter, you're free to go," I hear an officer say.

I sit up in surprise.

"What?" I ask.

The officer provides no explanation, just gestures for me to leave. I grab my backpack and walk out, limping slightly from the pain in my hip. A part of me expects to see my parents standing at the front doors of the police station, waiting to take me home, but I also know that that is not going to happen. What I don't expect is to see the blonde-haired boy from last night leaning casually up against his car, smirking as I walk out.

"Good. They released you," He says before turning to get in his car.

My brain is muddled in confusion, but one thing seems clear enough. He is the one who bailed me out. I don't know why, but I do know that this means I owe him, and I don't like owing people. Especially not mysterious boys who are rich enough to own a Mercedes in high school. He psychically looks almost to mature to be in high school, but his attitude is that of a high school kid. Not to mention, he is wearing a t-shirt with the words Panem Prep. Boy Football Team scrawled across it.

"Why did you bail me out?" I ask icily, not trusting him or his perfectly styled spikey blonde hair.

He turns, hand on the door handle of his car. He tilts his head slightly before letting out a short laugh.

"How's your hip?" He asks.

I fight the instinct to move my hand over my hip, but I can feel my hand make an odd twitch. I feel the boy's eyes go to my hand and I shift awkwardly. This is an odd feeling. No one has ever made me feel this way before and I don't like it.

"I don't know what you mean," I say forcefully. Usually, this breaks people down, even my brothers, but the blonde boy just stares back at me. He walks a few steps forward before gently jabbing at my hip. Surprised, I cry out in pain before hitting the boy hard in the face.

"What the heck!" I scream angrily.

"You're obviously injured," He says.

"What I am is none of your business," I say angrily. I glare at the boy one last time before stalking away.

"Your welcome," he yells at me.

"Yeah, whatever!" I yell back.

I reach the end of the parking lot when I realize that my car is still at school, which is six miles away. I sigh in despair before beginning my walk. It is probably about a mile out when my hip starts hurting, but I continue. By mile two, searing pain is rushing through my body and I can feel the familiar trickle of blood. I am nearly halfway there when the pain becomes too much and I collapse against a nearby tree. It is then that I realize that the boy's fancy Mercedes is following me. Anger surges through me, so I push myself up from the tree and continue walking. I am not sure how far I get before I begin to feel light-headed. A few minutes later, darkness creeps into the edge of my vision and I sway before collapsing onto the ground.

I hear to sound of a car door opening, but it is distant. I see tennis-shoes race towards me. I hear words, but they sound far away and I can't make them out. Next thing I know, I feel arms under me, picking me up. I move towards the boy's Mercedes, or rather, he moves me towards it. I feel myself drop into the passenger seat of the car and get buckled in just as I drift out of consciousness.

I wake up to the sound of beeping machines and the sterile smell that means hospitals. When I open my eyes, a nurse it pressing a bandage over my hip, but I don't feel it.

"Oh, you're awake. What is your name honey?" The nurse asks kindly.

"Clove," I say. She writes it down on the chart.

"Last name?"

"Whitter. W-H-I-T-T-E-R."

She finishes my chart and leaves the room. It is only then that I realize the boy is sitting next to my bed.

"What are you doing here?" I say angrily.

"I just wanted to make sure you are okay."

I glare angrily at him.

"You wanted to make sure I am okay? So you followed me on the way home, which is creepy by the way, and then what? Why do you even care?" I am almost shouting by then end of my sentence.

"I'm sorry," The boy says.

"Why do you care?" I gripe again.

He doesn't answer for a moment. "I don't know Clove."

"How do you know my name?"

"You just said it to the nurse like five seconds ago."

"Right," I say. "Wait, I don't know your name."

"Cato," He says.

Stay happy, healthy, and safe,

-Jewel