A/N: Thank you guys so much for all your feedback! I really take it to heart. In fact, for that one reviewer, I decided to make this a longer story. There's too much I have planned for it to be a short story anyway. Just so you know, I didn't abandon my Hunger Games chat room story either. I'll be working on updating that and this story soon. Well, here you go - second chapter!

Yesterday was too close of a call. I really have to be more careful if I'm planning on being here for a while. And I am. I'd go to hell before returning to my all girls' school because quite literally it's a girls' school. Apparently females are weak, defenseless, and prissy in their eyes. Well, the fact is, not all of them are. Take me for example. If a guy so much as labels me like a stereotypical girl—fragile and delicate, then I won't hesitate to throw a knife straight for his pretty little head. I won't put up with it. I may be a girl, but that certainly doesn't make me unable to fight or defend myself. That's why I'm here after all—for a more suitable training lifestyle. It shouldn't take me too long to fit right in with all the other boys.

I open my eyes and check the clock on my bedside table. It's 6:50 and training starts at 7. If I don't hurry, I'm going to be late. I thought I set the alarm for 6:15 last night. Didn't I?

Turning over, I find that my roommate, Cato is already gone. He must have woken up on time and left a while ago. I stand up and readjust the tight strip of cloth I've been using to keep my chest flat. It's an uncomfortable disadvantage, but the pain is worth it. It'll help me stay tough and macho anyway. On Cato's bedside table is a little sticky note attached to his own alarm clock. Curious, I pick it up and read it.

Dear Cleave,

A little rat told me he unplugged your alarm clock last night. Oh, and he also said to remind you not to forget your bra socks before training. You're gonna need them.

Happy Monday,

Cato

That asshole! I've caused him no trouble in the few hours we've been sharing a room and he has the nerve to pull a ridiculous and immature prank on me. Sure he's hardheaded and probably as stubborn as I am, but I didn't think he could be so childish. The funny thing is, he does it as if he thinks it will go un-avenged. Unfortunately for him, that's where he's dead wrong. I'm Clove—well, Cleave Tarragon and I will get revenge. He can count on that.

Gathering my equipment, I check myself in the mirror to make sure I'm manly enough before going to the training center. Wig? Check. Large shirt? Check. Flat chest? Check. Sideburns? Check. Dumbass attitude? Hopefully check. I'm all good to go.

I grab my schedule and map of the academy then head out the door. As I walk down the hallway, I play out a few ideas of getting revenge on Cato in my mind. It has to be something humiliating, not a lame joke like unplugging an alarm clock. No. This has to be big. I'm talking shoving an ice cube down his pants or shaving his head big. Whatever it is, it has to be in front of the whole school. We'll just see who Mr. Pretty Boy is then.

All the guys are staring at me—more like giving dirty looks, but to be honest, I'm used to it. I bet any girl would kill to be me right now. Me, on the other hand, can't wait until I get to training where it won't be as bad. At least I won't have nearly half the school with all eyes on me. I loathe being center of attention, another trait I posses that most girls don't. Put me under the spotlight and I will either strangle who made me do so or run right offstage, preferably the first one though.

Glancing at the map, I try to figure out what room I'm supposed to go in. Then suddenly, I run into someone and drop all of my stuff.

"Hey! Watch where you're—" I stop, realizing that I forgot to use my male voice. I look up to see who was in my way. He's a man I'm not a good judge of character but the formal suit and tie with slicked back hair tells me he's someone important, possibly the principal or head of the academy. "—going."

The man cocks an eyebrow at me and crosses his arms. I'm in deep trouble and it's only my first day. So far, I'm not off to a very good start.

I clear my throat and pick up my equipment that's scattered across the floor. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't see you there." His expression is stern and I can tell I made him really mad. Either that or he's disturbed by my feminine appearance.

The man who I'm taking to be the head remains quiet for a few moments. I'm starting to wonder if this guy is a robot or something of that nature because he's still as stone and doesn't move a muscle. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, he starts laughing uncontrollably. I look around to see what triggered it, but nothing seems out of the ordinary.

"You must be the new student! "He throws up his arms excitedly. "Cleave Tarragon?" This is not at all what I was expecting from the principal of a strict male, training academy. I wonder whom he had to pay for this job.

"Um, yes." His unexpected attitude is still registering in my head. "That's me."

"Excellent! Excellent!" He chuckles and shakes my hand enthusiastically. "My name is Mr. Mason. Pleased to meet you, Cleave."

"Nice to meet you, too." I only just notice now that I'm being too polite for a guy. When I'm around other girls, I'd easily be chosen as the tomboy and the one who acts most like a boy. But compared to other boys, I must be pretty girly. I still need some more practice. I think I'm getting there though. The hardest part is the voice. It's more difficult than you think to sound like an actual man.

Mr. Mason beams at me; it's kind of uncomfortable. "So how are you liking Stonewall Academy, Mr. Tarragon?"

"Well, umm…" I clear my throat. I need to sound lower. "I've only been here for a night, but it's good so far."

"Excellent! Excellent!"

I'm starting to think the word 'excellent' is his motto. He reminds me of one of those overly enthusiastic game show hosts—the kind that are a pain in the ass to listen to. Of course, I'm not in a position to judge there. I never watch game shows. I only see them when I'm flipping through channels to find a good show to watch.

"Well, I better get to class." I'm going to be late if I'm not already. I took up half of my time just fixing my wig and making sure I look just like a boy, though not the most brawny one. I need an excuse to get away from this guy before we get into a long tedious conversation, and this just happens to be a valid one.

I start walking down the hallway, but Mr. Mason stops me. "When you're done with classes, come stop by my office so we can have a chat." He gives me what I'm guessing is supposed to be a friendly smile, but it's more like a devious one that you see in a horror film. That's not exactly reassuring. But I smile back anyways and nod then rush to the training room, entering through the doorway just as the bell rings.

The bell rings and our trainer, Brutus claps his hands together. "Okay, let's get started then. Everyone go to their stations and begin training. I'll be watching all of you so don't even bother slacking off or making excuses."

With Thresh and Marvel, I go over to the sword station and take out my sword from my equipment bag. I was hoping Cleave would be here so I could see his reaction about what I did to him this morning. I thought he was in this training session, but I don't see him anywhere. Maybe he switched out or he's late. In either case, he's my roommate so I'll be seeing him eventually.

"Where's Cleave?" Marvel asks, as if reading my thoughts.

"Yeah, wasn't he in this class?" Thresh asks.

I shrug, taking another look around. "Guess not anymore. He probably chickened out."

They both laugh and just then, Cleave comes running in the door and trips over one of his bags, landing flat on his face. Everyone laughs at him, including me, and he shoots us an angry glare. He definitely saw the sticky note I left on his clock. There's no doubt about it.

Brutus holds up his arms dismissively. "Alright! That's enough! Get to work, all of you."

We all go back to what we were doing and he walks over to Cleave and talks to him. Brutus hates weaklings, so I imagine he's not going to be too fond of Cleave. He's not exactly the fittest guy around.

After a few minutes, Cleave wanders over to where Thresh, Marvel, and I are. If he's about to tell me that he has to train with us that someone is going to be stabbed.

"What's he doing here?" Thresh whispers.

"No idea," Marvel whispers back. I cross my arms as he approaches and stops in front of us. He looks pretty pissed off, and if I had to take a guess, I think I know why. I still can't get over how short he looks. He doesn't seem old enough to be in an advanced academy like this one. He has to be thirteen at the most. There's just no way he can be any older. Not only that, but his freckles and feminine features tell me he hasn't been through puberty yet.

"Hello, gents," Cleave greets us coolly, mimicking my gesture.

"Cleave," Thresh says.

"I'm assuming you got my note this morning." I smirk and Marvel laughs. I have to admit, it was a pretty simple prank for me. Normally, I go above and beyond pulling expulsion-worthy jokes on anyone who gets on my bad side, and that happens a lot. It doesn't take much to make me mad. When you do, it isn't good news.

"Yes, as a matter of fact I did," Cleave says through clenched teeth. It's just the reaction I was hoping for. At least he has teenage angst. Maybe he's not a twelve year old after all.

I smile. "Good. Good. So I take it you're training with us?"

"Apparently I have to," Cleave retorts.

Marvel and Thresh look at each other with widened eyes. Apparently Cleave's bitter attitude surprised them. Well, it didn't surprise me. From the moment he stepped into my room, I knew he was going to be a jerk. If only he didn't have to be my roommate.

"Alright, smart Alec. Show us what you've got," I say. This has to be good. Cleave doesn't know a thing about weaponry or combat skills. He's going to make a fool of himself yet again.

He grabs a knife out of his equipment bag. "Fine. I will," he spits in my face then walks over to the targets, standing a good thirty feet away from them. At this point, the whole class stops to watch him. They all want to see him embarrass himself; it's quality entertainment at its best. Cleave turns around so he's facing away from the targets and turns around rapidly, the knife flying right out of his hand. It moves with the speed of a dart, hitting the precise center in a loud thud.

Everyone is utterly speechless and my jaw drops open. Then suddenly, they all clap for him, including Thresh and Marvel and pick him up in the air cheering for him.

"Cleave! Cleave! Cleave!" they chant.

This isn't over yet.

Well, I hope you all liked this chapter. I initially had something else planned for it, but I decided to push it to the next one. I really love writing this story, which is another reason why I decided to make it longer. So go and review! Leave me all your amazing thoughts and suggestions for next time.