I smell the toast from the kitchen down the hall. My older brother, Cole, comes into my room and wakes me up. He is beaming. Today is reaping day. My brother knows that since he has turned 19 he is no longer eligible to compete in The Hunger Games. Which also means that he never had the chance to.
I don't know where dad is, though I'm glad that he isn't here. He has been trying to push me to volunteer for the competition since I was twelve and could be in it. I am only sixteen now and he really thinks I have a chance. I've been training in knife throwing since I could even think about being in The Hunger Games.
My father is not happy about how reluctant I am. He says he wants the Carlisle name to go down in the books as the greatest Hunger Games champions, but I really think he just wants a house in the Victor's Village. I just slipped on my reaping dress from last year as I hear the door slam hard against the wall in the entry room.
"Where is my little tri-uh-tribute?" My dad screams into my room.
I quickly glance at my watch: 8:30. And my dad is as drunk as ever.
"Clove *hiccup* get down here and eat your *hiccup* toast." He orders.
I quickly climb down the steps by twos and landed in the kitchen as I witness my dad opening his flask and emptying the last of his rum into his morning coffee. Cole offers me a cup as well -without the alcohol- but I deny. I just want to eat what I need to and get back upstairs until the horn sounds telling everyone to gather in the square.
"So, little Clover, are you planning on volunteering before or after Randy calls the female name?" And there it is. I feel my heart sink down to my toes, further, possibly through the floorboards and down to the core of the earth.
"Well, daddy, I was thinking that I would, uhm, wait until next year or longer until I can, er, be sure that I can win." I still haven't told him I wasn't the selected girl, I couldn't, I was scared. I just managed to curl the corners of my mouth up in a semblance of a smile when his dry palm smacks me hard on the cheek and I feel one of my molars come lose from the back of my mouth. I get up and run towards my room, spitting out my irreplaceable tooth on the way up the stairs.
I'm trapped. I have no choice but to go to the Capitol and compete in the games. It is worse than my name being called at the reaping. Its more than just and obligation to the Capitol, it's an obligation to my father. And I know that if I go I better win. It's already been decided, and the reaping isn't for another hour. I am going to the Capitol; I am going in the arena and I. Am. Going. To. Win.
2. The Name on the Paper
Cole and I walk into the square. We both agree that we are too old to hold hands, but since we may never see each other again, we do anyway. I don't scare easily. I'm not scared to volunteer at the reaping, I am not scared to go in the arena, I'm not even scared to die in the arena, I am only scared about what will happen if I don't make it out.
Cole kisses me on my forehead and goes off to find my father before he does something that we will all regret. I wait in line behind two 17-year-old girls who are flipping their hair and watching Cole as he stalks away. I swallow hard to refrain from throwing up in my mouth.
I see the way all the girls look at him, but he's my big brother. Mine. No one else's. I'm next in the line and I hold out my left hand so that she can prick my index finger. I don't flinch when I see a small drop of my blood pools up on my finger and I press it to the box marked "Carlisle, Clover". I know the drill.
I go and stand in the crowd of children, in between my two best friends. Ok, they are the closest thing I have to friends. People tend to not like me. They don't want to be in The Hunger Games so they told me that I could hang out with them and sit with them at lunch if I volunteered in their place either of their names are to be called. Of course, being the shortsighted teenage girl that I am, I agreed.
It's no secret that I'm not very popular at school. I get bullied a lot. Whether it's the fact that my father is the town drunk, my brother setting the high expectations, or all of the time I spend in my backyard throwing knifes. It could be any of those or none. I don't know, and honestly, I don't care.
Their specialties are nicknames. "Crazy Clove", "Coo Coo Clove" and many other poorly thought through names. Little do these people know that I could throw I knife into their back if they were riding their bike at 15 miles an hour from 500 feet away. But we'll just keep that a secret. Really, the only place I feel like I belong is in the training academy.
I am deep in thought when Randy McIntyre taps on the mic and welcomes us to the 74th annual Hunger Games. He then proceeds to play the capitol video that I know like the back of my hand. I have heard it all before, so I just contemplate how I am going to volunteer.
"Now it is time to select our district 2 tributes. Like always, ladies first." He reaches his hand into the large crystal orb on the front of the stage. As he picks out the single strip of paper with the female tributes name, I muster up all of my courage to volunteer when he reads the name aloud for everyone else to hear.
"Clover Carlisle." He pronounces clearly for the audience.
Everyone clears out of the way and no one volunteers like I expected them to. I slowly make my way to the stage. I don't walk slowly because of fear; I want all of the cameras to get a good shot of my devilish smirk made for the games.
I walk up onto stage and shake Randy's hand. In his other hand, he holds the slip of paper that read my name, well, that should have read my name. It didn't. I don't recognize the name, don't even see it long enough to read, just long enough to know that the name was not my own.
I look out to the crowd and see my father with a smirk even more devil like than mine. I see my father's gold pocket watch ready to slip out of Randy's jacket pocket. I know it's his, I can see the engraved initials shining in the sun. He was bribed. Then I look over to Precious, not volunteering, then I see my mom's favorite pearl necklace on her neck and I know the truth. My father.
My father bribed Randy McIntyre and Precious to get me into the games. My father broke the Capitol's rules for my death sentence. I clench my fists so hard that I can feel the blood rushing out of my knuckles. I look down and see that they are white as a ghost. My own father.
Taken aback by the monstrosity that is my father I don't even notice Cato Gothard volunteering himself before Randy even says the selectee's name. I've only spoken to Cato twice before, at the Preparation Building and by the creek, he complimented me on my throwing. My "friends" all talk about how dreamy he is, and I am tempted to agree. I am not in love with him like everyone else, but I can see it, and I hate myself for that.
Cato makes his way to the stage and we shake hands, as I look from our united hands to his face, he slyly winks at me and I can't help but blush and turn away, disgusted by my own girlish tendencies when he is around.
We then make our way to the Hall Of Justice for our family and friends to visit us, and possibly say goodbye. I was furious when Cole left. He told me that my father was coming. I said that I didn't want to see him but he said that I didn't have a choice.
My father walks into the room and leans on the wall arms and ankles crossed. He triumphantly murmurs "congratulations" and that's when I lost it. I knew I would be in huge trouble with the peacekeepers if I hurt my father so I stalked up to him and found a small dot on the wall and punched it as hard as I could.
I punched it so hard that the drywall caved in and left a gaping hole and my knuckles were stabbed with small pieces of the beige wall. I turn around and stalked over to the window. I could bear to look at him.
"I'm done with you now." I said, still without turning around.
"Clove… I" he stammered.
"Father, please leave." I said more sternly.
"Clover. Honey. I love you. Good lu-" He started but I quickly interrupted.
"No you don't. If you loved me we wouldn't be in here. If you loved me I would be safe at home with Cole, I would be anywhere else but here. But where am I? I am on my way to get slaughtered by other children because of you. It's your fault that I am in my situation and excuse me to say so but I don't think you love me and I know for sure that I don't love you. I hate you! You know what, I'm glad that I am in the games because if I don't make out I will never have to see you again." I'm screaming now.
I know I'm causing a scene, but I don't care because the words are coming out faster than I am thinking them. I must have gotten my father fired up too because the next thing I know his palm meets my cheek again, just like it did this morning. But this time it doesn't stop there. He starts to kick me on the ground and I see under the couch a long, silver letter opener underneath. I grab it and tuck into my sock.
After thoroughly beating me up on the ground, he lifts me up and bangs me into the wall holding me by nothing but my shoulders and shakes me. Hard. "You better damn well win, Clover." He spits at me
That's when it happened, when I got mad. Madder than I have ever been in my entire life. I wrap my leg around and kick the back of his knees so they buckle and he falls to the ground I pull his hands together behind his back and stand behind him with the letter opener at his throat.
"You just made the guarantee that I will, father." I said in a voice so cold that it sent shivers down my own spine. My father is breathing heavily, as heavy as if he just ran the perimeter of the district. And next thing I know, my hand pulls the letter opener from his throat and stabs it into his back. I don't let go until his breaths cease and I no longer feel his pulse.
I hear a knock on the door and a peacekeeper telling me that it is time to go. I find myself with the sly grin back on my face as I remove my hand from the letter opener, still lodged into my father's back. I look down at my hands covered in my father's blood, which I wipe on the seat of my dress and stalk through the door and slam it behind me, closing my father's rein of terror over me.
I couldn't have felt more proud, more ecstatic, it was an adrenaline rush the likes I've never experienced before. And I like it.