Clove

A gasp escapes my lips. It's Clove Cray. It's me. I will be going to the Capitol to be raised up like a pig for slaughter. I try to remain emotionless. I try to pull it together.

It's too much. It's all too much. I hear someone sobbing behind me and assume it's my mother. The crowd parts so I can walk more easily up to the stage. How nice to look out for my well-being.

"Come on up, dear!" Chirps Madeleine Maggot far too enthusiastically. I do. My feet drag haphazardly across the ground, as if my body is willing me to stay in the crowd. A delicate breeze blows my hair across my face. One of the yellow flowers Cato weaved into it wriggles its way out and falls to the ground at my feet. My breath catches in my throat and I have to stop walking for a moment.

The lag is almost unnoticeable. Just long enough for me to avert my eyes from the flower, lift my chin, thrust my shoulders back and put on a little smirk. I glance up at the large screens filled with close-ups of my face and feel relief at the way I appear to be almost boastful about being chosen. Here in District 2 it is most often known as an honor. We train ourselves as best we can, then volunteer when we deem ourselves ready. Winning means fame and riches, which is of course what we aim for, but losing means certain death. It's a dangerous game that's for sure.

Once I've strutted up to the stage and jogged up the stairs, I take my place at Madeline Maggot's right hand.

"Congratulations, dear!" She says with a beaming smile. I maintain my smirk as I nod in her direction. "Any volunteers?!" Surprisingly, no one speaks up. Any sympathy from my cousins, who are my closest friends besides Cato, fades away. We are not that close. I can't help but scowl, hurt leaking through the cracks of my painted pride. Even in a place where people pull knives on each other in order to secure their place in the Games, no one will volunteer for me.

"Wonderful!" Madeline Maggot says after probably a minute. "And now we'll pick the boy!"

I stare out at the crowd, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, especially Cato or my mother, who I can still faintly hear crying. Madeline Maggot picks the boy's name and walks back to the microphone.

Don't be Cato. Don't be Cato. Don't be Cato. I know this is wishful thinking. Cato's name is in that damn bowl 168 times.

"Brooks Titan!"

I physically crumple with relief. Maybe I can get home and we'll all live happily ever after, but that wouldn't work if Cato was with me.

A tan boy with chocolate brown hair steps out of the crowd. He looks like he's twenty-five and is built like an ox. I cannot imagine competing against him. Especially after he gives me a toothy smirk, and I swallow involuntarily, then proceed to smirk back half-heartedly. Once he's at his place onstage, Madeline Maggot asks for volunteers.

Cato

It happens too fast. I don't have enough time to react. Clove slips from the crowd and away from me indefinitely. She walks to the stage. No one volunteers. She puts on a smirk and keeps calm. She has always been a better actor than me.

I soon get over the general shock and see a brutish boy probably stronger than me standing onstage with her and I almost faint. There is no way she could beat him. Even with her knives. Even if she never misses. He could probably take several direct hits and still keep fighting. Maybe I'm exaggerating, but he seems to be made entirely of muscle. He could probably snap Clove in two.

"Any volunteers?!" The Maggot asks of the crowd, which bustles and mutters but remains generally quiet for a few moments, until suddenly, without thinking, I blurt out "I volunteer!"

-

The second I say it I wish I hadn't. Both of us cannot survive. Four words play through my head on repeat. What have I done?

I just saw the brutish boy and realized no matter how tough, Clove would not survive without me. I was desperate. I wasn't thinking. Or maybe I was. Yes. I was thinking; I cannot live without you, Clove, so I'm gonna volunteer and make sure you win or we both die.

I suddenly feel selfish. I see Clove onstage, mouth slightly agape, eyes pleading against the inevitable. I have ruined the chance of us both surviving. For a moment I think, maybe, just maybe, the Maggot didn't hear me. But no. She heard. She calls me forward and I obey. She asks my name and I tell her. She congratulates Clove and I and has us shake hands, which are both slick with nervous sweat. And then the mayor says a few closing words and Clove and I are rushed inside the Justice Building.

Clove

What is he thinking? What is he thinking? This cannot work. Will not work. Both of us can't win. He wasn't thinking. I can't believe this.

Cato

I walk through the halls of the Justice Building with my head held high. I must remain calm. I have to look as if this is what I wanted. This is not what I wanted. Or was it? I can't let Clove die. I make a decision right then and there; Clove is the one who will win.

Clove

I sit alone in a spacious room filled with plush armchairs and couches, my legs pressed together, hands crossed in my lap. My orange dress is spread out around me. It takes only a minute or so before my mother rushes inside.

The second my mother locates me, she rushes over and hugs me. I hold her tight, still sitting on the couch, as she hangs over my shoulder, arms draped lazily across my back.

"I can't lose you, Clove. Not both of you." She's talking about my father. I never knew him, and from what I'm told he seems like kind of a dick, but my mother must have loved him to some extent.

Eventually I realize I must speak. This is most likely the last time I will be with what's left of my family. Though I'm good with knives, though I'm generally capable, I'm acutely aware of my small stature. Still, I tell my mother not to worry, I say I'll try to win, even though I know that's not possible, especially with Cato in the Games alongside me. I think she can tell.

"Love you, mom," I mutter.

"Try hard, Clove. Use your knives. Come back home," She says after pulling away.

"Cato," I whisper. It is all that is needed. She sighs.

"Try hard," She repeats, then I give her one more hug before she leaves the room, shuddering with silent sobs. It takes a lot not to cry myself.

-

My mother's sister enters the room next with her four children, and one on the way. I say children, but most of them are actually older than me. Their arrival surprises me a little. Aunt Rose is kind, as are my cousins, but we have never been very close. She lets the cousins say bye to me first.

Dexter and Alexia, who are one year my elders at 18, and perfectly eligible for the Games, sit with me on the couch. I try not to resent them for it. Or, Alexia, rather, because she was the one who could've taken my place. Dexter tells me to win, no matter what, but Alexia's a little more sympathetic about Cato being my fellow District 2 tribute.

"We've all seen you two around school," She says. "It's obvious how much he loves you. There's no way he's not gonna let you win. But I know you feel the same way. It's your choice but...just think about us." She gives me a hug and goes to stand with Aunt Rose. I wonder for a moment why she didn't volunteer, but I already know. She is too weak. And she knows I am strong.

"We love you, Clove." Dexter says, gently touching my arm and kissing my cheek. "Come home."

Next is Kimber, the oldest at 19. I rise to meet her, and we stand there staring at each other for a while until a tear slips down her cheek. I can see in her eyes that she wishes she could've volunteered, but she's too old by a year. It is then that I realize we actually were pretty close. Images of long chats at lunch or in between classes at school dance through my mind. Days spent playing in our yards together when we were younger. I feel tears well up in my eyes as well.

"Bye, Clove," She says, her voice thick.

"Bye, Kim," I whisper, almost inaudible. I fear if I speak any louder or say much more I will collapse.

I get a quick hug and good luck wish from Rosemary, who's 14, before Aunt Rose pulls me into an embrace.

"I love you so much," She whispers in my ear, then pulls away and clasps a silver chain around my left wrist. "It was your mother's," She says, then they all leave and I am alone.

I didn't have very many friends, and none of them, except for Cato and the cousins, were close enough to care to say goodbye. Since the cousins have already said farewell, and Cato is obviously unavailable, I have no more visitors for the rest of the hour and instead sit in silence on the pristine couch cushions trying to keep myself composed. I jam the heels of my hands into my eyes to keep from crying and try to ignore the ache this causes in my head and feeling of hopelessness deeper inside me. I feel as if I am already in the arena, awaiting my untimely death.

Cato

My mother comes in first, her belly swollen with pregnancy. Before I can even hug her she rushes over and sits tentatively on the couch behind me. She pats the spot next to her, and I sit. She takes my hand in hers.

"Cato..." She starts. "I'm so proud of you. You're so strong and I truly believe you will come home. No matter what," she adds pointedly. "But dear, the baby... She still needs a name. I was going to let you pick it when she was born, but... I fear your time away will overlap with the delivery."

I frown slightly at this request, so casual. A name for my yet to be born little sister. I can think of only one name.

"Clove," I say, and my breath catches in a weird way so I pretend to cough. My mother catches it though. Or maybe she doesn't have to. Maybe she has already guessed how agonized by this I am. She wraps her arms around me from the side and I continue to stare at the door across from me.

"Oh, baby... I know you love her-"

"She's my friend," I say, for some reason her saying this bothers me. Maybe it's because I'm embarrassed because of the circumstances, or I don't want to say I love her because it will only make it worse. Maybe I'm just feeling irritable. My mother sighs- a long dramatic sigh, as if Clove and I are some tragic love story. I feel the need to defend myself for some reason.

"Mom... Let's not talk about this. Name the kid whatever you want. This is my moment right now, not hers," I say.

She looks slightly taken aback. "Okay. I love you so, so much. I hope you know that. Of course I want you to come back, but I understand if you want to save Clove. I know how that feels."

"What?" I snap.

"I don't mean I want you to up and die, that's not what I'm saying, I-"

"No, I mean what do you mean you know how it feels?"

My mother sighs again, a sigh that seems to say "Oh, Cato, will you never understand?" Instead, she says, "You. It's you, Cato. I know how you feel; like you would die for her, because I would do the same for you kids." She pats her belly, then after one last long hug she leaves and sends my father in. Conflicted by mom's spiral of pride to compassion to... whatever that final remark falls under, I can't hide the confusion and subtle anger on my face.

"Cato, I need you to come back. We all do." For a moment I think he'll miss me, but I am mistaken. "This family relies on you for many of our resources, so you better try hard. Additionally, you'll be the pride of the family." Will be? He notices the pain in my eyes and adds, "And don't let some girl get in the way of what you really want."

My mouth drops open in astonishment. Does he think I am so self-centered as to simply throw away all the years and years of building my relationship with Clove, and kill her? I want to yell at him, to break down and finally give him what he deserves. But I must stay composed. There will be cameras at the train station, and so I convert my anger into words instead.

"No," I say. "Even if you're a total screwup youhave to come back to mom and the baby, so you better learn fast... Because I am not going to be coming back if it means losing her."

"Son, let me tell you this-"

"No! You can't make up my mind, dad! I'm not coming back! I'm...not..." I have to sit, already worn out physically and emotionally. Mostly emotionally.

My father gets up to leave, and just as he's opening the door I whisper under my breath, "Love you too."

He pretends not to notice, though I am near positive he heard. But he just leaves with a slam of the door.