Why is Ammarack Tarral in front of me?
"Johanna," He steps in before I can protest, slam the door in his face, yaknow. "Look, I remember what I said to you when we were in eight grade, and-"
Why is he doing this?
I cut him off and roll my eyes. "How could you not remember? It was two years ago? Still feel the same way, hmm?" I cross my arms, knowing I'm not going to automatically trust him. Why would I? He was a jerk to me!
He hangs his head down. "I wanted to say- I'm sorry. For everything."
I won't believe him for a second. He's just scared I'm going to bury my axe in his head. "Yeah, why now? Why when we're going into the Games? So I won't kill you? So you'll gain my trust and then reveal everything to the Careers and other players?"
"No, I mean it. I just didn't want to die with the guilt," He says softly. I drop my arms and the fling helplessly by my side.
I put my foot in front of the other, ready to walk towards him and shove him out the door, but I stop myself.
"Will you forgive me?" The look in his eyes says he's serious. He cares. I can't be sure.
Still, I hate myself for what I say next. "Okay. I forgive you," I shrug.
A smile forms on his lips. What did I just do? Forgave the man who called me a fat bitch and told me the world would be better without me?
"Oh, thank you Johanna. I wouldn't be able to die with the guilt of calling you these names. And I know we aren't both getting out of these games alive- you know that, I know that, there's no point in pretending. But I hope it's you."
I hate myself more than I do than before for blushing. "Oh. Um, thanks."
"Yeah. So I was thinking maybe we could get to know each other better," He shrugs. "You know, in the few days we probably have left."
Something twirls around in my mind- I take a look at him- tall, dirty blonde, bright brown eyes, strong, but not a physical phenomenon. He's just right. The most intreging thing about him is his smile. When he smiles, he shows off perfectly white teeth, straight, all the right size, just... perfect.
Suddenly, something warm and fuzzy stirs inside me. It feels so real when it floats to my brain and whispers, almost to quietly to hear. It whispers things and I hold myself back. Don't do it, I tell myself.
But the voices keep coming, all whispering one thing.
"So, do you want to sit and talk?" He asks.
All night we lie on my bed, and I get to know Amarack Tarral. A boy of 16, like me, who used to play football, loves the color green, can bake but always ends up burning something, talks fast, tries his hardest in school but can't seem to get good grades, and works in the lumber industry (of course). He used to work with his father until he died last summer in a lumberjack incident, like my cousin Xaiver.
"Wow. You are an interesting person," I whisper into him.
He smiles, showing off those amazing teeth and laughs quietly. I look up at him and the voices hit me like a ton of bricks. So hard, so damaging, I don't know what I'm doing.
And I hate myself more than any of the things before for what I do next.
I lean in and kiss Amarack.
