"I didn't think to mention it," I tell Isla, trying to sound indifferent.
"You make out with Cato Hadley and you "didn't think to mention it", Clove, really?" she replies, disbelieving.
"Look, it's not a big deal, and it was weeks ago. I hardly even remember what happened," I say, doing my very best to sound convincing. If looks could kill.
"Liar. I know everything, Clove, I'm your best friend. Now spill." She's right of course. It was a huge deal, and I remember it like I remember my first sleepover with Isla, with such clarity it may has well have been imprinted on my brain. I sigh in defeat and recount what happened.
It was after school on a Friday in April. It was a nice day, I suppose, sunny, breezy and as warm as April gets. I was in the courtyard with Cato, who I'd only spoken to a few times in passing, usually about Training Center hours, when he suggested we go train together for a while. I'm always in the mood to train, even with a thickhead like that, so I followed him to the Academy, making small talk as we walked.
We ended up messing around, trying to shoot arrows and swing maces, rather than training in our specialties, but we had fun and we did learn a few things.
It was past six when we decided to head home, and the sky was a fiery orange. When we reached the fork in the road where we went separate ways, Cato suddenly grabbed my wrist and kissed me. His hands pressed impatiently into the soft black fabric of the t-shirt covering my midriff and he held me close to him. I don't know how, but my hands ended up on his shoulders, his neck, tangled in his hair. When I realized what was happening, I broke off in disbelief, and my shock and embarrassment was clearly reflected in the dark red spreading across Cato's cheeks.
We broke into runs in opposite directions at the same time.
The moment I got home, I ran upstairs to my bathroom, threw off my clothes, and hopped in the shower, only to discover that the bruises he had left on my waist wouldn't wash away with soap and water, only with time, leaving me black, blue and frustrated.
I sulked all weekend, refusing to go anywhere with anyone, even to training sessions,ignoring Cato's messages and voicemails, and only leaving my bedroom at four in the morning on Saturday to get enough oranges, granola bars and rootbeer to carry me through the weekend. My friend Bellamy came over on Sunday, but he just wanted to watch The Breakfast Club anyway, and didn't bug me about my mood.
I ignored Cato at school after that. It was mostly easy, since he was a grade above and therefore had none of the same classes, and I just made it a point of slamming my locker door louder than necessary every time he came up to talk to me.
I refused to speak to him for so long, he eventually stopped trying (I swear, though, it took forever). But I started to realize I missed him trying to talk to me. And I didn't just miss tormenting him about it, I actually missed his company. I wonder, now, if I'd not refused it all those times, could I have it?
Isla laughed. "Happy now?" I asked, flustered. But it wasn't Isla who responded.
Cato came from around the corner of the hall. "Very," he replied casually, flicking my dark braid over my shoulder.
