TWISTED // Clato | ✓

Chapter 1: Chasing Dreams

CLOVE'S POV:

I'm distracted. I try to focus on my homework, but my eyes keep drifting to the tall, handsome blond boy in the corner. Our first week in the District 2 Career Academy, and I can't take my eyes off him. We've never spoken--I can't seem to find the courage to even say hi. Sooner or later I'll have to admit it to myself: I have a huge crush on him. 

But I can't even find the courage to tell myself that. Because I, Clove Holly Kentwell, am not a lover. I am a future Hunger Games tribute, training hard at the District 2 Career Academy and learning how to throw knives with a deadly accuracy. I jab my pencil hard into my paper to remind myself of that, breaking the tip.

I get up to sharpen my pencil, making a beeline for the sharpener on the wall beside his desk. With as little acknowledgment as possible that I know he's there, I hold my head high and stroll over to the sharpener. My back to the boy, I sharpen my pencil, ducking out of view so he can't see my blushing face.

You're a fighter, Clove. Not a lover. Never a lover. Try to remember that. Without looking at the boy, I return to my desk and sit down before my teacher can draw any attention to my red face. 

 My eyes start wandering again. Cato; I think that's what his name is. I've seen the other girls eyeing him covetously, and I realize I'm probably doing the same. If only I could just pluck up the courage to say something to him!

I force myself to face reality. Who am I to be noticed by a boy like Cato? True I'm pretty, and I'm a fantastic knife thrower. But will I even attract his attention long enough to display my skills? Maybe I should give up.

I look away and focus on my written homework, but I can't tear my mind off Cato. Cato and knives. They're linked in my brain. Next time I go out there to practice my skills, I'll make sure he sees it. 

We're in gym class later that afternoon, and I'm listening to Coach Alvaro giving us a pep talk. "Remember, you don't want to volunteer for those Games unless you're certain you can win. That's why we're learning how to now."

I glance around, and am startled when I catch Cato's gaze. Our eyes lock on each other for a brief second, and he raises his eyebrows at me before I abruptly turn away, because I don't want him to be able to read my eyes. 

Later I'm standing firmly on the floor, scrutinizing my target very hard. Gripping one of my knives by the handle, I hurl it at the circular target. I miss the center by seven inches.

"Very close, Clove," Coach Alvaro says as he walks over. "You almost had it. Try it with a little flick of your wrist. Keep it small. Small and subtle."

"Thank you, Coach," I say politely, but I'm inwardly screaming. I'm already a pro at knife-throwing; why couldn't I make it any closer. Then I realize my hands are shaking. Cato. I can't shake off the feeling I'm being watched.

I spin around, but he's at the other end of the gym doing chin-ups on a row of bars. The nerves! They won't settle down. I'll never be able to impress him while I'm like this.

I spend a shaky rest of gym thrusting knives at my target with increasing ferocity. Land it! Land it! Why won't they land in the dead center?? I feel a hand on my shoulder, but I'm still so trapped in my impulse that I spin around and almost skewer Coach Alvaro. He ducks just in time and my knife sails over his head to lodge itself in a punching bag.

"Well... Clove," he murmurs, overcoming the frantic trauma of the previous moment enough to acknowledge me. "Thank you for that."

I'm beet red by this point, but I mumble. "Sorry, sir."