THE ODDS WERE ALWAYS IN OUR FAVOR ─── CLATO

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟏

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕

I spin my knife in between my fingers. That's what I do when I'm nervous. Well, I'm not nervous, I'm just...anxious. I lean my head forward to see Cato, who I've been looking at and talking to a lot more than normal. It's actually quite annoying. As I stare at him, I see how relaxed he looks like. Like this is just another Training Day at the Academy. 

Lucky bastard. 

It's been nearly two hours of students displaying their talents. A few have ran off crying at their scores, realizing they won't be a Tribute this year- all I can tell them is, tough luck. A few have pumped their fists in the air when their scores are really just fives or sixes.  

Scoring in The Olympiads are messed up. There are four judges, two of which are previous Victor's from District 2. You're graded on a scale of 1-10. Scoring is so hard that an average score is a four. Getting a seven, which on a usual scale, would be average- is considering legendary. 

 I remember when I was twelve, the average score of a female tribute was a 2. I had actually made it in the Reaping Bowl with an average score of 6. That year, I was fairly confident I'd be reaped, but now that I think about it more carefully, I'm pretty sure they removed my name from the bowl altogether because I was too young. 

Despite the fact the average training score was a 2, it was our female tribute who won that year- and her average score was a 1.5, which proves my point that these scores are fundamentally useless. All they do is give weak people a chance of entering the Games- and being useless, or banning the strong people from entering the Games- making them wait another year. It's not a fair system, but what can we do? All we have to do is play their game. 

I'm drawn back into the present and I watch a girl throwing spears. It's quite impressive to me, but clearly not enough for the Judges. I watch their faces on the screen- which are blank and unimpressed. The girl- who's name I see to be Juliana Holmes, finally stops and she's lost for breath. Her scores flash on the screen just moments later- Tough, she got a 3, 5, 4, and 5. I can practically see them crossing her name off the possible list of female tributes. I watch her walk off the stage- at least she's not crying her eyes out, but I can see her violently shaking. 

Based on the list of names that has been projected onto the screen, there is only one more girl left till it is my turn. If only they didn't separate girls and boys, there would be at least 5 more people in front of me. I'd have some more time to think- some more time to calm my jangled nerves. 

I watch the girl in front of me with disinterest. I see her name- Iris Jilt. Her scores are actually quite decent, which worries me, but encourages me at the same time- that maybe I won't have my name in the bowl several times. She has a 6, 7, 7, and even an 8. I sneak looks at a few of the other female students, and most of them look pretty dumbfounded. Iris squares her shoulders and keeps her head up high as she walks off the stage. She has a devilish little smirk which makes me frown. I don't like her already. 

Nobody calls my name out when it's my turn. The only thing that happens is my name flashing on the screen in big, bold, white letters. 

I jog up to the stage and immediately squint at the bright white light. It takes a few seconds of blinking rapidly to adjust. I see familiar faces in the audience...Jason- ugh, that pervert...Cato, who's smiling almost encouragingly. For some, strange, reason, it gives me a surge of confidence. I shake out my nervousness and exhale.