I was fourteen. At that (young) age, I was already one of the fiercest fighters in District Two.
I guess that warrants an explanation.
District Two was one of the three "career districts" within Panem's Hunger Games. The other two were District One and District Four. This basically means that they were the Capitol's favorites, for one reason or another. District One provided them with luxury items like diamonds and gold and fancy chandeliers. District Four provided the people of the Capitol with their favorite type of food--the kind from the sea. It was a delicacy in any district.
And then we had my home. District Two. Mostly we were known for our seemingly endless supply of Peacekeepers that poured from our academies like blood from a deep wound. We fueled the army and guarded the districts and the Capitol. But that wasn't our actual purpose. Actually, we provided stone and construction materials. Some of the best Capitol architects were from District Two. Not that they would have ever let you know that. Also, being the "military state" of Panem, we were pretty advanced in our torture, fighting, and scheming methods, meaning that we were generally excellent picks to be Gamemakers. Any cruel plot you saw in the Games probably came from the mind of one of our own.
It was illegal to train and prepare for the Hunger Games prior to being reaped. However, living in District Two--the Capitol's absolute favorite--meant that you got to bend some laws every now and then. People said that our training was all underground and kept a secret? Ha. Yeah, right. It wasn't. In fact, we had a Training Center built exactly like the one for tributes in the Capitol, stocked with the same weapons and everything. Our trainers were taught with the ones in the Capitol. It was encouraged. We didn't have to, but depending on your parents, you could have been forced to, and no one would argue against that. I'd seen the effects of the Breaking plenty of times to know how easy it is to force the hand of a child or teenager. Their wills crumble easily. Even the strongest, most rebellious had often found themselves turning to quick putty in the trainers' hands.
Unlike a lot of other kids in the district, I chose to train. I'd wanted this since I was six and was told that my parents died in the fire that consumed my childhood home, leaving me terrified, alone, and in the hands of a childless couple. At this point, eight years later, I'd beaten my way to the near top. The push of my adoptive father--the Head Peacekeeper for our district--had helped, I supposed, but most of it was my iron will.
Why do I say near-top? Well, I wasn't the top fighter. I would have been, but I was tied with the Mayor's son. Ridiculous, because he was one of the kids that I'd seen--well, heard--being Broken.
His name was Cato Marcellus. He was two years my senior, six inches taller than me, and a complete asshole. He was betrothed to a girl in my class named Laelia Gavros, who was nothing more than an airheaded bitch (civil, I supposed, but an airheaded bitch). He was cute, I guessed. But he was an asshole.
The was also the fact that you didn't mess with a Marcellus. Even if they messed with you first.
It was a pity that I didn't listen.
I should have been finished training. Checking the watch on my wrist, I saw that it was half past five. I should have been on my way to the locker rooms, changing into my clothes and rushing to make it home before dinner was on the table. But after a long three hour archery session, I needed something more close-contact. Something rougher.
Most people had cleared out by then or were walking out with bags slung over their shoulders. It was a Thursday, and based off of their chatter, everyone just wanted the week to end so they got their two days off. I ducked behind some dummies and slowly started towards the rack of swords. Swords aren't for girls, the chiding words of basically everyone else hissed. My braids irritated the skin of my neck and chin, and I shoved them back over my shoulder. Note to self: one braid might be less annoying. Try that tomorrow.
I reached out and grab the sword I'd been eyeing for the past few days, someone's bigger hand settling on the hilt above mine. My eyes snapped up.
The boy was tall--huge, actually. He towered over me. His complexion was darker than my milky white skin, more golden than anything. His hair was blonde and short, and his eyes were a peculiar shade of blue. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Marcellus."
"Mikells."
I had the urge to correct him, but I bit my tongue. My last name hadn't been Shields since I was six. Preferred or not, it was Mikells now.
Cato grinned cockily down at me. "Are you going to let go of my sword?"
"Don't you have somewhere better to be?"
He shook his head. "Nope. I've got all the time in the world." He leaned a little closer. "Why don't you make this easier on both of us and go back to playing with your arrows, little girl?"
I leaned closer too, so that our noses nearly touched. "I'll kick your ass, Marcellus."
"I'd like to see you try, Mikells."
"Tomorrow." I said. "After school. Here. I'll show you a little girl."
✗
I kept my word and kicked his ass.
Cato pretty easily concealed his surprise, but his best friend, Jacob Trebius, didn't do so well. He was in hysterics, nearly falling over himself. Two of Cato's other friends, Saylee Cyprian and Clove Urban, approached me after the fight while I was putting away the sword I used.
"That was awesome." Saylee said. She stuck out her hand for me to shake and quickly introduced herself, and despite the fact that I already knew her, I played along. After that awkward diversion from the conversation, she picked it back up with ease. Saylee was the easygoing type of people person that could keep any conversation running, and everyone knew it. "I've never seen anyone beat Cato like that!"
"It was pretty great." Clove added. "You're a good fighter." Clove was more of the strong, silent type. Almost like Jacob, but he was a clown in the best way. Clove was a woman of few words. I liked that about her.
I tucked some loose hair behind my ear. "Thanks." I mumbled. "I kind of would hope that I am. I mean, I do spend every day here."
"True," Saylee giggled. Her expression grew a little serious, though that little twinkle in her eye didn't extinguish. I briefly wondered if that was even possible "You seem pretty cool. Do you want to sit with us at lunch tomorrow?"
"I don't know..." I chewed on my lower lip for a second. "I'd hate to intrude."
"You wouldn't be." Clove said, and that was how I knew that it was totally sincere. Clove Urban did nothing that she didn't want to do, and she certainly didn't do anything she wasn't completely sure of. "We're inviting you to. Come on."
I released out a short breath and smiled at them. "Okay."
Saylee did a little jump and clapped her hands together. "Yay! This is exciting." She opened her mouth to say more, but a voice interrupted her.
"Sorry to interrupt," Cato said, not sounding sorry at all, "but do you two mind if I cut in and bother her for a second?"
"Not at all." Clove said. She gave me an approving smile, and that was how I knew that I did something right. "See you around, Atala." She grabbed Saylee and dragged her off.
Cato turned to me, running a finger over the pommel of the weapon in his hand. It was the sword we'd both grabbed yesterday. He extended his arm, holding it out to me. "I believe you earned this."
I'd observed Cato--my biggest competition--enough to know how attached he was to the sword. It was perfectly balanced for him (that I'd seen from how he so easily used it, like it was merely an extension of his arm), and the only weapon he would use. I shook my head. "It's just a sword." I pushed it back towards him and smiled. "You did good out there."
He grinned. "You weren't so bad yourself." He paused. "You know, it's really stupid that we hate each other. I mean, you're the only person that really challenges me." He stuck his hand out. "Friends?" There was something I'd never seen before in his eyes, something that I hadn't quite been able to name at the time--hope.
I eyed his hand warily. "How about training partners?" I suggested. "You need a competent training partner more than you need a friend. You can't tell nightlock from a blueberry." I didn't include that I wasn't in the business of making friends. I was never very good with people.
"I'll take it." He laughed. I shook his hand, and I wasn't not sure what I was getting myself into, but I knew that it couldn't be all that bad when my new partner had a smile like that.