"Wake up, love," I hear an accented voice in my ear. I groan and bury my face into a soft grey fabric that I assume is the pillow.
"No," I respond, nuzzling my face further into the grey material.
"Come on, love," the voice urges, and I look up to realise that the grey fabric is Newt's shirt. I groan in embarrassment.
"Am I a good pillow?" Newt asks, and I turn bright red in mortification.
"Uh, yeah?" I respond, making it sound like a question.
"Bloody good to know," he replies. "Anyway, we should get up soon. We've got training today."
"I know," I say, sighing, "but can we please stay here a few more minutes?"
"Fine." Newt rolls his eyes. "But only a little longer." I smile and pull the covers over the two of us again, so that the warm sheets are up to my chin.
"You're stealing the blanket," Newt complains. I mimic him and roll my eyes.
"Deal with it," I huff and poke my tongue out at him, smirking. The room goes quiet and we lie there for a few minutes in silence, listening to the other's breathing.
"Time to get up," Newt groans and pulls the covers off us.
"No," I argue, and pull them back up.
"Yes," he counters. "Bloody hell, love, you aren't making this easy for yourself, are you?"
"What do you mean?" I ask michieviously.
"This," he answers, and starts to tickle me again. I burst out in laughter.
"Stop-stop," I wheeze, tears in the corners of my eyes.
"Does that mean you'll get up now, love?"
"Fine," I say, with an attitude worthy of Minho. He stops tickling me and I lift the covers off as slow as possible. He slowly waves his hands in front of my face, as if threatening to tickle me again.
"I'm up!" I practically yell, jumping up. As I do so, I accidentally hit his rib cage, and he falls and knocks both of us down, so his body is pushed against mine, my body under his. His mint-smelling breath lands directly on my lips. My heart flutters and I think that it's finally happening. His face inches closer to mine, and I see the contentment visible in his chocolate eyes as he leans closer. Our faces are mere millimeters apart, and-
The door bangs open suddenly to reveal a very sassy-looking Minho.
"You're late for break-" he stops as he looks at our position. We're two sixteen-year olds lying on Newt's bed, his lips hovering above mine and his body pressed on top of mine, too. "What the shuck was going on in here?" Minho shouts, and bursts into laughter. "Ava! Get your pony loving ass over here right now!" I'm too shocked to move, and by the looks of things, Newt is too, unless he just likes lying on top of me... which is a possibility too, I suppose.
"What is it, Minho?" Ava yells as she bursts into the room. She takes one look at our position and is obviously split between laughter and anger. She settles on the latter option and stalks over right next to the bed. Her perfect bun looks only half-made, and she hasn't applied her bright red lipstick this morning, either.
"Get off, Newt!" she snaps at him, and practically shoves him off. "Out, now!" she snaps at me. I only have time to snatch my clothes off the floor - only now do I realise what that looks like - and burst out of the bedroom with Ava hot on my heels before she slams the door and ushers me into my own room.
"What was that, y/n?" she whisper-shouts. "What did you-what happened last night-why-did you both-you know-"
"I, uh, no," I reply, and my cheeks flush tomato red. "No we didn't," I confirm in a louder, more dignified tone. "Of course not."
"Good," she says, obviously relieved. "We couldn't have the Capitol thinking, I mean, the aftermath would be terrible-" she pauses and regains her professional manner. "I mean, what I'm trying to say is that you should meet the rest of us for breakfast in a quarter of an hour." She nods her head. "Yes, a quarter of an hour. Thomas has left an outfit for you in the wardrobe." With that, she shakes her head and bustles out of the room. I roll my eyes and head towards the shower. I undress and step in for only a few minutes before I'm doused from head to toe in a sweet-smelling thick blue soap. I turn the temperature of the water as high as it can go and rinse the soap from my body. Stepping out of the shower, I think about what could have happened. I press the button to dry myself off, and as my hair falls over my shoulders, completely dry, I look up to the ceiling. Newt was about to kiss me. My heart beats faster at the very thought, and I grin despite of my situation. Newt was about to kiss me. I laugh, and even I'm surprised at my happiness. Who knew that this boy I've admired from afar but never spoken to could make me feel this much joy?
I open my wardrobe to find an outfit lying there. It's similar to what I've been wearing the last few days; brown pants, white shirt, black boots and a dark red, almost brown, jacket. I silently thank Thomas for choosing such a comfortable outfit for me to wear for training. I swing the door open and peer around the corner. Unfortunately, Newt's not standing in the hallway, but I shrug it off and walk towards the same room we had dinner in yesterday. He's standing there himself, loading eggs and bacon onto a large plate. Minho sits at the table gorging himself on a half-empty platter of fruits we can never get in Twelve. I walk into the room.
"Hi Minho," I say, then hesitate, "hey Newt." Newt smirks and gives me a wink. I blush and pick at a piece of fluff on my white shirt. I grab a tray from a pile and serve myself bread with a thick, rich jam. I make myself comfortable at the table, Newt beside me, before Ava walks in. She looks at Newt and I sitting next to each other, gives Minho a glance, then looks back at us, frowning. Serving herself a cup of dark coffee, she takes the seat next to Minho and continues giving us her disapproving glare. I roll my eyes, and Newt hands me a mug of a warm liquid. I take a sniff. Mint tea.
"Thanks, Newt," I say and he grins.
"Anytime," he replies with another wink. Ava slams her hands on the table.
"Stop that," she snaps.
"Stop what?" Newt asks.
"This," Ava says with an eye roll, gesturing towards our bodies. "Flirting."
"What flirting?" Newt asks sarcastically, "we're not bloody flirting, are we, love?" I roll my eyes and elbow him.
"I never flirt. Especially not with the likes of you," I respond just as sarcastically. Minho looks at us, almost in fear, as if we've out-sassed him somehow. Which I honestly don't think is possible. Minho rolls his eyes and gestures at Ava, as if telling us to listen to her. Ava looks hurriedly up at the clock on the wall.
"Oh-look-it's-nearly-ten-we-better-go," she says, all in one breath. I look at her and raise my left eyebrow knowingly.
"Well, what are you waiting for? We don't want to be late," she says. I look at Newt, who has a rather bemused expression on his face. His eyes meet mine and then slide over to Ava, as if telling me that we should listen to her, no matter how annoying her instructions are. I roll my eyes at him. He stands up and pushes his chair out, and then reaches his hand out to meet mine. I take it and he helps me stand up. I take a gulp of my still-warm mint tea and we follow Ava out the door.
"I've been told that Minho told you both what to train for across the next three days," Ava says briskly. I shrug my shoulders and realise that Newt and I are still holding hands. I smile.
"Yeah," I confirm, "he said we should both work on fires."
"And that I should learn to hunt and kill with knives and spears or a bow and arrow," Newt puts in.
"That should keep you busy, then," Ava says purposefully and pointedly as she looks at our joined hands. She turns back around as we enter the elevator.
"Oh, and you two," she says.
"Yes?"
"No public displays of-of affection," she says.
"Why?" Newt demands, as if angered. Happiness flares up inside of me at his anger, but I also feel slightly put out that she's not even letting us hold hands.
"Well-" Ava lingers on her words, as if tasting them on the tip of her tongue. "We don't want the other tributes jealous, or angry. That could lead to bad circumstances in the Games, which means that-"
"Excuse me," Newt interrupts, "you don't want us to bloody hold hands because it could lead to the others being jealous of us?"
"That is correct," Ava says.
"So who do you think they'll be jealous of?" Newt says, leaning his head my way, "me or her?" I snort at the question, and when I try to cover up my nose with my hand, I realise that Newt and I are still linked.
"Both," Ava says, and we step out of the elevator, leaving Ava behind inside. "Good luck, both of you," she says, and pauses, as if she wants to say something else, but then stops. I look up at the room we're in, which is located underneath our living quarters, and notice we're the first ones here, apart from a man named Lawrence, who's our head trainer for the next three days. He looks up at Newt and I. When his eyes trail down to our linked hands (we didn't exactly follow Ava's instructions), his mouth drops open in a perfect 'o', then abruptly shuts again. His eyes reach the floor again as more and more tributes flood through the doors. There seems to be so many of us when I remember that only one can survive.
One.
The word resounds through my head like an echo. Only one can win. Only the one victor can go home. And he, Newt, will be going back to Twelve.
As the last pair enters through the door (though none of the others are connected by their hands like Newt and I are), we all line up on level ground. The same tributes stand out to me as on the day of the reaping. A couple of Careers, Gally from District One, and Teresa from Two. Then there's a burly seventeen year old from Five, Frypan, and the two from Seven, Alby and Harriet, and lastly, Aris from Ten.
Lawrence runs through the rules with us briefly. There will be experts at each station to teach us different skills, some to kill and hunt, others to survive. We can't fight each other before the Games; Lawrence stresses how illegal it is. Somehow, I don't think Gally from District One will care much. The Careers train before the Games, even if it that, too, is illegal.
I'm too distracted by my own thoughts to notice when Lawrence releases us into training. Newt squeezes my hand, as if to remind me he's still there, and then murmurs in my ear.
"Want to start with the fires?"
I nod and we walk towards the station. The woman there teaches us how to start a fire with and without matches, and Newt and I have mastered this in about an hour, although I still have a plan in my head to run for matches in the Cornucopia bloodbath, just to be safe. Next, Newt and I try to use a bow and arrow, and it's clear after about ten minutes that neither of us excel in this topic, so we try throwing spears instead. Neither of us find this very helpful either, so we decide to move onto knives after traps. Even though I've been throwing them for years, I'm reluctant to find another station to work at. For some reason, I don't want to leave Newt's side, and I don't think he wants to leave mine, either. We both head to the rope-tying section and learn a satisfactory trap that can ensnare both human and animal prey. After we capture enough fake rabbits, Newt picks up a machete, and swings it around for a little while until he gets the hang of it. I practice with my daggers on a wooden dummy, and after a few tries, I manage to throw it through the dummy's heart. The instructor at the knife station seems impressed, and teaches me a few useful things about handling the knife to throw it longer distances. He compliments both of us on our abilities, and agrees with me that Newt is a natural with the machete. After an hour or so, Newt spears the same dummy through the chest so that our knives are embedded next to each other in a wooden person's heart.
It brings me a strange surge of satisfaction.
•••
The next few days pass similarly to this one. We train together, eat together, spend all day together. Every night, we have a feast of some sort in one of our rooms, and fall asleep together, either on the bed, or just on the floor on the blanket if we're too lazy to get up, using each other as our pillows. We haven't kissed yet, not properly, anyway, no matter how much I want to. And something tells me Newt wants to as well, we're just waiting for the perfect moment.