EIGHT -
I let Glimmer lead the way towards the spears, abandoning my District partner to his own devices. I trust Hadley and his superior acting skills enough to be able to gain us alliances with the tributes that I have no chance with, the boy from 11 being one of them. If he's smart, the guy will listen to what Hadley has to say, but something tells me he's not going to be as easily convinced to join our group as the golden boy believes.
It will be interesting to see how he takes that particular burn. After all, most of our District treat him like a young prince, and he's not used to being denied the things he wants. But my job today isn't to babysit Hadley, it's to make friends and figure out the beginnings of a strategy for the arena. To examine the field. And the blonde girl beside me is my first step towards that.
"So, I'm guessing you've trained too?" Says Glimmer as we join the end of the queue forming at the spear station. I've never been great at handling spears – I'm too small to really balance them properly – but I can throw a decent shot once in five, and Glimmer seems excited to show off her skills. She's much taller than me so she can probably manage the weapons with ease, athletic but still curvy in the right places. I bet the boys in her District go crazy for her.
"Yeah, me and Hadley have been at the Academy since we were eight." I reply, taking a quick sweep of the room in search of the golden boy, to no avail. The training gym is so big he could have wandered off anywhere.
We're edging closer to the front of the line now, and we watch as the boy from 9 takes his first ever throw. His form is completely off, and Glimmer scoffs under her breath as he stumbles over the line, the spear clanking loudly against the floor as it falls about two metres short of the target.
"Oh, you and Cato knew each other before you got here?" Glimmer asks, surprised.
"Unfortunately, yes." I sigh, and my training partner laughs, but I'm interested in why it seems so strange that Hadley and I were already acquainted before we became tributes. "Had you never met your District partner before the Reaping?"
It's obvious the boy from 1 has been trained – a kid of his build would never be allowed to dodge the Academy in the one of the career Districts – but I haven't heard much about their system in 1 other than the fact that they have similar weaponry schools to us. If the two of them both attended, how on earth did they go so many years without even seeing each other.
Glimmer steps up to the front of the free throwing line and grabs a spear from the rack. "No, there are two different schools back home. I think they're smaller than your one." She says over her shoulder as she sets her feet. Her stance would be considered a little shaky by Xavier's standards, but perhaps them teach them differently in 1. "I trained in the town centre, but Marvel came from the other one by the diamond workshops."
She throws and her spear hits the target. It's not quite dead in the inner ring, but still decent enough that she could do some damage. It'll be good to see her skills in other areas, but she's made the cut in my eyes. I don't doubt Hadley will want to see her at work but if he even believes for one second that Sidonia will let us count out Glimmer's help in the bloodbath then he'll be kidding himself.
Grabbing myself a spear, I step up to the line and throw. I've watched Xavier coach hundreds of kids through spear skills over the years, so much so that I can practically hear his voice screaming in my ears to fix my shoulders as my throw veers slightly off course. It lands only an inch or so over from where Glimmer's juts out of the target, quivering as the tip buries itself into the surface.
"You're not half bad at that." Glimmer commends with a nod, eyebrow raised. "I honestly thought you wouldn't even make the rings. No offence, but you're pretty small for a career." She giggles, another bright smile dazzling anybody who happens to be in a ten metre radius.
It hits me then, that there's something of my sister about her. Much like Loren, nothing seems to be able to dampen her mood, and her girlish laughter is practically contagious. Now I am even more determined to have the girl from 1 as an ally.
We spend the morning circling around the different weapons stations, trialling all of the blades on offer and watching the rest of the tributes struggle with each and every one of them. Glimmer pulls me over to the archery station as soon as the mass of teenagers previously gathered there begins to disperse, notching arrows into place with ease. It seems that the bow is her favourite of the weapons she's trained in, but she's no true expert with anything that we've tested.
From this I presume 1 tends to strive for equal skill with everything rather than streamlining their students until they are as close to perfection as possible in one discipline. I can see the benefits – it's not always easy to get your hands on your particular weapon in the arena, and sometimes certain ones are omitted entirely from the piles at the cornucopia, only obtainable through sponsors. But there is a reason that 2 is the most successful District in the history of the Hunger Games, churning out more victors than any other. Because we are all the best at what we do.
At some point Glimmer's counterpart, Marvel, joins us at a fight station – battling tribute trainers with clubs in close-range combat – and I watch from the sidelines as the pair take on a couple of the Capitol men. Marvel is agile and surprisingly quick for a boy of his height, and he matches the trainer's movements with ease. Glimmer is surefooted across the uneven flooring of the station, leaping between levels and deflecting attacks effectively.
The two of them together are a force to be reckoned with, and I notice the other tributes observing the fight with wary eyes. It brings a smile to my face, my allies intimidating the field with little difficulty. And they haven't even seen Hadley and me, yet.
I'm almost convinced my District partner has disappeared into the aether when I hear his voice booming across the gym. I can tell he's angry, which never usually leads to anything good – I've watched the boy shatter the bones of people who have provoked him, in the past outside the Academy. My feet carry me towards the sound without thought, and I ignore Glimmer's questioning shouts behind me, the cracking of clubs slowly dying out as trainers realise the situation.
When I round the corner, Hadley is locked in an altercation with the boy from 6. Bearing down on him like a mountain, the smaller tribute cowered beneath him on the bench.
"You took my knife!" Hadley roars.
The other boy raises his empty hands in a pitiful surrender – it's clear the boy hasn't touched whatever weapon my District partner is looking for, but clearly he's landed himself in it somehow. The same thing will probably happen in less than a week's time, only we will be inside the arena and Hadley is likely to have a blade in his hands and the boy will already be bleeding out on the ground. For now though, fighting with the other tributes is a breach of our agreement. And as much as I vowed not to babysit him today, better I attempt to calm him down than some other idiot who's never seem him in a rage. The Peacekeepers on hand for such situations are already making their way over, and I have a feeling being chastised by law enforcement won't help our reputation with the Gamemakers on the balcony. Cursing under my breath, I let out an irritated sigh and step into the fire.
"I saw you take my knif-"
"I haven't seen your knife I swe'-"
"Hey, Hadley!" I shout. He barely even acknowledges that people are trying to stop him, brushing off the grip of a Peacekeeper who tries to grab hold of his arm.
"Hadle-Ugh.....CATO!" I yell. He seems to snap out of whatever trance held him in a rage and I take my chance, swooping into the crowd to pull him away from the boy by the crook of the elbow. "Cato, stop! Just leave it!"
For a moment he just stares down at me, in the same way one might if I'd just grown an extra head, but then he shakes it off and rips his arm from my grasp, stalking off into the corner of the gym. "You don't know who you're messing with, kid!" He shouts over his shoulder at the boy from 6 as he disappears behind an obstacle course structure.
My heart is thumping against my ribcage. I'm questioning my own sanity for jumping into the situation like that. But I seem to have reassured the Peacekeepers and trainers that everything is under control. The rest of the tributes who had gathered to watch the scene unfold return to their stations, a couple of them casting terrified glances over at the corner Cato retreated to, and for the most part, peace is restored in the gym. But something else about the situation has rattled me far more than a small scuffle could ever accomplish.
In all three years of knowing him – bantering and belittling each other, our strangely fond rivalry – I have never called him by his first name. Nobody really does back in 2 apart from his family and close circle of friends. He nicknamed me Clover, much to my annoyance, just after last years grading, when we entered the same competency class after placing top ten in our years. But I never stopped using his family name.
After our unlikely heart-to-heart on the train a couple of days back, I can suddenly see why being separated from his father in that way might mean something far more to him than I ever realised. After all, here in the Capitol and with the Games mere days away, nobody is going to forget that he's a Hadley anytime soon. And something about that haunted look in his eyes in my train car makes me sure I never want to see that expression on his face again unless there's a real reason for it.
Perhaps it's time I accepted that I class Cato Hadley as a friend. And time to stop reminding him of his bastard father whenever I call out to him.
° ° ° ° °
If he notices the sudden change when I go to find him, he doesn't let it show. Once he's calmed down somewhat, I introduce him to the pair from 1. He follows Marvel over to the spears in less than a minute, the two of them snickering loudly at the back of the line as the weak tributes take their first lessons. Glimmer and I collapse onto a nearby structure to watch them throw, sipping at bottles of water passed out by the trainers.
I've seen Cato throw a thousand spears at the Academy. I know how exactly how good he is, but I'm not expecting it when Marvel throws a straight five set, all dead centre target. The boy from 1 is a master of the discipline, something Glimmer had me convinced wasn't a common occurrence in their District. Cato thumps him on the back in a show of manly congratulation, and Glimmer chooses the moment to turn to me, shaking her head slowly. "Men." She says simply, and I manage contain my composure just enough for me to roll my eyes back at her before we're laughing together.
By the time the boys approach us we're still chuckling lightly, unable to catch each other's eyes for fear of bursting out again.
It's nice to feel a connection with a girl that's not my sister. Loren has a couple of her own friends in the Academy and I've tried to get along with them but for some reason we just don't click. I feel awkward butting into her group – we've always shared everything, since we were little kids, and it feels wrong of me to try and share her friends too.
But Glimmer and I seem to get along. I have to keeping pushing the thought to the back of my mind, that by next week one, or both of us could be dead. This is the Hunger Games, not somewhere to make friends, but I have my instructions to form alliance from Sidonia. If I get along with my allies then surely it will help to make things easier once the Games begin. At least, for the early days, that is. Much like Cato, I can only hope that Glimmer will be taken out by somebody else, so I don't have to be the one to end her.
The group of us eat lunch together when the food is brought out, perched across one of the structures. I find out more about my new allies – Marvel comes from the slightly poorer side of 1, so to speak. His parents own a small gemstone workshop on the outskirts of the District, crafting jewellery for the citizens of the Capitol. Glimmer, on the other hand, is the daughter of a wealthy factory manager. And she wasn't joking when she told me they'd never seen each other before. Apparently the divide between the classes in 1 is strong, even though nobody is technically poor compared to the outer Districts.
In turn, Cato tells them about 2. The mountains, the cobbled market square, the Academy. When he mentions the irritating brick dust and I launch into a rant to accompany him, both of the tributes from 1 laugh at my story, even though the absence of the sandy stuff caked beneath my fingernails instantly makes me miss home. I play with the pendant on Loren's necklace, running my fingers along the diamond edges of the metal in the hope that it will help the feeling.
When lunch ends, Cato leads the way to the swords, selecting the largest one from the rack and wielding it with ease. Our allies watch as he makes a meal of a group of training dummies, blade arcing through the air like a deadly extension of his arm, and by the time he is done, a pile of plastic limbs and body parts are scattered across the floor.
It's almost the end of training session when Marvel asks me whether I have a speciality. I'm about to answer him, when Cato buts in, grinning almost ear to ear.
"You mean they haven't seen you throw yet?" He asks incredulously. When both Marvel and Glimmer shake their heads he throws his head back and laughs. "You guys are in for a treat. Come on."
He leads us over to the throwing station, which has gathered a sizeable line. It makes perfect sense – the weakling tributes, those from Districts with no chance of prior training, are more likely to get their hands on a knife at the cornucopia than anything else. Sometimes they're hidden in packs and other supplies as extras, so it helps to have some idea of what to do with one. Obviously, stabbing someone at close range is an easy first choice, but hurling a knife at something tends to have at least a small chance of hitting home.
But Xavier always told me that knives are one of the hardest skills to truly master, along with archery of course. Both disciplines take dedication, time and an accuracy far surpassing anything else. Spears often cause damage wherever they hit, and anybody can try their hand at swinging a sword, but only those with true talent can make one-hit kills with a small blade.
By the time I reach the front of the line, I'm itching to get my hands on my knives and astounded I've managed to last the whole day without dragging everyone else over here. I can see them, lined up in chests behind the trainer, who is correcting the grip of the girl in front of me, the last tribute before my turn. Her knife clatters to the floor somewhere I would have deemed impossible for a throw aimed for the middle target dummy, and she sulks away as the trainer goes to retrieve it from the range.
My face breaks into a grin as I collect a set from the chest beside the throwing line, and I look over my shoulder to catch the eyes of my allies. Marvel and Glimmer are watching with bated breath, but Cato just has that irritatingly knowing look in his face which drives me nuts. It doesn't help that, with his arms folded across his chest, a hint of a smile on his lips as he stares me down, he is about on par with the knives in front of me as the most beautiful thing in the gym.
I shoot him a quick scowl before turning my back on the group, gathering the blades in my hands as the training targets begin to move into place along the range. I've seen other more competent tributes use this range on television in recent years, when they play back the highlights at the end of the Games – bright red lights track the human shape around the marks, flaring to life to indicate which ones to target, in turn.
The sound of the them clicking into place sets my pulse raising, and I steel myself for the first throw, blade spinning in my hands. The central target glows suddenly red and I have buried the knife in its chest bullseye in a heartbeat, fingers already closed around the second. The far left takes it between the eyes, back right also. I have to twist my whole body, with only a moment to aim before I hurl a knife into the target bordering the range on the right, but it sinks into the chest with a satisfying thud. By the time I am out of weapons, every mark in front of me is glowing green, some with multiple blades jutting from the humanoid shapes. Every single knife has hit dead centre.
The line forming behind me has fallen completely silent, and half of them are still catching flies by the time I re-join my allies on the sidelines.
"What in the actual fuck was that?" Marvel shouts, but his grins splits his face from ear to ear, eyes wide. "Wow, you're really good! Did you know she was that good, Cato?"
"Nah, I didn't think that was anything special." He muses. His icy blue gaze is locked onto my own, lips quirked up in the barest hint of a discerning smile. "I've seen it all before."
As the training session draws to a close, Glimmer snags hold of my arm and purposefully separates us from the boys. They are corralled into a crystal elevator with Brutus and Gloss, eyes filled with betrayal as we wave them away from below, whilst Sidonia and Cashmere are caught up in their discussion. Only a couple of other tributes are still gathered, wating passage up to their floor, so Glimmer pulls me over to a bench. It's only when we've parked ourselves and she's staring me down with questioning eyes and a playful smirk, that I realise I may be in trouble.
"Forgive me if I'm wrong, but is there anything else going on between you and Cato?"
I presume my expression must be enough of an answer because her flowery giggles drift across the space between us a moment later. "Okay fair enough. I was only asking because I thought I heard him mutter something when you were throwing your knives."
I furrow my brows at her, confused. Cato has seen me throw about as many times as I've seen him decapitate a training dummy with a sword, which is to say a lot. I know he was trying to mock me by telling our allies it didn't wow as anything new, but he wasn't exactly lying. "What did he say?" I ask her.
"I might have misheard him, to be honest whatever he said, he said it quietly. But the first thing I thought was 'that's my girl.'"
AUTHOR'S NOTE -
So it's 3am, my family are trying to kill each other in this quarantine and I'm slowly losing the will to live but hey at least Clove is having a good time! Rereading the version of this scene in Sharp Objects is the biggest fucking cringe of my entire existence, so I'm happy I got to do it justice the right way. Also, we're not doing Glimmer dirty anymore, she's not actually a bitch we just all hated her because the movies basically sunk our ship even though Clato is implied book canon. But hey I had fun with this, if its shaky its because I had no sleep last night and I'm running on pure caffeine and anxiety!! Hope you enjoy it anyway and sorry its late (these chapters are getting later and later I'm so sorry for anybody else British reading this because you must get these updates at fuck knows what o'clock) Much love - Vee xx