Not All Fun and Games

Chapter 22

When I exit the dropship, I notice the camp is particularly quiet.
"Octavia!" I call her over. "Why's the camp so calm?"
She looks around at the kids. "Well, they've been pretty nervous lately. After the grounder incident. First it was Alex, and then Adam and Bell. A lot of stuff has gone on in the past three days," she answers.
"Yeah", I agree sadly.
She looks back up at me, a sudden twinkle in her eye. "You know, you've spent the last day taking care of Bellamy."
"Well, yeah... What are you getting at?" I raise an eyebrow.
"You need to have some fun!" She says happily. "Come on."
She grabs my arm and pulls me towards the front gate.
"Octavia, this isn't necessary," I protest. But she keeps dragging me until we've reached the gate. She opens it, and we meet Murphy and a few other kids.
"Hey Clarke," says Murphy, waving. "Care to join us?" He says as he throws a thick, metal knife at the tree. The side of it clanks against the wood before it falls lamely to the ground.
"No, you're not putting enough force into it," explains one of the girls. She is a bit shorter than Murphy, with long red hair pulled up in a ponytail. She's skinny, but has a strong build. Six piercings line her left ear. She picks the knife out of her belt and hurtles it at the tree, where it sticks. Satisfied, she grins proudly.
I can tell Murphy's impressed. "Nice throw," he says. It's the first time I've ever heard him compliment someone.
"What's your name?" He asks the girl.
She smiles, sticking out her hand. "I'm Kaytee."
"Murphy," he replies, shaking her hand.
Kaytee turns her attention towards me. "So," she says, "are your gonna throw with us or what?" I turn around, wondering if she could be talking to Octavia. But the little sneak is gone.
My eyebrows raise at Kaytee.
"Sure," I tell her. I guess I might as well, and I can use some practice. When I was younger, I would throw a ball around with my dad every now and then. In our flat, down the halls, even in his lab sometimes. He would go on about how good my aim was, and constantly accuse me of practicing by myself when he wasn't looking.
I pick up a knife made out of metal from the dropship. I bring back my good arm, ready to throw. Then, with as much force as I can, I whip it at the trunk.
It sticks about two centimetres to the side of where I was aiming.
"Nice job!" Praises Kaytee, clapping.
"Thanks," I reply. I can't help but smile, fairly proud of my almost-bullseye.
As I bring my arms back to my sides, I realize that, even though I stubbornly won't admit it to Octavia, that was fun.
Fun that I deserve, I think to myself.