Barb Wire (A Clato Story)

Chapter One : A Day Away

Okay you guys I wanna thank you for reading this in advance, I'm both excited and nervous because writing is hard. Maybe not for everyone but it is for me, so I hope you can still enjoy my writing though it's not incredible. Thanks to the amaze Angel_of_Death I think that's her username otherwise know as a friend of mine from school. You gave me lots of inspiration for this story and threatened me if I didn't update by Monday. Well here we are it's like Thursday. Oops. My other friend Samantha helped me SOOOOO MUCH with this story, she listened to my constant whines because I like to make up ideas but have the hardest time writing them into a full blown story. You guys are like awesome. Also my friend Gianna who wanted to help but I wouldn't let her because I pretty much had the whole thing outlined already. Anywho, I hope you enjoy!

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Clove finished pulling the thick, chocolate hair she possessed into a sectioned ponytail. Her sullen brown eyes gave the boy beside her a once over. He had large muscles that could be seen underneath his grey shirt, an impossibly flat stomach that made her glance down at her own which was perfectly fine.

The boy had vibrant, blue eyes which made her feel a twinge of envy, her eyes hadn't shone that bright in a long time. That was about all that made him special, his eyes, typical dirty blonde hair in the cut most boys had now.

Clove wasn't a stalker who analyzed people who dared step within three feet of her, only on occasion. But this boy was different, damn annoying actually.

He'd been hanging around her knives throwing area at the Training Academy, a boring type of building, grey floors, walls, metal racks with your weapon of choice. If she were another girl it would be an acceptable answer that maybe he liked her, but she wasn't.

This was Clove Carrow, the most unlikable girl District two could ever offer. Nobody wanted to be near her, or in the same room as her considering her knife skills. It wasn't her fault this bitch was provoking her a few years ago, saying some idiotic stuff about how her mom had slept with everyone in the district.

That girl had ended up in the hospital with a knife in her leg. Honestly, that hadn't been where Clove was aiming, but it had done enough. No one wanted to be by her, which was perfectly fine. She had bigger plans then being in a stupid clique of shallow weaklings.

Clove realized she hadn't been doing anything, lost in her thoughts that had been set off by the boy. The boy who's name was Cato. He'd told it to her yesterday after just standing by often. She hadn't asked for it, he'd just blurted it out and then returned to silence, didn't ask for hers, he likely knew it.

Returning her focus she tried to ignore his constant glance and reached for about three knives. Clove took a breath, she wasn't nervous, she'd done this a thousand times. It was just Cato's god damn stare. Shaking her head of him she backed up, as did he, and she started sprinting. During the sprint she threw one knife, without looking to see where it landed she kicked off into a cartwheel.

Throwing a second knife while in the cartwheel she rolled onto her knees and threw the last knife as soon as her knees touched the cold, grey floor. Her ears buzzed with adrenaline and the tiniest of smirks grazed her face before it went cold again. She had hit the target dead in the center. Three times.

She stood up, walking confidently towards the target, what was strange was she heard no idle chatter as she did, only the scuffle of her boots as she didn't care to hike them up off the ground. Lashing a hand out to gathered the knives and turned around to see the majority of the members at Training Academy watching her.

Trying not to let out a laugh she shook her head, seriously, they looked like a bunch of scared lambs. She was good with knives. But most everyone had their own trade that could compete with hers. Clove walked towards the smaller rack where the knives were stored and saw Cato standing there smiling cockily like he'd been the one to throw the knives perfectly.