Clato; the real star-crossed lovers

Chapter One

Clove's POV

I storm out of the victor's village in rage, feeling nothing but anger. Cato has yet again, made us both late for training, and when your parents are your trainers, it's not fun.

"Hey Kentwell!" Cato calls, jogging after me. I hear his feet crunch on the gravel as he catches up to me, walking quickly to match my fast pace. "What's the problem today?"

I don't bother looking at him. "We agreed to meet at the well twenty minutes ago. It's a ten minute walk to the training academy, and we're already five minutes late. Once again, we're going to have to run for your problematic ass."

"Come on, Clover. Lighten up." Cato. "The worst they can do is make us run."

I glare at him from the side, only to see him grinning to himself as he takes a bite out of an apple. Why do I hang out with this clueless bafoon?

We walk into the training academy to find all four of our parents standing there expectantly. My mom looks at her watch. "You are seventeen minutes late, so you will be running seventeen laps around the district after today's workout."

Cato's dad adds, "and you are going to be wearing weighted vests, so you can build up stamina."

Cato and I groan. "Make that eighteen laps," Cato's Mom grins to herself.

"No, no, no!" I whine, "Cato lets go put our stuff in our lockers."

"You have two minutes, otherwise that's an extra lap for each minute you're late, for both of you!" Cato's dad calls after us.

We sigh simultaneously and respond half heartedly,  "Yes, sir."

After I place my extra clothes and towel in my locker, I grab my knife vest and my favorite knives, then run out of the locker room to meet up with Cato, who was in the boy's locker room. "Is it sparring day?" He asks me.

I frown, pondering. "I don't think so. I believe it's individual training day."

"Alright, kids, you are.. half a second early. So here's the new game plan, you both are going to work on a secondary weapon today," my mom begins, "Cato, we were thinking spears for you and Clove, how do you feel about a mace?"

"A mace?" I cringe.

"It's lightweight, and the Sevinas have been using maces for decades. It's our specialty," Dad boasts.

"Well the Kentwells have been using knives, and it appears that characteristic has gone to her. Thank the capitol," mom announces.

"This isn't a 'who's side of the family is better than the other's' war again," Cato's Mom interjects, "Clove, the four of us decided a mace would work well for you because it's light in weight, and you're swift, so if you ever get in close combat, you would be great at wielding a mace."

"Are you sure?" I wince, "it seems kind of.." I make motions with my hands, trying to make sense of my thoughts. "You know what, let's go."

"Awesome," my dad grins, "Let's go, baby."

So it turns out, a mace didn't come nearly as naturally to me as knives did. When it came to throwing knives, the motion was embedded into my muscles, as if my DNA itself had decided I would be a talented knife wielder. This however, was nearly the opposite.

I almost decapitated my dad when trying to slash at a dummy. The mace was much more slippery than my knives were, and fit awkwardly in my hand, but that was mostly due to the fact that I was trying to hold it in my fingers, like you would a knife.

"It looks like you'll need some practice," Cato's Mom said sweetly, "but you'll get it. I'm confident of that."

"Its time for you to go to your academic classes," Dad informed me, "after class, change and meet us outside the Nut. You've got twenty minutes to meet us there."

"The Nut is a fifteen minute run from here," I explained to my father.

"You best be quick, then."

I run into the locker room and quickly change before running to my first class, Spanish. I walk in tardy, ten minutes after class started.

"¿Y dónde está tu paseo?" The teacher asks me.

"I don't have a pass," I inform her, "my dad kept me after, so I could train with maces."

"Just don't be late next time," she orders me with her high pitched accent.

Don't get me wrong, I loved Señora Hernández, but she was very strict about tardiness and late slips. 

My classes dragged by slowly, but luckily we only spend three hours learning, so the rest of our time could be spent on training for the games. Bringing pride is the only thing we care about in our district.

I go back into the locker room and change into my sweaty clothes, then start to run to the Nut before I hear a faint voice calling my name.

"Clove!" Cato calls.

I sigh and slow down a tad. Just enough for a brute like him to be able to catch up to someone as swift and agile as I am. He grinned when he finally caught me. "Are you ready to rumble?"

"Are you ready for me to kick your ass if you keep talking like that," I counter.

"You know you love it, Clover," he jokes, "how was class?"

"Awful," I grumble, "my class is full of disgusting ten year olds who don't know the difference between right and left."

"I hope you know," Cato says, "you're a ten year old."

"But I am actually smart. Unlike those boneheads," I roll my eyes once again. In case you didn't know, that's something I take great joy in. Rolling my eyes is a very fun and interesting activity. "I wish I were in your class."

"You're not old enough, honey," Cato announces, imitating an older person.

"You're only a year older than me!" I laugh, shoving him slightly, nearly causing him to fall, "at least your class is educated."

"You'd be surprised," Cato admitted, "there are some weird kids in my class."

I sighed, and stopped running as we finally made it to the entrance of the Nut, where our parents stand with a clipboard. "Ready to run?"

"You think if I touch the fence during the run, they would care?"

"Obviously they would," he smirks, "otherwise they would have to train one of their lesser talented children."

"Danny is pretty good," I nod, "he's got a personal trainer, and Magnolia is planning on becoming a model, so obviously no games for her."

"Sounds like her."

"Stop talking and get to running!" Mom bares her teeth at us, which is enough to get us started immediately.