I flinch. My parents must be fighting again, for I hear them yelling at each other to 'move out' or 'teach that Clove some manners'. It's always been like this, since I was a little girl throwing sticks. I don't know why they stayed together, when they could have gotten divorced when I was tiny. But no, stay together so 'Clove could grow up in a happy enviorment'. Happy enviorment, yeah. Right. A happy enviorment.
I wonder if Cato is up. I look out my window and see him, sitting on his bed, polishing his sword. My best friend. And my crush. Cato is sixteen, although he looks much older. I'm fifteen and look much younger. We're an odd pair, us two. But we get along perfectly.
I pick up my cell phone and send him a quick text. 'mom and dad fighting again. want to go to the buffet?'
The Buffet is where we all just like to sit down and throw knives. Don't be fooled by the cute little name! It's a battlefield in disguise.
He quickly replies 'pfft of course! meet you there in ten.'
I pick up some cargo pants, a green shirt, and combat boots. I brush my teeth and my hair and jump out the window ontt the porch. I don't like walking by my parent's very much. I've learned to tune them out, but my little sister hasn't and I don't feel like dealing with her.
"Oof." I say as I land on the porch. Cato is smirking next to me.
"Nice fall." He says sarcastically.
"Oh, shut up." I playfully punch him in the arm and he laughs.
I laugh too. When I was tiny, around three, I was sitting out side while Mom and Dad where fighting. Cato was next door playing with a toy sword. I was crying.
"Clover? Are you okay?" He toddled over and hugged me. That was when I knew he was my best friend and that I liked him more than a little. We've been friends for about thirteen years, when I was too. Best friends for twelve years. That's how close we are.
A mockingjay whistles a tune. The tune is really pretty. It's something like "ah huh uh la."
"Ah huh uh la, oh la na ma..." The mockingjay continues to fill the air with beautiful music. Cato and I sit there listening, and I quickly protest.
"The Buffet, remember?" I say. I hate being girly, and sitting on a porch listening to mockingjay's is insanely girly in my book.
"Oh yeah." Cato sets his phone in his pocket. He always tends to record a mockingjay when he hears one. I love that about him.
"Do you have your pocket knife?" He asks me.
"Of course." I reply. I always have it. It's like District 2 and rocks. Always together.
Cato laughs. "I shouldn't have even asked."
He wraps his arm around my waist and I wrap my arm around his neck. I rest my head against his shoulder as we walk. It's not romantic at all, but a sign of friend ship.
