Battle of Wits (A Quarter Quell Fanfic)

Chapter Two

             It has been an hour since I finished my exam. I'm sitting outside the schoolhouse waiting for my neighbor and best friend to finish her test. We always walk home together. I twirl a dandelion stem between my fingertips. My mother will probably yell at me for getting grass stains on my skirt, but it's too nice a day to sit inside. Luckily, spring weather came early this year. It's the first nice day we've had in months.

             The spring breeze rustles my hair and one of my ribbons flies away. I didn't even notice it had come loose. I stand up quickly and chase after the runaway ribbon. A boy exiting the schoolhouse watches me as I dive to catch the ribbon but, embarrassingly, it slips through my grasp. It flies further away, and I slump in the grass, defeated. The boy stops watching and runs down the dirt lane. I can't say I blame him. I too would run away from the wimpy girl who can't even catch a ribbon.

"How do you think you did?" Madge asks. I jump, startled as she walks up behind me.

"Um," I mumble. "Good, I guess."

"I'm sure you'll score top of your class," she says. "I probably failed miserably."

"I doubt that," I say, still looking longingly in the direction of my ribbon.

"I got bored halfway through and started doodling," Madge says. "Why are you sitting like that?"

             I begin to answer her but suddenly, the boy comes back into view. He's running up to us, to me.

"Here," he says, "I caught it."

             He opens his fist to reveal my, now dirt-stained and crumpled, ribbon. I sit there for a second, not taking it. He reaches up and gently ties the ribbon onto my braid.

"Thank you," I finally manage to say.

"No problem," the boy says.

             He gets up and runs off the way he came. I run my finger over the ribbon he tied. It's a loose, lopsided bow. A perfect bow.

"Who was that?" Madge asks.

"I don't know."

             We get up and head towards home. Madge tells me about what she drew on her test. I talk about how much I loved the literature excerpts they chose this year. Before I know it, we've arrived home. I guess we are able to walk a lot faster without eight-year-old Benji slowing us down. I give Madge a quick hug before we part ways. I start up the steps to my home but as I reach the door, Madge calls out.

"Can I come over tomorrow afternoon?" she asks.

"Of course," I say. "You're always welcome."

"Thank you," she says. "I don't want to watch alone, and Father is away on business."

"Watch what?" I ask.

             And then it hits me. The Quell announcement. This year is the 75th Hunger Games. That means it's a Quarter Quell. That means there will be some sickening twist. A sickening twist that they plan to announce tomorrow evening on live television. Madge doesn't answer my question. She knows I've remembered. She just gives me a pained smile and goes into her house.

             I take a second to settle my emotions before I open the door. The first thing I notice is that the house smells delicious, like my favorite strawberry pie. The second, is that my mother is humming to herself in the kitchen. She has certainly brightened up since this morning.

"Mother?" I call.

"Juliet?" she says. "Is that you?"

"It is indeed," I say. "Who else calls you Mother?"

             I set my schoolbag down on the kitchen table. Mother turns to me, a wooden spoon dangling from her hand.

"How was school, darling?" she says.

"It was fine," I say. "I think I did well on the exam."

"That's good," she says. "Your father and I are always so proud of you."

"Thank you," I say.

"Dinner will be ready in about two hours" Mother says. "Run along and try to have some fun. You've earned it."

             I grab a book out of my schoolbag and run outside, headed for my version of fun. There's a swing (a two-by-four tied with old ropes) tethered to one of the trees at the back of the Meadow. It's my absolute favorite place to read. It's so far back into the Meadow that almost no one knows about it. Another reason I like it here: no one bothers me.

             I sit on the swing and open my book. It's really a play, one of my favorites, Romeo and Juliet. The first time I read it, I chose it for the obvious reason. My name is right there in the title. Once I read it, I realized I have very little in common with Juliet Capulet. I don't believe I'd fall so quickly and wholeheartedly in love.

             I'm only a few pages in when I hear a noise behind me, beyond the fence. I look to where the sound came from and see Katniss Everdeen sliding on her belly under the fence. She turns my direction and starts, clearly not expecting to see anyone. She quietly puts her finger up to her lips, smiles, grabs her game bag, and darts off.

             I return to my play for a few minutes, but curiosity gets the better of me. I set my play on the swing and follow the fence to where Katniss appeared. Still in my grass-stained school uniform, I figure a little added dirt won't make a difference. I lay on my belly and slide, just like Katniss, under the fence. Instantly, it's like I'm in another world. The forest is alive with sights and smells and sounds I've never experienced before. I look closely at the trees around me and, after a minute of searching, find Katniss' hidden stash of weapons. Her bow and arrows, a few sets of different purpose knives, and a smaller, lighter version of a bow and arrows all sit there together. I want to pick them up but that feels like a violation of privacy.

"How'd you find those?" says a, somewhat, familiar voice.

"I-I'm sorry," I stammer. "I promise I wasn't going to touch them."

"Is that so?" he asks.

"I swear," I say.

               He thinks about this for a second. I suppose he's deciding whether or not to believe me. He nods slowly. I just stare at him.

"You can touch them if you want to," he says.

"But they're not yours," I say.

"Trust me," he says, "she won't mind. Try the little one."

             I do as Gale says. I, tentatively, pick up the small bow and set of arrows. It feels stiff, like it hasn't been used in a while, but not badly weathered from elements or age.

"Do you know how to use it?" Gale asks.

             My cheeks flush with embarrassment. I shake my head no.

"Want to learn?" he says.

             I nod yes.

"I'll teach you—"

"Juliet," I say.

"I'll teach you, Juliet," he says. "But you have to promise to ask her for permission next time you see her."

"She doesn't even know who I am," I say.

"Then show her who you are."