"CLOVE!" Sixteen year old Clove scowled as her focus shifted from the wooden target hung in her room. "CLOVE!" Flinging her throwing knife at the target, she stamped across the marble floor of her room and yanked open the door.

"WHAT, MOTHER?" She screamed over the balcony overlooking the living and dining room of the three bedroom two bath home in District Two.

"Your hair appointment is in half an hour! Get dressed and get down here, please!" Her mother called.

"I'M MISSING TRAINING HOURS BECAUSE OF YOUR STUPID PARTY, MOTHER!"

"Clove, the training center is closed today for Panem Day." Her father called. "Just come down here and appease your mother, please." Clove let out a string of curse words as she flung her throwing knives at the target. Once the bullseye was impaled with a dozen throwing knife blades, Clove stomped downstairs.

"Clove, why aren't you in your evening dress?" Her father asked warily from the couch as his wife opened a compact and powdered her face sighing impatiently.

"Because, oh, it's not evening." Clove muttered sarcastically. Her father sighed knowing no amount of coaxing would get Clove to cooperate peacefully with anything non-training related. Clove's life revolved around training for the Games in which she would be a volunteer at age eighteen.

"Clove," He said carefully. "Social events will be something you must do as a Victor. We are trying to prepare you for that as well." Clove smirked.

"Ok. Show me the dress." Clove ordered. Her mother retrieved a red and white ruffly strapless dress from the closet. Trying not to gag at the bows and sparkles covering the bodice, she nodded. Once she was dressed, she and her mother took a bus to the salon where they would get their hair and makeup done for the Panem Day party later that evening.

As Clove reluctantly sat in her chair while a hairdresser draped a plastic covering over her shoulders, she heard a familiar voice outside the building. "NO! I will not go into a girls' salon!" Clove smirked as a scowling face appeared at the salon window.

"Now, my Cato-kins, salons are for men too. Remember, we're getting your hair highlighted for the party. Don't you want to look handsome like Brutus?" A blonde haired woman asked as she opened the door and beckoned to a scowling tall muscular seventeen year old wearing a tux. "In you go, now."

"Hey, Cato." Clove called from her chair. "It's prep-team training."

"Shut up!" Cato growled embarrassed that a girl - no - that particular girl from his training group was seeing him in a salon surrounded by shelves of women's shampoo, conditioner, hair spray, and even nail-polish.

"Oh, speaking of training, you'll in an out in a flash, dear." Cato's mother assured him as she signed them in at the reception desk. "REI called and your special-order triple-XL jock-strap came last night. They're open until 3pm today, so hurry over and pick it up after you're done here." Cato blushed darkly at his mother's loud announcement to him.

"And I can test it at training tomorrow." Clove sneered.

"Shut up!" Cato replied with gritted teeth as he heaved himself into a salon chair across from Clove. Clove chuckled as her hairdresser washed her hair in the basin. Cato amused himself with watching Clove's hairdresser braid her thick dark brown hair while his highlights were setting. He noticed Clove's hands twitching on the armrests as she gazed at the tray of sharp scissors just out of reach.

"Did you try on your jock-strap?" Clove asked loudly as she ladled soup into a bowl with the seal of Panem at the bottom. "Was it comfortable?" She was at the buffet at the neighborhood Panem Day party held at an event center five miles from her house.

"Shut up, Clove!" Cato snapped glaring at her as she laughed. His gaze fell on her elaborate updo and face that had just the right amount of makeup. Once they got their food, they sat next to each other with both sets of parents at the table.

"Cato-kins," Cato scowled around a large bite of pork drumstick drenched in BBQ sauce. "Now, no getting BBQ sauce on your tux." His mother admonished noticing Cato grasping the piece of meat with both hands and BBQ sauce smeared across his face.

"I'm hungry! Brutus said I need more protein!" Cato protested.

"Well, eat it like you're at the Capitol." Clove snapped as she delicately cut her meat and vegetables. After the meal and after Cato cleaned his hands and face in the restroom, the two teenagers were allowed to head outside to watch the fireworks that would be lit above the mountain skyline of District Two. As the red fireworks lit up the sky, Clove and Cato imagined celebrating a Panem Day where they would both be Victors that all of Panem would respect and revere.