say i've got the backbone ; cam

It was strange, being at the training center alone, with only the scattered weapons and a couple sweat-covered careers to keep her company. But it was better than where she had come from...

Dinner time at the Jaciak's was a time to gather, and her mother, Lauren, always worked a meal in the kitchen, something adequate in both taste and quantity, something familiar. "Willa, come and fetch me that strainer will you?" She was adorned in a kitschy chef's apron, complete with blue ruffles on the bottom, tiny hearts stitched over the chest area. It had been a present from Willa's father for his wife's birthday, because father always knew how much mother loved to cook. But for some reason, it looked strange on her, like it sagged (although the tie at the back nestled the apron snugly around her hips). Willa, on the other hand, was never much of a housekeeper, and often times would leave out the back door or stay locked up her room around meal time.

But today, she had made the mistake of sticking around near the living room; Zaine had a friend over, a shorter girl with a mop of curly red hair, probably another career-in-training (judging by her prominent arm muscles), and she had asked for Willa with a flip of her fiery curls, which had also been strange... usually her brother's friends avoided her. Hell, her brothers, themselves, avoided her most of the time. Last occasion Zaine had a friend over, she had just come out of her room, blood running down her arm from picking at the scabs, flakes of mascara dotting her lower lids from a fancy dinner she had attended the night before... his friend had made an excuse to leave, tugging Zaine out through the front door faster than she could blink. But yet, this girl had wanted to meet her, so she made sure to wash her face and run a brush through her hair, climbing down the stairs to greet the two teenagers.

Despite her efforts to be somewhat presentable, Zaine still seemed to be embarrassed as she skidded to a stop in front of them. "Why did you want to see her again?" He gave her a once-over, and she consciously smoothed a hand up her arm, wondering if she had picked a scab without cleaning up after, something she had missed... "I can introduce myself," she snapped, scowling up at Zaine's stone-faced expression, but she couldn't help wondering too; what exactly did this girl want with her?

"Yeah, we've already met." What? She had never seen someone like this before in her life, and she was pretty sure she would have remembered her flamboyant red locks if she had met her somewhere, anywhere, bu then red-head smiled (and Willa's frown deepened). Red-head took the hint. "You don't remember? We're in the same english class... I just wanted to ask if you understood the questions Mr. Kormal asked last week? I was so lost, but I think it was about the ruins... you know, like how they were destroyed, and why, and something about the Capitol... I mean, I know the Capitol destroyed District Thirteen and all, I just couldn't get my head around the analogies he was making and I..." Willa had stopped listening at around the words "last week", dropping her gaze to the floor. Mr. Kormal was an english teacher turned history buff. He could go on and on about Panem's past, taking up the entirety of the class until about the last ten minutes. Then he'd realize he was supposed to be teaching english, and he'd launch into a cross-over of the subjects, making up metaphors and those god-damn analogies about "smoke" and "order" to wrap up what was supposed to be a lesson on literacy.

Red-head was still talking. "... the homework he gave us, really. He never even taught us anything about active voicing and flow. The sample questions were just--"

"Yeah, I don't know," Willa cut in, her voice monotone and slow. It reminded her of how the peacekeepers talked to civilians; sluggish and carefully measured, as if they figured everyone had the brain capacity of a child. It was strange, because when they talked to children, they spoke quickly and harshly. The girl stopped short and seemed surprised. Her vibrant green eyes widened for a moment, and suddenly Willa couldn't look away as she met her gaze... neon glowing orbs, pulling her in, eyes leveling, and the remorse came seeping in, feeling her with a giddiness, a soreness for being so rude just moments ago. She wanted to apologize, but the words weren't forming, and just, those eyes...

Then Red-head's mouth parted as if she was going to say something else, and Willa had to speak up before she could do so, had to say something (anything), even though she hadn't had enough time to prepare what she wanted to say. "Just fuck off," she mumbled, just as the girl choked out, "Oh, sorry to bother you, then." She was itching to leave, already stumbling backwards. She wanted to end this... talking to this beautiful girl about a subject she hated, a subject she was failing. She could feel Zaine's glare against her back as she turned to bolt, and he spat, "What the fuck, Willa? She was just asking you a question. You don't have to get so..." "Get what?" she hassled without turning back to face him. She could feel those green eyes again, shimmering under the living room's dim lighting. Of course Zaine liked Red-head better than Willa. She was beautiful, polite, perfectly sculpted like a doll... she did her homework and listened to Mr. Kormal, she had friends. So why was she talking to Willa? Why now? When around this time, Willa was usually pulling hair from her head, rubbing lotion on the back of her shoulder to ease the bruising... why was this... this girl rubbing her success in her face, pressing her head to the ground, and grinding it into the dirt? Willa hated her! Hated her, and hated Zaine.

"Honey, please get the strainer!" her mother's voice wafted from the other room, agitation dripping in her tone. "Of course, when you're done talking to your friends..." she called quickly after. She always wanted Willa to make friends. She would always point them out on the street and say, "Willa, why don't you ever talk to Renee Calder? She's in your age group at school, isn't she?"

She could almost see the back door, and she was running now, she realized, running away from the two figures standing by the stairs. "I'm... I'm done talking!" she called desperately, tearing out the door, around the house, down the street. Her feet pounding against the concrete, running away from her brother, and the perfect girl, her mother bustling around in the kitchen... running away from another dinner where she wouldn't eat, and she would sit there and ball her hands into fists under the table, to keep from scratching at her lotioned shoulder. She ran to the only place she knew, besides the school, and the house, and the town square. The only place where everyone would be so wrapped up in their own business, there wouldn't be a chance of anyone coming up to her at all...

When she arrived at the training station, she went directly over to the spear heads, selecting one and clustering it into a spear. Then she hurled it at a dummy, who seemed to be set up for the knife throwing station, but it didn't matter, she missed anyway. "Fuck, damn it," she muttered, her words sputtering out into a hissed whisper as she went to go retrieve the spear. "Fucking god, damn it..."