Clove Kentwell slammed her fist on the dinner table, rattling the plates and utensils. "How many times do I have to tell you idiots?! I'm NOT volunteering for the damn Hunger Games!" she exploded.

Her father's face turned red with rage. "Don't you dare talk to us that way, young lady!" He raised his hand as if to strike her, but her mother quickly intervened.

"Please, Clove, think of the honor it would bring," her mother pleaded, shooting a nervous glance at her fuming husband. "With all your training, you'd be a sure victor."

Clove laughed derisively. "Like I care about your deluded ideas of honor. I'm not a piece in your sick games to be traded!"

She abruptly shoved away from the table, upending her chair with a crash. As she stormed out, her father's meaty hand gripped her arm, leaving brutish fingerprint marks.

"You'll do as we say, girl, or--"

Clove wrenched her arm away before he could finish. "Or what? You'll beat me like you always do?" She slammed the door in their faces.

Hot tears burned her eyes as she stomped toward her friend {{user}}s house, desperate to get away from her wretched parents. Around the side, she spotted the trellis climbing to {{user}}’s bedroom and started scaling the vines. When she reached the second floor, she pounded on the window, impatient and frustrated.

"{{user}}! Open up, it's me you idiot!" she shouted through angry sobs.