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Sparks Fly/Chapter 2

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Kirt's P.O.V.Edit

I stare at my Dad, who was straing at our clock for the past 3 hours. It was odd, and it was 12:05, soon, he'd have to go soon to the Nut II Base, and he wasn't moving a single muscle. Shouldn't he be readying to leave now?

Annoyed and irritated, I said, "Dad, will you please stop staring at the clock? I'm getting irritated--"

A knock on the door came and Dad bolted for it. Soon nothing was left but a trail of flown away papers and dripping coffee from his mug, now cold since he hadn't drank it yet. "Dad!" I called after him.

I was a bit far - unless you call 6 rooms away a bit far - from the front door, so, since I wasn't used to all the running - I guess that happens if you always never went on games at school - I began to pant, squinting as I ran, eventually sweat drained everything on me - have I mentioned our rooms were as big as 5 rooms? Multiply that - and I smelled of rotting cheese.

When I was within 5-10 feet, I stopped a bit abruptly, I swear I nearly skidded and crashed onto the prettiest girl I've ever seen. She greeted my father and apologized for being late and what-not, then she turned to me, her expression dropped, but she swallowed slightly, smiled again, and said, "Good afternoon, Mr. . .?"

"Ku-Kirt," I stammered, looking at her beautiful eyes, eye shook my head violently and regained composure, "Kirt, Kirt Hawthorne, youngest son of Mr Hawthorne."

She nodded and looked at my Dad, giving me a slight tint of annoyance to wonder if she was a suitor for him rather than mine - I mean, seriously, aim for the kids, not the dad! - or someone some other person sent to discuss stuff with Dad. I'm betting on the second, because no one that young would ever flirt with my Dad.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I sat on my usual seat at our dining table - seriously, I ran all that far for nothing - while the pretty girl sat by my right, where my older half-brother, Perseus, sat, while Dad sat on his usual seat, so my Dad was across the chick. So, practically, only two seats remained untouched. I fiddled with the collar on my shirt, while the girl fiddled with what looked like a pearl as her eyes thwarted mine, darting around the house. Dad offered the girl tea.

"So," I began, "What's with the girl, Dad?" This, brings a scowl from the girl, who had the tight expression in her face. Obviously, she didn't like to be referred to a general species. And, obviously as well, she only knew that she had to discuss stuff with Dad.

Dad cleared his throat, "Well, I suppose I should've introduced her to you first, since this includes both of you. Son, I'd like to introduce you to Macie Mellark, she's the daughter of Peeta Mellark and Katniss Mellark." He said the names of the two with distaste.

She smiled at me, her flashing pearly whites shone beautifully. Her eyes were blue - and a beautiful shade of it - with flecks of grey; they looked kind, teasing, curious, and yet it showed she was dangerous, manipulative, deadly, even. But I didn't understand at all why she could be dangerous.

Her hair was raven black, which had flown in cascading curls past her shoulders, which ended by her waist, that was held against the back of her ears.

Her smile was cute, the right was higher, as if she was half-smiling, with a dimple on her right cheek.

Her skin was pale, yet when I shook hands with her awhile ago, was smooth, no sign of permanent rough scars, but there were, on her wrists and hands, like she had troubles with a knife and bow and arrows.

Her face was the shape of a heart, her cheeks were rosy, her eyebrows were slightly arched as if she considered everything as a question.

"Pleased to meet you Mr Kirt," She says as she looks at me curiously, "I dare say, Mr Hawthorne, but your son looks someone rather. . . " - she snaps her fingers - "Yes, he looks like that boy I saw in my mother's pictures. Perseus, his name was, must be a relative?" - Dad shook his head - "Oh, so it's a half-brother I suppose?"

I looked dumb-founded. "How did you-"

"Oh that is easy to tell, the boy in the picture looks like you, except for the hair and eyes, but the face is like yours." She said as she sipped her tea. "Tactics, Mom always taught me how to think, she says it is to know whether this person or not was someone you'd suspect could kill you. Been doing it for years, I suppose."

With this, I made a mental note about her eyes that were warning me awhile ago. Dad clears his throat. "Anyways, you know about the new Hunger Games, the Second Rebellion and those Mellarks-"

"Wait, why would my parents be involved in the Second Rebellion?" Macie demands, "I'm mean, I understand about the 74th and 75th Hunger Games, but really, the Second Rebellion?"

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