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★★★
ONCE, WHEN I WAS VERY little, I was caught in an electric current. It wasn't a particularly powerful current, coming from some low-energy wires my brothers had acquired for some repair work, and I pulled free from it easily, but I've always remembered the feeling—like my mind was fuzzed over and my whole body was humming with power I couldn't control.
That's how it feels, kissing Clove. She doesn't pull away, but she doesn't kiss back either. The moment is electric, powerful, like trying to subdue a storm. I pull away with a small gasp, now awake and alert, and blink a few times.
Clove is uncharacteristically silent. The whole world seems hushed, waiting, and if I could see our audience right now I think they would be fixated to the screen, still and soundless, expectant.
"What was that?" she says finally.
"A kiss," I say back.
Clove stares at me for a long time, her face impossible to read. Just when I think I might shrivel and die of anticipation, she speaks. "That wasn't a kiss," she scoffs, and leans closer until her face is only inches away from mine. "This is a kiss."
Then her mouth is covering mine and I have no idea what to do because I've kissed people before, but none of them were anything like Clove, the girl with the knives, one of the tributes fixing to kill me. Well, no, she's not trying to kill me now. Or is she? Maybe this is just a thing she does, kissing her enemies before killing them.
It's a little hard to think when Clove is kissing you. So I try and force my brain back from going into overdrive and kiss back.
We break away and just stare at each other for a moment, both waiting for the other to talk. I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again. Please don't say something stupid.
"You're pretty good at that," I manage weakly.
That was stupid.
To my surprise, Clove laughs. "I know." She hesitates for a moment, then does that little eye roll and half-shrug of hers. "You're not bad either, Three."
I mumble a soft "thank you". She seems to know exactly what she's doing when she gets up and tucks the knife back into her jacket, a far cry from when she was deciding which blade to kill me with. I blink up at her, confused. "What are you doing?"
She smirks at me and props a hand on her hip. "Not killing you?" The duh is implied, it seems.
"Oh—um—I—I gathered that." I haven't really. I still have no idea what's going on, but my lips are still tingling from the feeling of hers on mine.
If Clove means to say anything else, it's left unsaid as the boom of the cannon sounds outside. She's instantly alert, springing to the cave entrance and looking out attentively. She's slipped another knife into her hand, so quickly and smoothly I didn't even see it.
