Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I have never seen the main road so deserted. Some deep instinct tells me I am going to get in trouble. That I am out after some nonexistent curfew or missing some long forgotten mandatory meeting. But the truth is everyone is sleeping in. The one day a year we’re allowed to stay in bed past dawn, and I’m the sucker marching through town at four thirty in the morning.

By the time I get to Dawson’s front door I can see a few people moving around in their homes. Old habits die hard, and sometimes choosing to sleep in isn’t as easy as it sounds. I knock on the door and wait a few minutes. Then I knock again.

“Get up!” I shout through the wall.

If he doesn’t get out of bed we’re going to be late and my dad is going to kill me for suggesting this.

“Hi Finnick.”

I jump and look at the neighboring house. Vanessa Terrison is leaning out the window. Her hair’s done back in tight braids, which I’ve never seen before. She wears some sort of pajama top with seals on it.

I smile at her. “I like your braids.”

Her hand jumps to her head as if to hide them.

“Oh,” she says, he face turning bright red. “Yeah… I just sleep in them. Good for the curls.”

“They look nice.”

“You think?”

This is taking forever. I pound my hand on the door again.

“Dawson, I swear—!”

His mother opens the door before I can threaten him. I realize I’ve never seen Mrs. Neddler without the regular bun and work outfit. She’s wearing baggy pants and her hair’s so wild it covered half her face in red and grey curls. She squints at me, not wearing her glasses. 

“Hello Finnick. I’m sorry he’ll be out in a few minutes. If you want you can get the others and he’ll catch up.”

Somewhere in the small house behind her, Dawson’s voice rings out.

“He said five thirty—”

“I said four-thirty!” I shout back.

I turn back to his mother. “It’s alright Mrs. Neddler I can wait.”

The woman nods. “I appreciate this Finnick. Good luck today, you boys try to have some fun out there.”

With that she yawns and retreats inside, closing the door on me.

I wonder briefly how she’s able to sleep. My dad never sleeps on reaping days. Maybe she took a sleeping pill. That’s what my mom used to do.

“So,” says Venessa. “is there some secret party you guys are going to?”

I look at her. I’d completely forgotten she was there.

“Unless you count fishing with my dad.”

“It’s reaping day,” she says. “Fisheries are closed.”

“We take the boat out anyway. My dad’s kinda weird about it.”

All twelve fisheries in District 4 are closed on reaping day. But if you own your own boat there’s no law against taking it out and putting any catches on ice. It is frowned upon, we are supposed to treat this like some sort of holiday, but you’re allowed.

Mom inherited the boat when she was twenty-one from her best friend’s parents. Now dad was determined to make as much money with it as possible. And, historically, reaping days are some of our best catches. No competition made it easy.

“Well, when you guys are done you should go to fisher’s beach. Some of the girls and I are gonna be there before the reaping starts.”

“We’ll be on the water all morning.”

“We’ll still be there at one. Come down it’ll be fun.”

Fisher’s beach is ironically named considering it is one of the only places in our sector of District 4 where you can’t fish. The only place where it is technically safe to swim, although that doesn’t stop us from diving off boats and keeping lookout for sharks. During the day it’s usually overrun with little kids learning how to swim. Teens from the school, myself included, only ever go at night. It’s a big hookup spot.

I haven’t been to fisher’s beach while the sun was still up since I was four or five years old. I suppose I am kind of curious if it would feel silly now. I’m so used to it at night.

“Sure. If we finish in time.”

Venessa’s face breaks into a huge smile. “Great. Well… I guess I’ll see you then.”

Then she ducks in her window and slams it shut like a bird is about to divebomb through it. I stare at the closed drapes for a moment. She’s weird sometimes.

 Dawson’s door opens and a ruffled Dawson stumbles out, one shoe in hand the other unlaced on his foot. A piece of bread in his mouth.

“—And behave yourself,” his mother scolds from somewhere I couldn’t see.

Dawson gives a muffled reply and slams the door shut. He sits down on the step and ties his shoes.

“Hey.”

“You overslept.”

“You said five!”

“I did not!”

“Who goes out on the water at four-thirty?”

“My dad does. Except he doesn’t. He goes out on the water at four exactly. He gave use thirty minutes today because he knew you were joining us.”

“Your dad’s a freak.”

“No kidding. Eat and walk we still need Sam.”

I wait about a block while Dawson gets all his clothes on correctly. Then I mention the promise to stop by fisher’s beach.

“You didn’t tell me Venessa Terrison is your neighbor.”

“Do you care?”

“No, but it was surprising when she started talking.”

“She just leaned out her window and invited you on a date?”

“It’s not a date.”

“She would literally have your children right now if you asked.”

“Shut up.”

“You don’t even need to ask all you have to do is whistle. She already follows you around like a dog.”

“She does not. Is this your way of saying you’re not going to fishers?”

“I’ll go. But they’ll all be disappointed when they see you brought along your two friends: fat and ugly.”

“What’s wrong with being fat?”

I’d mention he isn’t fat, which he isn’t, his family didn’t make enough money for him to be fat, he’s just a bit bigger than most of the kids in our grade, but whenever I do I lose the argument.

“Nothing, if you’ve got the full stomach to go with it. I’m just fat.”

I frown. All things considered, looking at the men in Dawson’s family and the type of body he has inherited, he should be much bigger than he is. But the first three years of our lives were bad for District Four, financially. Dawson is a big guy. But if you know what to look for you can tell his body is shaped with malnourishment.

Sam is ready when we arrive, which annoys Dawson to no end. By the time we get to the harbor my dad’s in the boat ready to go.

“You boys run into trouble?”

He means “what took you so long” but there’s company around and he doesn’t want to be blunt.

“Nope,” I say happily, “no trouble at all.”

My dad shoots me a look. But hey, if he wanted a straight answer, he should have asked a straight question. Besides. Dawson is usually very reliable. I don’t want dad to get a lower opinion of my friends than he already has.

“You two ever been on a longline before?”

Dawson and Sam shake their heads. This does not get my dad out of his bad mood.

“They learn fast,” I say. Not at all true. At least not when it came to school. But I’m sure they can handle the boat. Besides, if my dad wanted experienced fishers, he should have asked the in-laws.

I have vouched for them all week. They both work in the fishery. Packaging, gutting, cleaning, whatever. Everyone knows fishery work pays less, way less, than being out on a boat. Boats are what kept families fed, no matter the year. The people in the fisheries are at the mercy of the hauls and, more importantly, the Capitol’s mood.

Every few years the Capitol comes out with a new “diet” technique. The Capitol is the only place where food becomes “in.” Where one can be so picky with food, they decide to cut dairy out entirely. Or chase every meal with a bowl of broccoli. Some fads are to lose weight. (Lose weight, another trend only the Capitol follows). Others are just because someone famous is doing it.

Three years ago, fish became “in.” Not just lobsters or shrimp, either, which are always our best sellers. All fish. Halibut and Carp and Salmon. The Capitol citizens couldn’t get enough of it. School was canceled and most of us were out here all day, catching as much fish as possible while making sure there would still be fish to catch next year. That year, only a hundred or so people signed up for Tesserae. All of District Four had enough to eat.

But this year is not one of those years. And Dawson and Sam jumped at the chance to make some extra money, even if it meant working on reaping day.

Our boat is small. A bit too small for what we put it through. We fish longline which means a fishing line about three miles long with a bunch of bait on it. We can usually bring in about twenty to forty fish with one line. On a full day, we can manage casting the line five, maybe even six times if the fish are biting. But today we’ll be lucky to get in two casts before packing it in to get ready for the reaping.  

Every excursion is a four-person job. My dad sails. He doesn’t let anyone else sail. Ever since my mother first inherited it, back before my sister was born, my dad has been fiercely protective of the boat. It’s bad luck to go out on a boat without a name, so he named it Hope. He was probably more sentimental back then. My dad had grown up working in the fisheries. It makes sense he’d be emotional about being gifted a boat, no strings attached, right as he was beginning to start a family.

Two people need to be on the line at all times. To keep it steady when something bites. This is a tricky job. Long lines should be sturdy enough to handle anything, but ours are cheap. The really good stuff isn’t even made anymore. Instead, we have to constantly give some line in order to stop it from snapping.

My sister and her husband usually handle that. They also get the job of reeling the fish back in. My dad steps away from the mast to pull in each fish, make sure they all get on board.

Then there’s the tricky part. Our boat’s too small for the type of fish we catch. And sometimes, if we reel in too big a fish, if a catch is fighting a little too hard, it can rock some of the catches into the water. So that’s where I come in. I stand at the end of the boat, ankle deep in fish, and I kill any troublemakers the minute they breach water.

It’s important I don’t kill every fish. Piercing the body can devalue the catch. Apparently, certain types of meals at the Capitol require there to be no holes in the fish when they cook them. I cannot even imagine a meal that requires the meat to be completely undamaged, but then again, I cannot imagine most of the Capitol’s lifestyle. It’s best if I kill the fish by putting my trident through its head. Which is tricky, because fish don’t like to stay still. And, of course, if I don’t have to kill it, I don’t.

Because my job requires more skill and judgement than either Sam or Dawson have, I get to keep it. However, once we get out on the water it becomes clear neither of my friends are going to be capable of watching the line. So, once we set anchor, my dad begrudgingly gives the wheel to Sam and tells Dawson to tie down the sails. My dad and I watch the line.

One thing about fishing is that it’s boring. And involves my dad screaming at birds more than one would think (sometimes they try to eat the bait that’s closest to the surface. At best they steal the bait and cost us a fish. At worst they can break the line).

Both Dawson and Sam are terrified of my father, so today we don’t even talk to pass the time. We just sit, think about the Hunger Games and the reaping, adjust the line every time it quivers, and watch the sun rise.

At what must be nearly eight in the morning we decide to pull in the first line. Sam and Dawson are both strong enough, so he tells them to reel. It’s not hard, one boy at each crank, make sure not to go to fast.

The first three hooks are empty, which isn’t a good sign. We pull in three little ones before anything exciting comes up. It’s a huge salmon, already rocking the boat before it’s fully out of the water. I put a trident through its head.

We do this for about a half an hour. I stab anything to fights too much. Every once in a while, I have to throw the trident. My dad hates it, because there’s always the chance I’ll lose it, and they’re expensive. But I haven’t missed a throw in two years, so I figure I’m allowed to take a risk every once in a while.

After casting the second line, my dad gets annoyed by the silence.

“So what do they teach in school these days.”

I glance at my friends. They both look uncomfortable. My dad’s a big guy, about six foot three and completely bald. My friends don’t spend a lot of time at my house, so usually they either see my dad at the docks, where he never speaks, or in the fisheries, where all he does is yell. I’m not sure which one is more intimidating to someone who doesn’t know him.

“Fish, mostly,” I say. Because it’s true. Any history or science class ends up coming back around to fish. Or boats. What seasons and times are more likely to have sharks. Why there are riptides. Why the water feels warmer at night than it does during the day. Even math classes usually end up being about fish. About weight and metrics.

My dad chuckles. “Yeah. Remember that.”

“And the Hunger Games.”

It slips out before I can stop myself. I’m getting tired of not talking about it. Of pretending that this was some normal holiday. I always secretly hope each year will be the year he’ll talk about mom. But of course, he never does. And with my two friends watching, he isn’t about to start now.

All I am doing now was making Dawson and Sam uncomfortable.

My dad frowns at me. I expect him to yell, ask me why I brought it up. But it’s reaping day and we have an audience. Two things that tend to make him soft.

“What, they’re afraid you’re gonna forget about it?” My dad laughs bitterly. “I sure as hell never needed any reminding.”

We sit in silence for a while. Finally, my dad throws a stone into the water and sighs.

“How’re you boys holding up today? First year without a volunteer.”

I look at him. I’m surprised he knows about that. I always learn from little Andrew Makky at school. The scrawny little ten-year-old who started training to be a volunteer the same year my name was put in the reaping bowl. I’m sure my dad has his sources too, though. Everyone finds out a few weeks before the draw.

District Four has a small training center down south where they train kids to become tributes and, hopefully, victors of the Hunger Games. It’s run by a group of trainers, though I’ve never been sure where these people come from. Perhaps they were hopeful volunteers one day, the ones deemed unfit to go into the arena, all grown up and good at nothing else. These trainers pick about four or five seven- or eight-year-olds every year. By the time the kids turn fifteen there is only one or two of them. At puberty the ones who don’t grow big enough get cut from the program. The goal is to send kids that will bring home the crown. Having more victors means having more food. Being showered with gifts from the Capitol all year long.

Districts One and Two do this too. Except they’re a bit more hardcore about it. For all I know, they have multiple centers, all competing against each other. All I know is every year, both tributes from One and Two are volunteers. Meanwhile Four has strict rules against that.

Only one volunteer at a time.

It makes perfect sense why we do it like this, even though it lowers our chances of bringing home the crown. All the volunteers are trained in the same facility. If you know the person you are going into the arena with, there might be fighting before the games even start. The idea of little kids studying each other’s weaknesses, preparing for the day when they have to kill each other…

No. One at a time. This is the rule.

For the past two years, the two years I have taken part in the reaping, the volunteers had been boys. Even if our names got chosen, we were safe. We knew there would be a tall eighteen-year-old just tripping over himself to take our place. But this year the volunteer is a girl. And according to little Andrew, her name is Mandy. Mandy Tarlek. Eighteen years old.

That means if any of our names come out of the reaping bowl this year, we go into the Games.

Our silence seems to tell my father everything he needs to know.

“You boys have nothing to worry about,” he says roughly. “Fourteen years old. Besides. It always goes to a tesserae kid.”

“I have tesserae,” mutters Sam.

We all gawk at him.

“Since when!” says Dawson.

“Since always. Since my dad’s accident.”

When Sam was twelve his dad got caught in a motor on the boat he worked on now and then. He lost most of his leg and hasn’t been able to work anywhere besides packaging. But I didn’t know that had put them behind so much financially.

“How many times is your name in?” my dad asks.

“Eighteen.”

Three times because he had to. 15 times because it’s his third year getting tesserae for his family of five.

“That’s still nothing to worry about,” he says. “Y’know how many kids there are in Four? There are at least five thousand names in that bowl today. And that’s not even counting the other tesserae. You’re still fourteen years old. You’ve got a better chance of being struck by lightning and bitten by a shark at the same time than you do going to the Capitol today. Try not to think about it too hard.”

This does seem to cheer Sam up slightly. I’ve heard this speech plenty of times. I’ve gotten tired of it, but I can’t argue with his logic. Although I do wonder if he actually knows the odds of being struck by lightning and bitten by a shark or if he just decided on two things that would be unlikely and threw them together for effect.

“I signed up for tesserae when I was in the bowl,” says my dad, “and here I am. You’re gonna be fine, I guarantee it.”

There are times I am embarrassed by my dad. The fact that everyone’s afraid of him, mostly. That he’s so harsh. He doesn’t forgive mistakes easily, and most people only know him as that guy who yells in the fishery every other week. He’s also a bit too strict for my liking. He doesn’t let me swim at Fisher’s Beach during shark season. Despite the fact there hasn’t been a shark sighting at Fisher’s in years. They know by now that the weird looking seals at Fisher’s are not to their liking.

But there are moments where I am very proud of my dad and this is one of them. He’s used the fact that Sam has only ever seen him as a figure of absolute authority to his advantage. In Sam’s eyes, if my father says it, it must be true. I can almost see the boy relax; the knot in his stomach untie. It’s as though my father has control over the slips of paper in that bowl.

All in all, we get a decent catch. Good enough that my father doesn’t regret letting Dawson and Sam fill in for my sister and David. He’s in a good enough mood that he lets me go to Fisher’s under the condition I’m home by two thirty to get ready for the reaping. I want to talk him up to two forty-five, after all the reaping isn’t until four and it only takes me ten minutes to get ready. But I don’t because I know today is just as hard for him as it is for me. Maybe more, since he’s seen more Games.

Before we head out my dad holds Sam back. “Tomorrow, you send your dad my way and I’ll see if I can get him a job on my dock.”

My dad has some say over who works at his dock. Mostly the people who take in our catches and process them. Not a great job, but it pays better than packaging, at least. And my dad hates one of the men who work there now. Maybe it can be a win-win situation.

Fisher’s beach isn’t too far from where I live. When we get there, it’s practically deserted. Just a group of girls at the end of the dock and a family with two infant children on the other end of the beach.

Both Dawson and Sam seem nervous. They get like this around girls. Sam is standing up too straight and Dawson’s slouching more than usual.

“They’d like you more if you relaxed,” I tell them.

“They’d like us more if we looked like you,” says Dawson.

Sam pushes me forwards slightly and our resulting shuffle alerts the girls.

“See, I told you they’d come,” squeals Venessa. “Hi Finnick!”

She’s still wearing her braids. I briefly wonder if it’s because I told her I liked them. Maybe Dawson wasn’t completely wrong about how much she likes me.

I run to the end of the dock and dive in past the girls into the water.

Underwater I see Dawson and Sam have jumped in after me. Both making big splashes to get the girls wet. I stay underwater, swimming to the bottom and grabbing a rock. It’s my little tradition. Can’t swim in fisher’s without picking up a rock off the sea floor.

I swim around the group and pop up silently behind Venessa.

“Nice braids,” I say.

She jumps and splashes water in my face.

“Stop that! You scared me!”

I hand her the rock from the sea floor. A small, meaningless present. Just for fun.

I get a chance to survey the group. It’s Venessa’s usual friends. Asha, her cousin who’s a year older than the rest of us. I’m not sure why she hangs out with us instead of kids in her own grade. She seems popular enough. I think she just likes being the oldest. It makes her feel in charge.

Venessa has clearly been forced to bring her little sister, twelve years old, who is sitting in the middle of the dock wrapped in her towel.

There’s also Sandry, a pretty blonde girl with hundreds of freckles all over her face and arms and legs. Some girls try to hide freckles, but she doesn’t. I’m glad, they look nice on her.

There’s also a girl named Margaret. We technically dated last year, though I wouldn’t call it a real relationship. We were thirteen years old and sometimes we held hands. Scandalous. I don’t think of her as an ex, but she’s been shy around me ever since we stopped going out.

Now that I think about it, we never even officially broke up, just got bored with each other and eventually stopped talking.

Lastly there’s Emma Grimly. We barely speak. She’s in with Venessa’s group because of her brother, who’s seventeen and ever since he was seven has been training for the Hunger Games. But two years ago, Emma’s mom had an affair with a shrimper on the southern end of the district. When her parents split up and her mom moved in with the shrimper, Emma’s brother went with her. Emma stayed here. She’s a nice girl, but doesn’t talk much. Especially after the divorce.

“How long have you guys been here?” I say, pulling myself onto the dock and shaking out my hair.

Some of the girls giggle, which I ignore.

“A few hours,” says Asha. “Been pretty boring up til now.”

Dawson rolls his eyes behind her. “Well, wherever I go fun follows.”

It’s almost one. We spend an hour messing around. We don’t want to talk because anything we say will eventually lead back to the reaping. Instead, we play water games we haven’t played since we were nine years old. I’m not gonna lie, Venessa and I sweep most of them. We’re by far the most fit in the group. But the others are no slackers. It’s been so long since we’ve fooled around like this in the water. Most of the time we just talk at fisher’s. The only other times I see my friends swim is at work.

We play a game called grab stone where someone throws a stone as far as they can and they others swim out at grab it before it hits the seafloor. And though Venessa and I are the strongest swimmers, Emma is the only one to catch every stone before it hits the ground. And Dawson can call himself out of shape all he likes, he still destroys the rest of us at the distance race.

“We make a good team,” says Venessa.

I’m assuming she’s referring to the fact that we’ve won most of the games. But it’s not like we’ve worked together at any of them. Still, I smile and nod.

“Yeah, we do.”

I’m not sure how I feel about Venessa. Sometimes she’s nice. Other times I find her a bit creepy. She likes me, I know that.

Emma and Sam are fighting over some rock they found. Eventually Sam picks her up and throws her into the water. She emerges right next to me, cussing at Sam and smiling.

That’s when I notice her necklace. A thread filled with, at first glance, different colored and sized stones. Upon closer examination, I realize the stones are actually pearls.

Not all pearls were white. Not all pearls were round either. When oyster catchers stumbled upon a pearl, and it’s uniform enough, it’s sent to District One to be turned into jewelry. But every once in a while they’ll find a pearl that is too big, to brightly colored. That doesn’t look like a pearl at all. Sometimes District One takes them anyway. But sometimes they are simply discarded. Kept by the person who found them.

“I like your necklace,” I tell her. “It’s funny.”

A pearl necklace. Things that, in the Capitol, cost more than my family’s boat and house put together. Here we make them for free. And honestly, Emma’s looks a lot cooler than those boring white ones Capitol women wear. It tells them these pearls aren’t anything special. They’re just a bit of sand covered in what is essentially oyster spit.

She stares at me for a moment. Perhaps surprised I got the joke. Perhaps surprised I was talking to her at all.

“Thanks. Made it myself.”

Her father’s an oyster farmer. I believe he may also have some oysters he keeps alive, just to farm their pearls. I wonder how long it took her to gather each pearl. Each rejected little gem. Was it simple? Or did she start collecting when she was barely old enough to swim?

We’re all tired. And I only have twenty minutes before I promised my dad I’d be home. I lie back on the dock and look at Venessa’s little sister, whose name I can’t remember.

“You’re twelve right?” I ask.

She nods.

“First reaping,” says Sam. “you nervous?”

The girl shakes her head but doesn’t speak.

“Well why would she,” says Sandry. “She’s got Mandy Tarlek to volunteer for her.”

“I was nervous my first year,” says Dawson. “And the guys had a volunteer.”

“Nervous of what?” says Asha.

Dawson shrugs and Sam jumps in for him.

“Being on camera,” says Sam. “getting up there and having the volunteer get cold feet and back out.”

“Getting called up on stage and then good ol’ Barry forgetting to call for volunteers,” I add. It was a reoccurring dream of mine last year. Although now it just sounds stupid.

“Could any of that happen?” asks Venessa’s sister.

“No,” I say. “You’ll be fine.”

It’s impossible to ask for sympathy from these girls, who spent the last two years in our position. But they give it to us anyway.

“How are you feeling?” asks Margaret. Maybe there are still some feelings there. Some warmth from our fake relationship.

I shrug. Dawson and Sam say nothing either.

“You guys are fine,” says Venessa.

“It’s gonna be a tesserae kid anyway.”

Same doesn’t bring up his tesserae, so neither do I.

I can’t logically say I am worried. I have listened to my dad’s speeches all my life. Thousands and thousands of slips of paper, and my name written on three of them. Even Sam’s eighteen are such a small issue. So silly to be upset. So irresponsible to feel at ease.

“Anyone know this Mandy girl?” asks Sam, changing the subject slightly.

“I met her once when my brother showed me around the training facility,” says Emma. “She was nice.”

“Do you think she could win?”

I think about Sam’s tesserae. Even if my dad can’t arrange for a new job for Sam’s father, a Victor would wipe that issue away. For a full year, the grain and oil Sam received from tesserae would be more than covered by the spoils showered on us from the Capitol.

“Depends. Is there another Dartworth sibling?” says Sandry.

We all mutter glumly. The last two years were won by siblings, Gloss and Cashmere Dartworth, from District One. The last championship tour was pure torture. He was there as one of her mentors. So many references to a strong family line. So many old family pictures of them holding pretend weapons. Born to be victors, that was the Capitol’s motto for them. And to make matters worse both siblings had been the one to kill District Four’s volunteers. Cashmere had even killed last year’s volunteer in his sleep. When he still thought she was an ally. That had also been the year where the only weapons provided were these one-handed spiked maces that everyone had to bash people’s heads in with. It had been brutal.

“No, just the two of them,” says Sam. He’s clearly been thinking about this.

“She’s good. Mandy, that is. She’s huge. My brother says she can cut someone’s head clean off with one swing.”

I am not looking forward to seeing that, I think. But if she manages to become victor and give us a year free of any stress about how fish is selling in the Capitol… well, then it doesn’t really matter how she does it.

The group moves on. Hunger Games talk is just depressing at this point. We watch because we have to. We cross our fingers and hope this whole training center is worth the effort, that it’ll give us another victor. But when it comes down to it, we are not the only District that trains volunteers. And District One and Two have won the last three Hunger Games in a row.

The girls start talking about school. Mostly who’s dating who. In the grade above us Alex Waters and Vivvy Heins have broken up. Apparently, my next-door neighbor Keena just started dating Martha O’Conner. In the year below us Sandry’s brother Mike is dating Annie Cresta.

I’m interested for a while but eventually the names start merging together and I’m having trouble keeping everyone straight. It’s probably close to two-thirty anyway so I get up and say I should probably get going.

This devastates Venessa. Apparently she was hoping I’d walk her home. I can’t think of a way to respond to this and luckily I don’t have to because Emma steps in.

“Yeah, you, Finnick, your next-door neighbor, and your little sister. What a special evening.” She rolls her eyes at Venessa’s glare.

I smile at Emma.

“Next time,” I say.

I wish Dawson and Sam good luck and leave before Emma and Venessa start fighting.

I didn’t dry off properly and my feet squeak in my shoes the entire walk home, which makes it hard to act seriously. Part of me wants to forget about the reaping altogether. To tell myself that worrying won’t change the outcome and I should just act like this is any other holiday. But another, deeper part of me seems to truly believe that if I don’t worry I will bring on destruction. As though some otherworldly force will see I am not afraid and punish me for it.

I suppose when worrying is all you can do you can’t very well stop.

When I get home the place is empty. So much for being home at two-thirty or else. My sister left out lunch for me on the kitchen table, two rolls of bread, boiled potatoes, and some chicken from dinner last night. There’s no note, but I assume this means “eat something, we’ll be back soon.”

I’m finishing off my meal when my dad burst through the door, swearing.

“Kathrine’s not in labor, is she?”

My dad jumps, not realizing I was there.

“What’re you doing back so soon?”

“You said two-thirty.”

“Since when do you listen to me.”

I shrug. “Kathrine’s not in labor?”

“No, she just decided today’d be a good day for quality time with the in-laws. They’re on their way here, by the way.”

I grimace. David’s parents were fine. They worked in the fishery, I saw them on occasion. But they seemed under the impression that since their son had married into a family with a boat, it was now “our boat” instead of “your boat.” My dad had no problem giving David the permanent fourth spot on our rounds. But that didn’t mean David’s parents or older siblings had any rights to it or the fish we bring in with it. Dad is determined to keep it in the family. We’re already getting headaches from figuring out if it was going to be left to Me, Kathrine, or both of us when dad passed away. Both of us made the most sense. But once I had kids and Kathrine had kids it would become confusing again.

“She thinks the reaping is a good time for family bonding?”

“They’re not family.”

“They’re David’s parents and siblings.”

“David’s family. They’re not family.”

I drop it. I wash my plate off and I’m beginning to brush the sand off of my feet and out of my hair when they all arrive.

My sister is gigantic. You’d swear she’s having twins, only the doctor assures me he only hears one heartbeat. She’s eight months pregnant and ready to burst any time now. We were hoping it would happen before the reaping, newborn mothers are allowed to stay home and watch on tv. But the baby seems happy where it is, which means Kathrine has to schlep down to the Justice Building and stand in a crowd for two or three hours. I can’t imagine how uncomfortable that’s going to be.

My sister married David two years ago, when they were both twenty-four. Technically, when they got married, they got assigned a house of their own. But they haven’t lived there yet. It’s too far from the boat. And dad says once the baby comes, they’ll be happy for the help. Until then, they live with us, in Kathrine’s childhood room.

I have a hunch Kathrine would prefer to move out. But dad’s hard to argue with. And it’s not like we don’t all get along. And now they better stay at least a few months. I didn’t spend all that time building and sanding down a crib for nothing.

David’s nice enough. He’s in love with my sister, that’s for sure. He still calls my dad sir, although everyone calls my dad sir, so maybe it’s not that strange. And he seems completely overcome with guilt that Kathrine has to go through pregnancy and childbirth. As though if he stresses about it enough, he can take some of her pain or discomfort. The minute they enter the house, David is pulling up a chair for Kathrine and getting her some water.

Kathrine lets him run around. I think she finds it funny.

And then there is David’s family. His mother, father, and two older brothers cram into our house. They’re loud when they’re happy, which is part of the reason my dad hates them. Noise is for anger. If you’re happy, shut up, so everyone else can be happy too.

 David’s parents are a lot older than my dad. Grey haired, waiting for their third grandchild. All their children left the reaping bowl ten years ago. The reaping doesn’t mean much to them anymore.

And yet, of course, the first thing they all do when they enter is pat me on the back and ask me how I’m feeling. They may not be the most sensitive people in the world, but everyone understands this. Unless you’ve been training for it your entire life, the Hunger Games is something everyone shows restraint over.

“So, Jan!” David’s dad, Mr. Feltsin, says, “how’s the boat?”

My dad scowls behind the man’s back.

“It’s a boat,” he says.

“The boys can help out, you know,” says Mr. Feltsin. “I’m sure with the pregnancy it’s been hard working with just three. And once the baby comes, huh? And David needs to stay home and look after it? Erik and Thomson, they’re happy to help out. We’ll keep it in the family.”

And it has already become awkward. My dad agreed to let Dawson and Sam help specifically so David’s family would not be involved. Today was a trial run for them and I’m pretty sure they passed it. Was dad going to break it to Mr. Feltsin now? This seemed like such a bad time to fight over this.

I’m hoping that my dad will push it off until tonight, but that’s really not his style.

“I gave the job to a few kids in the fishery. We tested it out today, they’re strong enough, can handle themselves. Probably just gonna stick with them.”

Kathrine sighs. Not once has dad met with the in-laws and not started an argument. Apparently not even the reaping can break the streak. It occurs to me that that might be what she was hoping for. That the reaping would make everyone a bit nicer. Comradery during the hard times. But apparently not.

“Oh?” says Mr. Feltsin. “Seems like a waste, bringing in two kids without any experience on a boat.”

It’s even more of a waste when you consider they’re both fourteen. But there are other benefits to using Dawson and Sam instead of David’s family. The foremost being that when David and Kathrine decide to come back, my friends won’t question it.

I like David’s family just fine, but even I can see what Mr. Feltsin is trying to do. A few months with David’s older brothers on the boat with us, suddenly it’s important for David to stick around and look after Kathrine and the baby. Once that becomes insane, and David replaces Erik, it’ll be about Kathrine. Wouldn’t Kathrine be more comfortable at home? There are baby sitters, but they’re so expensive. Maybe Kathrine becomes a stay at home mom until the kid is old enough to go to school. Unless she and David decide to have another kid, of course.

My dad is not giving these two a permanent place on his boat. And Kathrine is not sitting at home with a kid all day. Knowing my sister, she’ll be back on the water before David is.

Dawson and Sam respect my father. They know this is temporary. And they’ll leave when they’re told.

My dad takes a sip from a glass of water before responding. “This way’s easier,” he says.

“Easier? What’s easier than keeping the boat in the family?”

“It’s not the boat,” my dad snaps, voice rising. “And it’s not our boat. It is my boat. One day it will be my daughter’s but it may never be your son’s and it certainly won’t be yours.”

He’s yelling now. Which is common and yet, still, I’m not used to it. I shrink back into the wall and wait for it to be over.

“So this marriage means nothing to you? You hate us all despite the vows.”

“I don’t remember marrying you!” he roars. 

“You’re paranoid! So sure we’re planning some evil scheme to take it from you. We just want our share.”

“What share! You’re not a part of this family, you don’t have a share. This boat belongs to me and my children and that is all! No social maneuvering. No free handouts.”

“Oh, yes, which is so similar to how you got it.”

He’s crossed a line and he knows it. My father slams his water glass down on the table so hard I’m afraid it’ll break. But he’s done yelling. He’s too angry to yell.

My mom was left the boat when she was twenty-one by her best friend’s parents. She was practically a part of that family growing up. The boat was always supposed to pass to her friend. But he died at sixteen.

In the Hunger Games.

Of all the days to make that jab, this was not the one. Dad was owner of this boat because my mom’s best friend was reaped. And 28 years later, when I was eleven, the memory of that Hunger Games would cause my mom to kill herself. Leaving ownership of the boat to my dad.

So much death led to my father calling the shots today. Mr. Feltsin did have a point. If you ignore all the heartbreak involved, my father received a lot of free handouts for this boat. But it was not the same. My father didn’t scheme for it. He didn’t want it. He didn’t use his children to climb some social ladder.

He was a kid who packaged lobsters and took tesserae every year. Who was given a boat only a few years before his first child was born out of pure luck. And somehow lost his wife to the Hunger Games decades after they were free from it. And Mr. Feltsin had crossed the ultimate line.

“Alright,” says Kathrine. “We’ve yelled. Let’s just move on.”

Mr. Feltsin opens his mouth, perhaps to apologize, but Kathrine doesn’t take the chance.

“Moving. On,” she spits.

Mr. Feltsin closes his mouth.

The clock reads two-forty-five. We don’t have time for more argument anyway. I glance at David, who is fiddling with the end of his shirt. I know where he stands in this ongoing argument, but it’s still awkward. After all, both families offered to help with the baby, and there was always the option of living alone and figuring things out just the two of them. But Kathrine and David had chosen to stay here. With dad and I. And it wasn’t because of any boat.

“I have to help Finnick get ready,” my dad mutters.

“The boy’s fourteen, he can’t dress himself?” says Mr. Feltsin.

My dad shoots him a look and he drops it.

Grateful to leave the tension, I follow my dad into the room we share, and he pulls out a suit for me.

All fishermen are superstitious. Even my dad. Each year I wear something he wore to the reaping. The theory is he wore it, and never got picked. Therefore, neither will I. No one ever fully believes in this stuff. My dad knows that his old clothes had nothing to do with never being pulled from that bowl. And yet. Superstition isn’t really about believing. It’s about being better safe than sorry. Wouldn’t we look foolish if, the one time we didn’t follow superstition, the worst happened. So easy to follow the rules. So dangerous not to.

This year he puts me in a grey suit with a faded blue tie. I only ever wear a tie once a year. On reaping day. So, my dad ties it up for me because I still don’t know how. 

“It’s too tight,” I mutter.

“No it’s not.”

I stand in front of the mirror. I look like I’m wearing my father’s suit. Which, of course, I am. What I’m trying to say is it looks huge on me. My dad was always bigger, stronger, than I am.

I roll up the sleeves to my elbows, so they don’t hang around my knuckles. That makes it look much better. As though the suit is large on purpose. Supposed to be baggy. I desperately want to make the tie hang loose, not only to make it easier to breath but because I think it’ll look better. I don’t because dad will get mad. Although I do shake out my hair after he pats it down.

It looks stupid patted down.

For a moment we stand there. I don’t want to go back into the kitchen and be around David’s family. I want to ask my dad about the Hunger Games that took the life of mom’s friend. I want to ask about her suicide. About whether or not it had anything to do with my twelfth birthday and my name being entered in the reaping.

There are a lot of good things about having a practical dad who’s all business. But talking about our past isn’t one of them. If it doesn’t get food on the table, if it’s not getting me in to trouble, if it’s not about my getting home on time, we don’t talk about it. Which means we don’t talk about mom.

“Ready?” he says.

“For this day to be over, sure.”

It earns a laugh, which is hard enough so I take it and move on.

The group is very civil, which is only a small improvement from the yelling. We talk for a few minutes about the party tonight and what we’re bringing, the weather, Mandy Tarlek, whatever else comes to mind. Eventually we give up and decide to head out early. 

Town Hall is far down south. We have to take the rickety old train to get there. It takes roughly an hour. The reaping starts at four fifteen promptly. All kids within the age group should be in their places at four.

Our district is the last to be reaped. Because of how far west we live. But also, I think, just bad luck. Obviously, due to time zones, the reapings move east to west. But I’m not sure how you decide who goes first in the same time zone. District 4 drew the short straw.

This means not only do we have to stand through the reaping, but then, once the tributes are gone, we have to stand around for another hour while we all watch the recap. The mayor knows we’d never get home on time to see it, and it’s required by law. So we all just stay put.

The train is old, rusted, and loud. The cars scrape across the tracks and scream at every stop. The only day it’s ever full is reaping day. Otherwise, most people just stay where they are. After the reaping, we’ll all pile back onto the train and my sector of Four will have a late dinner outside near the docks. Each sector has a school, a few docs, a fishery, and a town with the necessities: a butcher, a baker, a tailor, a doctor.

District Four isn’t that big, compared to some other Districts. But it’s very long, taking up as much of the coast as possible. So, we’re all pretty spread out and it takes a while to travel between sectors. The only people to leave their sector are the kids traveling to the training facility to become volunteers for the Hunger Games and older citizens who score jobs that involve paperwork and checking the machinery at every fishery. Making sure we all hit our quotas. And, of course, Peacekeepers.

We’re headed to the largest sector of District Four, a place that used to be called San Francisco, but now we just call it The City.

The City used to be full of large buildings and great bridges, but during earthquakes and wars and fires in the dark times before Panem, most of those buildings were leveled. The rest were destroyed during the uprising that destroyed District 13. Now there are only one or two empty husks that used to be skyscrapers. Relics of what District 4 used to be, before it became what it is today: a place that churns out fish for wealthier people to eat.

My sister scores a seat on the train, being as pregnant as she is, but the rest of us stand. David and I hold onto a poll with two guys I vaguely know from school. They’re at least two years above me. I smile at them but they don’t smile back. I brush it off as reaping day nerves. They’re older, and from the looks of them they’re tesserae kids. The odds probably aren’t in their favor.

There are at least fifty people in our train car, but its silent. The way back will be louder. People are more willing to talk when their kids have been spared. David wraps an arm around me, which is nice, though a bit awkward to maintain on a rickety train.

I’m already sick of standing by the time we get there. Our little party reconvenes on the platform. My sister hugs me as best she can with her stomach.

“Chin up, knees together,” she says.

It’s an inside joke from when I was a little kid. I was nervous about preforming a little play on stage when I was seven or eight. I’ve always had stage fright. My sister tried to cheer me up by telling me a story about how once in high school she went on stage to be presented with an award. She sat through the entire ceremony on stage, and when she left her friend told her her knees had been spread the entire time and everyone could see her underwear.

This did not help my stage fright at all. But it’s something funny we say now to get rid of any nerves.

My dad and Mr. Feltsin seem to have a truce going. I say goodbye to David’s family as politely as I can manage. In years past, my dad has walked me to the sign up area, but the Peacekeepers hate it when parents show up with their kids, and this year I can walk alone.

By the time I get there, the place is mostly full. We’ve still got a good twenty minutes before the reaping starts, though. I sign in and make my way to the roped off area for the fourteen-year-olds in front of our Justice Building.

It’s always set up the same way. All the kids pack into the square in front of the building. Eighteen-year-olds in the front, twelve-year-olds in the back. A stage and big screen are set up in front of the building. On stage sits District Four’s mayor, Mayor Gladwell. Her son got reaped last year. He was volunteered for, but it did cause a stir. There’s also District 4’s escort, Barry Weathersmith, in a bright purple suit with a green tie. Do people from the Capitol pick colors that clash on purpose? Do they purposefully pick out shoes that curve up at the end, making their feet look big? Are these all things they do to stand out, or do they honestly think the clown makeup and fake hair makes them more appealing?

Next to him are a row of chairs for our victors, who mostly mill about on stage. District 4 has had seven victors, five of whom are still alive. The four male victors stand with the Barry Weathersmith and Mayor Gladwell. The only one who’s games I can remember is Garrik Finnigan. He won seven years ago. He’s twenty-five now and shaves his head, which is just odd. At least in Four it is. Sure, men are bald, my dad is bald. But that’s because their hair fell out. Not because you shave it off every morning. My dad sometimes mutters about the Capitol getting to people. How sometimes Victors lean a bit too far into the life the Capitol gives them. Become a bit weird, like Barry.

As for the others, I don’t know what their games were like besides the brief flashbacks the Capitol airs every once in a while. But I still know their names. Kent Adden, Walsh Edder, and Jeffer Albernath. Walsh is the oldest of the lot, going grey. He’s probably about fifty-five.

The oldest, of course, is District Four’s only living female victor, Mags Flanagan, who’s seventy years old and sitting in her chair eating something from her handbag. She won the eleventh games at sixteen, which means she had been alive when the Games started. Every year, I wonder about her. What was it like to go into the Hunger Games remembering the rebellion? Was it better? Was it possible the rebellion really had been worse, like the Capitol likes to suggest? That she preferred the Games because at least that meant only 23 kids had to die?

I doubt it.

Once the crowd is filled in, the Victors all take their seats with Mags and the Mayor starts her usual speech.

I tune her out. It’s all about the Games and the Capitol and how lucky we are. I scan the fourteen-year-olds for Sam or Dawson or Vanessa. But I can’t see any of my friends. I catch glimpses of a few kids from school, but mostly I am surrounded by strangers.

The mayor’s speech goes on and on, longer every year I swear. Until finally she stops. Even she seems relieved to introduce Barry Weathersmith who immediately bounds up to the podium like he’s been waiting for this moment all year.

Although maybe he has. Who can say.

As always, Barry starts off with a joke about fish that no one laughs at. I don’t know where he finds them but their all garbage. Obsessed with the fact that kelp rhymes with help. I doubt he even knows what kelp is. I picture him, and his bright purple suit, sitting in some lavish home in the Capitol coming up with fish jokes for the next reaping. What a pitiful life this man leads.

“Anyway,” says Barry, recovering from the no laughter as always. “Happy Hunger Games, everyone! And may the odds be ever in your favor.”

He pauses here, as though hoping for applause. We do not give him any.

“First off, the girls.”

Barry skips over to the girl’s bowl and plunges his hand inside. He shuffles it around for a moment before selecting a piece of paper.

“Janet Wilsworth!”

Janet turns out to be a sixteen-year-old girl with long brown hair. She’s shaking visibly. Perhaps she hadn’t heard about the Volunteer. Or perhaps she is just afraid of being on camera.

“Alright, welcome Janet!” says Barry. “Do we have any volunteers? Ah!”

I don’t see a hand shoot up and I’m too far back to hear anything without a microphone, but Barry clearly reacts to someone, front row center, and gestures for her to come on stage.

“Anyone that I missed?” he asks.

It’s procedure to collect every volunteer and then roll back the footage to see who came forward first. If it’s too close to tell, we do another draw. But we’ve never had people fight for one spot in Four, at least no instances that I’ve heard of. We plan these things months in advance.

“Excellent!”

There’s movement on the side of the stage and I get my first look at Mandy Tarlek.

She is gigantic. She towers over poor Barry. Built like a brick wall, she looks like she could rip a tree out of the ground roots and all. Her dark hair is tied up in a bun and she wears a pink blouse and white skirt. But the feminine outfit does not hide the muscles in her arms and legs.

She’ll be the biggest tribute, for sure. I can’t believe she’s only eighteen. If I had to guess, I’d say mid-twenties.

I’m suddenly hopeful. Maybe she will win. I mean, what could Districts One or Two churn out that could compete against this woman? This mountain?

Mandy and Janet shake hands, Janet looks like she might faint, and finally Barry allows the poor girl to leave the stage.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” asks Barry.

Sweetheart? That’s a bold choice to make standing in the shadow of a woman who could definitely rip your arms off and beat you with them. But Mandy just smiles.

“Mandy Tarlek,” she says.

Her voice gives away her age. Or maybe she’s acting extra sweet for the cameras.

“Excellent! Everyone a round of applause for our female tribute: Mandy!”

We all clap for her. I even put some feeling into it. I can’t imagine the amount of training and physical work it took to become such a feat of human strength. She’s earned my applause.

“And now the boys!” says Barry.

He skips over and plunges his hand into the boy’s bowl. I’m still trying to decipher how tall Mandy Tarlek is based on the people around her when his voice calls out.

“Finnick Odair.”

Chapter Text

When I was five, a Peacekeeper pulled me aside because I had been fooling around in the fishery. He seemed to think I had stolen something, or delayed work. Peacekeepers are strict about fisheries. And you don’t need to have done anything wrong for them to cart you away. There’s no age limit for being whipped in the square. My father showed up and told me to wait outside. Fifteen minutes later he came out and told me he had taken care of it.

Once, when I was eleven, right after my mom died, I was selected to give a presentation in front of the entire school about Panem’s history. It’s a tradition that a younger kid does it every year. Back then, I had very bad stage fright, still do honestly, and I came home with tears streaming down my face, shaking, close to throwing up. My dad told me to stay with my sister. He left, returned two hours later saying he had taken care of it.

Last year I had taken Margaret on a date by the docks. I hadn’t realized it was an inspection day. No one is allowed near the docs during inspections. We were both taken into custody for tampering with the procedure. My dad showed up before we even reached the holding cells. I never even saw him talk to anybody. He just showed up and said he had taken care of it.

My first thought when I hear my name is “dad will take care of it.”

I then immediately realize that he can’t. I always call my dad the ultimate authority figure, but he’s not. The Capitol is. This is the one thing he cannot take care of. Because at the end of the day, the reaping, the Hunger Games, they are not designed to punish me. They are designed to punish my father.

My father has been sentenced to watch me die. For an uprising his grandfather might have fought in.

This is when the ground starts spinning.

Did he just say Finnick Odair? Yes, that’s definitely what he said. As in me Finnick Odair? How is that even possible? There were only three slips of paper in that bowl with my name in it. And five thousand kids and tesserae and lightning and sharks.

This is not how it’s supposed to work.

What happens if two people have the same name? How do they differentiate? I know three kids with the last name Walters. And that’s just in my school.

I’m kidding myself about there being another Finnick Odair, this one eighteen years old with tesserae for a family of nine, but part of me is genuinely curious about how they deal with that until I remember I’m supposed to start moving now.

My face flushes. How long have I been standing here? I’ve never seen an escort need to call out a name twice and I’ll be damned if I’m the person to break that record. Somehow, through the fear of being that kid who just doesn’t walk on stage, and being carried up by Peacekeepers, I start walking.

It’s a very long walk. I try to move quickly, but now I’m worried about tripping. What if I trip on the stairs and everyone sees? This is when I remember I have stage fright.

The ground beneath me sways as I feel all the eyes that have already trained on me. By the time I reach the front I remember the cameras, broadcasting this live the literally everyone everywhere and my mouth fills with saliva. Like it does before you vomit. And that is something I absolutely cannot do because, again, I will not have my legacy be the kid who vomits over Barry Weathersmith’s purple suit. I remember my dad’s advice about not to swallow the saliva, because it will just start the vomiting. Instead, before going up on camera, I spit it on the ground.

The Peacekeeper by the stairs gives me a weird look. I smile at him, which probably doesn’t help the image of me being some crazy kid who spits before going on camera.

I hope I’m not shaking as bad as Janet Wilsworth when I get on stage.

Barry is all smiles and bounces. He drags me to the center of the stage and calls for volunteers.

This is it, my last chance. Because even though there are rules against two volunteers, it has happened on occasion.

The eighteen-year-old that was passed up by the trainers but still wants a shot at the arena. The seventeen-year-old who feels bad for the little kid and decides to go in a year early. Whatever. Sure, it’s not allowed. But once you’re a tribute, what are they gonna do? You either come back a victor, proving everyone wrong, or you don’t come back at all.

But this year, the crowd is silent.

I stifle a sob. Crying on stage is nothing new, but I don’t want to do that either. I scan the crowd but I can’t make out a single face. Just a sea of color. Besides, my friends are all too far back and my dad is probably watching from a surrounding street.

My dad. What is he thinking right now? I can’t imagine it.

“Alright then!” says Barry happily. “A round of applause for our male tribute: Finnick Odair!”

People clap for me. But there’s a staleness to it that wasn’t there with Mandy. Fourteen, and young for my age group. My birthday was just a few weeks ago. I’ve barely hit puberty, and definitely not my growth spurt. For all these people know, I could be twelve. No one ever likes it when a young kid gets reaped. With an arena full of Mandys, you can almost pretend they aren’t children.

Speaking of Mandy.

Barry brings us both forward and we shake hands. Her hand envelopes mine. And suddenly I am not as excited about her physical prowess. I look up at her. She is my dad’s height, at least. She could snap me like a twig and use my bones to pick her teeth.

And who knows, in the arena maybe she will.

We stand through the anthem and then we are ushed into the Justice Building by a group of Peacekeepers. One hour. This is usually the time I take to find my friends in the crowd so we can watch the recap together. I never think about what’s going on in here.

I’m ushered through a door and Mandy is taken down the hall. The door snaps shut behind me and I am alone in probably the nicest room I have ever been in.

It’s not like my house is falling apart. We have three rooms: a nice kitchen/ sitting area and two bedrooms. There are a lot of windows, and we have clean rugs and furniture. The roof leaks a little but a good year financially and it’ll be easy to fix. We don’t have anything like this.

The room is covered with a blue and grey striped wallpaper. On every surface is a beautiful painting of the ocean, or fish, or boats.

We have a brand here in Four and we stick to it.

There’s no fireplace but the room is considerably warmer than it is outside, which means central heating. Our house has the ability for central heating, but it’s so expensive we’ve never actually gotten it. We just light fires.

There’s a couch and a bunch of chairs. Despite this being a public building, they aren’t stained or anything. It’s as if they’ve never been used. I gently sit on the couch, afraid of getting it dirty.

What am I going to do?

It’s a stupid question because I know what I’m going to do. I’m going to go to the Hunger Games and most definitely die. I suppose the real question is what am I going to do now? In this next hour. And once the Games start.

I am not wrong about this being punishment for my father, not me. My die has been cast, but is there a way to make it more bearable for those around me? My mother died because her friend was killed in the Hunger Games, is there something he could have done to make it easier on her as a viewer? Something I can do? Surely there is a way to ensure my father and sister move on without me.

The first thing I can do is be strong for the next hour. For my father.

I hear yelling through the walls. There he is, I think. I stand and straighten out the suit that was supposed to protect me today.

I will be calm. I will be strong. I will act like an adult and face my death with dignity.

The door bursts open and there is my father with a few disgruntled Peacekeepers. He glares at them and they leave. When the door clicks shut my father opens his arms and all prior planning goes out the window.

I collapse into him, burying my face in his chest and sobbing my eyes out.

It all comes crashing down around me. I will never see my dad again. I will never be on the water again. I will never meet Kathrine’s baby, I will be in District Four ever again. And though I have never really been afraid of death, these things terrify me.

I’m a wreck, and I can’t help it. I cling to my dad and cry while he pats my back and runs his hand through my hair. Eventually I just start blabbering about whatever. About Kathrine and the baby and about him and how I don’t want him to die.

Somewhere in my crazed rant he scoops me up and walks me over to the couch. I crawl onto his lap like I’m still a toddler and try to take some deep breaths.

“Shhh, shhhh,” he’s saying.

I take another deep breath and try to calm down slightly. Being in my dad’s arms helps. We’re not huggers, necessarily, but he’s always been generous with affection. And I think, if I could just die right here and now, that would be better. But no, my death will be staring at me for at least a week. And when it does come… I’ve never been in much pain before. But in the Hunger Games cannons always fire so long after someone has been shot or stabbed. It always takes so long to die. I don’t want to know what that feels like. I don’t want to be in pain.

The tears have basically stopped but the thought of all the painful deaths I’ve seen in the Games is making me shake. So much for being strong for my dad.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter.

This confuses him. He leans back to look at me.

“You’re sorry?” he says. “For what?”

But I can’t explain my thoughts, so I just choke out another sob and hug him tighter.

“Hey, hey, alright.” He readjusts me on his lap so I’m forced to look at him. “What’s going on? Besides the obvious. What was all that about me dying?”

Damn, I was hoping he hadn’t been able to decipher that through the tears. My nose is running and I wipe it with the back of my hand. Too late to turn back now.

“I want you to be okay,” I say.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

My breathing is uneven, and I have to stop for a few quick inhales. “Because mom wasn’t.” I get out at last.

Dad’s face darkens. He grabs my hand and forces me to look at him.

“I’m going to be fine.”

I turn away but he’s pulling me back.

“No, no, look at me. I want you to remember this one thing, okay, I need you to remember this.”

I’m suddenly scared. It feels like I’m in trouble.

“I don’t want you to worry about me. I don’t want you to think about me. I don’t want you to do anything except make this experience as painless as possible for you.”

I shake my head because he doesn’t understand. There is no way this is good for me.

“No, listen,” he says, frustrated. “I’m the adult. I’m going to be okay. No matter what I see, I promise I’ll be okay. I’ll love you no matter what happens. You do whatever you need to. If you need to act like a fool for the Capitol, then don’t think about me. Or if you need to betray an ally, I’ll support that. Or…”

He stops, but I have a feeling I know where he is headed. We have both seen Mandy. We both know I stand no chance. When it comes to making things bearable… food from sponsors and getting rid of dangerous tributes would help, sure. But there was only one way to ensure my death not be long and painfully drawn out by some wild Muttations or eighteen-year-old with a grudge.

“I don’t know how,” I whisper.

My dad kisses my temple. The he glances at the door and pulls a length of rope from his pocket.

Slowly, so I can follow along, he ties a noose. He undoes the knot and shows me again. Then he hands me the rope and tells me to recreate it. Knots are easy. I know plenty just from sailing. I tie the knot three times before he’s satisfied I’ll remember.

Suicide is strictly forbidden in the arena. It is nowhere near as fun for the Capitol audience as seeing us kill each other. Although once we’re all inside, how do you stop it? Suicides are rare, but they’ve happened before. And if it’s between a noose and slowly dying of starvation or disease, or being torn apart by a Mutt… The noose is the better option.

What I can’t do is try to commit suicide before the games begin. I’ll probably be watched twenty-four/seven. And, if I fail, then I’ll be labeled as a flight risk in the arena. The Gamemakers will be sure to kill me off early in some sort of exciting way before I get the chance.

I try to give my dad back the rope but he tells me to keep it. I bunch it up and stick it in my pocket. My dad glances at the clock on the wall.

“My time’s almost up,” he says.

“We have an hour!” I protest.

“I know. Apparently, they split it up to only ten minutes per person. I convinced them to give me three slots, but they wouldn’t do any more than that.”

So that was what all that yelling had been.

I clutch him tighter. Part of me just wants to close my eyes and sit in silence. But I also have questions. One question that had been nagging at me for a long time. And this was my last chance to ask.

“Did mom kill herself because I was turning twelve?”

This startles him. I knew it would. I can feel him tense up at the topic. But I also know he won’t refuse me an honest answer. Not today.

“What?” he says. “No, of course not. That had nothing to do with you.”

I say nothing. I feel him sigh.

“Your mom… she was sick. For a long time. And we didn’t know it was something you could treat. She had good months and bad months. Sometimes she didn’t get out of bed, other times she was just… She was just our Monica.”

I realize this is very cruel of me. To make him talk about his dead wife in the last few minutes he’s spending with his son. But it’s too late now.

“I think the thing that tipped her over the edge was that year’s Victor’s Tour. The victor… I forget who it was, but they were from Two. And his mentor was the woman who had killed your mom’s friend. Your mom had volunteered to help with decorations and earn some more money… She didn’t handle meeting the victor well. It just set her off. Maybe if I knew everything I know now…”

I curl up on his lap. It’s very possible he’s lying and yet—I decide to believe him. For a while we just sit there. I try to commit everything about him to memory. The way he talks, how he scratches the back of his neck when he’s annoyed, the way his arms feel around me.

The door is opening, and two Peacekeepers come in. I ask for more time, but they don’t listen. My dad is kissing my forehead and saying he loves me and I’m crying again because this is the last time I’ll see him and I’m blowing it. I’m blowing it and I’m acting like a child and this isn’t how I want him to remember me. I barely get out that I love him too before he’s pulled from the room and the door slams behind him.

I sink to the floor, bury my head in my hands, and sob.

The sound of footsteps brings me back. Somehow, even now, my main concern is being embarrassed. I stand up off the ground and try to wipe away some tears as the door opens and Vanessa steps into the room.

She’s wearing a pretty yellow dress that stops above the knee and her hair is out of her braids, curly and down her back.

“Oh, hi,” I say. Despite us being fairly close I never would have guessed she’d come to say goodbye. But then again, why not? We’ve known each other since we were five years old. If I was dying of some sort of disease she’d come to see me. If she had been reaped, I’d probably go see her… If there was enough time.

We hug, which is awkward. And then we just stand there for a minute. I’m about to go crazy from the silence when she speaks.

“Yeah, I just, uh,” she swallows. “I just came by to… to say goodbye and…”

She doesn’t continue so I just take it from there.

“Yeah,” I say. “Thanks, it means a lot.”

“And… I’ve just wanted to say that I’ve had a big crush on you for a while now and I’m really sorry this happened.”

I stare at her. Is she serious? She was confessing her feelings to me? Now?

“Uh… thanks,” I say.

She’s taken aback, clearly insulted that’s all I’m saying in return. But now I’m getting angry because what is her problem? What was her thought process? That this would be something I wanted to know before going off to my televised death show? No. She’s telling me this so she can get it off her chest. Because she’s been working up the courage to tell me for months and now she’s running out of time.

I know this isn’t how it works, but I think my father was dragged out of the room for this?

“You’re welcome,” she mutters glumly.

In another scenario, I’d feel bad. Hell, I’d been planning on eventually going on a date with her. Although now I can’t see why I’d want to. We don’t have much in common and the only things she’s ever said to me have been some sort of flirtation which means I’m not even sure who she is. But I was planning on dating her anyway. Just because. Because we were both kids and she liked me. Because she’s nice and she doesn’t say mean things about the poorer kids like some of the girls in our grade. But now I could only think of how selfish she is. I’m about to die and she’s upset? What did she expect? A marriage proposal?

“I’m sorry,” I say hotly, “what were you hoping to get out of this?”

She takes a step back. I’ve never spoken to her like this. I never speak to anyone like this. But the stress from the day is catching up to me and I cannot believe I have gone from my dad teaching me how to kill myself to Vanessa Terrison confessing her schoolgirl crush.

“I just wanted you to know—”

“Yeah, Vanessa, I knew. You were painfully obvious about it. But what does it matter anymore? Did you think my trip to the Capitol would be better knowing this? Were you just hoping I’d say I’d love you back because sorry I can’t really think about dating right now I’ve got a six foot four eighteen year old trying to kill me and that’s only the one I know about.”

I’m yelling now, but it does not feel satisfying because deep down I know she does not deserve this. And that the next few weeks will be hard for her as well. But come on, not as hard as they will be for me.

I turn away from her, slightly ashamed but mostly just annoyed.

“You should go,” I mutter.

“What?” she says.

“I want you to go,” I say louder.

After a few moments I hear the door click and I know she’s gone.

But I regret it. Because now I am alone and I can’t handle that. I look around the room and my stomach begins to squirm. My legs want to walk in two different directions and I’m feeling claustrophobic.

With no one around, what am I to think about? Not the Games or the arena or the tributes. But not my dad either. And everything else feels so small. There is nothing to distract me and I find my mind is completely empty. And yet I’m still afraid, I’m still sad. I cannot turn these emotions off like I can my thoughts so now I feel as though I’m some sort of animal. Being hunted by a predator but my brain too small to know what to do or where to run.

The sound of footsteps are a relief. For all I know it is the Peacekeepers coming to take me away but I don’t care. The door opens and Emma walks in.

This is an even bigger surprise than Vanessa. We’re barely friends. The only times we talk is through Vanessa, who I just kicked out.

And yet there’s none of the awkwardness that Vanessa had. She walks right up to me and throws her arms around my neck.

Her dress is soft and her hair smells like the ocean. I’m disappointed when she pulls away.

She takes my hand and leads me to the couch. When I sit she hands me a damp cloth that I realize is probably for my face.

I chuckle. “Thanks,” I say. I wash my face as best I can.

“My brother says the thing they’re told most often in the institute is that you never know who’s a threat until you see the arena.”

I stare at her. I have no idea what she means.

“What?”

“I’m just saying don’t sell yourself short. Strength and size don’t mean anything in an arena where speed and agility is most important.”

“No offense, Emma, but unless this arena is an ocean and we all have to maneuver around on a very specific type of boat I don’t see how any arena could help me while hindering Mandy Tarlek.”

“Don’t worry about Mandy,” says Emma. “She looks scary but she’s a good person. If she’s the one to kill you she’s not going to draw it out.”

I laugh. “I suppose getting your head cut clean off is the quickest way to go.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “I’m trying to say don’t sell yourself short. You’re athletic and smart and… attractive.”

She blushes but I know what she means. Attractive tributes pull more sponsors. And though I’m sure I won’t be the heartthrob of the Capitol, I probably look good enough to get a bottle of water when I need one.

“Does your brother know the youngest person to win the Hunger Games.”

Her face falls. “Yeah. fifteen and ten months.”

“So basically a sixteen-year-old. I’m fourteen and two weeks old. And I’ve never been much of a record breaker. I’ll be one of the little kids all the volunteers kill off before the fun begins.”

Emma’s eyes widen. “Finnick, no, you need to be in the Career pack.”

“The what?” I had never heard this term before.

“The Career Pack. It’s what the other districts call all the kids from One, Two, and Four. The volunteers who usually team up at the beginning.”

I knew Volunteers usually formed early alliances. But I guess I never noticed that the other tribute from Four was usually with them as well. It depends on the year, I guess. Last year, yes, she was in the alliance, but was the first to be killed. The year after that, no. She was killed at the Cornucopia. I rack my brain for other years. Most of the time both tributes from Four make it past the first day. But it’s either because they are with the Volunteers or fled the Cornucopia before the fighting started.

“Why does it matter?”

She grabs my hand. “It’s all that matters. The Careers almost always have control of most of the food in the arena. And the water. Because they win the Cornucopia fight. If you’re in with them you don’t have to worry about going hungry.”

“Yeah, I just have to worry about getting killed in my sleep.”

“A much better death than starvation.”

“How would I even get into the… what was it?”

“Career pack.”

“Right.”

“I don’t know. Ask your mentor.”

My mentor. One of the Victors from years past is going to have to take me on. I’ve never seen the mentors as much help. All they do is line up sponsors, but if people aren’t impressed by you there’s nothing they can do about it. Not to mention no parachute is going to help me when Mandy Tarlek’s coming at me with a mace. But maybe there’s more to this mentorship thing than I first thought.

I shake myself out of it. I can’t start thinking like this. Like I have some sort of chance. Because I don’t.

“Look, you’re really nice for doing this and thank you for talking to me like a normal person but I don’t see how, in the long run, this is going to help me at all.”

She rolls her eyes. “Maybe it’s my brother talking. But that doesn’t mean you don’t try.”

She reaches up and undoes her pearl necklace. Then she refastens it around my neck.

“Wear it as your token, would you?”

I hold it up an examine the largest pearl. It’s heavier than I thought it would be.

“Okay.” It’s not like I had anything else. “Are you sure?”

“I made it for my brother to wear as a token, but his trainers gave him something, so next year he’s gonna wear that,” She rolled her eyes. “He’s so lame.”

I couldn’t imagine that. His little sister spent years crafting the ultimate token and he turned it down?

“Thanks,” I say.

She shrugs. “Like you said. It’s a joke about people in the Capitol. It’d be a waste if they never saw it.”

I smile at her. I should have spent more time with Emma.

The Peacekeepers show up and she kisses me on the cheek.

“Good luck,” she says. And then she leaves.

And I’m alone again. But now I have the necklace. I run the large pearl, shaped a bit like a shark tooth and bright pink, over my lips. I take a closer look at the others. Only two or three are white and none of them are spheres. A few are close. One oval pearl might have passed inspection and been sent to District One if it hadn’t been chocolate colored. One white one looks very similar to a human tooth.

I like how she arranged the colors. None of the same colors are side by side but there’s no obvious pattern to it either. Most of them are some type of gold or cream color. The largest ones are near the front. She put a lot of time into this. Making it look intentional, yet still whimsical and, most importantly, wacky and fun.

I jump when the door opens. I was so involved in my new gift I hadn’t heard the footsteps.

Sam and Dawson walk in together. At least them I’ve been expecting, although now I’m wondering about my sister and David. Was Kathrine unable to see me because of the baby? What does stress about your little brother being killed in a televised broadcast do to a pregnancy?

Sam and Dawson run towards me and I stand to hug them. I’ve never hugged either of them before, and it feels weird, but we don’t stop.

When we break away Sam huffs.

“This is weird right? It’s supposed to be me in here.”

And I laugh because why not? It’s true. I had been much more worried about Sam than I had been for myself.

“You saw your dad?” Dawson asks.

I nod. “You guys haven’t seen my sister, have you?”

“She’s coming in after us. We offered to send her in first, but I think she and your dad had a plan. He goes first, she goes last.”

I nod, a bit more at ease knowing I have her to look forward to.

“I’m so, so sorry Finnick,” says Sam.

I look at my friends and the worry on their faces and the redness in their eyes and suddenly I am afraid for them. My thoughts return to my mother and her friend and the mysterious illness she could never quite shake. My dad knows what it looks like now. I believe my father when he says he will be alright. But I am worried for my friends.

“Could you do me a favor?” I ask.

“Of course.”

“It’s a big one.”

“Anything!”

They both look at me expectantly. There is nothing they want more than to do me a favor. To do something for me now, when I am beyond any help that matters.

“Don’t watch.”

It will be hard. Perhaps impossible. But once I say it, I’m sure it’s what I want. I want this meeting to be their last memory of me. Not whatever happens to me in the Games.

Their faces drop. Watching the Games is not optional. It is mandatory viewing every night. Not to mention the school plays it during lunch and sometimes they even pause a class and put it on if something exciting has happened. The televisions in our homes turn on by themselves. Sure, you might be able to get away with going to the store and missing a section or two. But the whole Games? That would be a crime.

“Not if it gets you in any type of trouble,” I say. “But… I don’t want you guys to see… I just don’t want to be thinking about—”

“—We won’t watch,” says Dawson.

Sam nods along immediately.

I’m taken aback. “If you can’t help it—”

“We’ll figure it out,” says Sam.

There are tears in my eyes again and despite the first hug being weird I lunge in for another.

“My dad is hiring you on the boat for however long Kathrine’s out,” I say.

“He doesn’t need to—”

“He was going to anyway, he said so earlier we had a huge fight with the in-laws about it.”

If this confuses them, they don’t say anything. I’m exhausted and so relieved at them not watching that my adrenaline doesn’t want to carry me anymore. I collapse onto the couch, and they sit on either side of me.

“One more favor? This one’s easier.”

“Shoot.”

“I was kinda mean to Vanessa when she was in here could you find her and tell her I’m sorry and I’m just in a bad mood. Understandably because I’m about to be beheaded by Mandy Tarlek but, y’know, still.”

“Sure,” says Dawson. “What’d you say.”

I sigh and quickly retell the meeting I had with her.

“She did not,” says Sam.

“What an asshole,” but Dawson’s laughing. And I suppose it is funny because I’m laughing too now.

“You really should have gotten down on one knee and proposed to her. Then you could have gone to those Capitol interviews and talked about your fiancée back home.”

“We’re fourteen!”

“Oh, so you can fight to the death, but you can’t get married because that makes sense.”

We’re all in stitches when the Peacekeepers come in and suddenly nothing is funny anymore. I’m hugging both of them and thanking them and then they’re gone and again I am alone.

I draw my knees up to my chin and hug my legs. I’ve never loved being alone but this is a new sensation. Like I cannot function without another person in the room with me. I suddenly feel as though I need to think about every breath I take and every time my heart beats or else my body will forget. Finally the door opens and I jump to my feet, desperate for any human companionship.

My sister and David walk in and before they are even through the door I collapse into them.

My sister guilds me to the couch and we all sit down while she fixes my hair and tries to unwrinkle my suit. When she’s satisfied, she grabs both my hands and holds them in her lap.

“Listen,” she says. “I know you’ve got a lot of things in your head but you need to remember that not everyone suffers in the Hunger Games.”

I snort and she glares at me with the same look she uses for when I touch her stuff.

“Oh Mr. Bigshot who knows so much more about the Hunger Games than I do, shush for a second will you?”

I shush.

“Do you remember how the girl from Eight died last year?”

I think for a moment. I can’t. I remember her, she got pretty far. Top six I think. But I cannot remember how she died. I shake my head.

“No, of course you don’t. Because we only ever remember the gruesome stuff. She ate a bad handful of berries passed away in her sleep. Stuff like this happens more than you’d think.”

I notice that she and dad have the same message. I’m not going to win, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to suffer.

I take out the length of rope dad gave me and tie it into a noose. I show it to her.

David’s eyes widen but he doesn’t say anything. Kathrine is less squeamish.

“If that’s the way you want to do it, then fine. You decide. You have more power than you think you do. Now untie that before someone sees it.”

I undo the knot and stick the rope back in my pocket.

David reaches over his wife to pat my shoulder. “I’m sorry Finnick,” he says. “We all love you, remember that.”

Very cliché, but effective because I feel tears behind my eyes. I look down and touch Kathrine’s stomach.

“You’ll tell them about me?”

Kathrine nods. “Oh, they’ll know who their uncle was. I’ll even tell them you were taller or a math genius or something.”

“You’d lie to your child?”

“It’s a baby, it’s stupid.”

“Please stop calling them an it,” says David.

“What? It can’t hear me. It’s not a person yet. It gets pronouns when it comes out.”

I’m smiling, which I think is what she was going for. Kathrine pulls me in and we sit there.

“I’ll take care of dad,” she says. “I’ll take care of everything.”

We sit in silence for the rest of the meeting. When the Peacekeepers come in she brushes my cheek and points at me.

“Remember, chin up, knees shut.”

They exit with the Peacekeepers and I only need to wait a few seconds before they’re back to escort me to the train station.

I collapse into a car with Mandy Tarlek. I’ve never been in a car before. Trains, sure, but never cars. It’s a strange feeling. At one point, out the window, I can see the large crowd of people, the entire population of District Four, regrouping to watch the recap.

When we get to the train station there are hundreds of cameras and I’m feeling dizzy again. I realize that my face is probably red and blotchy from crying, and I become embarrassed. I’m already weak and helpless because I’m fourteen. Now I’m also a crier. I stay behind Mandy, who does not seem fazed by the cameras at all. We stand in the train, letting the cameras get one last look of us (I wish they’d show me without Mandy standing next to me, I’m really not this short) and then the doors close and we are gone.

Chapter Text

This train is nothing like the rust bucket I was on just a few hours ago. Outside, the world shoots by and yet the car is silent and steady, as though we’re not moving at all. We’ll be in the Capitol sometime tomorrow.

I’m standing by the window, thinking maybe I’ll catch a glimpse of something familiar. But the train’s going too fast and I’m not even sure what direction it’s going, so I abandon it.

The train is beautiful, in an over the top, funny kind of way. Lush carpets, couches with fluffed pillows, even a chandelier. Why the hell would a train need a chandelier? In this car, there’s also a full dining room table that is set for eight.

“Alright!” says Barry Weathersmith.

I jump. Even though it makes sense he’d be going back to the Capitol with us I was not expecting him to be here. I get a good look at him in person for the first time. He’s a bit taller than me, and very thin. What I think is his real hair is died jet black with purple tips to match his suit. He has vine-like golden tattoos on his face and running to his collar. I wonder if they cover his body. Then I immediately stop wondering.

“Come, come,” he squeaks. “We’ll watch the recap and then we’ll eat.”

He ushers Mandy and I out of the dining car and down a narrow hallway. He opens a door and I find a whole viewing nook with many soft chairs and sofas, and a large tv on one wall.

The District Four victors are already inside.

Garrik, the youngest, sits on the floor in front of the tv even though there are plenty of chairs. I look at the back of his bald head and wonder briefly if he shaves it every day, or if they did something with it at the Capitol to keep it bald.

Walsh, the oldest man, sits on one of the cushioned chairs. As does Mags. They’re both eating something out of the same bag, although I haven’t a clue what the brightly colored berry sized things are. Candy?

Kent Adden sits on the arm of the couch. He’s probably about my dad’s age. He’s taking long sips from a flask.

Finally there’s Jeffer, who’s sitting in a chair all wrong. His legs thrown over one arm and his back arch’s in a way I can only imagine is uncomfortable.

Barry directs us towards the couch and then plops himself between us. I wish he’d sit anywhere else because he makes me uneasy. He reeks of some sort of perfume and the closer he gets the weirder his face looks painted with makeup.

I’m fascinated by the District Four victors. They look so bored, so at ease. Yet they only go to the Capitol once a year. Does it only take that much to get used to the life? And yet they’re also not like Barry, who’s excited and bubbly about the beginning of the Games. None of them have smiled once. Not at the reaping and not now, as we enter and they all introduce themselves.

Well, that’s not true. The men introduce themselves. Mags just nods and continues eating. I suppose it makes sense. She’s the oldest, she’s seen this all before.

I want to study them. As far as I know, they were all volunteers. So they worked their whole childhoods to go into the arena. Won. Came out Victors and fulfilled their life goals when they were eighteen and now… What? They do this? It seems like a waste when they could do… literally whatever they wanted. They had money and freedom now. And yet they look so bored, so depressed. Were they so focused on the Games themselves now they can’t do anything else? They just do what they’re told. Ride to the Capitol every year and then go home and do whatever it is they do in Victor’s Village.

Barry turns on the tv and suddenly the District Four victors are the last thing on my mind. I get a first look at the children who will be my enemies in the arena.

I retain none of the names. But I make sure to remember the faces of Districts One and Two.

There’s a tall, sturdy looking boy from District One with short brown hair. And the girl, same height with the same hair color only a bit leaner, her skin a bit darker. Her arms ripple with muscles.

From Two there’s a skinny, lanky eighteen-year-old boy with long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail and a girl, far shorter, with sharp eyes. The boy volunteered for a twelve-year-old, but by the looks of it, they don’t know each other.

Just like every year, all four of them are volunteers. Leaping forwards at a chance to fight in the arena.

The clips move on to district three, a boy and girl who look as though they could be twins. Same stature, same size, same ashen skin.

And there is Janet, shaking and ringing her hands, only to be replaced by Mandy, who somehow looks even bigger on screen. After the round of applause, I watch Barry Weathersmith bounce over and my name gets called out.

I hold my breath, hoping the time I spent confused and scared in the crowd would not be noticeable, but actually, I get up on stage much quicker than I remember. From the camera, I’m not shaking at all. I look small and young standing next to Mandy, but when Barry calls for volunteers, you can’t even tell I sobbed.

Even at the train station, sure you can see I cried when you look at me, but your eyes immediately are drawn to Mandy.

 I’m so relieved I barely catch any of the other tributes. There’s a boy from Six who’s as tall and strong looking as Mandy, a girl from Eight with very short hair, a sixteen-year-old girl from Eleven who taps her leg through the whole reaping.

We end with Twelve, two kids with olive skin and dark hair who look like they’d like to dive off the stage and get it over with, and the announcers are back talking about how it looks like a great bunch this year. Just as one woman announcer starts talking about betting odds Garrik gets up and turns it off.

I’m relieved.

I try and run through all the faces in my head. Was there anyone younger than me? I couldn’t remember. The girl from Five looked about my age but I couldn’t be sure. 

Barry is telling us to get settled and that dinner is in fifteen minutes. I numbly follow a Capitol attendant to what is apparently my room.

It’s gigantic, despite being on a train, with its own bathroom and king-sized bed. I stare at everything. The dresser with the full-sized mirror and the shower in the bathroom. What am I supposed to do in here? Settle into what? This will never feel right. I open the drawers to find plenty of fresh clothing to pick from.

I hesitate for a moment. Part of me doesn’t want to take off my father’s suit. What if some attendant scoops it up and I never see it again? But at the end of the day, this is unavoidable. When we get to the Capitol the stylists will put me in whatever I’m going to wear for the opening ceremonies. Might as well wear something comfortable now.

I peel off the suit, laying everything out on the desk that, from what I can tell, is just for display. Hopefully this will tell any workers that I don’t want it carted off. Will it be returned to my father with my body? I’m sure this is the last thing he’s thinking about, but still.

I keep Emma’s necklace on, though, because I’m going to wear it as a token. I throw on a pair of grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt. I wash my face, but it doesn’t help. My eyes are still red from the tears and if anything the water just makes my face puff up more. At the last moment, I grab the length of rope my dad gave me and shove it in my pocket. I can’t use it for its original purpose, of course, but my dad gave it to me, so I keep it.

Barry is the only one at the dining table when I get there, which makes me wish I had stayed in my room a bit longer. Yes, the victors and Mandy intimidate me, but at least they are from home.

Barry sits me down and the others start to file in slowly. First Mandy, then the rest. Once we’re all seated, they bring out the first course.

I’ve never had food like this before. It starts with a salad where the vegetables are so fresh they must have been picked from the ground just that morning. The tiny tomatoes burst in my mouth, but beyond that there’s also cheese and bread in it. In fact, I’m assuming the salad is our whole meal when they serve the next course.

Tomato soup with crispy crackers, mashed potatoes and gravy, steak that falls apart in your mouth. The dishes keep coming and though I don’t have a huge appetite after the day’s events I can’t help but eat it all because I’ve never tasted anything so good. So expertly prepared. By the time dessert comes, ice cream topped with strawberries, I’m fuller than I’ve ever been. And yet I’ve never eaten ice cream before and I’ve only had strawberries once, years ago. So I’m determined to at least eat enough that I can experience it.

The entire meal the adults have been making some sort of small talk about people I’ve never heard of, but I assume are from the Capitol. I take small spoonful’s of ice cream and I try to actually follow along.

“—And of course there’s Chaff and Haymitch for Eleven and Twelve, although I think Seeder stayed home this year. So it’s just Chaff and Elina,” says Kent.

“Seeder stayed home?”

“Yeah, she caught some flu apparently. Didn’t want to travel.”

“That means Chaff might actually have to work this year,” Jeffer joked. “Whenever will he find the time to get drunk?”

“Haymitch always manages just fine, and he’s got two tributes to look after.” Walsh chuckles. “I’m sure he’ll find a way.”

The names still don’t sound familiar but I’m realizing they are talking about other Victors. Who will now be mentors at the Capitol. Even though I knew all the past Victors gather together and mentor the tributes, I never considered them knowing each other.

“Let them get waisted,” snaps Kent. “It’s not a crime.”

“Says the man who was sprawled on the floor with them by day two last year.”

“As it turns out Eleven and Twelve know how to have a good time. Except for Seeder she’s a stick in the mud.”

“And I’m sure any person who actually lives in those Districts year-round who are starving to death.”

“Well sure, I didn’t mean them.”

Barry clears his throat at the other end of the table. This conversation is clearly making him uncomfortable. Of course it is, it’s about starvation and death and things that the Capitol doesn’t like to think about unless it’s specifically crafted for their entertainment.

“Anyway,” says Barry. “I think it’s about time to formally meet our newest Tributes!”

My spoon stops halfway to my mouth. I was not expecting needing to… y’know… speak during this. I put my spoon down and hope they start with Mandy.

They do not.

“Right,” says Kent, clearly annoyed at being interrupted. “What’s your name again.”

He’s pointing at me. I stare at the finger for a moment.

“Uhh… Finnick.”

“How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

“Got any skills you could use in the arena?”

My brain whirls. Do I have skills? I can think of no skills. Besides making friends at school and I doubt that’s a good skill to have in an arena full of kids who need to kill you to go home.

“Uhh… I don’t know is there any chance the arena this year is just a huge boat?”

Mags laughs at the other end of the table. She’s licking vanilla ice cream off her spoon, but she stops to ask me something.

The problem is I have no idea what she said. Her words slur together, and one side of her mouth doesn’t move much when she talks. I remember hearing she had a stroke a few years ago. Although that can’t be the only reason.

“Um, I’m sorry—”

“She asked if you sail,” says Garrik.

I nod.

Mags says something else which Garrik, again, translates.

“Do you tie knots.”

I nod again. Of course I do. Every sailor does. In fact, I love tying knots. When I was little, I used to tie up my shoelaces with sailor’s knots, even if it didn’t make any sense and my shoes fell off. My mom used to laugh at the intricate little knots on my feet.

“Which ones” says Walsh.

I don’t see how this could be helpful, but I take out the length of rope my dad gave me and rapidly tie and untie every knot I know. Except the noose. I keep that information hidden.

“You just have that on hand?”

I realize Garrik is referring to the rope. I shrug, hoping that they’ll just assume I’m the weird kid who carries rope everywhere.

“Knots are handy,” says Jeffer. “When you train, go to the knot tying station and tell them every knot you know. You’d be surprised how easy traps are when you already know the knots.”

Except I’m realizing I already know some traps. Mostly stuff for water, but still. My family also weaves our own nets, because buying the rope and doing it yourself is cheaper than buying the net. And don’t I see that all the time in the Hunger Games?

“It’s rare for an arena to not have a body of water,” says Walsh, “because otherwise people die of thirst. But there’s almost never a need for swimming because the other districts don’t know how.”

“It’d give us an unfair advantage,” says Kent.

“However,” Walsh continues. “Knowing how to fish is never a bad thing. Especially if you’re not part of the Career pack and need to get your own food.”

The Career pack. That’s the thing Emma mentioned. She was sure I’d need to get into it. I’m about to ask how I get accepted into a Career alliance, but the Victors have moved away from me. Clearly, they were just being polite. Before getting to the real star of the show.

“Mandy, right?” asks Garrick.

Mandy nods. She doesn’t seem at all intimidated by these people.

“Simon told me about you,” he said. “What’ve you got?”

I don’t know who Simon is, I’m assuming one of the trainers at the center. I don’t have time to ask because Mandy is off on a list.

Spears, hand-to-hand, knives, throwing knives, swords. Swords are her specialty. She tells us her speed isn’t great, she can run 100 meters in about 30 seconds, but she makes up for it in stamina. She’s starting to lose me on the technical terms

100 meters in 30 seconds doesn’t sound all that slow. But I’m not sure what the average is. I’m also wondering how a machete is different from a sword.

When she mentions knowing a bit about tridents I perk up considerably.

Tridents! I forgot about tridents! Although I’ve never used them against a person before… but I’ll take what I can get!

Walsh and Mags seem to notice my reaction.

“You any good with a trident?” says Walsh.

Mandy assumes he’s talking to her. “Well, I’m better with a spear but—"

I’m planning on letting her talk because this is something she clearly knows more about, not to mention I’m afraid of her, but Mags shakes her head and points at me. She does not want to hear about Mandy. She wants me.

Mandy doesn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, she looks at me expectantly.

“Uh. Yeah. I didn’t realize that was a weapon in the arena.”

“It’s not,” says Garrik. “I mean, not usually. I’m not even sure they’ve got them in the training center anymore. They were more popular at the beginning, but they’ve storta been phased out of circulation.”

My heart drops. There goes the only thing I had going for me. But the knots. I still have the knots.

“You any good?”

“Huh?”

“You any good with a trident?”

I think on that. Sure. I’m good. Very good. But against fish. I’m assuming people are harder.

“Well… yeah. I can kill a fish with it, if that’s what you mean. Never tried to kill a person with one.”

Mags chuckles again. She says something, which I vaguely take to be a “well I’d hope not” comment. But it’s mostly from tone.

“Fish are usually smaller than people,” says Jeffer.

“But fish don’t usually have weapons of their own.”

“Good point. But still, why didn’t you mention this at the beginning?”

I can’t answer. Because I don’t know why. I’ve been using a trident since I could lift one. Every single day since I was seven or eight. I’m good at it.

“I guess I didn’t think of it.”

“Anything else you didn’t think of?”

I stare at Garrik, who asked the question. Is there? I’m fast, though I don’t know how many seconds it would take for me to run 100 meters. I’m in shape. I can start fires, as long as I have a match. But something in me says none of this is important.

“I mean. I don’t know,” I say. “What does it matter?”

They all stare at me.

“These are your mentors, Finnick,” says Barry. “They can’t help you if they don’t know what they’re working with!”

“I’m fourteen!” I say. “What does it matter what I can do?”

There it is. That’s the reason none of it will make a difference. Because I’m fourteen and all of these things I can do mean nothing if an eighteen-year-old can do them too.

Mags is frowning at me, but she doesn’t speak.

The others are frowning too. But more out of boredom.

“Being fourteen isn’t a death sentence,” says Walsh. “Giving up is though.”

I stare at him. Suddenly this is all ridiculous. My nervousness is replaced with anger.

“I’m sorry, have you seen her?” I look at Mandy. “Not to put you on the spot but am I wrong to think you could rip me in half with your bare hands? And she’s only one of them! There are twenty-three and from the looks of it they’re all older than me. I can keep my chin up all I want but it doesn’t change the fact that my voice hasn’t dropped yet and my only skills are water based! A plucky attitude isn’t going to get me to age three years in the next week. Besides, you said they don’t have tridents anymore so what does it matter?”

“Well,” says Barry, clearly distraught. “There’s no need to get hostile.”

I turn on him. The man with body tattoos and pink lipstick has no place in this conversation.

“No need to get hostile? Great! I’ll tell the Gamemakers. This year the Hunger Games will just be a group picnic and then we’ll all go home, I’m sure everyone will be so pleased! I’ll call my sister and tell her that I will be there to meet her baby, she’ll be thrilled.” I drop the sarcasm and glare at him. “My name was in that bowl three times. Way to go on the draw there, Barry.”

Barry looks like I just slapped him across the face but everyone else is laughing, so he doesn’t really have a leg to stand on.

I am not laughing though. None of this is funny. The Victors I can tolerate, although I don’t like them much either. But Barry. Why did he have to be here? What even is his job? What does he do for a living besides pull names out of bowls and send children to their deaths? Is this a hot gig in the Capitol? What prior experience did he need before he was qualified to do this? And why, why, was he still here.

I take out my length of rope and start tying knots again. Knots are good because you don’t need to think to tie them but they’re complicated enough that you also can’t think about anything else. Somewhere, I hear the conversation move on. Mandy is talking again. I listen to her go on about her impressive abilities and each time she brings up a new one, I have to stop myself from imagining her killing me with it.

Knots. Knots. Focus on the knots. Blood knot, davy knot, double davy knot. Whatever pops into my head. At one point I feel someone looking at me. I look up and see Mags, not even paying attention to Mandy, focusing on me, and my knots.

I stop for a moment. Embarrassed. But then I become angry again because what do I care? I untie my davy knot and rework the rope into a noose. I untie it as quickly as I tie it, but she saw.

I’m not sure why I showed her. What if she tells the Gamemakers? But something tells me she won’t. That this is between us. After all, this is a meeting to tell our mentor’s our abilities, right? Well, I have an ability other tributes might desperately want. I have the ability to end it quickly.

“Alright,” says Walsh, finally. “I’m going to bed. Wake me when we hit the Capitol.”

He’s gone just like that. I wish I had the courage to follow him. The rich food from dinner is threatening to make a grand reappearance and Barry keeps glaring at me. I want nothing more than this day to be over.

Mandy and Garrik are discussing the other volunteers and I decide to jump in.

“They usually form alliances, right?” I ask. “One, Two, and Four?”

Garrik seems surprised I’m talking but he nods.

“Am I invited or is it just for the big kids?” I try to say it sarcastically, but let’s be honest. This is a sentence I might say to someone on a normal school day.

Mags chuckles at the end of the table.

“Depends,” says Garrik.

“On what?”

“On whether or not they want you.”

I glance at Mandy. I can’t find it likely.

“So that’s a no, then?”

“Well,” says Mandy. “How good are you with that trident?”

I stare at her. Despite her appearance her voice is high pitched and feminine. And with her brown hair down instead of up in the tight bun from the reaping she looks eighteen. Like someone I’d see in school. Her eyes are kind.

“I’m good,” I say. “But they don’t have tridents.”

“They have spears,” says Kent. “Not as similar as you’d like, but same basic principle. If you can show them that you can handle yourself. That they could, say, leave you at the camp to guard the supplies while they go hunting. They’d let you in.”

“And how do I do that?”

“A conversation for tomorrow,” says Jeffer.

Garrik turns to Mandy. “I’m your mentor,” he says. “We’ll work one on one from here on out. We’ll get to the Capitol around one pm tomorrow. When you wake up come in here and we’ll talk strategy.”

She nods. I’m about to ask, but Garrik beats me to it.

“You’re with Mags,” he says.

I glance at the elderly Victor at the end of the table. Is that why she’s been staring?

“Why just you two?” I ask. There are five Victors. What will the other three be doing?

“Well,” says Garrik. “Walsh hasn’t been a Mentor since Kent won. Jeffer did it last year. And Kent sucks at it.”

“I do not!”

Garrik scoffs.

“I’m sorry, what did I need from you when it was down to three tributes?”

Kent frowns and looks down in shame. “Fever medicine,” he mumbles.

“And what did you send me?”

“Pain killers.”

“And is that the same thing?”

“In my defense the buttons are very close to together.”

“Did those pain killers help my fever, Kent?”

“I’ll bet you got a buzz of them though, that must have felt nice.”

“Anyway, Jeffer and I usually switch off. And Mags always takes whichever kid didn’t volunteer. You’ll meet her in the screening room.”

I nod. I glance at her. How will she be able to teach me anything if I can’t understand her? But I don’t want to say it, in case it comes off rude. Instead, I use this as a good time to excuse myself and shuffle back to my room.

My father’s suit is still there, which I’m thankful for. I strip out of my clothes so that I’m just wearing Emma’s necklace and try to figure out the shower.

We have showers in Four. But they’re all outside. Mostly to wash off after being on the water. I only use it if I get shit on by fish a little too much. But this shower is nothing like those ones.

For one, it’s indoors, which is infinitely better. It has hot water as well as cold water and the panel on the wall changes the type of soaps, the jet stream, anything. I can stand in mist that creates a rainbow or I can ramp it up so it’s a single jet of water that I feel might bruise me. By the time I get the settings right I already feel clean. But I stand in there for another few minutes.

When I step out of the shower the pad dries me off. I place my had on some weird device and it untangles my hair. But looking in the mirror, I hate it. I ruffle it with my hand, trying to get its natural look back.

I look through the drawers and find a pair of pajamas. They’re blue and feel like silk. I slide in between the covers of my big bed.

I wonder what my family and friends are doing right now. Did they go to the community meal, or did they all lock themselves behind closed doors? Curtains closed? Thinking of my dad and Kathrine is too painful. But I find myself wondering about other people. My teacher at school. Dawson’s mother who I saw just this morning. Mr. Feltsin and the rest of David’s family. What were they thinking about? Tomorrow at school, will the people in my class glance at my empty seat? Will my absence be noticed?

I know it will be. Maybe in the Capitol the Hunger Games are celebrated. Where I’m going there will be no tears or pity. But in District Four, they’ll know better. I will be missed. I’m grateful.

I curl up into a ball. It’s hard to sleep without my father in the room with me. It’s hard to be alone at all. I can’t allow myself to think of anything. Wondering about the arena is useless and stressful. But I can’t think about home either, because I become far too depressed. I just stare at the curtain in my room and try not to go insane. Am I nauseous because of the food I’ve eaten? The train moving so fast? The excitement of the day? Possibly all of the above.

Eventually, despite my nerves, I drift off into an uneasy sleep.

I wake up later than usual. But it’s still probably five or six in the morning. I stumble towards the window and pull open the drapes. We’re stopped. For a second I’m worried we arrived at the Capitol and I slept through opening ceremonies but then I realize that’s impossible. It’s probably just to refuel. My window looks out on some sort of field. In the distance, there might be another district. Probably District One. At least that’s the only option if the tracks go straight to the Capitol. If it takes a round-about journey? Then it could be Seven or Five. Even Two. But I doubt it.

I dress in some random clothes from the dresser, grab my length of rope, and head off in search of breakfast.

I’m the first one in the dining room. I sit down at the table and Capitol attendants swoop down putting plates of food in front of me. Milk, orange juice, coffee, something that looks like fluffy cream. A bowl of fruits, some of them I’ve never seen before. I inspect some weird orange chunks. They’re definitely not oranges. I bite the corner off one of the little cubs. They’re some sort of melon and they’re insanely good. I dig through the fruit and eat each bit of orange melon before looking at the rest of my food. Fluffy pancakes with chocolate chips and bacon on the side. My family never gets chocolate, except the occasional holiday. Or when District Four has a victor. But I love it. I devour the pancakes, licking the chocolate off my fingers. I’m diving into the bacon and the rest of the fruit when Mandy walks in.

I remember I’m supposed to go to the viewing room, and she gets the table with Garrik. But Garrik’s not there yet so I assume I still have time.

Mandy seems less impressed by the spread, but maybe she’s just playing it cool because she still eats as much as I do. When she picks up the cup of cream and takes a sip, I realize it’s not just cream, there’s something underneath.

I take a small sip and find that it’s more chocolate.

I’ve always seen chocolate as a dessert. I’ve never thought it could be eaten at breakfast. But I suppose if you have access to chocolate whenever, you eat it every chance you get. I drink the cup in slow, long sips until it’s empty.

I remember reading something about people being executed getting a last meal of whatever they want. The least they can do before throwing me into an arena is give me a bunch of great food.

I’m full again but I want to keep eating. I take small bites of some sort of roll with honey on top and occasionally I pop a blueberry in my mouth.

The others show up after a while, which is good because Mandy and I seem determined not to speak to each other. However, while Mandy and I are clearly going through the most stressful week of our lives (and for me, the last), these people seem completely at ease, which annoys me.

Jeffer and Barry walk in around seven. Jeffer eats some pancakes, but his attention is fixed on some book in his other hand. Barry just grabs an orange and a cup of coffee and leaves. All this food in front of him and he grabs a single orange?

Walsh doesn’t make an appearance, which I suppose matches up with his request to be woken when we arrive at the Capitol. However, neither does Mags. Seeing as she’s my mentor, this worries me. I’m sure I will never be desperate enough to wake her up, but I have questions about this Career pack that I’ll probably need answers to before I get thrown into opening ceremonies.

Kent comes in around eight. He looks like death, and I can tell the drinking didn’t end with dinner last night. He takes small sips from a cup of coffee and tiny bites of food, his head basically on the table.

When Garrik comes in I grab a few more rolls and head for the screening room. I don’t want to sit in a room by myself but I also don’t want to be told to leave so Mandy and Garrik can get down to business.

I open the sliding door and squeeze through with my rolls only to discover Mags is already there. She sits on the couch with an empty plate on the coffee table. She’s knitting something. When she sees me she smiles and pats the place on the couch next to her.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I say, sitting down. “I… didn’t know you were here.”

She shrugs. Like it’s the last thing on her mind. She pulls out a bag from behind the couch and dumps the contents on the floor.

Ropes.

I showed her basically everything last night, but from the looks of it she’d like me to do it again. I pick up one of the ropes and start tying.

When I untie the first one she immediately stops me. She gestures that I retie it, which I do, then she takes it from me, lays it out, and hands me another rope.

I understand now. I’m tying every knot I can think of and putting it to the side. Each time I hand off a knot Mags grabs it and examines it.

I’m not sure how long it takes, but I run out of knots. I don’t tie a noose, even though she knows I can. I still have plenty of ropes left though. I move from the couch to the floor and start weaving a net out of the rest of them.

Mag’s nods along and writes down each knot I tie. When I finish, I look at her expectantly, sitting among all the knots.

She tears the paper out of a small notebook and hands it to me. At the top it reads: “Knots he knows.”

“Is this for the knot instructor during training?”

She nods.

I suppose it makes sense. Whoever is in charge of teaching knots probably won’t just believe me and move on when I tell them what I know. I’d be wasting hours of proving I can tie all these knots. But a letter from Mags they’d probably believe.

She takes it back, probably so I don’t lose it.

Now that the knots are done, I have one question I know I need to ask.

“My friend says I need to get into the volunteer alliance.”

Mags nods.

“She said I won’t starve to death if I’m in the alliance.”

Mags nods again.

“But it’s not for protection?”

Mags shakes her head.

“Wouldn’t they just kill me first and get it over with? What’s the point of keeping me in the group? Even if I canget in.”

Mags sighs and pats the couch next to her again. I sit in my old spot and she says something I don’t quite catch.

“I’m… I’m sorry I’m having some trouble understanding you.”

She doesn’t seem offended. This must happen a lot. She takes out another piece of paper and writes something out. Then she hands it to me and says it again.

Why would they bother killing you? You’re not a threat.

I stare at her.

“But… then why let me in.”

She writes as she speaks. Whatever words I miss, I can catch on the paper.

She tells me there are two things I need to keep in mind when entering the Career pack. One: I need to constantly thread the needle between being useful enough to keep around and weak enough to not be threatening. Lean to far to one side, they’ll kill me. And two: the moment when I start to feel unsafe with them is a good indicator I should have left two days ago. Never stay in an alliance when the alliance makes up the majority. So, if all six “Careers” are still alive, I leave when we get down to twelve kids. If one or two are dead, I have a bit more time.

“But what if twelve kids die during the initial blood bath?”

I don’t need the paper to understand this one. Part of me already knows the answer: I leave that night.

"Then what's the point of being in the alliance at all?”

But I know this answer already as well. Food. I cannot feed myself, unless there’s a lake where I can fish. I will need food from the cornucopia and these eighteen-year-olds will win it for me. After that, all I need to do is pack a backpack full of food and supplies, enough to keep me alive, and run before they kill me.

“But... This means that the longer I’m in the with Careers the better. Because then it’s less likely for the food to run out and for me to starve. But the longer I stay with the Careers the more likely they’ll just kill me…”

Mags nods. I understand the issue. She has no suggestions on how to fix it.

I bite my lip.

“Okay… how do I get in? Prove myself at the Cornucopia?”

Mags shakes her head. Throughout the conversation, I’m getting better at understanding her. Figuring out which letters she has the most trouble with and filling in the blanks. And even though I can’t usually catch each word, I can understand what she’s saying.

She tells me that the alliances are formed before we get into the arena. And my biggest hope is being good with a spear.

And we’re back to tridents.

“How different are they, really. Spears and tridents.”

Very. Apparently, they are very different.

“I don’t get how that’s possible.”

She stands slowly and shuffles over to a lamp in the corner of the room. I don’t know what I’m expecting her to do, but I am wrong. She rips off the top of the lamp, takes out the bulb, removes the stand so it is now just a pole.

She hands it to me. I stare at it. What does she want me to do with this?

She pretends to jab something in the air and I realize this is about stance. I take up the stance I usually use with my trident.

She’s on me immediately, shaking her head. She’s moving my hands. Apparently, my hands are too far apart. They are too far up the “spear”. They are positioned wrong, with my leading hand knuckles down—she adjusts them so both are facing down.

She eventually steps back. I jab the air a few times with the new stance.

I hate it.

Everything feels wrong. I don’t know how I could possibly hit something like this. I pick it up with one hand and put it over my shoulder like I’m about to throw it. Mags moves my hand farther back, but other than that she nods. So that is the same. Good. Although I guess the weight would be different, which means I might miss the first few times I try.

“I guess I can get used to the difference in training.”

She shakes her head and that’s when I realize. Training is when I have to impress the volunteers.

She breaks it down for me. The first day of training will be me showing off. I only do things I know I am good at. And I use a spear. But I make sure to take it slow, and don’t do anything I could embarrass myself with. The second and third days will be about learning new things. But day one is just to prove myself. To get into the alliance.

“But if I’m going to suck at spears originally then what’s the point? Are the careers really going to care if I tie fancy knots?”

Mags writes down the names of a few stations that I am to go to first. Even the instructors at those stations. She also writes exactly what I am to do.

I stay away from throwing spears, but one on one combat with them will be a good place to show off. Even if I hold it wrong, it will still look impressive enough and that specific trainer will go easy on me if I tell her I’m good with a trident. I’m to make sure the Careers are watching.

Anything I need to actually learn how to do will be saved for day two. But she asks me if I’m fast and I say I am. Apparently, there is no place to race. However, there is a station for hand to hand that is mostly avoiding getting jumped. For the smaller kids. The instructor’s name is Azon. I tell him I’m a beginner, he runs through the basics quietly. Then, when at least one career is looking, I do my best to run circles around him.

She also tells me to use knives. I can use a knife, but not for violence. I can cut a rope or gut a fish with one, sure. But she claims the ability to hold it will be enough. She asks me if I’m a good climber but if I’m being honest, I’m not. All the trees in my sector of District Four are too tall, the lowest branch being far too high up to grab. I can climb down a ladder into the ocean, sure. But I’m honestly not sure how I’d do on a ladder with more than four rungs. She crosses out that idea.

After lunch on day one I am allowed to tie knots. But I am not to throw a spear until the alliance is set, with or without me.

My head is full of knots and spears and lessons about how to start a fire when I feel the train stop. I look up in surprise.

The clock reads 1:00pm. We’re in the Capitol.

I jump to my feet, suddenly terrified. But Mags seems almost bored. She gets up, stretches, and takes my hand. She guides me through the train, to the main exit.

“Alright,” says Garrik when we arrive. “Anybody wake Walsh?”

As if on cue Walsh stumbles into the train car, bed head and ruffled clothes.

“Okay,” he turns to Mandy. “One last piece of advice? Don’t argue with the stylists. They’re gonna do what they want no matter what you say and life’s just easier when you’re nice to them.”

She nods and I make a mental note as well.

I realize that I am taking these notes much more seriously than I thought I would. My brain still whirls through Mag’s training cheat sheet. I’m suddenly obsessed with thinking about alliances and spears and when exactly to leave the Career pack without making myself a target. Even though just last night I had been yelling about why any of it matters, because I’ll be dead no matter what. Emma and Walsh both told me giving up was a stupid thing to do, and I ignored it. I was too enlightened to believe in myself. And yet here I am doing it anyway.

But was it a bad thing? At the end of the day, all this preparation was a good distraction. I had just killed five hours that would have otherwise been spent stressing about the future and missing home. I suppose I could keep going like this. For now. 

Chapter Text

The first thing I’m told once I’m introduced to my prep team is to strip naked. I wait for them to leave the room. They don’t.

This place is weird.

I swallow the lump in my throat and take off my clothes. My prep team, Aleksander, Alexia, and Prometheon, lead me to a bath full of weird smelling soap.

“Whoops, wait!” squeaks Aleksander before I step in. He grabs at Emma’s necklace. “Forgot something!”

I grab the necklace before he can touch it.

“No,” I say. “It’s my token. For the arena. I get to keep it.”

All three of them laugh, which I hate. They’re all dressed worse than Barry. Colors so sharp it hurts my eyes. Prometheon’s hair somehow stands up in three spikes going in different directions. Each spike is a different color. Alexia’s eyes are bright purple. Aleksander’s entire body is covered in a sparkly powder and there’s not a single hair on him that I can see. No hair on his head, no facial hair, not even eyebrows. They’re all so repulsive. I frown at their laughter. As if I’m the fool here.

“Oh, you’re sooo cute,” says Alexia.

“If this is your token, we’ll be sure to give it to Rujeria,” says Aleksander. “She’ll get it approved by the Gamemakers! You’ll get it back before the games.”

I don’t let go of the necklace. Terrified I’ll hand it to these people and never see it again.

“What if the Gamemakers don’t approve it? Will it just get thrown out?”

This stumps them. They don’t answer.

“It isn’t mine. It belongs to my friend. If I don’t wear it in the arena I want to make sure it gets back to her.”

Prometheon pats me on the head, nodding with understanding. As though this is something he goes through all the time.

“We’ll talk to Rujeria about it.”

I realize this is as good as I’m gonna get. I take off the necklace and hand it to Prometheon. He examines it.

“So… colorful. What is it?”

“It’s a pearl necklace,” I say.

They all laugh at me again. Being naked in a room with three disgusting looking adults while they laugh at me is probably the strangest thing I’ve ever experienced. Is what I’m feeling embarrassment? Something between that and anger.

“Oh, honey. This is not a pearl necklace.”

I scowl at him.

“Yes. It is.”

They laugh again. As if they’d know what pearls are better than I do.

“Sweetheart, pearls are round. And white.”

“No, some of them are round and white. The ones we ship to District One to get made into jewelry are round and white. Most pearls are oddly shaped. Some have weird colors. These are the rejects. The pearls that aren’t good enough to send to District One. The pearls we keep in Four.”

Then Prometheon does something extremely odd. He takes a pearl and rubs it against his teeth. Just as I’m about to ask him to please not put my token in his mouth, he gasps.

“These are pearls!”

What else would they be?

“Why’d you… with the teeth?”

“Oh! It’s a way to tell between the real thing and cheap plastic fakes.”

I stare at him. Does he really think it would be easier for me to get a hold of plastic pearls than the real thing? Who makes these plastic pearls? District One? So District One makes real pearl necklaces and plastic pearl necklaces for those who can’t afford to waste buckets of money on the real thing?

“Right…”

“Well this is just too cute,” says Alexia. “Your own pearl necklace, just like the ones we have here. Trying to be more civilized and charming, even in Four! It’s just a bit more… colorful! Like you!”

I’ve never been more insulted. This woman thinks I am trying to emulate her? That Emma made this necklace to pretend to be just like the Capitol? I knew no one here would get the joke—that’s the point, but this necklace is not supposed to make me more like them. It is supposed to make fun of them. To show them how stupid it is, how much money they spend on pearls, when we create necklaces that are basically the exact same for free. And now that I thought about it… I’m more colorful? Says the girl with the unnaturally purple eyes and yellow lipstick? Next to the man in full body paint? What are they basing this color on? My personality? They barely know me!

Perhaps colorful is just a nicer term for weird. But again, I’m the weird one?

“Uh… Sure. So you’ll get it approved?”

Aleksander nods. “Don’t worry. It’s safe with me.”

I soak in the tub for about an hour. Then they scrub me down from head to toe with some kind of rock that feels like sandpaper. They file and clean my nails so they are perfect ovals. Pluck my eyebrows. They smear my face with some kind of mud-like substance. I’m not sure what it was supposed to do, but I don’t look or feel any different when they take it off. They cut my hair as well. Not a lot, just a small trim, which I probably needed anyway. They slather some sort of conditioner into my hair and leave it there for a little while. When they rinse it out, I’m relieved to find that my hair still acts like it did before. Still curled and a bit messy, but now less frizzy. It doesn’t look like I just rolled out of bed anymore.

When they’re finished, I don’t look all that different. Cleaner, sure. A bit more put together. But still me. I’m sure this isn’t it. One I meet with my stylish she’ll cover me in body paint or something ridiculous. But for right now, things aren’t too bad.

“Look at you,” says Alexia. “You were born for this life. Poor thing, hidden away in District Four. Now you get the spotlight you deserve.”

I have no idea what she means but I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be offended.

“Uh… what?”

“Honey, we barely had to do anything for you!” says Prometheon. “You’ve got a natural look that most of the tributes we see just don’t have.” Prometheon shivers, as if disgusted by the memories of all the ugly children he had to work with before sending them to their deaths.

“Okay!” squeaks Aleksander. “Wait here, hon. We’ll get Rujeria.”

I throw on my robe the second they leave.

I’m squeamish about what Prometheon said. The last two male tributes from Four were both volunteers. They both trained to be in the arena since they were eight or nine years old. They volunteered for poor kids with families to feed, for the mayor’s twelve-year-old son. And yet the only thing they are remembered for is that they were, in the eyes of the Capitol, unattractive?

I want to say it’s just the prep team. But I can’t believe that. After all, to the Districts, the Hunger Games is a source of torture. But to the Capitol? It is just a television show. They want tributes to die and be attractive while doing it.

My stylist comes in and from the moment I set eyes on her I know I don’t want to wear anything she deems attractive. I recognize her from watching the Hunger Games in the past. She’s been in the game for a while. But on our small screen at home, she’s much less… she’s just less.

Her skin is blue with black dots. Her eyes are two different colors, one yellow and one blue. And yet even the blue eye is completely unnatural. Her bleached blond hair is tied in some intricate braid that sticks up off her head. Untied it must reach the floor. But those are the things I can deal with.

It’s her proportions. I think I could reach my hands out and close them around her waist completely. And whatever she took out of her midriff to get it so small, she added to her breasts and butt. They are gigantic. And then, again, her arms and legs are practically skin and bone. Her lips are stretched to be too large and she’s clearly done something to her nose to make it smaller. Her eyebrows are two pencil drawn lines arched in a way that make her look surprised all the time. She is repulsive. Some kind of Muttation that will soon be hunting me down in the arena. Something almost human, but scientifically stretched and modified.

I stare at her and she stares at me. I realize she must be doing the same thing I am. Inspecting me, taking in my physical appearance. Only she has complete control over me, I realize. She could turn me into something that looks exactly like her, and there’s nothing I could do about it.

She makes me remove the robe and I do. She walks in circles around me, taking it all in. I’m terrified of her. For the first time since I boarded the train in Four I am actually, truly scared. Not of something that will happen in the future, but of what is happening right now.

Finally she stops in front of me.

“Finnick, right?” she says.

I nod, but I’m shivering. Hopefully, she will just think it’s because I’m cold.

“Great,” she grabs something, my costume for opening ceremonies covered in a black bag, and walks it over to me. “Put on your robe, let’s talk about what you’ll be wearing.”

I thankfully slide back into the robe. She couldn’t do anything permanent, could she? She couldn’t alter my body before going into the arena. Surely that is not allowed.

“As I’m sure you know, for the opening ceremonies each district is dressed in something that represents your District’s main trade.”

I nod. I do know this. Four is lucky with fishermen. Usually, we’re in some fish inspired costume. The crowd usually likes us. But other districts that aren’t as… pretty. Ten, Five, Twelve, those guys. They’re usually dressed in some weird version of the clothes they wear to work. It doesn’t usually leave much of an impression.

“We don’t want to dress you and your fellow tribute in the same thing, of course, you’re both unique, we want to broadcast the differences.”

I try to think back. I suppose it is rare for the tributes to be in exactly the same outfit. But then again, who can tell? They’re all so weird.

“This year, Elenore, my fellow District Four stylist, is going to focus on fishing as a trade. Whereas you and I are going to focus on the ocean itself.”

She unzips the black bag revealing a bunch of blue and silver fabric. I can’t envision what it would look like on… but I suppose it doesn’t matter. I try my best to look impressed.

“Since District Four gets here so late, we don’t have a lot of time. Luckily, your prep was very fast.”

That was considered fast? My prep took hours. I’d hate to know what a slow prep feels like.

She starts with my makeup. She swirls blues and greens and greys over my face. I close my eyes and try not to wince every time she pokes at me. When my face and neck are painted, I look at myself in the mirror.

It looks terrible. Like… well like someone’s painted all over me. I grimace but immediately stop in case she notices. I don’t want to make this woman angry. I’ll be in her hands again for the interview night.

She’s looking at me, eyes squinted. To my great surprise (and relief) she takes some sort of wet napkin and washes all the makeup off my face.

I give her a quizzical look. She shrugs.

“I planned out this design long in advance, obviously. But it just doesn’t work for your facial structure. You’ve got a natural look that I shouldn’t hide. Most tributes don’t have that.”

Again, I’m insulted for the past District Four males. These kids that came before me were not unattractive. Especially not if we compare them to her, the circus freak.

The brushes are out again and this time is worse. I’m positive, every time she comes at me, that she’s going to poke me in the eye. And apparently, for this, I cannot just close my eyes and wait for it to be over. She tells me exactly when to blink. To look up, look down, close my eyes but only partially. Finally, she is done around the eyes. She moves on to my lips.

But she doesn’t stop at my face. She paints with blues and greens down my neck and arms. When she steps back and I can look in the mirror, I look completely different.

It is better, much better, than before. Blue and black make-up around my eyes that brings out my eye color. My lips are silver, which is weird. But not necessarily freakish. There are waves painted down my arms. The waves on my neck seem to splash against my face. And there are tiny white dots on my cheeks.

She then moved onto my hair. She weaved some sort of vine looking fabric into it. Like a crown. It makes my curls stick up. I look windswept, but in a good way. I realize the vines are supposed to be seaweed.

It does not look like seaweed.

Finally, she brings out the outfit.

I realize it’s just a very complex suit. The pants go on first. They are blue with grey and green swirls and frills coming off the sides. A black undershirt. My dress shirt is a similar blue. Finally, there is the blazer and cape. Blue and white to look like a wave. I slide into white boots. Then there are a few pins she puts on my blazer. I realize these are supposed to be fish. I examine them, they could be some sort of trout. But they are shaped wrong. Too fat, not long enough. The fins were all wrong.

She puts me in a handful of different sized necklaces, all of which were some sort of shiny rocks. But no pearls. She touches up my makeup and stands back to view her work.

I stare at the mirror. It looks nice enough. Although I can’t help but think this is what the ocean looks like to someone who has never seen the ocean before. All the blue and green swirls. The ocean can be blue. Sometimes. On a sunny day. But never this vibrant of a shade, brighter than the sky’s blue. And I don’t know where she got the green from.

But besides that, I look fine. After the initial effect wears off, it just looks like a kid in a blue suit and a cape. But I don’t say that.

Rujeria looks very happy. She’s walking around me with a large grin on her strange face.

“Perfect.”

If you say so, I think.

…

Rujeria leads me down to the staging area. She plops me down next to the District Four chariot, tells me not to move, and then leaves.

I’m one of the first tributes there. I see both tributes from District Two a few Chariots away. The boy’s long hair is no longer in a ponytail and hangs around his shoulders. I’m not sure what they’re supposed to be dressed as… District Two is masonry, though they get a lot of Peacekeepers from Two as well. I guess they could be some sort of statue costumes…

The guy catches my eye and I immediately look away. The horses that lead the District Four chariot are also painted blue (what is it with the Capitol and assigning us the color blue?). I touch the large animals. The horse doesn’t move, and whatever they used to dye the fur stays put. I pet the horses for a while to pass the time. One of the handlers comes by and offers me some sugar cubes to feed them with. This is probably the most fun I’ve had since my name got called. I hold out a few cubes in my hand and the horse’s lips brush against my palm as it eats each cube obediently. I’m petting the horse’s nose, wishing I had more sugar to feed it, when someone comes up behind me.

“Made a friend?”

I jump and twirl around. It’s Mandy.

I’m a bit relieved that it’s not someone telling me off for petting the horses. Or another tribute. But I’m still a bit scared of Mandy. A lot scared of Mandy.

“He’s cute,” I say. “It’s weird that he’s blue, though.”

She laughs.

I look at her costume. It’s… fine. She’s wearing a dress done up with nets and fish. I think she’s supposed to look like a boat. Her boots go up to her knees and they’re painted like wood. The make-up around her face has tiny white birds near her eyes. I’m assuming seagulls. Her hair is done up in a bun, with a few strands falling down in ringlets. But honestly, it looks designed by someone who really wanted Mandy to be as skinny as I am.

I’ve noticed no one in the Capitol has Mandy’s body type. I wonder how that happened. Endless surgeries? Or perhaps it’s more simple. Perhaps they have no reason to be physical. I’ve seen a few people on tv who are “muscular.” One of the announcers for the Hunger Games is like that. But I’ve never seen people with that muscle structure before back home. Their arms and legs have huge bulges but they are still skinny. Not like real strength. Where you become big, a bit of a stomach, thick as a tree trunk. That’s what actual strength looks like. That’s healthy. What do these Capitol “muscular” people do to look the way they look? Nothing practical, I’m sure.

“Okay!” says a voice behind me that I recognize. “Are we excited?”

I turn to see Rujeria and some other woman covered from head to toe in orange and red jewels whom I assume is Mandy’s stylist.

Mandy and I do our best to act happy, though I can tell she hates her stylist as much as I hate mine.

“Oh, you changed the make-up,” says Mandy’s stylist, Elenore, if I remember right. She comes right up to me, grabbing my chin and inspecting the new look.

“It just didn’t show him off. And I mean he’s such a cutie!”

I would be embarrassed by this if it weren’t so ridiculous. I can hardly see these two women as real-life people. They’re like puppets someone took some creative liberties with. Both women laugh, clearly giddy over my supposed good looks. Like how Vanessa’s friends would giggle after she flirted with me. But I can’t feel anything.

Something weird happens, though. Mandy grips my shoulder and pulls me away from the women. “Yeah,” she says. “He’s also fourteen, y’know.”

Both women chuckle. I’m glad they’re not angry—I’ve already made Barry angry I don’t need to have my stylists hate me too—but they’re laughter is confusing. Mandy is accusing them of something that, at least back home, is despicable. Any adult from Four would be mortified at being accused of drooling over a kid. But these women don’t seem to mind at all.

“Of course, honey. We don’t mean anything by it!”

Before Mandy can respond they are ushering us onto the chariot and readjusting our outfits. As Mandy’s stylist fixes her bun, mine steps up on the chariot and inspects my make-up. She licks her thumb and rubs something off my forehead which causes Mandy to scowl.

Both women hop off after a moment. They’re all smiles and popping champaign. Which I find a bit ridiculous because what exactly have they accomplished?

“Where the hell are our mentors?” says Mandy.

I scan the stables. I don’t see Mags or Garrik. But I don’t see any other mentors either. All of the other tributes are in their chariots, being fussed over by their own stylists.

“I guess they aren’t allowed back here,” I say. “Maybe there’s a place they watch from. Not a great view from here.”

Mandy scowls again. “Are those women making you uncomfortable?”

I shrug. “I guess a little. It’s kinda hard to take them seriously. They’re so… well.”

I don’t say it but she understands. I am a bit curious why she cares. Emma insisted she’s nice, but part of me really doesn’t believe it. A bit too preoccupied with the “skilled killer” portion of her descriptions.

“Well, we probably won’t be completely alone with them again,” she says. Probably to herself more than me. “With Mags and Garrik around I’m sure they’ll be a bit more… professional.”

I’m not sure about that—I can’t imagine people from the Capitol showing humility. But I shrug. Now that Mandy and I are talking, I want to keep it up. It might make the next week more bearable.

“Um… My friend Emma told me a bit about you. She’s Noric’s little sister?”

Mandy brightens up. “Oh sure! The little blonde girl. She hasn’t been by the training center in a while.”

“Well their parents split up,” I say. “And Emma went with the dad and Noric with the mom. Guess they’re not as close now.”

Mandy looks surprised. Clearly, she and Noric are not that close. Or Noric doesn’t talk about… anything from home.

“Anyway… Emma had a lot of nice things to say about you. Although she also said you could cut a guy’s head clean off and I’ve kinda been fixating on that.”

Mandy laughs. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

I smile slightly. But I’m not very convincing. It feels strange to talk to her knowing in a few weeks one or both of us will be dead. Although Mandy is looking good in that sense. Now that I’m catching glimpses of the other tributes in person, she’s clearly the largest.

I may be the smallest.

“What’s wrong?” Asks Mandy. I must not have been hiding my distress.

“Oh,” I say, casually, “y’know. Just checking out the competition. Wondering what my betting odds are.”

There’s pity in Mandy’s eyes. She knows I can’t win. I’ll probably be dead on day one. Maybe a little later if I can get into the Career Pack.

“Listen… I meant what I said. About you not having to worry about me.”

I scoff. “There can’t be two winners. And I know how long you’ve trained for this. I don’t resent you for it or anything. In fact, your winning could help friends of mine put food on the table.”

I think of Sam. I imagine him and his family settling in to watch opening ceremonies before I remember that he promised he wouldn’t be watching. I wonder if he found a way to keep that promise.

“I know, and I’ll be honest if it comes down to just the two of us I’ll… do what I have to.”

I nod. It won’t be down to just the two of us, though.

“But,” she says. “I’m not going to kill you in the arena if there’s any way around it.”

This doesn’t make sense. In the arena, you kill who is in front of you.

“Thanks. But it’s not very practical.”

“Look, Finnick, I don’t want to go home as the girl who killed the fourteen-year-old she was sent with.”

I hadn’t thought about that. Home. Even people who don’t know me must pity me back home. Mandy killing me if it’s just the two of us left? Completely understandable. Mandy killing me unprovoked on day one? That’s the kind of thing people back home will remember. It would be so unnecessary to kill me like that.

“Listen…” she says. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I don’t want you to be afraid of me and… Well. Your dad came to see me. Before we left.”

I tense up.

“My dad?”

Just the thought of him brings up emotions I can’t have right now. I imagine him, pulled from the room by those Peacekeepers, headed back out but he stops; asks to talk to Mandy as well. I realize there are things he’s said that I haven’t heard yet. That through Mandy I could hear his voice one more time. And yet. What did he say? Do I want to know?

“Yeah. He seems like a nice guy. He… was pretty forward. He just, um. He just asked me that if I was anywhere nearby when you die if I could make sure you don’t suffer.”

A clean death. That is what my father would ask for me. But Mandy seems to have taken the ask a step further. She’s becoming protective of me. Even now, when the only predators are our stylists.

“You can’t protect me in the arena,” I say.

“I know. And I won’t. At least, not at the risk of hurting myself. But if I don’t win I want you to. And I take what your dad asked very seriously. I’m not a squeamish person, Finnick. If it’s your time I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

I realize I have been scared of Mandy for nothing. I’m not sure why, but my dad has made an impact on her. She is not going to hurt me. Because we are both from District Four. I am the casualty, the heartbreaking death that needs to happen, and she plans to put me down as humanely as possible. If I was focusing on winning, I’d be nervous. But isn’t my only goal not to suffer? In that case, Mandy Tarlek is my greatest ally.

I smile at her gratefully.

The large doors open and the screams of the crowd is deafening. The horses start to move. The crowd outside screams wildly as District One emerges. Their costumes are always beautiful. But since their district makes trinkets and jewelry, it’s not hard for them to look nice.

I grip the side of the chariot. I’m nervous about the crowds. District Two rides into open air. Another large round of applause.

I stare at the chariot from Three. The boy wears some sort of computer screen, and the girl has a bunch of wires on her dress. At least I look better than them. But then they are gone. I grip the chariot until my knuckles are white. I don’t want to be in front of that crowd. Paraded around for them. But the horses move on their own and soon I am blinded by lights.

People cheer for us. I try my best to look not terrified. My face feels like clay, I force the ends of my lips upwards and fight the urge to close my eyes to all the lights.

I hear someone call my name in the stands. A good number of voices. They must have looked it up. My left hand is still clutching the side of the chariot, but I lift my right, trying my best to wave and look genuinely happy to be there.

The ride takes twenty minutes. In that time, I relax slightly. I notice the large screens around the street seem to fall on me more often than the others. Or maybe I just only notice when it falls on me. I wave a bit more, smiling. I even make eye contact with a few people in the crowd. I point and wave at them in particular. They go crazy for it. I realize this is a very easy audience to please.

We ride up to the Capitol Circle and our chariot stops in front of the President’s mansion. We then wait for the rest to file in behind us.

President Snow appears on the balcony above us. It’s weird, seeing him in person. But I’m too far away to get a good look. I just see his white hair and clean suit.

He gives us his official welcome, and says that he’s looking forward to this year’s games. And then, finally, it is over. We parade around the circle and plunge into the training center.

Our prep teams are waiting for us inside. As is Barry Weathersmith who I guess is just here for the duration now. They all babble excitedly. They help us off the chariot and make us wait for the stylists, who are on the other side of the large room.

Mandy and I stand awkwardly. I’m about to try an initiate some more conversation when someone crashes into me and I fall to the floor.

“Oops.”

It’s the boy from District Two. He doesn’t seem all that sorry. The girl with him is laughing. I’m planning on rolling my eyes and letting it slide but Mandy has other ideas.

“Hey,” she snaps.

He turns, cocky and arrogant, and looks at her. His swager faulters at the sight of her. I can tell he immediately regrets his decision to stand his ground. Mandy towers over him. And even in her stupid little dress she is the most intimidating person in the room. She stares down her nose at him, hands closed into fists.

“What’s your name, goldilocks?”

He squares his shoulders, trying to grasp at dignity. But it’s hard, because next to Mandy he’s not much to behold.

“Evant,” he says.

“Hi Evant,” says Mandy with a sweet smile that does not reach her eyes. “I’m Mandy, and this is Finnick. And if you want to play dirty before the games start that’s fine by me.”

I realize that Mandy is referring to right now. She’s stretching out her shoulders getting ready to punch this Evant guy in the face. I glance around. No one is looking at us except the kids from Three and one or two of the other tributes. None of the adults. But still, that’ll probably change when Mandy flattens Evant like a pancake.

Evant seems to realize this as well. His face drops.

“No,” he says. He tries to regain some authority. “I think I’ll save what I’ve got for the arena.”

Mandy smirks. “Only in the mood to fight the fourteen-year-old then? I get it. Can’t wait to see these moves you’re saving.”

She steps past him, bumping shoulders a bit harder than necessary. She reaches down and scoops me up off the ground and onto my feet. She glances around at the small crowd of tribute spectators. Districts One, Two, and Three. But we’ve also earned some glances from Five, Eight, even Twelve. Mandy smiles brightly at them all.

“See you all in the ring.”

And just like that she’s leading me away. I can tell she’s fuming, but the way she’s shoved down those emotions is even more intimidating than if she had started screaming at him. Everyone is marking her down as the one to watch. The one to be feared. Because it is very obvious, looking at the confrontation between her and Evant, that she could easily take any of them. And will at a moment’s notice. Anger will not make her sloppy. Whatever her weakness is, she’s not showing it. Everyone is afraid of her. If they are not yet, they will be soon.

Except for me. Because if anything this proves something to me that our earlier conversation didn’t. Even though it is impossible for her to protect me in the arena. That does not mean she is not going to try.

I am the youngest kid here. The smallest kid. And yet, I have been adopted by the biggest bully on the playground.

Good for me.

Chapter Text

Barry, completely oblivious, leads Mandy and I to the elevators. There are twelve floors in the Training Center. You just step into the elevator and hit your District number. Even though there are plenty of people waiting, no one joins us in our elevator. They’re all terrified of Mandy.

Barry hits the button for the fourth floor and we shoot upwards.

We emerge into the most spectacular, lavish room I have ever seen. The walls are so white they hurt to look at and the ceilings are so high it feels like we’re still outside. One wall is just windows and I can look out on the bright lights of the Capitol.

Barry shows us to our rooms. He’s all abuzz about the opening ceremonies, talking about how, apparently, we are all the rage in the Capitol.

“And people have been coming up to me asking about you. Don’t worry, I’ve been very nice.” He shoots me a look, trying to tell me that yes, it was difficult to be nice about me.

He keeps talking about random Capitol people and what exactly they asked. Apparently, this is a big night for escorts because they’re the only ones who know us yet.

“I told them all about Mandy Tarlek, strong and capable, and Finnick Odair, a bit young but scrappy. They all can’t wait to see your interviews.”

Young but scrappy. I’ll bet the sponsors are just lining up for me with that high praise.

Barry leads me to my room. It’s about the size of our house back home. There’s a bathroom with a shower even more complex than the one on the train. I peel off my stupid outfit, leaving it in a heap on the floor, and step inside to wash off the make-up.

It takes me at least a half an hour to figure out the settings. As it turns out, makeup doesn’t just come off with water. I am left poking at each soap option, hoping one of them will wash it off. Eventually, I find something that seems to work. I scrub at my face, neck, and arms until the painted waves are all gone.

I avoid the little device that combs your hair for you because I don’t like my hair straight. I search through my closet and find some clothes that I’d wear back home. Just a t-shirt, hoody, and jeans. Then, I explore the rest of the room.

The window can zoom in and out to different parts of the large city. I zoom in on the street as far as I can go and watch some guy get into a car with a woman twice his age. His mother? I assume so. Then I feel like a creep so I stop.

There’s also a desk. I peak in all the draws and find it completely empty. It’s just decorative? What is the point of that? Not that I would have done anything with paper or pencils but still.

There’s also an intercom with a menu next to it. I scan the menu and find something called shrimp scampi. I have no idea what a scampi is but I have never eaten shrimp before. No one in Four ever gets to eat shrimp or lobster. In fact, I’ve only had fish once or twice in my life. But considering that shrimp is our best seller, we never get to eat it ourselves. And I decide I must try it before I die.

It comes up out of the wall hot and ready and now I’m confused because who made this so fast? And where are they? I become very embarrassed at the thought of some tired kitchen staff making food for me only a bit before dinner and decide to never use the menu again.

But since it’s here…

The shrimp I recognize. And the scampi turns out to be some type of pasta. I pick up a shrimp with my fingers and throw it in my mouth.

Okay, I get it now.

It’s good. So incredibly good in both taste and texture that I completely understand why it costs so much back home. I devour the dish. The pasta is nothing like I’ve ever tasted back home, either. We don’t make a lot of pasta at home, because it’s hard and honestly unnecessary. But when we do it’s never as smooth and light as this. I wonder how they do it. Do they have machines that exist just to make lovely pasta for the Capitol citizens?

After the plate is clean I collapse on the big bed and try not to think of home. I reach up to touch my necklace before I remember Rujeria has it. Why did I have to give up the necklace? What is the criteria for having a token taken away? It was the last thing from home, I don’t even have my dad’s rope anymore. Taken from me by the Capitol.

Barry is knocking calling me to dinner. Good thing too, because I’m about to go insane. When I reach the long table I find it completely full. All the Victors are cleaned up, possibly by their own stylists. Barry sits on one end and Mags on the other. The rest of the seats are filled with Mandy, the other Victors, and, to my great displeasure, our stylists.

I sit in between Kent and Rujeria and across from Mandy. She appears even more thrilled about the presence of our stylists than I am. She’s throwing dark looks at Rujeria as I squeeze in next to her. I’m finding this a bit unnecessary because all she did was call me cute, and adults say that about kids all the time, but then the first course comes up and I have an adequate distraction.

The food is as decadent as it was on the train. Piles and piles of it that the ten of us could never hope to consume. A salad course, soup course, fish course, main course. I try to pace myself, but it’s all so incredible it’s impossible. At the end we eat a three-tiered cake topped with candles that omit sparks.

Rujeria keeps asking me to pass her things. The butter, the roles, whatever. It’s a bit annoying considering I’m right next to her and she can clearly reach all these items herself, but I don’t say a word. I pass her whatever she wants and go back to focusing on the food. The soup is so thick my spoon stands up in it on its own. Which, back home, would be considered a bad thing. But I think this is done on purpose. The heavy cheese broth is supposed to be thick. It tastes incredible. Rujeria asks for the salt. When I hand it over her fingers linger over mine. But I’m so distracted by the soup I barely notice.

The adults are making polite conversation and I tune them out for the entire meal. It’s only when Barry suggests we watch the replay of opening ceremonies that I think of anything other than the food in front of me.

I sit on the end of the couch and Mandy immediate plops herself down next to me. The whole stand-off at opening ceremonies has made me do a complete one-eighty when it comes to Mandy. I no longer fear her at all. I smile warmly at her and though she smiles back I recognize the anger in her eyes. I don’t think it’s directed at me, though, so I try not to dwell on it.

Mags appears at my shoulder and she’s holding a small bag in front of me. I take it and inside I find all the lists we made on the train about what to do in training. And, most exciting, at the bottom I find my father’s rope.

I thank her and she gives me a warm smile in return. I might like Mags. I’m a bit hesitant about the Victors, just in general, but I can’t imagine Mags in the Hunger Games. In my mind, she has always been the sweet old lady who understand why I’d want to hold onto a frayed little rope.

I take it out and start tying knots, just to keep my hands busy. It’s comforting. It almost makes up for not having Emma’s necklace to fidget with. It also helps with the stress about seeing myself on TV because even though I survived the recap of the reapings, I still don’t enjoy the feeling. Everyone in the world will be watching this. No, that’s not true, because it is mandatory to watch live. So everyone in the world has seen this. I suddenly get a vivid mental image of my dad, Kathrine, and David huddled on the couch watching me parade around on a chariot with silver lipstick on. Just the idea of my father seeing me in that get-up makes me want to throw-up all the rich food I just ate. But he told me not to think about him, to not worry about what he might be thinking. That was his final statement. He would love me unconditionally. So I shove it from my mind.

It does not help. Because now all I am thinking of is the kids at school and my teachers and the guys at the fishery and what they thought. Did they feel embarrassment for me. Did Thoman Eddis make jokes about it? He never was the nicest guy. Or, worse, did they all feel pity. Poor kid being shown off before being killed on live TV.

I go back to focusing on my knots.

When the parade starts I barely pay attention. I, again, notice the camera seems to focus on me more than the others. But maybe I’m being paranoid. At one point the announcer talks about how much she loves my look, and how I’m clearly a fan favorite, and everyone gives Rujeria a round of applause.

Mandy and I both do fine. We seem pleasant and not at all uncomfortable by the experience. Although there are others that stand out just as much as we do. Both from District One, covered in jewels and lights. There’s also the boy from District Two who shoved me. He gets a good amount of screen time despite the fact his outfit still looks like a block of rocks. And there is the giant boy from District Six. He looks ridiculous in his outfit made of tire wheels—District Six, transportation—but even with it you can see how strong he is. His caramel-colored skin ripples with muscles. He must be eighteen. He looks like a man.

When the parade is over, one of the Capitol servants dressed in all white walks up and hands Garrik and note. He scowls at it, but then just slips it into his pocket.

“Well,” says Garrik. “Another great year, you two.”

Everyone gives the stylists another round of applause. They take the congratulations happily. Finally, when our already stale applause starts to bore them, they tell us that they have to get going because they both have a lot of changes to make to the interview costumes.

“Changes?” I ask.

“Well, we both have the foundations. But now seeing your body types and personalities we’ve got to make some big changes!” says Elenore.

Rujeria sighs. “Tell me about it. If I knew I was going to get this heartbreaker,” she ruffles my hair, “I would have made a completely different outfit for opening ceremonies.”

Heartbreaker? I don’t question it. I don’t even fix my hair. I just tie more knots.

“Well,” said Kent. “Don’t let us keep you.”

Eventually Rujeria and Elenore are ushered into the elevator by Kent and Garrik. I notice they’re both being incredibly polite, but almost in a condescending way. Compliments a bit too on the nose, a little too excited. But the stylists don’t notice. They talk to the stylists as though they are children, excited over something incredibly mundane, and they, the adults, need to support them.

When the elevator closes Kent turns to Garrik.

“What’d the note say?”

Garrik takes it out of his breast pocket and hands it to Mags. She chuckles happily at it.

“So,” says Garrik. “Already getting into fights?”

He’s looking at Mandy. Her eyebrows shoot up.

“How—”

“I got a note from Brutus. He’s the mentor of the guy from District Two. You couldn’t wait until you get into the arena?”

“I didn’t touch him!”

“You didn’t?”

“No! He ran before I could. Coward.”

Everyone’s laughing. Even Garrik seems to be holding in a few chuckles. But he’s Mandy’s mentor. He can’t condone this behavior.

“Okay, so you didn’t hit him but not for lack of trying?”

“What’s the big deal? Sure, fighting’s not allowed. But what can they do?”

“If you injure another tribute they’ll give you a lower training score. You send a kid into the arena with a disadvantage they send you in with a disadvantage. You need to be careful.”

“Me!? What about him!? He’s the one who started shoving, not me!”

“Shoving?”

“He pushed Finnick to the ground!” says Mandy. “And I’m in trouble?”

They all stare at her in disbelief.

“He pushed Finnick?”

She nods.

“You okay?”

He’s talking to me. I shrug and nod.

“What’d you say to earn that?” says Walsh.

“I didn’t say anything. He just came up behind me and shoved me.”

The laughter’s gone, although I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s only funny when District Four is the aggressor. Or maybe it, yet again, has to do with age. Funny when the eighteen-year-olds fight, but when the fourteen-year-old gets involved it’s suddenly serious.

“Well,” says Walsh. “This guy’s stupid.”

“What guy?” asks Mandy.

“District Two. Sent me a note and everything. What time is it?” says Garrik.

Kent glances at his watch. “Almost ten.”

“We’ve got time. Let’s do this right now.”

Mags stands and gestures for me to follow her. I leave my dad’s rope on the couch and jump up next to her. Garrik’s grabbing Mandy and leading her to the elevator.

“Oh, can I come?” says Kent. “This is gonna be a riot.”

“No, you can’t come,” snaps Garrik.

The four of us step into the elevator and it’s not until Garrik’s pressing 2 that I realize what’s happening.

“Whoa, wait, what’re we doing?”

“If we want this alliance to still work out, we’d better patch things up with Two before training tomorrow.”

“I’m not apologizing to anyone,” snaps Mandy.

“You’ll do what I tell you and you’ll say ‘thank you Garrik’ afterwards.”

The elevator trip takes no time at all and the doors open into an identical living area.

“Knock knock,” says Garrik. “Competing Tributes on the floor, hide you’re battle strategies.”

The only difference to the dining area is that the table is significantly bigger. Three adults sit around the table, drinking coffee. When they turn to look at us I recognize all three.

There’s Enobaria, who won the games three years before. She was known for killing another tribute by ripping their throat out with her teeth. Last year she got her teeth filed into sharp points, laced with gold to commemorate the moment.

A freak.

There’s also Brutus. I vaguely remember his games. I think it was when I was ten or eleven. He’s huge and still as physically fit as he was back then. I distinctly remember his interviews, how excited he was about the Hunger Games, how proud he was about how he killed people. He was just as excited as the people in the Capitol.

But it’s the last person that makes my stomach flip. Her name is Lyme. She’s my father’s age. In fact, she’s exactly my father’s age. This is the woman that killed my mom’s friend. For all I know, it was Brutus’ Victory Tour where this woman met my mother. And my mother took her life because of it.

I suddenly do not want to be here. Anywhere but here. I know the District Four victors had all done terrible things in the games, but somehow, I feel that they are all better, more normal, than these people with the spiked teeth and the excitement of the games and the woman who created more death than she even knows.

Mags grabs my hand. I must have been visibly affected because Mags is pulling me back to reality. I smile at her and swallow my feelings.

“This about the letter?” says Brutus.

Garrik nods. “You’ve got an idiot this year. Or I’ve got a manipulative genius. But it’s more likely you’ve got an idiot.”

“Um, ouch?” says Mandy.

“Just get him. Let’s fix this before training.”

Brutus looks Mandy up and down. Then his eyes shift to me. “Okay,” he says. Brutus leaves and I hear pounding on a door down the hall.

“How much can you lift?” says Enobaria.

Mandy opens her mouth to answer but Garrik cuts her off.

“Look at her, she’s a mountain, obviously she can lift quite a lot.”

Brutus returns with both District Two tributes. The girl with brown hair and those sharp, mean eyes just squints at us. The boy, Evant, with his hair up in a bun, stops suddenly. “What’s she doing here?”

Mandy snorts and smirks at him. Garrik pinches her to make her stop.

“Alright,” says Garrik. “So what exactly did pretty boy tell you? Just want to see how much our stories differ.”

“She tried to pick a fight with me,” says Evant.

“Grow a pair,” snaps Lyme.

Mags laughs, but I’m still freaking out about Lyme, and her voice isn’t helping. She seems normal. Big and a little hostile, but normal. I shove my hands into my pockets and focus on my breathing.

“Did it not happen?” asks Brutus.

Mandy shrugs. “He ran with his tail between his legs before anything could happen.”

Garrik pinches her again.

“Have you reported it,” asks Garrik.

“Not yet,” says Brutus. “Thought I’d send you the note first. But… apparently, we’re doing it tomorrow.”

Mandy opens her mouth to start yelling but Garrik stops her with a hand on her shoulder. I’m noticing the Victors from Two don’t look all that excited about reporting Mandy’s supposed crimes. I’m suddenly thankful for Garrik. He clearly knows these people and District Four’s victory might very well rest on his shoulders. Mandy’s training score is what will set her apart for sponsors. We can’t afford for her to lose it.

“Yeah, let’s not play this game. No one’s hurt, Mandy threatened but it’s not like she threw any punches, and Gamemakers don’t punish people for harsh words.”

Evant looks furious. I try to figure out what’s going through his head. Is it just pride? Maybe… But it feels like more than that. After all, Mandy made him look small and weak in front of about half the Tributes we’ll be facing in the arena. Maybe he’s hoping to earn some of that respect back. But Garrik is right. Mandy controlled herself. The Gamemakers are not going to care.

Garrik seems to notice Evant’s rage as well. He sighs.

“Alright kid, listen. You want an alliance with us. That means you shouldn’t pull this crap. Because I doubt Mandy’s gonna want to team up with some twerp who told on her for doing nothing. We’ll see who District One decides to team up with after you two split.”

I look between Mandy and Evant. If I was District One, there’d be an obvious better option. Especially after the display they saw at Opening Ceremonies.

“And if that’s not enough,” says Garrik. “if we’re being snitches this year then Finnick will have to report you pushing him to the ground unprovoked only moments before Mandy threatened you. Trust me they’re gonna pay more attention to a Tribute attacking the star of Opening Ceremonies when his back was turned than whatever the hell happened with you and Mandy.”

I was the star of Opening Ceremonies? Maybe Garrik was embellishing for dramatic effect. Although didn’t that announcer call me a fan favorite?

“He’d probably do it anyway,” snapped Evant.

Garrik turns to me. “Finnick were you planning on telling the Gamemakers that Evant shoved you?”

“I’m allowed to talk to the Gamemakers?”

“Good enough for me,” says Brutus. He glares at Evant. “You two can leave.”

They shoot dirty looks at us but then they’re gone.

“Yeah, you’re right,” says Lyme. “He’s an idiot.”

“Playing the Gamemaker card where you’re hiding a fight yourself?” says Brutus. “That’s just common sense.”

Garrik shrugs. “He’s got a strategy, at least. He just has no idea how to follow through with it. I wish you good luck.”

Brutus chuckles. “You wanna do this alliance thing now?”

“Nah, save it for tomorrow with District One. After the training. Finnick here wants in, and he’s got some things to bring to the table.”

I’m suddenly worried about tomorrow. I stand up a bit straighter, hopefully I look like someone who does, in fact, have things to bring to the table. I feel like an idiot.

“Alright. See you tomorrow.”

Once we’re back in the elevator Mandy asks about tomorrow.

“After the first training session we’ll all meet up on the second floor and talk strategy. You’ll meet your future allies. We’ll decide if Finnick’s in the group based on what they see in training. And then each night of training we’ll meet and talk about strategy. Mostly for the Cornucopia.”

“We’re allowed to just hang out like that?”

“Not without our supervision. But yeah, sure. The Capitol likes our alliances, it makes the game more interesting.”

We quickly say goodnight and part ways. I’m stressing about training but I’m far too tired to think hard about it.

When I get to my room, I see that my outfit from opening ceremonies has been cleaned up and the plate from earlier removed. I’m just thinking how efficient these Capitol servants are when I remember my dad’s rope and all my lists for tomorrow are still on the couch. What if some Capitol attendant cleans them both up and I never see them again?

I silently rush into the sitting area and grab the rope and the lists. When I’m headed back, I see Mandy’s door is slightly ajar.

I slow when I hear voices. I shouldn’t eaves drop, but I’ve never been the most moral person and if I’m being honest, I find a lot more joy in gossip than boys my age usually do. I know my life has become very black and white with death around the corner, and that gossip should be the last thing on my mind, but old habits die hard I suppose.

“Are you going to be able to do this?” asks Garrik.

“Do what?” says Mandy.

“Look, I know you see Finnick as some sweet kid who need protecting and sure, he is, but he’s not as helpless as you think. Whether he lives past day one or not is not up to you.”

“Who says I think it is?”

“You’re being weird.”

“I’m being weird? Are you saying I shouldn’t have done anything after that guy shoved Finnick?”

“Maybe, yeah. Maybe you should have let Finnick handle it.”

“He wasn’t! He was going to let it slide!”

“Then you should have let him let it slide. And what was with you at dinner?”

Mandy says something I can’t hear but Garrik snorts.

“They are!”

“I know.”

“You know? Well then are you gonna do something about it?”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?!”

“Because there’s nothing I can do Mandy. This is the Capitol. People are gross. Finnick is attractive. Rujeria and Elenore are not the only people who are going to find him attractive. In the end, it’ll probably work in his favor. This is an easy way to get sponsors.”

“They’re being gross. Like schoolgirls. They keep laughing after he speaks and touching him.”

“Inappropriately?”

“No… I mean yeah but like. They ruffle his hair and touch his hand at dinner and stuff. And they keep staring at… things. The things they say when he’s out of earshot—”

“I’ve heard it. But Finnick hasn’t and that’s all that matters.

“But it’s gross! He’s a kid can’t you do something about it?”

“No I can’t do something about it. Why would you think I could?”

“You’re a Victor.”

“And they live in the Capitol. They’re a higher authority. That’s just how it works. Finnick seems pretty oblivious to the worst of it. Look, yeah, Finnick’s a kid, and it’s terrible, what they’re doing. But you have to remember they ripped Finnick away from his parents to be killed for their entertainment. Them making a few comments about what they’d do to him if he were just a few years older is really not much in comparison to that. You’re a tribute in the Hunger Games. If you want to be Victor you’ve got to move past this ethical stuff. And we need to stop talking like this before we get in trouble.”

“You think Finnick could drag me down.”

“Not exactly. I think Finnick’s more capable than you think he is. At least if Mags is right, which she usually is. But I think you’ll drag yourself down if you get too close to him. Mandy, what happens when he dies? Or what happens when you need to go your separate ways? He might not be accepted into the Career pack. If you try to smother him you’ll just trip each other up. You’ve got to accept that you have no real control over what happens to Finnick. Can you do that?”

I don’t wait for her answer. I tiptoe back to my room and close the door silently behind me. I step away from the door as though they could still hear me and collapse onto my bed.

What were Rujeria and Elenore saying about me?

The rest of the conversation made sense. Mandy needed to look after herself. I agree. And I don’t think Mandy’s going to let go of her promise to my dad just because of Garrik’s speech. But the other stuff… Were they being sexual? Should I be nervous? I knew they were being weird about my appearance, but I never thought they were serious.

What were they saying when I was out of earshot? What would they be doing if I were just a few years older? Only one thing comes to mind in context, and it terrifies me.

I know I’m attractive. In fact, I’m very happy about it. I spend a good amount of time on my clothes and appearance. I enjoy being attractive. I don’t consider it vain to be conscious about the way you look. But this has only really been pointed out to me by people my own age. I’ve never dealt with adults being interested in me. And yet I still cannot find it in me to dislike my own appearance. It’s not me, it’s them. These two women who have crossed a line.

I get up and approach my door but there doesn’t appear to be a way for me to lock it. But they both went home, so it’s fine. I find some pajamas and crawl into bed.

Though this freaked me out, I’m having trouble comprehending it. If anything, instead of getting freaked that grown women are interested in me, I now can’t help but see both women as children themselves.

Didn’t Kent and Garrik treat them that way? All the heavy-handed compliments. “Good job—I’ll bet that stitch was tricky, yeah—You two are the best stylists ever!” these people are just children in adult bodies.

I’ll probably only see them once or twice more, too. And then I will be sent into the arena and die. Why am I worried about this? And even if they were saying things, not even they would do something about it. People who really prey on children don’t parade around telling their friends about it.

I burrow deeper under the covers, having convinced myself everything is fine. And with the help of the warm and soft bed I fall asleep despite my troubles.

Chapter Text

I wake up to the sound of Barry knocking on my door telling me to get ready for my first day of training and I am immediately embarrassed. Though I can’t put my finger on why.

Then I remember. I had a weird dream. A dream about Emma.

This was the last place I expected the develop any kind of crush. Only a few days before the Hunger Games? Good timing brain. And to make matters worse, I’ve never had a crush before. Not like this. Not where I dreamed about them in this way…

It wasn’t even sexual. But I was still embarrassed by how close she was in the dream. How she touched me. Her smile. What was wrong with me?

Did my mind just need something to dream about that wasn’t depressing and terrible? Was it because of how she visited me before I left?

Only the returning nerves about the first day of training shakes me out of it. The Career Pack. I have to get into the Career Pack.

I shove whatever weird emotions that have surfaced to the back of my mind. They’re useless to me, it’s not like I’m ever going to see Emma again anyway. Maybe my mind was just searching for something pleasant to dream about, since everything around me is full of nightmares and everyone I was close to back home is filled with depression. I didn’t know Emma very well before coming here. The first connection I made with her was after my name was pulled from the reaping bowl. And yet she’s not from here. This weird, gross, loud place that wants to kill me. She’s a nice safe topic. That’s all it is.

I get up and see an outfit has been laid out for me. Stretchy grey workout pants and a dark blue sleeveless shirt with matching running shoes. I put those on (how is it everything I’ve worn so far has fit me perfectly? The stuff on the train was a bit big but since then… Did they have machines that measured my exact proportions just from the reaping? Did a bunch of Capitol servants come rushing in after my prep team measured my proportions on the first day and fill all these drawers with clothes that fit me perfectly?) and leave my room and search of breakfast.

Mandy and Garrik are already at the table, talking seriously. They’ve probably been up for hours, talking strategy. Mandy’s wearing a completely different outfit. A red, long sleeve shirt made of some kind of stretchy material. I had assumed the grey pants and sleeveless blue shirt I had on was regulation. Who decided I wear this? Rujeria? Was she in my room when I was sleeping? The thought sends a shiver down my spine as I remember the conversation I overheard last night. But I’m sure that’s not what happened. It was probably a capital attendant.

Mags is filling up her plate at a side table stuffed with food. I follow her lead, grabbing a plate and piling it with eggs and sausages and weird little rolls with some sort of cream filling. I also load up on more fruit because we never get fruit so fresh back home. It’s always a bit brown, soft, or bruised. I pick up a banana. Yet another food I’ve only eaten once. And even then, it wasn’t this bright yellow, free of any brown spots.

I get to the table and devour everything on my plate. You’d think I’ve been starving back home, but honestly I’ve always had enough to eat. Just never like this. Never such a variety. Back home we rotate between three or four easy meals. Chicken or turkey from the butcher. Maybe some pork, if it’s a good price. Potatoes, corn, leaks, or anything else available at the market. Some milk. And of course bread. But not this fluffy white stuff. Salty fish shaped bread made with seaweed, so it’s a bit green. In District Four food is, well, food. You needed it to survive. We eat enough calories to keep ourselves going and we’re thankful for that. But here in the Capitol food is an experience, an art form. And honestly I’m thinking that’s the only thing these Capitol freaks get right. Why shouldn’t food be fun? Why shouldn’t it taste good as well as sustain us? Why can’t we, in Four, also look forward to our meals?

I don’t even like the sausages (why is it crumbly? It’s supposed to be meat, right?) but I eat them because it’d be a shame for it to go to waste. Only after I’ve cleaned my plate do I pay attention to Garrik and Mandy.

“You obviously want to show off. Look at you, besides that guy from Six, maybe, you are the biggest kid in the arena. No one’s going to underestimate you. But that means they’ve got high expectations going into it. You want to keep their respect you’ve got to hit those expectations. But, you also want to keep a few things to yourself. Something to show the Gamemakers for your one-on-one session, sure, but also just to have hidden away in the arena.”

“So what do I keep hidden? Swordplay?”

Garrik shrugs slightly.

“I suppose that would be fine. But honestly once they see how trained you are with other weapons they’re not going to be surprised when you’ve got swordplay down too. I was thinking your strength.”

“You really think they don’t know I’m strong? You just said I’m the biggest kid in the arena.”

“Yeah, but you’re also a girl, people will still be shocked by it. And people really don’t know what strength looks like. From what you’ve told me, you’re stronger than you look. Show off your skill but don’t put any real strength behind your hits until the one-on-one session.”

I’m continuously amazed by just how detailed Garrik’s advice is. I’d never expect the Hunger Games could have so much strategy before getting into the arena. And Garrik seems to know everything. Mags too. I glance at Mags and find she’s staring at me. How long has she been watching me?

“I have your lists,” I tell her, trying not to interrupt Garrik and Mandy. “Is there anything else I should know?”

Mags babbles something, I catch the word show. Put on a show.

“I’ll try to have an audience,” I say. It’s important Districts One and Two see what I have to offer today. “Although I’m not sure how to get them to watch me do anything.”

“They’ll be watching,” says Garrik. “Their mentors will have told them to keep an eye on you. Remember, they’d rather have you in the alliance than not. You’ll be useful to watch over the supplies while they go hunting. The only reason they won’t let you in is if they think you’re going to be a hinderance. So… don’t be a hinderance.”

I nod but I’m not sure this is something I can control. I peal my banana and eat it slowly, though my appetite has disappeared. Mags pats my hand and smiles at me. She mumbles something and I take a moment to decipher it.

She’s saying I’ll be fine.

I am suddenly so thankful Mags is here. And that she’s my mentor instead of one of the male Victors. Because though I’m sure every Victor has a good understanding of the arena I’m sure none of them could be so warm and patient with me. I have my issues with Victors in general but Mags is different. She’s like my grandmother. Like everyone’s grandmother. A little quirky, probably wise, probably spends most of her time tuning people out. For all I know, she’s an actual grandmother. Does she have kids? She’s got a ring on her finger so probably.

I smile at her with gratitude and she gives me a toothless grin.

I finish my banana and before I know it it’s time to go. Barry is there to escort us down. He ushers us into the elevator and hits a button beneath the lobby button. We zoom downwards, underground, and the door opens right onto the training center floor.  

We’re fifteen minutes early, but we’re still only the fifth district there. Districts One and Two have beat us down, as well as Eight and Ten. A woman pins a cloth to my shirt with the number four on it. Mandy and I take our seats in the circle.

Steadily, the other Tributes file in. Finally, Twelve shows up right at ten and we start. A young woman named Atala tells us how it works. Each station will have an expert, we are prohibited from practicing combat against each other. We are encouraged to focus on survival techniques as well as combat.

When she lets us go, Tributes from One and Two, as well as Mandy, all spring up and head toward to most impressive weapons. They’ve all got to show off if they’re going to form an alliance. The others mill around aimlessly, nervously approaching the knife throwing section or trying to learn how to start a fire.

I numbly take out Mag’s cheat sheet and scan what I should do first. I tentatively approach a station full of spears with a pad on the floor for fighting. It’s got a small group around it. The boy from Five and girl from Eleven who is always tapping her foot are both consulting pictures on the walls for how to properly hold a spear. And the girl from One is there as well, showing off against a practice dummy.

Seeing the girl from One I’m suddenly nervous. She’s good. Like, really good. Good enough to recognize that I don’t hold spears properly. But Mags told me to start here, and I’m in no position to start questioning Mags. I approach the trainer, who is making sure district Five doesn’t stab himself.

“Uh, hi. Are you…” I consult my cheat sheet. “Evon?”

He nods. I tell him what Mags told me. I’m good with a trident, but I can’t get used to the correct way to grip a spear. To my surprise, Evon is very excited about this. He leads me over to his set of spears and hands me one that is top heavy, so it will feel most like a trident.

It does not feel like a trident.

Evon shows me a way to hold the spear that was about half way between how I hold tridents and what Mags showed me on the train. I test it out a few times. It’s… fine. District One and District Eleven are both waiting for a chance to spar with Evon, but he lets me go first.

This is good. The girl from One is watching. But I’m still not confident I’ll get anywhere.

We start very slow. He fights me with some sort of fake sword and I try to look competent with a spear. He shows me how to block.

At one point he brings his sword down towards my side and instinct takes over. I swing my spear with one hand and knock the sword out of his hand, catching the handle of my spear when it comes back around and point it at Evon’s chest. Except that’s how it should have gone. Instead I completely misread the weight difference and barely loop my finger around the spear to stop it from clattering to the ground. I grip it, a bit unsteady, hoping nobody noticed.

Evon is over the moon. Praising me on how quickly I picked this up. I glance at the girl from One. I’m sure she’s trained enough to notice my falter at the end—if this had been a real fight I wouldn’t have been able to finish Evon off with my grip so unsteady. But if the girl is disgusted by me, it doesn’t show on her face.

Evon runs through a few more basic stances with me and then gives me an approving nod and tells me to keep practicing. I step aside so the girl from Eleven can train with him and cast a small smile at District One.

I spend some time at the stations for throwing knives and hand to hand with knives. I’m not half bad at either. I’m leaps and bounds better than the boy from Twelve who’s hands shake so much he couldn’t hit the side of a barn. Garrik was right, Districts One and Two do keep a steady eye on me whenever they can. In both knife stations at least one or two stop what they’re doing to watch.

But it’s not until the hand-to-hand combat station where I feel I really show them anything impressive.

There are three different hand-to-hand stations. One is for people like Mandy, who will most likely be slower but much stronger than their opponent. Another for normal people just starting out, that teaches them where to hit to stun their opponent—throat, eyes, back of the knees. And the last one is for people like me. Small, quick, and weak. If I hit someone like Mandy in the back of the knees I doubt they’ll so much as stumble. So this station is all about running circles around bigger opponents and hoping you tire them out.

I stand in line watching the girl from Three thinking she’s really good at it when Mandy appears next to me.

We haven’t crossed paths much. In fact, we haven’t crossed paths at all. I’ve kept an eye out for her, and she’s as good as promised with all these weapons. Better even. I had just seen her completely demolish the trainer at her own hand-to-hand station.

“You’re doing good so far,” she says. “You had some fancy moves with that spear.”

“Yeah, and if it had been a trident I probably wouldn’t have come so close to dropping it after.”

Mandy snickers and steps back to watch me. She’s nice, but I wish she wouldn’t. Everyone has been keeping a close eye on her all day and now they’re going to follow her lead and watch me.

I shouldn’t have worried, I turn out to be a natural at this. I assumed there’d be more to it but it’s literally just running and ducking. The trainer lungs at me and I duck under his arm and step to the side. He does it again and again and I just do the exact same thing. He’s probably going slower than someone in the arena actually would but who cares? At one point I duck under him and role between his legs, popping up behind him. He loves that and makes me do it three more times.

“If you had a knife right now I’d be dead!” He says happily, “There’s nothing anyone can do to counter that move!”

I consider the odds of my being able to duck and role between someone’s legs in the arena, where there might be rocks or roots or whatever, to be very slim. But he’s loudly talking about how I’m capable of killing people, and I’m not about to interrupt him.

At lunch Districts One, Two, and Mandy all sit at the same table, talking loudly, showing off they have no fear of each other. The rest of the Tributes wander off and sit by themselves. I also sit alone and thankfully Mandy lets me.

After lunch it is time for knots.

This is what I’ve been looking forward to. I take out the list of all the knots I know and walk right up to the trainer. He seems very happy to have a student on the first day. And he practically explodes with excitement when I give him Mags’ list.

He starts me out with a few simple traps. One snare for animals that strings up prey by the neck, out of reach of predators, and another for people, where the victim is suspended from the ankle. He shows them to me and tells me how they work and I recreate them without breaking a sweat.

This seems to prove I am a master. He brings out the harder traps. I weave my own nets—the station has them but they’re no good, the gaps are too wide someone could easily wiggle their arm out of it and cut themselves down— and string it up so that it deploys when someone puts weight on it. He tells me to go over to the camouflage station to figure out how to hide the traps and I make a mental note to stop by first thing tomorrow.

When he sees how good my nets are he focuses on that. Nets that fall on people from the trees and tie them to the floor, ways to string nets across the floor so people get tangled up without anything needing to deploy.

I can’t imagine having enough rope to do any of this in the arena, but I keep learning them because I finally feel good at something. I stay at the knot station for the rest of day one. I’m vaguely aware of the girl from District Three shows up at one point. She can’t tie a simple hitch knot and is having trouble learning. At one point I catch her staring at me.

“Hi,” I say. I point to my chest. “Finnick.”

“Analee.” I barely hear her. Her voice is like wind. Before I can ask another question she’s gone, her knot half tied.

We’re let out of training at around six, and when Mandy and I get up to the fourth floor dinner is waiting for us. We eat with the victors and Barry but fortunately Rujeria and Elenore do not make an appearance.

“So?” says Mandy at dessert. “Are you gonna ask how training went?”

“Don’t need to,” says Garrik. “The other volunteers will. By the way we’re headed down to the second floor in like five minutes.”

Mandy and I both protest but Garrik ignores us and Mags just chortles. Garrik doesn’t even let us change, he ushers us into the elevator and we yet again awkwardly shuffle onto the second floor.

Brutus sits next to Evant and, to my great displeasure, Lyme sits next to the girl from Two. District One isn’t there yet. I sit next to Mags and try not to make eye contact with anyone.

When District One arrives we all introduce ourselves and I finally catch everyone’s name. Primer and Spark from One, Evant and Merida from Two. They all look like adults.

“Hope it’s okay that Gloss is here,” says one of the District One mentors, Alfred. “Mentor in training.”

Everyone nods as Gloss takes a seat. I take a few seconds to study last year’s victor. She’s only 19, and she looks younger than Mandy. She’s conventionally attractive, with long blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. She looks harmless. But her Games are still so fresh in my head. I can almost see the mace in her hand, still bloody from the District Four volunteer’s head.

“Alright,” says Brutus. “Let’s just get to business. Everyone here wants an alliance, right? Anyone going solo?”

Everyone wants an alliance. In my head, that was the end of it. But apparently alliances are more complex than I thought.

There are some things that can’t be decided, like when they will hunt, during the day or at night, because we don’t know what the arena will look like. But who knew there was so much more? Each of them claimed a signature weapon. To avoid fights over the spoils of the Cornucopia. They also come up with combat positions in case they are attacked by other tributes, to avoid tripping over each other. When they get to watch rotations, Garrik stops them.

“Before we do this we need to decide how many people are in this alliance.”

Everyone looks at me. I feel my mouth go dry. I do not like this. I do not want to be at this table with all these adults, all these killers. And yet I can’t let it show, because if I break here what will happen in the arena? Will I die the first day at the Cornucopia to one of these eighteen-year-olds? Or will I live a horrible few days, unable to feed myself and find clean water, before I die slowly of starvation unable to get my hands on any bit of rope that could end it quickly?

“I want him,” says Mandy. “He’s smart. And quick. He’s decent with a spear and a knife. I don’t see a down side.”

“He’s like eight,” says Evant. “There’s no one in the arena that’d be scared off by him. He couldn’t even guard our supplies by himself. What’s the point of an ally we need to babysit?”

“I agree,” says Merida, “sometimes they’re just too young.”

“I saw him with a spear,” says Spark, “he was good… But I’m not sure. I mean, it’s great if he can hold his own but at the end of the day everyone’s got to bring something to the alliance. Just because he’s from District Four doesn’t mean he earns a free spot.”

Mandy opens her mouth to object, maybe to defend me or District Four or both, but Garrik’s hand on her arm stops her. This is my fight. Garrik isn’t going to let Mandy weaken herself by fighting it for me.

But they are right. Any other tribute is more worthy of a spot in the alliance than I am. Once again, my age has screwed me over and I’m not even in the arena yet. What can I offer them? What can I offer that another tribute couldn’t?

Mags babbles something but I’m so preoccupied I miss it entirely. However, my fellow tributes seem just as lost as I am. Mags, however, does not seem to feel the need to repeat herself.

“Well?” asks Lyme, “What’d he do?”

“What?” asks Merida. “What’d who do when?”

“Mags told you all to tell us what Finnick did during the second half of training,” says Garrik.

The knots. This has been Mag’s plan all along. The knots, the traps, they are what I have to offer. They can leave me alone with their supplies. Because I will not be alone. I will have my traps. And with the backing of the Careers, I will have all the rope I could possibly need from the Cornucopia.

“I don’t know he was at one of the survival stations,” says Primer.

“Knot tying.”

I blurt it out with no context. Everyone stares at me, which makes me feel nauseous again. I swallow roughly and continue.

“I can make traps. To protect the supplies. I know dozens of different ones, with enough rope I could make it so no one could get anywhere near the supplies.”

“Including us,” says Evant.

“He’d obviously make a path so we could get there,” Mandy snaps at him. “But to everyone else it’s just a pile of supplies guarded by no one but a fourteen-year-old. Not a bad trap. Good way to cross some thieves off the list.”

“Traps only hold people for so long,” says Evant.

“So?” says Spark. She seems to have come to my side of things. “He’s good with a knife and a spear. And even if he can’t hold his own in a battle I’d bet he can kill someone trapped in a net before they wiggle free. I saw him with the nets, he knows what he’s doing. Though I doubt anyone else bothered to pay attention to him over there. So we still have the element of surprise on our side. I’m good with this.”

Primer shrugs. “Me too,” he says. “what’s the worst that could happen?”

It doesn’t work and you kill me immediately, I think.

Merida shrugs and eventually Evant caves due to peer pressure. And just like that, we move on. As though I have not been saved from endless suffering. Given a few more days of life.

I smile at Mags, trying to show my gratitude. She just nods and pats my hand. I am again overwhelmed with relief that she is my mentor. If I had had anyone else, someone like Garrik or Brutus, so large and strong and to the point, or someone like Gloss or Kent or Albert, so confident and out of place, I would have collapsed into a nervous breakdown by now. But Mags is normal and kind and warm. And yet so intelligent about the Games and what I must do in them. I don’t know where I’d be without her.

The next two days of training are much less stressful. I make sure I know how to light fires, which I’m pretty good at. I also hit the edible plants section which I suck at. The trainer runs through a few easily identifiable plants I can eat and then she lays out a bunch of different berries and leaves and asks me which ones I’d eat first. I immediately poison myself with such surety that the trainer can’t do anything but look at me with pity. I don’t even try again, I just apologize and leave.

I try out a few more weapons and discover I’m not great at any of them. I’m not strong enough for a sword or a mace, so I try distance weapons. I can hit a target with a slingshot but… when would a slingshot do anything but piss someone off? I try a bow and arrow and find it to be way more complicated than I ever would have thought. It’s just two sticks and a string why are there so many steps? After a good fifteen minutes I manage to string the bow and notch the arrow without assistance. But whatever muscles are required to pull back a bow I don’t have them. I don’t hit a single target and decide to walk away before my allies see and change their minds.

I do hit the camouflage section, like my knot tying teacher suggested. I spend a good hour trying to mix berry juice, but the edible plant section is still on my mind and I ask what happens if these plants are poisonous. It would be bad to slather them over my face right? The camouflage trainer looks at me with the same concerned look the edible plants trainer had so I just get straight to the point and ask about camouflaging traps.

I learn how to make rope look like vines or tree bark without weakening the rope. I cover my nets with leaves and moss and pull up dirt in such a way that the grass stays standing up and my net just looks like part of a meadow. After I’m done I go back to the knot guy and ask if he has suggestions on how to accommodate for the extra weight of the camouflage on my nets. He just stares at me, telling me it’s a very good question. This is when I realize I’ve outpaced my trainer. I take his first suggestion even though I know it won’t work and start thinking up my own plans for it.

And, of course, I throw spears. Mags was right about not throwing a spear on day one. I suck at it, and no matter what I try I can’t improve.

“You’re not as bad as you think you are,” says Mandy. “you always hit the target.”

But that is not enough. I can hit a fish in the eye with a trident from ten yards away and I barely hit a human sized target from half the distance with a spear? No matter what I do, I can’t get used to the weight difference. You’d think the spear, which is lighter, would be easier to throw. But no, of course not. The first time I throw a spear it lodges right above the fake person’s head. The next time I hit him in the knee. I was aiming for chest both times. Part of me knows it’s a lost cause because if I’m having so much trouble, I’m never going to master it in the day and a half I have left. But there’s this stubborn pride in me that forces me back to the station four or five times. I know I’m good at this. And yet the scrawny guy from eleven has better aim than I do.

After I was accepted into the Careers I was given strict instructions by Garrik and the other mentors to act like I wasn’t. The other Careers do not talk to me, I sit alone at lunch. This is all so people will note me as weak so, in the arena, they will fall for our little traps with the supplies. If I was seen hanging with the Careers, they may assume I’m talented at something.

When sitting alone at lunch, I get my first real chance to observe my fellow tributes.

They all look hungry.

Most eat as though they’ve never seen food before and never will again. Even though I am now sure I’m the youngest by at least a year, if not two, I am one of the most physically fit for no other reason than I’ve never gone a day without food.

The kids from twelve are especially concerning. Although the boy from Eleven and the girls from Ten and Five don’t look great either. Even with their skin and bone complexion, there’s something else, something with their eyes. They look hollow. Like lost puppies. Which I suppose makes sense, they’re in the Hunger Games. But it seems like more than that.

I know District Four fairs pretty well compared to other Districts. But now seeing it, up close, I realize I’ve never considered what that means. Lots of people have Tesserae in Four. But it’s always for that extra bit of grain and oil. What is it like when tesserae is all you have? I’ve never seen how much tesserae provides, but it’s just grain, right? No meats or vegetables or anything with protein. Not enough to live off of. What is it like in these districts? Do people just die of starvation in their homes while here in the Capitol food is provided at the press of a button? How are these people not overcome with anger all the time?

Because they are too hungry, I think. Because it’s impossible to think of freedom and rights when you have no food on your table. Because short term problems like where your next meal comes from will always take priority over the big picture. How does the Capitol walk the line of keeping people fed enough to get coal or livestock or textile quotas but not too fed to start discussing revolution? For these kids, is the Hunger Games just a quicker way to go? Would they be dead before they reached adulthood anyway?

I shake myself out of it. This thinking will just make it harder to kill these people. And somehow, being in the Capitol, I feel these thoughts are dangerous, even unspoken. As if President Snow can read my mind.

In the next meeting on the second floor, we continue with the, what I find useless, drabble about strategies for the arena. I cannot imagine a scenario where these strategies come in handy. Once we see the arena, I’d assume each and every one will prove useless. Though some are important. One in particular, we talk about how much is acceptable to carry on your person at all times.

Too much will slow us down. But not enough would also be foolish, in case something does happen to our supplies due to unforeseen circumstances.

This could be life or death for me. We have already decided that, depending on the day and the status of the traps, I may be forced to go along on hunts. If I find the need to split from the alliance while they are all around me, between me and the supplies, or we are out on hunts, I need to have enough supplies on my person to survive on my own. Which means I need a large backpack at all times.

However, everyone else seems very against the idea of large backpacks. Even Mandy.

“What’s the point?” says Mandy. “It’s one of our advantages in the arena to be able to travel light while everyone else needs to carry their possessions. And if we lose the supplies how much could we possibly carry on our backs to make up for it?”

“What if the arena is big?” I pipe in. I don’t want to expose my plans to flee at the earliest convenience, but I also need a large backpack. “What if we need to travel great distances and we can’t get back to the supplies for a few days? Wouldn’t it be good to be able to do that?”

“We can still have small packs and spend the night away from the supplies,” says Primer. “We pack first aid, some food each, an extra weapon. Whatever. That’s enough. Any more starts to weigh us down”

I don’t win the fight, and now I’m nervous. Mags pats my hand again in a silent message to take the defeat.

After the meeting she sits me down in my bedroom and we form a plan. They will leave me alone with the supplies at least once, while they go hunting. I pack a bag full to the brim with food that won’t spoil or attract wild animals. We make a list of good materials. A bottle of clean water and a good first aid kit are also necessities. And then we brainstorm good places to hide it.

Not too close to camp that I’d have to travel back to retrieve it. But not anywhere where someone else would stumble into it. Near a landmark would be good. Somewhere I’d be able to find.

And, though it’s tempting, I should only pack one. Too much missing supplies would attract attention. Not to mention it would be hard to carry.

These two days of training are a nice distraction from the ever-approaching games. Preparing for them so meticulously is good. I feel like I am regaining some of the power taken from me when I was reaped. Like I’m forging my own path forwards.

But even though all the planning occupies my waking hours, my dreams are not as easy to control. Despite the comfortable bed I never sleep for more than a few hours at a time. I usually shake myself out of horrifying nightmares with graphic depictions of past games, where the games have been changed and there won’t be a cornucopia this year, instead we all stand on a small field and fight to the death, or images of my fellow careers killing me with the skills I now know they possess. Sometimes we search the cornucopia and find the Gamemakers have not sent a single rope. Or the arena is a desert and there’s no trees to hang the nets from. These dreams are especially terrifying, because they could really happen.

But I may be even more unnerved by the few dreams I’ve had in between, about Emma.

I catch myself thinking about her more and more. At lunch, when my mind wanders during training, right before I go to sleep. After nightmares, I wake up grasping for the necklace I no longer have.

I try not to dwell on it. After all, it’s not like I’m going to see her again. I’m sure this is nothing, just a way for my mind to occupy itself. But it’s still embarrassing.

After the second day of training, Mags and I talk about what I would do for my one-on-one session with the Gamemakers. It’s important I show off my traps, so they put a lot of rope in the cornucopia. But, I assume I need some sort of combat element too. A high training score is how you get sponsors, and I’ll need as much help as I can get in the arena.

But after the second meeting with the careers, while Mandy and Garrik are off in some other room, Mags brings up a different strategy. Mags seems confident in my ability to win people over from the opening ceremonies and interviews alone. She insists the best thing I can do is here is get a mediocre score. Something that helps me blend in with all the others. Now that I am in the career pack, the best thing to do is appear useful yet nonthreatening. A tough needle to thread, but a subpar score would help.

I’ve never heard of this strategy before. Purposefully get a poor score to lower expectations? It would make me look weak, but does that really mean people would ignore me? Maybe they’d just get me out of the way quickly instead.

“It’s not a very common strategy,” Walsh says, “but it does happen. It won’t solve all your problems, but it’ll at least help you that first day. When all else fails, listen to Mags, she knows more than anyone.”

I decide he’s right. Who am I to doubt Mags when she’s done so much for me already? Before the games have even started.

Mags tells me to just show off some of my favorite traps. Make them as impressive as I want, it won’t matter much. Apparently, the Gamemakers never give more than a seven for anything non-combat based. And you’ve got to be very impressive to get that seven. She estimates I’ll get a five or a six for my traps.

At lunch on the third day, we are called back into the training center one by one. I watch Primer get called in first, then Spark. Evant and Merida. The boy from district Three and then the girl, Analee. Then I am called. I’ve never given it much thought, but I’m grateful for how soon District Four comes in on the lineup. Waiting would kill me.

I say goodbye to Mandy, and she gives me a reassuring nod.

It’s odd to see the training center so empty. All the Gamemakers are up in their little balcony. They had been here each day, but I never felt they were watching me. Every time I looked, most of them had their eyes trained on Mandy, or that large boy from District Six with the buzz cut and caramel skin.  

They all waited quietly for me to approach. I stand in front of them and someone informs me I have ten minutes to show off my talents.

I grab a bunch of rope from the knot tying section and begin to weave a strong net. Once I’m done, I drag it over to the camouflage section.

The fake trees here do wonderfully. I string the net up on one of the fake branches. Then I camouflage it. I’m worried about running low on time. I glance at the Gamemakers and discover I’m boring them. Most of them are focused more on the food they’re being served or electronic devices. This worries me. Despite knowing this is what I’m going for, I don’t want to underwhelm them. I hurry up.

Once everything is done, I run over to one of the training dummies at the knife fighting center. I carry the stuffed person over the camouflage center and I try to get the Gamemaker’s attention.

I clear my throat. A few more Gamemakers look at me expectedly.

I push the dummy into the practically invisible trap, and it springs perfectly. The dummy becomes swept up in the net, hanging five feet above the ground.

That’s all I’ve got and I realize it’s pathetic. I’ll get a four, at most. But I just smile at them.

“Thank you,” says one of the men, “you can go.”

I rush out, staring at the ground, and press the button for the fourth floor.

Mandy takes ten minutes to join me. By that time, I’ve finished my report on what happened.

“You’ll be fine, don’t worry about them not watching,” says Garrik. “They get bored quickly, but they always give fair scores. They’ve got a country to entertain, don’t want everyone to be twos and threes.”

The elevator dings and Mandy sits down next to me. She smiles kindly and nudges me.

“How’d it go?”

“Terrible,” I say. “But I guess that’s the point.”

Over Mandy’s shoulder I see Mags shaking her head at me. I never realized our strategy of getting a mediocre score would be a secret from Mandy.

“That’s the point? What point?”

“Uhhh,” I say. “So that you’ll be even more impressive. Y’know, I want a win for District Four.”

Mandy chuckles. “Don’t sell yourself short, I’m sure you did great.”

“How was it,” says Garrik.

“I did what you said. I think they were impressed… It was hard to tell. At the end of the day I was just cutting dummies in half.”

“Nothing feels impressive in front of the Gamemakers,” says Kent, “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Barry, who had been blissfully absent for the last few days, speaks up.

“You’ve shown off something no one else can do! They know talent when they see it, these people are professionals! They’ve got a good eye for talent. Trust them.”

Trust them? Trust the people who designed the arena to murder us? I have no tolerance for Barry. Which is fine, because based on the way he avoids talking to me the feeling is mutual.

Garrik and Mags usher us down to the second floor for one last time. The group is already talking, which makes sense, considering they’ve been waiting for us for the past twenty minutes. But still, I can’t help but think this is a disadvantage for District Four. It gives One and Two so much time without us, what if they’re talking about us? About how to trick us or betray us in the arena?

Maybe I’m just being paranoid.

We stay there until dinner time. The entire day is devoted to discussing strategy for the Cornucopia.

The Cornucopia is dangerous, and it’s also the difference between life and death for Career packs. We have to win the bloodbath. Every other tribute needs to either flee or be killed, so we are all the last ones standing with the remaining supplies.

“This doesn’t mean you should just kill everyone,” says Lyme. “I mean, obviously killing people is kind of the point, but most tributes will grab a backpack and run. If you don’t kill them before they start running, just let them go. No pursuing anyone, I don’t care how much you hate them.” 

“That’s also true for seeking anyone out,” says Garrik. “You don’t target people here. It’ll just leave you vulnerable to other attacks. You fight the person in front of you, whoever lives lives.”

“What about the kid?” says Brutus.

Garrik turns to look at me.

“He’ll take care of himself. Probably won’t kill anyone, but you don’t need to worry about him.”

I’ll take care of myself? I nod along like I have complete faith in myself but now I’m worried. I had assumed being part of the Career pack meant I had people watching out for me at the Cornucopia. Meant that I’d be protected. I guess not.

The group goes over the plan for the Cornucopia, which is formed mostly around who is fastest in the group. Ironically, the mentors all have very little to say on the matter beyond get a weapon immediately, any weapon, trade up later once you can, and get your back to the supplies so no one can sneak up behind you.

Once they run out of things to talk about I’m relieved. I’m hoping to get in a conversation with Mags before dinner, because suddenly the bloodbath is much more threatening than it was a few hours ago, but apparently there’s more to discuss.

“So, last area of business,” says Brutus awkwardly. “Always a fun discussion.”

“What?” says Mandy.

“Are we pooling the sponsor money while you’re all together?” says Lyme.

“No.”

Mags so rarely speaks in these meetings, and when she does it’s never this coherent. But she’s so forceful, and it’s not like no is a tricky word to understand, even with her speech issues.

Everyone seems even more surprised than I am at Mags’ participation. In fact, most of the other mentors are stunned into silence.

“I agree,” says Garrik. “Obviously. When do we ever pool money, anyway? We always say we’ll keep the options open but it’s never needed.”

“Maybe not since you’ve joined the ranks,” says the older District One mentor, Alfred. “But sometimes it’s useful. We should at least leave it on the table. Keep each other in the loop over how much we’ve got—”

But Mags grunts and shakes her head again.

“You’re all for us keeping our options open except for when District One has the star tributes” snaps Garrik. “Unless one of you are hiding something big, Mandy’s getting the best training score of the group. And we all know how the interviews are gonna go. District Four’s getting more sponsors this year. Nothing wrong with that, doesn’t mean you guys can’t win. But we’re not sharing what our tributes earn with anyone.”

“How will we differentiate who gets what?” says Brutus. “We can’t label the parachutes, how will they know who it’s for?”

“We’ve figured it out before, I’m sure we can do it again.”

There’s silence. Finally Garrik sighs and gestures for us to stand.

“If you all want to pool money, that’s fine. But we’ll be running solo this year.”

Mags and Garrik herd us into the elevator and we zip up to our own floor.

“What was that?” asks Mandy.

“We argue every year,” says Garrik. “We’ll get more sponsors than they will, they want to pool the money so everyone in the alliance gets the same amount of money. We send you all gifts together. But it’s unfair to the tributes doing the heavy lifting.”

“But what if I don’t get the highest training score?” asks Mandy.

“Don’t worry about that.”

We eat dinner with Barry and the stylists, then we sit and wait for the training scores.

“What are the odds of someone getting sponsors with a bad score?” I ask Mags. The closer we get to seeing the scores, the more nervous I am about mine.

Garrik answers for Mags.

“Scores only matter if they’re good. No one pays any attention to the bad ones. And there’s still the interviews to go on.”

I’ve been trying not to think about the interviews. Standing on a stage in front of the entire world and answering questions about myself… my legs shake just thinking about it.

The announcers come on, talking about the scoring process. It’s usually the same each year, higher scores for Districts One, Two, and Four, low and medium scores for everyone else. Sometimes there are some outliers, one of the kids from Four gets a low score, for example, or someone else pulls an eight or nine.

The scores go from 1-12 with 1 being impossibly low and 12 being unachievably high. No one has ever gotten a one or a two before, at least not that I know of. We talk about threes back home like they’re the worst score you can get. There’s been one eleven in my lifetime, and that guy turned out to be some sort of demigod. He was bigger and stronger than even Mandy, but he was also fast, he could jump farther than anyone should. He didn’t even win the games, but he was by far the most impressive physical specimen I’ve ever seen.

It starts with District One, boys and then girls.

Primer gets a nine and Spark gets an eight. Evant and Merida both get eights as well. Very impressive scores.

The boy from three gets a six and the girl gets a seven. Also impressive for non-volunteer districts. I wonder what they did to get those scores. The girl from three was pretty good at the knife throwing station, maybe she did that. And the boy? I have no idea.

Then my picture flashes up on screen, followed by my score: five.

I sink into my seat, embarrassed. Although, technically, it’s middle of the pack, it still feels incredibly low considering everyone ahead of me did better. Even worse than the kids from Three, who are usually bottom of the pack, since they mostly sit in front of computers all day in that District.

Everyone’s patting me on the back and telling me a five is very respectable for my age when Mandy’s picture flashes and we all fall silent.

Ten.

Mandy gets a ten.

And no one’s thinking about me anymore. We’re all on our feet and cheering for Mandy. Highest score in the Careers, just like Garrik predicted.

“I really didn’t think I looked that impressive,” says Mandy.

“You’re used to your own abilities,” says Garrik. “The Gamemakers aren’t.”

Barry quiets us down to watch the rest of the scores.

We completely missed the boy from Five but the girl scores a four, which makes me feel a bit better. The large boy from Six flashes across the screen and our mood dies down a bit when he also scores a ten.

“It doesn’t matter,” says Garrik. “You’re still as impressive as you would have been as the only ten.”

“Unless now people think we only got these scores because of our size.”

“Size is important,” says Garrik. “But the Gamemakers don’t give away tens for being big. You impressed people tonight.”

“You think I’ll pull enough sponsors to make your speech down on two worth it?”

“I do. Six might be someone to worry about, but you did better than the other Careers. You’ll have plenty of options.”

We’ve missed the next few districts because of the conversation. We glance back at the screen for Ten, Eleven, and Twelve. The girl from Eleven gets a six but the rest score fours and threes.

We all congratulate Mandy and go our separate ways. I approach Mags, I still need to ask about the Cornucopia, but she’s way ahead of me.

Mags grabs me by the arm and pulls me into the kitchen. Once we’re alone we talk.

She congratulates me on my perfectly mediocre score, and promises that it’ll help me more than any high score would. High scores get sponsors, but they also put a target on your back, she says. You only want a high score if you’ve got what it takes to defend it in the arena.

This puts my mind at ease slightly, but I can’t get too relaxed with the thoughts of the Cornucopia racing around in my head.

Mags pats my shoulder comfortingly and she lays out my options.

The good thing about the Cornucopia is that I don’t actually need to grab anything but a weapon. Weapons are usually held in the center, with survival stuff closer to the platforms. Which means the first thing I have to do is run, as fast as I can, and grab the first weapon I find that I could possibly use.

Then she has options for me. I could run. Find a nearby tree to climb or bush to hid in and wait out the bloodbath. But this will probably anger my allies, that I just abandoned them. And there’s the issue of how far I should run. Close enough to see the bloodbath is dangerous, someone fleeing the scene might stumble upon me and then I’m toast. Easy prey away from the chaos of the battle. But too far I might miss when it ends, and my allies won’t wait for me.

My other option is similar to the advice Garrik gave the other tributes. Grab a weapon, trade it for better ones whenever the opportunity presents itself, stand with my back towards the Cornucopia wall so no one can sneak up behind me.

If I stand against the Cornucopia wall and look defensive but nonthreatening most people will leave me alone. As long as all I have in my hands is a weapon. If I have supplies anyone might want, suddenly I’m in a line of fire.

Of course, there’s always the risk someone decides to cross off an easy target. Which means I’ll need to fight a bit. But the smaller the crowd gets at the Cornucopia, the less likely that will be. And, the more likely my allies will come to my aide if I look like I’m in trouble.

My first instinct would be to run from the Cornucopia. Hide, wait out the fighting. But I know the right answer is option number two. After all, the people most likely to kill me are my own allies from Districts One and Two. So doing something to piss them off seems like a bad idea. Staying with them and ‘fighting’ at the Cornucopia is probably my best chance of staying on their good side. Plus, it’s not like I’m completely hopeless in a fight. Unless that guy from Six shows up to fight me, I bet I could at least buy myself some time. Worst comes to worst, I run for it, and make them chose between me and the spoils in the Cornucopia. Easy decision from where I’m sitting.

I’m feeling a bit better, but I’m still shaking at the idea of the bloodbath. I’ve seen so many on tv. And, sure, I’ve imagined myself in one of them. Who hasn’t? We always tend to imagine ourselves in bad scenarios, what would we do in that person’s shoes. But I always imagined myself running from the Cornucopia before any of the action really started. Gabbing a backpack, which conveniently has everything I need, and a weapon and hauling ass before anyone else could catch up. Looking back on that fantasy, it was rather naive of me. I’m sure that’s what everyone hopes for.

Mags pats my cheek and walks me to my room. I make sure to thank her for the help, because she’s really gone above and beyond at this whole Mentor thing. She winks at me.

I’ve noticed she never speaks unless she has to. Because of the speech issues? Maybe. But she might just be a quiet person. For whatever reason I like it. Words mean nothing at this point.

I shower and put on some clean pajamas. I curl up under the covers, dreading the nightmares that are sure to plague me tonight as they have the last two nights. But eventual my eyelids become heavy and I fall asleep.

I dream of fisher’s beach. It’s the middle of the night, just like it usually is when I’m there. And it’s deserted, which is strange.

I dive down and feel along the ocean surface for a rock. Once I find one, I kick upwards and surface. I climb up onto the floating dock and present my rock to my lone companion.

Emma smiles and takes it from me. She turns it in her hands a few times and then places it next to her. We talk for a little while, but the conversation is muddled and confusing. Finally, she leans closer and we kiss. Her lips are warm and I feel something stir at the pit of my stomach. We lie down on the dock, pressed together. Her hand caresses my cheek, then down to my arm, then further down…

I wake with a start. Face burning with embarrassment. Reaching for her necklace which I don’t have.

Chapter Text

It’s early, but I decide to head into the kitchen anyway. The sun is up, so it can’t be that strange.

I’m shocked to find Mags is already there, sitting in her usual seat. I’ve noticed I never see her arrive at the table. How early does she wake up? Or perhaps she just never sleeps at night?

I fill up my plate and sit next to her. We both seem content with not talking for a while. I’m worried I’m becoming used to the incredible food in the Capitol, it’s going to be a hard transition to whatever I need to eat in the arena. At the moment, I can hardly taste it.

I had been able to dismiss that first dream about Emma to a one night occurrence, but it’s since grown. Can I continue to deny it? Is it possible that with everything going on I’ve developed some sort of crush? On a girl I barely know?

And why now? I’m facing imminent death, I’ll never see her again, but I’m completely enthralled by… what? By the necklace she gave me before leaving? By the kind words she had for me?

I stab at a grape with my fork and accidentally shoot it across the room. One of the Capitol attendants walks over and picks it up off the ground.

“Sorry!” I say.

Mags is chuckling. She pats my hand and winks at me. She babbles something about nerves.

“Yeah,” I say. “Just nervous.” I shove Emma from my mind. “I’ve always had a bit of stage fright. I’m not sure how well I’m going to do on stage tomorrow.”

Mags shakes her head and chuckles.

“I’m serious. I’ve never been good at speaking in front of people.”

Mags says something confusing: they aren’t people.

I don’t know how to respond to that. “Who aren’t people? The Capitol audience?”

Mags nods.

I glance around. It feels dangerous to insult them all like this. Especially with all the Capitol attendants in the room with us.

But I understand what she’s trying to say. That it is useless to be embarrassed in front of these people, because nothing I can say will be more embarrassing than the lives they lead every day. It’s like how the victors treat the stylists. Like they’re children. Spoiled children who we need to keep happy.

It’s a good way to think of them. I consider how sour Barry is towards me, just for one thing I said to him in anger. An adult would understand I was just in a bad mood. An adult would shrug it off. But Barry can’t do that. Growing up in a place like this, it creates different people than District Four. He’s not an adult, not like the adults I know in Four.

But I’m not convinced this revelation will help me with my stage fright.

I shrug. “Maybe,” I say to Mags.

She rolls her eyes and flicks a bit of scrambled egg at me. Now who’s acting like a child?

“What’s the plan today? Just prepping for the interview? This is always a weird quiet day back home.”

During training, there’s always interviews from the stylists about the opening ceremonies, plus a few clips of training. They never show anyone in particular, just a wide shot of the entire training area. Mostly just to show the country what we’re up to. But today, in between the training scores and the interviews, there’s nothing. We aren’t even required to turn our tv on, but even if we do choose to tune in, which no one does, there’s nothing to watch. A short reprieve before the storm of the interviews and then the Games.

Mags confirms it’s a prep day. When I ask her what could possibly take up a whole day, she just laughs.

…

As it turns out, Mags was right to laugh. They have us working until the last hour. Mandy and I start the activities out together. We all gather in the sitting area and Barry hands Mandy and I outfits and instructs us to put them on.

I put on a horrible green suit. It’s more complicated than any article of clothing should be. I manage to get the pants on and button up the shirt. I can’t tie the tie so I just let it hang around my neck. I put on the jacket but there are so many other pieces. And I have no idea where they go.

“How are you two doing?” calls Garrik.

“Bite me,” Mandy shouts from a nearby room.

The adults all laugh. “Finnick?”

“I’m lost,” I say. “It’s like a puzzle.”

“You decent?”

“Yeah.”

“Then get out here, we’ll help you.”

I walk out holding all the fabric I couldn’t figure out.

“Every year I forget how hopeless you all are!” says Barry.

I scowl at him. But before I can lower Barry’s already dismal opinion of me, Walsh steps forward.

“Alright, pretty boy, jacket off,” says Walsh.

I remove the jacket obediently. Kent grabs it from me and yanks my tie off too.

“Okay, first things first,” says Walsh, “tuck the shirt in.”

I tuck it in, but I’ve apparently done it wrong. Barry sighs and steps forward.

“I’ll do it—”

But Walsh steps between us, which I’m grateful for, because the last thing I want is Barry manhandling me and shoving his hands into my waistline.

“If you do it, how will he learn?” says Walsh.

I chuckle because when would I ever need to do this again? In the arena? But I don’t point it out because I know Walsh is looking out for me.

Walsh takes off his own jacket and shows me what it’s supposed to look like. After a few tries even Barry deems it acceptable.

“Alright, this is a cummerbund, it goes around your waist.”

Walsh attaches it for me. Then he helps me put on the vest, which apparently goes under the jacket. Then the jacket.

“What’s with the tail?” I say.

“It’s an evening suit,” says Barry. “Tails are expected.”

“It’s actually called a tail?” I was sure there was going to be a less obvious term for it.

Most of the victors laugh, everyone except Garrik who keeps glancing over towards Mandy’s room.

Walsh has me put on the jacket and then Barry steps forwards. He holds out a few metal buttons. I take them from him.

“What am I supposed to do with these?”

“They’re cufflinks,” he says.

I stare at him. What part of the body is the cuff? It sounds like a made-up word.

“Uhhh,” I say.

Barry huffs and snatches them from me. Before I know what’s going on he’s got me by the wrist. He attaches the little metal things to my sleeves and pins them together. The sleeves are now tight, digging into my wrists, but I don’t say anything.

“Okay, now the bowtie,” says Kent, throwing the tie back over my neck, “it’s like a regular tie, but more confusing and harder to tie. Because nothing can be simple.”

“I don’t even know how to tie a regular tie.”

“You know how to tie every knot in the world yet you can’t tie a simple Windsor?”

I shrug. “I don’t need to know how to tie a tie, I never wear them.”

“And you use your complex knots all the time?”

“Yes.”

Kent pauses for a moment, then he laughs. “Good point. Anyway if you can stump the knot instructor this will be a breeze.”

He teaches me how to tie the bowtie. He’s right, I pick it up pretty fast. Although, it always ends up a bit crooked. Kent assures me that is part of the charm.

Walsh helps me put on the silky white gloves. I can’t imagine being able to hold anything with these things on. Then he adjusts my collar and steps back.

Barry sighs. “He may be aggravating, but he can wear a suit, I’ll give him that.”

It’s incredibly uncomfortable. I glance at myself in the mirror. I guess I look okay? I can’t get past the violent color green. And the gloves are my worst nightmare. They’re irritating and itchy and they look stupid.

“Hey Mandy?” says Garrik. “You alive?”

“This is ridiculous,” shouts an annoyed Mandy. “I can’t even get the thing on.”

Mags gets up and hobbles over to Mandy’s door. She knocks a few times and the door opens a crack. Once Mandy sees it’s Mags, she lets her in.

We men stand in silence. We hear occasional mutterings from behind the door until finally Mags emerges with a very awkward looking Mandy.

It’s similar to the Opening Ceremonies outfit: like someone really wants Mandy to have a different body type. Mandy’s wearing a floor length golden gown. It’s strapless and looks just a bit too tight. Mandy holds her shoes in her hands.

“Yikes,” mutters Barry. “Alright, put on the shoes let’s see what we’re working with.”

Mandy sits and puts on the shoes. She doesn’t stand.

“Stand up,” says Barry.

“You think that’s safe?” she says.

Jeffers offers an arm. Mandy sighs, she clutches the arm and slowly rises. After a few moments of swaying, she manages to stand without help.

They worked with us the entire morning. I’m work mostly with Walsh and Kent while all the others fuss over Mandy.

I don’t mind, of course. In fact, I’m coming around to both Victors. Sure, Walsh seems a bit lazy, he sleeps in until noon most days, something no one else in District Four does, we rise with the sun like any good fishermen. And Kent always has just a bit too much to drink, another trait not common in Four. Sure, we drink, but hangovers and five in the morning never mix. However, despite all that Kent’s got a nice sense of humor, plus he’s a happy drunk, which is probably the better kind. And Walsh seems to have some of Mags’ wisdom and steadiness that I’ve grown so fond of. They are also the two older male tributes, Kent being probably a few years older than my dad, and Walsh probably being in his sixties. It’s easier to trust someone when you have no memory of them killing children. I gladly allow them to show me the ropes.

We focused on walking and sitting in formal clothes. How to cross my legs as a guy, how to look at ease but not wrinkle anything. It’s not all that hard. At least, not that hard for me.

Mandy is having a terrible time. She spends hours just trying to walk in her new shoes and outfit. She trips and almost crashes to the ground if not for Garrik catching her last second. Once she is able to get from point A to point B without tripping, they decide to move on. Barry mutters about how she’d never be able to walk up a flight of stairs or walk any distance, but what does it matter? She only really needs to stand on an elevator, walk to her seat, and stand for the interview. He’s overruled.

Sitting is another struggle for Mandy. Her dress seems impossible to maneuver. Barry keeps snapping at her to not touch her face, a problem I don’t have because of the gloves.

Garrik and Jeffer keep egging her on like she’s training for some sort of sport. Maybe that type of thing would work for Mandy, but it’s giving me anxiety and it’s not even directed at me.

I still have some hesitations about Garrik and Jeffer. Sure, I’d pick them over someone from the Capitol any day, but they’re still a bit… too perfect. They are exactly what you’d picture when you hear the word Victor. Strong, serious, young, athletic. Garrik’s perfectly bald head at his age and Jeffer’s expertly trimmed beard also give them just a hint of a Capitol look about them.

Lunch is served at noon and Barry insists Mandy is not ready. They keep working with her while Walsh, Kent, and I eat. By the time the others join us Mandy looks about ready to murder someone. And I’m pretty sure that someone is going to be Barry.

The next half of the day is about the interview itself, and it’s much less stressful. Although, that might be because Mandy and I are separated. But I assume this part is easier for her as well.

Mandy heads off to the sitting area with Garrik and Jeffer while I stay put in the dining room with Mags, Kent, and Walsh. Barry, thankfully, heads out at lunch. Perhaps his job is over, or maybe he’s just sick of both of us. Although he must have a short fuse to retreat just because Mandy can’t walk in heels and I made a snide comment five days ago.

I’ve noticed a difference today verses the last few days we’ve been training for the Hunger Games. Not just that I’m doing better than Mandy, which is a first. But I’m being treated differently. When Mandy and I are split up, it is I who gets the dining room table, with room to spread out and act professional, while Mandy moves out of our way, into the sitting area. The victors have higher hopes for my performance than they do Mandy’s.

But it’s more than that. Because, of course I’m going to do better than Mandy. Mandy has spent her life training to kill people, her social skills are bound to need some fine tuning. At the end of the day, Mandy still has the highest training score. Making Mandy passable for the interviews is more important that making me a star. So why put more effort into me than Mandy? Perhaps all these Victors are just tired of trying to teach helpless cases? I’m sure it gets tedious after a while… or, much worse, they actually have some hope for me. They haven’t written me off as a lost cause. They’re thinking that, perhaps, with the right amount of sponsors, I could win this thing.

But this is very dangerous thinking. Because I have been able to avoid being afraid of the Games because I knew, for certain, I am going to die. I let the fact sink in and now the only thing to fear is a painful death. Something I’ve been hard at work trying to prevent. But the Victors having faith in me now presents a small glimmer of hope. And that hope brings fear. If I have a chance, that means tomorrow night actually matters. It means that I need to worry about things going wrong.

I try to shake out of it, but it’s tricky. I try to lower their expectations, bringing up my stage fright yet again, but Walsh and Kent brush it off just like Mags did. They all insist that this audience doesn’t count. They don’t go as far to say the Capitol audience aren’t people, but I can hear it in their voice. Why worry about making a fool of yourself in front of people who walk around in clown costumes? You can’t be more of a fool than they already are.

“So, are you going to ask me fake questions, or…”

“First we need to come up with an angle for you,” says Walsh, still eating from lunch.

“An angle?”

“When you go up in front of a Capitol audience you need to play a character,” says Kent. “Something easy for them to latch onto. You have to be describable in one word. Charming, stubborn, likeable, whatever. You’ve only got three minutes, and they want to feel they know you. Gotta make it easy for them.”

“What were you?” I ask.

“Sarcastic,” says Kent. “I turned everything into a joke. Thought it would help but it just made me look crass. Didn’t get many sponsors. Walsh warned me not to but I’m a bit of an ass.”

“The bit of an ass part came off beautifully in your interview,” Walsh mutters. “But I don’t think humor is how Finnick should play this.”

“Yeah…” I say. “I’ve never been one for stand-up. So what am I? Just likeable? I could probably pull that off if I tried.”

I try to think about what I am naturally. But it’s impossible to put myself into such a small box. In fact, I’m having trouble seeing myself as anything lately besides fourteen. Fourteen and doomed.

The three adults glance at each other. They all look hesitant.

“What?”

Mags finally nods assertively, and they’ve come to some sort of understanding. She reaches out her hand and I take it immediately. I’m starved for comfort these days, I don’t even care what it might mean that she’s offering me comfort now, like preparing me for bad news.

“Well…” says Walsh. “Likeable would work just fine but there is another route that may be more… rewarding. But only if you’re feeling up for it.”

“What is it?”

“Provocative,” says Kent carefully. 

“Like flirting?”

Kent pours something from a flask into his coffee. He seems nervous.

“Yeah, sort of. It’s always a fan favorite technique and you’re…”

He doesn’t say it, but I know what he’s getting at.

“I’m attractive.”

Mags chortles and says something about me being humble too. I laugh with her. I guess it does come off a bit vain when I say it myself. But why act humble? I know I’m good looking. I even take a little pride in it. I know it’s not important, and personality comes first, but I like the way I look. I spend a good amount of time in the morning making sure I look my best. Vain or not, it’s just something that brings me pleasure. It’s not like I do it for other people, to get attention. It’s just something I like about myself.

“You were the star of Opening Ceremonies. Attractive tributes pull more sponsors, it’s just how this place works. They’ve got a show to put on, after all, they like it when the people on camera look nice. Playing into that would be your best bet.”

“I get it, I think. It’s not like I’m flirting with the audience, I’m just showing that I know how to flirt. Like that I’m a player or something.”

“I would not suggest flirting with Caesar Flickerman,” jokes Kent, “yeah. You’ve basically got it. They just want to paint you as this kid who has girls falling over him.”

Do I have girls falling over me? No, because girls don’t actually do that. We don’t give teenage girls enough respect. But if you were to ask Dawson, he’d say yes. And there was the whole thing with Vanessa before I left… I guess it wouldn’t be too much of a reach.

After that, things go pretty smoothly. It’s just when Mags asks me if I’ve got a girlfriend back home that I stumble.

“Uh… nope,” I say.

“You’ve got to give him more,” says Walsh. “He’ll follow up if you just answer yes or no. And with the angle you’re playing, he might assume your deliberately hiding something, to make it appear like he has to draw it out of you.”

“Um… but I don’t really have anything else to say there. Maybe we move on?”

“No,” says Walsh. “I’m sorry kid, but if you play this angle, he’s bound to ask you this. It’s a common question for anyone playing an approachable personality.”

I sigh.

“So if I just say no what would his follow up be?”

“Well, he’d probably ask you if there’s anyone you want to be in a relationship with. Like if you’ve got a girl you’re hoping to impress and return home to.”

My mind goes to Emma immediately, without my permission. But I can’t talk about Emma. For one, it’s extremely embarrassing. And for another, she’d be watching. That’s even worse.

“Uh…”

Mags stops me, which I’m grateful for. She warns us all this is deep water altogether. That I’ll lose my appeal if I appear spoken for, or if I have a crush on someone back home. But Kent then brings up that I also can’t appear against romance in general, since that’s a key part to this angle.

We spend a good half an hour on this question alone. We go through roughly thirty different answers and at the end we circle back to the second one we came up with.

By the end of the day, I feel like I’m getting the hang of this. We run through some must have answers one more time and Mags sends me off to get ready for dinner, saying she thinks I’m ready.

“What if they ask me a question I don’t want to answer in front of the entire country?” I ask.

“Like what?” says Walsh.

“I don’t know… something too personal?” I’m thinking about my mom’s death, the names of my friends, if I’ve had any girlfriends in the past. Some things just don’t belong to the Capitol audience.

“You can always lie,” says Kent.

“I can?”

“Sure. Who’s gonna know?”

“I wouldn’t lie about everything, though,” says Walsh. “If you live until final eight they’re gonna go to District Four to interview your friends and family and they’ll notice if the life they find there is different than what you described in the interviews.”

The idea of my making it to the final eight scares me. Again with the glimmer of hope these people seem to have for me. I can’t afford to think that way, it’ll just make the end much harder.

I take a shower and change my clothes before dinner, mostly just to pass the time. I’m surprised to discover I’m feeling pretty good about my ability to get through this interview. But the stage fright still worries me. Sure, I can answer any question Caeser Flickerman asks me, as long as I can stand up there with him without fainting.

I grab my dad’s rope from the bedside table. I haven’t been using it much, with training and the Career meetings keeping me so busy and exhausted, but now I need something to occupy my hands with.

Mandy doesn’t seem in much better spirits during dinner, Jeffers and Garrik are still asking her practice questions all through the meal. Barry’s back from returning the outfits he made us wear this morning and he keeps leaping in with suggestions. Suggestions Mandy does not enjoy.

I can tell Mandy’s angle just from the few questions I overhear: intimidating. She’s a killing machine. It works for her, most of the time. But her voice is just a bit too kind and it’s ruining the message.

At one point Mags starts throwing things across the table at her. It would be funny if all the other Victors didn’t seem hellbent on ignoring it. After a few attempts at answering a question from Garrik only to be interrupted by flying dinner rolls, Mandy snaps.

“What do you want?!” she yells. “Are you just going senile?!”

I’m a little offended on Mags’ behalf, after all it’s been clear to me she’s sharper than anyone here, but Mags just smiles and points at Mandy. She says something Mandy can’t understand, but I can.

There you go.

“What?” says Mandy.

“That’s it, that’s what we want,” says Garrik.

“You want me to be angry?”

“Well, we want you to be intimidating,” says Jeffer, “but if angry’s how you do that then we’ll take what we can get.”

“I don’t get it,” I say, “you were intimidating when you tried to beat up Evant. Why the sudden struggle?”

“I mean… with that it was more…”

“You were angry at him,” says Garrik.

“I guess so, but it was also that I knew I could beat him.”

“You need confidence. Shouldn’t be too hard, you’ve got the highest training score, you’re the biggest tribute. Why are you holding yourself back?”

Mags leans over and mutters something to Garrik.

“You’re right,” he says. “Look, Mandy, try this. All the other Careers are hoping to one up you tomorrow night. You won over the Gamemakers but the people of the Capitol are still in play. This is a competition. Win.”

Mandy’s eyes get hard. It’s such an obvious way to manipulate her, but it works wonders. The idea of the other Tributes thinking they’re better than she is is enough to bring out the intimidation they’ve been searching for. I suppose it makes sense, being raised in the training center. Competition is probably the only thing she knows.

“Keep in mind, though” says Walsh, “the great thing about sponsors is that you two can help one another here. If a sponsor comes to us for one of you, we can usually convince them to sponsor the other too. So, yeah, it’s a competition, but you two are basically on the same side.”

Mandy just nods and smiles at me, but my mind reels at what this might mean. We’re on the same side here? Does that mean all the energy spent teaching me is actually just a clever way of getting sponsors for Mandy? I should feel relieved by that, after all I want Mandy to win, and the hope they’re giving me is causing panic. But I’m a little betrayed by it. These are my sponsors… are they just going to divert everything to Mandy?

I try to shake myself out of it. Mags wouldn’t do that to me. And besides, even if it’s true, who cares? Mandy winning could mean good things for my family, for my friends. I remember the year after Garrik won… we didn’t need to worry about money, we were able to buy new clothes and boating equipment because the food sent by the Capitol was more than enough to live on. I got a cake for my birthday that year. A real chocolate cake with frosting and everything. It was one of the happiest years in my memory. At least since my mom died. Don’t I want that for District Four? If I can help Mandy win, I should be happy.

But there is the glimmer of hope that, maybe, Walsh just said this because he’s looking out for me. Maybe he thinks I’ll do better than Mandy and doesn’t want this competition manipulation to go to Mandy’s head. I can’t imagine Mandy could ever see me as an enemy, even if I do well tonight. But still, maybe Walsh is just putting down a safety net for me. Making sure Mandy stays friendly even if tomorrow goes badly.

By the time I’m done unraveling all these emotions dessert is over. Mags sends Mandy and I away so the adults can talk, and I gladly leave the table, hands still occupied with my father’s rope.

“How are you feeling?” asks Mandy when we’re out of earshot.

“About tomorrow?” I ask, “or just in general?”

“Both.”

I shrug. “I’m a little nervous about tomorrow. I’ve gotten really bad stage fright in the past. As for the rest… just trying not to think about it.”

“I’m worried about what they’ll make us wear,” says Mandy.

“In the arena?” I think about the Hunger Games a few years ago where they all wore bright orange clothes that made camouflage impossible.

“No, I mean tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah. Can’t be worse than the stuff Barry brought us, though.”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Mandy says darkly. “Night, Finnick.”

I bid her goodnight and close my door behind me. I peel off my clothes and crawl between the covers. I just have time to bundle my dad’s rope between my hands before I fall asleep.

…

I wake up and three freakish faces hover over mine.

I jump up in a start. “What the—”

Aleksander, Alexia, and Prometheon, my horrifying prep team, stand over me.

“Where did you come from?” I say.

“We let ourselves in!” says Aleksander. “We’ve got an interview to prepare for!”

They herd me up and into the shower. Alexia choses the settings for me, and I become drenched in cold water mixed with some type of perfume. Then there’s the weird stone again. The drag it all over my body removing about two layers of skin. The shave the hair under my arms but leave the hair on my legs and arms. I haven’t gotten any facial hair yet, but they spread waxing stuff on my face and tear it off anyway. It hurts way less than when they did it under my arms.

Then comes the hair and makeup. For Opening Ceremonies they let Rugeria do my makeup but apparently she doesn’t have that kind of time today.

The poke at my face for three hours. When they finally step away I steal myself and glance at the mirror.

I’m relieved to find they haven’t changed my face that much. In fact, they did a very good job.

I look stunning.

It’s the only word to use. I’m not even sure how they did it. My eye color pops and my lips are more pronounced but I don’t look freakish. My skin is flawless. There are gold specks on my cheeks and by my eyes. When I smile the gold twinkles even in these lights.

But there’s something else. It takes me a while to put my finger on it, but eventually it hits me: they’ve made me look older. I look sixteen, at least. Maybe even older than that. They’ve sharpened all my features, slimmed down my face. I am flawless. You can tell these are my natural looks, just… drawn out. I’m handsome but with something else underneath. Otherworldly. Breathtaking.

The don’t stop at my face, they rub some sort of lotion into my hands and then file and paint my nails navy blue. All this tells me is I won’t be wearing gloves, which I’m relieved about. They put some makeup on my neck and paint spiral gold designs down my neck and onto my chest. This confuses me. Will my chest be showing? That seems odd. I can’t think of any tribute going shirtless at an interview before. But I’m determined to not worry about the outfit until I see it.

Finally, they attack my hair. They yet again get it to stick up even more, instead of patting it down like the adults in Four always do. They take sheets of flimsy golden paper that fall apart when you touch them and put specks of gold into my hair.

By the time they’re done, I shine. I’m radiant. Beautiful. The picture of what the human body ought to be.

Despite their repulsive appearances, I have to admit they’ve done a good job on me. Which is strange, because I remember the last few years and none of the other tributes looked anywhere near as good. 

I’m allowed to eat a quick lunch while making sure not to ruin my makeup and Rujeria joins us at one.

“Alright,” she says, bubbling over with excitement. “Close your eyes.”

They help me maneuver into the outfit with my eyes closed. I find the whole thing a bit stupid, but apparently it’s tradition. I wiggle into some pants that I notice are feel much tighter than the ones Barry gave me, and come up over my bellybutton. I also slide into a loose fitting silky shirt that my prep team buttons up for me and I feel Rujeria put on a vest. I step into some boots that zip up way higher than boots usually go and after a few minutes of Rujeria fussing over me she turns me towards the mirror and tells me to open my eyes.

I am immediately relieved at how normal the outfit is. I wear navy blue pants that are very tight and come up to my rips. There are at least fifteen buttons running up the side of them, which is weird but doesn’t necessarily look bad. The boots are also weird. They go up past the knee and stop mid-thigh. But again, it looks good on, even though it’s a little bizarre in concept. My button up shirt is very loose and flows naturally. It is bright and golden and glistens in the lights. My team seems to have purposefully not buttoned up the last three buttons, and you can see some of my chest, covered in golden designs. Tasteful and elegant, while still breaking some rules of what these people deem high society. And a navy blue vest goes over the shirt. It’s form fitting, making my middle sharp while letting the sleeves flow loose.

I look elegant and regal. A bit seductive, which is perfect for the angle I’m playing tonight. Somewhere in the back of my brain I think that the outfit makes me look like a pirate. Which is odd, because the pirates I learn about occasionally in school were not necessarily fashionistas. I’m not sure where the image of a stylish pirate comes from, but that is what I look like. The boots are a bit like fishing boots and I feel like I should have a sword in my hands. Considering I am about to go into a death arena, this feels like a good thing.

Rujeria steps up with a bunch of necklaces.

“Finishing touches,” she says. “I’m going to try a few things out to see what works.”

After a few different options they end up landing on the simplest one. A single necklace, so long it reaches my stomach, hangs around my neck. The chain is rose gold and the single gem at the bottom is some type of slivery white. It looks very good against the dark blue of my vest. She also puts what she calls an “ear cuff” over my right ear. It hangs over my whole ear like a headphone and has golden leaves on it. A thin gold chain dangles from the top of the ear, hangs down close to my shoulder, and loops back up attaching to be bottom of my ear. It’s interesting, but cool. Finally, she grabs another necklace out of her pocket and places it around my neck.

It's Emma’s pearl necklace. I gasp and my hands jump to it. Rujeria chuckles.

“It got approved pretty quickly, and my prep team told me how attached you were too it. Besides, it happens to go well with the outfit.”

It’s true, it does. It’s just short enough not to block anything and the different colors make everything look natural.

“Thank you,” I say.

“You’ll hold onto it until the arena?” asks Rujeria.

“Yes, I promise. The outfit looks incredible. You did a great job.”

Rujeria smiles and sighs. “I did, didn’t I?”

She steps back and tells me to hold still. She grabs a camera out of her bag and snaps a few pictures of me.

“For my portfolio,” she says. “Amazing what I can do with a good canvas.”

I’m back to disliking her. Why is it every compliment she gives me is just an insult for every other male tribute from my District?

I thank my prep crew and they all babble about how amazing I look and how excited they are and how I’m sure to make a splash. Even though I find them repulsive I can’t help but cherish their high spirits.

Rujeria walks me to the elevators, paying close attention to how the outfit moves. She seems happy with it. We’re the first to arrive at the elevators so we wait awkwardly for the rest of our crew.

Walsh and Kent join us soon after, both dressed up in evening outfits. They both seem thrilled about my outfit. They congratulate Rujeria and that thankfully moves into a full conversation that doesn’t include me.

When Mags shows up, she examines me and then nods once. That’s the last she has to say on the matter. Once Jeffer, Garrik, and Barry join us we all stand awkwardly, glancing at the clock, waiting for Mandy.

Just when Kent suggests I go down without Mandy she and Elenore turn the corner.

All things considered, Mandy looks lovely. She wears a dark red dress, with a slit cut up the leg, and matching high heels. Her lipstick is even darker, and she has black powder around her eyes. Her hair is let down in ringlets. She wears gold bangles on each wrist and dangly earrings.

She looks very nice.

I can’t help but think she’d look better in a clean suit and tie. She’d probably be more comfortable too. And though it’s possible to be intimidating in a pretty dress like this, I don’t think that’s the type of intimidating Mandy is going for.

We all say nice things about her look anyway. Both stylists are beaming as we crowd into the elevator and zip down to the ground floor.

The stylists and most of the Victors disappear the second we get down there. Mags and Garrik herd Mandy and I towards the backstage area and stand us in-between Districts Three and Five. Mandy first, then me.

I can already hear the crowd from back here. I start breathing heavy at the idea about standing in front of so many people. I suddenly forget everything I was planning on saying tonight. I just zone out, staring at the large door which I know leads to the stage.

Mags is snapping in front of my face to get my attention. I look at her and break down.

“I can’t do this, I’m gonna throw up on stage and everything you’ve all done is going to be ruined.”

She puts her hand on my shoulder and makes me focus on taking deep breaths in and out. It makes me feel a bit better, but I’m sure once I get out there in front of the crowd it will be hopeless.

I glance around at the other kids. All the girls wear fabulous dresses and all the guys wear colorful suits. Just like every year. I have no doubt all these stylists are talented, but they do manage to give us the same type of thing every year with no exception. I’m lucky to stand out, even a little.

Each tribute is being fussed over by a mentor, except the tributes from Twelve, who appear on their own.

“Okay,” says Garrik. “Have fun out there. We’ll be in the front seats with the rest of the mentors.”

“Any last bit of advice?” says Mandy.

“Don’t fight Caesar Flickerman. Tonight, Caesar Flickerman is your bestest friend.”

We both nod.

Once our mentors leave, I cast a glance at our allies from One and Two. They all look very nice. And they all look infinitely more comfortable than Mandy, which worries me. Maybe I’ve bought into Garrik’s little manipulation as well, but I don’t want Mandy to lose whatever competition the other four and her are playing.

“Try to relax,” I say. “You look great.”

She laughs. “I look ridiculous. Ugh, the thought of my girlfriend watching this interview…”

“You wore a skirt for the reaping.”

“Because my dad made me. Said I couldn’t go to the Capital in a suit because people here don’t do that.”

I have noticed they are pretty strict with gender roles here. Dresses for girls, suits for boys. Both outfits are equally ridiculous, but they do have a binary.

“I’m sure your girlfriend is really proud of you because of your training score and understands this is just a hoop you have to jump through.”

Mandy laughs and smiles at me.

“I’d ruffle your hair, but I’d hate to ruin it.”

I laugh.

“Thanks Finnick. You’re very wise for your age.”

“Thanks. Let’s hope I don’t ruin everything by puking all over you the second we get out there.”

Mandy laughs again, loud enough that people glance at us. I’m embarrassed but also… I like the idea of District Four appearing so nonchalant about the interviews we’re cracking jokes.

“You’re not going to puke.”

“Why not?”

“Because that would be so embarrassing,” she says.

“Yeah, exactly!”

“And, no teenager ever does anything embarrassing if they can help it. I have a feeling you’ll find the strength to be normal and charming tonight.”

I roll my eyes but she’s right. If I have any hope of getting through this I’ve got to be a normal human being and not trip on my way up to Caesar Flickerman or do anything else embarrassing. I need to just exist. Can I do that?

I think about Mandy and her girlfriend. I wonder who she is, what she’s like. Is she a career like Mandy? Two terrifying Hunger Games hopefuls? Or maybe she’s just a normal girl, who’s worried her awesome girlfriend won’t come home…

All too soon it’s time to walk on stage. My stomach does summersaults as I hear Caesar Flickerman warm up the crowd and announce us.

When the line starts to move forward I have no choice but to follow Mandy out onto the stage.

The lights are so bright I can’t see the crowd, but I can hear them. They’re all screaming for us. Clapping their hands and banging their feet. I get to my seat without falling down, which is a plus, and I sit as naturally as possible in these pants.

Honestly, I should just be thankful the boots allow me to sit. They go up past my knees and I never thought to test it.

Caesar Flickerman stands downstage. He always looks the same as he’s looked the past thirty years. Same coated white face and hairstyle, though this year he’s chosen the color black, which is kind of weird. His lips and eyeshadow is the same which gives him an ominous look. But his suit is always the same: Midnight blue dotted with tiny lights like stars. He’s bouncing with excitement.

I’ve begun to shake. The more I get used to the lights, the worse it is. I’m worried about sweating through my makeup.

Though I know I’m not supposed to, I reach up and touch Emma’s necklace. Barry would snap at me for fiddling when I’m supposed to be acting like a gentleman but I’m desperate for some sort of steadying effect it might give me. It does help a little, I’m so relieved Rujeria gave it back to me. The smooth surface of the pearls remind me of home. I think about the first day I saw the necklace, around Emma’s neck at fisher’s. Was that really only a week ago? Yes, just six days. Six days ago, I was home.

Now I’m thinking about Emma. About how the necklace looked strung around her neck. About how she smelled when she hugged me only six days ago. How she felt in my arms.

I blink out of it when I see Spark stepping up to talk to Caesar. I force my hands back down to my lap. Sure, thinking about home and Emma helped calm my nerves, but it wouldn’t be good if I missed my cue altogether. I have to stay focused.

I watch Spark saunter up to Caesar. She wears heels higher than the ones Mandy had to wear yesterday, but she does great in them. Her black dress is skintight and only reaches her thighs. I can’t help but think of my sister’s common warning: head up, knees shut. It must be tricky sitting like that. Her blond hair is done up on her head. She looks good.

Now that I know about these angles each tribute has to play, it’s easy to spot them. Spark is sassy and fierce. She does a great job, the audience is falling all over her.

I can’t help but notice the audience seems completely mindless. Caesar has them all in the palm of his hand. When he laughs, they laugh. When he gasps, they gasp.

I realize the other layer of what Mags and Walsh and Kent, even Garrik, have been trying to say. Sure, there’s no use being embarrassed in front of the Capitol audience, they’re hardly people themselves. But beyond that… particularly tonight. Particularly this audience… There is no audience. There is no group of people waiting to judge me. It is just… Caesar Flickerman.

I suddenly understand how Caesar has kept this job for so long. He’s got actual skills, unlike Barry or other Capitol workers I’ve met. Skills that aren’t common. This crowd is under his spell. If he likes you, so will they.

And suddenly everything is so much easier to deal with. I don’t have to win over a crowd of people. I just have to win over Caesar Flickerman. Garrik told us not to fight Caesar, that he’s our best friend. I only now realize what he meant. Caesar and I are going to put on a show, I just need to let him lead.

Spark’s buzzer goes off. Caesar kisses her hand and she strolls back to her seat. She did well, and beside me I can feel Mandy shift nervously. But I am no longer nervous. Yes, she did well. But she could have done a lot better. She was respectable. But all in all, she was forgettable.

Primer does roughly the same. His angle surprises me. He’s playing it humble. He gushes about the Capitol and how nice everyone has been and how he’s been waiting for this his whole life. I’m not sure why he picked it… maybe because he knew he wouldn’t come off as impressive as Mandy or Spark, so he’s going for likeable. When the buzzer sounds, Caesar remarks at what a nice young man he was.

Merida is cunning and sharp. It works wonders for her. She may not be the strongest but she’ll outsmart her opponents. However, her flowy multicolored dress kind of downplays the effect. It’s hard to take her seriously when wearing such bright purples and pinks and greens all at once. Maybe if she was trying to be charming or humble it would have helped.

The Evant steps up. His long hair is tied back in a pony tail and he’s wearing a clean white suit with a rose in the pocket. It takes only a few second for me to realize he’s playing the same angle I am.

He’s the heartthrob.

I’m suddenly nervous. Two people playing the provocative angle? We’re both trying to alluring and seductive? To make matters worse, we’re both guys. Sure, if a guy and a girl did it we’d still be targeting different audiences… but this…

I shake myself out of it. What am I going to do? Switch angles? Completely impossible, I’ve done too much prep. I guess Evant and I are just going to have to fight it out.

I study his interview carefully. He does well. Women in the audience sigh dramatically when he talks about the nasty breakup he just went through. But there’s something wrong about his performance. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.

I finally realize just before his buzzer goes off. The way Mandy huffed a small laugh whenever he said something particularly cheesy… The way Caesar said long awwws, performative but a bit shallow. Even though he was good at answering the questions, he wasn’t being genuine. And it was obvious. He was being too obvious, every answer was a bit too perfect, yet there was no emotion behind it. He gave Caesar nothing to work with.

That was the secret. When you don’t have the skill to win over the audience on your own, something I’m sure is impossible to do without years of practice, you need to let Caesar do it for you. And to earn Caesar’s respect you need something interesting.

I half listen to the girl from Three, Analee, who is playing it smart and quirky. It’s an interesting strategy, since I’m sure the people in the Capitol aren’t crazy over the smart ones. But maybe that’s simply what’s expected from Three. The boy from Three doesn’t do anywhere near as well. But by that point I’m barely listening. What would impress Caesar? I only have three minutes to talk to him, I’ve got to get him on my side from the start.

Mandy’s up and I snap out of it. I watch her walk up to Caesar I shake his hand.

“So,” says Caesar. “Mandy. You made quite a splash with your incredible training score. A ten! Mind telling us a thing or two about that?”

A safe place to start.

Mandy smirks slightly. “I think I did alright. Gave them a sample of what I can bring to the arena.”

Good answer. Like she could have gotten a better score if she had tried harder, but she was just above it all. She didn’t need to show off. Confident, maybe a bit arrogant. Not very intimidating… but she has time.

When Caesar asks how prepared she is for the games, she jokes about she’s just warming up. That she promises to put on a show.

Caesar helps her along, but she comes off more confident than intimidating. At one point, she crosses her arms, probably because she’s nervous, but it’s a good choice. Without sleeves you can see her arms ripple with muscle.

She does okay. Her size helps, but the outfit completely undermines her. Especially since she’s so uncomfortable in it. When her buzzer sounds, I can see a flash of relief on her face.

I am up, but oddly enough my nerves are gone. I’m confident, excited even. Perhaps this is a competition within our alliance, just like Garrik suggested. If so, Mandy didn’t win. But that doesn’t mean we have to hand the crown to Evant just yet.

I smile widely at Caesar and shake his hand.

“Finnick!” says Caesar. “Our star of Opening Ceremonies, how did it feel getting such a warm reception that first night?”

I smile, perfect first question.

“I was honored to draw so much attention,” I say. “I only hope I’m living up to all your expectations.”

I give them what I hope is a dazzling smile. I hope I’m not being too subtle for this audience…  I’m hoping they understand what expectations I’m referring to. Not being good in the games, per se, but being fun to look at right now.

“I’d say you are!” says Caesar. “Just look at this outfit you’re sporting! Do you like it folks?”

He holds his hand up to his ear to listen to their answer. There’s a bunch of screams from the audience in response. I wave my hand and turn my head in mock embarrassment. Thank you Caesar, my bestest friend.

“Give it up for Finnick’s stylist, Rujeria!” says Caesar.

There’s another round of applause.

“So, Finnick, what’s something that’s stood out to you about the Capitol in your time here?”

I practiced this question with Mags and the others. We went back and forth on it, but now I’m happy where we landed. I’ve laid the groundwork for being attractive, now it’s time to be funny.

“Hmmm,” I say, pretending to think. “You guys are obsessed with the ocean.”

Caesar laughs, a real laugh, not the ones he gave Evant or Primer. And the audience responds in turn. What do I mean? How are they obsessed with the ocean more than District Four?

“Well, that’s a new one,” says Caesar. “We’re obsessed with the ocean?”

“Everyone wants to talk about the ocean here. Or dress me up like the ocean, or ask me about the ocean, even compare me to the ocean, which I hope is a compliment.”

“But you live right by it,” says Caesar.

“Exactly, in Four we’re on the ocean every day. Why talk about it? It’s right over there.” I put on my best businessman impression. “How’s the ocean? Still there? Great, carry on.”

Everyone’s laughing. Caesar’s putting a big show of working it out mentally.

“You have a point, my good sir,” says Caesar. “Let’s talk about your home, what’s your life like in District Four?”

I shrug, like home is the farthest thing from my mind. “Well, there’s a lot of fish,” I say. “I work on my dad’s boat. I go to school. On the weekends I go to fisher’s beach and spend time with my friends. It’s a pretty normal life.”

“Any special someone back home?” he asks.

Behold, the question I knew was coming. I put on a sly grin and ponder for a moment, leaving the audience in suspense.

“Hmmm,” I say. “Nope.”

Caesar deflates sarcastically. He looks towards the audience.

“Ooo, he’s toying with us. Come now, Finnick, no one?”

I shrug. “What can I say? I haven’t found the right person yet. But I’m looking forward to meeting that person…” I turn towards the audience. “Well, I’m a bit busy for the next few weeks. But feel free to call me up afterwards,” I say with a wink.

The crowd goes wild. Hundreds of girls hoping for the chance ask me out should I win the Hunger Games.

Caesars laughing again. “We’ve got a heartbreaker on our hands!” he tells the crowd.

When the cheering stops, Caesar gets everyone to quiet down with just his posture. I have no time to be really be amazed by it, but I do envy his control of this crowd.

“Alright, on a more serious note,” says Caesar. “What do you think your main skill will be in that arena tomorrow?”

I smile slyly at him. “Well. I don’t want to give too much away… Let’s just say I’ve got some tricks in my back pocket I’m sure will come in handy.”

Caesar lets the crowd oooh and aaah with excitement before breaking the tension.

“But not these pants, I’m sure,” he says.

I look down at the tight pants I’m wearing, as if noticing them for the first time.

“Oh, no, these pants don’t have any room for any tricks,” I say.

The crowd laughs and I’m grateful for Caesar bringing it back to my appearance. The buzzer sounds and the crowd gives a thunderous round of applause for me. There are cries of anguish at the buzzer, they don’t want me to go. I shake Caesar’s hand again and walk back to my seat.

While walking back I catch Evants eye. His face is red with anger. He scowls at me. He hates me. And he’s right to.

I just beat him at his own game. 

Chapter Text

I’m so exhilarated by my success that I don’t even hear the other interviews. I vaguely notice the boy from Twelve go up and act shy and quiet, not the best angle when you’re the last guy of the night and the Capitol audience is starting to get bored. Finally, we’re all told to rise, and they play the anthem.

Once the anthem plays itself out, the audience starts to move and we’re allowed to exit back into the training center. I keep close to Mandy and we end up in an elevator with the girl from Six and both tributes from Eleven. All of them seem rather shaky and I’m not sure why. On the contrary, I feel great. For the first time since I arrived in the Capitol I feel something finally has gone my way.

When we arrive at the fourth floor most of the group is already there. Only Kent and the stylists are missing.

“What the hell was that?” Mandy snaps at the group.

I jump. I hadn’t noticed she was angry. No wonder the kids in the elevator were so nervous. She’s boiling over with rage.

“What was what?” says Garrik. “I thought you both did great.”

“Yeah, but whose idea was it to dangle to fourteen-year-old in front of all those people like a piece of meat?”

Mags grunts. She’s frowning at Mandy, arms crossed disapprovingly.

“What are you talking about?” said Jeffer. “He did great. He was the star of the night!”

“You all put him up for sale!”

Garrik scowls at her.

“Come with me.”

His tone is so forceful, I actually have to step back in fear.

“What?” she snaps.

“Other room. Right now.”

“But—”

“You’re not gonna do this here. You’re making him uncomfortable.”

“I’m making him uncomfortable?”

“Yes. You. Now let’s go.”

He grabs her by the arm and drags her down the hall into her room. For a moment I admire how strong he is. But then other thoughts take priority.

“Was it really in such bad taste?” I say.

“Don’t let her get to you,” says Jeffer. “She’s a little worked up but you did amazing out there. There’s nothing wrong with being a little flirty.”

“You clearly meant no harm by it,” Walsh says.

But this doesn’t calm my nerves because now I’m thinking of my dad. Is he angry? Ashamed of what his son’s doing on stage in front of the whole country? Or perhaps he follows Mandy’s line of thinking; that I’m being forced into it. Tricked. But the victors had asked me if I was comfortable and I said yes. They shouldn’t take the blame for it.

The elevators open and Kent walks in followed by the stylists. Kent is drunk. Perhaps more drunk than I’ve seen him so far. He sways slightly on his feet.

“Whoa,” he slurs, “weird vibe in here.”

Walsh sighs and grabs Kent’s arm to steady him.

“Yep, you sure know how to read a room.”

“Everything alright?” asks Elenore.

“Everything’s great,” says Barry. “Mandy had to step out for a moment… just some… post interview nerves. You both did an incredible job this year.”

“We all have nothing but praise,” Jeffer agrees.

We all murmur our agreement and I excuse myself to change before dinner.

In my room, I kick my way out of the tight pants and place all the clothes on the desk. I keep on Emma’s necklace, of course. In the shower I scrape the makeup off my face and neck and watch the little flecks of gold wash down the drain.

I throw on whatever’s at the top of the drawers and inspect the blue nail polish. It didn’t wash off in the shower, but I don’t want it in the arena. I scrape and scrape at it but nothing works.

Finally, there’s a knock on the door. I open it a crack and peak through to see who it is. Mags. I let her in.

She closes the door behind her and her eyes scan the room, pausing on the pile of clothes on the desk and finally coming to a stop at me. She touches my necklace.

“It’s my token,” I say.

She chuckles at it. She gets the joke.

“Do you think people back home will be upset?”

Mags shakes her head. She seems so sure that I want to just believe her and be done with it.

“My dad always talks about how I’m too young for girls,” I say. He never liked that I had a girlfriend before, even though it was hardly a real relationship. “What’s he going to think when he sees me on tv?”

Mags grabs my hand and sits me down. She swears nothing’s absurd on camera. That Mandy’s just overwhelmed seeing in in person. She promises my dad’s old enough, has lived through enough Games, to understand what’s going on.

It comforts me a bit. I like the idea my dad is smart enough to see through all this. But I’m still not sure.

I scrape at my nails some more and Mags swats at my hand. She gets up and grabs a bottle of something from the bathroom and a few cotton balls. She shows me how to take the paint off.

There’s another knock on my door and Mags opens it without hesitation.

“Hey,” I hear Garrik’s voice. “How’s the kid?”

Mags opens the door wider and I make awkward eye contact with Garrik. I quickly look away, embarrassed.

“You killed it tonight,” he says. “Really. Everyone did well and you blew them out of the water.”

“Thanks,” I mutter. “I hope my dad’s as thrilled.”

“Your dad didn’t grow up in a training center that treated the Hunger Games like a normal part of life. At least I doubt he did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Garrik’s eyes flit around the room. Nervous about being overheard? Since I’ve arrived at the Capitol I’ve had the feeling I’m being watched. I assumed it was just paranoia, being in the Capitol surrounded by these people… But it would make sense that there’d be cameras.

“Finnick… Mandy has been training for this since she was a little kid. Most people in the Districts know the Hunger Games are… well, they’re our punishment for the uprising. But Mandy’s so used to it she doesn’t see the Hunger Games as a punishment anymore. She’s… um. She’s coming to the realization that the Hunger Games isn’t exactly… moral.”

I stare at him. What was he talking about.

“She thinks the Hunger Games are moral?”

“I know it sounds crazy to you, but when your raised just hoping for the chance to get into the arena you don’t really think about how terrible it is. To us. To the Districts. My point is, we’re expected to play to the Capitol audience, that’s normal. But she sees herself as… as almost equal to the audience and…”

He bites his lip.

“Anyway, don’t worry about what Mandy said. You killed it. You’ll have sponsors lining up for you. Come and eat.”

            The dinner is a bit awkward. Barry keeps up a long conversation with the stylists about some people in the Capitol who I’ve never heard of.

“Alright,” said Garrik after dessert. “You two better get some sleep.”

My stomach flips as I think about tomorrow. The arena. I’ve been so obsessed with the prep before hand I’ve barely thought about the arena in any specific way.

Mandy and I are a few paces down the hall before she speaks.

“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine,” I say. “I’m sorry for not warning you…”

Mandy scowls and glances over her shoulder. She’s obviously still angry at the mentors.

“It’s not your fault.”

I feel the need to jump to the mentor’s defense… but when did I start liking them? I like Mags, sure, but when did the others sneak up on me? I decide if Mandy wants to hate the mentors, that’s her choice.

“Okay. So… we’re good?”

“Of course, Finnick,” she says. “Good luck tomorrow.”  

“Thanks.” Though, I’m not feeling very lucky.

I snap my door shut, desperate to be alone. I pull on some pajamas and climb into bed before I realize being alone is worse. I curl up with my knees digging into my chest and pull the covers over me. I can feel my heart beating in my knees and tongue.

I flick the lights off but immediately become terrified. Specifically of one corner of the room, near the bathroom. Every time the lights go out I feel something there, breathing lightly. Like the air in that corner is alive. I flick the lights back on.

Sleeping is not an option. I can’t even close my eyes without becoming frightened. I’m terrified this place.

How many hours until I’m in the arena? Eleven hours, ten, nine. I can’t shut my eyes. The walls seem to move. My legs shake, they want to move, run. But the idea of loosening the grip of my arms, which hug my legs to my chest, is impossible.

It is like I am the only person who exists. Like everyone in my memory is some sort of hallucination. There is only me. Me and the arena.

Eventually, I can’t take it anymore. I need another person. Any other person. Not even just to talk to but to see and be around.

I shakily get up from my bed and rush into the sitting area. There’s no one. Of course not, everyone’s asleep by now. But I can’t go back into that room. I sink into the couch and find the remote. Maybe just hearing some news anchors will comfort me?

A big mistake. They’re replaying clips from past Hunger Games. I shut off the tv, but it’s not fast enough. The images are seared into my head.

What is waiting for me in the arena tomorrow? Will I live through the Cornucopia? What if it’s some sort of desert? No trees for traps, no leaves for camouflage. No water. Part of me still hopes from a watery climate. Maybe a large lake or river that we have to maneuver. Some sort of advantage for me. I image a large lake where I can build a small raft and just… live in the midde of it. I can form my own anchor with rocks and rope. And once I’m out there, who could get to me? Mandy? But I know the vision is impossible. I doubt I could make a raft that I’d trust enough to sleep on. Still, I’d be nice to be able to use my swimming skills against the other tributes.

Most likely it’ll be some sparse forest or field with weak little creeks that barely reach your knee at its deepest. Maybe some sort of mountain I’ll be forced to climb. With bears and mutts ready to tear me apart. Other tributes that are bigger, older, more trained.

The sitting area is better than my room, but I’m still going crazy. I sink to the floor and put my head in my hands. I could be dead in just a few hours. My heartbeat is back, banging in my ears. What will it take for that drum to go silent? How much will it hurt?

I haven’t cried since the reaping, but here it comes again. I shake and rub my nose on the Capitol’s silky pajamas.

I need to pull it together. I need to get some sleep or I’ll be sure to die tomorrow. I need to stop thinking about death. Thinking about it is the worst part. Or at least I hope it is. Maybe death isn’t painful. Maybe I’ll go into shock so quickly I won’t even feel it. This thought doesn’t comfort me.

Someone behind me clears their throat and I jump, terrified, already in the arena. I lose my balance and fall on my side, still on the floor. My head shoots around to see who it is.

It’s Mags.

How did she know? I suppose most kids in my position end up like this the night before. I’m embarrassed. Just a few hours ago I was patting myself on the back over a good interview with Caesar Flickerman. Now I’m sobbing on the floor of the sitting room.

Mags takes my hand and leads me back to my room. She tucks me in and then pulls the desk chair and sets it right next to me. She sits down and pulls her knitting needles out of her bag.

She’s going to sit up with me. I’m so thankful, and a bit embarrassed. I sniff out a thank you and she just pats my head and starts knitting.

The soft clicks of the knitting needles are incredibly soothing. After just a few moments, I nod off.

I’m woken up by Rujeria. Mags is gone, probably left sometime during the night. Rujeria gives me some sweatpants and a t-shirt and makes me wait fifteen minutes as she watches her watch.

Finally, she guilds me up to the roof. But… there’s nothing up there. I look at Rujeria.

“What’s—?”

“—wait a few seconds,” said Rujeria.

I wait.

I’m about to speak again when I jump. A hovercraft has appeared suddenly above us. One minute the sky was completely empty, and the next…

How do they do that? Is the hovercraft invisible? But how?

A ladder drops down in front of me. My stomach rolls. It’s pretty high up there… what if I fall?

I grab onto the ladder, but once I lift myself onto the first rung a current runs through my body and I’m completely frozen. The ladder pulls me up. Once I’m on the ship, the ladder does not release me. A man comes over and bends down next to me.

“Okay, Finnick, I’m inserting your tracker. It’ll pinch a bit.”

He shoots something into my forearm. It pinches more than a bit. I feel like someone’s stabbed me.

Once the tracker’s placed the ladder releases me. They bring Rujeria from the roof and one of those white shirt capital attendants leads us into nice room with a breakfast all laid out.

I try to eat, but it’s hard. Out the windows the Capitol disappears and we’re rushing over mountains and forests.

My hands are shaking terribly. Rujeria is no help. She’s reading from some sort of magazine. At least she’s not trying to talk to me.

After a while the windows go dark. We must be near the arena. My plate is only half eaten, but I’m sure I can’t eat any more. My tongue feels very large. Is it usually this big?

Rujeria leads me back towards the ladder and this time it takes me underground, through a tunnel and into a well-lit hallway.

Rujaria leads me through the Launch Area, the Stockyard to us in the districts. It’s very clean, everything working perfectly. Brand new. Rujaria ushers me through a door with my name painted on it. I will be the only one to use this room.

In my room I shower and brush my teeth. Everything feels like a dream. Nothing is quite right. The sensation of brushing my teeth is brand new. And it’s disturbing.

Rujaria’s holding a package when I get out of the shower. It holds the outfit we’ll be wearing in the arena. She opens it for me and helps me put everything on.

Simple undergarments, brown pants, a black belt, a dark green shirt, and an extremely light coat with a hood. The pants and shirt are made of some smooth stretchy material I don’t recognize. Rujeria rubes it between her fingers.

“Polyester mix… waterproof.”

My heart leaps.

“Waterproof! Are you sure? Like swimming?”

“Oh, I’m not sure how they’ll hold up if you jump in a lake. But they’ll dry quickly… this stuff seems to have been treated to prevent mold. I’d definitely expect a wet climate.”

I’m over the moon. A watery climate is exactly what I need! An ocean, a lake, anything.

“Although the jacket is a bit odd. It won’t do much for warmth, but it’s it’ll keep you dry, that’s for sure.”

The shoes are also heart lifting. Big, sturdy boots. Like what we wear for fishing, They come up to the knee, with excellent traction.

Rujeria makes me walk around, everything fits perfectly.

I sit next to Rujeria and eat a bit of toast. I also take a few sips of water now and then. The clothing for water has made me hopeful. Maybe… maybe…

A soothing voice tells me it’s time to prepare for launch.

Rujeria leads me over to the circular metal plate that will lift me into the arena. Then she hugs me, which is repulsive and horrible. I hold my breath as though her scent could poison me. She puts me on the plate and sighs.

“I’m gonna miss you,” she says. “Who knows when I’ll get another decent tribute.”

I’m too freaked out to hate her. A glass cylinder lowers around me and I start to hyperventilate. I could be dead in a matter of minutes. It’s likely I’ll be dead in a matter of minutes. I touch Emma’s necklace, but for the first time it’s no help.

Rujeria gives me a little thumbs up and then the plate starts rising. For a few seconds I am in complete darkness. Then I feel a wiff of fresh air across my face and I rise into a clearing.

The first thing I see is the Cornucopia in front of me. My eyes dart around, looking at the other tributes. The boy from Twelve stands to my left, the girl from Three, Analee, on my right.

I take in my surroundings quicker than I ever have. All the tributes are standing in a small dirt patch surrounded, on all sides, by a thick woods.

But the forest is strange, I notice. I squint at it from across the cornucopia. I turn my head and look at the much closer woods behind me.

It’s thicker than any forest I’ve ever seen. So thick that I can only see a few feet in. There are large vines and everything is covered in moss. It’s a special kind of woods… but I can’t put my finger on what it’s called. Not a jungle…

“ladies and gentlemen,” Claudius Templesmith’s voice echoes across the patch of dirt, “let the Sixty-Fifth annual Hunger Games begin!”

And with that, the skies open up, a sheet of rain drops down on us.

Ah yes, I think glumly, rainforest.

Chapter Text

We have sixty seconds before the bloodbath starts. Enough time for the dirt patch we’re standing around to become one huge pit of mud. So much for my visions of lakes and rivers. My nice waterproof outfit that gave me so much hope is now, unfortunately, explained.

I put my hood up, but in the few seconds I take to do so my hair is already soaked. I might as well have dived into the harbor. The outfit does do a fairly good job keeping the water off, but I’m still soaked in seconds.

The rain is coming down so hard, I can’t see the tributes on the other side of the cornucopia anymore. This is going to be a horrible bloodbath.

Speaking of which, I snap back to attention and take a look around for the closest weapon. I’ll need to be ready for when the gong goes off.

I’m surprised to see a knife handle sticking out of the ground only five feet away from me. A weapon so close by? Usually to get a weapon you’ve got to venture a bit closer to the Cornucopia.

I scan the ground some more. There’s a waterproof bag a few feet beyond the knife, but it’s clear, and just contains more plastic. Could be used as a tent. A bit farther I spot the first real weapon, a nice spear, wedged into the ground, tip pointed skyward. Only ten feet from me… why so close? I notice I can’t see any food and my heart leaps into my throat. No food? I almost fall over before I realize what’s going on.

Anything that could be damaged by the rain is inside the Cornucopia.

Weapons, plastics, rainwear, these objects are sprawled about in the mud. If you want anything perishable, anything mud or rain could ruin; a piece of bread, some rope, matches, you have to go and fight for it.

I can’t tell if this is good or bad for me. But I decide not to bother. I position myself to run. Should I get the knife first, or head straight for the spear? The spear is a better weapon, but it’s equally placed between Analee and I and I’m not sure how fast she is. Meanwhile, I’m sure I could get the knife before anyone. And yet, what if my stooping to get the knife slows me down and I miss the spear?

I decide to head straight for the spear. That way, I won’t have to trade up. I’m fast, and Analee was no good at hand to hand in training. If I miss the spear, I can double back for the knife.

I scan my competition one more time, now looking for Mandy. But I soon realize everyone looks exactly the same. We all have put our hoods up to block out the rain, There’s someone big four people to my left, but that might be that guy from Six. I decide not to worry about it. She’ll be fine, it’s me I should be worried about.

But then I have another horrible thought. What if my allies can’t tell it’s me? What if they come after me? Wasn’t I relying on my bad training score making me a small target? On my allies leaving me alone? That’s all moot if no one can see who I am.

I take my hood down. It’s not like its helping visibility anyway. Warm rain soaks my hair and runs down my face, but I ignore it. This is best. Now everyone will see who I am, the youngest in the arena who is absolutely no threat. I fix my eyes on the spear and wait.

Any second. Any second. Any second….

The gong sounds and I launch forwards off my pedestal, slip on the soft mud, and fall flat on my face.

Dammit! I scramble to my feet, but the mud is more slippery than could possibly be natural. My only consolation is others seem to be having similar problems.

I crawl forwards and grab the knife. Better a knife than nothing. Analee has kept her footing, probably expecting it to be slippery. She’s got a good stride going.

I get to my feet and stumble after her. I need that spear. I do not trust my knife abilities. Thankfully, Analee blows right past it without a glance.

I slip the knife into my belt and grasp the spear. My hands are slippery with mud and the spear handle is smooth metal. I try to wipe my hands on my pants but everything I’m wearing is made of some slippery material and it doesn’t help.

I trudge forward, squinting through the thick rain. Tributes are slipping and sliding all over the place. I collide with the boy from Twelve because I’m not looking where I’m going. I fall on my ass, and point my spear at him, terrified. He, however, has no weapon and looks far more terrified of me than I of him. He bolts. Right into another tributes path (Spark? Merida? Another tribute with a surprisingly good handle with weapons?) and this person is not as startled as I was. They stab him right through the chest and run back to the Cornucopia.

I stare at the boy from Twelve, lying in the mud. I just watched someone get killed. Am I capable of handling that? Yes. I have to be. And I have to get up off my ass and put my back to the Cornucopia, so no one sneaks up on me.

I slide and stumble over the Cornucopia with little trouble. Some tall tribute runs past me but does not pay me any mind. I slam my back into the gold metal of the Cornucopia and try very hard to look… what was it Mags called it? “Defensive but not intimidating.”

I’m having trouble holding the spear because of the mud. But rubbing my hands on my clothes does nothing. I realize there is a surface I could wipe my hands on: my hair. I run my hands through my hair and it actually works wonders. I hold up the spear in front of me and watch people run past.

Someone really big (Mandy? The boy from Six?) kills someone really small with a long blade, then goes back to the Cornucopia for more.

Someone approaches me. I put my spear in between myself and the assailant. They get close enough that I can see who it is. The boy from Three. He got a decent score, if I recall. Better than mine. But halfway towards me, he changes his mind. I sigh in relief.

How long do bloodbaths usually take? I remember them going well into the afternoon, sometimes into the night. But I must stay for the entire thing. I don’t enjoy the feeling. I want to hide, not fight. I feel far too exposed like this.

It feels like an eternity, but is probably only a half an hour, when something happens to me. I’m watching a particularly gruesome shuffle over a packed tent when I see sudden movement on my right.

Instincts I don’t know I have take over. I swerve to avoid a blade that comes inches from me. I spin around, raising my spear in defense, and realize it’s Evant.

What an asshole.

“It’s me!” I shout through the downpour. “Finnick! I’m on your team!”

But Evant just smirks at me, and I realize this is not a mistake.

Why is he attacking me? I look down at his weapon. A wicked curved blade that looks very capable of slitting my throat.

I walk backwards, away from him and the blade.

“What are you doing?!” I yell. But he just smiles again.

I turn and make a run for it. Maybe if I get to the forest, I can outmaneuver him. But something catches my leg and I fall hard on my stomach.

He holds some sort of whip in his other hand, which is now wrapped around my leg. I try to shake it off but it’s stuck tight. How the hell did he do that? It’s like it’s tied around me. I scramble away from him but he’s on me in a flash.

He grabs my spear and twists it out of my hand with ease. Then he kneels down, one knee on my chest, smiling.

I think, for a moment, of my dad. Were the cameras showing this? Probably. I shouted that we were on the same team, that’s too juicy not to cover. Was my dad about to watch me die?

I feel a sudden burning hatred for Evant. We were allies! How could he do this? In the bloodbath, you kill who’s in front of you! Why would he single me out like this?

I decide that, if it’s him or me, it’s going to be him.

He raises his weapon and I grab his arm. He seems to think I’m trying to hold it back, but I’m not that bright. I pull it right towards me and bite down so hard on his wrist, the only skin I could find, that I taste blood.

“Ah! Freak!” he says, stumbling off of me. “What is—”

But before he can finish I slip the knife out of my belt and stab it right into his neck.

He looks surprised, but no more than I am. Look how easily I just stabbed a guy! Like it was nothing…

My first instinct is to leave the knife, because you’re supposed to leave objects in the body when you’ve been impaled so you don’t die. But then I realize I’m supposed to want Evant to die.

I take a deep breath, and I take out the knife.

Warm blood spews all over me. I spit and gasp as Evant collapses backwards, mouth gasping like a fish out of water.

I don’t want to watch, but I do. I watch until he stops moving and I assume he’s dead.

I did that. How do I feel about that? I’m surprised to find I feel nothing. I’m just afraid of being next. In death, he looks like any other kid I might have known. He looks just like me.

I get to my feet and pull myself free from the weird whip wrapped around my leg. I stumble away, grabbing my spear.

I decide I don’t want the knife anymore, so I toss it aside. I look around and become surprised there is still a battle raging all around me. The rain is still pouring. The mud is still slippery. This felt like a great personal achievement for me. I felt like things should be different now, better. The battle, at least, should be over. I have won.

But that’s not how it works. I stand around for a few moments, looking at the others fighting. I see someone who might be Spark and I finally stumble upon the real problem.

I’m supposed to be a part of an alliance! But I doubt my loving allies will be very pleased to hear I just killed one of our members. And I doubt they’ll care he attacked first.

I look at Evant’s dead body and try to make my brain work. Think. Think think think. First things first, I need to flee the crime scene.

I throw my hood up and scootch around the Cornucopia, my back towards the gold metal. Once I get around to the other side and take another deep breath.

What are the odds anyone saw me? Probably pretty slim. Everyone’s fighting their own fights. I have blood all over my face, but the rain has probably dealt with most of it.

I briefly consider a lie where I managed to kill someone else, but I decide against it. What if I claim to kill someone they killed? And, beyond that, I’m supposed to be playing the slightly competent but mostly harmless ally. I don’t think they’d keep me around if they knew I was capable of killing.

I spend the next few hours clutching my spear, watching brutal killings out of the corner of my eye, and desperately wiping my face and clothes clean of any blood.

The first cannon startles me so bad I almost drop my spear. I stand deadly still and count the cannon blasts.

1…2…3… when the blasts get to eight I hold my breath, still waiting, but no more blasts come.

Only eight? I can’t remember a smaller blood bath. The rain and mud must have made it more chaotic, easier to get in and out. The Capitol will be excited. A small bloodbath means a long Games. More children to kill off one by one.

I can’t see any of my allies, so I tiptoe around to the mouth of the Cornucopia. When I turn into the lip two figures raise weapons towards me and I jump backwards, landing on my ass.

“It’s just the kid,” says Spark.

She takes off her hood and scowls at me. Primer follows her lead, taking off his own hood, protected from the rain by the Cornucopia’s roof. He gives me a once over and then continues searching through their new spoils.

I remove my own hood, so no one tries to kill me again. Although, that plan didn’t work great a few hours ago… Spark and Primer, at least, are not trying to kill me.

“Anyone see that huge kid from Six?” says a voice from behind me.

I turn and see Merida walking towards us, a spear in her hand and long machete in her belt.

Spark shakes her head.

“I saw him at the very beginning,” says Primer. “Or it was Mandy. Hard to tell.”

“Uh… where is Mandy?” I say.

I have not even thought to worry about Mandy. Is it possible she was killed? I can’t imagine it, but where is she?

Merida jumps, looking at me for the first time. Her eyes narrow.

“You’re here?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Where’s Evant?”

My heart stops. She knows, I think. Of course she does. It must have been strategy. Evant must have told his mentor, and everyone else from District Two…

Play dumb, I think.

“How would I know?”

Merida glares at me.

“What?” I say. “Everyone had their hoods up with the rain. It was impossible to tell anyone apart.”

I’m not sure who I’m fooling, because in a few minutes we are going to find Evant’s body and it will be a miracle if I get away alive. But do I have it in me to run now? Before I get even a cracker from the Cornucopia?

Merida continues to glare at me. I swallow my fear, it’ll give me away. I put on my best tired façade and sigh.

“I mean, I can go looking for him if you want. I’ve got to find Mandy anyway—”

“Who are we looking for?”

Relief runs through my veins as I spot my only real ally in the games. Mandy looks even bigger with her knee-high boots and the long blade in her belt. She smiles at me through the rain

“We’ve lost track of Evant,” says Spark.

“The rain’s fun, huh?” says Primer. “Lost two easy kills because of the damn mud.”

Mandy joins us in the Cornucopia and removes her hood. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail and it’s not even all that wet.

“You’re all muddy,” she tells me.

I look down at myself. She’s not wrong. I’m caked with a layer upon layer of mud. If I wasn’t dressed like everyone else, you wouldn’t be able to tell what color my clothes are. Mandy, on the other hand, barely has any mud on her. She does have a few stains that look suspiciously like blood.

“Fell down. You know, a few times. Like four times.”

Mandy laughs and ruffles my filthy hair.

“Glad you’re alright.”

“Where’s Evant?” says Merida again.

Mandy frowns at her. “I didn’t see him out there. Maybe he followed someone.”

“We decided not to do that,” says Merida.

“Well, I don’t know then.”

“Did you see him out there?” she’s talking to me again.

I try to stay calm.

“No. I already told you, everyone looked the same.”

“He was fighting with a whip and a curved blade,” says Merida impatiently. “Was he anywhere around you?”

I feel the other three Careers watching us. They’re obviously as confused by this line of questioning as I’m pretending to be. I decide it is completely out of character for me to take these questions patiently. If I really hadn’t seen Evant out there I wouldn’t be so calm.

“Am I his babysitter?” I snap. “Can’t he take care of himself?”

“Watch it,” snaps Merida.

“I’m just saying! Why do you think I’ve seen him? And if I did see him, is there a reason I’d lie about it the first eight times you asked?”

“You are acting weird about this,” says Spark.

“He wasn’t fighting, right? He might have seen more than us.”

“He was standing on the far side of the Cornucopia,” says Primer. He thankfully points towards the side I went to after I faced off with Evant. “He wouldn’t have had a good view of the fighting. It mostly happened in front didn’t it?”

He has a point. A pile of bodies sits a few meters away from the mouth of the Cornucopia. Only a few bodies are scattered across the rest of the mud pit.

“What happened, anyway?” I ask. “Only eight deaths. Not that I helped at all, but still.”

Mandy chuckles.

“It was the damn rain,” says Spark. “Couldn’t get a lock on anyone.”

“Sure,” Mandy says. “But people were going pretty slowly. I got a good number.”

“How many?”

“Four. One of them was the girl from Twelve, though, and she hardly counted.”

“I didn’t manage any clean deaths,” says Primer. “Not my finest, but I was guarding the loot, so I did my part.”

“One of mine dodged you and ran right into me,” says Mandy. “I think we can share credit for that.”

“I got one,” says Merida.

“Two,” says Spark.

“Which means Evant did manage to kill someone, right?” I say, pretending to do the math.

The group exchanges looks. Or Evant is number eight, they’re all thinking.

“Alright,” says Mandy. “Someone stay here, we’ll look for him.”

All things considered, I’ve done pretty well with this playing dumb thing. I must act surprised when they find his body. If I have a good performance, maybe I can get out of this alive.

“What should the kid do?” Primer says. “Stay here or go looking?”

“I don’t trust him to guard the stuff, someone might be watching from the tree line, waiting for an opening,” says Spark. “He can look, I’ll stay here.”

I nod. It’s not like I’m offended.

I decide to not be the one to find Evant. So I march off towards the pile of bodies in front of the Cornucopia and start taking off hoods.

I find both of the starving kids from Twelve, eyes open and shiny. I find the boys from eleven and ten as well. I’m closing the eyes of the girl from five when I hear Merida scream.

Even though I know exactly why she’s screaming I jump backwards, falling over the bodies, raising my spear for attack. I didn’t need to act so thoroughly shocked, though, because no one’s watching me.

No one except the Capitol audience and all the districts, however. I realize the Capitol must be loving this. This is the height of entertainment, me pretending I haven’t killed Evant, Merida being suspicious. The only thing that could make it better is if Merida kills me.

I get to my feet shakily and lock eyes with Spark, who’s still with the supplies.

“She being attacked?” Spark asks me. She can’t see from where she’s acting as guard.

I look over at Merida. She’s fine. Crouching over Evant’s body. I shake my head no.

I walk over to where the others have gathered. Merida is kneeling next to Evant, both hands over her mouth in shock. She’s not crying, crying doesn’t go over well in the Capitol, and she’s trained for this her whole life. But all the same, she didn’t expect Evant to die so quickly.

“Yeah…” sighs Mandy, kneeling down and looking for a pulse in his wrist. “He’s death number eight. Probably got killed early too, since he didn’t kill anyone himself.”

“That explains the low number,” says Primer. “Evant would have gotten a few himself, probably.”

“Who did this?” Merida whispers.

We do not answer. She looks up at us. At me in particular.

“Who did this?” she says louder.

“Could have been anyone,” says Mandy, standing. She’s oblivious towards Merida asking me, which is probably for the best. “But did anyone see District 6?”

Yes, I think. District 6 with his score of ten in training. The perfect scapegoat for me.

I shake my head no, innocently. “I might have seen him really early on,” I say. “Although it might have been you. He had a knife.”

“I never had a knife,” says Mandy.

“It must have been you I saw,” says Primer. “You had that blade, it makes sense. Where was he Finnick?”

I shrug. “He passed me when I was headed over there,” I say. “I was small and I didn’t have anything he wanted, just my spear, so he just walked right past me. I suppose he was headed this way, although he could have peeled off in any direction.”

“He wouldn’t have passed Evant, though,” Mandy reasons. “Not if he was trying to cross big players off the map.”

Merida is not convinced. She glares at me. “How come you didn’t mention this earlier?”

I shrug. “I thought it was Mandy. Why else would the big person with the knife just ignore me? But if Mandy never had a knife—”

“Look,” says Primer, crouching next to Evant’s body. “He was stabbed in the neck. Look at how deap the opening was. Not all the way through, so not a sword, but too deep for a spear. This is a knife wound. None of us would have grabbed a knife, it’s a useless weapon in a bloodbath. Even Finnick was smart enough to get his hands on a spear instead.”

“But a guy with no training but a lot of natural gifts would have grabbed a knife and, if Evant was caught off guard—” Mandy finishes.

They’re all convinced. Even Merida. Primer pointing out I don’t have a knife is probably what won her over. What does she think happened? That Evant was following me, and the guy from 6 marched past me towards the bigger prey? It’s not even an unlikely chain of events.

“Let’s go tell Spark,” says Primer. “Get out of the rain. Plus, they’ll want to collect the bodies, we have to decide what we’re doing.”

Merida doesn’t seem to want to leave, but she follows us away from Evant’s body.

Spark stands immediately when we get to cover under the Cornucopia. “What happened?”

“Evant is number eight,” says Mandy. “We’re thinking the guy from Six. Definitely a knife wound. Right in the neck, too.”

Spark whistles. “Damn. Only seven deaths and we’ve lost an ally already. We’ve got a lot of work to do in the next few weeks.”

“We’ll worry about that later,” says Mandy. “Are we setting up camp here in the clearing?”

“No.”

Everyone looks at me and I can feel myself go very red.

“You have a say now?” Merida snaps.

“Watch it,” Mandy growls. “Why not Finnick?”

I glance between the two girls. I don’t like Merida’s mood. But there’s nothing I can do about it, so I shrug it off.

“I figured it was obvious. All the mud and all, plus if you all want good traps I’ll need trees to string them up on. And I figured traps closer to the supplies would be better.”

“Why?” says Spark.

“Because they’ll watch their step all the way back at the tree line. They’ll hide in a bushes and look to see who’s guarding. I can camouflage traps pretty well, but isn’t our plan for them to think the stuff is poorly guarded and then walk into a trap? They might notice the traps if they’re so far back.”

Mandy smiles at me warmly. “Well,” she says affectionately, “at least Finnick’s got a plan.”

It’s nice, but I wish she wouldn’t. I don’t want Merida thinking I’m a threat.

“I’ve got exactly one thing to offer,” I say. “Might as well put some thought into it.”

Mandy laughs at me.

“So where are we taking everything?” says Spark.

“I’d like to go up,” said Mandy. “That way.”

She points north, based on where the sun is, towards the tallest hill.

“With all the supplies?” says Primer. “That’s gonna be a lot.”

Mandy shrugged. “Having the high ground will be worth it.”

“Do we wait for the rain to stop?” says Merida.

“No,” says Spark. “who knows when that will be. And I want to find a place before dark.”

We decide that Spark and I will stay here with the supplies while the other three find a good spot. I have been given the job of sorting the supplies while Spark guards me. Mandy puts on one backpack and her sword. She’ll be acting as guard as they trek up to find a good spot. Primer and Merida both grab a few bags each, wrapped in plastic.

“We’ll be back,” says Mandy.

“Should we let them collect the bodies?” I say, glancing at the pile of bodies still lying in the rain.

“You can drag them all to the far end of the clearing if you care so much,” says Primer.

I scowl at him, but it does seem like a good idea. Maybe I’ll do that before I start sorting.

The three of them start walking up the slope. The forest swallows them immediately.

“I’ll be right back,” I mutter to Spark.

I throw my hood up and march out towards the pile of bodies. I start with the boy from Twelve, who is frighteningly light. The mud works in my favor now, making it easy to pull him along. I pull him towards the tree line and lay him down with his arms crossed.

Seven more to go.

I’m already tired when I get back to the Cornucopia. It’s still pouring just as hard as when it started, and it gave no hint of slowing down. Spark has made no attempts to help me. She sits on one of the boxes with an axe in her hand, she’s looking through a box of wicked looking knives with interest.

“Want a knife?” she says.

I shrug, “sure. I’ll probably need a serrated one when I start building traps.”

Spark hands me a five or six inched serrated knife.

I’m thankful the Gamemakers have given the Cornucopia a raised floor. None of the supplies have been ruined by the rain. I decide to stack up the stuff that could be ruined by the rain, and then collect all the plastic or waterproof supplies that could protect it when we move it all somewhere less dry.

I also make a separate pile for weapons. There are a lot of weapons, more than us five could possibly use. I trade out my spear for one that feels better in my hand. It’s more top heavy, although it’s still not a trident. The things I could do with a trident…

I look through the food too. I’ll make my secret stash after we move to our new location, but I want to get an idea of what I’m working with. I eat an apple while I work, because why not? We have plenty and I’m hungry.

I find almost every type of food under the sun. I also find a tonnage of tents and waterproofing supplies, which tells me we haven’t seen the end of this rain.

The rope is very exciting. I find all different lengths and strengths. I also find some nets. The nets aren’t great… the openings are too large… but I’m sure I could use them for something. I find a few clamps and pulleys as well, which is nice. I would have liked some more, but whatever. I can make it work. The best part is that all the rope seems to be treated to be waterproof. It reminds me of the stuff I work with back home. Which means it’ll be easy for me to manipulate. I carefully wrap up each rope I find and place it in one corner. Mandy and the group might need rope to carry everything, so I want to have it ready for them.

I’m doing pretty well. I have all the plastic sheets folded up in one corner, all the rope in another. I’ve piled all the backpacks (to be examined later) at the back of the Cornucopia and I’m working on the buckets and boxes of food.

I begin to notice something odd. I’ve found what feels like hundreds of water bottles, but none of them, not even the ones I’ve found in the heart of the Cornucopia, are filled with water. I’ve also found plenty of iodine, but no actual water.

This is very concerning. I look through all the backpacks. No water.

That’s when I notice all the funnels. Almost all the big backpacks have a funnel that fits perfectly onto the water bottles that came with them.

The rain.

What if the rain is our only source of water? I look out into the downpour. Who knows when it will end? Who knows if or when it will rain again?

I jump to my feet. No time to waste. We have five people who will need water. Three of whom are currently climbing a large hill with supplies strapped to their backs.

I grab five empty half gallon bottles and five funnels. I walk them all out into the rain and put them on a box. But it’s nowhere near enough. It’ll take hours to fill up those bottles. And is it my imagination, or is the rain getting lighter?

Desperate times… I start searching through the clamps I put with my ropes. I find a good few, and then select a nice large piece of plastic.

I throw my clamps and plastic in an empty backpack and leave the Cornucopia. I walk to the back and start climbing up the woven metal. Even in the rain, it’s very easy to climb. There are plenty of footholds. I carefully climb up to the top of the horn and take out my pack.

I clamp one end of the plastic to the mouth of the Cornucopia and unfold it down to the ground.

“What the hell are you doing up there?” snaps Spark from inside the Cornucopia.

“Hold on.”

I climb back down and walk around to the mouth of the horn.

“What are you--?”

“There’s no water in any of the packs,” I tell her. “I’m catching rainwater.”

Spark eyes the tarp. It’s not catching any water.

“Well, I’m not done yet.”

I drag out a few large boxes and prop up the end of the plastic. By the time I’m done stacking boxes I already have a nice little pool of water in the center.

I take one of the half gallons, which is about a third full from the funnel, and dip it into the pool of rainwater, filling it up. I bring it into the Cornucopia and add the correct amount of iodine. Then I do that again and again and again.

“What’s all this?”

Mandy and Primer are back. They’re both eyeing my water capture device.

“The kid’s having fun with the rain.”

I glare at Spark. It’s like she thinks this is just me being weird.

“I told you,” I say. “There’s no water in any of the packs. What if the rain is our only source of water?”

“Not one water bottle’s full?” says Mandy, scanning the many packs.

“Nope. But I did find a ton of funnels. Want a water bottle? I have eight filled up.”

Mandy and Primer both take one.

“Where’d you leave Merida?” asks Spark.

“We found a sort of clearing at the top of that hill. It’s a tough trip, though. Forest is thick.”

“Met any wildlife?”

“A few weird lizard things,” says Mandy. “But that’s all so far. Most of the critters are probably hiding from the rain.”

“Do you want help?”

“Can’t leave the kid here to guard alone,” says Primer. “And I doubt he’d be much help. Should be faster now that we know where we’re going.”

Primer acts as guard this time. Mandy picks up an impressive amount of supplies and they leave again. Spark frowns at me. Clearly, she is not thrilled about being left with the fourteen-year-old.

But they can’t kill me yet, they are relying on my traps.

Eventually the rain stops. I’ve collected two dozen bottles of water, which seems like a good start. But it won’t last us the entire games.

Mandy and Primer return again and again, grabbing more supplies. They do go much faster than the first time. But even still, when the sun starts to set, there is still a large pile of weapons and packs to transport.

“I don’t want to keep trekking through that forest after nightfall,” Mandy says. “I say the four of us just haul everything onto our backs and go.”

“Someone has to guard,” says Primer.

“And not to be rude,” says Spark. “But how much can the kid lift?”

Mandy and I exchange a look. I wish I could snap back that I’d be fine, but it’s a steep slope and I’ve never carried large packs up a mountain before, so I have no idea how I’ll fair.

“Well then,” says Mandy, “I guess Finnick will have to be guard.”

Primer, Spark, and I all object to this idea at the same time.

“Oh, sure, leave our lives in the eight-year-old’s hands.”

“He doesn’t have any combat training!”

“Mandy, are you sure that’s the best idea?”

“Shut up!” Mandy yells over us. “It’s not like he’ll be fighting the kid from Six while we all watch and applaud. He’s just keeping an eye out. I’ll make sure I can drop my stuff if I have to, but this is the best we can do.”

None of us are very happy about it, but we do not object.

I slip on a pack that won’t hinder me and help the others with their loads. I string up a net that Spark and Primer will carry most of the food in. Mandy hefts the rest on her back.

“Straight up,” Mandy tells me. “You go first, keep a close eye.”

The rainforest is harder to maneuver than I expected. Everything is covered in a thick layer of moss and mushrooms. Its humid and warm, and I start sweating almost immediately. Thick vines hang down from every tree. There is nothing to hold onto, every bit of moss is slippery. And to make matters worse, it is very dark, even with the sun still in the sky. The trees completely block out the sky.

We see a few lizards and one very very large snake, which we avoid. Beyond that, there are no signs of life. After a good twenty minutes of climbing I spot movement. Another tribute is standing just ahead of me. I jump and lift my spear before I realize it’s Merida.

“Jumpy?” she mocks. Her eyes move to Mandy, who appears behind me. “This everything?”

Mandy nods and drops her huge load.

I get a good look around. It’s sort of a clearing. More like a nice twenty square feet of level ground with only one small tree in the center. Merida has stacked all the packs a bit haphazardly around the tree. I hide a scowl. I had organized everything so carefully back at the Cornucopia. Now I’ve got to do it all again.

“Alright kid,” says Primer. “You’re up.”

I look at him. He doesn’t elaborate.

“What?”

“This is the whole reason you’re here, right?” says Merida. “Time to come through on your promise. Otherwise we don’t need you.”

“Watch it,” says Mandy. “We’re down one ally already, and Finnick’s already done more than you.”

“I’ve killed two people,” Merida snaps. “How many people has he killed?”

I can hear the Capitol laughing. I swear somewhere in the dense forest Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith have their arms draped around each other’s shoulders laughing their asses off.

“I can make the traps now,” I say. “Where’s the rope?”

“It’s somewhere in there,” Merida gestures to the pile.

I scowl deeply at her.

“Ok,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. “So I guess I’ll sort everything first. Then I’ll make the traps.”

“It’s getting dark already,” says Mandy. “It’s going to be next to impossible to hunt at night in this arena. No moonlight, nothing. The forest floor’s dark enough during the day.”

“You want to hunt during the day?”

“Maybe,” says Mandy. “We’ve got flashlights, but they’d be a beacon out there. No sneaking up on anyone. And we’ve seen a few snakes out there already. I want to be able to see where I’m going so I don’t step on something that bites.”

“I’m with Mandy,” says Primer. “I’ve got no need to tromp around in the moss without being able to see where I’m going. It’s too easy to hide at night anyway. No one else will be moving around.”

“So we’ll just focus on sorting tonight, Finnick,” Mandy says. I notice her voice has much less authority when she’s talking to me. To the others, she’s the boss. To me, she’s just Mandy. “Two of us will guard. Then other two will help Finnick. Then, tomorrow morning, Finnick will set up the traps and we’ll go out hunting.”

“I’ll probably start on the traps tonight, if that’s alright,” I say. “It’s going to take longer than just tomorrow morning if we want to do it right.”

“We want it done right,” Mandy agrees. “Take the time you need.”

I nod. Mandy orders Spark and Merida to help me sort the supplies which causes a huge argument.

“Who died and made you queen?”

“I’ve had enough of you calling the shots.”

“And why is the kid in charge of sorting?”

Mandy hefts her sword at both of them.

“You two are helping him because you’ve been guarding all day while Primer and I have been lugging supplies up and down a mountain. Finnick’s in charge because he’s the only one who’s offered to do it. If you were so interested in being in charge of sorting you should have sorted when you were sitting on your ass. And if you want to call the shots, that’s fine by me, but when that kid from Six comes bursting through the trees don’t expect me to fight him for you captain.”

Both girls stop talking, but they aren’t happy about it. They’re caught between their need to look capable in front of sponsors and their need of Mandy’s strength to fight for them.

Spark and Merida are more of a hinderance than a help. Both of them naturally move towards the weapons, which isn’t great, because the weapons are the last thing we need.

“Food in front,” I say, “everything else we can dig for. Which tent do we want?”

We select a large tent that we can all sleep in. It also camouflages very well. Spark offers to set it up, which means I only have to deal with Merida.

We put a layer of plastic underneath everything. We stack up all the supplies around the tree in the center of the ‘clearing’ and I’m just starting to hang plastic over all the supplies when Merida grabs me and puts a knife to my throat.

“Don’t speak,” she whispers. “Just listen.”

I’ve had enough of District Two. I know she won’t kill me, she’ll have Mandy to answer to, and I haven’t even set up a single trap yet. This would be a very bad time to kill me. It would only be bad if she is about to tell me she knows I killed Evant.

I nod obediently and stay silent.

“The only reason you are alive is because you’re such a non-threat there’s no point in killing you.”

Laughter. So much laughter in the Capitol.

“Therefore, your best plan to extend life expectancy is to not be a burden, you understand?”

I nod, but I can’t even act scared anymore. Does she think I don’t know this? Does she think I have no strategy? Mags explained all this on the train. A whole two days before I even met her.

“And first way to not be a burden is to stop using Mandy as your personal bodyguard.”

“She’s not—”

“—no speaking!” she hisses, pressing the knife a bit deeper.

I stop speaking.

“Mandy’s big, but size isn’t everything—”

Insert penis joke.

“—and if you start walking around like you own the place, dishing out orders, there’s nothing she’d got that’s enough to protect you. Understand?”

There’s a pause while we stare at each other.

“Am I allowed to speak now?”

She snarls.

“Just nod.”

I nod.

She takes a step back and puts the knife back in her belt. I rub my neck slightly and go back to hanging up the plastic.

“You know,” I say once I’m done with this side of the supplies. “Intimidating the fourteen-year-old isn’t going to make you look impressive to sponsors. It just makes you look like an ass.”

She turns on me but I’m gone. I walk around the stack of supplies and plop myself down in front of my beloved ropes. Mandy is only a few feet away, so I doubt Merida will try anything.

Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. What was it Mags had told me? The second I start feeling unsafe in the Career pack is a good indicator I should have left two days ago. Does having a knife pressed against my throat count as feeling unsafe? Call me crazy, but I feel like the answer is no. At the very least, I have until I set up all these traps. Even if I take Mandy’s anger out of the equation, they’d keep me around until the traps are set. How long I live after that depends on how much they dislike me. So, I should probably stop smart mouthing Merida.

I go back through all the ropes. Some of them are not long enough for what I have in mind. I take out one of these small ones and examine it. It’s softer, not quite long enough to make a net out of or string up a tree. But it could have other purposes. I weave it in a circle and throw it around my neck like a necklace. I slip it under my shirt. This rope will be my backup plan. I have a specific knot in mind for this one.

I start scoping out trees. I tie a rope around each one I’ll use. There’s one spot with no good trees, but I can probably get creative.

I just start my first trap when I’m startled by the anthem. I had noticed, in the back of my mind, that the others were holding up lights for me, but I hadn’t realized how late it had become.

We all gather in the center of our camp and watch the sky. I see the Capitol seal. Somehow it is bright enough to show right through the trees. Perhaps they designed these trees to part for us. Who knows how they make these arenas.

I know everyone who’s dead, but I still count them off as I see them. It starts with Evant. Then we get the girl from Five next. Both tributes from Seven, the boy from Ten, the boy from Eleven, and both tributes from Twelve. That makes eight. No more deaths after the bloodbath. The Anthem ends and the sky goes dark.

“I’m going to bed,” says Primer. “Wake me for my watch.”

He grabs some food from the mountain of supplies and crawls into the tent.

I string up three traps before deciding to call it. Mandy is taking first watch, so by my third trap, we are the only two awake.

“How are you feeling?” she asks me quietly.

I shrug. “Not terrible. Merida’s only threatened to kill me once.”

“She what?”

“Don’t. It was just for the audience. You’ve got enough to worry about. Don’t act as my bodyguard on top of everything else.”

Mandy sighs. I briefly consider telling her about Evant. But that would be stupid. I don’t see Mandy holding it against me, but Mags didn’t want Mandy knowing my gameplan when it came to the training scores, and I doubt she’d want me to tell Mandy about this.

“I’ll do the rest tomorrow,” I say. “Camouflage them all when the sun is up.”

“Get some sleep, Finnick.”

I eat some canned turkey and a few carrots from the stash. Then I crawl in and collapse next to Primer, who seems like the least likely to kill me.

It’s been a labor filled day, and I’m tired. But I can’t drift off without thinking of home. My dad and sister watching Merida threaten me… what did they make of it? Are they begging me to run? Flee now, while I can? But I’m sure Mags would want me to stay. At least through tomorrow, so I can pack up my bag full of supplies and stash it somewhere safe. I have until I finish the traps before I need to start worrying about Merida.

I reach up and touch Emma’s necklace. Perhaps Emma understands what angle I’m playing here. With the traps and the supplies. Perhaps, because of her brother, she has a bit more insight into how the Games work. But maybe not. Maybe only Mags has such knowledge. It wouldn’t surprise me.

I drift off thinking about Mags and Emma and Mandy and Merida.

Chapter Text

I wake up to the sound of a cannon. I sit up, and lock eyes with Spark, who’s sitting outside the tent in almost complete darkness.

“Relax,” she says. “Somebody’s snuffed it, but no one nearby.”

There’s another sound, far to the east, like a large roar. I remember, in a past games, they had a Muttation called a tiger, that roared. But those roars were different, higher pitched. This was like a tuba or some other base instrument. It goes on for a long time before stopping. Spark and I exchange a look.

“What was that?” I say.

“Pray you never find out,” says Spark. She shifts slightly. “I guess we’ve got predators. Not all that surprising, considering the terrain.”

But I do not like the idea of predators at all. Usually, the Gamemaker’s don’t have the Mutts kill the tributes. But once in a while they create an arena that does kill off a few of us. Just to prove they can. The year with the tiger had not been so bad, but the year before there were a bunch of huge birds that killed anyone who strayed too far from another tribute. I do not want to be killed by a Mutt. Those deaths were always slow.

If it’s Spark’s rotation, then I still have plenty of time to sleep, considering I have last watch. So I sigh and lie back down, now in-between Primer and Mandy, and I drift off again.

Someone pinches my arm what feels like only a few minutes later.

“Get up. Your watch.”

Primer is scowling at me. I crawl out of the tent and look around. The sun is just beginning to rise. I’d guess it’s five in the morning. I pick up my spear and sit where Spark had been sitting earlier. After a few minutes, I hear Primer’s breathing become even and I know he’s asleep.

I watch the sunrise, keeping an eye out for any tributes… or anything else that may be wandering this forest.

I’ve been dreading the Hunger Games so much, and yes, it’s terrible, but now that I’m in here I find I’m not a wreck about it. I’ve kept my head, mostly, throughout the last day. The only time I really lost it was right after Evant’s death.

Speaking of Evant, I still haven’t worked that out in my mind. I know he was against my being in the alliance, but why kill me? It would have infuriated Mandy if she had found out. It was risky. And it would have done no good. At the very least he could have waited for me to set up the traps before staging some sort of accident.

Was Evant just being stupid? Holding a grudge because I showed him up in the interviews? Somehow, I don’t think so. Evant had not been the brightest bulb, but he wasn’t an idiot. He had had a reason.

Sponsors. That had to be it. We were fighting for the same sponsors. The only way to get a good amount was to cross me off early. I realize suddenly that must have been why he shoved me at opening ceremonies. Even back then, he knew we were playing the same game, sponsor-wise. He was taking out his anger at me.

That was probably why Mags and the other victors had been so scandalized to hear he had pushed me.

But in classic Evant fashion he had a good strategy with terrible follow-through. All shoving me after opening ceremonies did was make an enemy out of Mandy. The only thing reporting Mandy did was put his spot in the alliance in jeopardy. The only thing trying to kill me did was make himself an easy target. I should know, look how easily I killed him.

I know I should wake them at around seven or eight. It’s tricky to tell, based on where the sun is, so I let them sleep in a little. I figure it’s impossible to be accurate, and they’d be more angry for being woken early than late. They’ll be angry either way, probably, but later is safer.

I’m right, Merida yells at me for not waking them sooner, but I don’t even care. We all eat a good-sized breakfast and then they start discussing when they’ll leave to go hunting.

“Finnick needs to finish the traps first.”

“Well how long will that take?”

“We can’t let people get too far ahead of us.”

I let them fight. By roughly ten I have half the traps set up and they decide to head out.

“Be careful,” says Mandy. “Don’t make too much noise and keep an eye out.”

“I’ll be okay.”

Funny enough, I mean it. I’m a little worried about being found before the traps are done, but the trees are so thick and the critters in the forest are chattering loudly. It’s hard to worry about the other tributes finding me when the trees cover me so well.

They each slide on a carefully packed backpack and pick up their go-to weapons.

“Don’t light a fire,” say Primer.

“How would I?” I say, rinsing out my own shirt and looking over at the wet trees and moss. Nothing here will catch fire.

They start marching off, Mandy in the front, Spark in the rear. I watch them go feeling a bit shaky for the first time since I got to our little clearing.

“Don’t get lost,” I call after them. But Spark just waves me off.

I spend the rest of the morning setting up traps. I have a quick lunch and then finish up by around two.

I step back to observe my work. None of it is camouflaged, that’s this evening’s problem. But I’m confident I have everything covered. I’ve made three slim, careful paths to the clearing. Step anywhere else in the circle and you’re trapped. There was one section without any trees, so I string ropes along the ground in a trick I learned from the trap trainer. Those who approach will get their feet entangled and they’ll hopefully trip. When trying to stand their arms will get entangled as well. But… well it’s not the best option. If they’re steady enough not to trip…

I’ll have to hide a backpack full of food before the sun sets, so I leave the traps uncamouflaged and I start to pack up things I need.

Food, a tent, plastic, full water bottles, a spare knife, iodine, more food. It’s a very large pack. But I figure being too big is better than not big enough.

I don’t know this arena. The only place I’m sure I could find again is the cornucopia, so that’s where I go. I have to hurry, so I’ll be back before everyone else.

There’s more wildlife this time around. I catch sight of a few colorful birds swooping in between trees and a few bright orange frogs. And of course, there are the lizards. They blend in with the moss and the bark on the trees so well that sometimes I don’t know they’re there until they’re a few away from me. Luckily, they haven’t attacked. Still, I’ve watched too many Hunger Games to feel safe around any of these animals.

I reach the Cornucopia. The sun’s setting, but I still have an hour or so before dark. I sneak around the edge, staying in the tree line, in case there’s a tribute close-by. I find a suitable bush and dig a whole under it with my hands. I plant the pack in the hole and cover it with the soft, dark dirt. Then I take out my knife and carve a mark into the tree right next to it, so I’ll find it again.

By the time I make it back to the camp, it’s pretty dark. I don’t light a flashlight, because without the Careers, it just feels like a beacon. Instead, I grab some food and my spear and climb into large tent.

When will they be back?

The tent becomes darker and darker. Eventually, I hear the anthem start. I stick my head out of the tent flap and peek through the trees. The girl from Eight is the only one in the sky. She must have been the cannon last night.

When the anthem ends and retreat into the tent and curl up in the center. I drift in and out of consciousness until light starts seeping through the tent.

I rouse myself, eat breakfast, and begin to worry about Mandy. I’m sure I’d have woken to a cannon, so she’s alive. But still, where have they been all night?

I eat a few strips of dried fruit out of stress, while watching the tree line, hoping Mandy will show up. Then, I get to work camouflaging my traps. I’m finishing them all very quickly, which is concerning, because then I’ll have to worry about getting murdered. Camouflaging them is ridiculously simple. Everything is covered in a thick layer of stringy moss. I rip some of it up and cover everything. By noon, even I can’t pick out my traps. I even have to mark a few sections in the dirt, to make sure I don’t trip them by mistake.

My lunch is interrupted by a cannon. I instinctively look around, but obviously, it’s nowhere close to me.

I wonder about Mandy again. Was she responsible for the cannon? Either because she was the one who killed or… She was more likely the one doing the killing.

I spend another two hours, spear sitting next to me, eating a few apples out of boredom. Might as well stay well fed, while I can. Besides, there’s more than enough.

Around three in the afternoon, based on the sun, something moves behind the trees.

I jump to my feet, finally remembering where I am: a Hunger Games arena, where I am completely alone and ally-less, at least for the moment.

“Who’s there?” I say.

I’m sure I saw movement. If it was my allies, they’d be making more noise. This is one person… or creature. I think of the roar I heard just two nights ago. Could the monster have found me here? I’m honestly more terrified of Muttations than I am of other tributes. Most tributes don’t draw things out. Muttations are bred to put on a show…

“I know something’s out there,” I say again. I whistle loudly. Maybe if it’s an animal that’ll startle it. Although why I want to startle Muttations is beyond me.

That’s when I see the blade sticking out from behind a tree.

My heart leaps. I know that blade. I recognize the curve. That is Evant’s blade. Or at least something a lot like it. But how? He’s dead! I killed him, I’m sure of it. There’s no way he could be here now. Unless… the Gamemakers are setting up some sick trick that tributes get hunted by mutated versions of the people they killed…

I shake myself out of it. Best not let my imagination run off without me. Legs shaking, I stand up a bit straighter, holding my spear aloft.

“I can see you. You’re behind that tree.”

The blade moves and I will my traps to work correctly. A small figure appears from behind the tree, and I breathe a sigh of relief, in spite of myself.

It’s the boy from District Three.

“How’d you see me?” he says, frowning.

He does not seem afraid. Which is odd to me, considering I’m terrified. The fantasy of Evant coming back from the dead to exact revenge is now gone, and replaced with the very real threat of another tribute, armed and clearly coming to fight. And he got a pretty good score too. Better than mine, at least.

I nod at his weapon. “Your blade was peeking out. I’ve seen that before. Or something like it.”

“Took it from the body of that guy from two,” he says. “He didn’t need it anymore.”

He smiles cruelly and for a moment, I wonder why he’s complimenting me. Before I realize he didn’t see me kill Evant.

This asshole is trying to take credit for my kill I think to intimidate me.

I’m about to tell him who really killed Evant before I realize Mags wouldn’t want me to do that. She’s the one who told me to get a mediocre score, right? She’s the one who told me to play the little kid no one should bother killing. I’m not sure if being seen as weak will help me here, but it couldn’t work.

“Was that you?” I say.

He smiles and shrugs. “It might have been.”

I laugh and try to turn it into a cough. Again, I hear laughter in the Capitol. If I was a fan favorite before, it’s nothing to what I must be now. The Capitol always loves schemers. People who lie to their allies and have plan they can’t quite figure out. They’ll love to see I have something up my sleeve.

Let them laugh, I could use the sponsors. If I live.

“I’m just here for some supplies,” says the boy from Three. “What’s your name?”

What’s my name? I glare at him. What’s he playing at?

“Finnick,” I say.

“Hello Finnick. I’m Jargon. Look, you’re young, I don’t need to hurt you here. The others won’t notice if a little bit is missing. We don’t need to fight here.”

Ah, so that’s his play. He doesn’t want to fight, he wants food. I’m young, but I’m from a Career District. I could still be dangerous. He doesn’t want to risk it.

I’m tempted to let him. To just give him what he wants and let him walk away. After all, why bother being protective? He’s right, no one would notice. But I know I can’t do that. Because all in all, the Capitol’s favor does way more than just provide sponsors. There’s no way to prove it, but “natural” disasters and Muttation attacks usually hit the tributes who don’t play the game right. Sure, there’s no actual rule that you have to kill the other tributes when you meet them. In the Hunger Games, there are no rules. Period. But the Gamemakers have a show to put on. If they’re going to kill someone in an avalanche, might as well be the kid who keeps letting other tributes go.

To the Capitol audience, Jargon is being smart. Trying to get food and avoid a fight. It won’t get him sponsors, but it won’t be robbing the Capitol of anything either. But me. No. They’ve been watching me set up these traps all day, and all yesterday. They expect me to use them.

If Jargon lets me go, it’s strategy. But if I let Jargon go, it’s mercy. And mercy is unofficially forbidden in the Hunger Games.

“Well then,” I force myself to say. “If you killed Evant, you should have no trouble with me. Come and take it.”

Jargon scowls. He was hoping to avoid this. Maybe because he’s afraid I have something up my sleeve. Or maybe because he doesn’t want to kill a fourteen-year-old. For a moment, I think he might just turn around. But he must be very hungry.

“Fine,” he says. “I will.”

He points the curved blade at me, which I have a feeling is not how you’re supposed to hold it, and starts inching forwards.

I can see him shaking. But more importantly, his eyes are locked on me. Which means he’s not looking at the traps he’s about to step on. Here’s the test. If I’m as good as I claim to be…

I make sure to not look down. I look right into his eyes, otherwise, I might give it away. Another step, another. After four steps I’m sure the trap didn’t activate.

But one more step and my counterweight (a large rock) swoops down from it’s place in the tree and the branch nearby swings upwards. The net appears all around Jargon and lifts him four feet in the air, caught like a fish in the net I wove personally.

There are several problems. For one, the rock I used as a counterweight falls down right on top of me. I jump out of the way, but it still knocks into my shoulder and a sharp pain spike into my chest and down my right arm.

Hurt by my own trap. What an idiot.

Also, Jargon loses grip on his blade (good news) which comes dangerously close to my foot (almost bad news). So, for a trap that worked perfectly, I sure almost died from it. In two different ways. I feel like a fool.

Jargon, however, is feeling worse. He’s struggling and kicking, but without a knife or blade he’ll never get out of there. Despite my shoulder, I smile. A job well done.

It takes me a few moments to realize that this is not over. Jargon is swearing and hyperventilating. I realize I can’t just leave him strung up like that. I can’t release him either. I have to kill this guy.

Suddenly I feel terrible. My insides squirm and my mouth feels like it’s full of sand. Evant was one thing. He was armed, he had started it. Jargon is another. He had offered to spare me. He’s just trying to get some food. And how am I supposed to do it? Just stab him with my spear? What if that doesn’t kill him? I’ll only get a good shot at his back…

It feels impossible. Could I wait for the others? No. I can’t just leave him swinging there, suffering, knowing the end is coming, because I’m too much of a coward to finish the job. This is the Hunger Games. You kill people in the Hunger Games. That’s not optional. I can’t just let him go, either. Forget the Capitol, he knows about the traps. He could sneak back in. And would probably slit my throat next time.

I cannot stab him while he hangs there. There’s no good angle. So I move towards the counterweight. This is a stupid, stupid idea, but I can’t think of an alternative. I take a deep breath and try to tell myself this isn’t my fault. He would have done the same. I have no reason to believe he’d have actually spared me.

“Wait,” he says. “Wait, hold on, Finnick.”

I don’t listen to him. What can I do? There’s only one option, he knows it. That’s why he’s so afraid. I regret telling him my name. I regret learning his.

Jargon’s breathing is becoming more and more rapid. I heft my spear with my left arm and pull on the knot around the counterweight with my right.

Knots. They obey me. What can I say. The knot undoes itself instantly and Jargon drops to the floor, hard.

I hear the breath leave him and he wheezes. Lying on his back. I take two steps forward in an instant, so I’m standing over him, and I plunge my spear right into his neck. Just like I did with Evant.

I assume the neck is the fastest option. I don’t want to draw it out. I pull out the spear and blood pours from the wound. It spurts upwards and I have to dodge to avoid being covered it the stuff.

I clench my jaw and wait it out. Eventually, Jargon stops moving. Then there’s the cannon. My hands are shaking. So are my knees. I need to sit.

I plop myself down next to Jargon’s body. I want to apologize or something. I want to curl up into a ball and cry. But I mustn’t do either.

I wonder if his parents hate me. How could they not, right? They’ll hate me forever. And they’d be right to. He offered me mercy, and I couldn’t do the same. In the moment, everything had felt so obvious. I had to let the traps do their thing. Then, once he was trapped, I had to kill him. Those were the rules. But now, seeing his body. Watching him die… I could have let him go.

I had been so worried about what my family would go through, watching me die, I hadn’t considered that I might cause another family that hardship. But what other choice did I have? If I had not killed him here, we would have just met again. Jargon had no chance of winning. We’ll all die eventually. All but one. I had done it quickly. That’s more than a lot of us will get.

I stand, because this isn’t looking good. Too much like I’m mourning him. And besides, they’ll want to collect the body.

I search through his pockets. He’s got basically nothing. A small backpack with some raisins, a small water bottle that is empty, some thread, and a funnel. I let him keep it all.

I untangle him from my net and set it to the side. I’ll have to reset the trap, and I don’t want them to take the rope up when they grab Jargon. And, though I shouldn’t, because the Capitol audience won’t like it, I close his eyes. A small and stupid gesture, and it doesn’t make me feel better, but oh well.

I stand on the other end of the clearing and wait. After a few moments, I feel the forest become still. But why? Something feels off. But before I can put my finger on it, the aircraft appears. I must have sensed it somehow. A claw reaches down and gently picks up Jargon. Once the claw disappears inside the ship, the sky is empty again. Everything goes back to normal.

I use moss to clean my spear. I change the spearhead, just because. Then I notice Evant’s blade. Still on the ground where Jargon dropped it. I should have slid it into Jargons belt and had it removed from the arena… One thing for sure, I cannot be found with it.

I walk a few steps into the forest, dig a hole, and throw the blade in. I bury it. The dirt looks pretty fresh, but I cover it with a bit of moss and I can’t see anyone finding it.

Then I remake the trap, camouflage it, sit back, and stare off into space. My shoulder hurts a lot. I hope I didn’t break anything. I take off my shirt and get a look at it. There’s a bruise already forming over the whole shoulder.

There’s medicine in the pile, but I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do here. It’s not like I’m bleeding… I look through all the medicine but the only thing I find that I could possibly use is the painkillers. And I’m not in that much pain.

I put my shirt back on, but when I raise my arm over my head the pain shoots down to my toes.

“Shit,” I say, caught in my shirt. “Maybe I do need pain killers, oh my god.”

I rub the shoulder but decide against it. I’ve only ever had one pain killer before. Sure, it took away my pain. But it also made me loopy for hours. I can’t afford that, not here.  

Instead, I sit with my back to the supplies and try not to move. I do not move for hours. Eventually, it starts to rain. I put my hood up, which does basically nothing. I should rig something to catch the rainwater… at the very least, it’s easier than finding a stream. So I force my legs to move.

I string up some plastic sheets and a large plastic bucket to catch everything. By the time it’s all set up, the rain has stopped. Whatever.

By sunset, I’m starting to worry about Mandy again. That’s when I hear voices.

I shoot to my feet, still scarred by the Jargon experience. I lift my spear and wince, my shoulder is just getting worse. But fortunately, I recognize the voices.

“Where have you all been?” I call down.

Mandy, Spark, Primer, and Merida are all marching up the hill, soaked from the recent rainfall, and covered in mud and moss.

“We were having trouble navigating,” says Mandy. “We camped out near this valley last night. Impossible to track people. We only got one.”

So the earlier cannon was them.

“Which one?” I ask.

“The girl from Six,” she says. “Not much of an achievement.”

“Well—Don’t step there!” I snap as Spark takes a few steps dangerously close to a trap.

“What?” she says. But she stops.

“There’s a trap there,” I say.

“There is not.”

“Is too. I told you I was good at this. I didn’t spend a day at the camouflage station for fun. I have them all up and hidden.”

“Well then how do we get through?” says Merida, glaring around at the ground, trying to make out the traps.

I point a few meters to their left. “See that tree there? With the low branches? Step on the low hanging branch and down onto the space in front of it that I’ve cleared of moss and grass. Next step is directly forwards, and then you’re in the circle.

“You’re joking.”

“Am not.”

“That’s the only way in?”

“No, there’s one on the other side, just in case.”

I leave out the third exit I set up. I figure it’s a good idea to have an entrance just for me. For escape purposes.

“This is stupid,” says Spark.

“We asked him for traps,” says Mandy, stepping on the branch and over. “He gave us traps.”

“I don’t see them,” said Primer, but he followed Mandy’s lead.

“Well,” I say. “They’d be pretty terrible traps if you could.”

“Are you sure they work,” says Merida, climbing in after Primer.

“Yes.”

“Did you test them?”

I hesitate. “Well, no. But they work.”

“I want to test one.”

“Ok. Step anywhere.”

“Watch it, smart mouth.”

“If you set one off I’m going to have to reset it and camouflage it again. Not to mention traps aren’t exactly safe. If you get caught the wrong way it could strangle you.”

“Then use one of the bins from supplies.”

I scowl, but concede. I grab a bin and, once I’m sure they’re all watching, I throw it onto the ground right where Spark was about to step. The trap springs. This one used the tension from a branch to hold, so there’s no dangerous counterweight. But that also means it’s harder to undo. I’m staring up at the tree in question, scowling at the thought of climbing up there again, this time with a throbbing shoulder, as the others react.

“Wow!” says Mandy. “That’s a great trap Finnick. And you’ve covered everything?”

“The whole perimeter,” I confirm.

“Well, good job.”

She pats my bad shoulder and I take a sharp breath and jump away. Everyone stares at me.

“Uh,” I say. “I fell out of a tree setting these up. Hurt my shoulder. I’m fine.”

“You’ve been sitting around with a bunch of food and no predators and yet you still manage to get hurt,” says Primer.

“You need medicine?” Mandy asks.

“No, I’m fine. There’s just a bruise.”

I start climbing up the tree before she can try to baby me in front of the others. It wouldn’t be good for her or for me.

My shoulder screams, but I don’t. I can’t look too weak. I spend a half an hour fixing the trap while the others eat. None of my other allies complimented my handiwork, but they have no insults either, which I understand is a win.

“Will it hold a person?” asks Spark.

“For a little while. Depends on how long they’re there and if they have a knife on them. But if I’m standing by that won’t be a problem.”

“And there’s no easy way to reset them?”

“Easy way?”

“If one springs by accident?”

“Then you’ve got to completely reset it. There’s no button, if that’s what you’re asking.” And no way to reset them without me, I think.

“Anything exciting happen while we were gone?” says Mandy.

“Nope,” I say. “Pretty boring.”

Why am I lying? Habit? Isn’t it a good thing the traps work so well? But I really don’t want to talk about it. Not to mention, I still think it’s best if Merida doesn’t know I’m capable of killing. Considering how much she hates me already.

They tell me about their romp through the wilderness. Apparently, they found a steep cliff ledge, that dropped roughly straight down. They decided climbing down would be dangerous and stupid, so they just walked along the perimeter.

“Did you ever find a slope down?”

“Nope,” said Spark. “Who knows how long that cliff goes for. We eventually just had to turn back.”

“But one of those cannons were you guys, right?”

“Yeah. I wonder who the other one is.”

“We’ll find out tonight.”

After I finish fixing the trap I just sit around, listening to the others talk. I splurge and make myself a sandwich. It’s odd how much it reminds me of the school cafeteria. I think about my friends at school. They’d have been in class when I killed Jargon. Did they stop class and make them all watch? The thought makes me lose my appetite.

After another hour or so, the anthem plays. Jargon shows up first. The the girl from Six. I don’t say a word, retreating into the tent and pretending to go to bed.

Lying down, my shoulder just feels worse. I grunt and try to massage it, but instantly stop because of the pain. Tomorrow’s problem. Right now, I’m too depressed about Jargon.

I had never really expected to kill anyone here. Sure, I knew it was a possibility. But I only really considered my own death.

Why had I been so sure I’d be completely outmatched in the arena? Sure, I was young. But I had experience killing things. I’m sure half the tributes couldn’t accurately stab a spear into someone’s neck, while standing a foot away. But my experience with spear fishing… And sure, I got lucky with Evant. But it still took some skill. Sure, the odds aren’t in my favor. But I’m not last on the list…

I wonder about my dad and friends a lot. But now I’m thinking about Mags. How did she win her Games? I can’t imagine that sweat old lady being someone like Spark or Merida. Even like Mandy. Maybe there’s a reason she always mentors the kid who gets reaped. Maybe she was a lot like me. In over her head, but not completely hopeless. Does she think I’m doing a good job?

“Finnick?” I hear Mandy say outside the tent. “Sleeping?”

“Possibly,” I say. “Didn’t sleep much last night, I had to watch the traps.”

“Sorry about that. Get some—oh.”

I poke my head out of the tent flap and almost get hit in the face by a silver parachute.

Mandy crouches down in front of it and glances over the tent. Our allies are still talking about the forest. They must not have seen the parachute.

“It’s for one of us,” she whispers. “Here, you open it.”

I open the small container and find two things. First, a nice loaf of bread, still warm. I pick it up.

“From District Four,” whispers Mandy.

“Little slice of home,” I say.

Mandy rips it in half and hands me the larger half. I immediately raise it to my nose and breath it in.

Salty and tinted green. It makes me think of my dad. We eat loaves just like this every night with dinner. Tears spring up in my eyes. I nibble on the end and stare off into space.

“What’s the other package?” Mandy asks.

I forgot about it. It’s tricky extracting it with one hand, but moving my right arm at all is painful.

I open the small plastic package. It’s a small vial of clear liquid and a syringe.

“What’s this?”

Mandy looks at it.

“Cortexifan,” mutters Mandy. “It’s this one of those hot-shot medicines the Capitol makes. There’s probably a bottle or two in the mountain over there. I wonder why they sent it.”

“What does it do?”

“Helps with blunt force trauma. It relaxes the muscles and then helps them fix themselves. Are you sure your shoulder’s okay?”

“No.”

“Is there a bruise?”

“There was one earlier today.”

“Did the cameras see it?”

“Probably.”

“Well, there you go. Mags’s orders.”

“How do I…”

“I’ll do it. Gimme. Take your shirt off.”

I take off my shirt and Mandy fills up the syringe. She jabs it right into the bruise.

“Ah! Whatever happened to one two three go?”

“I’m not a nurse maid.”

“I guess not. I had no idea the injury was so serious.”

“It’s not. But you wouldn’t be able to use the arm for a few days, maybe a week. At home, we’d just put your arm in a sling and put some ice on it. But this fancy stuff will do the trick in a night, maybe by noon tomorrow.”

I put my shirt back on. “I had no idea. I’m glad Mags noticed. Although I hope it wasn’t too expensive. Seems like a waste since we had a few vials of it in the pile.”

Mandy laughed. “Hey, apparently we can afford it.”

“Thanks Mandy. I’m gonna—”

“Yeah. Get some sleep Finnick.”

I wrap up the rest of my precious bread and hide it in my coat. I lie down on my good shoulder and wrap my good hand around Emma’s necklace. I wonder, briefly, if Mags knew I was thinking about her. But that’s ridiculous, it’s a coincidence. Part of me hopes she did know, though, on some level. It’s nice to think I’m not alone down here. Even Mandy is only a small comfort to me down here. Mags knows what she’s doing. Hopefully she’s watching out for me.  

Chapter Text

Two days go by with no further incident. My arm goes back to normal, I eat the rest of my bread. Every morning, the eighteen-year-olds head out and leave me to watch the supplies. No one drops by again. Sometime around the second day I convince myself I had no choice but to kill Jargon, and let the whole thing go. After all, this is the Hunger Games. I can’t sit around and cry over a dead kid. That’s built into the package.

There are no more deaths. And my allies are having bad luck finding anybody out in the forest. This usually happens though. People keep moving outwards, and it’s harder to find everybody. If this keeps up, the Gamemakers will be sure to draw us all together again, by some sort of unfortunate means.

The rain keeps up. Never for more than an hour at a time, but at least three showers a day. My device to catch rainwater comes in handy, considering none of the others have found any streams or ponds. No other source of water, just like I predicted.

On day three I’m sitting around, bored, when I hear people crashing through the forest in a none-too-graceful manner. I jump to my feet, spear at the ready, only to see Merida burst through the foliage.

“Put that thing away,” Merida snaps at me, gesturing to my spear. “You’re holding it wrong anyway.”

“Is the pointy side facing you?” I say.

“What? Yeah.”

“Then it’s not wrong. Why all the noise?”

Primer and Spark walk into view and I can now tell why they were making so much noise. Sparks left leg and arm don’t appear to be moving very well. She’s leaning heavily on Primer, who seems to be doing everything he can to keep her upright.

“What happened?” I ask.

Mandy walks into view behind them.

“There was this frog,” says Mandy.

“And it jumped you?” I say, snickering. “Get it? Jumped? Frog.”

“Shut it, twerp,” says Spark. “I accidentally touched it and now my whole left side is numb.”

I undo a trap for Spark, so Primer and can help her into the circle. They look through the supplies for any poison antidotes while I restring everything.

“Nothing,” sighs Primer, closing the box of medicine. “I’m hoping the lack of antidote means it’s not deadly.”

“Yeah,” says Spark, poking her dead arm, “me too.”

“I’m sure it just paralyzes you for a little while,” says Mandy. “Sleep it off.”

It’s a very cranky evening. The mood of the others seems to only get worse the more time goes by without a death. They probably know the Capitol audience will be getting bored soon.

No deaths that night. We give Spark the night off for guard duty. The night is anything but restful. Spark is tossing and turning every few minutes and no one has the heart to snap at her.

By the time I wake everyone the next morning, it’s clear Spark isn’t up for any long journeys.

“I can flex my fingers, look,” she says, demonstrating. “I’m getting better.”

“Not very quickly, though,” says Merida. “I say you sit here and watch the supplies and the kid goes hunting with us.”

That seems like a terrible idea. I had it pretty good as guard. If just touching a frog can paralyze you, I don’t want to see what happens when you touch the big snakes.

For some reason, Spark also looks upset. I’m starting to realize I still have no idea what goes through the head of a Career tribute. Perhaps she is upset she only has one kill so far into the games? But even the Capitol audience isn’t stupid… about this. It’s not always the most kills that get you the win.

Then again. I can’t really see anyone in the Capitol liking Spark. In her interviews she was sassy and dangerous. But she hasn’t done a great job of keeping that reputation in the arena. I am doing a much better job at that, if I’m being honest. Despite not wanting my allies to hate me, I’m always quick to a sarcastic jab or a joke.

I realize Merida tried to play it cunning at the interviews. She’d outsmart all of us. But unless she’s hiding any huge secrets I’m beating her at that game too. I’ve killed two people and she doesn’t even know.

When it really comes down to it, if a Capitol audience member was going to root for one of us, it would be either me or Mandy. I have probably (hopefully) been the most interesting tribute. I’ve killed and I’ve outsmarted and then I’ve lied to my allies about it. And Mandy has the most deaths by far. She’s easily the most capable tribute here. Even if that boy from Six is impressive, he still has killed one tribute at the most, likely none, considering I refuse to believe that cannon for the girl from Eight and that loud roar directly after was a coincidence.

District Four is doing very, very well.

It’s ironic to think that, back home, some people may be in high spirits. Mandy looks like the obvious Victor. And I’m no slouch. People are probably crossing their fingers, hoping that through Mandy’s strength and my ability to lie through my teeth, just maybe Mandy will go home and shower them with riches.

But to keep the audience’s favor, I need to not look weak. It was easy to look capable guarding the supplies, but now? I can’t back down from being part of the hunt, and I can’t make a fool of myself out there either. This will be tricky. Because the last thing I need is for sponsors to remember I’m just a scrawny fourteen-year-old and sponsor someone who keeps their head on straight on hunts, like Merida.

I pack up a small bag. Some food, a bottle filled with purified rainwater, a knife, and a few extra spearheads. I strap it to my back and try not to look too nervous.

“Anything I should know about these traps?” asks Spark glumly.

“Don’t step on them.”

“Anything else?”

“Nope.”

We head out. Mandy in the lead, Merida in the back.

“Just stay behind me,” snaps Primer, as I try to figure out where I should walk.

I nod and say nothing. I’m dreading this experience greatly.

We tromp through the dense, moss-covered forest for an hour before the rain starts. I’m beginning to really hate rain. Like, sure, it’s our only source of water, but still. I’m soaked in seconds, even with my waterproof coat and water-resistant clothing. I step on a patch of moss and my foot sinks right through it, halfway up my calf. This whole thing is disgusting.

I try not to show how miserable I am. The rain disappears after about a half an hour just like always, and then the critters start coming out of their holes. I see three brightly colored frogs and give them a respectful distance. I also see a snake, which I also avoid carefully.

There are more lizards than I remember in my two other jaunts through this forest. It takes me a while to notice them, because they camouflage so well. However, when I almost touch one by accident, I start notice just how many there are. It’s like they make up every surface. The trees, the rocks, some even lounge on the ground. They’re huge, and seem to be covered in moss themselves.

After a few hours of absolutely nothing, we get to a large drop off.

“So this is the infamous cliff,” I say, peering over the edge.

“This is it.”

As far as we can tell, the cliff cuts off the entire northern half of the arena. They have not been able to find a safe way down.

“We might be able to use ropes to get down,” I say. “But then getting up again…”

“Yeah,” says Mandy. “We came to the same conclusion. But it doesn’t seem likely any others could get down safely without rope, and we’d have seen rope tied to the trees if they had.”

“But we also haven’t found anyone up here,” says Primer. “Maybe we ought to try it.”

“Without Spark?” says Merida. “If I’m going in there with no exit strategy I’m doing it with full force, the kid could be a liability.”

“Have you guys tried just… going south?”

“Ohhh,” says Merida, sarcastically. “I wish we had thought of that.”

“We went south,” says Mandy. “It didn’t do much good. Just more forest. It just got thicker and thicker, it was impossible to navigate. We’re pretty sure we hit the end of the arena. This cliff might cut off a whole half of the arena.”

I look at the trees at the bottom of the cliff. How do we know the forest down there isn’t even worse?

“Look,” says Primer, “sleeping with your back to this ravine would be a good idea. I say we go west this time, and just walk until—”

He’s cut off by the sound of a cannon. We all wait, but it’s the only one.

“Good to know someone out there is having some luck,” said Merida glumly.

I’m about to make a rude comment about how it wasn’t lucky for whoever that cannon was for when noise fills the air yet again. Another huge, terrifying roar, this time louder than it was that first night. There’s no mistaking where it comes from.

“The ravine might not be to keep us out,” I say. “Maybe it’s there to keep something in.”

“That’s a good point, Finnick,” says Mandy. “ Maybe they’re letting some Mutt run free down there. Its killed before right? You heard it the first night?”

“Right after a cannon,” I confirm. “Just like this time.”

“Maybe the cannon fire just annoys it,” says Merida.

“It hasn’t roared at any other cannons,” I say. “Like with Jargon’s cannon.”

“Who?”

“Oh, the guy from Three, his name was Jargon.”

“Finnick’s right,” says Mandy, ignoring the Jargon conversation. “That thing is killing. I’m not sure we need to worry about anybody down there, something has it taken care of.”

“Alright. So we head west along the cliff,” says Primer.

We all agree. Walking along the ravine is much easier than walking in the forest. The tree line isn’t as thick, and there are less animals, for whatever reason.

We walk and walk and walk and walk and we meet no one. The sun gets lower and lower and I’m about to suggest we turn around before dark (also because I’m more tired than I’ve ever been in my life) when Mandy stops suddenly and puts her fingers to her lips to quiet us.

That’s when I hear it. There’s some sort of grunting coming from up ahead. A girl’s voice. As though someone is doing push-ups or lifting weights. We all take cover in the trees, to not scare whoever it is away. I’m wondering why the hell someone is exercising in a Hunger Games arena when I realize what’s happening.

Someone is climbing up the cliff, just a few meters ahead of us.

They sound exhausted, each grunt has pain in the voice. But she’s going fast. Much faster than I would. Almost like she’s running from something…

Maybe she saw the Mutt attack and is now realizing the ravine is not a good place to be. But up here is just as bad, because all my allies have their weapons drawn.

She finally reaches the top. First a hand, then another, she pulls herself up and rolls onto the ground at the top of the cliff. And there she lies, breathing heavy.

It’s the girl from Eleven. I remember her being pretty capable with a spear and a knife. But the only other thing I remember is that she was always, always bouncing her leg.

She’s not bouncing her leg now, too tired I suppose. She curses, and looks down at what she just climbed.

When she turns her back to us, Primer moves.

Faster than I’ve ever seen. He’s on her in an instant and slits her throat without any hesitation.

I am frozen. Look at how fast he just killed her! Primer straightens up and smiles at us, which just makes me hate him. But part of me nags, why shouldn’t he smile? He’s a kid in the Hunger Games. Is showing remorse better? I’ve still killed more people than him. Am I morally superior just because I was uncomfortable afterwards?

Her cannon fires.

“That was quick,” says Mandy. “Good work.”

“Day six,” he says, “About time I got someone.”

“What’s in her bag,” says Merida.

Primer doesn’t move to look, still filled with adrenaline from his kill, perhaps? I decide to make myself useful.

I roll her on her stomach and remove her bag.

She doesn’t have much. Two sheets of plastic (the arena’s full of these), water bottle, which is half full, a knife (why would she keep this in her bag and not in her belt? For the climb?) some crackers, a few strips of jerky, a flashlight, a rope, a bunch of plastic bags, and two full bags of nuts and berries that are definitely not from the cornucopia.

“Looks like she was foraging for food. She’s got some nuts and berries and stuff.”

“Good for her. Anything we could use?”

“Not really. A nice knife. A good rope here, too.”

“So,” says Merida. “Are we calling this a success and heading back, or do we press on?”

“I want to get to the top of that hill,” says Mandy, “get a view of this part of the arena. Then we’ll turn back.”

I grimace. I do not have another hill in me. I’m in shape, don’t get me wrong. But these three are an extreme. I stand, glumly, and hold up the girl’s backpack.

“Are we keeping this? And if so, who’s carrying it?”

Mandy looks me up and down. “Why don’t you take all that stuff back to camp. Us three can handle the hill. Tell Spark what happened.”

“Oh,” I don’t know how to respond. I desperately do not want to climb a hill, and Mandy can obviously see that. But can I really opt out like this without the others thinking I’m weak? “If you guys don’t need me.”

“We didn’t need you before,” Primer joked. “Spark will have heard all the cannons, she’ll be curious. Just go.”

I nod. I strap Eleven’s bag over my own, and carefully avoid looking at the body before I turn and head back to the camp.

“Be careful,” Mandy calls after me.

“I will.”

The path back to camp is more straightforward since I don’t need to walk along the cliff side this time. I keep my spear at the ready, since now I’m alone, but all I see is more lizards (they’re everywhere).

The sun is starting to set and the sky is turning bright orange when I finally arrive at the camp. Exhausted, I step on the right tree branch and over one of my traps, and land next to Spark.

She doesn’t say hello. She just stares at me, no expression.

“Uh, hi,” I say.

She’s gotten feeling back in her hand. She’s using it to spin a knife between her fingers.

“Where are the others,” she says.

Her voice is cold. Something’s wrong.

“Um… they wanted to scope out another path for tomorrow, they walked up this hill to see… Anyway, they sent me back with the supplies from the girl from Eleven. Primer killed her.”

“Hm,” says Spark. “When will they be back.”

“I don’t know. Soon. Are you alright?”

“Oh, sure,” she monotones. “I found something very interesting today.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. See, it rained, and then I was bored. And I noticed the rain had washed away some of your camouflage.”

“That is a problem I’ve been having.”

“Right. So I decided to walk around the outside parameter and fix it up. Again, I was bored.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem,” her voice had a cruel, sarcastic edge. “And while I was walking around, I found this fresh spot of dirt, and a lot of it had been washed away with all the rain. And I saw something shiny. So I dug it up, and…”

She reached behind her and threw Evant’s curved blade down between us.

Crap. I did not expect anyone to find this. I hadn’t even considered the rain might wash away some of the dirt I packed on top of it.

“Yeah. That was the blade the kid from Three used.”

“What?” This took her aback. Maybe, just maybe, I could get out of this.

“I killed the kid from three,” I say. “He showed up that third day and I killed him. He got caught in my traps. I didn’t tell you because I was worried if you knew I was capable of killing you wouldn’t keep me around. I know you guys have a silent competition going and I didn’t want to be a part of it. If I told you I had a kill, Primer might have been intimidated, since he didn’t have one back then.”

“And this guy from three just happened to have Evant’s blade?”

“That’s Evant’s blade?”

“If you didn’t know that, why did you hide it.”

“I told you, I didn’t want to—”

“Your whole purpose is to set up traps and make easy kills. We’re literally using you as bait!” she’s yelling now. “They think you’re an easy kill to get to the supplies and then they get caught! There’s no reason to hide this from us! Unless you were already hiding another death!”

“What are you talking about!” I shout, but I know I’m doomed.

“I’m talking about how it’s very convenient you hid this blade when you didn’t know was Evant’s! Merida was so sure you knew what happened to Evant, now I know why! You killed him at the Cornucopia and then you blamed it on that big kid from Six! You knew you couldn’t get caught with this blade! So you hid it!”

“Why would Merida think I killed Evant?”

“I don’t know! I’ll ask her when she gets here!”

She picks up short blades. Basically, two machetes that she’d been dual wielding, and starts towards me.

I have a spear in my hand, but looking at Spark, with her skilled pose, it might as well be an old tree branch. I throw it at her, and she ducks.

It was a bad throw anyway, and I didn’t really think I’d kill her with it. But it’s enough of a distraction.

I dart to my left, now so, so thankful I made myself my own little escape route.

I leap up and grab a tree branch. I swing forwards, over one of my traps, and land on the ground outside the circle. Then I run.

I hear Spark cursing behind me. But I know she’s too smart to get caught in a trap. She’ll go around to an exit she knows, which gives me a few seconds head start.

I flee. I scramble and trip over the moss-covered logs, but my momentum is forwards. I hear Spark pursuing me, but I refuse to look. Maybe her leg is still stiff, and she'll be slow. 

I’m not sure how long I run, but I started out tired, so it can’t be far. I don’t have much more in me, and by the crashing noises, she’s getting closer. That’s when I realize I know where I am. I’m back on the path I walked with Mandy and the others earlier.

I take a sharp turn north and keep running, ignoring the spiking pain in my side every time I remember to breath. It doesn’t take long at all to reach the cliff.

I stop at the cliffside and reach towards my neck. I can hear Spark coming, cursing and crashing her way through the forest. I push aside Emma’s necklace and my hand wraps around the rope I’ve been wearing as a necklace.

My suicide rope.

Too small to be any good in getting down into the ravine, but perhaps it can have a different purpose. I collapse to my knees in front of a large log, nice and heavy, and tie one end of the rope around it tightly. I tie a quick honda knot to the other end.

Just in time, I turn to see Spark emerge from the tree line.

“You little—”

I don’t wait for her to cuss me out. I pick up a rock and heave it right at her face. When she flinches and blocks it I dive into her and tackle her to the ground.

She calls me a lot of nice names. Biting worked for me with Evant, so I bite her hand, hoping she’ll drop one of her blades.

She does not. She yanks her other blade around and I just have time to lunge backwards before I feel my cheek burst in pain. It’s not a deep cut, but I was dangerously close to my eye. I kick myself away from her and she grabs me and pulls me back.

We’re basically rolling around on the floor at this point. Her foot is near my face, which makes me realize my foot must be close to hers. I kick frantically and my boot connects with something hard, I think it was her jaw.

She curses and yells at me. I loop the honda knot around her ankle and pull it tight.

Then it’s the race for my life. I grab my knife from my belt and thrash around wildly at her. I manage to cut her hand, and she yelps, pulling back just enough for me to untangle myself from her limbs.

I launch my whole body towards the log I tied the other end of the rope around and push, with all my might.

It doesn’t budge.

Oh no.

I try again.

“What do you think you’re going to accomplish here?” Spark snaps, standing. She still hasn’t noticed the rope around her ankle, but she will soon. “There’s nowhere to run. Unless you want to jump off the ravine and get it over with.”

She steps towards me and notices the rope. She looks at it, confused.

I give one, final push, for my life, and the log rolls. Once, twice, and then right off the cliff.

I leap to the side as she realizes what’s happened. If she grabbed the tree behind her, she’d have been fine. But her instincts tell her to untie the knot. A knot too complex for her to untie.

The rope tenses and her leg gets pulled out from under her. The Capitol have made these boots fit too well, her whole body slides along the ground as she claws at the soft, rain-soaked dirt for anything to grab onto. And then she goes over the edge.

It takes a good three seconds for the log to hit the ground with a crash. Not sure when she hits. I look over the cliff, but I can’t see her. Or the log. The trees are too thick. But after a few minutes, I hear a cannon and decide it has to be her. I roll away from the edge and lie on my back, shaking.

I just killed Spark. Where did I even come up with that idea? It seemed so obvious a solution. Have I been planning to kill people with this cliff? Subconsciously?

I don’t even feel too bad. Tired from the run, but not morally upset like I was with Jargon. In fact, I feel nothing at all by Sparks death. Except, gruesomely, a touch of pride. That was very smart of me. And look how well it worked!

I shake myself out of it.

My cheek hurts. I touch it and my hand comes back bloody. I don’t have any bandages. They’re all at the camp.

I sit up. The camp. Oh no, the other three are probably back by now. They’ll be wondering where Spark and I are.

If I go back with a bloody cheek, Evant’s blade lying in the center of the camp, and Spark’s face appears in the sky tonight… It won’t take Merida and Primer long to figure out what happened.

Mandy would know too, but she’d be on my side.

I’m vaguely wondering if Mandy and I could take Primer and Merida before I realize that can’t happen. Mandy’s best bet is to be with the Careers. Sure, I’ve killed two of them, and that puts the alliance at a disadvantage, but Merida and Primer would probably still be fine with keeping an alliance with Mandy. As long as she doesn’t start any fights on my behalf.

I can’t go back.

Being attacked by an ally definitely constitutes as being “unsafe”. Which means, according to Mags, I should have left two days ago.

I knew it would happen eventually. But I’m going to miss Mandy. I doubt I’ll ever see her again…

That thought sends fear through my body. The Games hadn’t really started for me before. I was still in the first stage of the plan: mooch off the eighteen-year-olds until they get tired of me. Now I’m officially entering stage two. There is no stage three. Let the 65^th Hunger Games begin. For real this time.

I need to go get the bag I hid by the cornucopia. And I should do it tonight, when I know the Careers won’t be out hunting. But I’m so exhausted I eat some of the jerky from Eleven’s backpack and let myself lay there.

The anthem starts. It was a busy day. Spark’s face shows up first, that must be causing a ruckus back at camp. At least now I know that cannon was her.

Then the girl from Ten, she must have been the Mutt death we heard. Then the girl from Eleven whose jerky I’m eating. The sky goes dark and all I hear are bugs and frogs.

I pull the flashlight out of Eleven’s bag and slowly start walking through the forest. I take extra care, but I find nothing but some large and fluffy squirrel-like creature with a long skinny tail. It doesn’t bother me.

I reach the cornucopia. It takes me three trips all the way around to find the tree I marked. The I start searching for the bush where I hid my supplies.

I can’t find it. I search and search, but every bush is empty. Perhaps I buried it deeper than I thought?

I’m exhausted. I decide to look tomorrow. I lay back against a tree and fall asleep.

When I wake, my neck is killing me. The sky getting brighter, it must be just before dawn. I rub my neck and eat some more jerky. Time to find my actual supplies and a good place to set up a permanent camp.

In the light, I quickly locate the right bush. I start digging and I notice the dirt is very, very fresh.

After a few moments, I realize the bag isn’t there. I’m sure this is where I hid the bag that second night. There’s only one reason it wouldn’t be here: somebody else found it. Was I followed? Did someone see the innocent X I carved into that tree and decide to search around? Someone stole my bag.

I take off both backpacks and search through what I have.

In my own bag, I have one half gallon of water, half full, some sandwich meats in a plastic bag, a few apples, some spearheads that are completely useless now that I don’t have a spear, and a piece of bread.

In Elevens bag, I’ve finished off most of the jerky. The nuts and berries are still there, as are the crackers. She had a knife as well. A rope, some plastic, the flashlight I’ve been using…

I don’t have enough here to set up a proper camp. I’ll be through this food in a day, maybe two. The forest is warm, I’ll have to drink a lot. I don’t even have a funnel. I don’t have any iodine either.

This is a disaster. So much for having a plan.

I sit around. Not sure what to do next. I can’t just stay here; I have to go somewhere. But where? Where is better than here? Even if I have plenty of sponsors, I can’t rely solely on Mags to send food. That’s too much food. More money than I could possibly have at my disposal.

I open Eleven’s water bottle to see how much is inside and immediately notice something off.

It smells earthy… She didn’t have a funnel. Where did she get this water? Did she string up her plastic like I did? Or… I shine her flashlight into the water. There is a bit of algae floating on the top. She got this from a lake.

There is a body of water in this arena. A body of water means fish. I can eat fish. All I need is to find this lake. The only problem is, I know just where it is.

In the ravine.

Chapter Text

Going into the ravine where I know there is a monster is not the best idea I’ve ever had. But I need to get to that lake. It’s my only source of food.

I do realize that if Eleven has been eating these nuts and berries, they can’t be poisonous. So, as I slowly creep towards the cliff, I keep an eye out for them.

I’m surprised how quickly I find the berries. Which makes me suspicious. Are these the same berries? They look the same. But how would I know?

I break open one of these new berries and then I break open one of Eleven’s. They look the same on the inside too… Fuck it. I’m almost positive they’re the same, and if not, poison berries is not a bad way to go.

I fill a few more of Eleven’s little bags with them and eat as I walk. They’re not bad. Though I have no idea what they are. Sort of like blueberries.

When I reach the cliff, I just stare at it for a while. How am I supposed to do this? I know for a fact this fall kills. A rope would be ideal. But I only have one now, and ropes are kind of my thing.

I take out Eleven’s rope. It’s long, but probably not long enough anyway.

I walk along the edge until I reach the place where Eleven climbed up. If she can climb up, I can climb down.

I condense the two bags into one, mine, because it’s bigger. I throw Eleven’s bag away and do some stretches that I’m sure won’t help.

This is probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Climbing down into a ravine with a dangerous Mutt? To find some lake I hope has fish? And how am I planning on catching these fish? My bare hands? I don’t have a spear for spear fishing and I only have one rope, not enough to make a net.

But that’s a problem for later.

I ease myself down onto the cliff wall. Fortunately, there’s not a lot of moss, so it’s not slippery. Unfortunately, I’m discovering I am not a rock climber.

How did Eleven do this? I slip twice and almost kill myself. I hit my head on the wall and become very aware I never actually did anything with the cut on my cheek, because it starts bleeding again.

My arms start shaking and I’m not even halfway down. I stop and try to take a few breaths, but it’s hopeless. I’m barely holding on.

I look to my left and that’s when I see the vines.

A tree is growing out of the cliff wall, a few meters to my left. Vines hang down from it so far it touches the floor.

That’s how she got up.

I inch towards the tree as fast as I deem safe and wrap my arms around its trunk. I sit there for a moment. A nice breather. Then I test a vine.

It holds. It’s actually very strong. It’s covered in stringy moss, but it’s not too slippery. I let myself just slide down the vine to the bottom.

I collapse onto solid ground, panting.

“That,” I say out loud, for the audience, “was the worst idea I’ve ever had.”

I pull myself up and stretch out my aching limbs. Which way to water? I decide to just walk straight ahead, away from the cliff wall.

I go slowly, partially because I’m tired and partially because I’m terrified. The Mutt. Who knows what it is or what it could do to me. It’s killed two tributes already, and I don’t want to be next.

At midday, I let myself stop and rest. I finish the jerky and eat one of my precious apples for lunch. It’s terrifying how fast the food disappears.

Again, almost as if Mags has read my mind, a parachute floats down and lands only two feet in front of me.

It’s huge, much bigger than my last. What has Mags sent? A feast? I’ve climbed down into this hell hole to get my own food, if I had known she was just going to send me everything I needed, I wouldn’t have bothered.

But there’s no food in the large box. I open it and at first, I think it’s all ropes. I heave all the ropes out of the bag. They’re excellent. Strong, waterproof, hard to cut. Perfect for making nets. There are not that many of them, only six or seven, but considering I’ll have to lug them around on my back, that’s probably for the best.

I look through the rest of the box. A small medical kit stands out immediately. I snatch it up and look inside. I use the alcohol wipes to clean the wound on my face and then cover it with a bandage. Perfect.

There’s also a lighter, which I slip into my backpack without second thought, a small pot with a hook on the handle that I can attach to my backpack, and iodine. The iodine is a godsend, because I don’t trust the rainwater, but I really don’t trust whatever river or lake Eleven got her water from.

“Thanks Mags,” I say out loud, so she’ll here me. I put the parachute back into the box the supplies came in and shove it under a bush. Hopefully the Gamemakers will collect it when I leave so no one can follow my trail.

I throw my ropes across my chest like a sash and then stand, suddenly carrying a lot more weight than before. Hopefully, the fact that Mags sent this to me now means I’m close to the lake.

I walk for another hour before I hear a splash, somewhere to my left, and wings. Like a water bird just took off.

I rush off in that direction. Keeping my eyes peeled.

It’s odd… not only have I not seen a single tribute or Mutt, but for the last few hours I haven’t seen any of the usual wildlife either. Only birds. You would think the frogs would be all over a body of water, but I haven’t seen a single one.

Before I can wonder about the lack of wildlife, the trees part and I find a huge, algae covered, slow-moving river.

I can’t see the other bank, the river is too wide. Maybe there isn’t another bank. That would be smart of the Gamemakers: have this river span the perimeter of the arena, locking us in. I know enough about water to know trying to swim to the other side when I can’t see it is a death sentence. The most accomplished swimmer wouldn’t make the trip. That’s one of the first things they teach us. Never leave the boat if you can’t see the shore. Sure, the ocean is more dangerous, but the idea is the same.

First order of business: are there fish. If this is an artificial river made by the Gamemakers, with no fish in it, I’m doomed.

The algae makes it impossible to tell what’s in the river. I throw a few rocks into the water, making as much noise as possible, then I decide that, if something was wrong with this river, it’d have happened by now. So, I take off my pack and rope and leave it under a tree by the river bank. I also strip off my coat, shirt, and pants. I put my boots back on, though, because why the hell not. They’re water boots, and who knows what the bottom of that river is like. I don’t need to cut the soles of my feet on sharp rocks. I wade into the water with one of my knives and part some of the algae.

Underneath the layer of green, the water is pretty clear. I take a deep breath and dive down into the water.

It’s dark, because of the algae, but the first thing I notice is that yes, there are fish. However, before I can celebrate, they’re all gone. Two fish I can’t quite identify are swimming towards me from the left, and immediately whip around and swim away at twice the speed when I enter the water.

This is the first thing that gives me a legitimate pause. Fish don’t suddenly change direction unless they sense danger, and I know how to enter water without being a danger. I didn’t make any unnecessary splashes or noise, I’m not even close to them.

If it’s not me, what are they running from.

I emerge from the water and march towards my pack. I grab the flashlight and one of the bigger plastic bags. I put the flashlight in the bag and zip it shut tight. No water getting in there. Then, it’s back to the water.

I submerge again. Now, there are no fish. None to be seen. So, completely strange. I shine my flashlight around under the water, and that’s when I see it.

About twenty feet in, there’s something in the water. From the bank, I mistook it for a rock, but now I know better. A huge, fat, something is standing on the river floor with four feet the size of tree trunks. It doesn’t have a tail, but it’s smooth back and top of its head are poking out of the water. I have no idea what it is, only that it’s giant, and the fish seem afraid of it.

Then it moves.

Just one leg, just a little, but it’s enough for me. I leap from the water, cussing like a madman. I throw the flashlight onto the bank and then I run. I leave my possessions behind. I’ve never seen any creature like this before, which makes me assume it is the Mutt. I trust the fish’s instincts more than my own. If they’re afraid, I’m afraid.

I’m already in the trees when I hear the surface water break and a low moan/roar comes from the river. Then the ground starts to shake. It’s running towards me. It’s fast.

But it has stubs for feet. Can it climb? If it could, they wouldn’t use a cliff to contain it.

I spot another tree with those strong vines and lunge to grab one.

I’ve never been a rope climber. We had a rope to climb at school and I could never get more than a foot up it. But I know the technique and who knew what adrenaline could do. Eventually, I’m able to plant my feet on the trunk of the tree as I climb. I get a good ten feet in the air before it emerges below me.

What the hell is that thing? If I wasn’t so terrified, I’d think it was a bit cute. It has round ears on the top of its head, and its snout is a bit stubby, nostrils on top for breathing in the water. It’s also very fat and round. It looks smooth, with brown, slightly grey skin, and a stubby little tail. Its mouth forms a little smile. Its eyes are on either side of its head, which means it’s probably an herbivore…

But then it opens its mouth, and I know it’s dangerous.

It has teeth, sort of. Two tusks on its bottom jaw and two little teeth in the middle. No teeth on the top. The tusks are as long as knives and look deadly, but they are nowhere near the biggest concern.

It’s how wide it can open its mouth. It could fit its mouth around the entire tree trunk. Its jaw opens so wide, suddenly all I can see is the inside of its mouth. The cute little round ears are gone. All I can see is its jaw, so wide that it appears flat. There are teeth in its throat, maybe, it’s hard to tell from this distance.

Then it roars, and the teeth are not a problem anymore. I clamp my hands over my ears and wait. My teeth vibrate at the noise.

Then it stops. We stare at each other for a few moments. The Mutt seems unable to process how I got up into the tree. It just stands there for a few minutes, while my heart pounds. Eventually, a very brave bird who must have been startled during the roar, lands on the creatures back and starts picking at its skin. The Mutt doesn’t seem to mind or notice.

I’m not sure how long it stands there. It feels like hours. At one point it starts eating the leaves off of a nearby bush.

If it’s an herbivore what the hell does it want with me? Its massive jaw clamps around a large branch of a tree and snaps it no problem, then it repositions everything to focus on the leaves.

That branch was twice the width of my leg. I’m gonna die.

After a few hours, at least, it meanders off, as if this has just been a leisurely outing. Part of me wonders if it forgot I’m up here. I’m not complaining.

I sit quietly, up in my safe tree, for another half an hour. Once I start seeing other wildlife, I decide it’s safe to come down.

What the hell was that thing? It seems too impractical to be made in a lab, completely. If you’re going to make a deadly water creature why make it so… fat? Why not some lizard hybrid that can run on its hind legs and has claws? I assume it’s at least based off a real animal, but I’m from the water District and I’ve never seen anything like it.

I know I will have to go back and get my clothes, all my supplies. If the creature hasn’t swallowed it all whole.

This time I do it right. I tiptoe back to the river, expecting for it to be… I don’t know… doing something. Eating another tribute or breaking trees with its jaw and tusks.

But it’s back where it was before. In the river, just enough to keep its feet on the shallow river floor (I can’t imagine it can swim, something that big with subs for legs would just sink to the bottom like a stone).

It does look incredibly rock-like. It camouflages perfectly. But now that I know it’s there…

I can make out its head. Its little round ears are twitching slightly. Its eyes are closed, though. It’s napping, I realize. It must sleep through most of the day and night. I know from a past Hunger Games that most herbivores are able to sleep a lot more than carnivores, because hunting takes more time. Herbivores are more likely to attack unprovoked, too. Because they have more energy to waste.

I woke it when I disturbed the river. It was protecting its territory. I grab my stuff and walk away as fast as I dare without making any noise.

I need that river. It’s my only option, food-wise. But if disturbing the river causes Mr. Nightmare Monster to attack me…

There’s still something off, though. It’s the fish. Those fish were more than happy to swim around the monster before I stepped foot in the river. It was only after the fish saw me that they shot away.

Maybe I’m giving fish too much credit. But they know their habitat better than I do. Maybe it’s like seals and sharks.

Anyone near the ocean knows that, to avoid shark attacks, you don’t look for sharks. By the time you see a shark, it’s too late. Instead, you look out for seals. Seals are a shark’s favorite snack. And sharks only bite humans when they think we’re seals. That’s why sharks only usually take one bite from humans. They don’t actually like eating us. The first bite is how they realize we’re not seals. Seeing seals is almost as dangerous as seeing a shark.

So what if those fish saw me, and it was like the seals? What if that monster only attacks when a tribute is in the water? And fish could easily find themselves as collateral damage.

How long did I spend on the bank? I even threw rocks into the river. But the monster didn’t budge. What if it’s engineered to notice when tributes enter the water? What if it’s been conditioned to feel threatened when humans enter the water, but not when they’re on the bank?

It might be wishful thinking. I put my clothes back on (being treed whilst in my underwear was not embarrassing at all) and strap on my backpack. I put my rope back across my chest and head to the river.

I don’t even bother with the knife. What am I gonna use a knife for? Picking its huge teeth? No thanks.

I spot it immediately. So, I turn left, and walk away from it. Once I feel I’m far enough away to not be noticed, I look around.

There’s another one. Terrifying.

I don’t bother to keep walking. I’m sure they’re all evenly spaced out, as far as I could go. Oh well. I walk back and find a good spot, with nice trees close to the river, near the first monster, and I build up the courage.

It’s this or starve, Finnick. Pick one. I take a deep breath and blow the loudest whistle I can manage.

Nothing. The monster doesn’t even open an eye.

I grab a large tree branch and throw it into the water with all my might. It makes a huge splash, only a few meters from the monster.

Nothing.

I crouch down at the edge of the water and take a deep breath. I put my finger in the water.

The monster’s eyes shoot open instantly. It looks right at me. It doesn’t move, but I run for it. I climb a tree and wait. But it doesn’t follow me.

Okay. I decide that this has been an eye-opening experiment.

Call me crazy, and I’m sure the audience will, but I can fish under these conditions. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s fish.

I return to the beach for a third time (I can hear my father cussing me out for this) and begin to work. I sit down and weave myself a nice net with my ropes. Then I pick a good, healthy tree and bend it’s branch as far as it can go, so it hangs just above the water. I rig up a few ropes, so it stays like that and tie it. Then I connect the net to the end.

Then, finally, I take a deep breath and cast my net. It’s smaller than most fishing nets, but I’m just one person. I let the net sink to the ground river’s floor and then I sit by my tree and wait.

I could use some bait to make this more efficient. But oh well. Maybe I’ll go digging for worms tomorrow. Today, I’m just hoping to prove I can do this without being attacked.

I need a name for the Mutt. While I’m waiting for a good time to spring my trap, I come up with one.

The closest Mutt, who chased me up a tree, will hereby be known as Herman, after the really big kid I knew when I was five who threw me off a boat once. He also stole all of Dawson’s clothes once when Dawson was in the showers and put them up a flagpole. Fuck that guy.

Finally, the algae covers the entire river once again. I give it another fifteen minutes of everything being quiet and normal before I yank at my knot and the trap snaps into place. I hide, but Herman only opens one eye and sighs before going back to sleep.

The tree branch sprung back to its normal height, bringing the net up and closed. I can see at least three fish in there. Not bad, considering the net size.

Making sure not to disturb the water anymore, I hook a tree branch around the net and pull it towards me. I untie it from the branch and wait for the fish to stop moving.

Behold. Dinner.

I need to leave my other ropes on the tree, so I quickly camouflage them to look like those vines I’ve seen around. It’s not great, but anyone just passing by probably wouldn’t notice or care.

I lug my net away from the river. I’m not setting up camp until I’m far, far away from Herman. For all I know, he’s nocturnal, and will be out of the water tonight.

I doubt it though. I think he’s just lazy.

I find a nice little clearing and I decide it’s good enough. I take out and examine my fish. I caught two different kinds of bass. I’m sure they’re bass, but none that I’ve ever seen before. River versus ocean, it’s bound to happen. Bass are safe to eat.

The third fish is weirder. It’s twice as big as the others, but it’s weird. It’s got… whiskers. Sort of. They’re more fleshy than whiskers. Near the dorsal fins there are some glands I don’t like. Poison? I don’t trust this whisker fish, I throw it aside.

I search around and find a nice flat rock. I clean it with the river water from Eleven’s bag (I’m not drinking anything Herman sleeps in. I’ll catch rainwater). I scrape all the moss off the rock and I have a nice, clean(ish) hard surface to work with.

Then I examine both my knives. The one I brought from the supplies is longer, and serrated. Eleven’s is smaller. I decide Eleven’s knife is now the fish knife. I clean it with some of my purified water.

The rest is easy. The first bass goes on the rock. I slice it up the belly and gut it. Then I descale it. I could do this in my sleep. I chop off its head and get it so it’s ready to be cooked.  

Now… how do I do that.

I clean and gut the other bass and then sit for a moment.

I shouldn’t eat freshwater fish raw. Seabass can be eaten raw, but fresh water is too risky. It could be carrying diseases.

So, it’s a good thing Mags sent me a lighter.

I spend the next hour rooting through the forest looking for anything dry enough to burn. Three attempts at fire and I’m nowhere. Finally, I cut up a tree branch. It’s a fruit tree, so hopefully it will burn. But still, wood is best if you let it sit for a while. Oh well.

There’s a lot of smoke, which isn’t great. But I have three things going for me: one, its dusk, the worst time to see smoke. Two, the trees are so thick, I’d be hard to see smoke through them. And three, the Careers refuse to come down into the ravine and I have no reason to believe anyone else is hunting.

I cook the fish as well as I can. Tomorrow, I’ll set up a device to catch rainwater and boil the fish. It’ll be easier than cooking it over a fire. Maybe if I pick enough berries, I could make some sort of soup. Although that might be gross.

I finally decide any disease has to be dead, and I throw dirt over the fire. I take the cut-up wood that I didn’t use and wrap it up in one of my sheets of plastic. I can use it tomorrow. I use two others to create another rain catching system.

Then I walk another twenty meters or so and set up camp.

I have no more rope for traps. But that’s fine. I find a large bush and start to dig underneath it. I put my pack and supplies under the bush and step back. I can’t see them. Good. That means people won’t be able to see me.

I climb under the bush and cut out a few unnecessary branches, so I have a bit of space. Then I put a piece of plastic above me, like a roof. I’ve basically hollowed out a bush, lining the inside with plastic and making myself a little sleeping area. It’s just big enough for my bag and me if I curl up.

I put my bag under my head and eat my chunks of fish. It’s not bad, considering it’s just fish held over a flame for a while. I eat some berries to wash it down.

It’s getting late, and I’m done for the day. I lounge around in my hiding space until the anthem.

No deaths today, but I got chased by Herman and treed in my underwear, so it was exciting enough. Plus, people are probably still recovering from yesterday.

I put up my hood and curl up. I miss the tent, I’m not sure how my plastic contraption is going to help with the rain. But all in all, I haven’t done too badly.

Sleeping is tough. Every noise makes me jump. Another tribute? Herman? But eventually I nod off. At least I’ve got a plan going forward. It’s a start.

Chapter Text

I spend three days doing nothing but fishing, cooking, and fishing some more. It rains, and my makeshift tent works pretty well. I don’t see a soul. For all I know, I’m the only one stupid enough to hide in the ravine.

The soup was a terrible idea, but boiling the fish works well. I catch a good amount of rainwater.

My biggest achievement is that I discovered the vines all around the ravine could be used as ropes for traps. They’re way, way easier to cut, and I need the braid them together to make sure they hold any real weight, but they work.

And the best part about the vines is that they are already camouflaged. And they’re fun to braid together. I’ve made more than I need to, just for the hell of it. Why not? I’m enjoying myself. By the end of my third day of solitude my area is so full of traps even I’m having trouble maneuvering.

I usually manage two or three fish a day. There’s an issue with unfamiliar fish. One day I pull out my net to discover it’s full of six of the same kinds of fish, all of which are unfamiliar and terrifying. The mouths are filled to the brim with sharp little teeth. I skin one and find poison sacks. Another reason not to go into the water.  

There are no deaths, and I can feel the Capitol audience getting restless. But I’ve done so much for their entertainment I’m hoping they’ll leave me alone.

How many of us are dead? I count on my fingers. The bloodbath killed eight. Then day two there was the girl from Eight. Then the girl from Six and Jargon. The girl from Ten was another Herman casualty, and the girl from Eleven. Spark. All in all, that’s fourteen dead. We’re on day ten. It’s been pretty slow, now that I count it all out.

The Capitol seems to think so too. Because, at noon on day ten, while I’m eating lunch , I hear trumpets.

Claudius Templesmith is inviting me to a feast. At the Cornucopia, tomorrow at midday.

I’m not doing too shabby. I definitely don’t need to risk my life at a feast when I’ve got a good amount of food right here.

But. I could really use some more plastic. Maybe a tent. Because the only thing that’s been really troublesome is the rain.

One night I woke up to the rain creating a mini mudslide right on top of me. I was quite literally drowning in the mud. I hadn’t noticed just how much the ground shifted when it rained. No wonder Evant’s blade and my first backpack were both discovered. The dirt shifts far too much in the rain. It’s hard to sleep in mud soup.

And come to think of it. I really need another weapon. Just a knife is useless. I need a new spear. I tried to make one with a sturdy branch but it really didn’t work.

But going to the Cornucopia is a death sentence. I have no doubt Mandy would let me go, but Primer and Merida will be out for blood. And I’m still not sure what the other tributes have up their sleeves.

But. I’m positive that neither Primer nor Merida would stand being left behind to guard their supplies. Not for a feast.

If they moved, that’s useless, but I can’t see it as likely. They would be abandoning my traps. Which I’m sure they’re now relying on to protect the supplies. I could sneak into their camp during the feast, grab some necessities, and be back in the ravine before the feast even gets going.

I’ve made up my mind. I pack up some fish and the rest of the crackers, my defense knife (as opposed to my fish knife), my one rope from Eleven’s bag, and the flashlight. The rest of my supplies I leave wrapped in plastic in my little bush hut. Why climb a cliff wall with more on my back than I need?

I make it to the wall with little fuss and start going up the same way I went down.

It’s just as hard as I remember. The vines at the beginning make it better. I sit on the tree halfway up to rest, and do the last stretch.

I almost fall and die three times. Why did I do this? I finally get to the top and pause for a second, remembering Eleven’s death, and poke my head up to look around.

It’s almost sunset, and there’s no one around. I heft myself up and immediately run into the forest to find a place to sleep.

Since the feast is at midday, I can actually sleep tonight. So I do. I wait out a rain shower and find a nice bush to hide under.

I wake ridiculously early, and then I wait. I eat a few crackers to entertain myself. Then I just go ahead and eat the fish. I can pick up a few things at the supplies. I wait for around ten am, based on the sun, then I head out. Everyone will have arrived at the Cornucopia at dawn, to scope out a good spot. But now I’m sure I won’t run into any of my former allies.

It takes me a while, I’m having a bit of trouble navigating, but I eventually find the right hill.

I pause at the top, behind a tree, and get a good look around. Unless someone is inside the tent, no one’s home. I step on the low hanging branch and pull myself into the clearing.

Nice to be back. Like I never left. I’m reaching towards the pile when I hear a twig snap behind me.

I jump, whirling around. Maybe the feast is already over? No, it’s not even midday yet. It hasn’t started. Was I wrong about no one staying behind?

I raise my knife and find myself face to face with the giant boy from District Six.

He smiles at me, holding a knife of his own.

“Looks like we had the same idea.”

I jump at the sound of his voice. He’s so normal. Although definitely a man. His caramel skin shines with sweat, his raincoat is gone. Where, I have no idea. He has a huge tear down his pantleg. He’s definitely had an action-packed Hunger Games. He has a pack on his back. A pack I recognize.

“I see you found my backpack,” I say. My voice sounds all high pitched and childish compared to his.

“Yes I did, thanks so much. Why did you hide it?”

“For when my lovely allies decided to kill me.”

That’s when I realize he’s inside the circle of traps.

“But… you know that. Because you’ve been spying on us.”

“Hm? Oh,” he says, smiling. “Yeah. I saw you set up all the traps. This is where the food is, after all.”

I nod. I understand. Wasn’t I doing the same thing with Herman? Staying just far enough away from the predator to not be attacked, just close enough to get the food they’re hoarding.

“Okay. Well—” I make a move to the left, but he matches me. He’s not letting me go that easy.

I’m stuck. I survived Spark, mostly, by outrunning her. My traps gave me a head start. But if he watched me put them up, the traps won’t slow him down. He’s big, and got a ten at training, and I’m screwed.

My heart is beating fast. I’m closer to the supplies, but there’s nothing there I could use. All the weapons are buried, because I assumed weapons would be something we could dig for. All I have is a knife. And fighting with knives means getting too close for comfort.

Running is my only option. Maybe his size means he’s slow. If I make it to the cliff, I might be able to climb down fast than him. If he follows me even that far, I’m sure Herman would be happy to kill the big eighteen-year-old for me. But that means I need to outrun him all that way. He has long legs…

He keeps inching closer. If I’m gonna do something, now would be the time. I inch away from him, he follows. But we’re not chasing yet. Finally, I press my back against the right tree. Behind my back, I find the rope that holds up the nearest trap, and I untie it. Now that trap is useless. Maybe he’ll pause, knowing there’s a trap there.

I bolt. Right over the now useless trap. But he doesn’t hesitate like I had hoped.

He’s not slow; he’s on me in an instant. One giant hand grabs the scruff of my neck like I’m a dog, and practically lifts me off the ground.

The hand throws me down to the ground and all I can see is dirt and moss. His leg hits mine, and I know he’s right on top of me.

I spin around on my back and swing wildly with my knife, hoping to at least make him take a step back. He swings with his knife as well.

My knife drags across his arm. His knife drags across my stomach.

He jumps back in pain, clutching his arm to his body. I’m already seeing stars. My free hand jumps to my stomach and I almost vomit from what I feel. Blood is already soaking through my shirt, and everything is warm and slippery. I’ve never realized I don’t like the smell of blood. Or the feel of blood. Or the sight of blood. At least, not when it’s mine. Somewhere in me adrenaline kicks in and I get the miraculous ability to stand and run.

The running is more crashing. I’m headed back to the cliffside, but I must be going slowly, because after what feels like an hour I’m still not there. I eventually collapse against a tree and discover District Six didn’t follow me.

Of course he didn’t. He only has a short time to gather supplies before my former allies get back. And I’m as good as dead anyway.

I don’t want to look at the wound. Just touching it is enough to make me want to sob. And it hurts, oh wow does it hurt. I’ve never been in so much pain. My whole body is shaking like a leaf and breathing in feels like needles sticking into my chest and stomach. But I need to do something about it, or I’m just going to bleed out.

With one hand still pressed against the wound and gently remove my backpack, then my coat. I try to get my shirt off, but it’s proving impossible. I consider cutting it off, which is when I realize I don’t have my knife anymore. I must have dropped it when I got hit.

I end up just pushing the shirt up over the wound.

I still can’t see anything. Just my stomach covered in blood. It’s getting hard to think clearly. I take out my water bottle and poor a little over my stomach. I take some moss and try to wipe off the blood. It’s a little better. I can see the cut.

Now what? I didn’t bring my medical kit, and even if I did all that’s in there are bandages and alcohol. This is going to need stitching. How am I going to do that?

I’m not, that’s how. It’s over. This is how I die, bleeding out from a wound that could be fixed easily anywhere else. It doesn’t even look that deep.

When the parachute lands, I almost throw it aside. Can’t they see it’s over? Even if I do get everything stitched up, that doesn’t mean it’s healed. Will I be able to climb down the cliff like this? No. Which means no more food. If I stay up here, eventually Primer and Merida will find me and take their revenge for killing their District partner. I don’t even have a knife anymore.

But I open the parachute anyway, because it’s from Mags. It holds exactly what I thought it would hold: a kit to stitch up wounds. Moving my torso even an inch is painful. Reaching to untie the parachute almost makes me black out. I can’t imagine what sticking a needle in my stomach is going to feel like, even if my shaking hands could do such a thing.

I open the little kit and I’m surprised to see there’s no needle in there. There’s a large bandage, waterproof, that I suppose goes all the way around my stomach once everything’s done. There’s something that looks like Dawson’s EpiPen. And there’s… a stapler. A weird looking stapler. The injection-pen thing reads “anodyne” which I vaguely understand means painkiller.

I jab the pen into my stomach, near the cut, praying I did it right.

The effect is almost instant. My whole stomach goes completely numb. I almost cry from the relief.

Then I grab the stapler. They’ve got to be kidding, right? I’m supposed to staple myself?

I try to grab at the two ends of my cut but with all the blood, my fingers just slip off. So I grab some more moss and try to clean it all off. I pour some more water on there and reposition myself.

This whole thing makes me want to throw up, but I refuse, because what if the cut actually reached my stomach and throw up starts to come out of it? I shudder at how gross that would be.

Eventually, I manage to pinch one end of the wound together and staple it shut.

Even with the painkillers, I feel something. It’s not pleasant. And it doesn’t look pretty, either. I do it over and over and over again. I have seven in there, and there’s still some bleeding.

It takes nine staples to make the bleeding stop. I pour more water over the wound, but I’m running low, and then wrap the bandage snuggly around everything. Then I lie down on my back and immediately lose consciousness.

I wake up in complete darkness. It takes me a moment to remember where I am. I sit up and cry out in pain. The painkillers wore off. Making effort not to move, I get myself to eat the last of the fish and drink some water in the dark and then fall asleep again.

The next time I wake, it’s morning. I’m hoping it’s the morning after the feast, and I’ve only been out for a day. But who can know for sure?

I lift my head and check the bandage. There’s no blood seeping through it, so that’s a good sign. I also kept down the food I ate last night, which is probably another good sign. Maybe. I can’t be sure.

I sit up and yell out in pure pain. But I can’t yell, Primer and Merida will not hesitate to kill me. Unless they’ve been killed in the feast.

How do I know who’s dead and who’s not if I sleep through the anthem? At home, there’s a running list. But in here? When I fell asleep, there were still ten tributes, including me. Now? Who knows. I can’t imagine Mandy is dead. That’s completely insane. And the boy from Six is probably still around. But besides that… I’m out of the loop, the only weapon to my name is down a cliff I’ll never be able to scale in this condition and it’s just a stupid fish knife. I have no food on me. All I’ve got is a rope, a flashlight, and a belly wound.

My shirt is completely ruined. The blood hasn’t dried in the humid weather and it’s making me sick. Not to mention the long cut in it. I just take it off and throw it aside.

I take small sips of water, though I’m running low, and I think.

A rope, a flashlight, and a belly wound. No idea how many enemies are out there. No way to fight them even if I did know.

Maybe this is a sign.

After all, wasn’t this my worst fear? I knew I was going to die, but I didn’t want to suffer. I didn’t want to be in pain. Well, here I am. Shaking from the pain of raising my water bottle to my lips. Day eleven, there are somewhere between ten and two tributes left in the arena, and it’s definitely closer to ten than two. How much longer am I going to pretend? I have a rope. Maybe it’s time.

Now I’m shaking for a different reason. I don’t want to die. But…

I fumble with my backpack and pull out the rope. I’m crying. From the pain? Maybe. I doubt it. I begin tying the knot my dad taught me. But before it looks like anything the audience would recognize, another parachute comes floating towards me.

Come on, Mags. She can’t seriously believe I can win this. Why is she trying so hard? All it’s doing is confusing me.

I throw aside the knot and scoot towards the parachute as fast as my wound will let me. It’s a very small package. I’m expecting painkillers, but that’s not what I find.

In the wrapping is a warm, fresh, chocolate chip cookie.

Now I’m really crying. Why would she do this? As necessities go in a Hunger Games arena, chocolate is probably at the end of the list. I laugh slightly. She’s trying to cheer me up, and it’s working. I hate her for it. Because how can I kill myself now? After she’s showing me this kindness? She must honestly believe in me to try so hard to protect me from myself. Can I really let her down now?

I sit with my back against a tree and nibble on my warm cookie. I must sit there for at least an hour. Eventually, the cookie is gone, and I’m feeling a bit better.

I’m still in a huge, huge amount of pain. But hey, if this is the worst thing that could happen to me in the arena, I’m handling it pretty well. If I could just… get back to my old little camp. I have so many traps set up, my not having a weapon or full mobility won’t even matter. I have a feeling I could use Herman to kill any intruder. My only real issue is getting down there without falling and dying.

I eventually pull myself up and start hobbling. It’s slow going, and I have to stop a lot and breath through the pain. I don’t have any more painkillers, but maybe I can make something else work.

When I get to the cliff, I take out my rope and tie it tightly around the nearest tree. It only reaches about half way down, but then I can use my helpful little tree and it’s helpful vines to climb down the rest of the way.

But I still won’t make it. Not with this much pain. But that’s okay, because I have come up with possibly the stupidest plan to ever exist, which could only be created by someone with very little will to live.

After searching the forest for fifteen minutes I find my prey. A bright red and yellow frog. I use the sleeve of my shirt to pick him up and then take off my bandages. I only let the bastard touch the skin of my stomach for a second, but it’s enough. My whole torso goes completely numb. Perfect!

I throw the frog away and test out my limbs. They’re fine, though I don’t have as much mobility as I’d like. But oh well! Time to climb down a cliff!

I take my rope and tie knots in it every few feet. Hopefully, that will help. And then, well, no time like the present, I throw my rope over the cliff and start making my way down.

I start shaking almost immediately. Thank goodness I thought of the knots, because otherwise I’d have already fallen. I reach the end of the rope and look down.

I’ve got about three feet before I get to rest at the tree. I place a foot in a crevice and grab the rocks with my hand and immediately lose my grip and fall, hitting the tree hard.

I grip it for dear life and manage not to fall the rest of the way. In other news, the pain is back.

I wrap both arms around the tree branch and sit there for… a while. An hour? Maybe even longer. I know I’ll need to start climbing down, but I can’t even imagine it.

So I start grabbing the vines around me and weaving them together. I want to make a ladder, but in the end I just make another very skinny, very long net.

When the sun begins to set, I decide I have to do something. I let the vine net fall to the ground and then weave three vines together for stability and tie it around my chest, beneath my armpits. Then, I start inching my way down the net and immediately fall.

I fall for two whole seconds before the vines I tied around myself become tight and I stop. Then, almost immediately, the vines break and I fall the rest of the way.

I hit the ground hard and all my breath leaves my lungs.

I lie there, trying to breathe. In and out and in and out. Eventually, my breath gets back to normal. Nothing appears to be broken… The vine stopping my momentum half way down probably saved my life.

It’s dark by the time I manage to hobble back to my camp. I’ve barely eaten anything, so I gobble up the rest of my nuts and berries. I leave one of each so I can gather more with a reference.

The anthem plays. No deaths. But I’m so out of the loop that doesn’t really tell me much. I climb into my old hovel and fall asleep.

Chapter Text

It takes me another three days to fully recover. In that time there are no deaths, but I do wake up in the middle of a rainstorm on the third night to a huge rumbling noise back towards the cliff. There are huge cracks, like whole trees uprooting.

But it’s far enough away not to concern me.

I fish. I eat. I sleep. I start over. Mags sends me another injection pen which I take without question. It’s not painkillers, unfortunately, but I do feel a bit better after I take it. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking. Anyway, if Mags thinks I need it, then I probably need it.

On the fourth day since the feast, the day after the rumbling, I wake up, stretch, check my wound (yucky), and reapply the bandages just like normal. Then, I head out to the river to fish and spend a few good hours staring at Herman waiting for him to kill me.

The big monster hasn’t given me any trouble. Though sometimes I do hear them roaring to one another early in the morning. Which I hate. However, Herman and I at least have all figured out.

I’m still a bit confused by the boy from Six. Mostly his Ten in training is confusing. Because, sure, he’s big, but he’s got nothing on Mandy. He was very inexperienced with that knife. And then he just let me go? Odd. The one thing that he has going for him is he was smart enough to follow the Careers and I to our camp and learn how to steal. But if he always knew how to get in, why not come in when I was alone and kill me then? He didn’t seem to have any problem killing me a few days ago.

I don’t like not understanding my enemies. Herman and I get along just fine. And hopefully the boy from Six is smart enough to stay away.

I keep an eye on Herman and cast my net. Then I sit back in my usual spot—a nice tree surrounded by bushes, where Herman can’t quite see me, and wait for the algae to cover the net again, so the fish trust this section of the river and start swimming here again.

It takes a while. But I’ve got all the time in the world. Fishing calms me down. I just wish I was on a boat and not sitting on a riverbank hiding from Herman.

My first catch doesn’t reap many rewards, only one fish I’d feel safe eating, so I recast and sit back again, my one prize attached to my backpack.

That’s when I hear movement.

I immediately think it’s Herman, and I tense, ready to start climbing, but then I realize it’s coming from behind me, far to my right, away from Herman. It’s another tribute.

Whoever they are, they’re headed right towards the other monster, about a hundred yards from Herman and I, whom I have named Patricia. I’ve stuck close to Herman because I know at least he cannot climb. I’m assuming all the monsters are the same, but how to tell? It’s best to stick with the devil you know.

Still, if this new tribute wakes Patricia, I should get lost. Patricia is far away, but she’s still a monster in my general vicinity.

I’m slowly getting to my feet, reaching up to climb my tree, when I see my opponents.

There are three of them, and one of them is huge. Mandy. Mandy, Primer, and Merida. They’ve finally decided to venture into the ravine.

That’s when I notice they’re all covered in mud. From head to toe, they’re caked in dried mud. What happened to them?

I’m frozen, I should be climbing, but I also want to get closer and listen to their conversation. I want to say hi to Mandy. But that’s a terrible idea. Because Merida wanted to kill me since day one and I’m sure Primer’s come around to her way of thinking by now.

I sit in my hiding place, waiting. They’re all stripping off their filthy clothing and I realize why a second too late.

Mandy dives into the river water, swimming gracefully, a mere twenty feet from Patricia, whom she must think is a rock, just like I did. I see Patricia raise her head, confused, a bit dopey, but she won’t stay docile for long.

I am no longer thinking about Primer and Merida. I’m only thinking about Mandy. I leap from my hiding spot.

“MANDY!” I shout at the top of my lungs “OUT OF THE WATER!”

All three hear me, but they obviously can’t make out what I’m saying from so far away. Merida stands up but does not get out of the river. Primer and Merida are already reaching for their weapons, shouting to each other. But it is Patricia who worries me. She lifts her head up even higher, looking at me, then over her shoulder at Mandy, who still hasn’t noticed.

I’m shaking with fear. I start running towards Mandy, desperate to make her understand. I’m waving my arms over my head.

“MANDY!” I shout again.

Then I cup my hands on either side of my mouth and make a loud “EEEEOOOEEEOOO” sound. The sound of our shark warnings back home.

Now Mandy gets it. She races from the water as fast as she can, still not sure what she’s running from. Primer and Merida are so confused by Mandy’s desperate escape, they forget about me.

That’s when Patricia starts moving.

The memory of almost getting eaten by Herman is still fresh. I scurry up the nearest tree, only about seven feet up, but enough that Patricia can’t reach me. I’m positioning myself on the tree when I hear Mandy shout. It’s a horrible, horrible sound. Mandy yells out in pure pain. I whip my head around and see the monster clamp its huge jaw and giant tusks around Mandy’s torso.

I hear her bones snap from where I’m hiding and I know, immediately, she won’t recover.

But Mandy still has fight in her. She has a knife in hand and stabs Patricia right in the eye. The monster drops her, rearing its head. I clamp my hands over my ears, knowing what’s coming. But I still hear the horrible, teeth shattering roar.

Primer and Merida do not bother helping Mandy. They run, weapons and packs abandoned, hands clamped over their ears. Patricia pursues them.

And then all that’s left is Mandy. Broken body on the bank of the river, surrounded by packs and weapons and loose clothes.

I know Patricia will be back soon. Primer and Merida probably won’t bother. They can just get more supplies from their camp. I wouldn’t be surprised if they run all the way back to the cliff and don’t stop until they’re back to safety.

Part of me wants to join them. To run back to my hideout and shut my eyes and try to forget the horrible, horrible thing I just witnessed.

But Mandy. She’s not moving. Her canon might have gone off during the roar. But what if it didn’t? I can’t leave her there.

I look at Herman. He hasn’t moved. I gently climb down from the tree and inch towards Mandy.

I don’t want to get closer. I don’t want to see whatever that monster has done to my friend. But Mandy promised my father she would end my suffering when my time came. Don’t I know owe her the same?

I hear her gasping and whimpering, which means she’s still alive. I tiptoe towards her and kneel next to her.

She jumps when I enter her peripheral vision, but she seems to calm down when she sees it’s me.

I don’t have a knife. My fish knife is with my firewood, hidden at my camp. My plan was to let Herman kill anything dangerous, and to run from Herman himself. But Mandy is still holding onto hers.

Both her legs are pointed in odd directions. Her chest is caved in, so is her waist. I try very hard not to look. I focus on her face. She’s crying, blood bubbling out of her mouth. I put a comforting hand on her cheek, hoping it helps. What do you say to someone so obviously about to die? She looks very young. Nothing like the adult I shook hands with in District Four.

I’m crying too, now, but I need to be strong for her. I reach for the knife in her hand, and she immediately gives it to me. She even repositions my hand, showing me the best way to hold it. Giving me permission.

I take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

She’s gurgling something I don’t understand.

“No, it’s okay, don’t try to speak.”

But she shakes her head. She presses her finger to my chest and looks at me, hoping I’ll understand.

“Yes,” I say. “I… I understand.”

I don’t. But it gets her to calm down. I cradle her head, and she nods. I let myself take one more deep breath, and I slit her throat.

She convulses for a few moments, and I hold her. Finally, she goes still, and her cannon fires.

I’m sobbing now. But I have to go before Patricia gets back. I close her eyes, because that’s all I can do for her anymore, and stand.

Three backpacks are set up beside a nearby tree. I grab all three. Mandy would want me to have hers and Primer and Merida won’t miss theirs. Primer had a few knives and a bow and arrow. Merida had a sword. I don’t want either of these weapons. A sword would do nothing for me, and I can’t even figure out how to string a bow and arrow, I never got around to learning how to shoot one. I take the sword, because might as well have it, right? And I keep Mandy’s knife.

I decide to leave my net all set up. Probably bad for the trap and the rope but I’m not going back towards the river. I make my way back to my camp and curl up in my hovel.

I cry and cry and cry. Mandy was supposed to win. It’s not fair. She was caught off guard. Anyone would have died from that. What good is having training if the Gamemakers kill off the really impressive tributes for no reason?

If this “game” of theirs had any honor, Mandy would have won. She was prepared. She was capable. She should have been the winner.

Who was going to win now? Merida? Primer? The thought makes me outrageously mad. Those two are only still alive because Mandy won the fight at the Cornucopia and got them all that supplies. Because Mandy took the role of leader and made all those good calls. They’ve been surviving on Mandy’s coattails. And now they get to go home?

Not just Mandy’s coattails! Mine as well! I’m the one who caught rainwater for them, so they didn’t die of thirst. I’m the one who set up those traps and kept their food safe. Me, me, me.

The idea that I helped one of those two become Victor makes me unbelievably angry. Why did Mandy and I form an alliance with them anyway? We could have gone off together. She could have grabbed us enough supplies at the cornucopia, I could have gotten us fish and rainwater, set up traps. Why did we ever bother with them? Those two who didn’t even try to help her when things went south.

Or maybe the boy from Six will win. The one who cut my stomach open and only survived off of my backpack. The one who Mandy was so worried about taking sponsors from her. As though he was ever a threat to her.

Who else is left? I have no way of knowing because of how I missed the feast’s cannons. But if no one died there then… Analee from Three, the boy from five who got a three at training, the girl from nine who wore that purple dress at the interviews, and two others who I can’t even remember.

These are the people left to claim victor? Two useless careers, a boy who’s only impressive because he’s tall, a smart girl who can’t tie a simple knot, a boy who got possibly the worst score in training you can get, a girl who’s only memorable for her interview dress, and two who I can’t even think of. These are who are left? These are the people who survived longer than Mandy Tarlek?

I huff. Suddenly angry instead of sad. I climb out of my hiding place and sort through the packs.

There’s nothing useful here. It’s all garbage. In fact, I’m surprised Primer and Merida didn’t pack better.

There are a few packages of dried beef, a little baggy of cold cuts (ham I think), some very bruised oranges (covered in mud), an unopened bag of gram crackers, and two half-filled bottles of water. Also an extra knife each and one flashlight.

However, Mandy’s bag is a bit stranger. Some jerky, a cucumber, a can of applesauce, and some water. But also a knife blade with no handle, a pot for cooking, five very dirty sheets of plastic, and a small tent that can be folded up.

What the hell happened? This wasn’t the usual stuff they brought on hunts. Still, there’s more food than I thought, so I’m not complaining. I eat the cold cuts, because I haven’t eaten meat that’s not fish in a while. Then I sit around, grumpy.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Mandy was supposed to win it all. And now there is no one capable of winning. Not even deserving, because let’s be honest, we all deserve to go home. I mean… capable. Primer and Merida can’t even feed themselves. District Six will probably steal all their supplies and then be done with it. But District Six hasn’t killed a single person, and even let me live when he could have easily killed me with a bit more skill or aggression. Could he really do what it takes to win?

And then the others. For all I know they’re out there, half starved, hiding. None of them have any kills under their belts. They may not have any weapons at all. How will they finish this?

But if none of them do it, the Gamemakers are going to do it for them. It’ll be less about who can kill to survive and more about who can survive the most attacks from Herman. I don’t want to be bombarded by Gamemaker mutts until one finally catches me and I die a slow painful death. Somebody out there needs to strap on a pair and take the crown. So the rest of us don’t have to suffer through whatever the Gamemakers decide is quality entertainment.

I completely miss the parachute landing. I’m sitting against a tree, grumbling angerly to myself, and then I turn to grab my water and there it sits, a few feet to my left. Who knows how long it’s been there.

What do I need right now? Nothing. I’m doing great. Except that Mandy’s dead and I’m bubbling over with anger about it. I’m not sure what Mags thinks I need. I even have a sword, not that I know how to use it.

It’s a huge package, long and slender, the biggest I’ve gotten yet. I’m still racking my brain for what I could possibly need from a sponsor. Bait for Herman so he’ll leave me alone? I unwrap the package and freeze, staring.

It’s a trident. A beautiful, brand-new trident with designs on the handle. Not like the stuff we have in Four, which are always covered in rust and a bit dull. The teeth are sharp and perfect. Not a chip on it.

“Oh—” I whisper.

How much did this cost? I can’t remember anyone getting sent a weapon in the Hunger Games before. I know weapons are one of the most expensive things to send. And this is on day fifteen! A bottle of water costs more than my father’s boat. It must have been a whole group of powerful sponsors. Mags must have started polling money from the very first day. And she’s never even seen me use a trident. She just trusted me to know what to do.

She won’t be disappointed. I gingerly pick up the weapon and swing it around in my hand. Perfectly balanced. It feels familiar in my hand.

And suddenly, I feel foolish. I know exactly what Mandy was trying to tell me in her last moments. And I’ve been huffing about the depressing remaining tributes for nothing. I know exactly who has the skill and guts to finish this.

Me.

Chapter Text

When I wake up the next morning, hands closed tight around my trident, and a plan has already formed.

Something happened in the main part of the arena. Something that was very loud, rumbled over the night, and broke trees. Something that caused my former allies to stuff their bags full of food and flee down into the ravine, which they agreed not to do a long time ago. Odds are they were not the only ones.

The Gamemakers made the arena smaller. They’ve condensed everyone into the section with the horrifying monsters.

So. I eat a large breakfast and set out to check all my traps. I’ve set up at least two dozen of them around the area. Sure enough. One of them has been set off, and then cut loose. I’ve caught someone already.

If your trapped in a ravine and you know there are monsters at one end, where do you hide? Near the cliff. So that’s where I’ll head first. I weave a bunch of vines for new traps at my camp, and I set out towards the cliff.

Sure enough, the cliff has seen better days. It’s covered in slippery mud.

So, let’s say you’re running from a mudslide, or something like that, and you need to get down a cliff. Where do you climb down, while covered in slippery mud? Why how about the convenient knotted rope that a very injured tribute left up a few days earlier.

So I start there. I set a few traps and then move out. But the fun part is that, when I set up each trap, I connect a long line of vines that I’ve tied together to the mechanism and trail it back towards a new hiding spot nearby. If a trap is set off, the vine near my hiding spot will fly backwards several feet. Like an alarm.

It takes all day to accomplish. Twice I have to stop and sit because of my belly wound. I head back to my new camp, a bit dissatisfied with my work so far—I was hoping to have more traps set by now—when I look at my alarm system.

I have all my long vines snaked across the forest floor and then attached to one of my traps on one end, and a small rock on the other. When the trap is set, the rock falls off the log where I put them and into my cooking pot, where it will make a noise. Then I just follow that vine to the tripped trap.

One stone already lies in the pot.

Did someone really set off a trap already? Or is my system just flawed? Only one way to find out. I keep my trident at the ready and march towards the correct trap.

Sure enough. A girl with frizzy brown hair is untangling herself from my trap as quickly as she can. She’s the girl from Nine. I remember she’s only fifteen, only the younger side, like me. My stomach flips slightly at the thought of killing her. She probably has friends and family, who will be forced to watch this.

But I’m not the one who threw her into an arena to die. Just because she’s not an active threat towards me doesn’t mean her being alive isn’t dangerous. It’s not my fault, I either kill her or the Gamemakers will. At least I’ll be quick about it.

She sees me. She’s basically free from my trap. She runs for it, but there’s still a vine attached to her leg, so she won’t make it far. But she wouldn’t make it far anyway. She’s only twenty feet from me. I can hit a fish at thirty.

My trident buries itself into her back, and I can tell from here it hit her heart.

She collapses, already limp. I take the trident out of her back and wait for a moment. Her cannon goes off only a few minutes later.

She has basically nothing in terms of supplies. A loaf of bread and some… cake? Sponsors, I suppose. Also some matches which are wet and useless, a waterbottle, some more iodine, and a piece of plastic. I take the iodine and plastic but leave the rest. The cake looks good, but if it was sent by a sponsor then I have no rights to it. Maybe it was her birthday, and her District made a fund… I shake myself out of it.

I close her eyes, because that’s what I do when I’m feeling guilt, I suppose, and reset the trap.

Who is left? I write it out in the dirt with a stick. In the bloodbath, there were eight deaths. Both from Twelve, the boy from Eleven, the boy from Ten, both from Seven, the boy from 5, and Evant.

Within those next two days, the girl from Eight got killed by one of Herman’s friends, I killed Jargon, and Mandy killed the girl from Six. That makes eleven dead.

Then, on day seven, I go out hunting with my allies. The girl from Ten gets killed by Herman, and the girl from Eleven gets killed by Primer. Then I kill Spark. That’s fourteen.

There are no more deaths until the feast. That’s when things get hazy.

I know for sure that I, Primer, Merida, Mandy, and the girl from Nine all survived that day. And I will assume the boy from Six did as well.

I just killed the girl from Nine, and Mandy was killed by that monster. That means the Known Death Count is now at sixteen.

I know for certain there are four people in this arena at this moment, including myself. At the very least there is me, Primer, Merida, and the boy from Six.

However, Analee from Three, the boy from Five, the boy from Eight, and the boy from Nine could all be alive as well.

There are somewhere between three and seven enemies left in the arena. That means they’ve definitely started interviewing families already… I wonder what my dad thinks of this new gift… Does he know I’m trying to get home now?

I can’t think about that right now. If an accident can kill Mandy, an accident can kill me. I can’t start thinking about getting home just yet. Three to seven enemies. That’s what I’ve got to deal with. If my hunch is correct about the mudslide/ flood, all of them are in the ravine.

Each day, I set up more traps. On the second day of my new technique, a trap gets set off, but no one is there by the time I reach it.

When I wake up on the third day, I take inventory. I was hoping the supplies I have set would last me the rest of the games, but I might need to start fishing again, which would suck. That means walking all the way back to the river, away from my traps. Not to mention seeing one of those monsters kill my friend does not make me keen on going back and hanging out with them.

I’m just putting everything back in my bags when one of my traps spring. I jump to my feet and head out. I’m about halfway there when a cannon fires.

I stop, looking around. Everything looks normal. But could it be a coincidence that, after my trap sets off, someone died? Maybe they got caught the wrong way and choked? But it took them quite a while to choke if that’s the case.

I get down low and practically crawl forwards. Eventually, I hear voices.

“This is the second one we’ve seen,” says Primer, annoyed. “He’s got to be around here somewhere.”

“The one you got caught in was a quarter of a mile that way. He’s covering a lot of area if he’s just using these traps for protections,” says Merida.

“You think he’s hunting.”

“Yes.”  

“We have no proof he killed Spark.”

“He killed her. And he killed Evant. I told you, Evant was planning on crossing the kid off during the bloodbath for sponsor reasons. Finnick killed him. He’s been playing us from the start.”

“Well, what do you want to do?”

“Maybe we should have left this guy up there,” says Merida. “Like bait.”

“Does Finnick even have a weapon?”

“He has my sword.”

“You saw him in the sword section of training, he’s worthless at it. In a fight, we’ll beat him no problem. As long as we don’t get caught in one of his traps, we’ll be fine. We just have to keep looking for him.”

“But his camp is sure to be surrounded by traps. I say we go back to the river, we know he’s using it for food.”

“Go back there! Are you insane? I don’t know what sort of magic Finnick cast over that monster to keep it from attacking him, and I don’t have any need to find out. I’ll take my chances with the kid’s little traps. If you follow behind me everywhere we go, we’ll never both get caught.”

They have a point. I hadn’t considered that they’d still be working as a team. Primer’s right about that making my traps worthless. They’ll just cut each other free before I get there.

I peak through the bushes. They’re standing there, frowning down at a disabled trap with the boy from Five’s body tangled in it. They must have found him first, killed him, and now they’re discussing the best way to kill me.

Unfortunately, they’ve both acquired new weapons. Primer has a spear, and Merida a new sword.

Where’s my nearest trap. Probably about fifty yards to our right. But it would only trap one of them. Still, that’s better than two on one.

If I’m going to kill these two, now would be the time. I’ll never get a better opportunity. They’re looking for me, what if they sneak up on me in the night? Either I can beat them here and now, or I can’t beat them.

I slide my backpack off, it’ll just slow me down.

“What we need is to find another one of his traps and then wait by it. I’m sure he comes and checks them every once in a while,” says Merida.

“He hasn’t checked this one.”

“Sure I have,” I say. A flare for the dramatic, as always.

I step out into the open, trident at the ready.

Both of them jump and take a step back. Then they raise their weapons.

“Hi,” I say.

The real question is whether or not Primer will throw that spear. If he does, I’m not sure I’ll survive this. But then he’ll be without a weapon, which is the reason I can’t throw my trident. Because even if I kill one of them, the other will be on me. But if Primer throws his spear, Merida will have a weapon ready to finish me off.

So the big question is will Primer be willing to let Merida claim my death?

There are death counters in the Capitol, to help with betting. But they’re flawed. Technically, Mandy would count as my death, because I’m the one who actually killed her. Even though Patricia did the deed. If someone had stumbled upon me when I was unconscious from Six’s knife wound, and slit my throat, they’d get all the credit, even though the only reason I was so easy was because Six did all the work.

But having a high kill count is good for Sponsors. And Primer is still only at one… maybe. Depends on what happened during the feast. Either way, will he hand over a kill to his ally like that?

“Nice new toy,” says Merida.

I realize she’s referring to the trident.

“I have very generous sponsors,” I say. “Nice of Evant to come at me like that at the bloodbath. I have a feeling we would have pulled a lot of the same crowd. Not sure he was expecting me to be so good with a knife.”

This makes her angry, which probably won’t hurt or help me, so I let her get worked up. For fun.

“Spark too?” says Primer.

This is the tricky one. Will telling the truth make him so angry he wants to kill me himself, or so angry that he’ll throw his spear? I take a chance.

“Spark too. She found out about Evant. I mean, they both started it. I was just defending myself, I’m sure you understand.”

They do not.

They both start at me and I turn and run. Fifty yards. Can I outrun them fifty yards? I have a few feet head start, not to mention an intimate knowledge of the terrain by now. I leap over a few logs and spot my trap. Well camouflaged. I know better than to hope they’ll set it on their own, so a few feet in front of it, I turn towards them.

“You wouldn’t want to tell me how many people are left, right? I was out of it the day of the feast. Did you guys… kill anyone that day?”

They’re both breathing heavy. They look at me with pure disgust. They’re not gonna answer. Oh well.

“You two should be happy I’m fighting you out here,” I say. “My old plan was to lead anyone back to the river and let the monsters do it for me.”

“Monsters plural?” says Primer.

I snort. “Uh, yeah? I’ve spotted at least five. But they don’t bother you if you know how to talk to them. Which makes them more polite than either of you.”

Primer lunges first, which works out fine for me. I jump to the side and twirl my trident in my hands. My hilt hits his back hard, and I push him right onto my trap.

It springs perfectly. The trap folds up around him and lifts him five feet into the air. He keeps a hold of his spear, but it’s in the net with him and completely useless. He can’t throw it until he’s back on the ground, and spears are no good at cutting.

“You idiot!” shouts Merida.

“Just cut me down!”

“Feel free,” I say, “the vine holding everything up is right over there.”

I point to the now taunt vine that is directly behind me. Merida scoffs.

“Want to fight? Fine. You’ve only made it this far because you surprised us, shorty. You’ve got nothing left up your sleeves.”

I laugh, because she’s so, so wrong on that front. She’s never seen me use a trident.

The fight, if you could call it that, is even easier than I thought it would be. Why does anyone bother with spears? Tridents are superior in every way.

She slashes with her sword. A long slash that would take my head clean off, but tridents are easy to move where I need. I intercept her arc in between the teeth of the trident and then twist the handle and send her sword flying out of her hand.

Easy.

I plant the teeth of the trident in the ground and jump up, planting both feet on her chest, and sending her flying backwards.

Her back hits the ground at the same time my feet do. I step forward, bring the trident with me, and plant on foot on her dominant hand. Then I bring the trident down, middle prong right through her neck.

I take out the trident and focus on Primer, who is frantically cutting himself loose with a knife I didn’t know he had.

I pick up my trident and throw it right at him. It buries itself in his chest at the same time Merida’s cannon fires.

I run towards him and rip my trident back. Blood spurts from Primer’s wounds and the trap gives. He falls to the ground with a grunt. After a few moments of twitching, he goes still. A few more moments and his cannon fires.

Well. That was… easy. Am I really good or were they secretly bad? It’s hard for me to tell.

That’s three deaths in a matter of minutes. The Capitol must be besides themselves. It leaves anywhere from one to four opponents left in the arena. For all I know, the boy from Six is all that’s left between me and District Four.

I look at Merida and Primer. Oddly enough, this is the first time I don’t feel anything over killing someone. I mean, it had to be done, they’d have done the same to me. It’s not like I even tricked or outsmarted them, I was just better.

Neither of them have backpacks. So, I suppose my guess that a mudslide or something destroyed their supplies is pretty accurate. They do have water containers, however. But I really don’t need another water bottle. I’ve got plenty of them.

I slide the sword into Merida’s belt and tie Primer’s spear to him. He never did throw that thing at me, they could have lived if he had. I doubt I’d have been able to block it with my trident, I know how accurately he could throw. He wanted the glory of the kill. Too bad.

I untangle Primer from my trap and close both of their eyes. Then I stand back and watch the hovercraft come and take them away. Goodbye, former allies. I’m sorry we ever had to meet. I’m sorry you were brainwashed by whomever to volunteer for this crap…

I stand around for a moment, thinking about Primer and Merida. I wonder what the training centers are like in Districts One and Two… Now that I think about it, I have no idea what the training center is like in Four either.

What do those places do to kids? To make them want all this… What do they teach? Besides how to throw a spear. Couldn’t they have taught Primer not to seek out glory? I’m assuming Primer and Merida started as young as Mandy. And the harsh truth is that I beat them because I was just… smarter. I played the game better. I’m good with a trident, sure, that’s a big part of it. But they’re plenty talented.

It seems like if a District will put money and resources into training kids to fight to the death, they could at least train them on things that would actually help. How to work in an alliance, how to play a long game. I’m not sure Mandy even knew.

I head back to where I found Primer and Merida and grab my backpack. It’s still there. Still has everything in it. Then I head back to camp.

Now what?

Somebody died during the feast, I’m almost positive. If no one died, the Gamemaker’s would have done something immediately afterwards to make up for it. But I had days of peace after the feast.

If I’m being optimistic, District Six is the only one out there. At the very least, he’s the only one I can plan for.

Primer and Spark set off my other trap, which means District Six hasn’t set off a single one. He knows enough about my traps to avoid them by now.

I’m still not sure about him. I’ve only met him once. Who is he? He’s playing the Game smart. He’s hiding and stealing. Not something I’d have expected from someone his size. And since Primer and Merida lost their supplies, I’m probably the only one worth stealing from.

I look around, paranoid. I can’t see him. How is he hiding so well, anyway?

When I got a good look at him at the Career camp I noticed he was just as tall as Mandy, but not quite as large. I’m not sure how strong he is, or what he did to get that Ten. He has muscle, but no skill.

He probably grabbed a weapon from the supplies after I ran, so I can assume he’s armed with more than a knife. Still, with a trident I might be able to take him. Definitely if I catch him off guard.

The hard truth is that if he was following and watching for those first few days to the first week and I never knew, there’s no reason to believe I’ll spot him now. He’s very smart, but I’m not sure what he’s doing now that there is no huge pile of supplies to steal from.

Maybe I’m underestimating my other tributes, but I can’t imagine they have more than a backpack each. So… There’s just my camp. Covered in traps as always, I’m sleeping under a bush in between three trees all clumped together. Technically, I have a good amount of food. But none of its out in the open. And is there really enough of anything to steal? Besides water. I do have something set to catch rainwater, and it’s not like I monitor how much is in there.

But if he’s been spying at me from my camp… why hasn’t he killed me in my sleep yet? It would be so easy for him. And it’s not like he’s too nice to kill the fourteen-year-old, he had no problem killing me the day of the feast.

Maybe he’s been waiting for me to kill Primer and Merida for him? I don’t like the thought. That means when I’m asleep tonight…

I know some tributes in past Hunger Games have had a lot of luck sleeping up in trees. It’s hard to sneak up on someone in a tree. But… I don’t think I could ever do that. I’ve discovered I’m not a terrible climber, the number of times I scaled that stupid cliff is testament. But can I really fall asleep while up in the air? I doubt it. What if I turn over and roll right off and kill myself?

I could probably weave a hammock out of vines and sleep between two trees… but that’s even worse. I don’t trust my handiwork that much.

But if I’m sticking to the idea that, somehow, he’s watching my every move, then I can’t sleep in that bush anymore.

Everything looks about the same. No traps set off while I was gone. There’s one stone in my pot, my alarm for the trap I pushed Primer into. Nothing out of the ordinary.

So what does that mean?

Can I really sleep here tonight? Even if I decide it’s safe, I won’t sleep. Because now District Six is haunting me. I’ll never feel safe enough to sleep here. Maybe anywhere.

It’s roughly midday. Best case scenario is I find District Six before sundown. Then it will either be over, or at the very least I can get some sleep.

But… How?

I refill three water bottles and purify them. I slip them into my bag. Then I pack the rest of my food. I haven’t done a great job of keeping track of everything, so I restock now. I have some cold cuts, some newly picked berries and nuts, half a bag of gram crackers, and some jerky left. I pack it all. There’s also a small tent that I haven’t been using much. I tried it, but it was hard to camouflage. And it’s heavy. I leave it behind.

I take my last two sheets of plastic, however. The Gamemakers must have sent a thousand of these tarps into the arena, and they’ve been like gold. I pack both flashlights, some plastic bags, and my lighter.

I leave behind the tent, all my traps (obviously), my rainwater catcher, my dry wood wrapped in plastic, both pots, and a moldy orange that I forgot about. I slide Mandy’s knife into my belt and Primer and Merida’s knives into my bag. And of course, I have my trident.

Now what?

Herman and his friends are guarding the river for me. Maybe I can just walk along the cliffside for a while. I’m not sure how much spans out towards the east and west… I could just pick a direction… Although I’m not sure how I’ll find him like that.

Still. It’s a place to start, and I can’t stay here. I take another glance around. Now that the idea’s found its way into my head, I can’t shake the feeling that he’s close by, watching me. I need to find him soon. Eventually, I’ll have to sleep.

My stomach suddenly lurches at the thought of facing him tonight. The idea of facing this guy again is terrifying. I remember, shaking, what shape I was in the last time I fought him. Hasn’t he always been the problem? Back during prep, with the mentors and Mandy, did we ever talk about the other Careers as though they were any kind of threat? Not really. It was always District Six. It’s always been District Six. Except… it was supposed to be Mandy and District Six.

I hope I can do this.

Chapter Text

I’m assuming everyone still in the arena knows about the monsters in the river. Which means the smart place to be is by the cliff. I think I am closer to the eastern end of the arena, so I walk to the cliff and turn west.

I walk for a few hours, but I see nothing. By around five, it starts to rain. Usually, it just rains heavily for fifteen to thirty minutes and then it stops. So I sit under a tree and wait it out.

But it doesn’t stop. At least an hour goes by, and it’s getting dark.

Maybe this is a good sign. Maybe it means we’re nearing the finale. Or maybe the Gamemakers are just messing with me.

I keep trekking along, and I find nothing. I’ve never walked this much in my life. Most of my time in District Four involves walking a few blocks to the docks and then sitting around on a boat. Or… walking a few miles to school. But in the arena I’m marching around for miles and miles.

My stomach hurts. I touch my bandage, but I don’t want to undo it. Even if there is something wrong… what would I do about it? The only way to fix the cut on my stomach is to win. Which means I keep trekking forwards.

I reach up and touch my necklace. Everything is soaked from the rain, including my special Capitol clothes designed to keep me dry. But the pearls are completely normal.

Rain is never really an issue back home. Sure, it rains all the time, but storms are actually some of the best times to fish, so we’re always out there anyway. I’ve never really minded the feeling of being soaked with rain. But now I can’t stand it. Because I know that this isn’t natural rain. And because it’s rained so, so often in the arena. I hate it here. I hate everything about this place.

The ground slopes downwards slightly, which I decide is a good sign, because I definitely haven’t been here before. I keep walking.

How long are the Gamemakers going to let me just wander around like this? I don’t want them to intervene, because that’s a good way to get killed, but they could at least make a little arrow in the dirt or something. Let me know if I’mn going in the right direction. They cut the arena in half a few days ago and yet it still feels huge. How will I ever find another tribute in this mess?

Night sets in, and it’s still pouring. I’ll never sleep in this. And even if I do sleep… what if I’m being followed? I’m still a bit freaked. How was District Six able to follow me around those first few days without my noticing? What if he’s still doing it?

Logically, I know I’m being paranoid. But can I afford to take the risk? Especially since I’m not trying to get out of here. I’m so close. I’ve convinced myself that I can do it. But that good mood is all for nothing if District Six sneaks up and kills me while I’m sleeping.

I sit down and eat a few gram-crackers, which immediately turn into soggy messes the second I expose them to the elements. Then I squint through the rain and watch Primer, Merida, and the boy from Five show up in the sky.

I sit under a tree for a little while. Finally, I take out my flashlight and continue on.

It’s a long boring walk, and my mind keeps slipping back to District Four without my permission.

Sitting around in an endless rainstorm makes me think of this time when I was twelve. Dawson, Sam, Margaret, who I was about to start dating, Vanessa, and I had all paired up for a project for school. As always, with school, it had to do with fishing. All of the options for groups involved staying late after school with the teacher, and going down to the fisheries to document different types of fish. It sounded like pure torture. More time with our horrible teacher was bad enough, but hanging out at the fishery when you didn’t need to? That place is horrible, full of dried fish guts and skin, it smells like… well… like dead fish.

But there was one option that didn’t involve the fishery. We could go out to the docks each day and measure out the tide.

Now, the adults already know they tide. We could have easily looked it up in the books at our sectors council hall, but the teacher wanted us to do it ourselves. It meant instead of a few hours on one day, we’d have to walk down to the docs every day in the next few weeks and stand around waiting for the tide to come in.

But we decided to do it anyway. Because we wouldn’t need supervision, and because it would just be us five friends hanging out at the docs, which we probably would have done anyway.

It was only two days until the due date when things went awry. That night, a huge storm broke out, it lasted all day the next day and storms tend to make the tide a bit… interesting. Our teacher insisted we get accurate information on the storm’s tides because it was a “learning opportunity.”

So we sat out in that storm for a full day, shivering like crazy, measuring the tides, and snapping at one another. It felt just like it feels now. Only I have no one to snap at…

Or maybe that particular memory is being triggered by more than the rain. Because the next day was the day I almost died.

We had one more day of measuring the tide, and we were all on each other’s nerves. We measured, and then we had to sit around and wait for the tide to come in. Dawson and Vanessa were snapping at each other about who got to hold the clipboard and I was ready to kill them both.

Margaret left early because she usually splits when things get tense. So Sam and I sat on the edge of the docs and listened to Dawson and Vanessa yell in the distance.

“How’s your dad?” I asked.

“He’s good. He’s getting used to the new leg.”

“Good.”

“Vanessa, I swear one day this anal personality disorder you have is going to come in handy when you become some sort of dictator but right now it’s just annoying.”

“You’re doing it wrong!”

“I’ve been doing it like this for a week, I sure hope it’s not wrong.”

“They’re driving me crazy,” I said.

“Dawson’s just provoking her on purpose.”

“Yeah, what the hell is that about.”

“I mean…”

Sam smiled at me, but I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Never mind,” he said.

“Okay.”

“That’s it!” said Vanessa, “I’m going through each and every document you’ve made so far to make sure it’s right.”

“You are not!” Dawson shouted.

“She is not,” I groaned.

“We’re never getting out of here,” said Sam. “How come Margaret gets to leave?”

“I mean, you could just leave like she did.”

Sam stared wistfully towards town, in the direction of his house. “No… Vanessa will tell on me tomorrow.”

Vanessa was pretty obsessed with grades. She had already made a note that Margaret was not there for the final day, so the teacher would deduct points. And if she did that to her best friend, what would she have done to Sam, whom she only tolerated?

“Sam!” snapped Vanessa. “where did you put all the equipment?”

“It’s in the boating shed.”

“Why is it in there?”

“Because it was raining and I didn’t want it all to get wet.”

“Well go get it! Why are you just sitting around”

Sam shrunk, ashamed. He glanced at me once, as though wondering why he got scolded for sitting around while I didn’t. But he didn’t point it out. He just stood and slouched off towards the boating shed.

To this day I can’t stand it when my friends fight. Dawson used to spend hours riling Vanessa up for no reason at all. Which just made Vanessa turn around and snap at her friends. Some people snap right back, like me. But Sam? He’s just someone who takes insults way too personally. And when Sam’s upset, I get upset. And I get angry at Dawson for riling up Vanessa, so I snap at Dawson. Which makes Sam upset.

The worst of it was Sam always rushed to Dawson’s defense whenever this occurred. He never got mad at Dawson for picking on Vanessa. He’d never explain why. Fortunately, Dawson seems to have grown out of that about a year ago.

But that day, I was determined to ignore it, because starting a fight on Sam’s behalf wouldn’t go well. And the day before, I had been right in the middle of it, and it had been exhausting. I kept snapping at everyone not to go into the water, because the waves were choppy, and there could have been rip currents. I was tired of being everyone’s nanny.

“Where’s the second rope?” Vanessa snapped when Sam came back.

“What?”

“You left the second rope in the boat shed.”

“No I didn’t, this is all that was in there.”

“That was my rope, you must have not packed it last night.”

“I packed everything we had, I swear.”

I groaned. I didn’t care where the rope was. But the worst part was neither did Vanessa. I had had more than enough of this. I took off my shoes and shirt and let myself slide off the docks and into the water.

I let myself float on my back for a little while. Swimming has always calmed me. Things are just easier in the water. I could faintly hear Vanessa and Dawson begin arguing again. I was about to prop my head up to hear them more clearly when there was a shooting pain across my back.

My whole body went rigid. I must have made some kind of noise because Sam had rushed over. But I fell unconscious before my friends were able to pull me from the water.

I woke up in my own bed in the most pain I had ever been in. It’s hard to tell if the pain from the knife wound Six gave me was worse. If it was, it’s only because I had to patch this up myself. Whereas here, by the time I woke, I had already been given home remedies to stop the pain.

When I woke, my dad had told me I had been stung by a jellyfish.

It had, apparently, been a huge one. Luckily, it had only grazed my back. If it had touched more skin, I could have died. But it had been enough to immediately paralyze me and throw me into shock.

It was definitely scary, to hear about how close I came to death. But what I remember most about the experience was how judgmental everyone had been. My father, once he saw I was up and talking, immediately started chewing me out for going into the water.

“You know this,” he had told me. “How many times do I have to say it. Jellyfish show up after storms. Don’t go into the water after tropical storms like this. If you keep fooling around I’m going to have to revoke our beach privileges.”

Once I got back to school, the kids were the same way. How could I have been so stupid? Everyone knows how to avoid jellyfish. It’s one thing if you get stung because a stray tendril washes up on shore, or there’s a box jellyfish that wandered a little too far north, but swimming around aimlessly, directly after a storm? That was on me.

And, of course, it’s not like I didn’t know swimming after a storm was dangerous. I had just… forgotten. Briefly. All the fighting had made me aggravated, I wasn’t thinking straight.

I thought it was terribly unfair that I was the one with severe pain from a jellyfish sting, who would have died if he weighed ten pounds less, and yet I was the one being scolded.

I feet that same sort of injustice now… But I’m not sure why. I suppose I know I won’t find District Six this way. And with the excessive rain… I feel like it’s the Gamemaker’s trying to tell me “turn around, idiot, before we really have to chase you off in the right direction.”

And I can hear all my friends back home snapping at me, saying how could I be so dumb! Obviously District Six is… somewhere that’s not here. But where? I can’t think of anywhere else to look…

I’m exhausted. I plop myself down, with my back to the cliff wall, right in the mud. My bandage is now soaked and itchy. Which can’t be good… right? Oh well.

I shine my flashlight around, but all I see is one of those nocturnal squirrel monkeys, which hisses at me.

It seems unfair that I’ve been so smart for the entire Games, and yet now people are calling me an idiot. Of course, I don’t know they are. But it feels like they are. I’ve seen enough Hunger Games to know people always whine and complain when tributes wander around aimlessly like this. But they’re not here! If there’s an easy answer, I can’t see it! It’s harder when you’re in the arena. Of course I know jellyfish come inland after tropical storms. Everyone knows that. But you weren’t there, dad, they were being really annoying. And sometimes you don’t think about what possible dangers are in the water before you dive in.

I cross my arms and huff, thinking. What do I know about District Six? Nothing. That’s the problem. I’ve only spoken to him once, and it wasn’t a very long talk. But he’s been showing me up all game.

He stole my backpack, so I had to come down here and get treed by Herman. He had the same idea as me during the feast, and I got badly injured. It’s like he’s out to get me. He’s been doing everything I’ve been doing, but better.

Now that I think about it… it’s possible he and I are very similar.

I used the careers to get food. So did he. He stole my backpack. But only because he wasn’t part of the alliance, and couldn’t pack his own. He probably left the bloodbath quickly, and then watched and waited. Hoping to steal from the careers when our guards were down.

And then, well, we had the exact same idea for the feast. Avoid the fight. The actual careers, the volunteers, the kids who trained their whole lives for this. We knew they’d never turn up a chance to fight in the feast. Too much glory. He and I settled for the supplies they left behind.

If we are similar in these ways. Maybe we are similar in other ways, too. I’ve been so obsessed with his training score, but what if he doesn’t deserve it? What if he crafted something that made him look really impressive in front of the Gamemakers. Fighting with a sword against a training dummy is easier to fake than fighting an actual person. What if, somehow, he faked the high training score. He looks intimidating, I’m sure he really is strong. Maybe he was using his appearance, his size, his age, and his score to give people a false impression. Just like I was.

Except, where I was trying to look weak and helpless so my allies would leave me alone, he was trying to look intimidating, so people would flee from him, instead of fight.

And if that’s the case, it worked on me. I probably could have won that fight against him. I won against Evant and Spark with less at my disposal. But I was too afraid of his size and his training score. I ran, I put my back to him, and I made myself an easy target.

Now that I’m thinking about it, it feels very likely. Except, how does it help me find him now?

So, if we are so similar, him and I. Where would I go? Well, that’s a stupid question. Because I would go right here, where I am. And he’s not here. I hope.

But that’s not right. Because it’s not that we are similar. It’s that we were similar. We used to be playing these games the same way. Before I got the trident. Before everything changed. Because now, with this weapon, I am no longer being hunted. I am now the hunter.

So, if I had never gotten this trident, where would I be? That’s simple, I’d be back in my own camp by the river.

But District Six can’t be there. Because Herman would have scared him off… Or… well, I suppose the monsters didn’t scare me off. And if we really are the same, I suppose it’s possible District Six could have figured out how to keep them calm just like I did.

But that still doesn’t make any sense. Because I only went to the river because it was a source of food. And it’s only a source of food because I can fish. He can’t fish. He has plenty of rope from my old backpack, sure, but that doesn’t mean he knows how to string it up into a fishing net and...

The truth comes crashing down around me. I have been stupid. I know exactly where he is.

I let myself sleep for a few hours. I’m so tired from the trek, that I actually get a few good hours despite the rain.

At sunrise, I head out. It takes me almost all day to get to the river. Then, I turn east and start walking along the bank. I make sure to keep a careful eye on each monster as I pass, but no one bothers me.

The rain hasn’t stopped. It probably won’t until the Games are over. I don’t know what the Gamemaker’s obsession with rain is, but I hate it. I’m slipping and sliding on mud and moss and the river, I notice with displeasure, is starting to flood. It’s much larger than it was before.

The sun is very low in the sky when I finally reach Herman. He’s as sleepy as ever. I can’t imagine, if these mutts are based on real animals, that they really sleep this much. The only time I see Herman move is when he’s having a snack and eating some of the bushes near the riverbank. And when he chased me up a tree, of course.

I spend a few minutes glaring at Herman. I don’t want to look farther down the river, where Mandy died… But luckily, I don’t have to. I’ve reached my destination. And just like I thought: my fishing net isn’t how I left it.

I left it in the water, ready to be sprung. The branch holding it probably would have given way before my knot. Not to be cocky, but I tie good knots! And it hasn’t been that long at all.

But now it’s up like I used to leave it when I went to sleep. The net lying on the bank, the rope on the branch hanging loosely over the water… Someone did this.

I try to tell myself it might not be District Six. There’s also Analee, the boy from Eight, and the boy from Nine, all possibly still alive and kicking.

But… Regarding the boy from Eight and the boy from Nine… I’m honestly not sure if I’ll be able to tell which is which if I see them, I don’t remember a thing about either of them. They didn’t leave any kind of impression. I suppose it could have been either of them? But I have no reason to suspect them either.

The only thing I know about Analee is that she got a better score than I did, and she didn’t trip and fall on her face at the cornucopia like I did. On that limited information, I’ve decided that she’s very intelligent. However, I also saw her at the knot tying station, and I know she wouldn’t be able to work my net. Even if she figured out how to untie it, she’d never be able to make it work again.

Primer and Merida said they hadn’t come back here; Primer was very against it. So it wasn’t them.

I suppose that I can assume, based on my limited information, that this is the work of District Six. I raise my trident at the ready and take a look around. There’s not much here, but I didn’t hang out by the river either. Only an idiot would fall asleep next to Herman. I look in the net and find it’s empty. But it’s also soaking wet. Someone was just here.

I don’t know which way to walk… I never did undo my old traps around my old campsite. I moved to be closer to the cliff after I got my trident. Maybe he’s been living in my old house. It sounds like something he would do… I might still be angry about him stealing my backpack.

I go check it out. About halfway there I catch a glimpse of smoke coming through the trees. He’s cooking. I’ve got him.

Then I stop. Am I up for this? I’ve been so worried about finding him, I haven’t really stopped to consider what I would do when I found him. It’s like I said before, I feel like it’s always been District Six. He was always the one to beat, even before I knew he and I were so alike…

I reach up and touch Emma’s necklace. I haven’t thought about her in a while. I’ve been so busy with not dying. I’ve hardly ever allowed myself to think of home in any real regard. Any future regard… Home. My dad, my sister, David. Dawson, Sam, Vanessa. Emma. What am I supposed to do? Walk away? I’ve found him. For all I know, he’s the last step I have to take before going home. There’s no getting out without facing him again. I either do it on my terms, right now, or I wait for him to make the first move, and sneak up on me.

Or worse, let the Gamemakers do it for us.

No, today’s the day.

I yet again take off my backpack and leave it behind. I don’t want it weighing me down. And now, with all the rain, I don’t need something bulky to help me fall down. Then, I head towards the smoke.

My old campfire is lit. He’s made a little hut over it out of some plastic, so the rain doesn’t put it out. But still, it’s not a great fire. I edge around my traps, one of them, that I see, has been set off. The rest are still up and working, but I put them up; I know how they work.

District Six is sitting by the fire, a whole one of those whisker fish on a stick, roasting it slowly.

That’s one way to do it, although I don’t think it’s very smart. Probably doesn’t taste good either. But he’s probably never cooked a fish before. Or, at least, he’s never skinned and gutted one before.

I’m right about him having a weapon, and I’m disgusted to see it’s a curved blade that is just like Evant’s. Maybe it is Evant’s. Hasn’t that thing haunted me enough?

He hasn’t noticed me yet. The sun is going down. I could wait for him to fall asleep. But I’m worried about waiting… I’m worried about him seeing me and starting the fight when I’m not ready. And… I’m guiltily worried about the Capitol finding it lame. For all I know, this is it. The very last fight. If I don’t make it interesting the Gamemakers might do it for me.

But on another level, I’m not sure what the Gamemakers would do about it. It’s just engrained into me. I have to put on a show… How sick is that? I take a final deep breath and step into the firelight.

“I never ate those things,” I say. “I didn’t recognize them. Plus, they have poison sacks near the fins. Didn’t want to risk it.”

He jumps backwards, scrambling to his feet and grabbing his weapon. We look at each other for a while.

“I mean,” I say finally, “you can’t be all that surprised, this is my camp after all. That was my fishing net.”

He smiles at me, which I hate. I notice some bandages are tied tightly around where I hit him with my knife. And I become very aware of the bandages around my torso. I threw away my shirt, so I’ve just been wearing my coat over the bandages. They’ll be visible to him. The damage we’ve done to each other on full display.

“You were always the one to watch,” he says. “We were all too stupid to realize it. It was always you.”

I shake my head. “It was Mandy. I’m just her substitute.”

“No,” he says. “It was you. Mandy, that’s the girl from your district?” I nod. “Yeah. Big, strong, it doesn’t mean anything. I should know.”

“She was more than that. She could have gotten the job done. She wasn’t squeamish.” 

“Neither are you. I saw you kill that kid from Three. Jargon. You killed the kid from Two also, didn’t you? And the rest of your allies? You were always the one to kill. You were the dangerous one. And I was the only one who knew it. From the very beginning I knew it. And I didn’t do anything. I was afraid. I was hoping someone else would do it for me. Now look. Nice weapon. Your probably unstoppable now.”

“You did enough,” I say, pointing to my bandage. “You almost killed me.”

“Yeah, and you cut my arm and I was so busy looking at the cut I didn’t notice you ran away.”

I’m getting aggravated. “Why the fuck does it matter? What does it matter if I’m good at this or not?”

“Because if I’m going to die to a twelve-year-old at least I’m dying to a godlike twelve-year-old who beat up everybody else first.”

“I’m fourteen.”

He lowers his weapon slightly.

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure I’m fourteen? What the hell—you want my birth certificate?”

“You’re pretty short for fourteen.”

“Asshole!”

He’s laughing. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m messing with you.”

I am not laughing.

“Cut it out!” I say.

“Cut what out?”

“Bonding with me. I don’t want to like you! I don’t want to learn your name, that just makes it…”

I stop. I know I’ve been having a lot of trouble with killing people. But I’ve killed so many people… I should have it figured out by now. And this guy, who’s hurt me so badly. Who almost killed me back when I was all but defenseless. This should be easy. But it’s not, because he seems like a nice guy. Smart, scrappy, funny. And he’s a lot like me. And I’m honored to be like him… He probably has a lot of friends back home.

Now he’s looking at me full of pity. Because he must understand. Being in this arena, it wasn’t a choice for either of us. It wasn’t even a choice for Mandy or Evant or Merida. Not a real choice. Mandy was recruited for this at eight years old. No eight-year-old could possibly know what they were signing up for. She was brainwashed and lied to and who knows? Maybe that makes it better. But we were all still forced into this. And killing is just part of the torture, just like dying is.

“Alright,” he says, raising his curved blade. “If you don’t want to talk.”

I hate that blade.

We stand for a moment, as I decide the best first move. I’ve never actually… fought someone before. I mean, I fought Merida. But that was more me reacting to what she was doing. I don’t know what to do first.

Suddenly District Six throws something at me.

I dodge just in time, and the rock hits the tree behind me, hard. I jump to the side to avoid the blade and his right hand comes around and hits me across the face.

Nice.

I fall to the ground, coughing, but somewhere in my deep instincts I have managed to keep my trident both in my hands and at the ready.

I jab at him and he leaps backwards. This gives me enough time to stand. My left ear is ringing and I’m seeing spots. He’s definitely strong. I shake myself slightly, but it doesn’t help.

Fine, I can still do this.

He lunges at me again and I roll backward, twirling my trident in my hands and jabbing at him. He moves again, but not fast enough. I hit him in the other arm and he cries out.

I take out the trident as he begins staggering backwards, across from me, and I twirl the weapon around and swing the handle right at the back of his knees.

He’s sturdy, and I’m not strong enough to make him drop to the ground. But he has to grab a tree to recover himself. He rolls off of the tree and steps away from me, fast, in between two of my traps like he set them up himself.

I take my trident in my hand and I do something I know my dad would grumble about. I throw it. My dad hates when I throw the tridents. Because, after all, I might lose it. And then what? Tridents are expensive. Who knew that common-place argument between my dad and I would have such an ugly other meaning?

But just like back home, I do not miss.

The trident buries itself deep into his stomach, and I can tell immediately he’s done for. He gasps slightly, dropping that curved weapon. And then he falls backwards, hands around the trident.

I step forwards cautiously. He’s breathing heavy when I reach him. He looks up at me and smiles slightly.

“Aaron,” he mutters.

“What?”

“My name. Sorry. You didn’t want to know.”

I swallow. Aaron.

“Finnick,” I whisper, hoping the Capitol can’t hear me. “Do you… do you want it fast, or do you want me to leave you alone.”

“Just do it fast,” he says. “Just get it over with. I don’t know why I waited so long, anyway.”

I nod, because I get that. I had the same thought when Aaron cut my stomach and I thought I was going to bleed out.

I take out the trident, and he gasps. His breathing is more and more rapid. I position myself and stab the trident through his throat. I take it out, and his cannon comes only a few seconds later.

I wait a moment. Then two. And I practically sob.

No trumpets.

Of course, it can’t be over. Of course, there’s more. Who? Analee? District Eight? District Nine? All of them? What a lame feast if no one died… There’s always at least one death at the feast.

I want to go home. I don’t want to kill anymore. I step back and let them take Aaron away. I sit by his fire and eat some jerky and graham crackers. Then I rip the plastic roof up let the rain put out Aaron’s fire. I use some vines to make a holder for my trident, so I can sling it to my back without needing to hold onto it. Then I spread out on of my pieces of plastic and curl up on it.

Who else could be out there? And where the hell are they? How am I going to find them?

I scoot under a nearby bush and take my backpack off to use as a pillow. I curl up, clutching my trident, and I play with Emma’s necklace.

I feel as though I’ve already won. This should have done it for me. It is unreasonable to expect more. I want to think about my family, about Emma. Not as some theoretical entities that might be watching me but as real people who I will see again.

I want to go home.

End Of Part One

Chapter Text

Part II: Victor

I wake up to the sound of something dying. It’s like a huge whale-call, if the whale had been stabbed. I’ve only seen a whale once, and it was terrifying. Nothing should be that big. Nothing.

So that’s the first thing I think of. Whale. But this is a forest. How the hell would a whale be—

That’s when it hits me. It’s not a whale. It’s hundreds of Hermans calling to each other. The ground starts shaking, and I hear trees snap like twigs.

I’m up and running in an instant. My bag forgotten, but I manage to hold onto my trident, because it’s still strapped to my back.

My first instinct is climb a tree, but I can hear trees breaking and I know I’ll never be safe up there.

My only hope is the cliff wall. It was all muddy and slippery yesterday. But maybe there’s something I can do. Some way to climb up there. So the monsters can’t get me.

The ground shakes harder and harder. I leap over logs and slip on mossy patches. They’re catching up to me. What’s worse, is that I can hear them all around me too. On my left and right, probably only a few hundred yards on each side. I’m being boxed in. But there are none ahead of me. Not yet.

I run. And I run and I run. I almost kill myself on one of my own damn traps, which was mighty smart of me, but I manage to avoid them.

Suddenly, there’s a monster right in front of me. I don’t know where the hell it came from, they dropped it in from the sky maybe, but I jump over a fallen tree and there it is.

It’s bigger. Much, much bigger than the monsters in the river. Or… maybe I’m just closer to it than I ever was to the others.

It charges at me and I leap to the side, dodging it. I want to run, but these things are surprisingly fast and it’s too close.

I grab my trident. I have no idea what it would take to kill one of these, but if I can injure it…

It charges at me again, mouth open wide, and I stab my trident into it’s neck.

It makes a horrible wailing sound. I pull out the trident and stab it into the monster’s side. The monster collapses and I turn and run again.

Things start attacking me as I run from the hoard of monsters. Snakes I’ve always been extra careful of, those weird squirrel things I saw at night sometimes, even some sort of jungle cat that I’ve never seen before. I kill them all with my trident.

I keep a steady forward momentum as I fight through every animal in the forest. The monsters on my right seem much closer than the ones on my left. So I veer left. If that’s where the Gamemaker’s want me to go, then that’s where I’ll go. Anything waiting for me there is better than what I’m running from.

I keep veering left, they keep letting me. I’m huffing, more exhausted than ever. I’ve never run this fast this far before. I’m not even sure I’m breathing in anymore. But I can’t stop running.

Eventually, I get somewhere I’ve never been before. I notice the terrain becomes a bit more rocky. Suddenly, I’m slipping around on a hundred little rocks. I fall forward, and my body decides that means it’s time to rest.

I collapse, unable to stand just yet, and I listen. The monsters are still pursuing me, but they’re far enough away that I think I can give myself a minute or two before I need to start running again.

I role on my back and get a good look at where I am. I’ve fallen underneath a large, beautiful tree with so many vines hanging from it I can’t see a single branch clearly. It’s nice here. Despite all the rocks I tripped over on the way I landed on soft, perfectly maintained grass. And, to add insult to injury, there’s a small creek running through. This would have been the perfect place to camp, if I had known it existed.

I pull myself towards the creek and take a few sips of water. Behind me, the monsters are getting closer, and they stir up another battle call. They’ve been quiet, except for the cracking trees and booming footsteps, since they woke me from my hiding space.

I clamp my hands over my ears and start to get to my feet. I need to go. This tree might be thicker than other’s I’ve seen, but I still don’t trust it. I need the cliff.

I stumble forwards, hands still clamped over my ears due to the incessant roaring behind me. I’m almost level with the tree when something moves above me. I jump, reaching for the trident, when a boy falls out of the tree and hits the ground by my feet.

“What is that!” he shouts, his hands over his ears.

So someone was using this as a camp. Good to know it didn’t all go to waste.

I swear I have never seen this boy before. He’s probably sixteen, with messy black hair and ashen skin. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he had joined the games half-way in. Because I sure as hell didn’t see him in the interviews, or the training center.

But oh well. He is not important. The only things that matter right now are the forty- or fifty-something Muttations headed our way.

I run forward, grab his hand, and pull him up and along. If he doesn’t already know about the monsters, he’s lucky. He should have started running the second he heard them.

The cliff, the cliff is our only option. The sound of trees snapping is driving me insane. I’ve never been so afraid. The boy eventually gets the idea and starts running along-side me. Maybe if we get to the cliff we will not be torn apart.

We eventually come to it, and I’m very angered to discover it’s much less steep here. Why the hell was I risking my life climbing up and down back where I used to? It’s still covered in mud, but it will have to do.

I start climbing, and the boy follows my lead. We climb and climb and climb but it’s hard, because the mud and moss have made it a slip and slide.

Finally, there’s a place to sit, just above tree level, and I get my first look at what we’re up against.

I can’t see the monsters, yet, but I can see where they are. The tree line is like a wave. A steady line around us, surges and then falls, surges, and then falls. The trees are falling down. And the wave is headed right for us.

“Oh,” says the boy next to me. “What is it.”

I’m shaking, holding onto the cliff with all my might.

“Monsters,” I say.

How could I have ever given these things funny little names? Their cute little ears lulled me into complacency, even after one of them killed Mandy. These are terrors. Nightmare creatures. And they’re coming to kill us. The boy grabs my hand, and I cling to it. Maybe they won’t have a winner this year. Maybe those things will kill us both. I wouldn’t be surprised.

They emerge from the tree line, and immediately start ramming into the cliffside.

The boy and I hold onto each other and the cliff as the rocks shake and crumble. Could they really bring down the cliff?

There has to be at least thirty down there, maybe more. There are so many, and they all look the same.

Finally, they stop ramming into the cliff. I take a deep breath. Is that it? Will they lose interest now?

They all look up at us. And then they open those terrible mouths, showing off the long, horrible tusks they have for teeth. And then they roar.

The first time I heard that roar, it was just one of them. And I was miles away. When the Mutt that attacked me roared, it was the loudest noise I had ever heard.

This noise shakes my spine. It makes my teeth feel like they’ll shake out of my head. I clamp my hands over my ears, but I know immediately it won’t help. Nothing will help. This noise will kill me.

I clamp my eyes shut, because the noise is making them hurt. I’m not even sure if I’m hearing the roar anymore, or if I can just feel it, and my brain is filling in the gaps. The world spins and I feel like I’m about to vomit.

It has to stop. I need to make it stop. Forget the monster’s powerful jaw and teeth, this sound will kill me. But how do I make it stop? I can’t kill them all. I’m not sure I could even kill one. The Gamemaker’s need to call them off. But what would make them do that.

That’s when I realize. They’ll leave when someone dies. I turn and look at the boy I’m sitting next to. He’s staring right at me. He’s come to the same conclusion. But from looking at him I can tell; even if he has some weapon concealed, he’s not going to use it.

My eyes are watering, either from the noise or from what I’m about to do. I don’t even bother trying to extract my trident. There’s not enough room for it anyway. I painfully remove my hands from my ears and slip Mandy’s knife from my belt. I grab him, pull him towards me, and slit his throat.

The rumbling stops almost immediately. I assume the noise stops too, but I can’t tell anymore. I hold him against my chest, I don’t want to drop him towards those things. He’s already dead. They don’t get to mutilate his body.

Eventually, he stops moving, and I assume he’s dead. I glance down, and all the monsters are staring up and me. Then, all at once, they turn and walk away. Completely satisfied with their little blood sacrifice.

And then nothing. I wait for a few moments, but nothing happens.

I’m not sure how to get down without dropping him. I try to inch him down only to lose my grip. And he just falls all the way. I can’t hear him land. My hearing is completely gone, replaced with ringing.

I climb down after him. Who is he? Was he. District Eight or Nine? I have no way of knowing. I swear I’ve never laid eyes on him before. Something moves above me, and I jump, grabbing at my trident.

It’s just a hovercraft. They’ve come to collect his body. I step back to let them take him away.

But, instead of a claw to come and grab him, they send down a ladder.

I stare at it, unable to comprehend what it’s there for. That’s when I realize I’ve won.

I’ve won the Hunger Games. He was the last one. That was the grand finale. Being chased through the forest by the monsters that have been haunting us the entire game. The chase being engineered to drive me towards his hiding place. They trapped us up on the cliffside. Then I killed him, so I win.

It’s so ridiculous, I’m having trouble believing it. What about Analee? She must have died at the feast. Along with… the other boy from either Eight or Nine. All of this feels so… unsatisfying. Not that any of this has been satisfying. But at least after Aaron’s death I felt like I had… done something.

I readjust my trident, so it’s still snuggly on my back, and grab onto the ladder. Just like back in the Capitol, it locks me into place with some sort of current. Then they pull me up, out of the arena, away from the monsters.

They leave the boy’s body down there. I watch it get smaller and smaller as I rise to safety.

The doors to the hovercraft close once I’m inside. Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone in white Capitol clothing walk towards me. They cut the trident off of my back and slip the knife from my belt. They take the weapons out of the room before they release me.

Immediately I jump away from them. Why are they disarming me? What possible reason could they have for disarming me unless they are a threat of some kind?

A man in white clothes so clean it hurts to look at walks towards me, his hands raised. His mouth is moving, but no words are coming out. Everything’s spinning again, and I fall to my knees and throw up right on the clean floor.

While I’m retching, I feel a sharp pinch in my neck and the world goes dark.

When I wake up, I’m being put onto a table. There’s a bright light right above me and a man with a mask stands over me. I try to stand, but several men hold me down and put something over my mouth and nose. I try to scream, but no sound comes out. At least, I don’t think.

The next time I wake up, I’m strapped to a bed with IV’s in my arm. I’m naked, but I’m covered by a sheet, so it doesn’t really matter. I look around the room, horrified by how clean everything is, compared to the last two weeks of sleeping in mud.

The white sheets are soft against my skin. I hate it. I start wriggling myself out of the restraints when a door opens.

It’s one of those Capitol attendants, this one is a tall Black man with a kind face. He calms me, slightly. He doesn’t look like most Capitol people. He looks… real.

He sets a tray down in front of me. It’s just broth. I’m not in the mood. But I still let him feed it to me spoonful by spoonful.

When it’s gone, I’m surprisingly full. He takes the tray and starts to leave.

“Wait,” I say. “What’s… where am I?”

But he doesn’t even look back at me. Something cold runs into my veins from the IV and I fall asleep.

I wake up a few more times, and the same stuff happens. Someone comes in, let’s me eat, leaves without answering a single question, and then they pump me full of drugs and I fall asleep again.

After the first few times, I am too depressed to ask for anything. They’ll do to me whatever they feel like. They sent me to an arena and got me to kill other children. They can keep me in bed.

It’s like I was pulled out of hell and now I’m stuck in a weird, terrible purgatory. It’s impossible to tell how much time has gone by. No one will speak to me. It’s horrible. But it’s better than the arena, so why am I complaining?

Eventually, I wake up and the restraints are gone. So are the IVs, and the machine they were attached to.

Does this mean it’s over? I’m free to go?

I sit up slowly, but there’s no pain. I touch my stomach, but the ugly cut is gone. Like it was never there in the first place. I run my hand over my cheek, but I’m already sure the cut Spark gave me is gone as well.

I pull off the covers and stand. My legs are sturdy, like I’ve been exercising regularly. I look around. There’s a single chair with clothing on it. Clean versions of the clothes I wore in the arena.

Is that necessary? Either I’m going back into the arena or not. They couldn’t let me wear anything else? But I put it on, because I don’t like being naked. Once I’ve laced up the boots, the door opens on its own.

I feel like a lab rat. But I do as I’m told. I walk through the door into a well-lit hallway. I try the door across from me, but it’s locked.

“Hello Finnick.”

I know the voice. I have an immediate negative reaction to it. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up like I’m a cat.

Berry Weathersmith. I turn to look at him and I’m relieved he’s not alone. On one side stands Rujeria. Her blue and skin with black polka dots are as weird as ever. She’s beaming at me, happier than I’ve ever seen her.

On Barry’s other side is Mags.

Mags.

I practically run to her. Mags, Mags, thank goodness. She opens her arms and I fall into them.

For a few seconds, she just hugs me. She runs a hand over my cheek and grins. Then she grabs my hand in hers and leads me away without a word.

Barry and Rujeria follow us, unfortunately.

“You’re a star,” says Rujeria. “I mean, you always were, but now more than ever. I’ve never seen a more popular victor, honestly love.”

She’s so loud. This is when I realize that I can hear now. I feel my ear, it feels normal. Maybe the hearing loss was just a temporary thing.

We walk into an elevator that only has two buttons. Then we shoot upwards and come out into the lobby of the Tribute Center. We must have been underneath the training area this whole time.

Halfway towards the elevator Mags stops. She grabs both sides of my face and kisses my forehead. She pats my cheek and smiles again.

“You’re leaving?” I say. It feels like a goodbye.

“Your mentor and I have a lot of work to do!” says Barry, happily. “We have to meet with your sponsors, and set up the interview, and—”

I nod and try to make him stop.

“Sure, sure, but…”

Mags winks at me and nod towards the elevator.

“I’ll take good care of him,” says Rujeria.

I do not want to go with Rujeria, but Mags keeps nodding, and if I can’t trust her… I let Rujeria guide me towards the elevators. I watch as Mags and Barry leave the building and walk towards a car outside.

Rujaria hits the button for the fourth floor and we shoot upwards once again. I look at all the numbers on the elevator. Each representing two kids who are now dead. The last time I rode in this elevator, they were all still breathing. Now, they’re being shipped home in boxes. The last time I was in this elevator, the biggest thing I had ever killed was a two-foot trout.

 The doors open with a soft ding. And my prep team is upon me. They’re all chattering excitedly all at once, so I can’t make out any of it. I smile, and nod, and hope they stop soon because they’re giving me a headache. They drag me into the dinning room, where a real meal is all set up. There are only five chairs. Which means it’s just me, my prep team, and Rujeria. I’m already scowling when I hear the elevator open again.

“Well,” says Kent. “Looks good. Room for three more?”

Rujeria and the team don’t seem to mind at all. I am more relieved than ever. Some Capitol attendants bring in three chairs and Kent, Jeffer, and Walsh all settle in around me.

Each of them smiles at me, but they don’t start any conversation.

I’m served a full meal of pork, corn, and mashed potatoes with delicious gravy poured over it. I eat it all, but when I’m asked for more I’m denied.

“Good way to start throwing up on stage,” says Walsh. “They’re easing you back to a normal diet.”

The Capitol food is not what I’d call a normal diet. But I nod.

“I… uh, I forget. How long before I… um.”

I don’t want to ask how long before I’m able to get the hell out of here in front of my prep team and Rujeria. But the Victors seem to pick up what I’m saying.

“Tonight you’re gonna sit out there where you had your interviews and watch the recap of the Games with Caeser,” says Jeffer.

My heart begins to race, it must show on my face because Walsh swoops in.

“You don’t need to talk, just sit there and try not to throw up or faint.”

“Right…”

“Then,” says Jeffer. “The President will crown you Victor, congrats on that, and you’ll go to the Victory Banquet—”

“Where there’s very little eating and a lot of picture taking,” says Kent. “Just to warn you.”

“Right.”

“Then, tomorrow, is the interview,” says Walsh.

“Where is—”

“—Right here, in the sitting area. They’ll bring their own equipment. Just you and Caesar Flickerman and us and a few cameras. No large crowd.”

“I prepped for the last interview for a whole day.”

“This one’s easier. If you want, Mags and I will help you prep for it while you’re getting ready tomorrow.”

I nod. That is what I want.

“And then that’s it. We go right back to the train after the interview.”

“Nothing after the interviews?”

“Nope. You’ve got twenty-four hours left in the Capitol, starting now. Try to enjoy it.”

But I know he’s just saying that for Rujeria and the rest. I’ll be on my way home in just twenty-four hours. The thought is… confusing. If I could just go home, and have nothing be different; have no one know what I did in the arena, I’d be so excited. But I’ll be coming home as an experienced killer. What if everyone hates me now?

I want to talk to the Victors about this. Afterall, they will understand more than anyone. But I can’t do anything with Rujeria in the room. I’m about to ask about Garrick, hoping that, maybe, Walsh will yet again read my mind and say “oh, he’s down this way, here I’ll take you to say hello” and I can speak to them in private, when Rujeria claps her hands.

“Well!” she says happily. “Let’s make every hour count then! We’ve got a lot of work to do before you’re ready for an audience!”

The three Victors give me pity smiles and my prep team ushers me through the hall back to my old room.

Rujeria leaves the team to do their work and heads off who knows where.

Aleksander, Alexia, and Prometheon get me to undress and set up the showers for me. The shower is great, but I’m already cleaner than I’ve been in weeks, so it feels like a bit of a waste. Then they bring me out into the room and start to do my hair and makeup.

They’re all chattering excitedly.

“This is Prometheon’s first Victor, you know!” says Aleksander happily. “Big milestone!”

“I know!” says Prometheon. “Although what did you expect, I was stuck in District Eleven for so long. Practically wept tears of joy when I finally got promoted.”

“Who was your first Victor, Alexia?”

“Oh, it was Anna-Clare from Six. Nice girl, at the time. But I hear she’s gone a bit…” She makes a cookoo whistling sound.

“Hmm, I noticed that. Mine was Garrick.”

“Wow, I forget how long you’ve been in Four!”

“I know. I’ve been trying to get promoted to stylist for years now, but there aren’t many positions available.”

“They’ll probably start you in Twelve, anyway. Yawn.”

“Honey, I didn’t know you designed your own styles. You have to show me your portfolio sometime!”

“Oh, that would be so great! I’d love feedback!”

They rattled on like this for a while. I get bored and tune them out. They poke at my face a lot and run stuff through my hair and I try to pretend I’m someplace else.

“—what do you think, Finnick, you were there.”

I snap back to attention.

“I’m sorry, I missed it, what?”

They all giggle at me.

“We were talking about the finale,” says Prometheon.

“What finale?”

“The finale in the Games silly. I thought it was great. Perfect way to end it. But Alexia thinks it was lame.”

“I didn’t say lame. It’s just that the rest of the Games was so interesting and then the finale felt rushed, you know? I mean, it’s not even the Gamemaker’s fault. It’s that boy who spent the whole Game just hiding. So boring when that happens.”

The finale. The monsters. That boy I killed.

The fight with Aaron feels like weeks, months ago. But the boy in that tree feels so recent. As though it just happened downstairs in the lobby.

Back home, we always praise people who manage to hide through the entire games. It’s almost like a little rebellion. You’re not supposed to just hide. Your supposed to fight. To go out and kill people. And it’s really hard to just hide away, because eventually the food runs out or the Gamemaker’s usher someone across your path. But that kid managed it.

“I… I don’t know. It felt fine from where I was standing.”

“Yeah, I just think waking up all the Hippos was a bit boring. I mean, we’d already seen them in action, and all of them at once was fun, but I was hoping for a bit more.”

“No, no, but that’s what made it interesting! Because when they bring in some other monsters right at the end you’re sitting there saying ‘what are these things’ but in this Game—”

“—you’re right. That’s a good point. Maybe it’s just that the day before was so exciting.”

“Yeah, you can’t fault the Gamemakers for these Games being fantastic overall.”

“You’re right. You’re right.”

“Hippos?” I say.

“What, dear?”

“What’s a hippo?”

“Those things in the water. Oh, it’s so cute you didn’t even know what they were called.”

“Those things are real?”

“Oh, they’ve been extinct for years! But, yes, they’re based on real animals!”

“That’s a cool thing about the Hunger Games we never talk about,” says Alexia. “I always learn things.”

I somehow feel worse than before, which is a feat, because I was feeling pretty terrible already.

They keep talking about the Games and I tune them out as best I can. Rujeria comes in holding a new outfit. We’re going for the same style as before the Games.

I wear a green button up shirt with a sleek black jacket. Black pants with green vine embroidery, starting at the foot and growing upwards to the knee. A golden belt in the design of a snake. Nice black dress shoes. I notice she doesn’t button my shirt up all the way, just like during the interviews.

They spike up my hair again, but they don’t put anything in it. Then Rujeria walks over with a small box and takes out two necklaces. One is a long, thin chain with a figurine of a trident on the end. The other is Emma’s pearl necklace.

“Here we go, finishing touches.”

I touch Emma’s necklace, but it doesn’t have the same calming power over me that it used to. It used to be this lifeline home. Something that mocked the Capitol and kept me grounded in District Four. But now that I’m actually going home… It’s just a necklace. And it makes me nervous. About seeing my family. About what my friends will think of me. About everything.

I was never supposed to be in this room again. I was never supposed to see these people again. Somehow, the thought makes me very aware of things I never take notice of. My heart beating, my own breathing, the way my eyes blink.

“Alright, final reveal.”

The usher me towards the mirror and I get a good look at myself.

I look stunning as always. My hair is all crazy, even more than at the interview, the curls almost stand straight up. My eye lids are painted with blacks and greens. I have vines by my eyes, and green lipstick.

“It looks wonderful,” I say. Weird, sure, but nice. “Lots of vines.”

“Well, sure,” says Rujeria. She does not elaborate.

“And they’re because of… District Four?”

“What? No, hun. The arena. You were there, for crying out loud.”

“Oh! Right. Yes.”

There’s something meaningful there. Before the Games, the outfits tied me to my District. Now, the outfits tie me to the arena… Before I can think about that, I’m being whisked away again.

They walk me out towards the elevator and we head down to the training center. I remember that for the crowning ceremony people usually rise up from below the stage. It makes sense that we go down to the floor below ground level to set up.

The large room where we trained is unnervingly empty. No weapons at any of the stations, nothing. They lead me through a door I assumed was just for Gamemakers and into a launch area.

Rujeria and my prep team leave, saying they have to get changed, and I’m alone. Some Capitol attendants show me where to stand and I wait, shifting from foot to foot.

I’m having trouble remembering what has happened in years past. I know the tributes watch the recap, and there’s a side-by-side on screen with the recap and their reactions. But I can’t remember if Caesar talks to them at all. The recap is three hours long, and then President Snow comes out and crowns the victor. But is that really it? Seems… short.

Someone taps my shoulder. I turn, expecting to see another Capitol attendant, but it’s just Barry.

He’s wearing a purple, pinstriped suit with matching eye-liner. What’s even weirder is he smiles at me.

“Just wanted to offer my congratulations!” he says.

I nod and thank him.

“Looks like it wasn’t a bad thing I pulled your name out of that bowl at all!”

“What?” I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“The reaping,” he says.

This is about what I said on the train. My first instinct is to yell at him. Cuss him out for daring to insinuate that just because I won and get to be a victor now means I wouldn’t have rather stayed home with my father and watched these games from the safety of my own couch.  But something stops me. I am no longer about to die. The things I say now have some… meaning. I’ll have to face the consequences. Like it or not, I will see Barry Weathersmith again. Might as well be nice.

“Uh. Yeah, sorry about the outburst on the train. I was just… nervous. And angry. It’s not your fault.”

Barry smiles and pats my shoulder like he completely understands.

“I’m glad we can move past it,” he says.

“Well, now I’m a Victor, so life will be all fun and games from here on out.”

I said it as a joke, because I can’t even imagine going home tomorrow, much less having a normal life ever again. Despite my sarcasm, I’m assuming Barry will whole-heartedly agree with me, but his smile faulters. His eyes become sad for a moment. But it’s gone as quickly as quickly as it appears.

“I’m sure it will, lad,” he says seriously. Then he walks away and plants himself in a conversation with Rujeria.

I’m confused, sure, but then I spot Mags enter the room and I relax a little. She smiles at me and winks. I smile back. I haven’t thanked her yet. I should. She’s the only reason I’m alive, I’ve lost count at how many times she’s saved me, just from sending parachutes, not even including all the advice before the Games.

I walk towards her, but a Capitol attendant with a clipboard walks in and starts loudly giving instructions.

Then I hear Caesar Flickerman greet the crowd directly above me. The crowd cheers and jeers. Oddly, I’m not all that nervous at being in front of all them. I just spent almost three weeks fighting for my life while being watched constantly. I guess I’ve gotten used to it.

My prep team is ushered onto the platform first. Mags shows up next to me and takes my hand. Then we wait.

“I think,” Caesar says through the ceiling, “it’s about time we look back on this historic Hunger Games!”

The crowd cheers. Historic? What was so historic about this?

“But before we do that,” Caesar continues, “we need to meet the team behind the Victor!”

He introduces Aleksander, Alexia, and Prometheus and the platform rises up with the three of them on it, all smiling excitedly.

The platform comes back down and Barry hopes on it. Then Rujeria. Mags kisses me on the cheek and releases my hand when it’s time for her to go.

“I—” I say quickly, as the platform starts to descend again. “I want to thank you. You’re the reason I’m still here. You’re the reason I’m a Victor.”

And just like Barry, her eyes become sad.

“What?” I ask. “I… I’m trying to say thank you, I’ll never be able to make it up to you.”

She smiles sadly at me and shakes her head. She stands on the platform and puts her hand over her heart. Then she rises up to the stage.

Chapter Text

The audience goes crazy for Mags. As they should: she’s definitely done more than any mentor in my memory.

When the platform returns I stand on it and start smoothing out my suit. Back when I was walking onto this same stage for interviews, I was worried about how my father and friends would think of my silly outfits. But now, this is the first time they’ll see me as a put together human being, instead of whatever I became in the arena. I want to show them all I’m okay.

“And now!” says Caesar, “for the man of the hour!”

The plate under me starts to rise and I hear the crowd roaring and banging their feet. I’m blinded by the bright lights and the screams somehow get louder. For a moment, the noise reminds me of the monsters I escaped from. It still feels like I was just there a few hours ago. But I steady myself.

Through the bright lights, I catch a glimpse of Caesar Flickerman. I walk towards him and shake his hand. He throws an arm around my shoulder and presents me to the crowd.

After a few more moments of clapping, where I wave lamely, he guilds me over to my chair.

There are eight chairs on stage, all in a row, behind us. There sit my prep team, Barry, Rujeria, Mags, and Claudius Templesmith. Caesar and I sit downstage, where the cameras can get a good look at us. I’m thankful Caesar’s sitting with me. It would be horrible to sit up there by myself.

I sit down on a chair that can more accurately be described as a throne and wait. Caesar tells a few jokes, but he never addresses me, so I just smile and laugh.

Then they start the movie.

Condensing three weeks into three hours is a feat. The editors always try to tell a story, frame it like a movie. The last two years, with those siblings from One, they told brilliant superhero stories about strong capable tributes born to be Victors. This year, it’s an underdog tale.

It starts with the Opening Ceremonies and the training scores. That’s when I finally learn who the boy who came in second is. I still don’t know his name, they’ve been using it so often on tv they probably don’t feel a huge need to repeat it, but I know he was from District Eight, and he got a three in training.

I watch the interviews. I had completely missed Aaron’s interview back then. Maybe I would have understood him better if I had listened to him. The entire time, he was trying to act intimidating, just like Mandy. But where Mandy’s issue was being uncomfortable, his was being too friendly.

The boy from Eight barely had an angle. I think he was trying to play it humble, but he just came off as timid.

Then the Games start. Just like I thought, the Capitol goes wild over my killing Evant and then lying about it. They show me lie to Merida, Merida threatening me. They show Aaron follow me back to the Cornucopia and steal my backpack. When it happens, they cut in an interview with Mags where she says, through the help of subtitles, that I was planning on using that backpack as an escape plan. I watch Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman say things are looking bleak for me.

“He got lucky once,” I watch Claudius tell Caesar, a clip from one of their many discussions during the Games, “but I don’t think Finnick’s got another kill in him. And now, without his backpack, I think District Four’s luck is about to run out.”

Then there’s Jargon. But now we watch from Aaron’s perspective. He’s just out of my line of sight, watching the whole thing. When I kill Jargon, the camera shows the fear in Aaron’s face. It’s what spurs him to finally abandon his hiding spot near our camp, he starts living solely off my bag.

They show a few other tributes here and there. But mostly it’s stuff we’ll need to know later so my story will makes sense. The girl from Ten and the girl from Eleven decide to form an alliance. They see Mandy, Spark, Merida, and Primer walking through the woods and decide climbing down the ravine is safest.

Meanwhile, District Eight turned north-east on the first day and didn’t once stop walking. He got one bag of granola from the Cornucopia and nothing else. He eats some berries that I suppose can’t be poisonous.

Aaron gets attacked by a jungle cat. I saw one of those on my very last day. He manages to kill it, but his coat is torn to shreds and he has to ditch it.

Finally, Spark touches a frog and becomes paralyzed. The next day, the girls from Eleven and Ten find the river. And a monster says hello. Eleven is the faster runner, Ten doesn’t make it. Eleven reaches the cliff and starts to climb. When she reaches the top, Primer kills her.

The intense music starts back up again. They don’t even show Spark finding Evant’s blade, the audience is as surprised as I was when she confronts me.

Then there’s the race to the cliff, and I kill her.

“I think we all underestimated Finnick Odair,” says Caesar.

“She certainly did,” says Claudius.

They both laugh.

“But can he survive without any supplies,” says a woman they brought in as an expert, I assume.

I watch a huge screaming fight between Merida, Primer, and Mandy when they return to camp and neither of us are there. Mandy wants to go out looking for me, but Merida is too upset about Evant’s blade, which they found in the camp, to care about me. Mandy is incredibly worried when she hears the cannon blast. She mutters to herself about letting me walk back alone.

Then it is Spark who appears in the sky, not me. And yet another fight begins. Mandy assures both Merida and Primer that it couldn’t have been me.

“He’s fourteen!” shouts Mandy. “He got a five in training! I know for a fact he can’t do much with weapons. It must have been someone else! For all we know, they were both attacked and Finnick’s out there bleeding out right now!”

They talk her out of it, but that night, during her watch, she goes out looking for me. She doesn’t find me.

I am looking completely crooked and heartless. I discover my pack is missing and start climbing down the cliff, not a care in the world. I’ve managed to fool even Mandy into thinking I’m a helpless kid.

I get to the bottom of the cliff, tired, but cracking jokes. And I get my fresh supplies. 

“No food,” says the woman. “That’s interesting.”

They try to interview Mags about it, but she just shrugs and shakes her head.

“Mystery!” says Caesar. “I can’t wait!”

Then there’s ominous music as I come to the river. I am the first tribute to notice the monster before it attacks and effectively avoid it. My betting odd double from that very achievement.

Then there’s a montage. I fish, District Eight finds his paradise, the lack of my face in the sky calms Mandy and infuriates Merida. Primer acts as the voice of reason. Afterall, I can’t even hold a spear correctly. Perhaps I just decided it was time to split from the group.

Analee, who managed to get a bunch of wires and batteries from the cornucopia is trying to catch fresh meat by electrocuting the forest, but it’s not working very well. The boy from Nine and Aaron are also running low on supplies. The boy from Eight doesn’t move unless he has to. Twice, the Gamemaker’s try to flush him out of his hiding spot with dangerous animals. But he is perssistant.

Finally, there’s the feast. The table appears with a full turkey dinner, along with cake and pies. We get quick shots of Mandy, Primer, and Merida killing the Analee and the boy from Nine. The girl from Nine manages to get away with most of the turkey and a cake.

I face off with Aaron. And I notice just how terrible we both were in that fight. Either of us could have won with a bit more guts. But I was too intimidated by his size, and he was too intimidated by what he’s seen me do. I stitch myself up while he grabs a med kit from the supplies and Evant’s blade, because it’s the only weapon not buried under the rest of the supplies. The editors have given the weapon its own musical score. I hate it.

They show me in a lot of pain, right after waking up, and then skip over a few minutes to when I get the cookie from Mags. I notice they edited out my crying, and my beginning to tie the noose. I guess those things are not considered quality entertainment.

I realize I’m being portrayed as this capable kid who was always going to win, but managed to fool everyone into thinking I was helpless. I suppose that is the strategy I played, but no one is more surprised I won than I am. In fact, the movie is only just getting to the part where I started to believe in myself.

Apparently, I got a bad infection from the belly wound. Mags sends me antibiotics, which I take immediately. They all comment on how smart I am to notice the early warning signs. Little do they know I just took anything Mags sent me without question.

Then, there’s the mudslide. It’s terrible. The entire arena shifts. Primer almost drowns in the mud. The girl from Nine and Aaron both make it down okay, they’re possessions tied to their backs. The boy from Five loses everything, his bag, his weapon. But he manages to make it down the cliffside.

My old allies almost die trying to save their supplies. But they manage to make it down the ravine by using my rope, which they found the day before.

Mandy dies, and for the first time I have to turn my head and not watch. I know there are cameras on me at all times, and I should be more careful about how I look, but I just can’t see her like that again.

But I jump back towards the screen when I hear a familiar voice.

They usually interview our friends and families when there are around eight tributes left. Which means they probably started the interviews right after the feast, which is why it took so long for the mudslide to happen. They always give the tributes a bit of a break around the interviews, so Capitol interviewers don’t schlep down to the districts for a tribute that dies twenty minutes later. I’m assuming they’re showing this clip out of order for dramatic effect. It’s rare to show family clips in the recap. But I almost faint when I hear my father’s voice.

“Finnick’s a good fisherman,” my dad mutters.

He looks more annoyed than I’ve ever, ever seen him. Which is saying a lot. But he’s not yelling. He’s on camera; the entire world is watching. For once, he has to play nice.

“Well,” says the perky woman, completely oblivious to my father’s mood, “I’m sure everyone here is a good fisherman.”

My dad shakes his head. “My son is talented. He’s got good aim. A good eye.”

“Aim?” asks the woman. “Like for a fishing line?”

My father sighs. “No,” he says. “He’s a spear fisher.”

“Spears? Are you saying your son knows how to use a spear?”

My father heaves another big sigh and shakes his head. “Tridents.”

The recap cuts to me opening Mag’s last and greatest gift. My trident. And then the rest goes rather quickly. I kill everyone else. Technically, Merida gets the boy from Five. But he was caught in my trap, so they basically count it as mine. They barely show any of the conversation between Merida and Primer, just my admission that I killed both their District partners. It’s all action.

Until, of course, Aaron. They show Aaron’s whole speech, about how I have always been the one to watch. An announcer woman nods wisely at it, and says we put too much faith in the big kids. How could we have missed this obvious winner?

I kill Aaron. They don’t show Aaron telling me his name, or me asking if he wanted it over quickly. A sign of mercy, no good for television.

Finally, there is the grand finale. I never knew how competent I look with a trident. I move it around as though it’s a fifth limb. The announcers scream for me to run when I come face to face with one of those “hippos”. But instead I jab and swing and take the beast down. A snake comes launching towards me and I spear it in midair and throw its corpse into the face of another critter. I’m unstoppable.

They barely even show the boy from Eight. They haven’t shown him for the past hour and a half. He falls from his tree and we run together. When we’re up on the cliff, he looks at me long before I look at him. His death is absolutely and completely unsatisfying. So much so, that the editors have basically cut it out. Instead, they focus on the monsters, all retreating back to where they came from.

Then there are trumpets, which I didn’t hear. And I climb onto the ladder. The last thing they show is a close up of me walking out of the hospital room, clean and fresh. Then the screen goes dark.

I take a few deep breaths. I feel… dirty. Like I’m some horrible trickster. The boy from Eight, because now I know he’s from Eight, did nothing throughout the whole Games. They sent three snakes after him and a wild cat, but he survived. He didn’t even kill anything. He just avoided. He was smart. He should have won. He’d have been able to sit up here with a clear conscious.

Or Mandy, who was so noble. Who looked for me all through the night, thinking I was injured. She was a skilled killer, sure, but she had been trained to be. Despite that, she was a good person.

Or there was Aaron, who was too nice for his own good. Who stole supplies because he had no other means, and wrestled himself out of the clutches of death with dignity. He could have held his head high.

But I cannot. How did I win? I tricked and lied and killed. I got incredible sponsors because I am good looking. I notice they spent a lot of screentime showing me after I had to throw out my shirt. That they couldn’t help one last shot of me all clean and pretty again. Is this what it takes to win the Hunger Games? There must be more to it, right? But I have a feeling that X factor might not be something I want to discover.

The crowd claps and claps and then President Snow walks on stage. I stand and he takes a golden crown from a velvet pillow and walks towards me.

I’ve never seen him up close before. He’s a bit disconcerting. His lips are very swollen, and his skin looks drawn back. Just a bit wrong. Just a bit off.

He places the crown on my head and shakes my hand.

“Congratulations,” he says.

I smell something on his breath. Blood? It can’t be. I must still be half in the arena.

“Thank you, sir,” I reply.

He chuckles and smiles at me. But I have a feeling the smile was not meant to be a show of warmth. I definitely don’t take it that way.

Caesar reminds everyone to tune in tomorrow at two for the interviews, and the lights cut out.

I’m whisked into a car by myself and it starts driving off before I can even figure out the seatbelt.

I strap myself in, feeling a bit dizzy, and watch as Capitol audience members in bizarre costumes throw themselves at the widow towards me. Some of them are holding handmade signs.

The driver chuckles. “You’re a big hit,” he says.

I don’t like being in a car by myself with this man. It feels… dangerous. At the very least it feels like I’m somewhere I’m not supposed to be.

“I suppose so,” I say.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” he says. “My daughter’s a huge fan.”

He reaches to the seat next to him and grabs a piece of paper and a pen. He hands them back to me.

“Would you mind giving her an autograph? Her names Eclare.”

“Oh,” I stare at the paper and pen. This is… odd. “Sure.”

I write, with a shaking hand. To Eclare, thanks for being a fan – Finnick and I hand it back to him.

“Thanks,” he says. “This was quite the Games. Not sure how long it’s going to take to top this one.”

I don’t respond. I don’t like this man. I’m still a bit raw from the recap and now I’m thinking about my dad. They dragged him in front of a camera and then threw his interview in the recap for the whole world to see. It was so clear he despised what he was doing. What would he think of me signing autographs?

The man parks the car on the curve outside of the President’s Manor and an attendant opens it for me. I’m escorted into a huge, beautiful dining room and a man gestures towards a chair at the head table.

People are already filing in and many lunge towards me to shake my hand. I just barely sit down before I’m yanked up again.

Someone puts an arm around me and snaps my picture. I don’t love being touched by people I don’t know, but I’m so out of sorts I can’t even object.

The night becomes an endless stream of introductions. Only a few make any lasting impression.

One woman comes forward to show me a huge trident tattoo on her back and asks me to sign it.

“It was a rush job,” she says. “The tattoo artist only just finished it. But I wanted it done in time for you to see it!”

Two men come up to me and ask me to take a picture with them while holding up a chocolate chip cookie. When I ask why, the confess they are the ones who paid for it.

“Your mentor seemed to think that was what you needed! Who are we to judge!”

I smile and thank them and take the picture. But it’s a bit unsettling, since Mags sent me that cookie as just something between us. I hate to think that others had to be involved at all.

I’m handed the trident from the arena and take a large group picture with the twenty people who pitched in to pay for it. Then a one-on-one picture with each.

A woman comes up to me with a rope and asks me to tie in in a fancy knot. I do. Why question any of this?

I’m sneaking a few bites of food when I’m approached by a familiar face.

“You should try the lamb,” says Harron Gobsley, head Gamemaker. “It’s good today.”

It’s odd, seeing him in person. I’ve seen plenty of interviews with him. He’s been head Gamemaker for four—five years now. My stomach roles at the sight of him. I lose my appetite.

“Thanks,” I say, “I’ll give it a try the second I have time.”

He has silver hair which is odd, because it looks a bit like it’s gray. But he’s far too young to have grey hair. His cheeks are very red, and he has alcohol on his breath. He’s drunk. But either he doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, because he’s reaching for another glass of wine as we speak.

“You’re a fan favorite,” he says, drinking heavily.

“I’m sure every Victor gets star treatment.”

“Not like you. You put on quite a show.”

“Right…” I say. I’m still parsing out whether or not that was meant as a compliment.

“I mean it,” he says, noticing my tone. “Not necessarily your skill with a trident, although that was fascinating, let me tell you. Caught us completely by surprise. But from the very beginning, you put on one hell of a show. The way you started out as one of the least favorable… We so rarely have a good underdog story where the underdog actually deserved to win. It’s always either a kid who’s obviously trained for this his entire life or some kid from Ten who got way too lucky. Why didn’t you show us your skill with a trident at training?”

I shrug. “You didn’t have any available.”

“A mistake we won’t make next time. Although, your low score did make things interesting when the blood started spilling. Like I said. Underdog.”

I nod. Hoping that’s the end of it.

“Anyway, I wanted to come by and thank you.”

“For what?”

“For putting on such a good show. And for raising so much money.”

“Raising money?”

“Well, it’s not like we broke even, arenas are expensive to make. But we made more money off of this Hunger Games than any in registered history because of you.”

“I… I don’t understand. How do you make money off a Hunger Games?”

“Sponsorships!” he says.

For the first time it dawns on me that the money from sponsors goes to the Capitol government. Obviously, a trident is not actually worth whatever monumental price was spent on it. The Capitol inflates prices for the fun of it and then pockets the income. I had a lot of parachutes in the arena. A lot of expensive parachutes. I’ll bet I made them a lot of money.

“Oh, right. Of course.”

“Between you and I,” says Gobsley, leaning in too close to me, eyes a bit unfocused, “there’s this sneaky up and comer who’s been trying to steal the position of Head Gamemaker away from me since I got the job. The twin gimmick the last two years were fun, but not enough to keep me in the driver’s seat. Especially since my first year was such a disaster. But the higher ups are impressed by this year. I wouldn’t be surprised if this kept me in my job for the next five years, no matter how the next Games go.”

“Well, I’m happy for you.”

He chuckles at me, taking another sip from his glass.

“Thanks kid.”

Then he stumbles away. How long is this going to take? I’ve caught glimpses of President Snow twice. But I haven’t seen Mags at all. I’d even be happy for a conversation with Barry or Rugeria.

I manage a few minutes of sitting, where I eat a chocolate cake so good it almost makes up for that last sucky conversation.

I’m pulled up for a picture with some woman who doesn’t even introduce herself. After the camera man walks away, her grip just tightens around my shoulders.

“So,” she says. “Finnick. I haven’t heard anything about the rest of your stay here in the Capitol.”

“Well, I just have the interview tomorrow,” I say.

“Yes, yes, I know. I was wondering if you are busy before that.”

“Before?”

“There you are,” says a voice behind us. “I keep missing you.”

Garrick is standing off to the side, with Walsh a few paces behind him.

“Mrs. Fannon,” says Garrick.

“Garrick!” says the woman. She releases me and gets a tight grip around Garrick instead. “What ever happened to your hair. I liked it all wild and curly.”

Garrick, as bald as ever, smiles. “Oh, majority rule, I suppose.”

“That’s too bad. People here have no taste at all.”

I think that’s rich coming from a woman died light blue with bright red hair to match her dress.

“Well,” says Garrick. “You’re the expert.”

I notice how uncomfortable Garrick looks. Walsh is frowning as well. Clearly, neither of them like this woman. Mrs. Fannon. But where Garrick seems to just be grossed out by her, Walsh’s face shows deep hatred.

“What are you up to for the rest of your stay?” she says.

Walsh’s scowl gets deeper, and Garrick clears his throat.

“I’ve got a Mentorship thing tomorrow at five am.”

“Oh,” says the woman. “That’s basically my bedtime, you know! What could you possibly be doing so early in the morning? I thought Mags was his sponsor this year anyway?”

“I was Mandy’s sponsor.”

“Who?”

“The girl from our district. I need to oversee her getting sent home.”

“Does that happen every year?”

“Yes.”

“Huh, you learn something new every day! Well, we’ll have to meet up next year.”

“I suppose so.”

The woman turns to me. “Bye Finnick. Lovely to meet you.”

She pats my head and then she’s gone.

Garrick releases a big sigh of relief and puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Horrible woman,” he says. “Anyway, I haven’t seen you. Good job out there. You weren’t kidding about being good with a trident.”

“Mandy’s body isn’t home yet?”

Garrick’s smile faulters.

“No, it’s being shipped home tomorrow. Everyone goes home the same day.”

I do not enjoy that concept. Am I going to be on the same train as her? Will her father and girlfriend be quietly getting a coffin for her while the rest of Four is forced to celebrate my return?

“Hey,” says Garrick, shaking me out of it. “You did everything you could for Mandy. If it was the other way around, would you want her to dwell on it?”

The other way around. If Mandy had killed me by that river, my body broken, and then gone on to win it all. That was what was supposed to happen… I would have wanted her to enjoy herself.

“You’re right,” I say grimly.

“You give in easy,” says Walsh. He checks his watch. “You’ve got another hour, tops. Then we can go and get some sleep.”

“Where is everyone?” I ask.

“Everyone?”

“The others. Mags and Jeffer and Kent.”

“Oh, well Mags is being dragged around for pictures just like you,” says Garrick. “Kent is drunk in a bathroom somewhere. And Jeffer… He’s busy right now. You just need to take a picture with the Gamemakers, and then the party will start shifting from a chance to meet you to any old Capitol party. Eventually we’ll all be free to go.”

“How long will this thing last?” I ask.

“We’ll be out of here before midnight, at the latest,” says Walsh. “But these have been known to go until six or seven in the morning.”

“Straight through?”

“Straight through.”

“How do they stay awake?”

“Sleep all day,” says Garrick. “Caffeine. Drugs. Whatever method of their choosing. Ah, here’s Kent.”

They steer me over to a table where Kent is practically unconscious already, pouring another glass of wine.

“For me?” says Garrick, “why thanks.”

He takes the glass from Kent and takes a sip. “Refreshing.”

“Rude,” Kent slurs.

“You’re in the President’s house. You need to have a little self-control here. Come on, you never get drunk in front of people.”

“Most years I don’t get drunk in front of people,” Kent mutters, breaking up a biscuit and putting some crumbs into his mouth. “But we’ve had an his-historic Hunger Games this year. I’m celebrating.”

“What’s so historic about this one?” I ask timidly.

“Oh!” says Kent. “Didn’t see you there. Heh.”

He tries to stand and falls back down. Walsh puts a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“You know this one,” says Garrick. “You’re the youngest victor ever. By a lot, I think.”

“Oh,” I say. “That’s right. I, uh, forgot.”

“It was all you could talk about on the train ride here,” says Garrick.

“Well, that was a long time ago.”

They don’t push. Part of me is grateful I’m not historic for some other reason. Like number of kills or… something. But part of me is nervous that this says enough. When your eighteen and big and strong it makes sense you can kill a fourteen-year-old. What does it say about the fourteen-year-old who’s able to kill all the eighteen-year-olds? Like I’m some sort of little goblin that bites and pulls hair and stabs people in the neck.

I have a few moments of peace with the three victors, and then I’m dragged over to meet the Gamemakers.

One in particular shakes my hand, but scowls at me. I recognize him from the training center, but I can’t put a name to the face.

“This is Seneca Crane,” says Gobsley. “He’s my right-hand man!”

I realize this is the lowlife trying to steal Gobsley’s job. He’s sure to love me.

“Hello,” I say as politely as possible.

Crane throws his arm around me. “Finnick Odair. Where did you learn to fight with a trident?”

“I’m a spear-fisher.”

“Right. Is that all?”

“Yes.”

I’m being honest, but he just chuckles.

“Oh well. Let me tell you, you’re quite the… perfect tribute. Besides your age, of course. Signature weapon, quick-wit, good looking, not afraid to get your hands dirty… almost like you were selected on purpose.”

He thinks I’m a Career? But that’s ridiculous, I didn’t volunteer. And I don’t have training with any other weapon. Not to mention, if I was being trained to compete in the Hunger Games they’d probably train me in a weapon that would definitely be in the Cornucopia. Not something that I’d need to get in a parachute.

“I don’t understand,” I say.

He pats my shoulder. “It doesn’t matter.”

I decide to let it go. I stand for a few more pictures, shake a bunch of hands, and then I’m being led towards another car.

I’m buckling my seatbelt, this time with a different driver in front of me, when someone grabs the closing door and wiggles his way onto the seat next to me.

I’m worries it’s some crazed Capitol fan for a moment. But it’s just Kent. He heaves a big sigh and puts his head back, somehow drunk and hungover at the same time.

“You don’t mind, do you?” he says. “I had to get out of there.”

“You’re fine.”

“Yeah, you say that now. Wait till I puke all over your outfit.”

“Go for it. It’ll give me a reason to feel horrible.”

Kent doubles over with laughter, which gives me pause because it wasn’t that funny. I guess it’s the alcohol.

When we get to the Tribute Center Kent waves off the Capitol attendants and walks me inside by himself. He leans his head against the wall of the elevator and closes his eyes as we go up. When the door opens just a second or so later, I have to shake him to get him to walk with me into the empty sitting area.

“Where is everyone?” I ask.

Kent grunts. “Mags and Walsh and Garrick are talking to the Gamemakers. Give them an hour, they’ll show up. Jeffer will probably be gone for the rest of the night.”

“Where is he?”

“Hell.”

Kent doesn’t elaborate. I decide it’s none of my business.

“I might stay up and wait for Mags…” I say mostly to myself.

I need to talk to her. Or anyone from home who isn’t drunk. I feel so incredibly lousy and guilt ridden. There’s something nagging at me. It started when I killed Jargon and it grew and grew up until I killed that boy from Eight. And now, after seeing the recap, my whole Hunger Games in all its glory, and the way the Capitol has been treating me, I think I finally know what it is. But I need to talk it out with someone.

Kent shrugs. “If you want. You’ll see her tomorrow, you know.”

“I know.”

Kent collapses into an armchair. “Okay.”

And he’s asleep. He looks dreadful.

I stumble into my room and take a shower to get the makeup off. I put the Victor’s crown on the desk and try not to look at it. Do I get to keep that thing? Feels weird.

After my shower I slip into some pajamas and join Kent, still unconscious, in the sitting area. I don’t dare turn on the tv (who knows what I’d find there. More snippets from my Hunger Games most likely) and there’s not much else to do. I stare off into space, willing time to go by.

What feels like seconds later I’m being shaken awake on the sitting room couch. I rub my eyes and try to recover my bearings. I must have dozed off.

Jeffer is standing over me.

“Hey kid,” he says. “Y’know, you’ve got a bed just down the hall.”

I sit up and look around. Kent is exactly where I left him, head tilted back, mouth open, in his armchair.

“So does he,” I point out. At least I was lying down.

“Yeah, well, with him it’s to be expected,” says Jeffer.

Jeffer, I realize, looks terrible. His usually well-manicured hair is sticking up in the back. He’s carrying his blazer and tie, and his button up shirt is wrinkled and untucked.

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” he says. “It was just a long night. Have you been here since the party?”

“What time is it?”

“Almost four-thirty.”

“What?”

I sit up and look around. It’s still dark outside. There’s no sign anyone came home.

“I was waiting up for Mags…”

“She must have been offered a room at the President’s mansion. Not unheard of. In the Capitol if it’s too late it’s considered rude to expect people to leave. The talk with the Gamemaker’s must have gone extra long. Is it just you and Kent?”

I nod.

“Why don’t you go to bed and get a few more hours. Your prep team will be here later to get you ready for the interview.”

“What about Kent?” I ask. It feels wrong to leave him like this. I’m sure the hangover will be bad enough. Forget about the neck pain.

“I’ll take care of him,” says Jeffer.

I stand and start stumbling towards my bedroom. Behind me, I hear Jeffer rouse Kent.

“’m awake, ‘m awake,” Kent says. “Oh it’s you. You okay?”

Jeffer’s much better at keeping his voice down. I hear him laugh slightly and reply, but I can’t make out the words.

“Where’s Walsh?” says Kent.

Jeffer responds.

“Bah,” says Kent. “I’m not surprised. The leches were in fine form tonight. Boy got crowned like twenty minutes ago and they’re already, well, you know…”

Kent peters off and I shut my door. I gather enough that Kent was telling Jeffer something about the Capitol’s treatment of me, and that it was bad. But honestly there are so many different things they could be referring to, that I decide not to worry about it. I’m a bit more interested in Jeffer returning from “hell” at four-thirty in the morning, looking like he swam a river in his clothes and then dried out in heavy wind. But I suppose what Jeffer does is his own business. And I’m far too tired to think about it.

I fall asleep immediately. And then all too soon I’m being shaken awake by my prep team.

The make me take another shower, even though I just took one last night. Then they get to work in front of the mirror.

I look at myself, really look at myself, for the first time since before the arena. Somethings… wrong. I touch my stomach and frown. The scar is gone, but it looks different than before. Something about my chest and stomach is strange.

Before I can really figure out what it is, they throw a robe over me and get to work on my face.

I think I’m getting used to being poked with different kinds of brushes and sticks. After a while, my makeup is done. They paint my nails again, which I hate, this time a gold color. They put gold powder in my hair and then shake it out until my curls are shining like I’m in the sun. 

Then they let me eat a quick meal with Mags and Walsh, both of whom wave off any questions I have about where they were last night and give me a few tips for the interview.

Then it’s back to my room where Rujeria meets us and helps me into yet another outfit.

This one feels a bit odd for her. Mostly because it’s so simple. She puts me in tight gold pants, black shoes, and a loose-fitting black shirt with gold vine designs. The shirt has a very low V-neck, with string threaded through both ends so it looks like the strings could be tightened and tied shut. But she doesn’t tighten or tie anything. I’m sure the shirt has some sort of official name, but I’ve never seen anyone in the capitol wear something like this before.

Technically, I’m completely covered. But it feels like I’m informal, showing too much skin. The shirt hangs so loosely, no tie… It reminds me a bit of how Jeffer looked the night before, but more put together. Casual while wearing clothes that are supposed to be formal. It’s just odd.

Then I’m taken into the sitting room. All the Victors have seats behind the cameras. Kent has seen better days, though he’s sitting up and drinking coffee. The only time I’ve been alone with any of them was last night, and Kent and Jeffer didn’t look in any condition to talk. Although Jeffer looks normal today.

I suppose I have plenty of time.

Caesar approaches while a bunch of tech people hook up the cameras and microphones. He shakes my hand and pats my shoulder and I can’t help thinking how weird it is to see him off stage.

“How are you feeling, Finnick,” he asks.

“Fine.” Because what else could I say?

“Well, just based on how well you did at the interviews before the Games, I’m sure this will be a breeze.”

I feel very unprepared. Although this is nothing compared to what I felt before the last interviews. I remember Mandy and I standing backstage laughing about… something. My odds of throwing up on stage. I can’t even remember.

I sit on the couch next to Caesar while people fuss with the lights. We stay there in silence for a while before Caesar speaks.

“You know,” he says. “I’ve done quite a few of these and I’m always surprised how the Victor reacts.”

“What?”

“Well, some are just like you’d expect. They’re the new Victor. Lifetime of riches ahead of them, a party back in their district. They’re over the moon. And then there are some who are just like they were before the Games. They’re all shy, y’know. And every once in a while you get a few that are just numb. Like you.”

“I’m numb?”

“Well, you’re certainly not the young man joking about the ocean who I talked to a few weeks ago.”

“I’m not sure if I was ever that young man,” I say.

“Well,” says Caesar. “Who are you?”

I think for a moment. Who am I? I’m not even sure anymore. I knew who I was before my name got called at the reaping. But now…

“I don’t know,” I say.

“That’s alright,” says Caesar. “You’ve got some time to figure it out. In the meantime, if you want some professional advice, bring back that lad joking about the ocean. I think the Capitol audience will be happy to see him again.”

There is some sort of message there. I was planning on just being myself, leaving the angle behind me. After all, I was using it to get sponsors, and it’s not like I need those anymore. But maybe it would be easier to keep up some sort of persona in front of the cameras. Everyone at the party kept pushing me to be something, whereas I was just stunned. Maybe if I had given them what they wanted from the start, they’d have left me alone.

The camera man starts counting down. He points to us and the red light above the camera turns on.

“Welcome Panem, to our live interview with the newly crowned Victor of the Sixty-Fifth Hunger Games: Finnick Odiar,” says Caesar. I’m almost expecting him to wait for applause, but of course, he moves right along like a pro. “Now, Finnick, before we start talking about the Games themselves, I have to ask. You are the youngest Victor ever, by a year and nine months! First things first, how are you feeling?”

I don’t know. I don’t have a thought-out answer for this question. My first instinct is to say that I don’t feel anything. But that’s exactly what Caesar was trying to help me avoid. All I’m left with is the truth. At least, what I felt back in the arena.

“Surprised,” I say, laughing slightly.

Caesar laughs along with me. “I’m sure you know, just from the recap you saw last night if nothing else, that the odds were not considered in your favor when the games began.”

“I certainly wasn’t betting on me,” I say.

“Yes, we know from your conversation in the arena that you had always been betting on Mandy Tarlek, from your own District. Would you like to talk a bit about that?”

I realize he’s referring to my conversation with Aaron. I definitely do not want to talk about it. But I’d never have the courage to say that on camera, with President Snow and everyone he works for watching. I may be a Victor, but I’m still from the Districts.

“She was… the most capable in the arena by far. In fact, nothing but those monsters could have killed her. She was a match for everything else in that arena. I was positive she’d be the winner.”

Caesar nods solemnly, as though he completely understands. “So did most of the rest of us. Mandy was the favorite up until the accident. Which was most likely due to her excellent training score. Now, everyone’s wondering, with all your talents, why wasn’t your training score higher?”

“And what talents are you referring to?” I say, smiling.

Caesar laughs and looks at the camera. “He’s fishing for compliments,” he says, his hand over his mouth as though I can’t hear him. I laugh with him.

“Let’s say, your skill with that trident,” says Caesar.

“Well, that’s simple,” I say. “They don’t have tridents in the Training Center.”

“They don’t?”

“I was disappointed, I’ll be honest.”

“Why not use a spear.”

“I’ve discovered it’s not at all the same.”

“It’s not?”

“No.”

“How are they different?”

“Well,” I say seriously. “Tridents are better.”

Caesar laughs and laughs while I try to explain how tridents are better in every way, but failing to distinguish them from spears at all. Comedy corner, with Caesar Flickerman and Finnick Odair.

“Ah, but really Finnick, any particular reason why the score was so low for someone with all your skills?”

“What skills? Without a trident, what else was really impressive? For the Gamemakers, I made a nice trap and camouflaged it. But at the end of the session, it was just me tying ropes for ten minutes. I’m surprised I got as good a score as I did.”

“And there’s nothing else you could have done to impress them?”

“Well,” I say. “I suppose. To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t aiming for a great score.”

“Not trying to get a good score?” says Caesar. “It was strategy?”

“I know I was pretty capable in the arena. But I was still the smallest one. No need getting the big kids interested in crossing me off early in the games. I didn’t really see a need for a good training score.”

“You were making yourself less of a target,” says Caesar. “Now that is how you play the game smart! I think we can all agree, though we were very impressed with your skill with a trident, we were equally if not more impressed by your strategy and wits in the arena. Tell me, when did you decide to lie about killing Evant from District Two?”

“Almost right away,” I say. “I knew they wouldn’t be too happy about it, and I needed at least a day with them.”

“Right, you had an original plan that went sour on you.”

“My original plan was to fill a backpack full of supplies, hide it, and then bolt at the first sign of trouble. But when I saw someone found the backpack I had to come up with a different plan.”

“And what was that plan, if you don’t mind?”

“Well, when I was taking stock of the supplies I had, I saw the water from the pack of that girl from Eleven had algae in it. She had gotten it from a lake or a river. So I figured, where there’s a body of water, there are fish. And I knew where she had come from.”

“But you met quite an adversary there.”

“Yes, vaguely recall getting treed by some sort of angry resident.”

“Did you know, you were the only tribute to survive an encounter with a hippo and go back to the river again?”

“Is that a jab at my intelligence?” I say. Caesar laughs. “I thought we were talking about how smart I was in the arena!”

“Well, you have to admit, it was a bit surprising. You seemed to find some way to tame the beast.”

“Well, I noticed he only ever paid me any attention if I actually touched the water. When I threw rocks or branches into the water, he didn’t move at all. And he didn’t seem to care what I did on the shore.”

“’He’?” says Caesar. “All the hippos in the arena were female, you know.”

“Oh,” I say. “Then the names I gave them were a bit off.”

“Names?”

“Well, I had to call them something. And I had never heard of a hippo before.”

“What did you name them?”

“Oh, Herman, Albert, Patricia, that sort of thing.”

Caesar’s laughing again. Then he lets me ramble about the best way to gut and cook a fish with nothing but fire, some water, and a few berries before he turns the conversations back to my fellow tributes and their deaths. He talks about Spark’s death, which is mostly complimenting me on the creative way I did it. Then he moves on to Mandy.

He doesn’t dwell on any of these topics for too long, probably because he can tell I’m uncomfortable with them and he doesn’t want the audience to pick up on it.

“I think we have time for one or two more questions,” he says, finally. “So, first off. When you got that Trident, what was going through your head?”

I’m thankful it’s not about the boy from District Eight, because I still haven’t worked that out for myself. But I still have to think about this one.

What was I thinking when I got that trident? The few hours before-hand, I was thinking about the other tributes, and how I knew none of them had it in them to win. But not because any of them were unworthy of going home, they all should have gone home. But because if no one stepped up soon and gave the Capitol something to root for, the Gamemakers were going to turn the rest of the Sixty-Fifth Hunger Games into Attack of the Hippos, starring: whoever could run from them fast enough. And I didn’t want to go through that.

But I can’t say that in front of the whole country. I’d be flogged for saying every tribute deserved to survive. And I couldn’t talk like my last little hunting streak was somehow manipulating the Capitol audience and the Gamemaker’s into going easy on us.

“I suppose,” I say, “that was when I realized I could win.”

“It never crossed your mind before that?”

“No,” I say, truthfully. “Never. Because at that point, all I had was a small knife. And I suppose a sword I didn’t know how to use. I mean, I knew eventually I’d have to fight people on even ground. No tricks or… using my size to make them unsuspecting. And before I got the trident, well I didn’t consider myself up for it.”

It’s not even a lie. Caesar nods wisely.

“And my last question, before we have to sign off. When you won it all, and that last competitor fell, you looked so serious. So, solemn. What was running through your head when you were looking at that ladder, in your last moments of the arena?”

Dangerously close to District Eight, but I’m able to avoid the actual topic.

“Honestly, I was thinking, ‘does this mean I get to go home?’”

“What do you mean? You had won.”

“Well, I didn’t know I had won until then. I was unconscious during the feast and the anthem afterwards. I wasn’t sure how many, if any, had died during the feast. I wasn’t sure how many people were left when I… when the boy from Eight died. It was possible I still had two more tributes to go.”

“But didn’t you hear the trumpets, and Claudius Templesmith announce you as Victor?”

“No, I didn’t. The hippos—still not used to calling them that—their roar tore through my eardrums. All I could hear was ringing after it happened. The ladder was my first indication.”

Caesar loves that. What a great little fun fact about my Hunger Games, that I was asleep and deafened, so I didn’t know it was over. He doesn’t mention that it means I never got any closure in that arena. No one shouting over a roaring crowd that I had won. I left, but part of me still feels like I’m in there with two more tributes to get through.

Every other Victor kills their last opponent knowing that they’re doing it to go home. Why did I kill the boy from Eight?

Caesar is saying the goodbyes and reminding everyone they’ll see me in six months, for the Victor’s Tour. Finally, the cameras cut out.

But my head is still buzzing with that final question I asked myself. Why did I kill the boy from Eight?

I know why I killed everyone else. I killed Evant because he was going to kill me. I killed Jargon because it was either that, or let him go, and the Capitol would have been furious if I had let him go. I killed Spark because she was going to kill me. I killed Mandy to put her out of her misery. I killed the girl from Nine, Merida, Primer, even Aaron, because I was on a warpath to get home with as little pain for everyone, as fast as possible.

And I could say that about the boy from Eight. That I killed him because I had decided, when I got the trident, that I would be the winner. That I would kill everyone else in the arena and go home, before the Gamemakers did it for me in long, drawn out, horrible ways. But that wouldn’t be true. District Eight was not part of that murder crusade I went on.

Maybe if I had known he was the last one, I would have killed him as the necessary step to get home. But home was the farthest thing from my mind on that cliffside.

They let me go back to my room to retrieve my things. Which is just Emma’s necklace, and then I’m being ushered out of the tribute center and into a car.

I’ve lost track of the other Victors. But I don’t really feel like talking to them anymore. My head is full of District Eight.

Why did I kill him? I know the answer. And it frightens me.

I killed the boy from District Eight, who only a few seconds before I was clinging to out of fear, because it was too loud.

The roars, they were too loud. I needed to stop the noise. And I knew mutts usually stop attacking after someone dies. I killed that boy because it was hurting my ears.

What kind of a monster am I?

Chapter Text

I realize now, why I so badly wanted to talk to Mags. I wanted to ask her something about being a Victor. But I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. Now I know.

I wanted to ask her if any Victors are good people. But I already know the answer. No. We aren’t.

Mandy, I realize finally, never would have won. It isn’t bad luck that puts this crown on my head instead of hers. It is that she was too good a person. She was too good to win. If it had been her on that cliffside with Eight her first order of business would have been to protect him. She would not have killed a boy over loud noises. Eventually, one of them would have had to die, of course, but she wouldn’t have been able to do it.

The boy from Eight didn’t. He came to the same conclusion I did. I know it. He was looking right at me. He could have thrown me off to the Mutts. He could have slit my throat with my own knife. My eyes were shut tight. But he didn’t. Because he couldn’t. Because he was a good person, who needed a better reason to kill.

It was what I had felt with Jargon, too. But to a lesser extent. Why did I kill Jargon? Because I couldn’t leave him in the trap, and I couldn’t set him free. Sure, all of these things eventually lead to it being either him or me, in the Hunger Games it always does. But in that moment, I killed him because I had nothing else to do with him. Which is why I felt so terrible afterwards.

But District Eight was worse. Sure, I can pull him through the woods by the hand, and clutch to him when the Mutts ram into the cliff wall, trying to shake us loose. But the second things become too uncomfortable…

When good people go into the Hunger Games, they die. You have to be a bad person to look at another kid and decide they will die so you can live. You have to be a bad person to put yourself first like that. In the arena, everyone is innocent except the one who gets out.

That’s why it’s so hard to imagine myself going home. Because they will all hate me now. Just like my mother hated the girl who killed her friend. Now it is I who kills friends. How can I face anyone?

Rujeria says goodbye to us on the platform. Barry, apparently, will be coming with us. I wave for the cameras one last time and then they shut the doors and the train takes off.

Barry immediately excuses himself, and behold, I am alone with the Victors. But now I really don’t feel like talking. Anything I say could be construed as an insult towards them. And I’ve honestly grown to like the Victors. Although I’m assuming that’s just because they’re the only ones around from home.

We rewatch the interviews, I do fine. Then we eat dinner and sit in the sitting area for a while afterwards. Mags takes my hand, which is comforting, but it doesn’t really help. I feel like I don’t deserve it.

Once Jeffer goes to bed early, saying he has a headache, I decide I can leave too. I thank Mags again and rush off to my room.

I take off the ridiculous Capitol clothes and wash all the makeup off my face. I find that bottle of alcohol Mags used to remove the paint from my nails and scrub off the gold. When I’m done, I look at myself in front of the mirror.

Something still feels off. My chest and torso are different. I realize that, while I’ve always been skinny, I’ve still had normal body flab on my hips and stomach. And now it’s gone. Did I not eat well in the arena? Did I lose the weight? Something tells me that’s not it. Because if so, my chest would be skinnier. If anything, my chest is more built. I have more muscle there. It doesn’t make sense.

I get into some pajamas and go back out into the sitting area. Garrick and Kent are still up. I pause for a moment when I see them. They’re deep in whispered conversation, sitting with their heads close together like they’re strategizing. I forgot Kent was Garrick’s mentor. Sure, apparently Kent didn’t do a great job. But they must be close.

I’m about to forget about it, turn around and go to sleep, when Garrick notices me.

“Hey kid,” he says. “Mags just went to bed, she’s probably still up.”

“Um… that’s alright. I had a question, but it can wait. It’s probably all in my head.”

Kent takes a sip from a flask I didn’t notice before and chuckles. “You’re too sober for those kinds of questions.”

“What’s up,” says Garrick.

I’m suddenly uncomfortable at the idea of talking about it. But if I don’t ask, it’ll just bug me.

“Well… um… I look different.”

I expect them to be confused, but both men’s faces drop instantly. “Where,” says Kent. It’s the most serious I’ve heard him.

“My stomach. And chest. Like… I have less body fat around my stomach, which I guess makes sense, I was in the arena. And maybe when they fixed the cut there… but my chest almost looks bigger.”

Garrick sighs and Kent takes a long pull from his flask.

“We’re sorry, Finnick,” says Garrick. “Mags and Walsh spent a long time arguing with them about altering you surgically, we thought they’d leave you be. But I guess they just went ahead with it.”

“Altering me…”

I hug my pajamas to my body. Like what Rujeria had done to her body to have such a horrifyingly small waist and large breasts and butt? I had been terrified Rujeria would try to do it to me. Looks like somebody has.

“I…” I don’t know what to say. I want to be put back the way they found me, but I have a feeling that’s impossible. “Is this something they do to everyone?”

Kent and Garrick glance at each other.

“Not everyone…” says Kent. “I never got any alterations. But… It does happen. Usually a few years after the Games. We didn’t think… since you haven’t really gone through puberty yet, we assumed they’d wait longer.”

But this does not comfort me. Because maybe they are waiting for puberty before they really mess with me. And what can I do to stop them? I may be a Victor, but I’m even more trapped than before.

“What will they…” I say. “I mean, they’re not going to like… dye me a different color or…”

“They never do anything all that unnatural to Victors,” says Garrick. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if this is it for you, Finnick. They mostly just try to make us more attractive, or… give us a gimmick.”

“A gimmick?”

Garrick runs his hand over his bald head, perhaps unintentionally, but it’s enough to make me realize.

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

Garrick shrugs. “I don’t mind much. I don’t know if you remember, but in my arena I had to—”

“—you cut your hair. Because… something got stuck in it.”

“Yeah. It became a gimmick. And Enobaria from Two, her teeth. She’s by far the worst one. But you don’t have anything from your Games that they’ll want to… They won’t mess with you too much, okay? This is it.”

I collapse onto the couch next to Kent and he puts his arm around me like he’s my father or something.

“Is it just you and I from District Four?” I ask.

“Well… we can’t prove it, but we’re pretty sure they made Jeffer taller. And they did something to his hair, it used to be crazy and now it’s straight no matter what he does to it.”

I run my hand through my own crazy hair.

“Don’t worry about it,” says Garrick.

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. And I don’t blame you. But the Capitol likes how you look too much to change anything major. They probably just went a bit overboard when fixing the cut in your stomach, and gave you a bit in your chest because you were too skinny for the cameras.”

“Finnick, they never touched me,” says Kent. “There are plenty of Victors we know who got a bit of fat removed, just like you, and then were never touched again. Garrick, Enobaria, Jeffer, they got the worst of it.”

I suddenly feel bad for the cruel things I thought about Enobaria. With a pang of guilt I remember my father making fun of Garrick’s lack of hair when he came back bald one year. And how I was so hesitant around Jeffer and Garrick because they had a Capitol look about them. I never dreamed it wasn’t their choice.

Now I’m thinking about my dad, and what he’ll say when he sees me. He didn’t hold back about Garrick and Jeffer, why would he be different when he sees how I’ve changed? It’s like the Capitol branded me.

I bury my face in my arms. I don’t want to cry. Crying because I look a little different; such a small difference that it took me a day and a half to notice, when Garrick is sitting in front of me with his entire look altered. But I do cry, and both men are very good to me. They pat me on the back and tell me they understand.

After a little while, Garrick disappears and returns with Mags. She doesn’t ask what’s wrong, Garrick must have told her, she just plops down next to me and rubs my back.

I calm down slightly. Once the tears are basically gone Mags tugs at my shirt. She wants to see. I feel my face and neck burn at the idea of other people seeing what they did to me.

Mags is babbling again. Saying I don’t have to.

“We can leave the room,” says Kent, “if you want.”

I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. If anyone understands, it’s Garrick. And Mags and Kent seem to know all about it.

I take off my shirt, face still burning, and let Mags look at what they did.

Mags doesn’t show any emotion. Kent and Garrick both scowl slightly, but then their faces clear.

“Honestly,” says Garrick. “I can’t tell a difference, Finnick. I mean, I know it’s there, and I can guess at what they did, but I wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t told me.”

Kent nods. “They made you look a bit more adult. Basically, just sped up puberty for you. You’d probably have ended up looking like this in a few years anyway.”

Mags throws my shirt over my neck and I take it as instruction to put it back on.

Kent’s comment does make me feel a bit better. I want to still feel natural.

“I just don’t want to look like Rujeria or something,” I say.

All three Victors shake their heads and assure me that no Victor in history has ever ended up looking like Rujeria.

“I’d be shocked if they touch you again,” says Kent.

“Why?”

“Because… well, to be blunt Finnick. Because they like the way you look now.”

I never thought about that. They do like the way I look now. That’s how I got all those sponsorships, right? Making me look a little older is one thing. But once I actually get older, there will be no reason to mess with how I look.

I nod. Somehow, they’ve made me feel better. I thank them all, and they give me pats on the back.

I want to apologize to Garrick for all the things my friends and family and I have said about his hair. But in order to apologize, I’d have to admit we said them, and I’m too ashamed. I just hug him, and Kent, and let Mags take me back to my room.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” I tell her.

She shakes her head, either to mean not to be sorry, or that she wasn’t asleep. It amounts to about the same.

Now that I’m alone with her, part of me wants to ask about this discovery I have made. About how Victors might all be bad people. But after hearing that Mags and Walsh fought for me not to be altered, and how Garrick and Kent comforted me tonight when they barely know me, I can’t see them as bad people. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe they played the Games like I always assumed they were played, back when I was just a spectator. That the deaths don’t mean anything. That everyone goes in dead already, and so there’s nothing personal about them. Maybe it was just my Games that was messy. Maybe I got too attached.

I can’t sleep now, I have too much on my mind. Mags doesn’t push me to. We stay up, and she teaches me how to knit.

I love it. How have I never learned to do this before. It’s like when I took that bit of rope my dad gave me and kept tying it and untying it. It occupies my mind just enough, but not too much. And at the end, I actually have something to show for it.

Mags lets me knit until the sun starts coming up. Then she tucks me in and tells me to get a few hours of sleep.

There is something so calming about this woman. She’s like a grandmother. I curl up under the covers and thank her for her help, again. She just shakes her head, like she doesn’t need my thanks, and turns off my light.

When I wake up, light is pouring through the windows. I’m not sure how long I’ve been out, but I feel well rested. I get up and dress in something simple. Then, I wander out of my room in search of food.

I slow slightly when I hear voices.

“How did he take it?” says Jeffer.

“Better than I did, but as you’d expect,” says Garrick.

“We should have warned him.”

“Warned him when?” says Kent. “Before he went into the arena? Or we could have pulled him aside when he was talking to Caesar Flickerman and said, hey, take off your shirt, we want to see if they’ve surgically altered you to be more attractive.”

“Was it bad?” asks Walsh.

“Not really,” says Garrick. “They kept his body-type the same. Basically just… slimmed him down a little. Gave him some muscle in his chest.”

“I told them, Mags and I told them until we were blue in the face: he’ll grow into his body. If they just left him alone, by the time he was eighteen—”

“—I think that’s what Mags is afraid of,” says Garrick. “Why didn’t they just wait, you know?”

They sit in silence for a moment. I’m about to go back to my room, so they don’t find out I was spying, when Walsh speaks again.

“So how are you?”

“Me?” says Jeffer. “I’m fine.”

“It’s been a few years since last time, we’re just checking in.”

“Nothing to check in about,” he says. “I’m fine. Really. Ready to go home and sleep for two weeks.”

“We’ve got a party to attend first.”

Garrick sighs. “Yeah, it’ll be my first. At least the first one where I’m not in the driver’s seat. Although, to be honest, I was expecting this.”

“You were expecting a party?”

“Yeah, I just thought it’d be Mandy’s.”

The other three men all make objection noises.

“You sound like Finnick,” says Walsh. “Sometimes I forget your still new to this.”

“I’ve been doing this for quite a few years, Walsh.”

“Nah, you’re still a baby,” says Walsh. “It was always Finnick. Especially when Mags proved us all wrong about the trident thing.”

“I thought she was losing her mind, hoarding all that money for some weapon we’ve never even seen him use,” says Kent. “I should have known better. I’m certainly not new at this.”

“Well, I’m going to take another shower before the cameras show up again,” says Jeffer.

“Is that like your fifth since…”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t think the showers are going to help you forget,” says Kent.

“Well I’m not quite ready to try your method just yet.”

They make a few comments about Kent’s alcoholism and I decide if I’m going into the dining car, now would be the time.

They all greet me happily when I walk in.

“Finnick, good, just in time for lunch.”

“Mags is still asleep,” says Walsh. “Which is weird for me.”

“Weird for you?” I ask.

“Mags wakes up at four thirty every morning like clockwork. A habit from when she was a kid working on the docks. I shook the early morning habit the minute I could. It’s rare I wake up before her.”

“Yeah… that’s my fault. I kept her up.”

“Nothing can keep Mags awake if she decides it’s time for bed,” says Jeffer. “Don’t worry, she wanted to sit up with you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a shower to get to.”

He leaves and I take his chair. The food is still good, but I’m having trouble focusing on it. What did Walsh mean, it was always me? That was what Aaron had said too… What traits did I have that shouted Victor? Was it, like I was starting to suspect, because I was a bad person? Could they tell, all the way back then?

“So,” says Walsh. “What do you know about the party we’re about to have in…” he looks at his watch, “two hours?”

“Um,” I say. “Nothing, really.”

“Okay. It’s not hard. There are cameras. The mayor makes a little speech. For the meal you’ll be sitting at a table with the mayor, her family, us, and your family. It’s possibly the most awkward group ever, so prepare yourself for that.”

I imagine my father and Kathrine sitting next to Kent and Garrick… It sounds pretty awkward already.

“The people from the Capitol are going to try and pull you to the side and interview you about everything you do and everyone you talk to. So, just be warned, if you have a heartfelt reunion planned with someone, either be ready to answer long questions about it, or save it for tomorrow.”

I grimace. Good to know.

“Now, for the real question,” says Kent. “I know you said no before the interviews, but do you have a girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

I shake my head.

“Okay, because if you do, hide it. Trust me, you’re a heartthrob. The Capitol discovering you’ve got someone could go two ways, both of which are bad.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, either the Capitol audience will hate your partner because you were this eligible bachelor and now you’re not. Or, they’ll become obsessed with the relationship and every question from here on out will be about when you’re going to get married. Trust me, you don’t want either option.”

“What the—”

“—the Capitol are pros at nosing into your personal life,” says Garrick. “But if you’re careful today, you can keep your privacy. I know it’s hard to see all your friends and family and keep them at arm’s length until the cameras are gone, but they’ll understand.”

I nod. It makes sense. Besides, who knows if they even want to see me? Who knows how many friends I still have? After everything I did in the arena…

Mags comes in about an hour later, already dressed for the party. She pats my head and instructs us all to go get dressed. I immediately stand to do what she says, and so does everyone else. Looks like Mags is in charge. Funny to think these grown men see Mags the same way I do.

I get to my room and find an outfit laid out on the bed for me. It’s my dad’s suit, from the reaping. I had no idea we come home in the same outfit we leave in. How had I never noticed that before?

I get dressed and roll the sleeves up just like last time. The only issue is the tie. I still don’t know how to tie it. I can tie a bowtie now, but this is probably different.

I walk out to the main area, and Barry, Kent, and Mags are already there.

“Is the tie intentional?” says Kent. “Like, is that a fad for kids these days.”

“A what for what?” I say, laughing.

“What’s with the tie?” he says again.

“Don’t know how to tie it.”

Barry sighs but Kent and Mags laugh and laugh. After all, I am the knot-tying Victor.

Kent undoes his own tie and shows me what to do, step by step. I’m just finishing it when Jeffer and Garrick walk in.

“Where’s Walsh?” says Jeffer.

“He said something about only having one shoe,” says Kent.

Barry sighs again, but the rest of us snicker.

“The fact that you are all barely able to dress yourselves is simply—”

“Woah, Barry, I am fully dressed,” says Jeffer, turning, arms raised, to show off.

“Weird thing to be proud of,” says Garrick.

“Well, when it’s all you have—”

Everyone’s chuckling again, including Barry this time.

“Why are we laughing,” says Walsh, coming in wearing shoes that don’t match his outfit.

“Your ability to dress yourself,” says Garrick.

“Oh, well that’s fair.”

“Lost the shoe?”

“No, I found it, it was just soaking wet.”

“Why—”

“—I’m glad you asked, Kent. When you grabbed that towel off the floor to mop up that spill in our room, did you notice, by chance, that there was something hard inside it?”

“Oh, so this is Kent’s fault,” says Jeffer. “That makes much more sense.”

“I have always been able to dress myself,” says Kent. “Get there on time, remember where I’m going, act civil while I’m there? Not usually. But I have always been dressed.”

We’re all laughing again. I’m beginning to accept that I really like these people, despite their flaws. And they don’t seem to mind me… At least, that I know of. Even Barry is not so bad, once you know how to talk to him.

The train starts slowing down, and I feel a reassuring hand on my shoulder. I’m not sure who it is, but it doesn’t really matter. I have no enemies here.

Chapter Text

The train doors open and I’m blinded by what feels like hundreds of cameras. But those, at least, I was expecting. What I am surprised by is the loud cheer coming from the crowd. Not a Capitol cheer, but people from my District. They’re holding up homemade banners with my name on it. Why?

Barry takes my arm and bounces forward with me. He makes me stand on the train station deck for a while, waving, before he lets me step down into the crowd.

The cameras stick to me like glue. Which makes it hard to see anyone. I get put in a car, with Barry, and we start driving towards the Justice Building. I pay close attention to The City as we drive through. I don’t catch any familiar faces.

“Good to be home?” asks Barry.

I shrug. “This isn’t really home. I only ever come into The City for the reaping.”

“The City?” asks Barry.

“It’s what we call this place. That used to be San Francisco. I know it’s not really a city, compared to the Capitol, but that’s what we call it.”

Barry just nods. “Well, you certainly sound at home.”

The party takes place outside the Justice Building, where all us kids stood to be reaped. It’s not quite big enough to seat everyone, so there are some smaller parties here and there. But everyone from my sector of Four will have a seat in the main party today.

When the car parks near the Justice Building, Barry leads me on stage, where the mayor is waiting. Mayor Gladwell, her husband, and her son are up on stage in front of the Justice Building. She shakes my hand and gives a little statement to the cameras about how happy District Four is.

The cameras pan out to look at the crowd and Mayor Gladwell turns to me.

“How are you feeling, Finnick?” she asks.

“I’m alright.”

She nods. “It’s nice to officially meet you. Your dad and sister are excited to see you.”

My stomach roles. When the cameras turn back to us and Barry gestures to the stairs at the other end of the stage.

I walk down onto the large street where I was reaped, now full to the brim with long tables and decorations. Barry pulls me a bit to my left.

“Here we go,” says Barry, “the reunion.”

I don’t know what he means until I find myself face to face with my father.

I stifle a gasp and step back slightly. He’s so tall, how did he sneak up on me like that? I’ve been worried about this for days now, but I still feel unprepared. I don’t know what to say to him.

But he doesn’t say anything, he just pulls me towards him and gives me a rib cracking hug.

It takes me a second, but I hug him back. He runs a hand through my hair and kisses the top of my head. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath in. I’m overwhelmed by all of this, and the party’s only just begun. My father’s arms feel so familiar, like I never left at all.

He lets me go, and I don’t want to, but I take a step back. I remember Walsh’s advice about keeping the real reunions until later, so the Capitol interviewers don’t make it everyone’s business.

“You okay?” he says softly.

I nod, shivering slightly. Like it’s cold without his arms around me. He smiles and puts a hand on my shoulder. For a second, I think he’s about to make a rare joke, but he glances behind me and his smile immediately drops. His mouth turns downwards and the space between his eyebrows get crinkled. He’s annoyed. It’s his default expression, so it’s hard to tell. But he’s definitely annoyed by something.

“Finnick,” says a high-pitched voice behind me.

I turn to see a colorfully dressed woman with vibrant pink hair standing nearby with a microphone and a cameraman at the ready.

I feel the hand on my shoulder get tighter, protective. Which is nice, but also feels like a problem. It’s not like I haven’t been on camera already. Him trying to shield me from this might just get him in trouble.

“Finnick, how does it feel to be back home?”

Caesar asks better questions. There’s no interesting way to respond to this. Obviously, it’s good to be home.

“Well, I’ve only been away for a few weeks,” I say.

I’m trying to grasp at anything interesting, but she loves it. She laughs a very fake laugh at the camera. Somewhere behind the cameraman, I catch a glimpse of Jeffer. He rolls his eyes at the woman’s laughter. Now I’m chuckling too.

“And this must be your father,” says the woman.

I don’t know how to respond to that. I don’t want to drag my dad into this. But behind me, he speaks up.

“That’s right,” he says. He has his annoyed voice. Not that anyone at the Capitol would be able to tell.

“And how are you feeling right now, your son back home?”

What a stupid question. It’s even worse than the one she asked me. How does he feel? Terrible, I’m sure he’d much rather I’d been eaten by a hippo. Behind the camera, Jeffer hides his face in his hands.

“Good,” says my dad. 

It’s honestly the best she could have hoped for. What was he supposed to say? But the woman still looks a bit disappointed.

Barry, who I hadn’t realized was still hovering close by, steps in and, ironically, saves us.

“A man of few words,” says Barry, laughing. “Although heartfelt reunions don’t need many words, do they?”

“Very true, Mr. Weathersmith,” says the woman, focusing in on Barry.

She asks Barry a question about District Four, which Barry picks up and runs with. Something about the people here. Probably about how we don’t talk much. Whatever. I pull my dad away from the cameras.

“Sorry,” I say.

I’m so embarrassed. My dad is good in a lot of situations. He’s a good fisher, he’s a good businessman, he’s even a leader in our community. But he’s not someone who jumps around for a camera. It’s bad enough he has to live with a son who’s doing it.

“It’s not your fault,” he says.

But he’s peeved. I can tell. He’s doing that eye-squinty thing he does when he’s angry. He glares at the interviewer and Barry for a few moments before he relaxes. He turns back to look at me, and his face softens again. He tries to pat down my hair and I chuckle, because no one has tried to do that in a while.

“Come on,” he says, “while they’re distracted.”

He wraps an arm around my shoulder and guilds me through a small crowd. Everyone gives me smiles and congratulations. A few of them I even recognize: a girl Clarisse from my class, my teacher last year, our neighbors two doors down, it’s odd.

Finally, I spot where we’re going. David sees me first; Kathrine’s back is to me. He waves, looking teary-eyed, and taps his wife on the shoulder.

I freeze. I’m not sure what I expected… honestly I think I forgot for a moment that Kathrine was pregnant when I left. But she turns around with a newborn baby all swaddled up in her arms.

“Woah,” I say lamely. “You… I forgot!”

“You forgot?” she says.

“Well, I didn’t forget but—”

She wraps a free arm around my neck and kisses my cheek. I hug her back, gently, because there’s a baby in-between us and I’m terrified I’m going to hurt it.

“His name’s Ben,” says David.

“It’s a boy,” I say. I’m acting so stupid all of a sudden.

Kathrine laughs at me and nods. “I was actually debating naming him Finnick, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to name a kid after you before you died.”

“Yeah, that seems like bad karma. When was he born?”

Kathrine, David, and my dad all shift awkwardly.

“What?” I say, looking around for cameras. But everyone was occupied.

“Well… he came at a bad time,” said David. “The doctor thinks the stress might have actually triggered the labor.”

“What stress? When was he—?”

“He was born the day you went into the arena,” says Kathrine. “During the bloodbath. It was great timing. I spent the entire time worrying about…”

She peters off. Not that I need her to finish. Clearly, they’re worried about me holding something against my nephew for being born on the worst day of my life. But something else is happening entirely. And I’m having trouble understanding what it is. It’s definitely not a bad feeling.

Tears spring to my eyes. “Oh,” I say. “Okay. I hope your stress didn’t make the labor worse or… I don’t know how that works.”

“I’m so sorry Finnick,” she says, wiping a tear off my cheek.

“No,” I say, because she must understand this is not a bad emotion. I don’t feel resentment, or anything like that. “No, it’s okay. I’m not…this isn’t…”

I have to compose myself. The cameras will be back soon and I will not cry in front of them.

I look down at Ben. He’s perfect. Somehow, he’s asleep. Maybe they drugged him, is that safe? I reach out my hand to touch him but think better of it. I don’t want to wake him.

“Do you want to hold him?” says Kathrine.

“Yes,” I say immediately. There is nothing I want more. But then I remember where I am. “No, wait. I… I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” says David.

“It’s… If I hold him the cameras will see and I’ll have to answer a thousand questions on what it’s like to be an uncle and I can’t… I don’t want my first time meeting him to be…”

Kathrine kisses my cheek. “Okay. When we get home tonight you can hold him. I’m gonna go sit down.”

I hug her again, and David, and then let them walk off. My dad puts a protective hand on my shoulder again. But honestly the cameras might be easier to deal with without him.

Barry’s back. This time he’s shadowed by Walsh and Kent. 

“Alright! Finnick, why don’t you say hello to some of your friends for the camera.”

“And for no other reason,” says Kent.

Barry shoots Kent an exasperated look. “He knows what I meant. Not everyone was your bizarre hatred of the camera, you know.”

Kent laughs cruelly, “Bizarre—?”

But before he can finish Walsh elbows him in the stomach.

“Finnick?” says Barry, gesturing.

I follow. My dad reluctantly let’s go of my shoulder. I glance behind me and see he’s hovering a bit behind Walsh and Kent, giving them the side-eye. Oh well, it’s not like I didn’t know he hated the other Victors. At least he’s not on camera.

The first friend Barry has me reunite with is Lenard Higgs. Which is odd, considering I don’t see him as a particularly close friend. We hang out in school, sure. But he has his own friend group and I have mine. Still, he’s happy to see me, and he’s good in front of the cameras.

After the Capitol people ask us a few questions about school, I get a few seconds alone with Lenard.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m sure you’d rather be talking to Dawson or Sam, but they kept asking me if I knew you, back when the Games were still going on, and I’d say ‘yeah, we’re good friends, but he’s closer to these people’ and then they’d drag me in front of the cameras anyway.”

I look at Lenard. I know exactly what’s happening. Lenard is popular at school. And he’s good looking. This is the kind of friend the Capitol wants me to have. Not two normal looking kids, one of whom is on the poorer side.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “Everyone in the Capitol is nuts, I can now attest to that from firsthand experience. Who knows why they do anything. It’s nice to see you again.”

Lenard breaks into a huge grin. He nods and pats me on the back.

Everyone else we meet has a similar attitude to Lenard. I meet my neighbor Keena Heart and Martha O’Conner. The day of the reaping I learned they had started seeing each other. Guess they still are. They are both nothing but smiles and laughs around me too. It’s odd, I didn’t expect people to be happy. Is it for the cameras? I doubt it. Maybe they’re just being nice.

I run into Sandry, who’s with her parents and younger brother Mike. Mike’s girlfriend is there too: Annie Cresta. Annie’s currently training to be a Career, so she steps right up to the camera and answers every question perfectly. Which is good, because Sandry seems terrified of the Capitol interviewers.

I take precautions not to linger too long talking to any of the girls. I don’t hug any of them either. I don’t want any of them to be labeled “the girl Finnick Odair has a crush on” and harassed for the rest of the day.

It’s not just classmates I meet. The interviewers drag me into conversations with people I know from the Fishery, administration officials from Four, even a few Peacekeepers, which is terrifying.

Barry is showing his actual skill at his job by keeping every interview short and ushering me to the correct person afterwards. I notice that each interviewer takes Barry’s word as gospel. I suppose he is the District Four expert in the Capitol. Weird to think about, considering we all hate him here.

Barry tells me I have one or two more hands to shake and then we’ll sit down and listen to the mayor speak before eating.

I’m grateful, because this is getting exhausting. Then Barry walks me towards the stage, and half way there a hand reaches out and taps me on the shoulder. I turn and I’m face to face with Dawson, Sam, and Vanessa.

For a moment, I forget I’m on camera. I jump forward and pull all three of them into a rather awkward and painful group hug.

But they hug me right back. They’re jumping and whooping, like children. Because we are children, I suppose.

“Well,” says an interviewer behind me, “it seems like this is an exciting group!”

My face falls immediately. The cameras can’t see it, but the other three can, and they all start snickering at how much I clearly hate the cameras.

I put on a fake smile and turn to the cameras.

“Finnick, you want to introduce us?”

No. “This is Dawson, and Sam, and over here is Vanessa.”

Even though it is Dawson and Sam who I spent the most time jumping around with, it is Vanessa they focus in on.

“Have you known each other for long?” the interviewer asks. She’s looking straight at Vanessa, but I answer for her.

“We’ve all been in the same classes since we were five years old,” I say.

“Well, you all must be very close, then!”

She’s still looking straight at Vanessa, and I’m not sure how to make her stop. I don’t want to have to say that there’s nothing between Vanessa and I, because the last time I saw Vanessa, she said she had a crush on me, and I was very rude to her. I don’t want Vanessa reading anything into it.

“Vanessa, right?” says the interviewer.

“Yes,” she breathes, terrified.

“What type of relationship do you and Finnick have?”

“What type—?”

Vanessa doesn’t understand what they’re asking. I need to help her, but I refuse to shoot down a question that wasn’t aimed at me. Forget making Vanessa upset, if I look too against the idea of Vanessa and I the Capitol might extrapolate and assume we used to date and had a bad breakup.

“Well,” I say, interrupting the interview. “We’re suddenly popular, I didn’t mean to divert everybody.”

There are at least four different cameras pointed at us. Seeing me hug a girl brought them all like flies to honey.

“Well,” says Dawson, “I’m incredibly famous. The cameras are just drawn to me.”

“And attractive,” says Sam, “don’t forget attractive.”

“Oh, of course, especially compared to Finnick, who’s always been pretty average.”

I could kiss them both right on the mouth. I don’t, because that would create other issues, but still. I knew Dawson was always good with people, always funny and has a quick wit, but I never realized how well that would work in front of the camera. And Sam, who is used to Dawson’s jokes, can build on them with ease.

The interviewers love it. They hone in on Dawson, Sam, and I. Vanessa seems to disappear into the crowd. Hopefully, she’s not upset.

Dawson does very well. He gives the Capitol audience a few anecdotes about the three of us in kindergarten. Sam doesn’t speak again, but he doesn’t have to. This is by far the best stuff the interviewers have gotten so far.

The mayor steps onto the stage in front of the Justice Building and asks everyone to take their seats. The cameras immediately hurry off towards the front to get a good angle on her for the speech.

I figure I have a few moments before I need to find my own seat. I turn towards Dawson and Sam and hug them again.

“That was great,” I tell them. “I’m sorry about all the cameras but you’re a natural.”

They’re both grinning ear to ear. “It was fun, don’t worry about it. How are you?”

I shrug. “Well, you know.”

They glance at each other.

“What?”

“Well, we really don’t know,” says Sam. “Do you remember when you asked us to… well, we didn’t…”

“I’m lost,” I say.

“We didn’t watch,” says Dawson.

I’m stunned. I had completely forgotten I had asked them not to watch. How did they manage it? Watching the Hunger Games is not optional.

“Your dad told us about your mom and her friend. We know why you didn’t want us watching, but by the time people were telling us it looked like you’d be the winner, we already had a system worked out, so we just didn’t.”

“Any of it?”

“Any of it. Not even the interviews or anything. All we know is what Vanessa reported to us, and she kept it as vague as possible.”

I take a second for my brain to catch up. They did not watch. I have been tying myself in knots thinking about how everyone back home would see me differently now that I was a murderer. But my two best friends have never seen me kill anyone. They must know I have, just from common sense, but they didn’t see me kill that boy from Eight. They didn’t see me slit that poor kid’s throat. In their eyes, I’m the same person I was when I left.

“Are you mad?” says Sam.

“Mad!” I exclaim.

I’m tearing up again. My breath is all uneven. I hug them both and bury my head on their shoulders. “Mad!” I say again, “Are you kidding? I’m… You’re… thank you. I can’t believe it, you didn’t watch. This is…”

They’re clearly surprised, but they pat me on the back, smiling and nodding and saying it was their pleasure.

“What do you know?” I say.

“Um. Just that you were a fan favorite in the interviews for some reason, but got a shit training score. And that there were these monsters in the arena called hippos that killed Mandy. Oh, and we know you got a trident late in the game, because that’s when everyone started talking about how you might come home, and pestering us to start watching. But we had made it that far so—”

I nod like crazy. “I’m glad you didn’t watch. I… I wish nobody had seen it. Although I guess that’s the point.”

“People are saying you were impressive.”

I scowl. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment. Anyway, I didn’t feel impressive. I felt scared. And…”

I want to say I felt—feel—like a monster. But I decide against it. No good can come of that.

The crowd is thinning, and I need to get to my table.

“Anyway. Thank you for not watching. I’m sure it was really hard, but it means… everything to me. If you see Vanessa before I do, tell her sorry about the interviewers, it’s a long story.”

They nod and chuckle. After promising to catch up with me later, they vanish.

Barry appears beside me and leads me to the head table. The mayor’s husband and thirteen-year-old son are already there. We’re basically the same age. I smile at him, but he doesn’t meet my eye. Kathrine and the baby are there too. I can’t see any of the others.

Based on the assigned seating, I have to I sit across the table from Kathrine, which is disappointing, because I want to be near the baby again. Ben, his name was. He’s awake now, but nice and swaddled and content.

Kathrine smiles at me.

“How’s my nephew?” I ask.

“He’s alright for now. I might have to leave early if he starts getting fussy.”

“He’s very chill,” I say.

“He saves the crying for three in the morning,” she says.

“I can’t wait.” I mean it.

“How are the in-laws?” I ask. I feel like they are the one group I haven’t seen. Well, them and Emma. Although I’m happy not to see Emma, because I don’t want to cameras picking up on anything.

“They’re outlawed,” she says.

“What?”

“It’s a long story. We’re not speaking to them at the moment.”

“What happened?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

Something behind me catches Kathrine’s eye. She scowls, and I assume it’s more interviewers. Instead, there’s a hand ruffling my hair and I turn to see Mags giving me a toothless grin.

I smile right back at her. I haven’t seen her at all since the train arrived, but I’m glad she’s here.

Jeffer stands a bit behind her. He winks at me.

“Having a fun party?” he says.

“Oh yeah. I think my favorite part was when an interviewer asked my dad if he was happy I’m home.”

“I saw that. Was he?”

“Apparently.”

“Well, it’s good we solved that mystery.”

Jeffer finds the seat with his name on it. He helps Mags into her chair, which causes her to wave him off and grumble about being old, and then he sits down right next to Kathrine.

I know it’s arranged seating, and he doesn’t get to choose where he goes, but I wish he’d sit anywhere else. Kathrine becomes tense so close to him. I took a while to warm up to Jeffer and Garrick, who are so young and Victor-like. And Kathrine’s never met him before.

My dad and David show up. They both sit on Kathrine’s other side. I realize, with our table, they’re about as far away from me as they can be. I look at the names on the plates next to me and realize I’ll be sitting between the mayor and Barry. Then, on the mayor’s side, it’s her family, and on Barry’s side, it’s the Victors.

My dad and Kathrine are realizing this too, and they’re both peeved. I don’t blame them, but I hope they don’t channel their anger onto the Victors, because I don’t want to spend my first few days home defending them.

Garrick, Kent, and Walsh all show up. They don’t talk to my family much, just a polite hello. They all crack a joke or two with me, trying to keep everything light. It doesn’t work. My dad doesn’t seem thrilled in discovering I’m comfortable around these people.

By the time Barry shows up, things are bad. But Barry somehow makes it worse by putting an arm around me and complimenting my father on the fine work he’s done raising me.

It’s a perfectly polite thing to say, and from anyone but Barry my dad would be pleased by it. But he is not pleased. He wouldn’t want a compliment from someone from the Capitol anyway, but I can tell my dad reads it as Barry being sarcastic.

“Yeah,” my dad gruffs, “he’s great.”

It’s clear Barry finds the tone incredibly rude. He looks a bit affronted and doesn’t speak again.

The mayor gives a speech. She does a pretty good job, but I don’t really listen. I’m already tired, and who knows how long this will take? Finally, she thanks the Capitol for their generosity and people start handing out all the prizes and spoils.

I hadn’t thought much about the prizes but now my spirits are a bit lifted. I see kids run around, holding cookies and candy in the air to show their friends. My family, with our boat, is pretty well off. On a good year, we can buy chocolate every once in a while. But there are plenty of kids who have never gotten a birthday treat or something sweet after dinner. It’s nice to see people enjoying themselves.

The mayor joins us and we eat. The food is good, but all I can think about is my dad, and how annoyed he is.

There are more pictures, more interviews, I get dragged up from my seat every few seconds to talk to another interviewer in front of a different camera. I catch glimpses of people I know here and there. I spot Sam and his family enjoying their meals and I see Vanessa and her little sister sharing a chocolate bar.

Finally, after hours and hours of meaningless questions about District Four and how happy I am, one of the interviewers tells me they look forward to my Victory Tour, and the Capitol crew starts making their way back to the train station.

I rush back to my table, hoping to talk to my dad. I only catch a glimpse of my dad, watching the Capitol people pack up, before my path is blocked by Barry.

“Well,” he says, “I’m headed home. I will see you in a few months. Remember what Rujeria told you?”

I wrack my brain. “Um, I’m not supposed to cut my hair any shorter than it is now,” I say.

“I’ll be in touch to talk about the Victor’s Tour and your talent.”

“My… oh right. Huh.”

“Nothing to worry about yet! I’ll see you soon.”

And with that slightly nice, but mostly depressing sentiment, he’s gone.

When we celebrated Garrick’s return, the Capitol workers leaving was when the party really started. It’s the end of a Hunger Games, and we have lots of free food. Why not celebrate? But I’m not feeling particularly celebratory. I’m so tired, I only got three or four hours last night. I just want to go home.

I wander back to my table. Mags is the only one still sitting there. I plop down next to her. She offers me a piece of chocolate, and I eat it happily. I love sugar.

“Where is everyone?” I ask.

She tells me. The mayor is off with actual friends. Jeffer and Kent went home. Walsh went to the train station with the Capitol people, because Barry finds it polite when we see them off, Garrick went with some morticians to deliver Mandy’s body to her parents.

I stop eating my chocolate. Mandy’s body. Was it on the train with me when we were coming back home? Part of me wonders if I should have gone with Garrick, to see Mandy’s parents. But I’m not sure why my presence there would help.

Mags pats my shoulder.

“Should I… I mean, would they want to meet me?”

Mags shrugs. She tells me they might invite me to the funeral. Since we clearly knew each other well by the time we got into the arena.

The funeral. I’m shaking already.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look around and my dad’s standing behind me.

“Hi,” I say.

“Cameras are all gone?”

“Yep. Barry Weathersmith says he’ll be keeping in touch. Whatever that means.”

Mags waves it off. Not important.

“Wanna go home?” my dad says.

I nod, gratefully, and stand.

Mags stands too. She opens up her arms and I gladly hug her.

“Thank you for everything,” I say. “You’re the reason I’m here.”

She shakes her head and smiles. She fixes my tie and kisses me on the cheek. Then she walks off towards the train station by herself.

I’m worried, slightly, about her getting home alright. She’s sharper than anyone, but I’m not sure she’s all that steady on her feet. And the train is a bit of a walk. But she doesn’t seem nervous. Maybe Walsh is meeting her there.

I look back at my dad. “Where’s Kathrine and David?”

“Oh, the baby was getting uncomfortable, so they went home a few hours ago.”

I look around. How had I not noticed?

Part of me wants to go back into the party and say goodbye to Dawson and Sam, but I’m too tired. I don’t want to wear a tie anymore. So I just let my dad guild me off towards the train.

By the time we get there, Mags and Walsh are gone. They’d be on a different train anyway, headed south, towards Victor’s Village. I realize I have a house there now. But I don’t think we’ll be using it. We can’t take the boat, and my dad can’t commute that far every day. He’d have to get up at two in the morning.

Our train car is mostly empty. Just a mother with two young kids. They’ve got a few boxed of spoils, probably filled with bread and sweets. The kids keep pointing at me.

I close my eyes. No one seems particularly disgusted by the things I did in the games. At least not openly. But there’s still a difference, I’m famous now. It’s horrible.

My dad wraps an arm around me and pulls me against his chest. I don’t fight it. I breath him in and eventually I fall asleep.

My dad shakes me awake when we reach our stop. The mother and kids are gone. My dad keeps an arm around me and guilds me towards out of the train and towards home.

Now things look familiar. It’s eerie, how little everything has changed. But there are still differences. The fishery being closed is a big one. It’s never closed, except for the Hunger Games.

It’s a fifteen minute walk to the house. When we get inside, everything is quiet. David’s making tea on the stove, but Kathrine’s nowhere to be found.

“Mother and child are sleeping,” David whispers, pointing to the closed bedroom door.

David makes me a cup of tea, which I take happily. I undo my tie and then sit curled up on the couch taking slow sips.

My dad and David sit with me, but they don’t speak. It’s pretty early. The sun is only just setting, but I’m considering just going to bed anyway. I’m tired and I don’t want to talk.

I finish my tea and my dad clears his throat awkwardly.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know. Not bad. Tired. I didn’t sleep much the last two nights.”

“Why not?”

I shrug again. “It’s a long story. I just had a lot on my mind.”

We sit in silence for a few more moments.

“I’m sorry about all the cameras. And the seating at the party. I had to play this stupid part before the Games for sponsors and then after—”

“—don’t worry, Finnick. I told you before, you don’t have to think about me when you’re in the Capitol, just do what you need to do.”

Does he mean that? Who can tell.

“Hey.”

Kathrine is standing in the doorway holding a bundle of blankets I’m assuming is Ben.

“You should have woken me up—”

“—you needed sleep,” says my dad. “We just got back.”

Kathrine shuffles over and sits down next to me.

“Wanna hold him now?”

I perk up immediately. I set the tea down on the table and hold out my arms. Kathrine carefully places Ben in my arms and adjusts everything so I’m supporting his head.

He makes some noise when he leaves his mother’s arms. One of his little hands breaks loose from the blankets and reaches up towards me. I bow my head and let him grab onto my nose for a moment.

“He’s perfect,” I say.

“No argument,” says Kathrine. “Are you sure you’re not upset at his birthday?”

I shake my head. “No, no, it’s perfect.”

Because now that day is not just be the day I killed Evant, got thrown into an arena. Something good happened the day I went into the arena. Ben feels… whole. Untouched by the Hunger Games and the Capitol. He’s just from District Four, like me. I didn’t become a tribute that day, I didn’t become a victor, I became an uncle.

Chapter Text

I collapse into my own bed the night I got home, fully intending to sleep as long as I want. But the moment I fall asleep I’m tormented by nightmares filled with hippos that climb and Evant slitting my throat while my sister is in labor.

I shake awake, terrified, and I can’t remember where I am. After a few moments, I realize my dad is just a few feet away at the other end of the room, snoring like always. I sit up and take a few deep breaths.

The nightmares aren’t exactly shocking. I’m sure they’re completely normal. Part of me wants to wake my dad like I used to when I was little. But I decide against it. It’s been a bit awkward since I got back. Although I only got back a few hours ago, so who knows what’s happening there?

I check the clock. Fortunately, it’s only twenty minutes earlier than I’d usually wake up. I get up and dress silently. I still don’t want my dad to see me with my shirt off, to see what the Capitol did. I’m worried he’ll be mad. Although… it’s not really my fault.

Kathrine and David’s door is slightly ajar, and the crib is out in the living room. I tiptoe into the kitchen area and eat some of the bread on the counter.

After a while, Ben starts crying softly. I glance into my sister’s room, but they’re both still asleep. Why wake them?

I lean over Ben and pick him up. He gets a little louder, and I pat his back awkwardly. I sit on the couch and hold him the way Kathrine showed me. After a few moments he calms down, staring at me.

I’m a stranger to him. It’s too bad. But I’ve got time. I rock him a little and eventually his eyes get heavy, and he falls back to sleep. I smile. Look how good I am at this. I spend a while just staring at him lovingly.

Eventually, my dad’s alarm goes off. He appears in the door a few seconds later. So quickly that I jump slightly.

“Oh,” he says. “Your bed was empty, I… What are you doing up?”

“I just woke up. I had breakfast and then Ben was crying so—”

My dad smiles. “You’re good with him.”

“I hope so,” I say.

“Thought you’d sleep in today,” he says. “You were so tired yesterday.”

“Yeah… I guess not. I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

My dad makes himself some breakfast and sits with me. Eventually Kathrine and David get up and join us.

“What’s your plan today?” my dad asks Kathrine.

“I’ll probably go to the grocer,” she says. “We’ve got nothing. Except the casserole Ms. Letterman gave us."

"Ms. Letterman gave us a casserole?”

“Well,” says my dad, “that’s what people do.”

“People do when…”

They all stare at me. After a second, I get it. People sent food because I was in the Hunger Games.

“Oh. Right.”

“You’re gonna bring Ben to the grocer?” says my dad.

“Yeah, probably.”

“Just wait for us to get home,” says David. “I’ll shop.”

“Are you not staying home still?” I ask. The plan was for them to take a month or two off.

“Well, no. We needed a fourth person on the boat.”

Again, my absence was noticed. I never thought about it being an issue on this side. I was too busy thinking about them watching me on television. And what I was going through.

“Oh. Sure.”

We sit in silence for a few moments. I can’t handle this silence. We’re not usually awkward around each other.

“Well,” I say. “This is a non-issue now. Why doesn’t David stay home today, and go to the grocer, and I can take his place on the boat?”

All three of them stare at me for a moment. They’re shocked, which I wasn’t expecting.

“Or… I could go to the grocer. Or stay home and watch Ben. Whatever works.”

“You can work on the boat if you want to,” says my dad. “I just assumed you’d want to rest for a while.”

“And do what?” I ask.

“Your dad’s son, alright,” says Kathrine.

Twenty minutes later I’m saying goodbye to Kathrine and David and leaving with my dad. It’s just like any other day. We march off with everyone else in our section of Four. Eventually, most of the crowd parts and heads toward the Fishery, whereas my dad and I head out towards the docks.

Everyone stares at me. I feel incredibly uncomfortable. I hug my jacket closer to my chest. I wonder if they’re all whispering ‘murderer’ behind my back. I wouldn’t blame them.

There are two people by the boat when we arrive. It takes me a second before I realize it’s Dawson and Sam.

“You’re out and about already?” says Dawson.

“Everyone’s so shocked,” I say. “It’s not like I had the plague. I’d go crazy sitting around at home all day.”

“So, instead you’ll sit around on a boat all day,” says Sam.

I chuckle. So does my dad, which is surprising. They both seem less shy around my father. They’ve probably had plenty of time to bond.

Fishing goes well. I wasn’t planning on talking much, but Dawson and Sam decide this is the perfect time to tell me about what’s been going on at school.

“There was a lot of Hunger Games nonsense,” says Sam.

“How did you avoid watching if…”

“Oh! Mrs. Willart was totally cool with us going to the bathroom for a couple hours.”

“You’re kidding.”

Mrs. Willart is very strict. But I suppose even she has a soft spot when it comes to the Hunger Games.

“We were caught by Peacekeepers once and had to watch for like an hour, but all we saw was these two allies fight over going back to a river to get their weapons and then deciding against it.”

“Merida and Primer,” I mutter. Mostly to myself.

“You can tell just from that?”

I nod. My father and I lock eyes for a moment, but I can’t take it. I look away.

“Uh, yeah, that was right after Mandy died,” I say.

“Oh, you’re right. It was the next day,” says Sam. “I hadn’t put it together.”

We divert from the Hunger Games again. We make it through most of the day just talking about school, and our friends. By the time we cast the last line, however, we find our way back to dangerous topics.

My dad has been fussing over my lifting anything heavy. I’ve ignored it, but when he offers to reposition the line for me, I have to ask.

“I’m fine, dad. Is everything okay?”

His eyes shift to Dawson and Sam.

“I don’t want you to overdo it,” says my dad.

“I’m not sick.”

“You… I mean you’re recovering.”

“Recovering from what?”

He sighs, exasperated. “Finnick, I watched the Hunger Games, you know.”

“Yeah, but—”

“How is your stomach, anyway,” says my dad. “I was going to ask last night but you seemed tired.”

Oh, so it’s not emotional. He’s worried about the belly wound.

“Oh!” I say. “No, I’m fine. It’s like it never happened, the Capitol fixed everything up.”

“Stomach?” says Dawson.

I laugh, because it’s funny they don’t know.

“I ran into a knife.”

“Don’t joke,” my dad snaps. “Not about this, alright? This is not funny.”

That’s difficult because I’m not sure how else I’m going to be able to talk about this. But I nod.

“Sorry. I’m all better now. Promise.”

We eventually pack it in. We got a decent haul. Back at the docks, there are three of the usual guys, ready to move everything to the fishery. But there are two unusual figures. One, I recognize to be Sam’s father, holding a clipboard. I guess my dad really did get him that job. His prostatic leg is just a tad too short for him, and it makes him look lopsided.

The other figure is Vanessa.

“Oh,” says Dawson. “Right. Vanessa was going to meet us here and we were going to walk to school together.

School, during fishing season, is only two hours in the evening, when everyone is done with work. We make up for it on the off seasons, where school lasts all day and into the night.

“Fun,” I say. “I can apologize for the stupid interviews.”

We dock, and while the other men greet me happily Vanessa becomes very red in the face.

“Hi… I, um, didn’t know you’d be here…”

I don’t know how to respond so I say nothing. I just smile at her. We secure the boat and then my dad and a few of the guys haul the catch onto the wagon and towards the fishery.

“So,” I say awkwardly. “Sorry about the Capitol people… They’re all kind of weird.”

“I know,” she says.

Of course she knows. I shift from foot to foot. This is awkward. I don’t want to be the one to bring up what she said to me before I left, but clearly she isn’t going to do it…

“So, look, about what I said in the Justice Building,” I say.

“I didn’t mean it,” she blurts out. “I’m sorry—you were right, and I don’t. I mean. I’m not… I take it back.”

Wow. That was a lot.

“Um. Okay.”

Her face becomes even more red. She crosses her arms and looks away.

“Well. I was just going to apologize. For what I said. I was upset about the reaping… I hope we’re still friends.”

“Yes!” she says loudly. She winces and quiets. “Yes. Friends. Still friends. Of course.”

Dawson starts chuckling behind us.

“Keep your snickers to yourself Helvar,” Vanessa snaps.

“If you’re feeling up to everything,” says Sam, “we were going to meet at Fisher’s tonight with some people from school. People are curious about how you’re holding up. If you want to come.”

“Yeah!” I say. I bite my lip. I was too enthusiastic. “I mean, yeah, sounds fun.”

Sam gives me a confused look, but as soon as it’s there it’s gone.

“Okay, we’ll see you after school.”

This is the first time I realize I won’t be going to school. Ever again.

“Oh, yeah, right. I’ll… uh… see you after school.”

The three of them take off and I’m left alone with Sam’s father, who is filling out some papers near the boat.

I meander towards him, knowing my dad will be back from the fishery soon.

“How’ya doing kiddo,” he asks. There’s a bit of concern in his voice.

“Fine,” I say.

“No you’re not,” he says. “I’d be very concerned if you were fine.”

That makes me worried, because I certainly feel fine, and what does that say about me? But… am I really fine? I guess not. I’m stressed about whether or not I’m a bad person. I’m having nightmares. But I’m not shaking in a corner and crying. Maybe that’s why everyone’s so confused to see me up and about. Maybe they’re surprised I’m not more changed by the experience.

Suddenly I’m wondering if going to Fisher’s tonight is a good idea… I was excited to go because it meant seeing Emma. But maybe going back to a normal schedule on day one will make people uncomfortable. Or make them hate me. Make them ‘concerned.’

“Well,” I say, trying to keep up the conversation with Sam’s dad. “It’s a little weird I don’t go to school anymore. Dropping out at fourteen. What if I become stupid now?”

“You’ll be alright. That school doesn’t teach anything important, anyway. We’re all glad your back.”

It’s such a small line, but it still gives me pause. Glad I’m back. As in glad I won. As in glad I did all those things… I shift back and forth. Obviously, no one is glad I killed people. But still, to be glad I’m back definitely means something. After all, I wouldn’t have thought less of Mandy if she won. Maybe no one cares what I did in the arena. Maybe everyone’s just happy to have a victor this year…

My dad returns from the fishery muttering about someone’s incompetence as usual. About half-way home I ask him about Fisher’s that night.

“Are you sure you’re up to that?” he says. “You don’t have to dive into everything right away, you know.”

I twist my shirt end around my thumb. In all honesty, besides the occasional nightmare and the feeling that I might be a terrible person, I don’t feel all that bad. I don’t feel like I need recovery time. But again, what does that say about me?

“I suppose…” I say, not looking at him.

My dad sighs deeply. “Why have you been having trouble sleeping?” he asks.

I definitely wasn’t expecting that question. I fidget a bit more, wondering how to answer…

I’ve confessed to him that the last three nights weren’t very restful. But all three had different reasons. That first night I was waiting up for Mags because I had questions about morality, and fell asleep awkwardly on a couch. Then there was the… issue with discovering I was altered surgically. But I’m not ready to tell him about either issue. I don’t want to talk about my possibly being a bad person, because what if he agrees? And I know for a fact he’d go ballistic over the Capitol altering me, and I don’t have it in me to watch that.

“I’ve been having nightmares,” I say.

“About the arena?” he says.

I nod. It’s not a total lie. I did have nightmares last night. It’s just not the entire truth.

My dad nods. “Alright,” he says. “You can go to Fisher’s if you really want to. But let someone walk you home, and come home early, okay?”

“Have someone walk me home?” I ask.

“Yeah. Dawson or Sam or someone.”

“Why?”

“Because. I don’t want you walking around alone at night.”

“You think someone’s gonna mug me?”

“No. I just think that you’ve clearly been affected by the arena and at night things look distorted and I want to make sure—”

“—that I’m just having bad dreams and I’m not going to start attacking people?”

“I don’t think you’re going to attack people. But yeah, sometimes dreams seep into real life and I don’t want something spooking you. It’s your first day home, take it easy for a while.”

I agree to let someone walk me home, though I think it’s more for my dad than for me. I eat a quick dinner with my family and listen to David tell stories about Ben while Kathrine rolls her eyes.

“He’s a baby,” she says. “He doesn’t do anything interesting. And yet you’ve been talking for almost an hour.”

“He is interesting!”

“Hun, all he does is sleep and eat and cry.”

“He can almost pick his head up, you can tell.”

“No you can’t. And that’s still not interesting.”

When dinner’s over I start getting ready for Fisher’s. It’s not until I go to change into a bathing suit do I realize I’m usually shirtless at Fisher’s. Which means people seeing the alterations.

Would my friends notice? I think they will. After all, they see me at Fisher’s all the time. I’m considering not going after all, but… I’ve already convinced my dad. And if I back out now, I’d have to explain why. Also… I haven’t seen Emma yet.

I grab a swim shirt. A few kids wear them all the time. I don’t because I don’t like how they feel. But hey, if everyone else does it, why not me?

On my way out the door I grab Emma’s necklace. But then I think better of it. My dad said I should have someone walk me back. If I leave it here, I could tell Emma I have it for her at my house and get some time alone with her.

I wait until I’m sure school is over before I head down, but I’m still the first to arrive. Does it really take that long to get to Fisher’s after school? I sigh. If I was at school with them, this wouldn’t be a problem.

I take off my shoes and sit on the edge of the dock, my feet dangling towards the water. Every once in a while a wave comes up and gets my legs wet. I take a deep breath of sea air and watch the sun set over the water.

Eventually, I hear a bunch of footsteps coming up behind me, mixed with some laughter and talking. There have been other groups, filing in towards different parts of the beach, but I don’t need to look to know these are my friends. I recognize them.

“Finnick!” shouts Dawson.

I turn to look. It’s a pretty big group. Dawson, Sam, and Vanessa, of course. But there’s also Sandry and Margaret. Vanessa’s cousin Asha isn’t here, and neither is her little sister, like they were the day of the reaping. However Sandry brought her younger brother Mike and his girlfriend Annie. They’re a year below us, but sometimes they hang out.

There’s also Henry and Mickel, who just started dating a few weeks before I left, and Eddie, who’s pretty close with Dawson.

That’s eleven of us. It takes me another second to realize Emma’s not among them.

Those who didn’t get to see me yesterday say hello now. I wait a very reasonable amount of time before I ask.

“Oh, where’s Emma?” I say.

“She had to go home,” says Vanessa.

“She’s been kind of a hermit lately,” says Sandry.

“Oh, okay.”

I bite back my disappointment. Honestly, why am I here? I’ve already seen Dawson and Sam plenty, it’s still awkward around Vanessa, and I’m not all that close to any of the others.

Swimming is fun, though. I haven’t swam in a while, if you don’t count that one swim that was interrupted by a horrifying monster, which I don’t. No one brings up the swim shirt, but I do see a few people watching me when they think I’m not looking.

They avoid talking about the Hunger Games, which I’m grateful for. But they mostly just talk about school instead. And since I haven’t been to school in a month, and never would be again, it’s not very interesting to me.

Still, I manage to be pleasant and attentive for about an hour before I’m forced into any kind of spotlight. I’ve been mostly avoiding Annie Cresta the entire time, because she’s in training to be a career, and I’m worried she knew Mandy. But finally, she approaches me.

“So,” she says. “Is the Capitol as seen on tv.”

I shrug. “I guess. The food’s good, at least. Could have done without the people.”

Annie laughs. “I can see how that would be the case. I noticed you seemed tired of the Capitol people when they were interviewing you at the party.”

I nod. I don’t like Annie much. Which makes me feel guilty, because she’s a very nice girl. My problem with her is that she’s always a bit too nice. She speaks like she’s reciting from a script. Everything she says is exactly measured and thought-out. I feel like I don’t really know her. I realize now she talks like she’s being interviewed by Caesar Flickerman. She’s playing an angle. She’s the “nice school colleague.” I like it when people are forward and realistic.

But she’s also managed to talk to me about the Hunger Games without making me feel terrible, so there are benefits to her well-thought-out answers.

Everyone else has gotten a bit quiet. I realize they all desperately want to hear about my experience in the Capitol, but they’re too nervous to ask.

I’d really rather not talk about it. But it’s not like I want to keep secrets from any of them. It’s not like I don’t want them to know. Except that is what it is. Because I don’t want them to know about the pictures I took or the autographs I signed or the plans I made to use my appearance to get sponsorships. I don’t want them to know about the Capitol altering my body, or how upset Mandy was at the Victors when she saw the angle I played in the interviews. Or how Rujeria would talk about me when I wasn’t there.

And on the flip side, I’m sure they don’t want to hear any of the rest. They don’t want to listen to how I was planning to commit suicide, or the different traps I learned, or how I really feel like I know who Aaron was, who Evant and Spark and Primer and Merida were. How knowing them turned out to be preferrable to not know them. Like how I don’t know anything about District Eight, so now he’s been built up in my head as this innocent kid who I slaughtered because it was too loud. At least I know that Aaron understood me, and didn’t judge me for what I did. At least I know that Evant and Spark and Primer and Merida were all sent into the arena by adults who brainwashed them and then didn’t prepare them for an adversary like me.  I almost want to talk about these things. But they don’t want to hear it. And I’m worried they would just become concerned or even scared if I told them.

“Hey, Annie,” says Sam, “I can’t believe I haven’t asked, did you know Mandy?”

I swallow. I don’t really want to talk about Mandy either. But I suppose it’s a better topic than anything else. I just have… normal sadness when it comes to Mandy.

“No,” says Annie, crestfallen. “We never really met.”

“You didn’t?” I say. “I… just assumed. Because of the Training Center.”

“Well,” says Annie. “The Training Center is set up in three levels. You’ve got the baby level that you’re in until you’re twelve. Then there’s the middle level where you go until the trainers decide whether or not you’ve grown physically fit enough to be considered for the arena, which is usually around sixteen or seventeen, and then there’s the advanced level where you train for the arena specifically, you know? I only just got into the middle level last year and by then Mandy was already in the advanced training, so our paths never really crossed.”

I think about that. If you only train for the arena, specifically, for the last two years or so, why do they recruit so young. What else could they possibly be learning? Maybe if they trained for the arena a bit more, our careers would stand a better chance. Or they’d at least know what they’re getting themselves into.

Sure, weapons are good, but also teach them how to track and hunt and navigate difficult terrain and how to work in an alliance. I have a feeling none of the Careers I was allied with knew any of these skills. Never mind how to work the Capitol audience in your favor…

“Did you know her before the Games?”

I realize Eddie is talking to me. I start, almost swallowing a bunch of seawater.

“Me?” I say. “No. No, where would we have met?”

“I don’t know, you seemed pretty close,” he says.

“I mean, we got to know each other before the Games started…”

I think about how easy it was to warm up to Mandy. Right before the Opening Ceremonies… I realize I never talked to my dad about what he asked her to do. Should I? Would he be upset she told me?

“Well, you two were great together. You know, ally-wise. She seemed to care about you a lot,” says Sandry.

My stomach rolls with guilt as I remember the recap, and how she went out searching for me. I should have gone to her. She didn’t need Primer and Merida as allies, she could do everything they could do, and she could do it better. She and I would have been an unstoppable pair. Maybe if I had gone to her after Spark’s death… But I can’t think like that. Because the two of us could not have both gotten out. And I’m not so depressed that I wish I had died in the arena so Mandy could be here instead. This is just… how it happened. Mandy would be happy for me.

“Yeah. Well, she was just… protective by nature. You know. She was kind. I was young…”

I peter out. I can’t talk about this anymore, and everyone seems to pick up on that. The conversation continues without me. Eventually, I swim back to the doc and heft myself up into the cool night air. I wring out my swim shirt as best I can while keeping it on. Dawson and Sam follow me after a few minutes.

“What’s with the swim shirt?” says Dawson.

“Oh,” I say. “Uh…”

I feel myself going red. I shouldn’t have worn a swim shirt. It’s dark enough that no one would have been able to tell the difference. But now I’ve drawn attention to it.

“I’ve just been feeling a little self-conscious.”

“Self-conscious?”

“Yeah. You didn’t watch, so you don’t really know but… there were a lot of comments. About my appearance.”

“By adults?” Sam asks, horrified.

“I mean. Yeah. I never really saw any kids.”

It suddenly dawns on me. I did not see a single child in my stay at the Capitol. Besides, of course, the other tributes. Where were they all? You’d think, if there was a fourteen-year-old boy playing the eligible Batchelor card someone would bring their fourteen-year-old girl up to meet me. Do Capitol kids even watch the Hunger Games? Maybe they don’t… Maybe your allowed to shelter your children from all that death in the Capitol. The driver I had asked for an autograph for his daughter, but for all I know his daughter is twenty-two.

“Were they being inappropriate?” Dawson asks.

“Oh,” I say. “Uh…” I think about Rujeria and Elenore and whatever they were supposedly saying behind my back. I think about that touchy-feely woman with the firery red hair who taunted Garrick about his bald head… “No. Not really. They were just very. Forward. If that makes sense. I mean, I know you both have made jokes about my being attractive before, and I know a lot of the girls at school like me, but people have never been so up front about it before. I just got a little uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry Finnick,” says Sam. “We shouldn’t have made those jokes, either.”

“The jokes are fine. You guys are fine. I just felt like covering up, that’s all. It’s not about you guys.”

“I thought maybe it was because you had a scar from where you got stabbed,” says Dawson.

I curse myself silently. That would have been a better lie. I didn’t even think of that. Because, if I’m being honest, the comments people in the Capitol made about me never really registered to me being uncomfortable showing my skin. Only after the Capitol took liberties with how I looked did I start feeling embarrassed. Now I’m pretending to be horribly changed by all these comments whereas an easier lie, one even closer to the truth, was at my disposal. In reality, it's more about how I look different now than it is about my mental state.

“Oh, no. They fixed that right up. Not even a spot to remember it by. Hell, even that scar I got from that fish hook a few years ago is gone.”

I show them my left thumb, the one I accidentally jabbed a fishhook when I was eleven.

“How did they do that?” Sam asked, in awe.

“How do they do anything over there,” I mutter. “You should see some of those Capitol people up close and personal. They’re like… I don’t know. Weird dolls some kid fingerpainted over. They’re gross.”

“Well, hey,” says Dawson. “Look on the bright side. At least you don’t look like them.”

Sam chuckles with him but I do not chuckle. I feel like my lungs fill with ice water. Yeah. Haha. At least you’re all natural, Finnick. At least you’re still from District Four, it’s not like you’ve been corrupted by the Capitol. It’s not like your body has been altered at all.

I’m going to cry. But I can’t, because it’ll worry my friends and everyone will come over and ask what’s wrong and I don’t want them to know. And they’ll bring me home to talk to my dad but I don’t want my dad to know either.

“Right,” I muster. “Look. Sorry for bringing down the party. I should probably go home.”

“We’ll walk with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

They both object. Finally, I remember my promise to my dad and I let them come along.

Is it concerning that, in my lies about what I’m actually feeling, I’ve made my dad think I might start hallucinating and made my friends think I was constantly harassed by Capitol people about my appearance? Somehow I’ve gone from completely okay with being home to… whatever is happening here. I only really came to Fisher’s to see Emma anyway.

We say goodbye to the others and Dawson and Sam walk me home. We don’t talk much on the walk. It turns out to be good that Sam and Dawson are with me, because I’m so lost in thought I end up almost missing several turns.

I’m not sure what to do about all this. Everyone in my life is ready and willing to help me through whatever trauma I’m dealing with, but I just… can’t tell them what’s actually wrong. I’m worried they won’t understand. Or they’ll confirm my worst suspicions. I’m worried people will be disgusted by how I look. I’m worried they’ll tell me I’m a monster for what I did in the arena.

Or, no, that’s not what they’ll say. They’ll say that I had no choice. That it’s not my fault. And that doesn’t make me feel better. It’ll just make me feel worse. Because I did have a choice. At least, it sure felt like I did… And how can I explain that I killed a boy because it was too loud?

How do I explain that I feel like the Capitol is connecting itself to me by altering my body and dressing me up in outfits that resemble the arena and not letting me go to school with my friends. It’s like I’m not really a part of District Four anymore. It’s like they’ve claimed ownership of me.

The lights are on in my house. It can’t be later than eight or nine. I’m about to say goodbye to Dawson and Sam when the door swings open.

I can tell by the look on Kathrine’s face that something’s wrong. She’s irritated. And she looks a bit uncomfortable.

“Hi,” I say. “Everything okay…”

“You’ve got company.”

By the way she says it, I immediately think it’s someone from the Capitol. I step inside, heart pounding, and take in the scene.

You can cut the tension in my house with a butter knife. David holds the baby, standing off against one wall. My dad has his arms crossed in the middle of the room, scowling. And in the sitting area is Mags, Kent, and Garrick.

“Mags!” I say happily, temporarily ignoring the tension in my father’s face.

I’m happy to see her. She knows what’s going on with me. At least, for the most part.

I run up and hug her. She babbles about me being all wet and dripping on my dad’s rug. Not like that really matters in this house.

“I wonder who his favorite is,” Kent says to Garrick.

“Sorry,” I say, smiling at them. “It’s nice to see you all. What… uh…” I’m becoming increasingly more aware that my family and two best friends are watching me act buddy-buddy with three people they actively either dislike or are afraid of. “What’s going on?”

“We’re so sorry to come so late,” says Garrick, speaking mostly to my father. “We thought this was the time you’d all be sure to be home.”

“But we were wrong,” says Kent. He looks at me, then his eyes flint over to Dawson and Sam. Clearly, he’s wondering where we were, but he doesn’t ask.

“There are a few loose ends we’re supposed to help you tie up.”

“What loose ends?”

“Uh, just some things we need to show you. Usually the Capitol attendants stick around for a few days and set all this up for you, but around twenty years ago the Victors decided we could just do it. You know, get the Capitol out of here as fast as possible. Since we have more victors than most other Districts.”

The fact that it would either be the Victors or the Capitol does seem to make my father relax slightly. But I’m relieved to see them no matter the reason. I have a feeling that, no matter what I’m going through emotionally, they won’t judge me for it. After all, they’ve been through it too.

“So why you three?” I ask.

“Well we’ve each got something we need to talk to you about, so we figured we’d do it all at once.”

“Okay,” I say. “So… who’s first?”

“Not it,” Garrick says, looking at Kent.

I chuckle, and so does Mags. Kathrine huffs a big sigh behind me.

I notice Dawson and Sam are still here, and clearly they want to leave. I don’t mind them being here, but I think my dad would prefer it if they weren’t. He never likes it when others in the community witness our issues. And they seem uncomfortable.

“Why don’t you boys go home,” My dad says. “We’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

I smile and wave at them, hoping they won’t worry… or tell anyone.

They both nod and say goodbye. With one last glance at the Victors, they leave.

“Okay, so me first,” says Kent.

He gestures to the table, as if asking if he could use it. I nod but then look at my dad. He shrugs.

Kent puts down a whole briefcase I didn’t notice before. It’s weird to see him with a briefcase. It’s weird to see him at all put together. I’m used to the ruffled and disoriented man with alcohol on his breath.

“Okay,” he says, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he’s already exhausted. He takes out a very thick folder. “Behold.”

“What—”

“This is a very complex way of saying you have a lot of money now.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Most of this is legal nonsense, but the gist of it is that the Capitol gives you a monthly allowance of… well, a lot. But it doesn’t roll over.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Basically, at the end of each month, the Capitol just replaces whatever you spent. They do it this way because… well… in a hundred lifetimes you couldn’t spend this much money in District Four. Things just aren’t expensive enough. And if they let the allowances just build on each other by the time you’re my age… Well, you get the idea.”

“Huh. Okay.”

“There’s a lot of small stuff in this that you don’t really need to know. The big one though, that most Victor’s find out the hard way, is the donation clause.”

“The what?”

“You’re not allowed to give away any of this money.”

“Wait… what?”

“You can have dependents. Like your family and a few friends, and you can hand out some money here and there. Like, they don’t monitor your every purchase… But you can’t give the money away to the public. Like. Since you have an allowance of a certain amount, it occurs to a lot of people to just give out the entire amount each month. Give back, you know? But…”

“They don’t let us?”

“They won’t even tell you. The money just won’t go through.”

“But… but why?”

“Well, they don’t want the money they give to Victor’s to actually get to and benefit the Districts. Not to be… blunt.”

They’re horrible. I hadn’t thought about what I would do with all my money, but that would be the obvious solution. Now… I just have to sit on all this money.

“Yeah,” says Kent. “It’s a treat. If you want to know more just ask me. Trust me you don’t want to read all this.”

“Why are you in charge of this?” I ask.

“Are you insinuating I’m not smart enough to do this?”

I laugh. “Uh… That’s not exactly—”

“—I’m fucking with you.”

“Kent is strangely good with numbers,” says Garrick. “Amber used to do it, and she taught him.”

“Amber…” I say.

“She was Victor two years before Walsh,” says Kent. “She died a few… Oh. Eleven. Eleven years ago. Wow. I guess it makes sense you don’t remember her.”

I think I have some vague memories of a woman with light brown skin, wavy dark hair with streaks of gray. But I don’t remember anything else about her.

“Okay. So I’ll let you know if I have questions.”

“Right. Your account information and everything is all on the front page. Let me know. Now.”

He reaches into his pocket.

“Here.”

He tosses something at me. I catch it and take a closer look. It’s two keys on a simple keychain.

“What’re these for?” I say.

“Those are to your new house.”

I breath out something between a laugh and a sigh. “Uh… yeah. About the house. I don’t think I’m going to use it.”

Mags and Kent lock eyes for a moment. I glance between the both of them.

“What?”

“Well… That’s fine for the first month or two. We can help, you might be able to get away with four… even five months but…”

“The Capitol will call you on the phone in your new house,” says Garrick, “and they expect you to answer. If you miss too many of their calls they’ll get… peeved.”

“What does that mean.”

I jump slightly when my dad speaks. He hasn’t spoken to the victors yet, I had assumed he wouldn’t. Not because he despises them, although he clearly isn’t a huge fan, but because he doesn’t talk much at all if he can avoid it.

“Well. Jeffer once missed a ton of calls once because he was living with a partner. After roughly two months they sent Barry Weathersmith down to yell at him. They… Um…”

Mags immediately speaks up to assure me no one’s ever been punished for not answering a phone.

“What did she say?” says my dad.

I help translates Mags’s slurred speech. It calms my dad down slightly. He puts a hand on my shoulder.

“But they’ll still send someone down. They’ll be upset.”

“It takes a long time for that to happen. And they leave you alone for the first two months as a rule. But… before the Victor’s Tour you’ll be called more and more. And they’ll start sending things to your house in Victor’s Village. That’s where they’ll expect to meet you too.”

Mags gives me a run-down of my options. I can stay living with my Dad for the next two months no matter what. After that, she even offers to live in my house for a while and intercept any calls. But eventually, I’m going to need to live there full time and answer my phone.

This was going to be tricky. Because my dad can’t move that far from the boat, so he and Kathrine can’t come with me. Not to mention they’ll need my help on the boat, too. All my friends are here…

“Don’t worry about it right now,” says Kent. “In the next week or two, if you could find some time to come down and set up the house, we’ll work out a plan from there.”

“Okay,” I say. Then I realize after I should have let my dad answer. Oh well. I glance at him. He… doesn’t look too mad. He’s definitely been happier though.

“Alright,” says Kent. “I’m done.”

He sits back in the kitchen chair and looks at Mags and Garrick.

Mags takes a piece of paper out of her bag. She folds it carefully into a paper airplane and throws it at me.

“What the—you’re so weird sometimes.” I catch the airplane and smile at her. At one point, she’s the most mature among us. The next moment she’s making paper airplanes.

I unfold the paper and examine it. It’s a long, long list of possible talents. I’m supposed to take up one of them to show the cameras in six months. She’s even circled some, and crossed out some others.

“Oh, sure,” I say.

My dad leans over my shoulder. “All of these are useless. When would he ever use any of it.”

“Besides in six months when the Capitol questions him about it, never,” says Kent. “It’s just something they make us do.”

I shift awkwardly. I don’t want to jump through hoops and spin around for the Capitol audience. But I definitely don’t want my dad to need to watch.

“Okay… I’ll, uh, pick one of these I guess.”

Mags nods once and then looks at Garrick. He sighs deeply. He reaches into his pocket and removes a crumpled envelope.

I take it. My name is written on the back in curved writing.

“What’s this?” I say as I open it.

“It’s… an invitation to Mandy Tarlek’s funeral service.”

Chapter Text

David loans me an old suit for Mandy’s funeral. Three days since we talked with the Victors, and we haven’t mentioned the experience once. My dad seems particularly against discussing it. I’m not sure when we’re going down to Victor’s Village to set up the house. Or how we’re going to deal with the whole living situation.  

My dad offers to come to the funeral with me, which I’m grateful for. David is going to work on the boat for us.

“Maybe someone could watch Ben and I can help on the boat,” says Kathrine at dinner the night before.

“What about…” I stop. I’ve been afraid to ask, but we’ve gone so long without talking about it, and I’m curious. “What about David’s parents?”

My dad’s jaw ripples, and the grip on his fork gets tight.

“I’m sorry… I…”

“It’s fine,” says Kathrine. “But, no. We’re not gonna do that.”

We clean up dinner and Kathrine gestures for me to help her with the dishes.

“Sorry,” says Kathrine. “I never explained what happened.”

“I don’t understand,” I say. “I know the boat was causing some tension, but Ben’s still their grandson.”

“Yeah. It’s just…” she takes a deep breath. “Okay. So they carted you off, and we came home after the reaping and for the first few days we were just numb. Then sometime around training scores came out they started dropping these hints.”

“What kind of hints.”

“About how we’re one person short on the boat.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Dad went ballistic. I mean, you weren’t even dead yet. And even if you died on the first day, trying to weasel onto dad’s boat because his son died—”

“—yeah…”

“We even tried to get them to take it back, but they wouldn’t. They said they were just being realistic. And that even if you won, we’d all move away and be wealthy and we wouldn’t need the boat anymore. So, we cut them off.”

That last bit gives me pause. Because, of course, we’re having trouble with that right now. It’s completely unreasonable for us to give the boat away. If I were to die tomorrow my family would be left with nothing. Because, after quickly perusing the packet Kent left me, I now know I’m not allowed to keep a will. But still, I feel like this money should be able to help us in some way. Since I have it…

Sam and Dawson had asked for details the next morning. I told them about the house and the money. Unfortunately, my two friends have never kept a secret in their lives. Not that this was much of a secret, it’s a known fact victor’s get showered with riches. However, there have definitely been some jokes and comments from others in the community now.

I still haven’t seen Emma, which is disappointing. But the idea of Mandy’s funeral has left a lot on my mind…

The fact that they invited me must mean something. But… what if they hate me? But why would they invite someone they hate? But how could they not hate me? It’s a vicious circle. I’ve picked up a habit of pulling at the loose threads in the couch or my blankets and tying them into little knots… it’s not helping.

The morning of Mandy’s funeral, Kathrine drops the baby off with Miss Letterman down the street and she and David head out. I get dressed in David’s old suit. It’s a pretty good fit. I tie my own tie, which makes me think about that day before the interviews. Which makes me think about Mandy and I laughing backstage.

Mandy, apparently, lived in the sector five, down south, just past The City. The training center is in sector four, so I suppose that makes sense. It’s significantly warmer down here than it is in sector nine, where I live.

By the time we arrive, the funeral home is packed full of people I don’t know. They all know me, though, and they aren’t hiding the stares and whispers.

“Finnick,” someone calls. “Finnick Odair. I’m glad you came.”

A tall, buff man approaches me and I know the second I see him that this is Mandy’s father. He has the same dark brown hair and eyes. His skin is darker, but that’s the only big difference.

“Hello,” I say lamely.

My father holds out his hand. “Jan Odair.”

“Mike Tarlek.”

They shake hands. My father says he’s sorry for Mr. Tarlek’s loss. Despite my father not being very wishy-washy, he’s always been good at funerals. I suppose it makes sense. My father only speaks when he needs to. I guess he deems comforting someone after a loss as a necessity. And he’s got a steadying effect.

“I’m glad you both came,” says Mr. Tarlek. “You two seemed close. From what I could see.”

I nod. “We were close…” I again think to the recap, where I let Mandy worry about me and search for me after I abandoned her. “I’m… really sorry.”

Mr. Tarlek smiles sadly at me. “You were good to her. I invited you here to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“You tried to save her. And then you ended her suffering. You helped her.”

I don’t want this man’s thanks. I nod solemnly, and let my dad do the rest of the work with this conversation.

After Mandy’s father walks off, my dad and I wander around. I’m avoiding the coffin at the other end of the room. I don’t want to see it. So instead, I focus on a wall full of shaky pictures. Mandy as a little kid. Mandy with a woman I’m assuming is her mother. A Mandy I recognize and a young girl with light brown skin whom I’m guessing is her girlfriend. She’s so alive in these pictures. I feel like an outsider here. I was never a part of Mandy’s life, only her death.

I’ve lost track of my dad. But that’s okay. He’s probably meeting new people and giving our condolences. I’m glad he came.

I wander around for a few minutes before stumbling into Mandy’s girlfriend. She’s surrounded by friends, and I don’t want to intrude. But before I can step away, she spots me.

“Oh, Finnick,” she says. “It’s good to meet you.”

I have no idea what her name is. Which is depressing. How did I never ask Mandy her girlfriend’s name?

“Hi. Sorry, I was just…”

“Come and sit, we’re just telling stories about how we first met Mandy.”

A tradition in most of our funerals. I don’t really want to, but I sit.

I listen to what I’m realizing was Mandy’s core friend group talk about their experiences with her. At school, at the fishery, at the docs where they swim, which in sector five is apparently referred to as “the pools.” But I’m learning she hasn’t worked at her docs since she was eight, and she didn’t have a lot of free time.

“And of course,” one of Mandy’s friends tells me, “I didn’t see much of her at school this past year because she was training.”

“More last year than before?” I ask.

“Oh yeah,” he says. “After each Hunger Games they select one or two possible tributes for the next one. Some years it’s like a competition, apparently, to see who will go in. But this year it was just Mandy. She knew she’d be going in for years before. I mean, she was really good.”

“Right. Yeah, she was.”

I’m feeling awkward again. I can’t help but think that my being here is somehow a slight towards Mandy. As though, even with all her training, I was somehow better at the Games… Which I suppose is true, because I still believe she wouldn’t have been able to kill that boy from Eight. She was just… too kind.

The group talks for a little while before dispersing. I’m left alone with Mandy’s girlfriend. I’m wondering how this happened before it occurs to me she might want to talk to me alone.

“So,” she says.

She tucks her wavy hair behind her ear. She’s very pretty. Her bronze skin almost shines and her light brown hair sticks up here and there like it has a mind of its own. The farther north you get, the whiter people in District Four are. But down in sector one, in the part of our district that used to be a place called Mexico, almost everyone looks like this girl.

“I was just wondering if… you’d be willing to tell me anything about Mandy’s last few weeks. As a closure thing, y’know?”

“Oh,” I say. I hadn’t been expecting this. I’m not sure what to tell her. In the arena it was just… the arena. Everything I could tell her was seen on tv. And before that it was mostly just prep.

“Um… well I was pretty terrified of her at first. I didn’t really get to know her until the Opening Ceremonies.”

I tell her everything I can think of, even stuff I haven’t told my dad yet. Like how my dad went to Mandy and asked to end my life quickly if it came to that. How she had become protective of me. About her almost-fight with Evant. Even about her anger towards our stylists. But when I get to the part where I overheard her and Garrick arguing about the Capitol, and whether or not Mandy would be able to let me die and win, I pause.

I realize now, looking back on that conversation, Garrick was predicting the very same thing I’ve concluded about Mandy: that she was too kind to win the Hunger Games. But Garrick wasn’t talking about it like it was a good thing. He was talking about her kindness, it was all about her ability to let me go. How had he put it? To do what had to be done.

I’m realizing that maybe it still would be a good idea to talk to the other Victor’s about my victory and Mandy’s death. I was worried about insulting them by asking if all Victors are bad people… but maybe they have a different perspective.

“Um…” I say. “I don’t have much more. Maybe Garrick has some more stories? He was her mentor, he saw her a lot.”

Mandy’s girlfriend scrunches up her face in distaste. “I talked to him. I don’t know, I’ve never been a huge fan of his. I don’t really see Mandy liking him, or the other Victor’s for that matter.”

I’m about to object and say that Mandy loved the other Victors. But I realize that’s not true. Mandy hated them. Especially after she saw my interview. She blamed them for objectifying me. Now I see what she was referring to, but I still don’t think it was the Victor’s fault. Objectified or not, that interview is how I’m still alive today.

“I suppose she wasn’t very close with them. I’m guessing none of them are here?”

“No,” she says. “Just you.”

“Okay. Well… Oh! She did mention you once. I can’t believe I didn’t tell you this first.”

She perks up immediately. “She did?”

“Yeah. It was before the interviews. And, well, she was really uncomfortable in that dress they put on her. And she was kind of fighting with it and she said that she hated the idea of you seeing her in it.”

Mandy’s girlfriend laughs. “She did look weird. She was always a suit girl. Here, look.”

She takes out a picture of Mandy in a sharp suit with an orange tie, holding hands with her girlfriend, who’s in a yellow dress and sneakers. They clash terribly, but that’s what makes it nice.

“You two are cute together,” I say.

“Yeah,” she says. “We were…”

The mood drops and I go silent.

“Did she say anything else?”

She looks so hopeful. But the truth is Mandy never mentioned her girlfriend again. Not that she had the time. The next time we really spoke was in the arena, and that’s no place to talk about girlfriends. But I’m worried she’ll take it the wrong way. As though Mandy didn’t care enough to talk or think about her.

“Um…” I say. A small lie isn’t all that bad, right? “Yeah. After the interviews, when we were going to bed. We were talking about home and she said she missed you.”

“She did?”

I nod. I’m sure it’s true, even if Mandy didn’t share it.

“Well, thanks Finnick. I’m glad I got a chance to talk to you.”

I never learned her name. But I’m not going to ask for it now. She walks off, and I feel awful.

My emotions about Mandy are all so confusing. She feels like such a huge part of my life. It’s odd that I was such a small part of hers. Except, I’m sure I did mean a lot to Mandy. Not because I was good to her, I wasn’t. I abandoned her. But because she was just so good to me. Because she was a protector, and I needed protection. But is that really why she didn’t win? Because she was so good? I suppose the reason she didn’t win was because of the hippos. But if I look at it closer…

“Hey,” says a somewhat familiar voice. “Didn’t know you were here.”

I turn. It’s Noric. Emma’s older brother.

“Oh!” I say. “Hi. Yes, here I am.”

Why am I so weird today? Or maybe it’s that I haven’t seen Noric in a while. Since Emma’s parents got divorced, at least.

“Nice of you to come. Considering you were the last person to see her and all.”

What a… weird thing to point out. Especially since I didn’t really speak to her in that last meeting, I just killed her. And everyone in the world saw me do that, it’s not like I need to tell anyone the story.

“Uh huh. How’s everything? I haven’t seen your sister in a while.”

“Oh, yeah. She and dad have been over at our place a lot recently. She’s over there, if you need to talk to her.”

My heart leaps, and then I feel guilty about getting excited. This is Mandy’s funeral. I shouldn’t be talking to girls. But… she’s really the only person here I know…

“Thanks. I will.”

I walk a bit closer to the casket, taking good care not to look. Finally, I see Emma. She’s sitting off to the side, wearing a pretty black dress with her hair tied up in a braid. My stomach flutters.

“Hi,” I say.

“Oh,” she doesn’t seem very happy to see me. Although… funeral. “Hi Finnick.”

“Can I sit?”

“I suppose.”

I take the seat next to her. We sit in awkward silence for a while.

“So…” I say. “You’re here with your brother?”

She nods stiffly.

“That’s nice… or… you know what I mean.”

“Right. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Yeah. I was surprised to be invited. I mean, Mandy and I did get along pretty well before the Games but… I mean… I don’t really know anyone here. Besides you.”

“Yeah. It’s just weird.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s weird.”

“That we’re here, y’know? I don’t know, it’s weird to think about. I only met her a few times when my brother took me to the training center and my brother only knows her through the Hunger Games. And same with you. It’s just weird that we only know her through the thing that killed her, yet we’re invited to her funeral.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what to say. Because I suppose she’s right. Although I don’t see why the fact I met Mandy during the Hunger Games means I can’t mourn her.

“I mean,” Emma continues, possibly just to herself, “it’s not like I really knew this woman. I wonder how many people here actually did, you know? My brother barely has any close friends at school. And he doesn’t know anyone from the fisheries or the docs because he’s never actually fished before. He can barely string a line. Because he’s spent his life preparing for the Games. I was listening to some people tell stories about Mandy and they’re all about her training for the thing that killed her. It’s like she doesn’t have her own identity.”

“Um… yeah. Yeah I know what you mean.”

“And then the fact that you’re here.”

“What about me?”

“I mean. You killed her. And yet you’re on the funeral list. It’s like, did she have no real friends? In no other circumstances would someone’s murderer be invited to their funeral.”

I’m stunned. Murderer. Murderer she called me. I don’t know how to respond. I am a murderer, but I never included Mandy’s death in the list of people I killed. And even so, no one else refers to Victors as murderers. Even if I think I am… Murderer…

“Murderer,” I say, quietly.

“What?”

“Nothing. Nevermind.”

She huffs, exasperated. “Well, I mean, that’s what it was, right? What else would you call it? Manslaughter? That’s when someone slips and falls in your walk, or when you knock someone off a boat, and they end up drowning. You know, for accidents. This wasn’t an accident. This was murder. She died, she’s dead, you did it. It’s not personal.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah. It doesn’t feel personal.”

This is not how I imagined my reunion with Emma going. I haven’t even brought up the necklace, or what it meant to me in the Capitol. And I can’t bring it up now. I can’t do anything now.

“Well. I should go find my dad.”

I get up and leave her. She doesn’t say goodbye.

She hates me. I honestly wasn’t expecting that. Sure, I’ve been nervous about being hated for the things I did in the games. And I’ve been nervous about being a monster, a murderer. I agree with what she said. After all, none of those deaths were accidents. None of them were for any greater cause, like casualties in a war. I killed them. Murdered them. It’s just another name for it, with darker connotations. I’ve been worried about my friends, even my dad and sister, holding that against me. But I never thought she would.

After all, her brother is training for the Hunger Games. Isn’t she the one who told me to try? What did she think trying entailed? I tried. I won. I did what she said.

But I suppose seeing me actually do what it takes to win was eye opening. At least she was honest.

But she’ll never want to be involved with me now… I’m horrible for thinking about that at a time like this, but it does make me sad. I know she was never one of the girls who chased after me at school. I knew it was possible she wouldn’t want to be in a relationship with me. But… I thought we could at least be friends.

But I’m sure she doesn’t want to be friends with a murderer.

I look around for my dad and find him talking with a woman who’s back is to me.

“Finnick,” he says. “Good. This is Mandy’s mother.”

I had no idea Mandy had a mother. Or, at least, that her mother was still alive. But I recognize her from the pictures.

“I’m so sorry for your loss Mrs. Tarlek,” I say.

Murderer. Mandy’s Murderer.

“Thank you dear. I’m glad you came. It looked like you were very important to her.”

Murderer.

“She was important to me, at least. She… we were each other’s lifelines. You know, she was from home. The Capitol was really intense.”

“That’s a sweet way to put it.”

“You okay?” my dad asks.

“Yes,” I say numbly.

“You don’t have to stay for the whole thing,” says Mrs. Tarlek. “I know you live far away, and I’m sure this is bringing back a lot of trauma for you.”

“Oh,” I say. I’m torn between really wanting to leave over this whole murderer development, and feeling like I owe Mandy so much more than just a duck in and out. “No. I’m okay. I haven’t even been up to see her yet.”

“Oh, then I’ll let you do that. Thank you for coming. I think it did Delila a lot of good.”

I glance towards where she’s pointing and I realize that’s Mandy’s girlfriend’s name. Good to know.

My dad walks over to the casket with me. I don’t want to be here. I’ve never been good with dead bodies. Which is ironic, considering how many I dealt with in the arena. Not just the people I killed, but I moved everyone who died in the bloodbath over to the forest so they could get picked up. I’ve handled plenty of bodies. But there’s something about the funeral home and the casket and all the life happening around the body that’s just…

When we get to the front, I prepare myself to see Mandy again. I remember what she looked like, all broken by the river. In District Four, they’ll clean you up and make sure all your limbs are pointing in the right direction, but the injuries aren’t exactly hidden. If it’s really bad, you get a closed casket.

After one final deep breath, I step forwards and look at Mandy.

It’s… different. At first, I barely recognize her. I assume it’s because her face was so full of emotion when I knew her, but that’s not it. She looks different. I look closer.

Her legs aren’t broken. Her chest isn’t caved in. If I didn’t know better I’d say she had makeup on.

She looks older. Cleaner.

What happened to her? I know immediately that her parents, the nice man and woman I just met, did not do this to her. They did not make her look pretty in death. This is the Capitol’s work. The Capitol altered her before shipping her home. Just like they altered me.

I can’t handle it. I step back and my dad loses grip on my shoulder. I turn and run as quickly as a dare without causing a scene. I dart through a side door and out into the salty air. We’re close to the beach, so I head towards the water.

I hear my dad calling after me, but I can’t stop. I collapse by the water, breathing heavily.

They altered her. They couldn’t even leave her alone in death. They couldn’t face what they had done to her. The injuries they inflicted on her. I want to run back in there and tear up that casket. To rub all that makeup off her face. Rebreak her bones and ruin her hair. I can’t stand the idea of her being buried in make-up I know she despised. The injuries that killed her being hidden so the Capitol can save face.

Murderer.

I’m not sure if I am or not. But I am sure that the Capitol is responsible for this. If it was my fault, the Capitol would not have hid it. How dare they polish her up and make her look pretty for her funeral. How dare they desecrate her body like this.

“Finnick!”

My dad has caught up to me.

“Finnick, talk to me, are you okay.”

I realize I’m crying. So it would be a hard sell to say I am okay.

My dad plops down next to me and puts an arm around my shoulders.

“I’m sorry, I should have thought about what this funeral might dig up for you. Maybe we shouldn’t have come.”

I cry harder because I had to come. I had to say goodbye to Mandy. But that thing in there is not Mandy. It’s some Capitol creation. Just like me.

“Tell me what’s happening here, Finnick. Please?”

I collapse into him. I don’t want to tell him what’s happening. Because who knows what he’ll do. But I can’t keep it in any longer. And I’m tired of hiding my body from him, like I’m keeping some dirty secret.

“They changed her.”

“Who? Mandy? Who changed Mandy?”

“The Capitol. They altered her, she doesn’t look the same.”

“Well… sure. She looked pretty bad after the river. I’m sure they clean up all the tributes.”

“They didn’t just clean her up, dad!” I shout. “They’re hiding what they did. They made her look pretty and normal. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone? It’s her body, they don’t get to mess with it! They just took all kinds of liberties. They made her look like them! Or at least how they wanted her to look! They didn’t even ask!”

“Well, how could they have asked, Finnick?” he says.

He’s confused. I don’t blame him, I’m not making sense.

“Listen,” he says. “I understand what you’re saying. They are hiding what they did. But… maybe it’s for the best. I don’t think her family and friends want to see what happened.”

“No!” I whine.

My dad is good about being nice to the Capitol out in public. You never know who could be an informer, or who might be listening. But no one is around, and the waves mask our voices, and I need him to understand. To tell me he understands.

“You’re right Finnick. It’s wrong. It’s all wrong. And they polished her up to save face. But just because they changed how she looks doesn’t mean we forget. We all remember, that’s what’s important.”

He still doesn’t understand. The big thing is that Mandy died, but at least she was free. I still had to look good for the camera. I am still a source of entertainment. But at least Mandy was free. But now I know she’s not. And she never will be. They’re sending her to her grave in make-up she’d hate, hiding the injuries she got as though they are something to be ashamed of. They corrupted her even in death. Just like they corrupted me in life.

“I…” I hesitate. “I need to tell you something.”

My dad says nothing, waiting patiently.

“I should have told you earlier but… I didn’t want to think about it. And I didn’t want you to be upset.”

“What happened Finnick?”

I sob. He’s so worried.

“After the Hunger Games, when they were fixing all my injuries, I realized after that they did more than just fix me up. They… changed me. They gave me these cosmetic alterations. They took out some of the fat around my stomach and put more muscle in my chest. To make me older, and more attractive. They didn’t even ask. They didn’t even tell me. I found out on my own on the train ride home. They just… I’m different now. They changed me. They made me like them.”

I’m expecting my father to remove his arm in disgust. Not at me, but at the idea that he’s touching something that the Capitol touched. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t move. He just pats my back for a little while. After a few seconds of silence, I wonder if he heard me.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, Finnick?”

“I just… I’m…”

“It’s okay. I understand that that must be hard. I’m sorry they didn’t ask you. But it’s just like with Mandy. Just because they’ve changed your outside doesn’t mean you aren’t the same person inside.”

What? I huff, exasperated. What is he talking about, “the same on the inside”? Is he insane? This is not about my mental state. Well… I suppose it is. But not like that.

“What?” he asks.

“I’m not worried about being changed on the inside, dad,” I say, sitting up. “I’m just… I’m angry and… they messed with me. I’m different now! They altered me, I’m like a Mutt. They made me a new body in one of their labs.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Maybe a little, but—”

“Is it really that different?”

“No… I mean not really. It took me a while to notice… But it’s not about how much they altered.”

“I know it’s not. It’s about how you didn’t consent to it.”

“Yeah, but also… I don’t know. It’s like now they own me.”

“They do not own you.”

“Sure they do! They dress me up in silly costumes and get me to make jokes with Caesar Flickerman and they altered my body to how they liked it. They got me to kill Mandy, didn’t they? They own me.”

“Hey, woah, woah, you did not kill Mandy.”

“Sure I did. I slit her throat, I remember.”

“You showed her mercy.”

“I murdered her.”

“You didn’t murder anyone.”

“Yes I did!”

“No Finnick!” he’s yelling now. “You showed her mercy. If you had been responsible for her death, her parents wouldn’t have invited you.”

I don’t say anything. We’ve strayed off topic, and I’m not ready to discuss District Eight. I want to go back to talking about what the Capitol did to me. I feel like he is not adequately upset over that.

“Listen, Finnick, I need to tell you something too. After I visited you in the Justice Building—”

“—you went to see Mandy and asked her to do it quickly if she was nearby, I know, she told me.”

He’s shocked. This makes him remove his arm from my shoulders.

“She told you?”

He sounds almost angry.

“Yeah. I was terrified of her, and she told me to calm me down. It worked, too, I was much calmer around her after that. She told me she wouldn’t draw anything out, that’s what I was afraid of. And I know that I was just returning the favor, and that she basically gave me permission to do it when she gave me her knife, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m different now. And so is she. That’s not her in there. That thing with the make-up. And I’m not me. This isn’t how I’m supposed to look.”

“Stop,” my dad says. “Finnick I… Listen. I didn’t want you to find out about my conversation with Mandy. But I suppose if it helped… I want you to know that it’s not that I didn’t believe in you—”

We’re straying off topic again. Why won’t he focus?

“You were right not to. I didn’t believe in me, either. I was—am—fourteen. I thought for sure I was dead. You and Kathrine were both telling me I wasn’t going to suffer, because that’s what I needed to hear. Hello, you taught me how to kill myself.”

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No I’m glad you did. But none of that matters now because somehow I did win and I am home and this isn’t what’s bothering me.”

“Right. Okay. Listen to me. That thing in there isn’t Mandy, you’re right. Because Mandy died, Finnick. Even if she looked exactly like she did when the claw took her out of the arena, it still wouldn’t be her. But you are still you, no matter how you look.”

“Dad, I don’t need you to tell me it’s what’s on the inside that matters. My body is still my body and now it’s not anymore.”

“Yes it is. It’s your body, you inhabit it. You’re not upset they fixed your knife wound, right? You’re not upset they made it so there’s no scar.”

I mumble. Honestly I’d have liked a scar. Or… I’d at least have been fine with one. I would prefer a scar to no scar. They even took marks and scars I had before. Those were my scars. They stole my scars.

“Yes, they took liberties. But… no more than the liberties they took putting you in the arena.”

He glances around, as though worried someone will hear.

“What I’m saying is, it doesn’t matter what you look like. I know they hurt you, but you’re home now. You lived and you’re home and as long as you keep coming home nothing else they do matters.”

It’s a nice sentiment. And I’m glad he’s not angry or disgusted. But… I mean… he could be a little more angry or disgusted.

But what do I want him to say? That he’s disgusted by the Capitol and by me? The Victors made me feel better, and they basically said the same thing my dad said.

Well… that’s not true. They assured me it wouldn’t happen again. But both they and my dad told me the change wasn’t that big a deal. But… when the Victors said it it sounded like a tangible thing. Compared to Garrick’s hair, it’s not such a big deal. Whereas my dad means it spiritually. It’s not a big deal because they can’t touch what’s on the inside. And despite my father’s message being the nicer of the two, the Victors did more in cheering me up.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go home. Do you want to talk some more? I have more things to say about the whole… noose situation.”

I shrug. I wonder, briefly, if he spotted the noose I started tying as quickly as Mags did, after the feast. I have a feeling he didn’t. And I make a decision not to tell him. Clearly, he feels guilty about not believing in me.

We head off towards the train station. I feel terrible. Today was supposed to be a chance for me to say goodbye to Mandy. But that thing in there is not Mandy. So now… I don’t know what to do.

On the train home I let my dad talk about how he’s sorry for teaching me the noose, and how he’s grateful I’m home and how he loves me. I nod along and let him rant. He seems to be under the impression that I am suicidal. Which is hilarious, because if I was willing to die I would have died at the blood bath when Evant put his knee on my chest and that curved blade to my throat. Clearly, the problem is I really do not want to die. Because if I was at all okay with dying, I wouldn’t have murdered all those kids.

I don’t tell my father this, though. I tell him I understand what he’s saying, and I’m glad to be home. He seems to feel better.

The front door is open when we get home. I hear raised voices. My dad and I exchange a confused look and peak inside.

Kathrine and David are both red in the face, in what appears to be a huge fight with David’s mother and father.

Before my father or I can make ourselves known, Mr. Feltsin speaks up.

“I did not say that—don’t put words in my mouth. You make me out as some sort of monster. Like a vulture waiting to strike. But that’s not what I’m doing!”

“What are you doing, dad?”

“I’m a grandfather trying to be a part of my grandson’s life!”

“Funny way of showing it!” David yells. “You don’t get to pick and choose which members of this family are important to you! Finnick is part of my family too!”

“I’m not suggesting he isn’t! We were all betting against Finnick! You saw that other girl! Mandy? She was huge! I shouldn’t have been so forward. But Jan is usually such a logical guy—”

“My father was facing weeks of watching his son slowly die,” Kathrine snaps. “He didn’t want your logic.”

“I know. And I’ve apologized. I’m sorry. It was wrong. But it doesn’t change the facts of what I’m saying right now.”

“Give it a rest, dad.”

“Finnick is back. But now he’s a Victor. He doesn’t need to boat anymore. Which means, logically, sole ownership of it will pass down to you and eventually Ben. Jan is getting to retirement age. I’m just wondering what the plan is.”

“What plan?”

“Boats are a big deal in this community. When families don’t need it anymore, when they go into retirement, they pass them on to someone who does. It’s a longstanding tradition, a pillar of this society! That’s how Jan got the boat. The owners were looking at retirement and they gave their boat to a woman who had been like a daughter to them.”

“You’ve never been like a daughter to my dad, I’m afraid.”

“I’m not talking about me, Kathrine. I’m old. What will I do with a boat? But like I said, your father is close to retirement—”

“My father is more than ten years from retirement.”

“But now there’s Finnick.”

“What about Finnick?” my sister snaps.

“He’s independently wealthy. Now, I know you and David can’t rely on Finnick. Especially not Ben. When Finnick passes away—from old age!—Ben and Ben’s children will be left in a lurch. You two, and Ben, are the natural recipients of the boat. But Jan’s sea-days are numbered anyway. Wouldn’t it make the most sense for him to retire early and move to Victor’s Village with Finnick? The boy can’t go alone, right? And he can’t stay here, it wouldn’t be fair.”

“Why wouldn’t it be fair?”

“Because when someone doesn’t need a boat they give their spot to someone who does! Like I’ve been saying. Finnick is wealthy! Him taking up a spot on a boat is selfish! Let some other kid get that money.”

“Finnick doesn’t get paid.”

“Sure he does, he’s a part of the family. The money goes into the family, into his allowance fund, to the food he eats, the clothes he wears.”

“But he’s still part of the family—”

“—but now he can support himself! Don’t you think that spot on the boat should be given to someone who can’t support himself? Finnick is a Victor now. He belongs in Victor’s Village. And your father could easily go with him. Retire early. Give you this house and the boat and let you continue on with your lives.”

“And the two open positions will be given to people who need it,” says David sarcastically. “Like my brothers, maybe?”

“I always thought keeping things in the family was the best way to run a business. Your brothers need this, and they are blood, after all.”

“Get out,” says David. “You don’t get to come in here and tell us where Finnick belongs and what Mr. Odair should be doing with his boat. We just got Finnick back, and now you want to send him off to the other end of the District! I can’t believe you! This is not how you raised me!”

“There’s no need to get angry!”

“Get out!”

David points towards the door and notices us for the first time. He stops, stepping back. “Oh. How long have you been there?”

The other three whirl around. I’m about to lie and say we just showed up but my dad speaks first.

“Long enough,” he growls.

“We thought you were at the funeral,” says Mrs. Feltsin.

“And you wanted to come by when you knew I wouldn’t be home,” my father snaps. “I’m glad to see you take funerals so seriously. But please, tell me more about community, and traditions, and pillars to our society?”

“I think we should go,” says Mr. Feltsin.

“I think so too.”

Mr. Feltsin puts on his hat and steps around my father and I.

“It’s nice to see you Finnick,” he says.

“Get out!” my father yells.

They both leave quickly, leaving the four of us alone. Five counting Ben, chilling in his crib like nothing’s happening.

“We’re sorry,” says Kathrine. “We came home and they were just here.”

“It’s not your fault,” my dad says. “They’ve got some nerve.”

But I’m seeing their point. After all, I don’t need the boat anymore. I am independently wealthy. Maybe it would make sense for my dad and I to move to Victor’s Village and for ownership of the boat to pass to Kathrine. If something happened to me, Kathrine would take care of dad. And that way I will be there to answer the phone like the Capitol wants me to.

But Mr. Feltsin is going a bit far. I could easily stay home but not work on the boat. Of course, that would mean my dad makes less money with the same number of mouths to feed, since he’d have to pay a new worker. Sam and Dawson are just a temporary thing. A permanent replacement for me would cost a lot. But I’m rich now. I could make up the difference. And more! I could fix up the house and pay for all the food. We could save up the money we make from the boat while also paying someone new. And that money we can give away.

Mr. Feltsin is right about one thing. I shouldn’t be working on the boat anymore. Maybe that’s the real reason everyone was so surprised to see me my first few days back. Boats are hot ticket jobs. Everyone wants a boat. If I’m helping my dad despite my wealth, I’m robbing others of that opportunity. The opportunity to feed their families.

“Why are you back so early?” asks Kathrine, closing the door and taking my dad’s jacket.

“I had a breakdown,” I say.

“It wasn’t a breakdown.”

“Felt like one.”

“It was very subtle.”

“I ran from the building.”

“What happened?” asks David.

But I don’t want to talk about it. Telling my dad did not help, and I have a feeling David and Kathrine will have similar unhelpful reactions.

“It’s nothing. I’m going to go change…”

By the time I get back into the living room, it’s clear my dad has given them both the rundown of what happened. They don’t say anything, which is good, because I don’t want to talk, but they’re both very warm to me.

Kathrine lets me hold Ben while she and David make dinner. When they start talking about the price of chicken going up, I decide to mention the money situation.

“So… I know this is a sore subject, especially after the argument I just witnessed, but what do we think about the whole… vast riches situation I’ve got going on?”

Kathrine chuckles. “Interesting way to put it.”

I shrug. “Yeah. Well… I think Mr. Feltsin has a point—”

“—no, he doesn’t,” my dad snaps.

“No… I didn’t mean… I meant, I think I probably shouldn’t be working on the boat anymore. I’m sure it’s already raised some eyebrows. Mr. Feltsin’s right, I don’t need it, there are others who should take my spot.”

“The boat belongs to our family,” says my dad. “We still need it, and your part of this family.”

“But I personally don’t need it anymore. And I know that hiring someone new would have been a financial strain before, but I can make up whatever we lose. I’ll pull my own weight, basically. I can carry some of the food costs, and the leak in the roof—”

“No.”

“But dad, it’s weird I’m still working on the boat.”

My dad’s jaw flexes. “Fine. Maybe a little. People have been… noticing.”

“See? So, I can—”

“But we’ll manage on our own.”

“Manage what on our own?”

“We’ll work out the money situation. Even if we hire someone permanently.”

“But… I have the money. I should at least support myself, even if I don’t fix other problems around here.”

“No.”

“But… why not? If I ignore the money completely then my being a Victor will be a financial burden. It would be easier on us if I had died.”

My dad looks at me with firey eyes and I remember we just had a conversation about suicide and how my being home is a gift.

“I didn’t mean that!” I say quickly. “I just meant that if I’m going to remove myself from the financial gain of our family it’s only right that I remove myself as a financial burden too, right? I’ll just pay for myself, so we stay in the same place we were before, financially.”

“You’re not paying for anything.”

“But… dad I have the money. And with the baby, we were already looking at difficult times…”

“No, we’re not using Capitol money in this house.”

I stare at him, bemused. “I don’t… All money is Capitol money. The Capitol is where they keep the money.”

“Don’t be smart.”

But I don’t know what else to be. It’s not like we’re selling our fish to the other people of District Four. We sell the fish we catch to the Capitol. Then the Capitol oversees its distribution. District Four doesn’t even have a bank. No Districts do. All the banks are in the Capitol. It gets transferred down here through our Justice buildings. All money is in the Capitol. What he means is he doesn’t want to use this Capitol money.

“You mean, you don’t want to use my winnings,” I say. “At all. Even though we have them.”

“It’s not winnings,” says my dad. “It’s an allowance. A monthly allowance that doesn’t even role over. There’s fifty pages on the counter about how it’s not really your money, Finnick. Fifty pages dictating what you can and can’t do with this money. I don’t want us using it.”

That’s stupid. Sure, it’s not our money. But not using it isn’t going to show up the Capitol. It’s at our disposal. Who cares where it came from.

I feel like my dad has got his priorities all backwards. The money is tainted because the Capitol is exercising control over it, but I’m not tainted even though the Capitol exercised control over my body and what I look like? Money is just money. It doesn’t matter where it came from as long as no one’s getting hurt. But this is my body. I feel like he’s being weird about this.

“Well… Okay. I guess. What about the house?”

“This house is fine, we’ll fix the leak.”

“No, I mean the one in Victor’s Village. With the phone… Eventually we’re going to have to figure something out with the house, right? We told the Victors we’d drop by sometime this week to set it up, whatever that means.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Alright, but could we do it now… ish? I mean, I’m sure the Victors are waiting for us to show up any day now, we could at least pick a day…”

“We’ll figure it out, Finnick,” my father snaps. “But nothing’s changing. You’re home, and that’s what matters. I’m sure the Victors can wait a little while before we go up there and deal with that phone thing. I don’t see what the Capitol will be calling you about, anyway.”

I drop it, but I’m beginning to realize what’s going on. My dad isn’t ready to consider me a Victor. I made it home, but in his mind I’m not a Victor. I’m not one of those people who goes to the Capitol and lives in a fancy house and has plenty of money. He just wants his kid back.

And I agree, I want that too. But… If I can’t work on the boat, we need to start being realistic. Because the money is there, and no one else is going to forget it’s there.

If I start using the money to make our problems disappear: a new roof, maybe getting a phone for the house so I can live here permanently, a babysitter, then people will talk. It’ll be too much money. Too much luxury. My dad will lose the respect he has within the community. Respect he earned, and deserves. He’s an important part of this society. My money shouldn’t taint that.

But if I’m not using the money, then it creates all kinds of problems. I have to answer my phone, we have less money to buy necessities like food and baby clothes. We need to address these problems, which we can’t do if my dad refuses to acknowledge they exist.

I go to bed that night feeling anxious. And my dreams respond. I dream I’m being chased by someone. Not another tribute, or a Mutt, something else entirely. I’m not sure what it is, but I have that same feeling I had in the arena, where I felt like I was always being watched. Just when it catches up to me and ranks some sort of claws down my back I wake up with a start.

I cry out, breathing hard, trying to remember where I am.

“Finnick?”

I woke my dad.

“Nightmare?”

I nod.

He lifts up his own blanket as an invitation. Despite the multiple miscommunications we’ve had today, I gladly cross the room and slip into his bed next to him. I curl up into his chest and he makes me tell him about the dream.

Something about saying nightmares aloud is so relieving. Maybe there’s a lesson in there somewhere. I fall back to sleep easily.

Chapter Text

I wake up as my dad is trying to sneakily extract himself from the bed without waking me. He tells me to go back to sleep, and he and David are going to the boat. So, I roll over and fall back to sleep.

I wake up a few hours later to Ben crying. I get up and get dressed. By the time I reach the kitchen, Kathrine has everything under control.

“Hi,” I say. “Where are you going?”

I notice the baby bag is all packed. She’s clearly headed off somewhere.

“Ugh. There’s this group of women who are either pregnant or have newborns and I have to hang out with them.”

“Why.”

“Because knowing other moms is a good idea. Plus, Ben being around other kids is good too.”

“He can’t lift his head,” I say. “Does it really matter?”

“Apparently mom did it with us.”

“And we turned out so fantastic, so.”

“Exactly. I don’t know. It’s not too bad. Some of them have other kids and so I can just ask them like… is this normal, and they’ll know the answer. Easier than going to the doctor with everything.”

“Fun. How long will you be there?”

“Dad and David will probably beat me home.”

“Yikes. Have fun.”

“Don’t be smart.”

Once she’s gone I look around the house. I… have no idea what I’m going to do today. By the time I’m done with breakfast I’m already getting twitchy.

I dig out the list of hobbies Mags gave me. This is the point of this list, right? The hobbies are meant to take the place of whatever jobs we had before we were showered with riches?

I look through the list. There are a lot of instruments, which is a no go. I don’t want an instrument. Then there’s things like painting and sculpting, which is also a pass.

Mags has crossed out a lot of them. Some of them I’m in agreement with. I don’t want to paint, or play the harp, or arrange flowers. Some of them are a bit strange, though. One of the hobbies is running, and she crossed it out. There are a few exercising hobbies, including swimming, which is promising to me, but she’s crossed them all out.

I’ll have to ask her when I see her. But I take her word of it. There are a few she’s circled. Baking, cooking, making candy. I can’t see myself doing any of this… but maybe. If I have to. I liked the idea of meals being an art form. As something you enjoy. Maybe I could figure it out. There’s also stuff like chess, which I pass on, (who would I play with?) and she also circles gardening and making furniture. Neither of which sound very appealing, but if I had to.

Then there are a few I like. She’s circled knitting, quilting, and needlepoint. Basically just fancy knots, right? I’m sold.

But I don’t have the stuff here to start it now. And I don’t know how. So I put the list away.

What am I going to do about this Victor thing? I’m still a bit peeved at my dad for refusing to acknowledge it all. And then there’s the all the other stuff… my dad not caring about what the Capitol did to me… Emma… The fact I never really said goodbye to Mandy.

I can’t just sit around here with my thoughts. But where do I go? My friends are all at work, and how would they help, really? I love them, but they’re no more knowledgeable on this than my dad.

Unfortunately, I know exactly who I need to talk to about all this. And my dad’s not going to like it.

I leave him a note explaining where I am, in case I’m not back by the time he gets home, and then I head to the train station.

Victor’s Village is somewhere in sector one, all the way down south, where it’s warm all year. It takes me almost two hours to get there. Then, once I’m there, I’m stuck wandering around looking for the right place.

“Finnick Odair,” someone calls to me.

I look over at the tanned shop keepers.

“Yes?” I say.

“You’re Finnick Odair.”

It’s not a question, he knows who I am. But I answer it like one.

“That’s me.”

“You’re going the wrong way.”

I look around. “Oh,” I say. “I’ve never actually been to Victor’s Village before…”

“It’s that way,” he says, pointing south. “You follow the main road. Tell Kent he owes Jawn money from the poker game.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

He seemed nice enough. Maybe a little up front, but nice. I follow the main road all the way south. Eventually it turns southwest, and I realize Victor’s Village is right on the water.

It’s nice. Grand houses spread evenly apart. Large lawns. The water just a few steps away, at the end of the road. There’s a dock with a small boat. It looks like a nice place for swimming.

A good portion of the houses look abandoned. But there’s one house with a nice garden out front. Two others have their doors open, letting in the sea breeze.

I decide to go for one of the open doors. I walk up the steps of the closest open door and knock.

“Hello?” I say tentatively.

No one replies.

“Hello?” I say a little louder.

“Finnick?”

The voice is coming from upstairs.

“Yes,” I call back. “I can come back another time…”

“No, no stay there.”

It’s Garrick. I wait patiently by the door. After a few minutes I hear heavy footsteps and Garrick rounds the corner.

“Hey, nice to see you. How was the funeral.”

He looks good. Much different than he looked in the Capitol. Better, though, healthier. He’s wearing a t-shirt and a hat, two things I’ve never seen him wear before. I only ever saw him in suits in the Capitol. He looks… more comfortable. I realize this is the first time he’s seen me in my regular clothes, too. I was in a swimsuit when he saw me a few days ago.

“It was fine. I… had a breakdown. But, you know, it was probably inevitable.”

“Was it a public breakdown?”

“No, I got out of the building.”

“Good job. That’s a useful skill. Where’s your dad?”

I shift awkwardly. “Oh. He’s not here. He had to work.”

“You came down by yourself?”

I nod.

He can tell something’s up, I know he can. But fortunately, he doesn’t pry.

“Okay. How’d you find the place?”

“Some guy pointed me in the right direction. I’m supposed to tell Kent he owes Jawn money.”

“Hm, sure. Jawn’s nice enough. Did you meet his goat?”

“What?”

“He has a goat. Anyway, let’s go round up the others, they’ll want to see you.”

He takes me down to the end of the road, by the water, right past the house with the garden and the other house with the open door.

It looks fairly well-kept. Not as nice as some of the other lawns, but definitely lived in. It has brightly colored paint that looks a bit faded. Treated with love, but weathered. Garrick knocks twice and then let’s himself in.

He leads me through a hallway full of pictures. I don’t get a good look at any of them before we turn into a kitchen and I find Mags sitting at the table, knitting a large blanket.

“We’ve got a visitor,” says Garrick.

Mags immediately gets to her feet, smiling. I help her up and hug her.

She looks around and asks where my dad is. I tell her what I told Garrick. She doesn’t brush past it like he did. She gives me a scolding look.

“What?” I say. “He was busy. I have nothing but free time.”

She huffs a laugh and tells Garrick something about chairs.

“Good idea. I’ll go get them.”

He disappears upstairs somewhere. Where is he going? It’s interesting here… People leaving their doors wide open. Garrick just walking into Mag’s house, knowing exactly where she’d be. Knowing his way around like he lives here. They have their own little micro community. It’s nice. Although maybe a bit secluded. But then again, they seem to know the nearby sector pretty well.

Mags takes my hand and leads me outside again. I think we’re about to go get the others, like Garrick said, but instead she leads me down towards the water.

We’re going slowly, because Mags is being careful on the beach, and by the time we reach the water Garrick has caught up with us. He’s carrying a bunch of lawn chairs. Now I get it. It’s a nice day, we’ll sit outside.

Mags makes me sit down with her and Garrick goes off to get the others.

“There’s no way Walsh is awake,” I say, remembering how he used to wake up at noon most days.

“I’ll wake him,” says Garrick.

“You don’t have to—”

“He’ll want to be a part of this.”

I’m not sure what to say to Mags once he leaves, but she seems content with sitting in silence. So I do too.

This place has a very calming atmosphere. I watch the waves for a while, thinking. Our community is very close, but we don’t leave our doors open. I don’t know what the inside layout of everyone’s house is. Of course, that’s probably due to the fact that there are a lot of us. And there are only five people living here. But still, the nearest sector isn’t that far. Leaving your doors open, doesn’t that invite thieves? Although, who would steal from a Victor, who won their house by killing people?

“Hey kid,” Kent and Jeffer are walking towards us with their own lawn chairs.

“You own Jawn money,” I tell Kent.

“I know. But when I stopped by yesterday he wasn’t home.”

“How’s his goat?” asks Jeffer.

“I didn’t see it.”

“You didn’t see the goat?” asks Kent, incredulous.

“Nope.”

“Jawn always has his goat.”

“It might not have been Jawn. He didn’t formally introduce himself, and then he said that Kent owes Jawn money.”

“Oh, it was probably Antonio.”

“Who?”

“Jawn’s husband. He’s less nice than Jawn. But still a good guy.”

“For some reason I never thought about you all knowing the people in sector one.”

“Well, we don’t know everybody.”

“Just the eccentric ones. And the shop owners.”

“Yeah, the shop owners love us, we’ve got the money.”

Mags waves at them to sit down. They both get comfortable. I realize they also look strange. But a good kind of strange. They look happier, just like Garrick. Kent is wearing long sleeves and pants, but no shoes. Jeffer’s perfect facial hair has grown out a little. It looks more natural.

Garrick and Walsh join the group, Walsh grumbling about the time, and they all settle in. Then they look at me expectantly.

Sure, I came here with things to talk about. But… I didn’t expect to have to just drop the bomb right after hello.

“Uh… So I’m here. Do you need to tell me about the house.”

“Yeah, sure,” says Jeffer. “We need to set everything up.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well there are different levels,” says Kent. “We don’t have to do everything today. The big thing is that you’re the only one legally allowed to unlock the door. So we can dust out the cobwebs and stuff. Move the furniture around. Then, if you’re not staying, we should decide on ways to make it look lived in for the Capitol when they get here for the Victory Tour. And then there’s stuff like how we’re going to deal with the phone and the mail.”

“Mail?” I say. “You didn’t mention mail.”

“Well, mail is easy,” says Garrick. “We see a package; we bring it up to you. No big deal.”

“Why am I getting packages?”

“For your talent.”

Mags asks me about the list she gave me.

“Oh,” I say. “Yeah, I looked it over.”

I take it out and show it to her.

“Why did you cross out swimming?”

She tells me it fits the brand too well.

“What brand.”

“District Four,” says Walsh. “And you being a fisher. It’s too obvious for you.”

“Huh,” I say. “Okay. What are all your talents?”

Walsh laughs. “We didn’t have talents back when Mags and I won. Hell, when Mags won we didn’t have the Tribute Center.”

“Oh,” I say. “Weird.”

Mags tells me she was the first Victory Tour, which makes me pause for a moment.

“You were the first?” I say. “Yikes, that must have sucked.”

She laughs and laughs at that. Which I suppose means I struck gold. I can’t imagine being the first Victor to be paraded around the Districts as a reminder of the Games. They must have hated her.

“My hobby was the guitar,” says Kent.

“Can you still play?”

“No,” he laughs. “I couldn’t even play then. I think I broke the guitar like ten years ago.”

“You broke it?” I say.

“In several pieces.”

“How?”

“I was angry.”

“Oh, so it was intentional.”

“Oh yeah,” says Jeffer. “He was very mad at that guitar.”

“Okay…”

“Mine was gardening,” says Jeffer.

“Oh, the garden in front of the red house,” I say.

“You’d think, but no. I stopped doing that too.”

“Whose house is that, then?”

“Amber’s,” says Kent. “She loved her garden. Walsh keeps it up.”

I become very aware I’m teetering towards a dangerous topic. Kent told me Amber won the Games two years before Walsh. They were probably very close, being so close in age. I don’t pry. I just nod as though I completely understand.

“Mine was editing,” says Garrick. “Which, ironically, I still do all the time.”

“Editing what?”

“People’s books.”

“What people?”

“People in the Capitol. They pay money for me to edit their books. I took the talent because I like reading, and that’s not an option listed. I figured this would be the same thing. And I like it fine, except the books they give me are… interesting.”

“They pay you for it?” I say.

“Not me. I have more money than I need. They pay the Capitol government.”

It reminds me of my realization about sponsors. Victors sure do make the Capitol government a lot of money…

“So what are you looking at?” asks Kent.

“I’m thinking knitting,” I say.

“Good choice,” says Walsh. “Very safe. Mags can teach you.”

“Safe?”

“Well, look at Garrick. He’s now forced to read bad books forever. You want something that will make the Capitol audience go ‘oh wow, how interesting’ in the moment, but then not want to talk to you about ever again. Knitting is the perfect choice for that.”

“Huh. Cool. So… do I have to tell the Capitol I picked something?”

“They’ll call in a month or so and ask what you picked. Then they’ll send you knitting patterns and needles and whatever else you need.”

I nod.

“So, since we’re on the subject,” says Kent. “What’s your living situation looking like?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “My dad’s being weird about it.”

Mags raises an eyebrow in a silent question. So I tell them everything. I even tell them about the fight Kathrine and David had with the in-laws. And how my dad doesn’t want to use any Capitol money.

“I mean,” says Jeffer. “I get the aversion to the allowance. It sucks. So much money and you’re not allowed to do anything with it.”

“It’s just money, though. I was disappointed when I learned I couldn’t give any of it away, but… it’s not like it’s tainted. Except I suppose it kind of is, if you consider how I got it. But still, money is money. I don’t want to be a financial burden on top of everything.”

“Your dad doesn’t want to use money that was given to him by his son,” says Walsh.

“You mean by the Capitol.”

“That too. But mostly because it’s yours, and it’s a handout. Your dad’s a part of his community, he owns a boat, which means he’s responsible for the livelihood of dozens of people, if not more. And then he turns around and spends money he just has on hand? Kind of a slap in the face to everyone who works for him.”

“I guess, but that’s why it’s just covering my expenses.”

“But how do you measure that out?” says Garrick. “Ah yes, I’ll pay for these three chicken thighs with my own money and then, for my son’s dinner, I’ll pay with this money.”

“Well, I mean…”

“It’s not something you can just split up, Finnick,” says Jeffer. “If you live in that house, you’re your dad’s dependent. And he pays for you. And your dad doesn’t want any of your money.”

“So he just loses a bunch of money and we get poorer… because I have more money now and can’t work on the boat? We have less money because I have more money?”

“Yep,” says Kent, taking out a flask.

“That’s stupid!”

“We didn’t say it wasn’t.”

“Urgh,” I huff. “We were already going to be tightening our belts because of the baby.”

“Well…” says Jeffer, “the in-law made a good point.”

“What good point?”

“Well, don’t bite my head off if you think it’s a bad idea but… your dad is getting older. He’s a grandfather now. If the reason you’re not moving here is because you’re fourteen and you’re too young to live by yourself, then he could easily move here with you. Give your sister and her husband complete ownership of the boat. Then, sure, they have to hire two guys, but they have two less mouths to feed. No one would think less of your dad for moving away to live with his son. They all probably think he deserves an early retirement, after everything. His kid going through the Hunger Games, you know? And the act of going into retirement and giving a boat to the next generation is highly respected around here. That fixes all the problems, right? You’ll be here, where the Capitol expects you to be. The money is all solved. You’re with your dad. And your sister and her husband get to be alone…”

It does make sense. Even more sense than I first realized. Because, of course, no one would think twice about him moving to Victor’s Village with me. After all, I’m his son. I almost died. I’m just fourteen. My dad’s clearly very grateful to have me back. If anything, people would talk about how sweet it is. How nice that my dad is able to retire and live with his son, after the worst happened at the reaping.

But it won’t work.

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” I say.

“Why not?” asks Garrick.

“Because… my dad won’t retire. He can’t. He loves his work too much. And he can’t leave sector nine. He loves the people there… And even if he could do all those things…”

They wait for me to articulate what I’m feeling.

“I don’t know. I just can’t picture him here. I don’t know why.”

“Well,” says Walsh. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“In the meantime,” says Jeffer, “if you want to just live at home for a few months we can help you with that. One of us can even squat in your house for a while, be there to answer the phone. And then say things like ‘oh, you just missed him, he went to visit his dad. I’ll make him call you back’ and then run and get you.”

“You’d do that?”

“Sure,” says Garrick. “You’re young. We understand you don’t want to move just yet. And it’s not such a big deal for us.”

I’m incredibly thankful. I feel much better knowing I’ve got time to figure all this out. They brush off my thank yous and let me settle down.

“So,” says Walsh. “Got anything else you came here to say?”

I take a deep breath. Of course they know. I didn’t come all this way by myself to talk about money and houses.

They’re good listeners. They let me get everything out in the open. I start off with telling them about Mandy’s body, and my breakdown. And my father’s reaction.

“He doesn’t even care. Like it doesn’t matter at all, what they did to me. I expected him to be furious. To throw things and scream. He was more mad at my fourth grade teacher when she gave me too much homework.”

“He doesn’t get it,” says Garrick.

“I know!” I say. “But how could he not?”

“Because this isn’t about what they’ve already done. Like he said, that’s small and meaningless. At least… mostly meaningless. You can live with a chest that looks a bit different. It’s not big deal. But to you, it’s about how they did it. And they could do it again if they wanted to. It’s about why they did it. And what that means.”

“What does it mean?”

“You tell us,” says Jeffer.

I think for a moment. “It means… I’ve always known the Capitol can get away with doing whatever they want to me. But this means that they’re actually… going to. That care about how I look. Like they have plans for me.”

Mags takes my hand and nods sadly.

“Finnick, your dad was confused because you were talking about these small, meaningless physical changes that could have very well been accidents. Or, in the minds of the Capitol, the same thing as doing a little extra clean up when they fixed you up. And he didn’t understand why that was making you relate yourself to a Mutt, or talk about how they owned you. But what you’re so worried about is that they felt the need to change you, and they wouldn’t do that if they didn’t have plans for you. It means that your job for them isn’t over.”

“You and Mandy were both forms of entertainment to them,” says Kent. “And them changing you means that you still are, in some way. And yeah, that sucks. Have as many breakdowns as you want about it, you’ve earned them.”

“But Finnick, remember, it gets better every year. Eventually, people will forget about you. They’ll leave you alone in favor of younger and newer Victors.”

“They don’t own you, Finnick,” says Jeffer. “Your life is just trickier now. You’ve got to navigate their expectations of you. And seeing Mandy was scary, because even in death they had expectations for her. But that’s not going to be you, Finnick. Because in time you’ll get older and people will lose interest.”

I cry. I’m not even sure when the tears started, but now they’re coming steady. Because they’re right. That’s why I’m upset. What do they want from me? I’ve already played their Games, I won, do they really want more? It’s like the put me in a permanent interview costume. So I’ll always be camera ready. Haven’t I given them enough?

Mags wraps her arms around me and the others scoot closer. I was right, they did understand what I was going through. They know exactly what I needed to hear.

After I regain my breath, I tell them the rest. I tell them about Emma calling me a murderer, and the boy from Eight and how I killed him because it was too loud, and about how I’m beginning to worry I’m a monster.

“I know this is a horrible thing to ask, because you’ve all been so good to me, but… Is it possible that in order to win the Games you have to be… I don’t know…”

“An asshole?” Kent offers.

“Yeah,” I say. “Or… just a bad person. I mean. I just killed people. My dad seems to think that I could be suicidal, but I’m not, because how could I be? I just killed eight… nine people in a death arena so that I could go home. Not even so I could go home. So the noise would stop… or just because I knew that’s what I had to do, because that’s how the Game works. And it’s just… what does that say about me?”

They’re all nodding their heads with understanding. I’m glad they’re not mad. But I feel despicable for accusing them of being bad people, like I am.

“Well,” says Walsh. “There’s some debate on this subject.”

“Debate?”

Mags chortles. She tells me about some other Victors from other Districts who believe that no one decent ever wins the Games. And she tells me about a few who believe winning is all about luck, and a bit of useful skill here and there. Wiress from Three believes it’s luck with a few ‘pressure points’ where only certain skills will get you out.

“Wiress is a bit of a nut, though,” says Kent.

Mags goes on. Blight from Seven thinks it’s about intelligence and guts. Chaff from Eleven always talks about your ability to turn off your morals. Brutus from Two thinks it’s all about how your skills interact with the arena’s setting. But most people believe it’s something to do with the ability to kill.

“So, you’re telling me this isn’t a unique thought process.”

They all laugh at me.

“You want the best answer?” says Walsh. “The thing that most Victor’s believe?”

“Yes please.”

“It’s not that you’re a monster, Finnick,” he says. “You’re a survivor.”

“I guess, but to survive I had to kill people.”

“Exactly. Everyone thinks they’re survivors until the chips are down. Mandy wasn’t a survivor, she was gifted. And she was brainwashed. But in the end, she turned towards that hippo instead of running from it. Because her talent got in the way of instinct. A survivor runs, leaves their allies behind and hits the dirt. And it’s not even a bad thing, because it’s not a conscious choice. Some people just hold tighter to life than others.”

“She ran from the hippo.”

“No she didn’t. You didn’t see, you were climbing a tree. When it showed itself and roared, the other two ran. She stayed. Not because she was trying to protect anyone or because she thought she could take it but because she wasn’t a survivor, she was well trained. And when you don’t have survival instincts to lean back on, you fall back on whatever you have. Training teaches you to stand your ground.”

“Brainwashed…”

“Into believing the bloodbaths and the Games were actually a competition. Something that she was winning, you know? Something fair. When you killed someone, it was out of fear of death. Either long or short term. But when she killed it was because… well, it’s a bloodbath. That’s the rule. The Hunger Games was just a part of life for her.”

“But it wasn’t survival. If I wanted to just survive, I could have let Jargon take some food and go. I could have just hidden out instead of hunting down Aaron. I could have run from Spark, climbed down the cliff, instead of killing her.”

“You’re thinking about this too much. You were working on instinct. You weren’t looking for ways out of killing someone. Killing people were the best option towards survival, so that’s what you did. You’re a survivor. You got gutted at the feast and then you crawled through the forest and stitched yourself up with your bare hands.”

“And I almost killed myself.”

“All Mags did was send you a cookie and you stopped. Do you really believe you would have been able to do it? After tying everything up?”

I don’t reply. No… I know I wouldn’t have. I wouldn’t have had the guts.

“Look, Finnick. Besides one or two exceptions due to errors by the Gamemaker’s, the only thing every Victor has in common is that we are survivors. Which is why the training center isn’t foolproof. Because, sure, training helps. There are usually at least five or six survivors in the arena and out of those kids the one with the training usually takes it. But at the end of the day a kid with no skills and no training who needs to survive is going to beat the kid with years of experience who just views it as a game.”

“And the tricky part is,” says Garrick, “that it’s impossible to tell who a survivor is until they’re looking death in the face. Which means there’s no way for any training center to choose accurately. If we could, One, Two and Four would win every single year.”

“We’re not saying this makes us good people,” says Jeffer. “It takes a certain type of person to look at someone else and instinctively decide their death is the easiest way to survive. But you’re not a psychopath, Finnick.”

“But…” I say. “but what about District Eight?”

“What about him?”

“I killed him because it was loud. Not because I needed to survive.”

“Like I said,” says Walsh. “You’re thinking about it too much. It’s about instinct.”

“It’s possible to die from loud noises, Finnick,” says Jeffer. “And your body knows that. Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t think that noise was going to kill you.”

I can’t. Because that was what I was thinking.

“Your body sensed you were about to die, and instinct took over. Your brain doesn’t make logical decisions in the arena. Maybe it tries to. Maybe you convince yourself that… if you don’t kill this person they’ll come back, or this will happen or whatever. But if you’re going on that rant in your head, you’ve already made up your mind, and you’re just justifying it.”

It’s like they’re reading my mind. This is exactly what I did in the arena. I open and close my mouth, but no sound comes out.

“Finnick,” says Garrick. “You’re not a monster. You just… weren’t ready to die.”

…

I end up staying with the Victors for the rest of the day. I use the key Kent gave me to open up the house and they give me a tour.

“Every house in the village is the same basic layout,” says Jeffer. “Four bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs. A kitchen, living room, office, and bathroom down here. Front door, backdoor. Basement that I never use. You get the picture.”

“There are these three kids from sector one who come and mow the lawns,” says Garrick. “That’s why all the empty houses aren’t completely overgrown. The Capitol requires us to hire someone to make everything look nice, in case they send a camera crew down here. And it’s an easy way to spend some money.”

The house is completely move-in ready. Just a bit dusty. There are pots and pans in the kitchen cabinets and furniture in the living rooms. We spend an hour or so taking sheets off the furniture and dusting out the cobwebs.

There are some organic pictures of sailboats on the walls. Mags immediately removes them and throws them out, saying they look stupid. I pick a bedroom upstairs and we open a box full of sheets in the closet.

“Shouldn’t these be all gross and full of holes from moths?” I say.

“Nah,” says Kent. “The Capitol attendants came in here when we were all partying. They assigned you this house and put in the pots and pans and sheets and stuff. The furniture has always been here though. It’s the exact same as mine. The others got replacements, but I’ve never really cared enough…”

We’re done surprisingly fast. It’s only noon. Kent and Walsh go into the nearby town, probably to pay Jawn, and Mags brings me over to her house and makes me lunch.

I try to help her, but she doesn’t want help. She makes some sort of vegetable and rice dish that tastes really good. It’s nice to have really good food that didn’t come from the Capitol. And I know just from the spices that the Capitol would never make such a dish. It’s too… interesting.

As we’re eating, I get a closer look at the pictures that cover her walls. A few of them are of the other Victors. Sometimes there’s the Victor’s with a few faces I don’t recognize. In one Jeffer has his arm around a man I don’t know. There’s a young girl with golden curls in another, sitting between Garrick and Walsh.

But one by the stairs, I notice, has a young Mags in a wedding dress, standing next to a man I’ve never seen before.

“You’re married,” I say.

I had seen the ring, but I suppose I had forgotten.

She shakes her head sadly and tells me he passed away three years ago.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

How is it I had no idea she had been married? I suppose I didn’t keep tabs on the Victors before my Games. But I knew about them. Or, at least, I knew what the Capitol told me about them. The only time I saw them was on tv when they were in the Capitol.

I sit contently and ask Mags questions about her husband and her life. She tells me whatever I want to know. She grew up in sector three, where she cleaned and dressed fish to be shipped out. She won the Hunger Games at sixteen, back before there was a training center and Volunteers. Back before there were big arenas and glorious stylized outfits. She became a mentor a few years later. She was Amber and Walsh’s mentor. Walsh was Kent’s mentor, Amber was Jeffers, Kent was Garrick’s.

She got married the year after Walsh won. His name was Tex, and they had known each other from the Fishery as kids. As Mags put it, he wasn’t easily intimidated, so they got married.

“Easily intimidated? What does that mean?”

Then she goes on a long rant about guys are afraid of girls who can kill things, which I can’t help but laugh at.

“I don’t think that’s necessarily a gender thing,” I say. “I’m pretty sure girls are afraid of guys that kill people too.”

She shakes her head an insists that this is a problem only men have. I can tell, at this point, she’s mostly just messing with me. But she does seem convinced at one thing. That boys won’t date intimidating girls.

“But girls will date intimidating boys?” I say.

She nods.

I think of Emma. Although, I’m not sure the problem there has anything to do with her being intimidated by me. She’s more disgusted by me.

“But your husband was different,” I say, getting back on topic.

She nods.

“Did you ever have children?”

She shakes her.

“Did you ever want children?”

She shakes her head again.

“Why not? If you don’t mind me asking.”

She gestures between us and the house around her. She doesn’t need to say anything more.

“The Hunger Games,” I say.

She nods.

I understand. A lot of kids my age talk like that. Why go through all the trouble to have kids who might end up in the arena one day? Our parents tell us we grow out of it when we get older. That sometimes when you meet someone you love, you just want kids, despite the risks. But I can understand how Mags would never grow out of that.

I’ve never really had that problem. I think, someday, I would like kids. But the idea of getting married now seems somehow harder than it used to be. Although maybe that has to do with Emma again. Afterall, Mags got married. If she can do it…

“Are any of the others married?” I ask.

Mags shakes her head.

I gesture to the picture where Jeffer has his arms around an unknown man. “Is Jeffer involved with someone?”

She shakes her head again.

I wonder briefly why she keeps that picture up if Jeffer broke up with his partner. Maybe it was an amicable break.

Mags pokes at me and raises her eyebrows.

“What? I already told you, I don’t have anyone.”

She pokes at me some more.

“Stop, I—” I laugh. “Stop it.”

She doesn’t stop. I’m laughing and so is she.

“Fine! Fine. There’s a girl, but she hates me.”

Mags raises an eyebrow.

“She wasn’t impressed by the things I did in the Games.”

Mags rolls her eyes as though this is Emma’s problem instead of mine.

“I mean, she has a point, right?”

Mags huffs.

“I know, I heard what you all said, about being a survivor, but that doesn’t change what she saw.”

Mags rolls her eyes again, muttering about how she sees stuff like that every year.

I suppose that’s true. I still am a bit surprised by Emma’s reaction to the Games. I would have thought she of all people would understand. But I guess not.

We spend a few hours knitting. Again, I thoroughly enjoy it. Although I’m not really making anything. Besides maybe the beginnings of a blanket. Mags says she’s starting me out small. Whatever.

After a while, something occurs to me.

“Were all the other’s volunteers?” I ask.

Mags nods.

“So they grew up in the training center?”

Mags nods again.

“So do they help out at all? Train the kids?”

She shakes her head.

“No? Why not?”

She looks at me like it’s obvious, but I don’t get it. Eventually she sighs and asks me if I want to help out in the training center.

I absolutely do not. The idea of watching all those kids, so excited to get into the arena, knowing that most of them are probably not survivors, and won’t make it out… Oh.

“Oh,” I say. “Sure. Do they… blame the training center? For what happened to them, you know?”

Mags shrugs. It’s complicated. I decide to let it go.

I’ve noticed that the others tend to talk about Mandy being brainwashed... By the training center. That means they were once brainwashed too. And the fact that Mags always mentor’s the kid who doesn’t volunteer, perhaps because she understands them better than the others do, having grown up training for the Games themselves.

It’s getting late. If I don’t leave soon, my dad will beat me home. But I’m finally relaxed, for the first time in a long time. I almost don’t want it to end.

“It’s a bit depressing… The funeral, in a way it was supposed to make me feel better, you know? Give me some closure. But if anything it just made everything worse. And I can’t even say goodbye to Mandy, because I can’t see that thing at the funeral as Mandy. She’s not buried in the cemetery, I can’t visit her. You know?”

Mags nods. Of course she knows. She stands and gestures. I follow obediently.

She leads me outside and back towards the water. But instead of the small, sandy beach we were sitting on that morning, she turns left and walks along a rock path, past her back yard and beyond.

Again, I’m a little nervous about Mags walking along difficult terrain for so long, but she does fine. Eventually she comes to a stop.

There’s a small grove of trees by the ocean. It’s a nice scenic spot. However, every tree has been covered in some weird, wooden wind chimes. They don’t make any noise, and once I look closer, I notice they’re all just two plan strips of wood, connected with string, with something carved into each one. They bang together in the wind and swing from their branches.

Mags points at the non-functioning wind chimes. I approach one and read the inscriptions on the two pieces of wood. Sarah Kunning and Martin Falls. I don’t recognize the names.

I look back at Mags, but she just points somewhere past me. I follow her finger towards another tree. Some of these names I do recognize. At least vaguely. Finally, I find a branch with just one piece of wood. Not the usual two tied together. I turn it over, so I can read the carving.

Mandy Tarlek.

They’ve made a little memorial for every tribute they’ve lost. It doesn’t make any noise and it’s not colorful. It’s not even personal. Just strips of wood with a name carved into it. Nothing that could draw attention, and draw in Peacekeepers to tear it down. Just an acknowledgement of all the kids who died every year. A way to say goodbye.

…

Mags gives me some knitting supplies before I go. When we walk out, Jeffer is out on his lawn and offers to walk me to the train station. Since I’m not entirely sure where it is, I take him up on it.

I hug Mags goodbye and head off with Jeffer. I glance around, but I can’t see any of the others. I’ll see them soon, though, I’m sure. Maybe I could visit again sometime this week. They don’t seem to mind my company…

I realize I’ve always gotten along with the Victors pretty well. Even before the Games. I liked them more than Mandy did, anyway. Which is odd… shouldn’t they have known Mandy already? I know Mags said they don’t help out with the training center, but once you know which kid is going into the arena wouldn’t they meet?

“Hey, could I ask you a question about the training center?” I say. “You can say no.”

“Go for it,” says Jeffer.

“When we were on the train headed to the Capitol, Garrick told Mandy that someone from the training center had told him about her. Do we get told who’s going into the arena beforehand? Do we meet them?”

Jeffer shrugs. “Honestly, we try pretty hard to stay out of the TC’s way.”

“TC?”

“That’s what kids in the training center call the training center. At least, we did when I was there.”

“Huh.”

“Anyway, we try to stay out of the TC’s way. But they just love us. So every once in a while a trainer rushes down here to tell us about this stellar new pupil they have and how they’re going to win for sure and how we should come down and meet them. But that never goes well. That’s what happened with Mandy.”

“Why do they want you to come down?”

“Because they want us to help train the kids.”

I pause.

“Have you ever considered it? Not training everyone, I know why that would be a disaster but… I noticed the Careers in the arena with me didn’t really understand how to be in an arena. Like, Primer could have won if he had thrown his spear and let Merida claim the kill. And they were never really concerned with things like water and food.”

“So you’re saying maybe we could teach them how to think like a tribute.”

“Sure.”

“Yeah. But Finnick, how long did you train to think like a tribute?”

I don’t say anything.

“Walsh and Amber tried, once upon a time, to give people a proper training. But either you get it in that week before going into the arena or you never get it. We wouldn’t be any help. We’d just snap at them and make them nervous.”

I nod. “That makes sense.”

Jeffer sees me onto my train and I say goodbye. Once it all starts moving, I make myself comfortable for a long trip.

People come and go. I’m never in the train car with more than three or four others. At one point, two Peacekeepers step inside and talk quietly. I sit up straight in my seat. Peacekeepers freak me out. But they don’t bother me.

It takes a while to get home. By the time I’m back in sector nine all the boats are in the harbor. My dad’s probably on his way home… I’d really rather get there first, so I can break it to him gently.

I hurry home, but when I walk past the school I get sidetracked. 

“Finnick!”

Dawson, Sam, and a group of others are walking into the school. I glance at my watch. They have five minutes before their first class. So this won’t take too long.

“Hi.”

“Where are you coming from?”

“Oh, nowhere. Just walking around.”

“We missed you on the boat today,” says Sam.

“Oh, yeah. I’ll probably… not spend time on the boat anymore.”

I’m expecting to ask me why, but they all just nod knowingly. I suppose people really have been talking about me working on the boat.

I take a closer look at the group. I thought it was just the group from fisher’s earlier that week, but there are a few more people. My neighbor Keena, a guy Hennick who I hate, and, to my great discomfort, Emma.

I don’t really want to talk to Emma. I think about what Mags told me, but I still don’t understand what’s going on there.

“Um, I should probably get home… Have fun at school.”

They laugh. They think I’m being sarcastic.

“Oh, yeah,” says Sandry, “Says the guy who doesn’t have to go anymore.”

I smile. Or… grimace. Whatever.

“Right.”

I say my goodbyes and continue walking home. Why did that perfectly normal conversation make me feel so lousy? Even when people treat me the same it feels different.

And after all, when am I going to hang out with any of them now? Before, at least I saw Sam and Dawson on the boat. Without school, and without work, when am I going to see my friends? After school at Fisher’s, when they have the time?

“Finnick! Wait, can I talk to you for a second?”

Emma’s running to catch up to me. I’m very torn, because on one hand, the Victors have convinced me I’m not a murderer, and I don’t want to get confused again. But on the other hand… maybe her talking to me is a good sign…

“Don’t you have class?” I ask.

“I have time. Could I ask you something?”

“Sure, what is it?”

She glances around at the small crowd of students walking into the schoolhouse.

“Um… Come here.”

She leads me away from the school, towards the beach. My stomach flutters at the realization she wants to be alone, but I force myself out of it. Who knows what’s going on? I shouldn’t get my hopes up.

“Ok,” she says, stopping near the water. “This is good. I… wanted to ask you about the arena.”

The small candle of hope I had that this would be a good conversation goes out.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just… I was wondering, since you’ve been there, if there’s anything that… Like, is there a certain skill that you think was important to have or… Is there something the other tributes did wrong that… ugh. This isn’t coming out right.”

She plops down in the sand and put her head in her hands. I… don’t know what’s happening. It feels wrong to leave her like this, though. I sit down next to her.

“So…” I say. “What’s happening?”

Emma sighs. She looks up at me and I realize there are tears running down her face.

“Oh,” I say. I search my pockets for a tissue, but I don’t have any. “I—are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m… It’s my brother. The day before you got back we heard that he’s going to be the volunteer next year.”

“Oh,” I say. Uh oh. “I’m so sorry.”

This statement brings an immediate reaction. She sobs and throws her arms around my neck.

“Thank you for not congratulating me,” she cries. “I can’t take any of this.”

People are congratulating her. I suppose it makes sense. Noric has been training for this his entire life. When you achieve something you’ve been training for, you get congratulated. I probably would have congratulated her a few months ago.

“Oh, my pleasure…”

“It’s just,” she pulls away, which is too bad, “did he not watch the same Hunger Games I just watched? I don’t know, maybe it was because I knew you, and I knew Mandy, but this one felt so much worse than the others. But it wasn’t worse, it was the same. It was eye-opening. Like,” he voice gets quiet, “I always knew the Hunger Games was a piece of shit,” she lets her voice go back to normal, “but I never really saw it as this bad until now. Watching you in there, I mean, why would he want to go through all of that? And that’s assuming he’ll win. But all I’ve ever heard is how much better Mandy Tarlek is than everyone. She was the star of the training center, and Noric definitely isn’t. And she dies and now he’s going in as though it’s in the bag. I mean, I know I can’t control these things, but does he have to go in voluntarily?”

“Yeah. I know,” I say.

“It’s like… he’s seen more Hunger Games than I have, right? And the only two Victors to come back in his lifetime are you and Garrick Finnigan. And you aren’t even from the training center! He’s witness sixteen training center kids go off and die and he still thinks this volunteer thing is a good idea? Is he crazy?”

“He’s not crazy,” I say. “He’s brainwashed.”

“What?”

I remember she was not present for my conversations with the Victors.

“I mean. If you train for something your whole life, you don’t just quit. I’m sure he knows the risks. But the Hunger Games is just a way of life to him. It’s been in his future for so long. I’m sure the people in the training center teach you how to hold what you see on tv at arm’s length. This is just… what he is now. Right?”

“Exactly! He’s brainwashed! You’re right! And I just sat around at Mandy’s funeral thinking… this nice girl had no life. All she did was train. And then she died. At least when the other kids get reaped, they live a life before going off into the arena. Like, your funeral would have been twice, three times that size! And people would have had stories about you that didn’t have anything to do with the Hunger Games. But it’s like… in order to try to win, the Hunger Games just controlled her. And that’s how it is with my brother, too.”

“Right,” I say. I’ve never pictured my own funeral before. It’s a weird feeling. As for the rest of what she said, I remember her previous rant. Nice to know the reason for it.

“I asked him not to volunteer. You know what he told me?”

“What?”

“He said he had to volunteer, because he doesn’t know how to do anything else. How depressing is that! It didn’t even compute to him, though. He didn’t even realize it was depressing. I was like ‘work in the Fishery with Dad and I’ and he’s like ‘I don’t know how’. And he’s right! He doesn’t know how! He’s not even a part of District Four. I just… how could my parents have done this to him?”

This is something new… I have never really considered that the parents sign their kids up to be volunteers. What kind of monsters would send their children off to Hunger Games school? And why? There must be some sort of reason… maybe fame or money… But I can’t ask Emma, she’s too distressed.

“People forget,” I say. “I mean… it’s impossible to completely forget what the Hunger Games is, but I think even we’re desensitized to it… Just like the Capitol audience. But not as bad.”

“There’s still a chance to talk my brother out of it,” she says. “But if that doesn’t work, I was wondering if there was anything you’ve learned… you know, any tips that might help him.”

I was just talking to Jeffer about this. Part of me wants to say yes. To tell Emma about Primer not throwing his spear when he could have and Mandy not running from the hippo fast enough and about obsession with weapons over the necessity of food. But I know it’s no use. He’ll either learn it in the week before or he won’t learn it at all.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “But… it really doesn’t work like that. But you should know he’s got a better chance than most tributes, because of his training. It just depends on…”

“On what?” she asks.

I was going to say whether or not he’s a survivor. But that wouldn’t make sense to her.

“It depends on what the other careers are like,” I say, “the other tributes.”

She sighs. “I guess.”

It’s odd. Before today, I never saw the Training Center as a bad thing. It was always a good thing. It meant my odds of going into the arena were cut in half. These strong and brave eighteen-year-olds were going to save me. I never looked at it from their point of view before. From the point of view of their families…

“I’m sorry Emma,” I say. “I can’t imagine what this must be like.”

Because now she has to worry about him for a whole year. Not just the few weeks he’s in the arena, when everyone expects you to be worried.

“I think you’re one of the few people who can imagine,” she says. “You and your family.”

She sighs, and put her hands back on the beach to stretch out her back. She leaves her hand there, just a few inches from mine. I could take it… but now isn’t the time.

“Did you mean what you said?” I say. “About me and Mandy.”

“What did I say?”

“I… You called me a murderer.”

She looks shocked. Does she not remember saying it? It was only yesterday.

“I—no. Of course not. I was upset…”

“It’s okay,” I say. “I mean, it’s okay if that’s what you believe. It’s not like you’re wrong.”

“Yes I am. I mean, I was. I was just angry about my brother, and Mandy’s funeral was just… It’s like it was my brother in that casket. I was looking for someone to blame.”

“I mean, I did murder people in the arena,” I concede. “I just never really counted Mandy on that list.”

“You shouldn’t, you didn’t. You didn’t murder anyone, Finnick, it was self-defense.”

I don’t agree, but the Victors have given me some peace on this subject, so I don’t go into it. I killed a lot of people who deserved life. In the moment, it doesn’t matter that most of them would have died anyway, from another source. I killed them. It’s not morally justified because I had to do it to survive myself. But I did it because of instinct. Because I’m a survivor. I didn’t enjoy it. It’s not a signifier of who I am here, in the real world. And that counts for something. That counts for everything.

“Right,” I say. “But you were right… it does feel like murder.”

“It wasn’t murder,” she says again.

But she’s missing my point.

“No, I’m not calling myself a murderer. But, you know… these kids were all alive and now they’re not. Like you said, they didn’t slip and fall on some ice. They were murdered.”

“But you—”

“—I know I didn’t.”

I was hoping she would understand, but I suppose if I was in her place just a month ago I wouldn’t have understood. I didn’t murder anyone. The Capitol did. The Capitol murdered all those children, and they made me execute the sentence. Mandy and the others, they’re all casualties of the Capitol. And I’m the Capitol’s tool. It’s weapon. That’s the real issue here. That is what I’ve been struggling with so badly.

And of course, everyone knows it is the Capitol’s fault. But somehow the Hunger Games has become such a normal part of life that they just can’t translate the deaths of these children into the murders that they were. Somewhere in all the costumes and interviews, that just gets lost.

I used to see the pomp and grandeur of the Hunger Games as an extra punishment for the Districts. We’re sending your kids to your death and if you don’t act happy about it we’ll kill you too. And I saw it as a sign of the abysmal intelligence of the Capitol citizens. But I was wrong.

The whole celebration of the Hunger Games is not a failing of the Capitol citizens at all. It’s strategy… The Capitol Government’s strategy. President Snow’s strategy. It’s a way to make us compliant. And it’s working. Because it’s making us believe that the Capitol is full of fools instead of murderers.

“I’m glad you’re home,” she offers tentatively. “I don’t think I’ve said that yet. I’m really glad you’re back.”

I feel my face get red. “Thanks,” I say. “I’m glad I’m home, too.”

“That’s good to know,” says Emma. “People at school have been saying you’ve been acting strange.”

Not exactly shocking to hear, although it does make me uncomfortable. Who has been talking? What do they mean by strange? I wish I still went to school. I think in a setting where there’s structure and stuff to do and talk about besides the Hunger Games I would do just fine. But my life is still surrounded by Hunger Games nonsense.  

“Yeah,” I say. “I just don’t know how to talk to people anymore. They’re always talking about school or work and I don’t have those things anymore. So all people can talk to me about is the Capitol and the Hunger Games and… well… I don’t think I’ll ever be normal about that.”

“I forgot you won’t be coming back to school,” says Emma. “That’s… too bad.”

What does that mean? Too bad I’m a forced drop-out at fourteen so now I’ll have to live without my friends and a proper education or too bad she won’t get to see me every day?

“What are you guys doing in school now, anyway?” I ask

“Oh… The normal stuff. And we’re starting to train for the races.”

My heart plummets. The races. At the end of each season, we have boating races. One of the few fun things we’re allowed to do in school. You are assigned to a team of all different ages and you have to build your own boat, chart a course, and sail. The younger kids mostly set everything up and root for their boat. But once you turn sixteen you actually get to race the boat, and the seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds are the ones who design and built it. It’s a right of passage in four, my dad and his friends still have stories about their races. I’ll never participate. Even kids training to be tributes are a part of the races…

“Maybe you can help out somehow,” Emma offers, practically reading my mind.

“It’s okay.”

“Okay… well, hey, why don’t you come by on the weekends. We can all do something… something more than just hanging around at Fisher’s.”

I smile. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”

We sit in silence for a moment. I feel good, it’s good that she’s being kind to me. I’m happy she still wants to see me.

“I have your necklace,” I say. “The pearl necklace, it’s at my house. I can bring it to you…”

“Keep it,” she says. “Thanks for wearing it in the arena. I even saw it at the interviews.”

“It was really important to me when I was in the Capitol,” I admit. “A connection to home, sort of. So… thank you.”

She smiles at me. For a moment, I think she’s going to hug me again, but then the school bell rings.

I shoot to my feet.

“We’re… you’re late for school!”

Playing hooky is not allowed in District Four. If you’re not there for attendance, the teachers are required to report you to the peacekeepers, who then go to your house to make sure you’re really sick, or you had an actual excuse. I’ve seen friends put in the stocks for faulty watches and large messes in the fishery that they didn’t clean fast enough.

“I’ll be fine,” says Emma with a wave of her hand.

Is she insane?

“Emma, you need to get to class, if you get there right after attendance you can tell Mrs.—”

“—Finnick, really I’m fine. I’m going now.”

I help her up and she stretches. I know she’s going through something with her brother, but I cannot imagine what has come over her that she would risk the stocks. Not when the schoolhouse is so close by.

“Okay,” she says. “How about we meet up on Saturday and you can—”

She’s cut off by someone calling down to us from the school.

“—you kids lost?”

I look behind me and see a Peacekeeper approaching. I recognize him: Dannor. He’s not too bad. He’s mostly just stationed around the school making sure kids don’t sneak away. Sometimes he’s at the fishery, too. He’s one of the few Peacekeepers I’ve had pleasant conversations with. But now I’m worried, because we’re two kids outside the schoolhouse. And we’re clearly just fooling around. We don’t have an excuse.

“Um…” I say.

“Names?”

He’s going to report us. This is terrible.

“Emily Grimly,” says Emma. She doesn’t sound nearly as scared as she should.

“Finnick Odiar,” I say.

He looks up at me.

“Oh, Finnick,” he says.

I know Dannor, but not enough for him to greet me like an old friend like this. I’m confused for a few seconds before I remember. I’m famous now.

“Sorry, Finnick, you’re fine.” He rips up the slip of paper he wrote my name on.

“I’m sorry about this,” I say. “I held her up.”

“Emily Grimly?” he says.

She nods.

“Alright. Get to class.”

She nods again.

“Bye Finnick. Saturday?”

I don’t want to talk about this with the Peacekeeper nearby. But I nod.

“Yeah, Saturday.”

She runs off towards the schoolhouse and I’m left alone with Dannor.

“Where’re you headed?” he asks.

“Home,” I say. “I had to go to Victor’s Village and set up my house there, I just got back.”

He nods knowingly, as though this is something he does all the time.

“Alright. Best get home before dark. Or else no one will realize it’s you.”

I nod. I understand. I’m a young kid out of school, I should get inside before someone tases me by accident.

“Yes sir.”

I walk away as fast as I can without breaking into a jog. I’m worried about Emma. Sure, he let her go, possibly just because I was there, but he could still file the tardiness and she could get in a lot of trouble tomorrow.

I’m still worried about Emma when I get to my front door. I let myself in and almost run headfirst into my dad.

Either he came to the door when he heard me unlock it or he was on his way out. I jump back slightly, as to not crash into him. But he doesn’t seem to care about that.

“Are you kidding me with this?” he snaps.

I get my bearing and try to look at what he’s referring to. David and Kathrine are both back, sitting at the table. Neither of them look particularly happy, but it’s nothing compared to my dad, who’s red in the face and reeling. He has a piece of paper crushed in his fist, and he’s holding it up so I can see it. My note.

“Uh…”

“’Dear Dad, going to Victor’s Village to set everything up, be back for Dinner, Finnick?’ are you joking?”

In retrospect I could have written more.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He shuts the door and turns on me again.

“You say you’re sorry, but you knew this would make me angry and you still did it.”

“I was bored, I figured since you clearly didn’t want to go to Victor’s Village—”

“I clearly didn’t want to go?”

“You wouldn’t pick a time! You just said we’d figure it out.”

“Fine, let’s say I didn’t want to. That doesn’t mean I would prefer you going without me.”

“What’s the big deal?”

Wrong thing to say. My dad’s face goes even redder.

“The big deal is you’re fourteen years old and you can’t just jaunt down to the other end of the District because you’re bored, Finnick! You don’t get to just wander around, now. There are rules for this kind of thing.”

“But I’m a Victor,” I say. “To the Peacekeepers I belong in sector one, why would they stop me from going there?”

“Peacekeepers aren’t the only problem!”

“Then who is? Are you afraid of me getting mugged on the train? The whole world just watched me kill eight people live on television. Show me one person in this District who’s going to mug me.”

I’m making all kinds of bad choices in this conversation. My dad slams his fist down on the table and the noise makes Ben start crying. Now I feel bad, because I made Ben upset. And because I know the problem isn’t dangers I’d face, it’s that I can’t go running around without telling my dad. And… maybe because he doesn’t want me hanging out with the Victors alone.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I say, offering an olive branch. “I should have waited. I just—”

“—no, just leave it at that,” says my dad. “Say I’m sorry, Dad, I screwed up, it won’t happen again and leave it at that.”

I don’t say anything, which I feel like is the best way to go. Because repeating what he said might sound sarcastic.

David comforts Ben while my dad takes a few deep breaths and calms down.

“How long were you there,” he says finally, his voice much steadier.

I shrug. “Um… I got there around nine-thirty. And I left at like… four.”

“What were you doing there for six hours?” Kathrine asks.

“I… uh… well I unlocked the house for them and we cleaned up the dust and stuff and they talked to me about talents and phone calls and the victory tour… and then I had lunch with Mags and we just talked about normal stuff. Like… her family, her life, her husband who died, that sort of thing.”

“And that took six hours?”

I shrug. “Mags is old, she had a lot of life.”

They don’t laugh at my joke. I suppose it’s a bit too tense for that type of thing. I don’t know why I’m leaving things out. They clearly aren’t convinced. And why not? I don’t have to get too into the details.

“And… um… I asked them about the Games. I haven’t really been handling the transition well, but not in the way people have been expecting me to handle it? If that… makes any sense. I don’t know, I’ve been having trouble dealing with the fact that I killed people in the arena and I thought they would understand and maybe they could help.”

My dad is still angry, but he sighs and sits down, which I take to mean he’s not going to yell anymore.

“Why didn’t you come to me about that?” he says.

I sit too. “I don’t know. I assumed you’d tell me that I had no choice and that it’s not my fault, which I didn’t really believe. And I was kind of… irrationally worried you’d say something else…”

“Like?”

“Like how I should be disgusted with myself and how seeing what I did in the Games was horrible and I was a monster.”

My dad stares at me in disbelief. “You really think I’d say that to you?”

“No,” I say. “That’s why I said it was irrational. I knew you’d support me, but I just… I felt terrible and when I was in the Capitol after the Games I convinced myself everyone was going to hate me because I’m a killer now. And I know that’s not how it works, and everyone has been great, but… anyway, I thought that the Victors probably went through something similar and they might be easier to ask. Because even if you were disgusted by me you’d probably have lied. And the Victors wouldn’t.”

“Finnick,” my dad sighs. “For one thing, you were forced to do all those things, and I’m glad you did them, because now you’re home. The Hunger Games plays by different rules, you can’t judge yourself for the things that happened in there.”

I nod. But the problem I had faced was that the Hunger Games didn’t feel like different rules. I expected it to be some alternate reality, but it wasn’t. It felt the same as everywhere else. Except there was all this death. But I understand what he’s trying to say, and it’s nice. And, though I don’t agree with it, it feels good to hear him say it.

“And,” he continues, “I don’t think the Victors can help you here. In fact, I want you to forget anything they told you.”

This is surprising.

“What?” I ask. “Why?”

“Finnick these people aren’t like you. I know you… got along with them in the Capitol. But you aren’t one of them. They don’t know what you’re feeling.”

“Why not?”

“Finnick, they were all Volunteers. They trained for this at the Training Center. They were all eighteen when they went into the arena. It’s not the same, they were prepared, you weren’t.”

“Mags wasn’t a Volunteer.”

“Mags Flanagan’s Hunger Games was not the same thing yours was. It was a different time back then. The kids in the arenas were less prepared, the arenas were different. And it was so long ago.”

“But she’s been a Mentor every year since,” I argue. “They all have been. And does it matter how they got into the arena? They were still in there, they still went through what I went through.”

“Finnick, I don’t want you trying to warp these people into your equals or your peers. We’re your peers, everyone in sector nine. The Victors are all old, they’re all… experienced in things that you’re not. Don’t try to force yourself to fit in there because your transition back home has been a bit rocky. Things will go back to normal here.”

“I…” I don’t know how to respond to that. I disagree, of course, but where do I even begin? “How will things go back to normal if I can’t work or go to school? What else is there? I could join the retired old women who run the pre-school. But somehow I have a feeling that wouldn’t be a good fit either. And even if I do find something, eventually I’m going to have to move to Victor’s Village. That’s obviously where the Capitol wants me.”

“You just won the Hunger Games,” says my dad. “That comes with some freedoms.”

“No it doesn’t,” I say. “I can’t even choose what to spend my money on. I can’t realistically stay here forever, the Capitol is watching me, now. They expect me to be a certain person. And that’s okay, I can be that person and still be me, but…”

“We’re going to figure out a way for you to stay here,” says my dad. “Victor’s Village was made for Victors like them, Victors that are eighteen and were about to move out anyway. You’re a child, you’re staying right here.”

“Fine, I’ll stay, but then we need to talk to the other Victor’s about it. Because they’ve offered to live in my house and answer my phone for me and keep up appearances, but we have to communicate with them.”

“We don’t need their help.”

“Yes we do, dad!” I yell. “I don’t want to make the Capitol angry! I don’t know what they would do!”

My dad stops, taken aback.

“And I don’t believe you,” I continue. “I am like them, they’re not as bad as you think they are. And even if I’m not like them I need you to try not to hate them!”

“Why?”

“Because I know why you hate them, you’ve told me before. Because they got too used to Capitol life and now they’re a little too weird. But I’m going to be going into the Capitol every year just like they do and I’m going to try, I swear, I’m going to try not to get… corrupted, but I don’t know what’s going to happen! It’s not like they’re bad people, and you’re wrong about them being comfortable in the Capitol because as far as I can tell, no one hates the Capitol as much as they do… I just… I need you not to hate them. Because like it or not I’m probably going to end up like them.”

“Finnick—” my dad starts.

“Don’t try to convince me I’m going to grow up differently, you don’t know that! And it doesn’t matter. I like the Victors. I’d be happy to grow up like them. It’s not their fault they went into the arena. Blame their parents for signing them up for the Training Center when they were eight years old! They were just as much victims as I was!”

My dad clearly doesn’t agree, but he’s done fighting about it. I, however, am starting to understand why my dad would never move to Victor’s Village with me, no matter how much it makes sense. And even if he would, he shouldn’t. Not because he’d have to leave this community, although that is part of it. But because it’s obvious he will always hate the Victors. At least… partially. Because he hates the Capitol, and they will always be connected to it. And if he lived in Victor’s Village he would ruin the peaceful atmosphere the Victors have created there. He would poison the place with his hatred.

We don’t talk much during dinner. Eventually, I feel the tension in the room ease slightly. I decide to ask a question that’s been nagging at me since my conversation with Emma.

“Can I ask you something about the Training Center?” I say.

My dad looks confused. “I don’t know much about it, Finnick.”

“I know but… I was talking to Emma Grimly earlier and she was talking about her brother and I realized I don’t know why any parent would sign their kid up for that. I know it’s not the same as hoping your kid gets reaped but it feels pretty similar. It can’t just be for fame reasons, right? I mean, are they paid for it?”

My dad looks annoyed, but I’m pretty sure it’s not at me.

“No good parent makes a deal with the Training Center, you’re right,” he says. “Sometimes there’s money involved, yeah.”

“But Emma’s parents are pretty well off, aren’t they? They’re oyster farmers. Or, they were. Now her mom’s working with lobsters…”

“Yeah, they’re about as wealthy as you can be in Four. But that’s not because of the oysters.”

“What do you mean?”

My dad’s eyes dart around. A habit he has when he’s about to say something that could get him in trouble.

“Emma’s parents, when they signed Noric up for the Training Center… They were starting a business on the side.”

“What kind of business?”

“Um… it’s not important. I’m not sure about the specifics. But having a kid in the Training Center… well, there are a lot of benefits to choose from. Sometimes it’s money, but with the Grimly’s it was a way to get the Peacekeepers to turn a blind eye.”

I think about Emma being so calm about being late for school. Maybe she knew she wouldn’t get in trouble for it.

“But… that doesn’t make any sense. Isn’t the Training Center technically illegal? Kids aren’t allowed to train for the Hunger Games. The Capitol turns a blind eye, sure, but that’s different than rewarding people who train their kids for the Games.”

“Finnick, who do you think pays for the Training Center? You think it comes out of our taxes? The people here barely have enough to support themselves as it is. There’s no extra money for the Training Center. The Capitol funds it. On the books, it’s referred to as a place to train future Peacekeepers. But no one from the Training Center becomes a Peacekeeper. If they don’t volunteer, they find something else to do with their lives. The Capitol wants us to have volunteers. I’m sure they pay for One and Two as well.”

“But… that doesn’t make any sense. Why say it’s illegal and then fund us for it?”

My dad shrugs. “I guess we’re not the reason it’s illegal. Apparently they push us to send in more than one volunteer, but we’ve never gone that far.”

Why would the Capitol have us send in volunteers? Well, that’s an obvious answer. Because trained tributes makes the Games more exciting. So the real question is why does the Capitol make it illegal for other Districts to send in Volunteers. Why just One, Two, and Four? Who are they trying to hurt here? Why not have Ten, Eleven, and Twelve have volunteers and the rest of us roll the dice? Why not One, Two, and Three? At least that would be tidy.

“So Emma’s parents had an illegal business?”

“Yeah,” says my dad. “I think her mom still does it. Al had some… regrets. Once Noric started doing well in training, that it. I think he assumed Noric would flunk out. That’s why they got divorced.”

And yet Noric still went to live with his mom. Brainwashed.

The conversation becomes lighter after that. I tell my dad about my plan to hang out with Emma and a few other friends and he seems happy to hear it. Kathrine talks about her group of moms and I can tell she hates every second she has to spend off the boat.

Kathrine and I offer to clean the dishes. My dad and David go to bed as we clean up.

“So what’s Victor’s Village like,” says Kathrine.

“It’s nice there. They’ve got a little community.”

“You like the Victors,” she says. “You look up to them.”

“I don’t know if I look up to them. They’re nice to talk to.”

“You planning on going back and seeing them again?”

I pause. Yes, of course. But I don’t want to piss her off.

“I know that dad doesn’t want me there but…”

“I get it.”

I sigh. There’s an obvious solution. Or at least, now that I’ve really looked at what my life is going to become, there’s only one solution I think I’d be happy with. But it’s going to be hard to get my dad to agree to it.

“I’m going to move there,” I say.

“What? Did the victors…”

“No. It’s just. That’s what has to happen. That’s what will be best. I’ll move there. And on the days you work on the boat I’ll come down here and babysit Ben. You’ll drop him off with someone, Ms. Letterman, maybe. And before she has to go to work I’ll pick him up. I’ll have dinner when you all when you get back. Hang out with my friends. And on days when you don’t need me, I’ll live there. I’ll probably see you all just as often as I would anyway. And I think I’ll just be happier there. Happier than sitting around here doing nothing because everyone else has a job and a purpose and I don’t.”

Kathrine is silent for a moment. Even if she doesn’t like it, she won’t yell about it. She and dad are a lot alike, but she’s a bit more steady.

“Okay,” she says, finally. “If that’s what you want.”

I nod. It’s what I want.

“Dad’s going to take some convincing,” she adds on.

“But you’ll help me, right?”

She nods. “I’ll help you. Just be careful, Finnick.”

Chapter Text

My plan with Kathrine goes into effect two months later. I move into my house in Victor’s Village. Every workday I get up at five, spend two hours on the train, and go to Ms. Letterman’s house, where Ben is waiting. Ms. Letterman makes me come in and talk to her for a little while, which is annoying, and then I take Ben home to my dad’s house, which is empty.

When you have a boat, you start a few hours earlier than people in the fisheries. Which is why Ms. Letterman can take Ben for a few hours, but not the whole day. If I tried to get him directly from Kathrine, I’d have to wake up at two in the morning. It takes a village, or so I hear.

I chill with Ben for the day, who is growing like a weed. I spend the day playing with him and trying to knit him a hat. But… it’s taking me a while to make anything remotely hat shaped.

Sometimes my friends who only work part time at the fishery stop by. Dawson has stayed working on the boat with my dad, Kathrine, and David. Apparently, he found a real calling in it. And my dad doesn’t like new people, so he kept Dawson on full time as my replacement. He’s never one of the friends who stop by.

He felt bad about staying on a boat while Sam, who needed the money more, left when Kathrine came back. But through his father’s work for my dad, Sam discovered a knack for organization. He scored a desk job in the fishery labeling and documenting everything that goes out. It pays well but it’s dead boring and it’s easy to make mistakes, which means it’s easy to get in trouble for it. Not many people sign up for it. But Sam loves it. Freak.

My visitors usually include Sam, Vanessa, and Emma. After a few months, Sam starts showing up with a new kid named Pat, whose family was relocated from sector twelve because of a population difference. He’s nice enough. He and Sam get along well.

The awkwardness between Vanessa and I eventually thaws, and she becomes the person she used to be. Except much cooler, because now she’s not flirting with me. Now that she’s both admitted to liking me in the past, and not being fake around me, she informs me that somehow I have become an even bigger hit with the girls since I moved away.

“How does that make sense?” I say. “They all saw me kill people and then they haven’t seen me since.”

“Well, not to be blunt, but you looked really good in the Capitol. Especially your interview outfit. Plus, word got out that you take care of your nephew,” says Vanessa. “And people have seen you with Ben in his little stroller.”

“So?”

“So you’re this athletic badass who won the Hunger Games and you’re good with kids and have a soft side. You’re catnip for girls. You’re girl-nip.”

But despite being girl-nip, Emma and I remain nothing but friends. Most of her time over is spent talking about her brother, and that whole situation. I like spending time with her, and I try not to get my hopes up every time she comes over. She’s going through something. I shouldn’t hope for anything right now.

But if anything, spending more time with her just makes me want to date her even more. She’s smart, and funny, but in a brutally honest kind of way. It didn’t take long for me to learn she knew exactly what illegal stuff her parents had been up to.

“We had this basement that’s just full of alcohol and stuff like that. And people would stop in and say, like, hi I loaned your father a book, I’m here to get it back. And that was code for them being there to buy a bunch of drugs.”

“Drugs?”

“Some of it was medical. But some was recreational. And then there was some that could be used for both, so who knows.”

“Like?”

“Morphling.”

“Your mom sells morphling?”

“Yep. I know of three Peacekeepers who buy regularly. Another reason they stay out of our hair. They’re not allowed to take those kinds of drugs. That guy who works at the school, for example. Up until this year, I never really minded all the illegal stuff. I figured it was just a way of getting by. But now, with Noric… We could have been fine without it, you know? Dad and I are fine without it. It’s not like they had to do this to feed their other seven children. We were already better off than everyone else.”

“But where does your mom get the morphling?”

“I have no idea. For the best, don’t you think?”

“I mean, I guess.”

I always stay for dinner, which is when I see my dad. Some days, I’ll meet my friends after dinner at Fisher’s. If so, I spend the night at my dad’s house. This is probably the biggest reason why my dad is so adamant about me seeing my friends. Along with the fact that he’s desperate to make sure that I stay in touch with ‘normal people’ and ‘kids my own age’.

Fisher’s can still be tough sometimes. Especially hearing about school and the races. But most of it gets easier with time. Sam’s friend Pat is officially a part of our old group. Considering he saw me in the Hunger Games before meeting me in person, he’s very comfortable around me.  

I see less of my friends when the weather gets colder and it becomes too cold to swim up north. Eventually the main fishing season ends and all of our schedules change. My friends spend more time in school, my dad still goes out on the boat every once in a while, but since there are fewer boats allowed out there, fishermen tend to work together, and my sister and David aren’t needed as much. I still go down to hang out with them and Ben, but my visits are less frequent. Especially when our train shuts down due to ice on the rails.

This works out fine, however, because the Capitol starts calling more and more as winter sets in. I quickly learn to dread the sound of the phone. The first time it rings, it’s Barry Weathersmith asking me if I’ve picked at talent. When I tell him I picked knitting, he informs me I’m not allowed to pick knitting.

“You’re not allowed?” says Kent when I mention it the next day.

“That’s what he said.”

“I’ve never heard of them not letting someone pick a certain talent. Which ones did he say you could pick?”

“He’s sending me a new list. Then he apologized for the inconvenience.”

“Well, at least he’s polite about it.”

It’s not like I’m going to stop knitting just because it’s no longer my official talent. Every morning at around five, before heading out to babysit, I stop by Mag’s house. We eat breakfast together, and she teaches me how to knit. On days when I don’t babysit, I just stick around, help her with some house chores.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy another talent. I’m not particularly worried about finding one I’ll like. I’m discovering there are plenty of leisure activities that I’m growing to enjoy. I offered to help Walsh keep up Amber’s old garden, so he has started teaching me how to do that. Also, every Sunday, the day off at home, where I am sure to not be needed to babysit, Jeffer invites everyone over and he makes dinner for us all. I noticed the others would help him with certain dishes, so I asked what I could do. Cooking turned out to be fun as well.

But when I get the new list, nothing at all interesting is on it. It’s a nice laugh with my friends, but that is about the only good that comes from it.

“Singing,” says Dawson. “Oh, absolutely. Sing something for me, Finnick.”

“It’ll pair well with the dancing,” says Sam.

“That’ll never happen,” I say.

“The only other stuff on this is every instrument known to man,” says Vanessa. “And I know you don’t want to learn an instrument.”

“Not a music lover?” says Emma.

“Not if I’m the one who has to make the music.”

“Make-up,” reads Pat. “Do you make the make-up, or just put it on? And how is that a talent?”

“I have no idea, and I don’t want to know.”

“Oh, but I know you want to arrange flowers,” says Dawson.

“There is not a single masculine item on this list,” says Sam.

“And of the feminine items, none of them are related to knitting, cooking, or gardening, all things I felt capable of doing.”

“You’re not even allowed to make clothes. How is that different from make-up?”

“I don’t know.”

“And you have to pick one of these,” asks Pat.

“By next week, yeah. And then I have to do it in front of a camera in a few months.”

“Damn. Good luck.”

After a few agonizing days and a lot of help from Mags I end up choosing poetry. Mags’s logic is that learning a musical instrument would be a bad idea, because people in the Capitol would always hand me one and ask me to play, then laugh when I did it wrong. And everything else was either too physical, like modeling, or could possibly turn into a career, like Garrick and the books.

The bad thing is I turn out to be very bad at poetry. And since I’m going to have to read a few original poems on camera for the whole world to see, I spend a good amount of time trying to write poems when I could be doing… anything else.

During the winter, my friends are in school from six to noon. Then they have an hour break for lunch where they can do whatever they want. Then they have to go back for another six hours. In the off season, only the adults work in the fishery or the docks.

During their lunch break, I sometimes head up to sector nine and sit with my friends as they eat. They do homework, and I try to write poems.

“What you need,” says Dawson, “is a love poem. Aren’t all poems about love? Why are you writing about the weather?”

“Because over my cold, dead body will I read a love poem in front of the entire country,” I say.

“You’d read a love poem when you’re dead? How would that work?” says Sam.

“Also, what do I know about love?” I say, ignoring Sam.

Dawson and Sam laugh at me. “You could write about Emma,” says Dawson. “I’m sure you’ve got lots of thoughts about that.”

“You know about that?”

“Sure. You’re not Mr. Subtlety. And you’ve started hanging out with her way more since the Games.”

“Crap. Does she know?”

“Maybe. I doubt it. And it’s hardly the most interesting crush in the group. We’re all still waiting for Pat to take pity on Sam and do the asking.”

“Shut up!” says Sam, becoming very red.

“You’re taking your sweet time,” says Dawson.

“He’s new around here! I don’t want to… you’re one to talk!”

“What?” asks Dawson.

I’m also lost. I assumed Sam and Pat were going to become an item. But I had no idea Dawson liked anyone.

“You’ve had a crush on Vanessa for three years now and you haven’t done anything.”

This is brand new to me.

“You like Vanessa?”

“I do not!”

“Oh please.”

“I don’t like her, she’s so annoying!”

“Yeah, sure she is, when you provoke her.”

“Yeah! Why would I provoke her if I liked her?”

“I don’t know, why do eight-year-old’s pull little girls’ pony-tails?”

“You’re saying I’m eight years old?”

“Yes. You also like Vanessa.”

“Moving on, now. What were we talking about?”

“Love poems,” I say. “But I don’t think any of this is poetry material. No offense.”

“You should just ask Vanessa out, she’d probably say yes.”

“Vanessa likes Finnick!”

“That was your old excuse, she’s over that. Or, she’s pretending to be. Either way.”

Dawson does not end up asking Vanessa out, nor do I do anything about Emma. But eventually Pat does take pity on Sam. Two weeks after Sam and Pat become an official couple, Barry, Rujeria, and my Prep team swarme Victor’s Village for the Victory tour.

The tour itself is absolutely terrible. The only good part is that it moved so fast it’s hard to remember it all. It’s just Mags and I. We start in Twelve, which is so completely depressing to look at: so many starving faces, the air so polluted I can practically see the fumes. Then we move up through each District. I only remember a few things from each. The names and faces of a few of the Victors Mags introduced me to, some of the landscapes, some crops, a factory. Nothing important.

The bad thing about the Districts is that my stage fright comes back. In the Capitol, it was so easy to just forget about the people in the audience. Because they felt so mindless. They did whatever Caesar Flickerman told them to do. But in the Districts, I am acutely aware that every single person in the audience has a mind of their own, and that they all hate being there and hate me.

Barry gives me a pill to help with my anxiety, but it’s too strong and I don’t even remember District Ten. Mags assures me nothing embarrassing happened there, and she wouldn’t lie. But I lay off the pills after that.

In District Eight I was planning on learning the name of the boy I killed on the cliffside. His family would be standing under a banner with his face and name, and that’s where I could learn it. I walk right on stage and glanced over at his picture. But before I can notice the name something else catches my eye.

He has no family. Not one person stood under his picture. How was that possible? Not a single family member? Even if he was an orphan, shouldn’t the person who runs the orphanage be there? Close friends? Did this boy really have no one?

I forget about his name. Later I ask one of the Victors about him. She tells me he lied about his parent’s death and was basically living by himself in his home.

“To avoid the orphanage,” she explains. “That place is… well, kids do plenty to avoid it. His parents weren’t working at the factory when they died because they were sick. He had maybe a year before the Peacekeepers caught up to him, and by then he would have been so close to eighteen it wouldn’t have been so bad.”

My mind is mostly occupied with that boy for the rest of the tour. I never stray from the script. You’re expected to add your own thoughts if you were their ally. But since I killed all my allies, I decide against it. I briefly consider writing something for Aaron, but no. That would be weird. I didn’t really know him, I just feel like I did.

The Capitol is just as I remembered. Fortunately, I’m there for less than a day. I am forced to dance with a few old women at the party, all of whom are a bit overly friendly, but then it’s over.

It was a terrible, exhausting experience. And I refuse to talk about it when anyone brings it up. It takes me two months to purge the memories and sour mood. And even after that time, sometimes when I wander around my big empty house at night, to go to the bathroom or getting a drink of water, my mind slips and I think about the boy from Eight. Living alone in his house, pretending his parents were still alive. Only to then be reaped and sent to the Hunger Games. He wouldn’t have needed to go to the orphanage if he had won. He would have moved to Victor’s Village. He would have been able to embrace a new life.

But on the other hand, he had no family to watch me kill him. So maybe that’s… good. In some twisted way.

I barely have enough time to get back into a normal routine when the next Hunger Games begins to loom in the distance.

My birthday always feels a bit overshadowed by the Games, only two weeks away. But this year it feels even more gloomy. Emma gets me a present: a pearl bracelet to match my necklace, but all she does is hand it to me and shuffle back home.

Most of our little friend group is much too worried about Emma to celebrate a birthday. And I’m no help, because in only two weeks, I’ll be headed back to the Capitol, and that doesn’t make me very jolly.

My fellow Victors are going through a similar depression. Kent, who I learned would become slobbering drunk once or twice a month, depending on the severity of his nightmares, is now getting drunk every night. The others are all quieter, slower to a smile. The only thing that seems to cheer them up was when Mags asks me, out of the blue, the day before the reaping, if I had received any phone calls from the Capitol. They all perk up considerably when I tell them I hadn’t.

“Why?”

“Oh,” says Walsh. “Just means no poetry readings for you.”

I did not realize poetry readings were an option. But it’s nice to know, I suppose.

My dad decides to celebrate my birthday and Ben’s birthday the day before the reaping. Why? I have no idea. He claims it’s because it’s in between, and we can’t celebrate Ben’s birthday on his actual day: I would be in the Capitol and twenty-four kids would be fighting in a bloodbath.

I think he just wants to be sure to see me before I leave. Although I’m not complaining. I tuck Ben’s present safely in my bag the morning of and make my way to sector nine.

I stop at the bakery and buy a small cake. My dad knows the baker, and she decorated one special for Ben. After I convinced my dad to let me buy one with the Capitol money. My reasoning was that, since it’s technically also my cake, I’m just spending money on myself.

My dad is smiling when I answer the door, which is weird. But a good weird.

“You’re happy,” I say, coming inside and setting the cake down on the table.

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

I can think of a few reasons, most of them to do with the reaping tomorrow. But I don’t want to list them.

“I don’t know. Anyway, I’ve got the cake, where’s Ben?”

“He’s taking a nap,” says David. “He’ll be up soon.”

“We’ll celebrate you first,” my dad says. He wraps me in a one armed hug and plants a kiss on my head.

He’s still very upbeat. I don’t want to kill the mood by asking about it, but it’s surprising.

“I figured you’d be gloomy because I’m leaving tomorrow,” I say. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“It’s only for a little while,” he says. “It’s not every year when you’ve got no kids in the reaping. Just a nice change of pace.”

I suppose that is something to be happy about. My dad suddenly has eleven years with no loved ones in the reaping bowl. I’ve been thinking so much about my own trip to the Capitol, and Emma’s brother, that I forgot many of my friends are settling into nerves about being reaped. I suppose that is one thing I can be thankful for. I never have to go through that again.

“So,” says Kathrine, “present time?”

“You guys didn’t have to—”

“Shush.”

My dad gets me some personal fishing equipment, because we’re allowed to fish a little down at Victor’s Village, but we never have any material. Kathrine and David get me my own suit, so I can stop borrowing from dad and David, both of whom are too tall.

“I love it,” I say, feeling the blue tie. “I… can’t wear the suit tomorrow, but I’m sure I’ll need a suit soon.”

“Why can’t you wear it tomorrow?” says Kathrine. “Not that I’m complaining. You can wear it whenever, it’s your suit.”

“Yeah. I know. The Capitol sent me something to wear. Because I’m going to be on camera.”

Before this can kill the mood, Ben wakes up. David brings him in. He’s big now, and can win races in crawling. He’s also become a master at pulling himself up into a standing position. I’m worried he’s going to take his first steps while I’m in the Capitol.

Words are harder for him. He hasn’t spoken yet, or shown any sign of wanting to. He doesn’t even babble much. David’s a bit worried, but he’s still got plenty of time. Kathrine just makes jokes about him being a silent type like dad.

“Here we go!” says David in a baby voice. “Maybe we give him some cake today. Hm? Can you say ‘cake’?”

“I doubt it,” replies Kathrine.

“Kat…”

“What? If he’s gonna speak, I doubt ‘cake’ is high up on the word list.”

David hands Ben to me and helps Kathrine with the cake. I plop him down on my lap and pat down his curls. One of his hands wraps around my finger.

“I think he likes you better than he likes me,” says my dad.

“No offense, but I think I like him more than I like you, too,” I joke.

“I completely understand.”

We both chuckle a little. Again, I’m struck by his good mood. And it’s nice, compared to what’s been going on with every other person in my life.

My dad got Ben a few new outfits and Kathrine and David got him a new blanket, because he’s outgrown his last.

“Alright Ben,” says David, “open Finnick’s gift.”

“Honey, he didn’t manage to open the last two, I don’t think he’s got it figured out now.”

“You’re no fun with this.”

“Here,” says Kathrine, “I’ll let him help.”

Kathrine guilds Ben’s hand through unwrapping the gift and she takes it out to examine.

“Yeah,” I say. “It’s supposed to be a fish, but it’s a little lopsided.”

I spent a long time knitting stuffed animals, scrapping almost every attempt. I finally made something nice enough to give to Ben about a month ago, so I decided to wait.

“It’s so cute!” says Kathrine. “You made this?”

“Yeah. I was going to make a bear but that turned out to be too hard so. Fish.”

“Is it a trout?”

“It’s a stuffed animal.”

“Not good enough to make a specific kind of fish?”

“No that takes two years of practice. I was going for a trout. Sort of.”

She holds the stuffed animal out for Ben to inspect. He grabs it by the tail, and Kathrine sets it down next to him.

I feel a little bad making him a present while my dad and Kathrine all bought things. I’m the one with the money, after all. But Kathrine has been very clear she doesn’t want me to pay for Ben. I figured this was a show of good faith. And she seems happy about it.

We eat the cake, and Ben gets frosting all over his face, which is cute.

After we’re done, Kathrine and my dad clean up the dishes while I help David clean up the baby.

“You’re not really worried about the talking, right?” I say. “He’s only one. He’s not even behind the curve for another few months.”

“No, I’m fine. But shouldn’t he be looking like he’s going to talk?”

“How do you—”

“—yeah, yeah, your sister’s already mocked me for that one.”

I spend a few more hours with my family. We drink tea and try to trick Ben into walking. He doesn’t.

“When do you have to leave?” asks Kathrine.

“I have to go to Victor’s Village tonight,” I say. “Because Barry Weathersmith stops by before we go to the City. And I was hoping to stop in and see Dawson and Sam before I go.”

“Why don’t you go see them now and come back to say goodbye before heading to sector one,” says my dad.  

“Sure. If that’s okay.”

“Go for it. You don’t want to barge in on them during dinner.”

I head out to Dawson’s house first. The door is open when I get there and Dawson is sitting on the front step with someone. I slow down when I realize it’s Vanessa.

Has he finally decided to ask her out? If so I shouldn’t just march up… I’m about to turn around when Vanessa spots me.

“Finnick!” she calls. She waves for me to join us.

“Hi… what are you two up to out here?”

Dawson shoots me a look, telling me silently to drop the knowing tone, but Vanessa sighs.

“I just went to see Emma,” says Vanessa. “She’s a wreck. Her brother’s sendoff party is tonight and she doesn’t want to go.”

“Sendoff party.” I’m not sure I want to know.

“At the Training Center. It’s a big to-do apparently.”

“Wow… That’s…” I don’t finish my thought.

I sit down next to Dawson and sigh.

“So, how are you feeling?” I ask Vanessa.

Vanessa shifts. “Oh, you know. Not great.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“That’s what I told you last year.”

“And I’m fine, see?”

She chuckles slightly. “That’s not exactly the fine I was going for.”

“I know. But it’ll be okay. I was a freak accident, things will go back to normal this year.”

“Thanks Finnick,” she says. “I know you’re dealing with your own stuff. It’s nice of you to think about me. You’re always gloomy when you have to go to the Capitol.”

“Everyone’s gloomy around the Games,” I say. “Except my dad. He’s a bottle of joy today.”

“He is?” says Vanessa.

“Yeah. It’s weird. He says it’s because it’s the first Games in a while that he doesn’t have a kid in the reaping bowl, and I suppose that’s true. But… it’s still the first Games since I was in the arena. I’ll be in the Capitol for a month… It’s weird he’s upbeat.”

“Yeah, well…” says Dawson.

He doesn’t continue. But it feels like a pointed ‘yeah, well’.

“What does that mean?”

“Well,” says Dawson. “He’s a bit guilty about it.”

“Guilty about what?”

“It’s just that the Victory Tour kind of convinced your dad that you can handle yourself in the Capitol.”

“Handle myself?”

“When you went off to live in Victor’s Village he was nervous you’d get too comfortable in a Capitol lifestyle. He didn’t think it’d make you happy. But with your conversations about how much you hate going there, he’s just relieved.”

“He’s happy that I’m unhappy.”

“That’s the part he feels guilty about.”

“But I’m sure it’s more complicated than that,” says Vanessa. “He’s just been worried about you.”

“Yeah, and he thinks you can take care of yourself, that’s good, right?”

“How do you know all this?” I ask.

“I mean I spend six days a week with your dad, so,” says Dawson.

“Oh… yeah… of course.”

Oddly, this makes me more weirded out than the conversation about me being unhappy. Like my dad has replaced me in one aspect of his life. Like he’s closer to Dawson than he is with me.

“Well, I just wanted to say goodbye to you both, since I probably won’t see you tomorrow. Since I definitely won’t see you tomorrow.”

I said the probably as a polite thing, I probably won’t have time to stop by. But I don’t want Vanessa thinking there’s a chance she’ll be on the train to the Capitol with me tomorrow.

“We’ll see you in a few weeks,” says Dawson.

Right, I think, a few. It’ll be at least three. No Hunger Games ever lasts less than two weeks. Most are closer to three. And that’s just the arena. Counting the week before means a month in the Capitol.

It never feels like a month at home. The month of July just never existed for me. The Hunger Games had its own plane of time and June simply merged into August. But now the month of July is very, very real.

“I was going to say goodbye to Sam… And Emma. Although maybe Emma needs some time alone.”

“That’s the last thing she needs,” says Vanessa. “In fact, Sam and Pat were arriving at Emma’s when I left. Pat’s mom made the family a casserole. But I had to get out of there. It was just so depressing, and I kept imagining myself in that arena with Noric…”

“You’ll be okay,” I tell her. Although I wish I had some power to prove it to her.

I hug them both goodbye, thinking maybe I could write them some letters when I’m in the Capitol. I'm not sure how it works.

"I’ll see you in a few weeks,” I say.

It’s a bit of a walk to Emma’s. When I get there, I can tell a good number of people are already inside.

I approach the door, which is ajar, and sure enough there are at least five well-wishers. Three of which are talking to Emma’s father in the kitchen. Sam and Pat sit beside Emma on the couch. She looks completely numb.

I knock on the open door. Emma glances up. She brightens a bit when she sees me. And I can’t help but brighten myself.

“I’m making the rounds, saying goodbye to people. This a bad time?”

Emma shakes her head and waves me in.

“I honestly forgot you’ll be gone too. There’s been a lot going on.”

“I can imagine.”

I sit next to Sam, who pats me on the back. Clearly, he did not forget I’ll be leaving tomorrow.

“I thought you might be with your mom,” I say. “But Vanessa told me you’d be here.”

“We couldn’t take it at mom’s anymore. She and Bill are too… excited. It’s horrible. But my dad’s going to stay there tonight, on their couch. He’s going to spend the day with the three of them and walk my brother to the reaping.”

“You’re not?”

Emma shook her head. “I just can’t do it. I’ll talk to him after the reaping, in the hour before he has to get on the train. That’s what that hour’s there for.”

I nod. If that’s what she needs to do, then that seems reasonable. But something’s nagging at me.

“Does that mean you’ll have to travel to the reaping by yourself?”

She nods. “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? I can meet you here and travel with you, if you want company. I know everyone else will be traveling with their family, and you shouldn’t have to be alone.”

Not just about her brother, her name is in that reaping bowl too. I’m sure it’s crossed her mind. The idea of going into the arena with Noric…

Emma’s eyes widen, shined with tears.

“If it’s not too much trouble…” she says.

“No trouble.”

She nods tentatively. “Thank you, Finnick. It’s just been…”

“I get it.”

I take my eyes off Emma and notice Sam is giving me a knowing look. I scowl at him. “How’s Maria?” I ask, changing the subject. “And… I’m sorry, Pat, I forget your sister’s name.”

Sam’s little sister, Maria, turned twelve a few months ago. It’s her very first year in the reaping, with no volunteer to take her place. And Pat has a younger sister too… though I’ve never met her. Thirteen this year.

“Tessi,” says Pat. “And she’s alright. She’s very steady. Hard to rattle her.”

“Maria’s had nightmares all this week. It’s kind of spooky, going into it now. After what happened last year.”

That’s what Vanessa said too. I suppose everyone’s seeing the Games in a new light. District Four’s a big district. We’ve never known anyone who went in before. Not even any volunteers. Noric will be the first volunteer from sector nine in a long time. But those last Games changed everything.

“I was a fluke,” I say. “She’ll be okay.”

I notice Emma start to tear up the napkin in her hand and I realize this is somehow dangerous territory for Emma. I can almost hear her thoughts. Why are they complaining, their siblings have a one in a thousand chance of going to the Capitol. Meanwhile my sibling…

She’s keeping it in, probably out of respect to Sam and Pat, but I change the subject.

“Have you been getting a lot of well-wishers today?”

“Yeah,” Emma sighs. “But they’re mostly annoying. People congratulating us. Or thanking us, because they have a twelve-year-old son who can sleep easy now.”

Not so outrageous, when I think about it. I used to be in that spot. But… I understand Emma isn’t in the mood to hear about the kid who will see Noric as a savior for volunteering for him tomorrow. Even I’m a bit confused by it all.

 Sure, signing a kid up for the Hunger Games at eight years old is bad. And volunteering for a death tournament because you might become rich afterwards is also bad. But is it worse than a kid with no training and no hope of winning being sent in instead? Which is better? I suppose you can’t ask such questions about morality when the Hunger Games is involved. Especially when you bring the other Districts into consideration.

Is it really fair that Districts One, Two, and Four send in trained kids while all the other Districts don’t? District Twelve only has one Victor. Is it fair that the smaller Districts lose two kids every year while we sit hopeful?

But again. These questions are futile. Nothing is fair here.

“Are you going to be his mentor now?” asks Emma.

I jump. I had been so lost in thought, I hadn’t realized there were questions Emma might want to ask me.

“No,” I say. “Jeffer is his Mentor. But I’ll be there. I’m a mentor in training. I’ll basically be watching what Mags and Jeffer do so I can do it myself, eventually.”

“But you’ll know what Jeffer is doing. You’ll be there watching over everything?”

“Yeah, of course. Why do you ask?”

“I’m just making sure.”

“Making sure…”

“That he’ll have someone looking out for him.”

I almost tell her that Jeffer will be there, but I hold my tongue. She doesn’t know Jeffer. It makes sense she’d want me there too.

“I’ll do my best,” I say.

“I should get home,” says Pat. “My mom wants me back before dinner. And she always gets nervous around the reaping.”

“I should get ready for my brother’s stupid party, anyway,” says Emma. “Thank you guys for dropping in.”

“What’s this party?” I ask.

“Oh, the Training Center holds a big blow out the day before the reaping. A send-off. So that no one from the TC feels the need to say goodbye during the hour after the reaping and take up time the family could have.”

“Oh. That makes sense I suppose…” I almost say it’s a nice way to say goodbye to everyone, but I stop myself just in time.

Is it possible I already don’t believe Noric can win? I have to shake myself out of that. He’s got a chance, a good chance! He’s going to be one of five trained kids in the arena. And if he’s got the survival drive and a good amount of luck on his side he could take that crown easily. Easier than I did. Sure, he probably won’t have as many sponsors, but he’ll make up for it with more skill. I can’t promise Emma anything, but he’s practically the one to beat.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Emma. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get here, I have to meet Barry Weathersmith. But I’ll be sure to walk you to the reaping.”

“Thanks, Finnick. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I leave with Pat and Sam. The three of us walk a few blocks before speaking.

“What are Noric’s odds,” Pat asks. “Do you know them?”

“How could he?” says Sam before I can speak.

But I do know them. I was just thinking about them. I’ve noticed Pat has an easier time wrapping his head around the fact that I know a good amount about the Games and the Capitol now, even though I’ve only been a Victor for a year. The other’s knew me too well before.

“I can’t say for sure until we see the other tributes,” I say, partially agreeing with Sam. “But he’ll be one of the favorites for sure. Just because he’s a volunteer. He’ll have plenty of food and supplies because he’ll be in the Career pack, which means he won’t starve or die of thirst. That’s a much bigger deal than most people think.”

“No one starved in your games,” says Sam.

“Sure, but most of the people who died from the hippos died because of thirst. They only went into the water because they didn’t have any to drink. And people who are about to starve usually get killed off by the Gamemakers before they get the chance. But being low on food was still the reason. The Gamemakers just see it as more fun to kill them with a mutt than to film them die of hunger. Not to be gruesome. And then, well, Noric’s trained with weapons, he’ll have all the weapons he wants. He’s in good shape. It just depends on luck and what the other tributes look like. We’ll see.”

This seems to cheer them both up slightly. We walk a few more feet in silence before I dare to ask the question that’s been poking at me for a while.

“So… Sam. How’s your whole… I mean, do you still…”

“Do I still take out tesserae? No. The work with your dad would have been enough, but my new job and my dad’s new job has given us more than enough to cover everything.”

“You used to have tesserae?” asks Pat. He slides an arm around Sam’s waist. “I didn’t know that.”

“By the time you showed up I had already withdrawn my name. It’s no big deal. I was much more worried about Maria, but now I don’t even need it. Go figure.”

Pat gives Sam a peck on the cheek and my insides squirm with envy. I didn’t realize how badly I want what they have. But the person I want it with isn’t exactly in the right frame of mind for it… And I’ll be leaving for a month… My sour mood kicks back in.

“You two are cute,” I say, trying to hide my loneliness. “I’m this way… I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“We’ll be thinking of you, Finnick,” says Sam. “We’ll see you soon.”

I hug them both goodbye and take off back to the house. Poor Emma. But at least Sam and Pat are doing okay.

I stroll back through the deserted streets until I come upon the right block. Two people are outside Ms. Letterman’s house. Every time I pick up Ben she’s become incessantly chatty with me. It’s like she wants to be my pal. She’s fine, I suppose, but I’m not in the mood to chat, so I try to sneak past.

However, when I get closer, I realize the two figures are Ms. Letterman and my father.

I stop, confused. Why was my dad there? Before I can call out, Ms. Letterman puts her arm around my father’s waist the same way Pat just did with Sam.

“Dad?” I ask.

Both adults jump, like they’ve just been caught doing something wrong.

“Finnick. You’re back early, I thought you were visiting friends.”

“They were all clumped together… What’s…”

But I don’t ask, because I know. Ms. Letterman had been in our lives a lot more this past year. I just assumed it was because she was a nice lady with a grown son who felt bad I went into the games and was helping out. I guess there was another reason.

Why do I feel so strange? Mom has been gone for years now. It’s good to see my dad… having fun. But… why didn’t he tell me.

“Well, Sasha and I were—”

Sasha. First names. Weird. I cut him off.

“—it doesn’t matter. I’ll, uh, be inside.”

I hurry off. I’ve always seen Ms. Letterman as older than my dad. But… she’s probably only three or four years older than him. I forget that my dad was old when he had me. Or… older than most of my friend’s parents. After all, he’s a grandfather. He’s bald, but if he wasn’t he’d probably be just as grey as Ms. Letterman. Normal. Normal relationship.

I hurry inside and shut the door. I must have looked weird, because David and Kathrine both look up in surprise.

“What’s up?” says Kathrine, handing Ben to David. “You look pale.”

“Hm?” I say. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“You’re back early.”

“Yeah. My friends were kind of together. Not as many stops.”

Kathrine scrutinizes me for a few seconds as I try to act as normal as possible.

“You saw Dad and Ms. Letterman,” she says.

“You know about it?”

“Sure. She was a great help when you were in the arena. Comforting dad, you know? I was too busy with childbirth to be of any help there. They got together officially a few weeks after you got back.”

“A few weeks?” I say. “They’ve been together for a year? How has no one told me this?”

“It’s dad’s thing. I assumed he’d tell you eventually. I’m surprised you didn’t know, she’s been trying to get on your good side since you got back.”

Now all the chatting makes sense, that’s true. Making a good impression with her partner’s son. Normal. Completely normal behavior. They probably had dates on the nights I spent in Victor’s Village…

My dad comes in and almost knocks me down, because I never moved away from the front door.

“Hey,” he says.

I can feel the awkwardness in the room. But it’s not awkward. At least, it shouldn’t be. I’m fine with the dating thing. I have to convince him I’m fine with the dating thing.

“So you and Ms. Letterman,” I say, awkwardly. “How come you didn’t tell me?”

My dad sighs. He puts a hand on my shoulder and guilds me towards a seat.

“I just… didn’t want to throw all this new stuff at you. You were still settling into a new normal.”

“But a year?” I say.

“Well, I waited a few months and then you moved to Victor’s Village so I waited a little longer so you could get used to that. And then there was the Victory Tour and after the tour you were just so depressed, I didn’t want to spring it on you… I should have told you sooner. I just… wasn’t sure how you’d take it.”

“She really came through during the Games,” Kathrine supplies, helping dad. “Really, I saw a whole new side of her. Good in a crisis. So I was totally ready for it when it happened. But you never really saw her like that, so, it was harder to explain the relationship.”

That’s a good point. Because Ms. Letterman was always the woman with the quilts who tells me I’m too thin. Calls me a handsome young man. She’s just this little old lady who lives down the road. I can’t imagine my dad with someone like that. He’s so sullen and stiff and to-the-point. But I can understand why he’d appreciate someone who can keep their head in a crisis. Especially an emotional crisis. And I can picture Ms. Letterman dropping the sweet old lady personality when a neighbor needed help. Whipping this house into shape, dealing with well-wishers, making sure my dad eats… I should thank her for that.

I suppose what’s really bugging me is that this, along with hearing about Dawson being close to my dad now, is like my dad is living this whole life that I’m no longer a part of. Like I’m not a big part of his life anymore. And sure, it goes both ways. Because now I have Mags, who has taken a parental role in my life along with my dad. But seeing it from this side… But that shouldn’t matter.

“Well, I think it’s great,” I say with as much certainty as I can muster. “I mean, it’s a shock. And I might need a second to wrap my head around it. But I think it’s great.”

My dad chuckles, clearly unconvinced, but happy I’m trying. “Okay. I’m glad to hear it. No rush, you take your time.”

Kathrine is laughing too. “You gonna call her mom?” she asks.

My dad shoots her a warning look, but I laugh too, because it’s absurd. “I don’t think I can even call her Sasha. In fact, I had no idea that was her name.”

“You can call her Ms. Letterman,” says my dad. “That’s perfectly fine.”

I still feel weird. My father has a girlfriend. My father has a girlfriend. Of all the father’s in the world to have a girlfriend, my father, with the permanent scowl and the gruff, one word replies to questions, and the yelling at the fishery, would be the last one I’d think would have a girlfriend. Is this why he’s in a good mood today? Does she make him happy? Which is good, but also strange. Because my father’s kind of happy was always sitting contently on a boat on a nice day, or going to bed early, or silent pride when his kids win an award or get a good grade. It’s not smiles and laughs over love of some woman…

But then again, mom could always bring out that side of him. When she was up and about and the sadness had not overtaken her. I want my dad to be happy… Good thing. Good relationship.

We let the conversation move away from Ms. Letterman, which is probably for the best. I curl up on the couch with Ben and he immediately falls asleep on my chest. I’m going to miss him so much. I pat down his curls and plant a few kisses on his forehead.

“I told Emma I’d walk her to the reaping tomorrow,” I tell my dad.

“What about her dad?”

“He’s going to travel with Noric, but Emma refuses to talk to her mom right now.”

“Yikes. Okay. Do you two want company?”

“No, I think we’ll be okay. She just needs someone to be there with her. She’s in the bowl too, after all.”

“I know I should be hopeful,” says Kathrine. “But I really don’t like Noric’s odds. He was just such a shrimpy kid. I haven’t seen him recently, but…”

“I think last year proved being big isn’t everything,” my father says, patting down my curls just like I’m patting down Ben’s.

“It depends,” I say again. “He won’t have as many sponsors as me, but he’s got more training. If he’s smart, and the other volunteers aren’t… incredible… he could easily win. But… if I’m being honest I’m not betting on him either just yet.”

“How come?” says David.

“I don’t know. Just from what Emma has said. He sounds cocky. I’m worried he’ll make stupid mistakes. But that might fade once he actually gets into the Capitol. And I’m not pretending to be an expert on this.”

“Hey, you know more than he does,” says my dad. “He’d be smart to listen to you.”

We put Ben to bed and my dad pulls me aside.

“So this whole Ms. Letterman thing—” he begins.

“I’m fine, dad. I’m happy for you. It’s… hard to picture. But, you know. You deserve to be happy and if your happy with… Ms. Letterman… Yeah I can’t picture it.”

My dad pulls me in and kisses the top of my head. I’m, again, very aware of how often I do the same thing with Ben.

“Maybe we’ll start getting together as a group when you get back. Slowly.”

“Yeah. Sounds good… Happy one year anniversary.”

My dad laughs. “Let’s not rub in the fact I didn’t tell you. You heading out?”

I nod. “I need to go to bed early. I have no idea when Barry Weathersmith is going to show up and I have to be all dressed and ready when he does. I hope he’s fine with my walking Emma to the reaping, I already promised her.”

“I’m sure it’ll be okay. You’ll come home immediately when you get back?”

I nod. “The second I get off the train, I promise. Hopefully, we’ll have a party to attend.”

My dad sighs. “I hope so. I’ve had my disagreements with Al and his ex-wife in the past. Usually around their little side business. But… I’ve got a new appreciation for what they’re going through.”

Perhaps subconsciously, he pats down my curls again, bringing his hand down to cup my cheek. I know my going to the Capitol will be hard for him too. Plenty of memories. But at least now we both know I’m coming home.

“I’m going to try my best. As one of his mentors.”

“Oh, Finnick, I don’t want you to beat yourself up if something happens. You’re so young still. And there are twenty-four kids in there. And, I know you tribute your victory to Mags Flanagan but… there’s only so much a mentor can do during the Games.”

He’s right, of course. Although I think mentors do more than he realizes, Mags has given me similar speeches.

“Mags told me the same thing,” I say. “You two have a lot in common.”

I’m poking fun at him. He’s promised me to be nice to the Victors, and he has made good on that promise on multiple occasions. But it’s mostly just to please me. He’s still uncomfortable around them.

“Yeah,” he says sarcastically. “We’ll be best friends in no time. Good luck tomorrow. Remember you’ll be home soon. I love you.”

I tell him I love him too. I say goodbye to Kathrine and David and take one last look at Ben, who’s fast asleep, curled around his stuffed fish.

“Don’t let him walk without me,” I say.

“We’ll stunt his growth until you get back,” says my sister.

“I hate this sense of humor,” says David. “it rears its head at the worst times.”

“Sorry David,” I say. “We’ll stop.”

“Maybe you’ll stop,” Kathrine mutters.

Just twenty minutes later I’m on a train to Victor’s Village. I try not to think about my dad and Ms. Letterman. It’s just… strange. But there’s something else nagging at me about it…

By the time I pull into sector one, I realize what it is. Today my dad spent time with his girlfriend. Sam and Pat spent time together. Even Dawson and Vanessa could still be sitting out on their front steps, chatting away, comforting each other. Everyone seems to have someone in their lives.

Meanwhile, Emma seems to be less and less interested in me. And beyond that, she’s now putting her trust in me to help her brother. I can’t see her wanting anything to do with me if he never comes home.

Suddenly, a rather dark thought occurs to me. If Noric does come back, maybe she’ll be so happy… so relieved…

I shake myself out of it. This is about Noric’s life. Not my love life. How could I be so selfish? To find something in it for me? I purge the thought from my head and I don’t allow myself to think of Emma again.

When I get to Victor’s Village I walk down the street to Mags’ house. But when I pass Jeffer’s house Garrick sticks his head out.

“Finnick! Get in here.”

Confused, I change directions.

Jeffer’s house is very simple. He doesn’t like clutter, or things on the walls, or wallpaper with designs. He only owns things that he uses on a regular basis. It’s a bit weird. But I can see the appeal. And it definitely makes it easy to navigate.

Garrick leads me into the kitchen where Mags, Kent, and Walsh sit around the table, all watching Jeffer on the phone. Jeffer looks like he would rather be doing anything else than talking on the phone. He leans up against a wall, eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yes Barry. I know Barry.”

Garrick taps his knuckle on the table to get Jeffer’s attention. Jeffer looks up at Garrick, then at me.

“Oh, Barry, here’s Finnick now. Uh huh. I’ll be sure to do that Barry.” He rolls his eyes. “Okay, well, here he is.”

Suddenly, I’m being handed to phone. I was not prepared for this.

“Uh… hello?” I say.

“Finnick!”

I almost drop the phone. Barry is way to happy for my current mood.

“Hullo Barry,” I say.

“Finnick, good, I’ve been trying to get you all day.”

“I was visiting my dad,” I say.

“They told me. Listen. Since you’re the last Victor, they want to have a few interviews with you and Caesar Flickerman. You know, if the Games get a bit dull here and there, it’s good to have someone on deck.”

“Interviews. Sure. About what?”

“Oh, whatever. You’re new life in Four. How you’re liking being a mentor, what you think you District’s odds are, stuff like that.”

The idea of Emma watching me talk about her brother’s odds of surviving on live television is unbearable. But I don’t say that. At least there’s no poetry involved.

“Sure thing,” I say. “Is that all?”

“You got the suit?”

“Yes, I have the suit.”

“Rujeria wanted me to tell you it’s the last thing she designed that you’ll ever wear. She was sentimental about it.”

“Well, so am I. I’ll tell her that when I see her.”

“Perfect. Nice to see you’ve grown into some manners in the past year.”

I bite down a few remarks that would prove his last statement wrong.

“Uh, huh. Oh, Barry, quick question.”

“Of course. What is it?”

“Well…” how do I put this? “I’m only fifteen and all my friends are going to be participating in the reaping. And my friend’s dad is busy and I told… him… I’d walk him to the reaping tomorrow so he wouldn’t have to go alone. I’ll obviously be here when you arrive, but would you mind if I run off before it starts? I’ll be in the square before the camera crew even gets set up, I promise.”

“Yes, yes, that’s fine. Just let me inspect you first.”

Inspect me… as in to make sure I’m camera ready?

“Of course. Thanks Barry. Is that all?”

“That’s all. I’ll see you all tomorrow! Happy Hunger Games!”

And on that happy note, he hangs up.

I put the phone back on the receiver and turn to the others. “How long was he on the phone with you?"

"Two. Hours,” says Jeffer. “I swear, however much coffee he drinks every morning he needs to reduce it by half. At least.”

“What did he ask you?”

“He wanted to know if I’d be okay with having interviews with Caesar Flickerman.”

“Interviews? Plural?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Well, one’s the norm. But I suppose you were a favorite.”

“Yeah, and he wanted to make sure I knew the suit was made by Rujeria and it’s the last thing she’ll make for me.”

“How sentimental,” says Kent, taking a long swig from a flask.

I take the flask from him. I live next to him and I’m getting tired of him coming back from getting drunk on the beach and accidentally walking into my house.

“Hey!”

“I was about to,” says Walsh. “Don’t be hungover when Barry gets here, you know he hates that.”

“Barry hates everything about me,” Kent mutters.

“How was the birthday party?” asks Walsh.

“Good. My dad’s been dating our neighbor for a year and didn’t tell me.”

“Oh… well happy birthday to you,” says Garrick.

“It’s fine.”

“And the friend you’re walking to the reaping?”

“Emma. Her dad is walking with Noric but she doesn’t want to.”

“I thought it was a guy.”

“Oh, I just told Barry that so he wouldn’t pry.”

They all look at me knowingly. I suppose I haven’t hid my crush well from any of them.

“Well that’s very nice of you,” says Garrick.

“She’s in that reaping bowl too. I was just being a friend. I’m the only one who has nothing to worry about.”

“Uh huh. Well you have fun with that,” says Jeffer. “Now everyone get out. I just spent an hour talking to Barry about a tribute I’ve never met and I’m going to bed.”

We all leave Jeffer to get some sleep. Mags pulls me towards her house, and I let her. I still have Kent’s flask, but I’m sure he has others.

Mags sits me down at her kitchen table and talks to me about the Games and Noric. We have some tea, and by nine I decide to let her get an early night and head back to my house.

Maybe I’ll just go to sleep. It’s a bit early, but tomorrow at least I have things to do. I place Kent’s flask on the kitchen counter and head upstairs to get ready for bed. I pull on my pajamas but before I can do anything else there’s a knock at my door. I wait for Kents voice to ring out, saying he’s here for the flask, but after the knock, there’s silence.

Who’s knocking? All the victors just let themselves in, with an occasional curtesy knock. I can’t think of who else would be here so late.

I hurry downstairs and open the door.

Emma is wearing a purple sun dress and she’s standing on my front step. She looks up at me with bloodshot eyes.

“Hi,” she says. “Could I sleep here tonight?”

Chapter Text

“Is everything okay?” I ask. “Well, of course not, but are you hurt?”

I let Emma in and sit her down on the couch. She’s clearly been crying, but now she’s very calm, numb.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she says. “I just had a fight with my dad.”

“Does he know where you are?”

She shakes her head. “He’s staying at mom’s. With Noric. He said he’ll see me after the reaping.”

I’m a bit annoyed at that. They have a fight, and he just sends her away? After all, his daughter’s in the reaping bowl too. But I suppose I can’t judge him. This could be his last night with his son.

“What happened?”

“I was at the party and I just couldn’t take it anymore. Everyone was all happy and singing and drinking and I just…”

She peters out, probably to avoid crying.

“I told my dad I wanted to go home and he scolded me, saying this was our last night with Noric and we should stand by him and…”

Her voice breaks and she starts shaking. I throw a blanket around her and put my arm around her shoulders.

“I just didn’t want to go home to an empty house. And I told myself that you’d be around tomorrow but I didn’t think I could wait.”

“Of course you can stay here. I’m sorry about the party.”

“I was expecting it to be bad,” she says. “But, I don’t know. Seeing it in real time was just a lot. I mean. When did we start celebrating the Hunger Games? Us? We’re a from the Districts. This is literally our punishment. What is wrong with us?”

She makes a good point. It definitely says something about the Capitol’s propaganda department. But I shake it off. Now’s not the time.

“Did you come here straight from the party?”

She nods.

“How about I get you something to wear and then… we can talk or just sit in numb silence if that’s easier.”

She laughs and nods. “Thank you Finnick.”

I run upstairs and grab some pajamas. I make sure to grab a pair of bottoms with a drawstring waistband. They’ll be big on her, but I’m sure they’ll work if she ties them right.

I boil some hot water for tea while she changes. She comes down and tells me she hung her dress up in the bathroom where she changed.

“I’ll just wear that one to the reaping. No one will care.”

“Okay,” I say.

For a moment I think of Barry. He’ll show up tomorrow… I specifically told him I’d be walking a guy to the reaping…

“So, just a heads up… Barry Weathersmith is going to be coming here tomorrow? Probably flanked by a few Peacekeepers. If you want to avoid him you can probably just stay upstairs while he’s here.”

“Yeah, I don’t need to talk to Barry Weathersmith,” Emma agrees. “He’s bad enough from a distance.”

I laugh. “Every once in a while he’s pretty tolerable. But then he’s just so… Capitol.”

“Says the man who defends the victors every chance he gets.”

“The victors aren’t Capitol. They just aren’t allowed to work anymore. And I’m one of them.”

“I suppose. But Garrick’s hair…”

“That’s a long story. It wasn’t really his idea. There was a… medical issue. From his Games. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“No kidding.” She looks genuinely shocked and interested. Which I take heart in.

“Yeah. And sometimes the Capitol just decides what you look like. Like, I was instructed not to cut my hair any shorter than this. The Capitol has a bit more control of our everyday lives, but that doesn’t mean we’re Capitol.”

She nods. “I know how much you hate leaving Four. You barely spoke the first few weeks you got back from your Victory Tour. I didn’t mean to suggest…”

“It’s okay,” I say. “The Victory Tour was a lot. Seeing the families of all those kids… and… not the families.”

“What?”

I quickly explain District Eight’s situation. She listens intently.

“I mean, that death in particular was really hitting me hard. And then to learn how hard his life had been before… And then there was a whole mess of things. Like, I’m supposed to write my own speeches for allies. But I killed all my allies. And the only person in the arena I would want to give a speech about was Mandy, but I didn’t speak in front of my own District. And in the arena, I started to feel like I knew these kids. Especially Aaron, the kid from Six? But I didn’tactually know any of them except for Mandy.”

“Which kid was from Six again?” she asks.

“The big kid, final three.”

“The one that gutted you at the feast?”

“Yeah. I felt like I really knew him. Like if I met him here in Four, he’d be a good friend. He was kind of like my dad.”

“But he really hurt you. I hated that kid. I had this reoccurring nightmare about him… well that doesn’t matter. But he was horrible! He hurt you so badly and when you were in the arena stitching yourself back together… and he stole your backpack! And then when the mudslide happened and he moved into your old camp and used your fishing set up? It was like he was living off of your strategy. Like he was personally after you.”

“I didn’t see it that way. We were just so alike. At the beginning, we both needed food, but we didn’t want to engage in the bloodbath. So, we let the Careers win food for us. And while I was in the Career pack, he had to hide and watch for an opening to steal. And I gave him one when I stole from them. And then we both didn’t want to engage in the feast, so we stumbled over each other again. And then we both turned to the river for food, he just didn’t have the skills I did. And I mean, I used him in the arena the same way he used me. When I killed Evant, I blamed him for it. When Jargon turned up in the sky, I let him take the credit for that too. He stole my backpack, but I pinned all my crimes on him. We were so similar. I think anywhere else we could have been friends.”

Emma shakes her head in awe. “You’re a really good person,” she says.

I’m a bit taken aback. “What?”

“You’re just… a really sweet guy. I mean, this boy hurts you over and over again. And all you do is praise him. You can’t stop making friends, even in the arena. I wish I was more like you.”

I feel myself blush. I’m sweet. She wishes she was like me. I’m now noticing she looks very, very good in my pajamas.

Our eyes meet across the table. I should say something. Like… thank her for saying I’m a nice person. But no words come to mind. I’m noticing things about her face for the first time. Like how long her eyelashes are. Or how her nose tips up at the end. Is she leaning forward, or is it my imagination?

Suddenly there’s a loud knock on the door, and I can hear it open down the hall.

“Knock, knock, are you awake?”

It’s Kent. We both sit up straighter. I’m embarrassed, and only get more embarrassed when Kent barges into the kitchen.

He stops in his tracks. His eyes dart between Emma and I for a few seconds, trying to register what he’s seeing. I wish he was more put together, but his hair is messed up and he’s not wearing shoes.

“Oh,” he says. “Hello there.”

“What’s up,” I say. I don’t ask why are you here. Which is what I want to know.

“You still have my flask,” says Kent.

I become a bit embarrassed. Hopefully, Emma doesn’t think I drink.

I snatch it off the counter and throw it to him. He is sober enough to catch it, which is a good sign.

“Please don’t get drunk. You’ll be hungover all day tomorrow and Barry will vibe you the entire time.”

“Barry always vibes me. You sound like Walsh…” He pauses for a moment. “So. Who’s your friend.”

Why won’t he just leave?

“Emma, this is Kent. Kent, Emma. She’s…” I pause, debating. Finally, I just go for it. “She’s Noric’s sister.”

“Noric?”

Oof. That’s sure to piss her off.

“The volunteer. Hunger Games. Tomorrow. Any of this ringing a bell?”

“Right! Noric! Temporarily forgot his name. Sure, Noric’s little sister, who you’re friends with.”

He coughs slightly. He still isn’t making any attempt to leave. I’m sure Mags has told him about my crush on her, but he wouldn’t just say that, right?

“Something else I can help you with?” I ask him.

“Either of your parents know you two are alone in a house together in the middle of the night?”

“Kent!”

“What?” he says. “You’re fifteen! Somebody’s gotta ask!”

“Bye!”

“I should get someone else. Like Mags, or Walsh! Walsh will still be up, probably. He’d be much better at handling this.”

“You don’t need to get anyone else. Nothing’s happening here. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I start pushing him towards the door.

“Her parents aren’t out searching for her right now, right, because that will not end well for you.”

“Bye Kent.”

“Use protection.”

I slam the door on him and lock it so he won’t barge in with backup. Use protection, is he serious?

I go back into the kitchen and Emma is sitting stiffly at the table. Hands clutched in her lap like she’s been reprimanded at school.

“I’m so sorry. There are just the six of us here so we just barge in all over the place. Whenever Kent has to think about the Hunger Games he drinks too much so I confiscated his flask and—”

“—it’s okay. I should go to bed.”

“I’m sorry if he made you uncomfortable. Or if I made you uncomfortable…”

“No, Finnick. You’ve been great. I’m just tired. Thank you for letting me stay here. I’ll sleep on the couch?”

I lead her up to one of the empty bedrooms and give her some sheets and a blanket.

“Thanks,” she says, avoiding my eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And then she’s gone. I sigh. This could have gone better.

My night consists of tossing and turning, eventually falling asleep only to be woken up by terrible nightmares of Emma being reaped, Vanessa being reaped, my going back into the arena, and snippets of my old Games and the boy from District Eight being killed by Noric. Finally, around six am, I decide I can get out of bed.

I go downstairs as silently as possible. Emma’s door is still shut. Hopefully she’s had more luck with sleep than I have.

I start making myself breakfast, then I stop and think. Should I make some for Emma too? It might be cold by the time she wakes up… But I throw on two more eggs for her.

Jawn and Antonio from sector one retired from the fisheries early because they scored a small farm. They have a goat, which Jawn treats like his child. And they have a good number of chickens, and a rooster. The chickens give so many eggs that they’ve got half the sector covered. The other Victors and I overpay them for eggs because they give the rest out free to the orphanage and other who can’t afford to buy from the market. I always have plenty of eggs in the fridge. Might as well give a few to Emma.

I just finish cooking breakfast when there’s a knock on the door and someone tries to open it. I remember I locked it last night. I rush over and let them in.

Mags is standing in the doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.

“Oh, shut up.” I say.

I let her in and offer her some eggs. She accepts, so I make three plates, and leave one covered for Emma. Mags looks at the third plate.

“Emma’s upstairs,” I say. “She’s sleeping. In her own bedroom.”

Mags chuckles and asks me why the door was locked.

“Because Kent barged in and was threatening to come back with help! It made her uncomfortable.”

She insists I tell her the whole story, so I do. She scolds me for having a girl over without either of our parents knowing, but admits there was no better option in this particular circumstance.

“It’s not like anything happened. She just didn’t want to spend the night alone. As in alone in a house by herself.”

Mags laughs at me some more.

“Hey Finnick,” calls Emma, coming down the stairs. “Do you have an extra toothbrush that I could—Oh, hello.”

I cringe. She asked to crash here for a night and she’s being introduced to every Victor ever. While wearing my pajamas.

Emma’s hair is a bit tangled and her clothes are wrinkled, but she still looks beautiful first thing in the morning. I shake myself out of it.

“Emma, sorry, this is Mags.”

Mags, who will never stop surprising me, immediately stands up, crosses the room, and hugs Emma.

Emma looks shocked over Mags’s shoulder. But she accepts the hug. Mags mumbles something to her and Emma looks confused.

“I’m sorry—” she says, unable to understand Mags’s slurred speech.

“She says ‘we’ll do our best to bring him home.’” I translate.

Emma’s eyes widen and fill with tears. She buries her head into Mags’s shoulder and shakes for a few moments. Mags just holds her, patting down her hair.

“I’m sorry,” Emma says, when the separate. She wipes her eyes. “You don’t even know me.”

Mags shakes her head and puts a hand over her heart. Mags knows her. Mags knows what she’s going through.

We stand there for a moment before real life catches up to us. “You asked for a toothbrush,” I say.

“Right,” says Emma.

“I… shoot. I don’t have one…”

Mags raises her hand. She has one.

“Oh perfect, I can run—”

But Mags waves me off and starts heading towards the door. When she’s gone, Emma and I stand in silence for a moment.

“So,” says Emma. “She seems nice.”

I laugh, because of course Mags gets right to the heart of all this. I offer Emma her plate and she takes it happily.

“So when do the Capitol people show up?” she asks.

“Noon,” I say. “At least, that’s when the train pulls in. They’ll probably get here around one.”

“Do you have things you have to do before then?” asks Emma.

“No, not really. I just have to be all dressed and ready when he gets here. So he can ‘inspect me’ before I go on camera.”

“Inspect you? He doesn’t trust you to dress yourself?”

“Nope. Do you want to do something today? We can swim at the beach at the end of the lane. I think there’s an old bathing suit of Mags’s tucked in the boat shed. It’s like thirty years old but it’ll probably fit you.”

“Sounds fun. Just like last year. Except without Vanessa hitting on you.”

“I’m so glad that’s over,” I say. “Vanessa’s more fun when she’s not hitting on me.”

“She told me what you said to her after you were reaped.”

“Oh. Yeah. I was mean.”

“No. You were honest. It’s what she needed to hear. Ironically, she became a much better friend towards me after that. More enjoyable all around. And I’ve been pretty awful this year, and she’s hung around.”

“You haven’t been awful. You’re just upset. We understand.”

Mags comes back with a toothbrush, a hairbrush, and some of her old everyday clothes, so Emma doesn’t have to put on her dress right away. Emma thanks her profusely and then rushes off to get changed.

There’s another knock on the door, poor Emma didn’t sign up for all this company, and I hear Kent and Jeffer walk in.

“Hello!” calls Kent from out of sight as they walk through the halls. “Here we come, we’re coming in—”

Jeffer’s laughing as they walk into the kitchen.

“—start acting normal, here come adults. Oh, hi Mags.”

Jeffer’s still laughing as he pecks Mags on the cheek and pats me on the back.

“Where’s your lady friend,” says Jeffer, eyeing the third plate.

“She’s upstairs. Please leave.”

They both break into a fit of laughter, taking seats around the table.

“I’m a bad adult,” says Kent. “I left these two fifteen-year-olds completely unattended. I should have crashed on the couch.”

“Nothing happened! What’s the big deal?”

“Oh, so you’re going to tell your dad a girl spent the night in your big house where you live alone?” says Jeffer.

“Why would he need to know?” I say.

“So something did happen.”

“No! Nothing happened. She’s upset. Her brother’s going to the Capitol today, her dad is staying with him tonight, she didn’t want to sleep in an empty house.”

“This is Noric’s sister,” says Jeffer.

“Yeah.”

He straightens slightly, looking uncomfortable.

“Hm, okay. I’ll, uh. Maybe I should go.”

“Now you decide to leave?” I say.

“Look, Finnick, I’m this kid’s mentor. Meeting his family…”

“I’ll be your mentor trainee, and I’ve known Noric my whole life. I’m not sure this one is going to be easy to keep at arm’s length.”

“Oh, kid, they never are. I’m more concerned about… I can’t make this girl any promises.”

“She knows that.”

“I mean, she says she knows it, but—”

Emma comes back downstairs and Jeffer stops talking immediately. Her hair is all brushed out and Mags’s old clothes, though a bit wrinkled and faded, fit her perfectly.

“Hi,” I say. “Sorry, you’re meeting everyone today. This is Jeffer and… well you’ve met Kent.”

Kent starts laughing again, which is super annoying. Jeffer doesn’t quite meet her eye.

“No worries. If you all have things to do…”

“No, they were just leaving.”

Kent just laughs harder at this, but Jeffer stands.

“Yeah, Kent and I are going. Good luck today, Emma.”

He grabs Kent by the arm and they leave. Mags stands too. She kisses me on the cheek and pats Emma on the shoulder.

“Thanks Mags. Do you need help with anything today? I can make you lunch later.”

I noticed recently she’s been less active than usual. Walsh tells me she gets like this around the Games. Sleeping in later, staying in the house. I don’t want her skipping meals.

She just shakes her head and winks at me. Then she’s gone.

“You care about her,” says Emma.

“Well, she saved my life in the arena. And she’s always been there for me, so…”

We take the small boat on the beach out, just to get a little peace. I find one of Mags’s old bathing suits and it fits her pretty well. So we swim. It’s a relief, because it’s sweltering hot in sector one. Eventually around midday Garrick waves us in from the beach. We pull the boat in to shore and Garrick tells me Barry’s train pulled in and he’ll be here in about an hour.

Emma and I both change. She brushes the sea water out of her hair, but I don’t bother. If Barry wants me to comb my hair I will. But Rujeria always preferred it a little crazy. Rujeria’s suit is black, with a blue shirt and no tie. Its form fitted, just like all the suits I wore in the interviews. The cuffs have tridents on them. I hate it. But I look good in it.

I also put on Emma’s necklace, and the bracelet she made me for my birthday. Just because.

Emma comes out wearing the pretty purple dress she was wearing last night. She’s done her hair up in a braid, too. Tied with some yarn I must have left lying around.

“You look nice,” I say.

“So do you. Nice necklace.”

“Why thank you, I have a matching bracelet now, too.”

“You don’t have to wear all that.”

“I want to. It’s a tether to home.”

She smiles. Is she blushing? I can’t tell.

“Thank you, Finnick. Today was nice. I didn’t think that was possible.”

For a moment, I think we’re going to hug, but there’s a sharp knock on the door and Garrick’s voice rings out saying Barry’s car is pulling up.

“I’ll hide upstairs,” says Emma.

“Probably for the best. I’ll come get you when it’s time to head out.”

“It’ll give me some time to look through all the little baby hats and scarves you’ve knitted and keep in my closet,” she teases.

“Oh, right. I’m a wild knitter.”

“What a man,” she says.

I laugh, but what does that mean? She disappears upstairs and I head outside to meet Barry.

He pulls up in a car with two Peacekeepers flanking him on either side. And I’m again pissed at him. He needs a guard? And a car? He can’t just take the train like the rest of us?

“Well, hello, hello my Victors!”

We all mutter hellos back. It’s half-hearted, but we’re all dressed and accounted for, which is more than I was expecting.

“Shall we step inside?” he says. “it’s outrageously hot.”

Garrick offers his own house, so we all move in there.

“How have you all been? It’s been too long!”

Barry immediately makes himself comfortable at the kitchen table. The rest of us awkwardly stand around. Except for Mags, who sits down in the corner.

“You saw us all six months ago,” says Garrick. “And we talked to you on the phone last night.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right. But still. How is everyone feeling? Finnick? First reaping since yours, how are your nerves?”

I suppose this is a nice thing to ask. But I can’t very well tell Barry the truth.

“I’m fine.”

“Yes. Well, you look wonderful. Rujeria has done it again.”

I give him a small smile and let the conversation move on. He makes Kent change his tie, to which Kent scowls deeply.

“It’s not my fault a green tie clashes with a dark blue suit!” Barry calls after him. But Kent just stalks off to change.

“Now. Are we expecting any volunteers this year?”

“We always are,” says Walsh.

“Boy? Girl?”

“Boy this time. His name’s Noric.”

“You’ve met him?”

“No. Finnick has. They’re from the same neighborhood.”

Barry is very interested in this.

“Oh ho! Friends?”

“No,” I say. “He’s eighteen, too old to be friends. But I know his sister. She’s my age.”

I don’t mention she’s in my house. None of the others do either.

“Well! This is sure to be an interesting year. Hopefully we’ll start a winning streak! After last year, District Four is the talk of the Capitol. What a Games! This group has a lot to live up to!”

I’m sure Emma will be pleased to hear it.

“I’ve always liked this Victor’s Village,” says Barry, clearly just trying to fill the space. “When I was working as Ten’s escort? Ugh. It was very dreary. But this one’s nice. The water helps. Although it’s so hot. I don’t know how you stand it.”

“You get used to it,” Garrick supplies.

“Yes, well I suppose that’s why you all look so tan.”

I almost laugh. Sure, Garrick, Walsh, and I have a bit of a tan because of the sun. But Jeffer, Mags, and Kent are naturally darker skinned. Does he just… not realize these three aren’t white? Does he think it’s just because of the sun?

“Well! We should head out! Meet the mayor as usual. Finnick, you’re meeting your friend?”

“Yes. If that’s alright.”

“Do you need a ride in the car?”

“Oh, no, it’s out of the way. The train will be faster.”

“Alright. We will see you there. Walk around the reaping pool and on stage. If we’re not on stage yet, go to the front door of the Justice Building and tell them who you are.”

I nod. If Barry’s good at one thing, it’s giving clear instructions.

“Perfect. I’ll meet you there.”

Kent comes back with a different tie and they all load into the car.

“One more Victor and I’ll need to bring two cars!” Barry tells me.

I smile and nod and let them drive off before turning into my house to go get Emma.

“I saw them drive off,” she says when I open the door. She’s sitting perched on the window sill, staring out onto the road. “Are we going then?”

She looks numb again. Like she did yesterday. We walk to the train station. On a whim, I take her hand, hoping to comfort her. She’s beyond comfort, but she doesn’t shake free.

We ride in a train car that becomes more and more packed with each stop. It’s full of pale, nicely dressed kids and their pale, nicely dressed parents.

When we reach The City, we’ve got roughly twenty minutes till start time. Emma and I are corralled along towards the reaping pool with the rest of the kids. She begins to squeeze my hand tightly.

“What if it’s me?” she says quietly. “What if it’s me against Noric in there?”

“It won’t be you.”

“But what if it is?”

“It won’t be.”

“I’m in there once more than you were.”

“Fine. Then that means you and Noric will be allies and you’ll have your brother by your side the entire Games and things will be easier. Painful, but easier. But it won’t be you.”

She’s shaking. She stops before the check in tables and pulls me into a tight hug.

“Thank you Finnick. I’ll miss you when you’re in the Capitol.”

I take a deep breath in, almost savoring the moment. “I’ll miss you too. Deep breaths. It’ll be over soon.”

I mean the reaping, though of course, afterwards will be the Games with her brother. But you can’t have it all.

I watch her sign in and disappear. Then I turn and walk around the pool like I was told.

When I get a good distance away, I hear someone shout.

“Hey! Kid!”

I assume their talking to someone else, so I keep walking.

“Kid! Black suit, blue shirt! Where are you going?”

I turn around, confused.

“Me?”

A Peacekeeper is marching towards me. He looks mad. He hefts his gun and points it threateningly.

“Yes you. Are you deaf? Back in line.”

“Oh, no, I’m not…”

“What? You’re trying to claim your nineteen? Back in line!”

He shoves me towards the line with his firearm. I trip and fall forwards, scrapping up my hands on the concrete. I have a feeling I’ve ripped my pant leg too.

The Peacekeeper pulls me up by my collar and starts marching me back to the line of kids.

Is he an idiot? My name’s not in the reaping bowl. Does he not recognize me? I was on tv just six months ago for a Victory Tour.

“Sir, stop, I’m—”

“—quiet,” he snaps, jabbing me with his gun.  

I give up. They can throw me in the reaping pool. I’ll just walk down the center and up on stage.

“What’s this?”

An older Peacekeeper, a woman this time, walks up to me and my captor.

“This kid is trying to duck out of the reaping,” he says.

“I was not!” I say. “How would that even work? My name would still be in the bowl.”

“Let him go, Private,” says the woman.

The man releases me. I readjust myself and try to reclaim some dignity. We’re close enough to the check in line that every kid in it is staring at us. A few have recognized me, and they’re laughing behind their hands.

“Where were you headed, kid?” asks the woman.

I could just tell her my name. But I’m so pissed at the guy who tripped me, plus my hands hurt, that I decide to make it hard on them.

“I was headed towards the stage.”

“The stage? Why?”

“That’s where I was told to go.”

“By who?”

“Barry Weathersmith. I’d happily sign in except my name isn’t on the list.”

The woman’s eyes widen. She smacks the Private over the head.

“This is Finnick Odair, you idiot. Did you not ask him for his name first?”

All the nearby kids are laughing now.

“I didn’t get a good look at him! He was walking away from the line, I just assumed!”

“Just go back to your post!”

The man leaves, and all the kids in line laugh after him. It’s not every day you see a Peacekeeper get in trouble for being too violent.

“Mr. Odair, I apologize.”

Mr. Odair. What the…

“It’s fine. I should go. I’m late.”

“Yes, of course.”

She doesn’t offer to walk me there. Which I’m relieved for but a bit confused by. But when I start walking I realize. My pant leg is torn at the knee. My hands are bleeding. I look disheveled. I’m about to be on National television. She doesn’t want to be blamed for why I look like this. And I didn’t get either of their names or badge numbers, so I can’t even report them. My mistake. I bet Barry would have them flogged.

They’re not on the stage yet. So I go into the Justice Building and tell the Peacekeepers outside who I am.

They look me up and down, clearly confused by my appearance, and then one of them walks me inside.

The Victors and Barry are sitting around a large table with the mayor. Barry takes one look at me and completely implodes.

“What happened!” he cried. “I take my eyes off of you for two seconds! What, were you run over by the train?”

“Did someone jump you?” says Walsh. Which is a much more reasonable guess.

“No. I walked my friend to the sign in and then when I started walking away to come here and Peacekeeper got all up in my face telling me to get back in line. I tried to explain but he shoved me and this happened.”

“Are you okay?” says Jeffer.

“I’m fine. His superior recognized me and let me go.”

“This is outrageous!” says Barry. “You can’t go on stage looking like this!”

“Sorry, kid,” says Walsh. “We should have thought about this. Most Victors are aged out after they win. Or are old enough to pass for someone who’s aged out. We never considered you’d look out of place.”

“I have some stuff for your hands,” says the mayor. “And I might have a sewing kit upstairs somewhere.”

“Thank you ma’am,” I say.

“Who is this Peacekeeper?” asks Barry. “I want him sacked!”

“I didn’t get his name or his number.”

“Would you recognize him if you saw him?” asks Barry.

“What are you gonna do, line up every Peacekeeper working today and make me point out the right guy?”

“I suppose that would be hard to accomplish… But still, I’m going to have a talk with Commander Reeds about this.”

Commander Reeds is our Head Peacekeeper. And if Barry wants to make his life difficult, that’s fine by me.

The mayor comes back and she cleans the scrapes on my hands personally. I’m reminded that she’s a mother herself. Mags stitches up my pant leg. You can tell there’s a cut, but only if you look for it. Once Barry gets back, he nods and tells me it’s good enough.

We all walk out on stage and my stage fright comes back immediately. All these eyes on me… I’m the new kid too… I don’t like it. Having to be cautious of every move I make because hundreds of eyes are following me…

Mags pats the seat next to her so I sit. I’ll have to move to the end of the line when the ceremony starts, but for now everyone is standing down stage talking to the Mayor. Mags manages to take my mind off things until the reaping starts.

I suffer through the mayor’s speech as always. But now I get to sit through it, so that’s an improvement. Then, finally, Barry is up.

“Happy Hunger Games!” he cheers. “And may the odds be ever in your favor!”

He immediately transitions into one of his fish puns. Saying that he loves seeing us all dressed up for the reaping, and we look so so-fish-ticated. No one laughs.

“Every year I tell him not to make a fish joke,” I hear Walsh mutter. “And every year he ignores me.”

“Anyway!” says Barry, recovering as always. “Ladies first.”

The street collectively holds its breath. Not Emma. Not Emma or Vanessa, that’s all I ask…

“Marrot Lychester!” Barry calls.

I’ve never heard of her. I exhale slightly, trying not to show my relief, since I’m on camera.

Marrot walks on stage. She’s a skinny girl, probably sixteen or seventeen, and very tall. Her long brown hair is falling out of her bun and her eyes are already full of tears.

Barry pulls her up to center stage and asks for volunteers. No one comes forward. And that silence is what does it. Who knew a silent crowd could be so triggering.

Suddenly it’s one year ago to the day, and I’m in Marrots position. Praying that someone from the TC will take pity on me and take my place. The world crashing down around me when no one steps forward. I see her shake, and I can’t help but start shaking with her.

I didn’t realize how hard this would hit me. In my head, I’m going back into the arena. I’m a fourteen-year-old standing next to the giant Mandy Tarlek, no one offering to take my place. Headed for the Capitol and death.

Someone grabs my arm and I jump slightly. I turn and see Garrick holding on to me, steadying me.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “You’re out, you’re not going back in. Everything’s okay.”

I force myself to take a few deep breaths and nod, shaking. I’m on camera, I can’t fall apart.

I try to focus on the reaping. Barry has called the boy, but I missed his name. Not that it matters. An eighteen-year-old with a full beard steps up on the stage. He looks like an adult to me, but I can still see how scared he is in his eyes.

Barry asks for volunteers, and right in the front row, dead center, Noric raises his hand and shouts out.

“I volunteer!” he says.

The boy with the beard sighs a breath of relief. Noric is welcomed on stage.

“What’s your name?” Barry asks.

“Noric Grimly,” says Noric.

He looks at least two years younger than the boy he volunteered for. And five inches shorter. Not a great start for him.

“Alright, shake hands you two.”

The boy shakes Noric’s hand, clearly trying to convey that he’s grateful. Then, with Barry’s permission, he rushes off stage.

I watch him go. He gets just far enough that he knows he’s not on camera and collapses to the ground, shaking. I can imagine. For a moment, I almost envy him.

Barry has Noric and Marrot shake hands. Then they are brought into the Justice Building by Peacekeepers and the cameras shut off.

“Alright!” says Barry, turning to us. “I’ll meet you six on the train! Mayor Gladwell, I’ll see you next year!”

Yet again, Barry manages to make a perfectly innocent statement that sends everyone into a despair. But I’m ready to get off this horrible, horrible stage. And Garrick seems to sense this.

He grabs me by the arm and pulls me towards the car. The others load in after us.

“The kid okay?” says Kent.

“He’s having a bit of trouble, I think.”

I pretend I can’t hear them. I curl up on my seat and stare out the window. Poor Marrot. I’ve been so nervous about Noric I haven’t even considered what I’d be feeling about the other tribute. Marrot. She’s saying goodbye to her family now. I wonder who will come to see her. Parents? Grandparents? Friends like mine? I think about my own meetings in the Justice Building. I think I might start crying at the memory.

Eventually I’m ushered into the train and someone pushes me into one of the cushioned seats in the viewing room. I curl up, my knees up against my chin, my arms wrapped around my legs. I need to pull it together. I’m not going back into the arena. I will see my dad is just a few weeks. I need to pull it together.

Mags is sitting near me. She pats my hair and holds out a hand. I take it. I feel a little better. How did I go through this before? Without knowing Mags as I do now? Where did I find the strength?

“Here,” says Jeffer, “drink some water.”

He puts a glass of water in my hands and I take a few sips.

“I’m sorry,” I croak. “This isn’t about me.”

“Eh,” says Kent. “It’s not not about you.”

“I didn’t realize this would hit me so hard.”

“We were kind of prepared for this,” says Walsh. “Knowing one of the kids is hard enough. That, and the fact it’s your first Games? It’s going to be tough.”

“It wasn’t even Noric that did it. It was that silence when Barry called for volunteers for Marrot. Last year I really saw that as my last chance. That someone would take pity on me or something.”

Mags pats my hand with understanding. I eventually calm down, and the rest of the Victors take their own seats around the room. They leave the couch open for the tributes and Barry.

Then we wait. After what must have been an hour, the train lurches and we begin moving. They’re on the train.

A few seconds later the door opens and Barry ushers Marrot and Noric inside. Marrot’s been crying. Her face is red and blotchy. But Noric looks almost excited. He smiles at me and I try my best to smile back.

How is it he’s more at ease than I am? I’m not going into the arena. I must remind myself of this every few minutes, but I’m sure I’m not.

“Well! How fun!” says Barry. “These are the Victors, I’m sure you know them all already. But this is Mags, Walsh, Kent, Jeffer, Garrick, and our newest member! Finnick.”

He went in order. How… tidy of him.

He makes Marrot and Noric sit down and squeezes between them. They both look very uncomfortable at this.

“We’ll watch a quick recap and then we’ll eat!”

I try to pay attention to the recap, but just like last time the names slip out of my head like beads of water. I’m aware that the boy from One and girl from Two are both much bigger than Noric. There’s a twelve-year-old boy from Three. The girl from Eight is missing two fingers. The boy from Twelve is giant, thin but tall and muscular. He reminds me of Aaron, in his size. But instead of Aaron’s caramel skin he’s got the standard olive skin and grey eyes of District Twelve. He completely overshadows his female counterpart, who’s probably fourteen with blonde pigtails and a little pink dress.

Finally, the Capitol newscasters come on saying it looks like an interesting bunch. They always say that. Garrick turns the tv off.

“Alright!” says Barry. “Everyone wash up and we’ll meet back for dinner!”

I realize I’m not sure where to go. Barry leads Noric towards the room I used last year, obviously. I look around, lost.

“You’re in here with us,” says Jeffer. He and Garrick are headed towards the same room. “We figured they’d put you in with Mags, then we’d all be in groups of two. But the Capitol is very strict with there being a girls room and a guys room. So I guess this is the younger guys room.”

I chuckle. The Capitol is so weird. As though my rooming with Mags would be weirder than my rooming with Garrick and Jeffer. But whatever.

The room is about the same size as the one Noric now sleeps in. But now there are three beds. I change into something more comfortable and listen to Garrick and Jeffer fight over the bed near the bathroom.

“Every time you come out of the bathroom you knock into me. Every time. Just take the bed nearest to the bathroom and you won’t stub your foot on my bed and wake me.”

“Then I’ll wake up every time you flush the toilet.”

“How about I take that bed?” I say.

“I suppose that will work. But I’m not kidding when I say he’s annoying about the bathroom.”

I want to curl up and go to sleep immediately, but I didn’t eat lunch, so maybe dinner isn’t a terrible idea.

Noric and Marrot are already seated. As is Barry. Whoops. Maybe we should have come out sooner.

I know Mags usually scores the seat at the other end of the table, across from Barry, so I slide in next to Noric and hope I’m not taking anyone’s seat.

Once everyone is seated they start bringing out the food. And though I’ve been dreading this trip for months, I am happy to see the food is as good as I remember. The only good thing about the Capitol. I might as well enjoy it.

I try to pace myself, but it’s hard. Suddenly, I’m glad I skipped lunch. I eat the salad and the soup easily. It’s only by the main course do I start feeling full. I’m able to nibble at my dessert of chocolate cake with no fear of throwing up. I’m becoming a champion eater.

Throughout the meal, I try to pay attention to the small talk. But just like last year, I don’t recognize most of the names. But there are still a few I can follow. Barry mentions a rivalry between Harron and Seneca and I realize, with a jolt, I know all about this rivalry. Between Harron Gobsley, Head Gamemaker and Seneca Crane, the guy who’s trying to steal his job. I spoke to both after my games.

“I met Seneca Crane during the party at the President’s mansion,” I say. “He definitely doesn’t like me much.”

Barry nods, happy to jump in on the gossip. “You were such a hit! He’s jealous of Harron’s success. So I told Harron, I said, just let him stew. He’s just hoping you’ll overcompensate and trip yourself up.”

“Very brave of you,” Walsh says.

“Brave?” says Barry.

“Well, if Seneca Crane does become Head Gamemaker one day he might resent you for taking sides.”

Walsh says it with so much dread in his voice I can’t help but think he’s thinking about me too. Head Gamemakers are powerful. And if Crane already hates me…

Barry just waves him off. “The day obnoxious Seneca Crane becomes Head Gamemaker is the day I resign, because the Hunger Games will become a shamble under his leadership!”

Kent and I lock eyes and somehow we both manage to avoid pointing out how great the Games are now.

“But enough shop talk!” says Barry. “Let’s meet our newest company!”

Marrot drops her fork in shock. Then she turns beat red. Noric manages to keep some more dignity.

“Sure thing,” says Jeffer. “Marrot, right?”

Marrot, who is reaching for her fork, shoots back up straight and nods.

“How old are you, Marrot?”

I can tell he’s trying to be nice. But Marrot is clearly too intimidated to notice.

“Um,” she says. “Seventeen.”

I become very aware that I am, somehow, still the youngest at the table. And yes, I suppose there are only two years between me and Marrot, but those are an important two years. At least from where I’m sitting. If I won this year, I’d still have made history as the youngest person to win the Games.

“Okay. Of the top of your head, do you have any skills you could use in the arena?”

Marrot doesn’t even think about it. She just shakes her head.

“Well,” says Walsh. “What do you do. What’s your job?”

“I… I’m in packaging.”

By far the lowest paying job. She probably has tesserae. Maybe for a bunch of siblings too… No wonder she got reaped. Packaging is also not a very skill-oriented job.

“Okay. Well, I’m sure you have hidden talents. And you’ve got time to pick up some skills,” says Garrick.

But they’re just being nice. Suddenly, my knots are looking really good.

“So,” says Jeffer. “Noric, right?”

Noric nods, “that’s me.”

“Do you want to give us the rundown now?”

He does. He goes on a rant very similar to Mandy’s last year. But instead of talking about swords and strength, he rants about his aim.

Emma didn’t tell me this. Maybe she didn’t know. But apparently, he’s got the best aim in the TC. He can hit a bullseye with anything. A spear, a knife, an axe, an arrow. From a range of impressive distances that I can’t quite visualize.

“That’s good. Distance weapons are always good,” says Jeffer. “We can work with that. I’ll get into the nitty-gritty tomorrow. But for tonight we’ll leave it here. I’m your mentor. After breakfast, meet me here and we’ll start talking strategy. Are you okay if Finnick joins us? He’s training.”

Noric nods and smiles at me. As if reassuring me. Again, my age seems to be flipping the normal script. I am not the one who needs a comforting smile. I should be giving the comforting smile.

“Marrot, you’re with Mags. She’ll meet you in the viewing room. Where we watched the recap?”

Marrot nods slightly. She glances at Mags and then her eyes immediately return to her plate.

I almost want to shadow Mags too. I want to help Marrot and Noric. But I told Emma I’d watch over Noric, and I can’t break that promise. So I shake the feeling off.

Barry talks to the tributes about Opening Ceremonies for a moment and then sends us all to bed. Mags and Jeffer stay in the dining car, but I follow Noric out.

“I hear you had a wild party last night,” I say.

He laughs and pats my shoulder. “Yeah. I told Emma she should have brought you along. But she was in a mood. Anyway, some group we’ve got here, huh?”

“Barry is awful now, but when you get to the other people in the Capitol he’s downright normal. So distance weapons, huh? I had no idea. That’s cool.”

I’m over the moon about it. The fact some of the others are bigger than him means nothing now. I almost wish I could tell Emma how his odds just shot up in my head.

“Hey, I’m no slouch. I earned my place here.”

“Of course you did. That’s not what I meant.”

“No, I got you. That Jeffer guy is getting right to the point, huh?”

“He’s a good mentor. He’ll have good advice.”

“I’m sure. But I’ve been training for this for a while. I was more expecting him to want to talk about interviews and stuff.”

“That will come later. First it’s training scores.”

“I’ve got that covered.”

“Yeah, but Noric… Jeffer knows how the Gamemakers think. Obviously he’s not going to try and tell you how to throw a spear, but he can tell you how to put on a show to get the Gamemakers interested. And then there are the other Careers to think about. You want them to respect you, but you’ll have to fight them eventually, so you don’t want them knowing all your secrets. And—”

“—Finnick. Relax. I’ll figure all this out. See you tomorrow kid.”

He ruffles my hair and I realize my age has gotten in the way again. He’s not taking me seriously. But he needs to if I’m going to help him…

I’m realizing my age is going to have a bunch of unforeseen consequences this year.

Chapter Text

When I wake up, Jeffer is already awake. He’s lying on his back, staring at the train ceiling. I suppose being a mentor is stressful, even after all this time.

I pretend not to notice he’s awake. I get dressed and go out into the dining car. Marrot is the only one up, and she’s shoveling the rich Capitol food into her mouth like it might disappear. I’m sure that’s what I looked like last year, so I don’t pay any mind.

I fill my plate a reasonable amount. I make sure to grab a few things I’ve discovered are favorites. The orange melons I’ve learned are called cantaloupe, pancakes with chocolate chips, a banana, bacon, orange juice.

I now know enough not to wonder where Mags is. I know she never sleeps more than two hours at a time in the Capitol. She’d have gotten up at around four and taken her breakfast into the viewing car. I won’t see her until we reach the Capitol.

Part of me wonders if I should be learning how to mentor Marrot as well as Noric. I know that I will probably be added into the rotation Garrick and Jeffer have going on, but Mags is getting older. If she gets to a point where she doesn’t want to travel to the Capitol every year, shouldn’t I be the one to take her place? After all, I was once in Marrot’s position.

But I made a promise to Emma. I’ll stick with Noric this year. Besides, that’s what the other victors told me to do. Why question them?

Noric comes in, followed only a few minutes later by Kent.

Kent’s hungover, but not as hungover as he was last year. This feels odd to me. Why did he drink more last year?

Sure, I’ve learned in this past year that Kent is not a blackout alcoholic, at least not regularly. He’s an alcoholic, absolutely, but it’s more of a constant low-level drunkenness. He’s always a little drunk, and he’s good at hiding it. Unless the Hunger Games are involved. Hell, he got more drunk when I left for my Victory Tour. Could it have something to do with me? My age?

“Hey Finnick.”

Noric’s downright cheerful. I’m sure it’s just an act, but it still feels wrong.

“Hey.”

“Never seen food like this.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely the best part of the Capitol.”

I don’t want to engage in small talk with Noric. I want to tell him how to get a good training score. But I have to wait for Jeffer. And Jeffer is clearly letting Noric and Marrot eat in peace before coming in.

Garrick comes in and makes himself a plate, and a plate for Kent, who is just sipping some coffee. Kent wriggles his nose at the food, but after a while he does start nibbling on the toast.

“So,” says Noric. “Where’s my mentor?”

“Give him a few minutes,” says Garrick.

Garrick doesn’t elaborate, but I don’t want Noric thinking Jeffer is slacking off.

“He’s just letting you eat before getting down to business,” I assure him.

“Okay,” says Noric. “Where’s her mentor?”

Marrot looks up suddenly and blushes a deep red. I’ve only heard her speak once, and she didn’t exactly give us a speech. I don’t want to put her in the spotlight, it’s normal to be shocked into silence.

However… I wasn’t like this. I was loud and angry. I snapped at Barry and asked questions and tied knots. I suppose people show stress in different ways.

“Mags is probably already in the screening room. She wakes up early.”

Eventually, Jeffer arrives, closely followed by Barry. I now know Barry does not eat breakfast. He usually just has a coffee and a piece of fruit. I’m still annoyed by it, though. Barry leaves the car immediately, which is probably for the best.

Jeffer makes himself a plate and sits across from Noric. He’s right next to Marrot, which I think might be the reason she decides to stand and leave for the screening room.

Noric doesn’t seem as ready to talk strategy as I thought he’d be. He’s still very interested in his food. Jeffer doesn’t push.

After Noric seems done, I eventually give a slight nudge.

“So,” I say. “Strategy?”

Jeffer smiles at me, chuckling. The way he does when I act young or clueless. But I mean, we have about five hours until we arrive at the Capitol and we’ve got some ground to cover in that time.

“Sure,” says Noric. “So what’s this strategy about? What to do at the Cornucopia?”

Wow, he really knows nothing.

“We’ll get there,” says Jeffer. “Let’s talk about the three days of training you’ve got.”

“I’ve had quite a few years of training,” says Noric.

“Okay, good, rule number one. Never ever admit to having professional training in the Capitol. It’s technically illegal, and if someone from a lower district is feeling spiteful, they could report you and you’ll get a reduction in training score. Everyone knows, but you have to act like no one knows. The Capitol turns a blind eye, but they won’t ignore it if you brag about it.”

This is new to me. But when I think about it, none of my former allies ever explicitly mentioned they had training.

This piece of solid advice does seem to wake Noric up a bit. As though he’s gained a bit of respect for this whole mentorship thing.

“Alright, fine,” he says. “But the three days of training…”

“I’m not expecting you to learn anything,” says Jeffer. “Although picking up a skill can’t be a bad thing. We’ll get to that in a second. First things first, you need to get into the Career Pack. I’m sure the TC’s told you all about it. To get in, you have to impress your future allies with your skills. Show them you’re of a higher quality than the others, like they are. And you’ve got to keep an eye out for them, so you know they’re all up to snuff too.”

“They all volunteered,” says Noric. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

“There have been rare occurrences where someone from a Career District volunteers but isn’t trained enough. For a sibling or something. And then they try to bluff their way into the Career Pack. Don’t fall for it. Everyone in the pack should pull their weight.”

“What about the girl?” says Noric, gesturing to the door Marrot left through.

“Depends on her strategy. If she wants in, she’ll have to prove her worth just like the rest of you. But hers will be an uphill battle because she didn’t volunteer and isn’t as widely talented. Even Finnick only barely squeezed in last year, and you’ve seen how good he was. But who knows, she might not even try to get in. Try not to worry about her.”

Noric nods. “So I have to show off to the others.”

“Right. But there’s a tough needle to thread here, because you want them impressed enough not to try anything, but you don’t want them to know everything about you. You need something to use against them.”

“Finnick mentioned something like that,” he says, nodding.

Jeffer glances at me, smiling slightly. I shrug. He already knows I’m invested this year.

“Yeah. The main thing is that you want to save the most impressive thing you’ve got for the Gamemakers. You want people to be shocked and interested by your training score. You said you’ve got great aim.”

Noric nods.

“How’s your skills besides aim? Like with a sword, hand to hand, enough to get into the Career Pack?”

“How hard is it to get into?”

“For you? Not that hard. They’ll want five people. Any less, and they’ll be weak up front. But again, you don’t want them thinking you’re the weakling. For a number of reasons.”

“Like?”

Jeffer looks surprised at the question. “I figured it’d be obvious. Most volunteers hate the idea of looking weak.”

“That was Finnick’s whole strategy last year,” says Noric.

“Finnick was fourteen years old, he was reaped, and he was five foot nothing.”

“I was a little taller than that,” I say.

Jeffer ignores me.

“You volunteered. It’s obvious you’re better than the majority of the other tributes. Only an idiot is going to assume you’re not a threat, even if all you do is fumble around like a fool. Your allies aren’t going to let their guard down around someone who volunteered from Four. But if they think you’re easy prey, that might be a reason to kill you off early. And worse still, the Capitol audience might agree with them, and not sponsor you.”

“Not to mention,” Garrick offers. “Finnick’s strategy didn’t work as well as the Capitol implies. He almost got killed at the Cornucopia. Got caught and run off in the first week, lost his backpack. It was as though he was never in the Career Pack in the first place. Finnick was saved by sponsors. And relying on sponsors is never a good strategy going in.”

I chuckle, because he’s right, of course. My strategy was good in theory. It got me almost a week of safety. But all in all, my plan did not work at all. Besides maybe keeping the Capitol so entertained that I got more sponsors.

“So back to my question,” says Jeffer. “Are you good enough to gain respect without aim?”

Noric thinks about that for a few seconds.

“I’m not the best at hand to hand,” he admits. “Better than most of the tributes will be, but compared to people like Mandy Tarlek, I’m not much to behold. I can hold my own.”

“Mandy was an extreme,” says Jeffer. “Can you look competent with these weapons? Capable of killing?”

“Yeah,” says Noric. “Definitely.”

“Good. Stay away from distance weapons. Throwing knives, bows, whatever. You can maybe throw a spear that first day. But not from a really impressive distance. Just match the others.”

“What about in the arena?” says Noric.

“Use everything at your disposal in the arena. Don’t hold back, even if your allies are watching. The first few times, they might think it’s just good luck. In the arena, the only strategy is to stay alive.”

“Alright.”

“In your one-on-one meeting with the Gamemakers be sure to show them everything you can do. Be impressive.”

“Of course.”

“Alright. So for that very first day of training, you show off, but keep it reeled in. Once you’re in the alliance, you can start experimenting.”

“I think I’m alright, training wise,” says Noric.

“You think that because you’re stupid,” says Jeffer.

Noric looks completely shocked. I wish Jeffer would be nicer. I know that sometimes he gets a bit harsh. He’s half kidding. But if Noric doesn’t trust him, he won’t take Jeffer’s advice.

“What Jeffer means, is…” I start. “Wait… what do you mean?”

Kent laughs, which is a nice sign of life, because I wasn’t sure if he was still awake.

“Those three days of training can be gold if you use them right,” says Jeffer. “don’t get cocky or act stupid. You’d be surprised what you can learn. I know, occasionally, the TC teaches some survival skills, but how much do you have? Lighting fires?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Both with and without matches?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. What about finding food?”

“I’ll have the supplies at the Cornucopia.”

“Unless it gets destroyed like it did last year. But beyond that, going to the edible plant section can give you hints on what the arena will look like.”

This has caught Noric’s attention. After all, the arena’s terrain is the one unknown factor left.

“Really?”

“It won’t tell you everything. But if it’s an exotic climate, there will be exotic plants. There are a few sections that can help with that. Camoflague. If they make you work with leaves and mud a lot you can expect a forest. If it’s mostly sandy dirt, that might indicate a desert climate. Building shelter. If they’re focusing on ways to trap heat, expect cold nights. If they’re telling you how to shelter against wind or rain? Well, you get the gist. It never hurts to stop in for a few second to see what they’re teaching.”

“Alright I will.”

“And then there’s some logical strategies for you.”

“Logical strategies?”  

“Yeah. How fast are you?”

“Fast enough. Hundred yards in 9.5 seconds is my record.”

“Yeah, on a flat surface though, so that’s useless. But you’re fast.”

“I’m fast.”

“Can you climb?”

“Climb what?”

“Whatever is there. Trees, cliffs, rocks.”

“I can climb.”

“How fast?”

“I’ve never clocked it. What does it matter.”

Jeffer, Garrick, and Kent all huff sighs.

Jeffer turns to me before he answers. “Just for the record, we have tried to give the TC tips like this in the past, they just ignore us.”

He’s remembering our conversation, almost a year ago, when I asked him if they help out in the TC. I haven’t brought it up since, but I have been thinking about it recently. I nod, showing him I understand, and I don’t blame him for Noric being unprepared.

“You’re thing is distance weapons,” Jeffer explains. “So it’s usually a good idea to have some distance between you and the person you’re fighting. Climbing up a tree or cliffside, running a good distance and turning around before they catch you, this has to be your strategy. Never get up close to someone you’re fighting if you can avoid it. You’re probably the smallest career in the arena. Don’t let them jump you.”

“Distance weapons can be gold if you know how to use them,” says Kent, taking small sips of water. “The other careers can block a sword. They can’t block a knife shooting at them at 35 miles per hour.”

“You can run the arena with a good distance weapon,” Garrick agrees. “As long as they never catch up to you. Find high ground, keep your distance.”

“Except you’re in an alliance,” says Jeffer. “And they’re going to expect you to stand within arm’s length of them. So the most important skill you need to learn is how to put distance between yourself and your allies the second things get heated. That means being able to climb any nearby tree before they know what you’re doing, outrun them in any terrain. I don’t doubt your aim, kid. But your aim will mean jack shit in a fistfight.”

Noric thinks about this for a second. At last he nods. “I’m sure I can outrun them.”

“Sure. That’s not something you could learn anyway. But there’s a rock-climbing station. The guy who runs it is named Hod. On the second day, when all of your allies are busy, approach him and tell him you want to learn a speed runner’s course. He’ll probably make you climb a few times to be sure you can and then he’ll show you an absolutely wild way of climbing. Basically it’s how to climb super fast. You’ll feel like you’re going to fall every second you do it—there’s a lot of jumping around while you’re high off the ground— but make sure you get as good as possible. Then there are some hand-to-hand stations. When the station is free, go up to the middle weight section, his name is Dee, and tell him you want to learn some conflict avoidance strategies. He’s teach you how to hop around people until you can trip them. Then you run, and make distance. Got it?”

“Sure. Sounds easy enough.”

But Noric doesn’t look pleased. I can almost figure out why. He doesn’t want to admit that the TC may have given him a subpar education. But he’s got to get over that. This isn’t about pride.

“Alright.”

Jeffer takes out an envelope. I have no idea what’s inside.

“Here are your allies,” he says. He places four pictures in front of Noric. All of them are from the reapings. But they’re close up, and you can get a good look at the body-types. “Just in case you couldn’t remember what a few of them looked like. Also, I’d like to point out that Horiont, the escort for District One, is six feet tall.”

I almost choke on my water. Both of the tributes from one are taller than the Capitol man who stands between them. I know Jeffer said Noric was possibly the smallest Career, but I had no idea how accurate that would be.

“Most of these kids are probably going to be using brute force. Which is good. Because these four are all fighting for the same specialty, meanwhile you’ve got something different. But pay close attention to what they do in training.”

“Won’t they be hiding things just like me?”

“Probably. But we can still learn a bit.”

They talk about the other careers for another hour, just based on the pictures. Finally, the train car starts to slow down.

“We’re almost there,” says Jeffer. “Fifteen minutes, tops.”

I scowl, mostly to myself. A month in the Capitol. This is sure to be rough.

Noric rushes to the window. I’m almost embarrassed for him. But then again, it makes sense. He wants to see the Capitol, something he’s only ever seen on tv. If I hadn’t been in the screening room when we rolled in a year ago, I’d probably have done the same thing.

As we roll into the station, a bunch of Capitol audience members come into view, jumping and waving signs. Even from my cheap seat, I can see a few signs with my name on them. Noric waves at them, which is a good idea for sponsorship reasons.

“Okay,” says Jeffer. “One more thing. Be nice to your stylist. Her name is Rujeria and she can be testy when annoyed. Don’t question what she puts you in or huff and puff. You’ll wear it anyway and she’ll just hate you for it.”

Noric nods.

Marrot and Mags emerge, followed closely by Walsh. Marrot looks even more timid than she did yesterday.

“How’d it go?” I ask Mags softly.

She shrugs, which probably isn’t a good sign.

When we arrive in the Capitol, the tributes get ushered off to meet their stylists. I’m pulled along with the other Victors and we head towards the Tribute Center.

“Do we just sit around until Opening Ceremonies?” I ask.

“No,” says Walsh. “We have a stylist of our own. Her names Hariot. She’s been trying to become an actual stylist for like six years now. Don’t worry, nothing as extreme as what the kids are going through.”

“So this is how you become a stylist like Rujeria? You work your way up by making clothes for past Victors?”

“Basically, yeah. I’m not sure what the process actually entails. But each year she doesn’t get selected Hariot gets a bit more testy.”

We walk through the Tribute Center, right to the elevator, and up to the fourth floor. Lo and behold there is a woman waiting for us. She has a completely shaved head and looks about thirty. Maybe thirty-five. She introduces herself as Hariot and says she’ll be starting with me.

I’m immediately whisked away into a room I’ve never been in, but I assume is Mags’s room, because there’s only one bed set up. She doesn’t have a team to help her, but she’s very efficient. She makes me take a very quick shower and then puts me in a rob and focuses on my hair.

“You don’t have any interviews today,” she explains. “So no need for any makeup. But I can do your hair now.”

She cuts it slightly, and sticks it up just like the Rujeria used to. Then she spreads something over my face and lets it sit. I remember last year my prep team did this, and I didn’t feel anything when they pulled it off. But this year I feel something. I realize it’s to keep me from growing a beard. I’ve only just barely started shaving. And even then, I don’t really need to more than once every few weeks. But I suppose now I really won’t need to.

She does the same thing under my arms, which hurts more, and then she gives me an outfit.

“You’re probably going to be on camera a lot,” she tells me. “That’s good. This might be just what I need to be noticed by the higher ups. I got here a few years after Garrick won. I’ve never had my designs in any sort of spotlight. Easily overlooked, that’s what’s been happening.”

I put on her outfit and I immediately get the sense that she’s been passed up for the promotion for a few other reasons too.

It’s not terrible, but it’s very… bright. She’s trying too hard. I’m wearing a three-piece suit. The jacket and vest are white, with gold lining. The shirt is a nice dark blue, but ruined by more white and (oddly) red designs. I wish it was the other way around, that the white was the shirt and the blue was the vest. But you can’t have it all. My tie is the same color as the shirt, which is kind of weird. It’s not too bad. But it’s definitely not attractive. I look a little ridiculous.

She asks me to take off Emma’s necklace, because it clashes with the suit. I scowl, but comply. She lets keep on the bracelet, though, because the suit is long enough to hide it.

She then sends me away and takes Garrick. Once she and Garrick leave the main room the others start laughing. Except Barry, who looks annoyed.

“You look great, kid,” says Kent. “White is your color. You and President Snow can start a club.”

I laugh along, because it’s not my fault I look terrible. But Barry is not amused.

“You’d think, now that we have a new Victor, they’d give us someone with a bit more talent!” says Barry. “Thank goodness I get to wear my own clothes.”

I hold in laughter when looking at Barry’s signature purple suit and pinstriped pants. Whatever. At least he’s got a brand.

Garrick looks much better than I do. He’s wearing a simple suit with a flannel pattered tie. Not great, but a normal not great. The others have similar issues. Finally Mags comes back wearing a dress, which is odd now that I’ve seen her in everyday clothing, and we say goodbye to Harion.

“How often is she here?” I ask.

“Oh, for the whole ride,” says Garrick. “Especially if you’re going on camera. So the mentors get her every day once the Games start.”

“I can’t wait,” I say.

“You do look particularly bad. Why did she do this to you? You’re so formal.”

I shrug but Walsh just sighs. “She’s overcompensating. Like how Rujeria talked last year. She finally had a good canvas. Except, like it or not, Rujeria actually knew what to do with him.”

“It’s absurd,” says Barry. “I have half a mind to complain to the higher ups.”

“Go for it,” says Jeffer.

Barry looks a bit uncomfortable at the thought. Perhaps he doesn’t want to start drama.

“If it keeps up like this I just might!” he says. “But for now I should get going. I have a few people to talk to before Opening Ceremonies.”

I wait for him to leave before I ask.

“People to talk to? Like Gamemakers?”

“Maybe. Most likely just rich, highborn people in the Capitol who want to hear the inside scoop. Barry’s not exactly a member of high society. This is when he gets to feel important.”

“So how horrible to I look, really?”

Walsh waves me off. “It might be a blessing in disguise. Keep the camera’s off of you.”

I decide I’m all for that, so I let it go.

Garrick and Jeffer show me to our room and I, yet again, take the bed by the bathroom. I stick Emma’s necklace on the bedside table and take a few deep breaths.

I haven’t had a panic attack since the reaping, but I’m very aware anything might set me off. I was nervous about the arena, but who knows what else might happen? I need to keep my head on straight.

Barry doesn’t show up for lunch, which makes the meal rather enjoyable. It’s a light lunch, because it’s late, but there’s no unnecessary small talk. Kent and Walsh are late, but then they come in from the elevator and start informing the others on which Victors are here and who is mentoring who.

I knew they are friends with many of the Victors, but now I’m realizing I will officially meet all these people, and spend a lot of time with them. Of course, I met all of them on the Victory Tour, but I was so stressed during that tour I don’t really remember any of them.

“Didn’t see Haymitch,” says Kent. “Twelfth floor was empty. He’s probably passed out in his bathroom. But we’ve got all three District Eleven victors this year, although we didn’t see Elina.”

“Did you ask Seeder why she wasn’t here last year?” says Jeffer.

“Yeah, and she was vague. I stopped prying. Anyway, it looks like everyone but Hornet from Seven.”

“Not surprising,” says Garrick.

“Why is that not surprising,” I ask.

“Oh, his Games weren’t very exciting. He doesn’t have a lot of fans. And there are three other Victors from seven so he doesn’t need to come.”

“Why do you all come, then?”

“We’re from Four,” says Walsh. “We’re considered a more exciting district. They want us all to be here.”

Well, I’m learning new things. That’s good, I suppose.

One of the Capitol servants walks in and offers us another menu.

“No, we’re done, thank you,” says Jeffer kindly.

She leaves, and I’m a bit confused.

“Why didn’t she just ask?”

They all look at me for a moment in shock.

“You don’t know?” says Garrick. “I… can’t believe that. You’ve been to the Capitol twice.”

“He spent most of that time in huge parties and arenas,” says Walsh. “And he’s just a kid.”

“What?” I say, annoyed. “What is it?”

“The people in the white uniforms,” says Garrick, “those are Avoxes. You know…”

I don’t know. I wait for him to continue. Garrick’s eyes dart around. Like my dad’s do when he’s about to say something that could get him in trouble.

“They’re… servants. They usually committed some sort of crime, so the Capitol cuts out their tongues so they can’t speak and puts them to work.”

Slaves. That’s the word Garrick was going to use before settling on servants. Slaves who have their tongues cut out. I close my mouth hard, as though that would stop them from taking mine.

My mind wanders, briefly, to what the Capitol did to my chest and stomach. I’ve gotten over it, mostly, because I’ve grown so much since then I can’t even tell what they did anymore. I grew into it. But the disrespect of bodily autonomy does give me pause again.

“Don’t dwell on it,” says Walsh. “There’s nothing you can do.”

But how could I not dwell? Where did these people come from? Not the Capitol, surely. So… the Districts? I’ve never known anyone to just be carted off in District Four, never to be seen again. If you commit a crime that terrible, they just hang you. But I’ve seen hundreds of these people in the white uniforms… I don’t understand.

I spend the rest of the day trying not to pay attention to the Avoxes. Mags and I sit on the couch and knit, which is relaxing. Finally, Barry returns and it’s time to watch the Opening Ceremonies.

I assume we’ll all head down to the basement of the Tribute Center, where the chariots and tributes will arrive. But only Jeffer and Barry head down there. I suppose I only really saw Barry down there last year. Garrick might have been down there too… talking to another victor… I can’t remember. Bus certainly no more than the two of them.

I follow the rest of the victors out of the building and towards an observation box looking down on the square.

We enter a room with at least thirty other people. The victors.

I recognize most of them, at least vaguely, from either their own Hunger Games or their mentoring days. A few greet the other District Four victors. Every once in a while someone greets me. But people mostly leave me alone.

I never realized all the victors watch in the same place. Although I suppose we’ll all stay grouped together. If for no other reason than it’s easier for the Capitol to keep tabs on us.

There’s a section for District Four. Some seats have been put out for each of us, with our names on the back. I sit in my chair. I’m front and center. In front of Kent, next to Garrick.

On my other side sits a man from District Three. He looks very familiar, but I can’t recall his name. Unlike some others, he does not seem interested in talking to me or introducing himself.

I’m a little surprised by the uneven number of victors in each District. I know Four is a career district, so we have more victors than usual. But District Three appears to only have one victor present, the man I’m sitting next to. There must be someone down waiting to collect the tributes, but still. That only makes two. And on our other side, District Five only has two women in attendance. Four feels very large, squeezed in between them.

I’m about to try and introduce myself to the man from Three next to me before I remember Jargon. Was he Jargon’s mentor? Even if he wasn’t, he’d have known him. I decide not to speak.  

Kent, however, is very social. As is Walsh. They both stand and rush off to talk to people they know. Garrick and Mags stay seated. However, Garrick does make polite conversation with a few people. And everyone walking by greets Mags. They seem to have nothing but respect for her.

“She’s the oldest here,” Garrick explains.

“Everyone before her is dead?” I ask. It’s only been sixty-five years. And victors have access to good medicine and plenty of food.

“We’re not sure. Before Mags, people were just sent home after the Games. No riches, no Victor’s Village, no nothing. They didn’t even keep tabs on them. By the time this whole mentorship thing kicked in with past Victors, I guess they just decided to not hunt them down.”

“The very first victor killed himself the day he got home,” said the man from Three, who must have been listening.

“How could you possibly know that, Beetee?”

Kent has reappeared. He plops down in an empty seat next to Beetee and takes a flask from his breast pocket. “I know for a fact the first victor was from Two, so it’s not like an urban legend.”

“He was from Two,” says Beetee. “I learned it from an old Gamemaker. About twenty years ago. We were having a debate, of sorts.”

“I don’t wanna know what that debate was about,” says Kent, taking a long pull from his flask.

“No, I don’t think you do. Anyway, yes, Mags is the oldest victor. Though not in age.”

“Right, Flint from One is technically older. He won the twelfth Games at eighteen and Mags won the eleventh at sixteen. But we count Mags as the oldest because she’s been here the longest.”

Beetee is flipping through a small pamphlet I didn’t notice before. I grab my own, which was wedged into the side of my seat, but before I can look through it Beetee starts taking again.

“My tribute is the youngest. Not that I didn’t assume,” says Beetee.

He must be the mentor of the twelve-year-old boy. I nod solemnly, but Beetee does not appear to be looking for sympathy. He’s just stating a fact.

“Who’s next?” says Garrick. “That girl from Twelve?”

The blonde girl with the pigtails did look very young. Although that may have been because the boy had been so large.

“Hmm,” says Beetee. “When’s your birthday, Finnick?”

I jump, surprised. “What? Two weeks ago. Why?”

“Well, then the next youngest is Finnick. Then the girl from Twelve, probably.”

“Now that’s something we’ve never seen before,” says a woman who was walking by.

She sits and snatches up a stray booklet, looking for herself.

I recognize this woman. Cecelia from Eight. She was the boy from Eight’s mentor. I could ask her his name right now, but something stops me. Maybe now it’s just best I never know…

Despite my recognizing her, she introduces herself to me, very friendly.

“I know we met on the tour, but you seemed frazzled, so I figured I’d do it again.”

“I was. Frazzled, that is. Nice to meet you, officially.”

“Your career is short this year,” says Cecelia to Garrick and Kent.

“He’s not short, the kid he volunteered for was just tall,” says Garrick.

“Short.”

“Fine, he’s a little short,” says Kent. “But hey, so is Finnick.”

“Hey!” I say. “What’s with all the height jabs recently?”

“It’s an easy way to drive you crazy.”

 The lights flicker, telling everyone to take their seats. Cecelia vanishes as a camera crew walks into our box. I straighten slightly. The chariots are due any minute, and I suppose the cameras want to show something other than the Capitol crowds.

I pay close attention to the screen, trying to pretend I don’t even notice the cameras. But this works out poorly when, in going down the line of well-dressed victors, the camera stops on me.

I wave awkwardly. On the screen I can just barely hear Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith telling the audience that I’ll be learning the ropes for mentorship this year.

Luckily, the cameras don’t stick around. And only a few seconds later, the first chariot makes an appearance.

I’ve never found the Opening Ceremonies very interesting. The costumes feel the same every year, just a weird grasp at representing a District these people have never seen and don’t understand. It’s always a little silly, seeing kids paraded around in costumes. I get no new appreciation for it now that I’m here in person.

The costumes from One are at least nice to look at. Noric seems to have scales painted on him like a fish, which is unfortunate. Marrot looks nice in a blue dress with seaweed designs. But it’s nothing special.

There’s a nice-looking girl from Seven, dressed like a tree, who looks like a fan favorite. By the time Twelve comes out in some sort of generic coal mining outfit, I’m officially bored.

They parade around for a while. Finally, they stop at the President’s Mansion, and he comes out to give his speech.

I’ve only met the president once. And it wasn’t a real meeting, he just crowned me victor. But ever since I’ve been a bit freaked by the man. I know, technically, he did not invent the Hunger Games. But he’s been president my whole life and I can’t help but attribute the Games, as well as the poverty and whatever else is wrong with Panem, to him and him alone. Although I suppose if I had to blame anyone…

Finally, they roll everyone into the Tribute Center and we’re free to leave.

Beetee and I stand at the same time.

“Nice to meet you, Finnick,” he says, shaking my hand.

“And you,” I say.

I think of Jargon again. Should I apologize? Say something, anything?

I start walking away, but we’re headed in the same direction and he follows me. I have to address it. If for no other reason than this man seems perfectly normal. Quirky, but not a serial killer, and I’m not sure how many victors I’m going to be able to become friends with.

“I’m sorry about Jargon, last year.”

Beetee seems surprised. Surprised I even spoke to him again. He looks at me for a long while.

“Jargon… ah, yes. You were the one to kill him. I forgot.”

Now I wish I hadn’t brought it up. He didn’t even remember.

“He wasn’t mine,” Beetee explains. “I had Analee. Nice girl. Had a crush on you, which was unfortunate.”

“What?”

“Oh, yes. Sometimes it does happen. Teenage minds pumped full of adrenaline. The perfect breeding ground for crushes.”

I first started having feelings for Emma during the Hunger Games… but I push that out of my mind.

“She lasted a long time, too. But in the end it just wasn’t for her. Wiress and I switch off. It’s just the two of us, so we go back and forth each year, boy girl boy. Just to mix things up. The hard truth is that you need at least some type of skill to win the games, and our kids sit inside with computers all day. Although that’s better than some other Districts. District Six kids only know basic mechanics, very unhelpful. And kids from Twelve don’t even enter the mines until they’re eighteen, so there’s no particular skills for any of them. Meanwhile you had your spearfishing, which helped. Analee was good with wiring, so I gave her an idea to electrify water as a weapon. But you know that arena. Everything was wet but we didn’t have any water. Too bad…”

He's rambling. But it’s interesting stuff, so I let him.

The idea that all Victors are survivors is good. I agree with it, and it helps me understand it on a moral level. But obviously there is more to it than that. When I thought about skill, I always thought about the training center. But Beetee is bringing up an interesting point. Some kids have skills because of their daily jobs. Like me.

Beetee and I ride the elevator together. He gets out on three, and then I have a quick ride up to Four.

Mags isn’t there yet. But Garrick, Walsh, and Kent are all talking in the main sitting area.

“How’d you like Opening Ceremonies?” says Walsh.

“Long,” I say.

“Yeah,” says Kent. “But don’t worry, now we get to watch it again.”

“Fantastic.”

The elevator opens and I hear a few voices, including Cecelia from Eight, calling goodbye. Mags appears moments later.

She pats my cheek and asks me how I’m feeling.

“Finnick made a friend already,” says Kent.

Mags’s eyebrows shoot up. She asks who.

“Volts,” says Kent.

Walsh and Garrick both laugh, but Mags nods knowingly.

“Volts?” I say.

“Nickname for Beetee,” says Garrick. “But it only makes sense when we’re referring to him and Wiress. Nuts and Volts. Our beloved victors from District Three.”

“Why is she called Nuts?”

“She’s got some arena sickness.”

“Whats—”

But before I can ask, the elevator door opens and Barry comes bounding in with Jeffer, Marrot, and Noric.

“You two go change for dinner!” says Barry happily.

They both seem relieved. I don’t blame them. Noric’s costume in particular looks very uncomfortable.

“I would also like to change if that’s allowed,” I say.

“Please do,” says Barry, glaring at my white suit.

We all change quickly and meet back in the dining room.

“So how stupid did I look?” Noric asks me, sitting next to me.

“Actually, the growing consensus is I looked worse than you.”

“What?”

“Hey Barry,” I call, looking over my shoulder to make sure Rujeria isn’t here. “who looked worse, me or Noric.”

“Oh, you,” says Barry quickly. “By far.”

I love it when Barry plays along. Kent and Garrick are both chackling into their plates.

“Anyway, don’t worry about the Opening Ceremony costumes. They are what they are. And they mean nothing.”

Noric nods. “Very wise,” he says.

He’s poking fun at me talking with such authority. And I guess it is a bit silly, seeing as I’m so much younger than him.

The stylists enter and we all applaud their fine handiwork. I haven’t been looking forward to this. And I was right not to. Rujeria immediately pulls me into an uncomfortable hug and then asks me what I did to my reaping outfit.

“It looked horrible! Did you cut up the pant leg?”

“I apologize Rujeria,” says Barry. “That was my fault. I left the boy alone for twenty seconds and he gets harassed by a Peacekeeper! I swear, they’re lucky I was on a tight schedule. I had half a mind to get them all fired then and there.”

What happens to a Peacekeeper if they’re fired? Do they simply go back home? I vaguely recall being a Peacekeeper is considered a punishment in District Two and the Capitol. If you mess up on your punishment what happens? Do you get shipped to the Capitol and turned into an Avox? Now I’m glad I didn’t get the guy’s badge number. Sure, he sucked. But he didn’t deserve that.

“Why did you get harassed?” says Rujeria, taking the seat on my other side.

“Uh, he thought I was trying to avoid the reaping pool. I was walking away from the sign-in table.”

“What were you doing over there anyway?” asks Noric. “Why weren’t you on stage?”

I lock eyes with him for a moment. Somehow, it feels important that I tell him where I was.

“I was just giving a sad friend some company.”

His eyes widen with understanding for a moment. Then he turns away. He knows what I mean. There’s only one friend who would be free to walk with me. 

The group moves on. We all congratulate Rujeria and Elenore on their outfits a few more times. We eat a delicious dinner and the move into the sitting area to watch the replay.

It’s the same as I remember. But at one point they show me on screen and Noric leans over.

“You’re right, you do look worse.”

“So there you go, you’re welcome,” I reply.

He chuckles slightly. Of course, if he had been sitting next to a bunch of normally dressed people, he’d have looked much worse than me. But there’s something about being paraded around by blue horses that lets him get away with being dressed like a giant fish.

We all congratulate the stylists once more, although I can’t help but feel this is a step down from last year. Once they leave, Barry orders the tributes to bed.

“I’ll see you all in the morning,” he says. “Big day!”

The other victors are making their way towards the dining room table, but Noric taps me on the shoulder and gestures for me to walk with him.

“I’ll be right there,” I tell Jeffer.

Once Marrot closes her door Noric turns to me.

“So you walked Emma to the sign up,” he says.

“Yeah. It wasn’t a big deal. I had nothing to worry about and her name was still in that bowl this year. I get why your parents wanted to walk down with you, though.”

“She could have stayed at moms. This whole year she’s been acting weird.”

“Well, yeah. She’s worried about you.”

“She was never worried before,” says Noric.

“She saw me in the arena last year, though,” I say. “It’s more personal for her now. I think it’s different when you know someone in there. You’ve always known someone, so you’re used to it.”

“She kept telling me to listen to your advice and stuff.”

“I think that’s just stress. She wants to be able to control this, you know? But my advice is to listen to Jeffer. He knows what he’s talking about. He’s been a mentor for a long time.”

“He did have some good points today,” Noric sighs. “But I thought mentor stuff was more about sponsors.”

“This is about sponsors. The Gamemakers watch the tributes every day of training, but only score the last day. If you shock them, you get a higher score.”

“What about interviews?”

“Trust me, we’ll get to that. We’ve got a whole day of interview prep.”

“Well. Thanks for looking out for Emma. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I walk back into the dining room. I feel like that went well. Maybe Noric will have more of an open mind now.

“What’d he want?” says Jeffer as I walk in.

“Oh, we just talked about Emma.”

Jeffer nods. “The distance weapon thing is a good sign. If he can do it right he could win this. How’s the girl?”

Mags shakes her head sadly.

“What?” I say.

No one answers. But I know what they’re implying.

“She could still… how can you be sure after so little time?”

“I mean,” says Walsh. “If she doesn’t try, there’s nothing we can do.”

“But I didn’t try either.”

“No Finnick, all you did was try,” says Garrick. “You were upset and you thought it was pointless but you never stopped trying. You fought tooth and nail from the moment you landed on the train.”

Mags gently explains her time with Marrot. Marrot does not want to be in the career pack, she starts to hyperventilate when talking about the bloodbath or where to find food, hasn’t thought of any weapons she could get used to using. All Mags can get her to talk about is home. What she did for work, who she left behind. She has no plan for feeding herself or living past day one and she refuses to make a plan. She refuses to acknowledge she’s going into the arena at all.

“She could still surprise us,” says Jeffer. “But I doubt it.”

So do I. If she is refusing to even admit she’s going into the arena… she’ll die at the Cornucopia, during the bloodbath. Or three days later when she starves to death. And that will be it.

And though I don’t know her, I become very depressed by this. How could it already be over?

But there’s Noric. And Emma. Noric may still have a chance. I have to stay positive.

“Let’s just go to bed,” says Walsh. “We’ll see what happens tomorrow.”

When Mags hugs me goodnight I wonder what she’s going to do for the rest of her time here. She was such a great mentor to me, but…

But then I’m crawling into bed and thinking about Emma. I slide her pearl necklace back on and wonder what she’s thinking right now. But I have no idea.

Chapter Text

I meet Jeffer, Mags, Noric, and Marrot in the dining room before their first training session. Jeffer and Noric sit off to the side and go over the first day strategy. I decide to sit with Mags and Marrot.

Mags is explaining what the set-up will look like, but Marrot appears to be having trouble paying attention. She keeps shaking, ever so slightly, to the point where I think I might be imagining it.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “You can just start small if you want. Learn how to light a fire, or go to the edible plants section.”

She nods slightly, but her heart doesn’t seem to be in it. Mags pats her on the back and makes some soothing noises. Then Barry ushers Marrot and Noric into the elevator and they’re gone.

“So do we just hang out today?” I ask.

“Nope,” says Jeffer. “Around ten Harion will show up and we’ve got a little party to attend.”

“What?”

“All the Victors get whisked off here and there during the Games. To meet with people from the Capitol.”

“You guys never mentioned this before!” I say.

“Well, why ruin your month letting you dwell on it?”

I sink into my chair, dejected. “How do you stand it every year?” I say.

“It helps to make friends with the other victors. They’ll all be there. Some of them are weird but there are a lot of good people too.”

I nod. It’s harder for me to let my guard down around these victors from other Districts, because they probably killed a tribute from Four to get here. But that’s stupid. They’re the same as me. I should make an effort.

Harion shows up just as Walsh is pulling himself out of bed. She takes me first again, and brings me into the room I now know belongs to Mags. Mags lets her use it because she keeps it cleaner than the boys.

Harion puts me in yet another terrible looking suit. This one has a yellow and purple pattern, two colors that should never go together. But oh well. She also puts on a bit of make-up, which is much more subtle.

Again, she makes me take off Emma’s necklace. And I also am forced to take off the bracelet this time, because this suit doesn’t hide it. I put them on my bedside table and sulk until everyone else is ready.

We’re all ushered into a car by Barry and then we’re off. Though I have no idea where we’re going. I’ve never been around the Capitol before. Just the Tribute Center and the President’s Mansion. But we drive away from the main square to a smaller banquet hall.

Capitol citizens are slowly arriving, and many stop and wave at us as we enter. But when we get inside, it’s not as bad as I thought it would be.

It’s a very relaxed atmosphere. There’s a small buffet set up in one corner, and then a bunch of standing tables scattered around. Nothing like the grand parties I was forced to attend after my Games and during the Victory Tour.

I can already spot a few Victors. Only One, Two, and Three are there. How tidy of them to drive us here by District number… My fellow District Four Victors immediately gravitate towards their own kind. My plan is to stick close to Mags, but when she plops herself down in conversation with Lyme and Hestia from Two I have to excuse myself.

I know I told myself I’d give all the Victors a chance. But do I really have to be around Lyme just yet? Baby steps.

I see Jeffer talking to the Dartworth siblings: Gloss and Cashmere. They’re the youngest Victors, apart from me. Maybe it’s a good place to start.

I wander over, and when I get within a few feet Jeffer calls me in to join the conversation.

“Great,” says Jeffer. “Finnick, this is Cashmere and Gloss.”

“I know,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”

They look like they came straight out of those dirty books that get passed around the fisheries. Brother and sister, they could be twins, blonde hair, blue eyes. Gloss muscular and sturdy, Cashmere leggy with curves. Beautiful, but in an almost over-the-top, obvious kind of way.

“Wow, you’re young,” says Cashmere.

I feel this only adds to the awkwardness.

“Oh… I mean, sure.”

I realize she does look much older than I do. And that’s because she is. She’s twenty years old. Five whole years above me.

“Did you grow a lot in the last year?” says Gloss.

“Huh?”

“I can’t imagine you did, I mean. If you grew a lot Spark lost a fist fight with like… a toddler. I can understand, once you had a trident, but you beat her with a length of rope.”

“I… what?”

I look to Jeffer for help, but he’s just laughing.

“I… don’t know how much I grew since last year. I’m sorry about the whole Spark thing, if you knew her.”

Gloss shrugs, as if it’s the last thing he was thinking about. He is much more concerned with my height.

“I didn’t not know her. But we didn’t have a history if that’s what you mean. Two different bakeries.”

“Bakeries?”

“That’s what we refer to the TC as,” says Jeffer quietly. “Training at the same TC is going to the same bakery.”

“Why bakery?”

Jeffer shrugs, as if this doesn’t matter at all.

“Okay… so in One there’s more than one… bakery?” I say.

“We’ve got three of them,” says Cashmere. “Although that’s nothing compared to Two. They’ve got like eight.”

“Eight?” I say.

“They’re not all official,” says Jeffer.

“I thought none of them were official.”

“Some of them are even less official,” says Cashmere.

I don’t know how to respond to that, but fortunately I don’t need to, because District Six enters and one of the male Victors, whose name I don’t think I’ve ever known, wanders over.

“Guess who started doing morphling,” he deadpans.

“You,” says Jeffer.

“I wish.”

“Anna-Clare,” says Gloss.

The man taps his nose to show Gloss he’s correct.

“Ron got to her,” says Jeffer.

“I wish he’d keep his addiction to himself,” says the man. “Anna was the one sane person I had left.”

“You have Cella,” says Jeffer.

“Shut up.”

“Well, we’re dealing with a similar issue,” says Jeffer.

“Kent giving you a hard time?”

“What? No, Kent’s getting the hard time. It’s a long story.”

The man eats something off Jeffer’s plate and then notices me for the first time.

“Oh, hey, it’s the new kid.”

Jeffer introduces us and I finally learn the man’s name is Gear. He also comments on my being young, which is starting to get annoying. But before I can start making smart comments about it, three Capitol women approach us and we’re forced to stand for pictures with them.

They’re very interested in me and the siblings, pushing Jeffer and Gear to the side. Which I suppose makes sense, we’re the newest Victors, but it’s still annoying.

I’m standing off to the side with Cashmere, when one of the women remarks that we make a handsome couple. I’m a bit revolted by this, but so is Cashmere, so it’s fine.

“He’s got some growing up to do before he’s in my league,” says Cashmere.”

“What do you mean?” says one of the woman.

Cashmere gestures to me, “he’s like eight!”

Again, my age is brought up in a demeaning way. And again, everyone seems to find it funny. Although this particular circumstance isn’t too bad, because Cashmere is twenty and the thought of us being a couple is a bit disturbing. I’m glad she’s also confused by it.

Once Cashmere and I finally shake the Capitol women I’ve completely lost sight of Jeffer or any of my fellow District Four Victors. Gloss is still locked in their clutches, and Cashmere is standing off to the side, waiting for him with a scowl on her face. I’m debating whether she would rather me stay or leave when she speaks.

“So you were a fisher,” she says, almost bored. “Like on a boat.”

“Yeah.”

“I’d assume that’s the biggest job in your district except none of the other District Four tributes could tie knots like you. I assumed sailing is where you learned that.”

“Yeah, most people work in the fisheries.”

“Fish factories?”

“Yeah.”

“Where you… make the fish?”

“We like, package them and clean and gut them in there. There can only be so many boats on the water. My family is lucky enough to have one… What did you do? Before you were a Victor.”

“I was a baker,” she deadpans.

“Oh, right. Duh. Was, uh, that all?”

She hasn’t taken her eyes off her brother for the entire conversation, but now she glances at me.

“All? Yeah, that was all. Do bakers in Four do other jobs?”

“I suppose not. Their families do.”

“Our parents work in a factory with everyone else. They make picture frames, I think. Always complain about how boring it is.”

I could see how making picture frames every day could get boring.

“So they scored you and your brother a job as bakers,” I say.

I shouldn’t have said it. I don’t want her to think I’m being rude to her parents. But she just shrugs, eyes returning to her brother.

“They were giving us a shot at a better life.”

I do not see being a Victor as a better life. Not by a long shot. But I don’t say anything.

“You disagree,” she says.

“Uh, no, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine. Whatever. But everything involves risk. A one in twenty-four chance at being rich beyond your wildest dreams isn’t exactly the worst game to play.”

Again, I disagree. She’s making the Hunger Games sound like a lottery. As if she and her brother got lucky. They could have died. They had to kill other kids to get here. In Four, I’ve noticed the kids at the TC are all brainwashed like this, but all of my fellow Victors seem at the same level of understanding as me. Cashmere still feels brainwashed. Despite everything she went through.

And though this doesn’t make me like her, I can’t hate her for it. It’s hard to see her as a villain when she clearly is in the same position as I am.

“Can I ask you a question?” I say. I can feel myself toeing an invisible line. But oh well.

“Sure, kid.”

“If your brother was already a Victor, why go into the arena yourself? Why not just move in with him in Victor’s Village? You could have already been rich.”

I expect her to be mad, but she just shrugs. “My brother told me to do that,” she says. “But after training for so long, I wanted to go through with it.”

I want to ask her if she regrets it, but I realize I don’t need to. Her tone does it for me. She regrets. And though she clearly has some issues with her views on the Hunger Games, this I can at least respect.

Gloss finally wriggles free of the Capitol women and takes his place at his sister’s side. I have no need to tether myself to these two, so I bid them farewell and walk off in the opposite direction.

I spot a few victors, but no one from Four, and I’m not feeling brave enough to randomly introduce myself. So I find an empty table and anchor myself to it.

There’s a little pamphlet in the center piece, and I realize it’s the same one from Opening Ceremonies last night. I never got a chance to look through it, so I do now.

It’s not much. But it has the names and ages of each tribute this year:

District One (female): Suave Enright – 18

District One (male): Copper Oken – 18

District Two (female): Willow Fillmore – 18

District Two (male): Howe Jennet – 18

District Three (female): Sauter Perk – 16

District Three (male): Duke Andrews – 12

District Four (female): Marrot Lychester –17

District Four (male): Noric Grimly – 18

District Five (female): Jee Balker – 17

District Five (male): Henner Filk – 16

District Six (female): Route Garrin – 16

District Six (male): Titus Cariban – 17

District Seven (female): Yuli Grove – 18

District Seven (male): Pine Keef – 18

District Eight (female): Joanie Mallo – 15

District Eight (male): Hux Lynn – 18

District Nine (female): Ester Willow –16

District Nine (male): Trove Ulen – 16

District Ten (female): Ronny Pekkin – 17

District Ten (male): Howl Oken – 17

District Eleven (female): Tu Brich – 17

District Eleven (male): Leften Harring – 18

District Twelve (female): Terra Greenway – 15

District Twelve (male): Kurt Hallio – 18

Somehow, even with this list I don’t find it likely I’ll remember these names. It’s sad, how easily these children are forgotten. Before they’re even dead.

I do notice how many eighteen-year-olds there are. It’s true, there are usually more eighteen-year-olds than anything else, just due to how the reaping system works. But it feels like a very old year. The two fifteen-year-olds and one twelve-year-old are the only real outliers. And depending on when these fifteen-year-olds were born, I’m probably younger than both of them.

Part of me feels the relief I used to feel back home, when I was just a spectator. It’s always a relief when there are few to no little kids in the arena. It’s so much easier to watch. But now I can’t help but feel dread.

Why? Because that’s what I felt last year, seeing how old my competition was? Or perhaps it’s because I was hoping Noric’s age would be more of an advantage than it appears to be? It’s anyone’s guess.

“I’m sorry, do your parents know you’re here by yourself?” mocks someone behind me.

I turn and find three middle-aged men looking down at me, laughing.

One of them is Kent, which is both annoying and reassuring. The other two I vaguely recognize from past Games. Specifically the one on the left. Based on his olive skin and grey eyes, I can assume he’s the District Twelve Victor. I know there’s only one, but I can’t recall his name. The other man has dark brown skin I’m sure is from District Eleven. He also is missing a hand. This is the man who spoke, so I focus in on him.

“My dad does, in fact, know I’m here. He’s not happy about it, but he knows.”

The man chuckles and does not introduce himself. Fortunately, Kent does prove useful.

“This is Chaff and Haymitch from Eleven and Twelve,” he says.

Neither man shakes my hand. Chaff does have an excuse: his only hand is holding a champagne glass. Haymitch just doesn’t seems to care enough.

“Nice to meet you,” I say. Although I don’t particularly like either of them so far.

“That,” slurs Haymitch, “is one colorful suit you’re wearing.”

I look down at it, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“Well, you know me. All colors and rainbows. Happy colors for a happy occasion.”

The men all chuckle again.

“Our stylist has gone a little nuts this year,” Kent explains. “Even more than usual, which I didn’t think was possible.”

He’s slurring his speech too. How many drinks in is he?

“How many of those have you had?” I ask him, gesturing towards the glass in his hand.

Before Kent can answer, however, Chaff jumps in.

“Well, I usually stick with one, because for some reason I have trouble holding more than that.”

He shows us his stump where his hand should be and the three men double over with laughter. I don’t join in, because it really wasn’t that funny. It also doesn’t make sense, because I didn’t ask how many he had on hand, I asked for how many he has had. Past tense. But I suppose this is one way to answer my question.

“I’m assuming that’s a Hunger Games injury?”

Since we’re on topic, I figured I might as well ask.

Chaff looks at his stump as though he’s never seen it before.

“No, I must have left it in my other bag,” he slurs.

The three men laugh again. I’ve never liked being around drunk people, but the three of them are somehow even worse than usual. I’d just walk away, but I don’t want to abandon Kent like this.

“Ha, yeah,” I say in the same voice I’d use to talk to laughing toddlers. “Well, you two have fun. I’m going to steal Kent for a second, we’ll meet up with you.”

“Thief,” slurs Chaff.

“Yep, that’s me. Anyway.”

I grab Kent by the arm and steer him away.

“Where’re we goin?” he says.

“Somewhere where you can sit down,” I say.

He chuckles, as though I said something funny.

I find a chair against the back wall and force Kent into it. I should get him something. Like coffee, or at least water. But I also don’t want to leave him unattended, in case he wanders off.

“Oh, you found him.”

Garrick appears behind me like magic. I’m relieved.

“He was—” I start, but Garrick stops me.

“Let me guess. He was with Chaff and Haymitch.”

“How did you—?”

“Those two are thick as thieves. They’re also slobbering alcoholics. Somehow getting drunk with them hits even harder than when you get drunk alone. They have like four or five people here that occasionally third wheel and get wasted with them. I keep trying to keep Kent away from them, but they’re magnets, they cling to him.”

I remember Jeffer mentioning something about Kent getting a hard time, relating it to that girl who started taking morphling. Chaff and Haymitch urge Kent’s drinking on. I’m suddenly even more annoyed by them.

“I hate it when he gets like this,” I mutter.

“Me too. But this is where he gets drunk, trying to stop it will drive you crazy.”

I suppose I knew this was going to happen. But still, I prefer Kent when he’s at least sober enough to be himself.

I glance around the room. Victors are sticking to each other, while the Capitol guests are doing the same. There’s the occasional mix and mingling, but not nearly as much as I thought.

“Why are we even forced to attend these things if we don’t talk to anyone Capitol,” I ask.

“Oh, the Capitol people get more outgoing within the next few days. At the end of this little party they’ll have some pictures. It’s hard to explain, but mingling isn’t really the point of this party.”

“What’s the point of it?” I ask.

Garrick shrugs. He knows, but he clearly doesn’t feel like telling me.

I sigh and take another look around. Most of the Districts are mixed up. In fact, the only District that is sticking together is Three: Wiress and Beetee. Nuts and Volts.

 “You never told me why you call Wiress and Beetee Nuts and Volts,” I say, changing the subject. “Something about arena sickness.”

“Yeah. We know there’s a more scientific name for it, but… we all have arena sickness, at least a little.”

“Even you and I?”

“Sure. You had a panic attack during the reaping.”

“Oh, so you mean like…”

I don’t continue. The nightmares. The drugs. The depression. A head sickness we all caught in the arena. Now I get it.

“Why not just call it depression or whatever.”

“Because it’s not just depression. Like I said, there’s probably some accurate word for it, but we’re not really supposed to acknowledge how badly the arena fucks with our heads. Here in the Captiol they have head doctors who could probably diagnose us with a real life illness. But we’re not allowed to see them. So we’ve just got arena sickness. Anyway, sometimes a victor is more sick than others. Or at least their more obviously sick. Wiress is a big one. We sometimes use arena sickness to describe people like Haymitch and Chaff. And this one.” Gesturing to an almost unconscious Kent. “Addiction is a part of it. But Wiress doesn’t have any addiction. The arena just… well. You’ll meet her eventually.”

“And Beetee?”

“Beetee isn’t any more sick than the rest of us. But those two are attached at the hip. And Beetee is a bit odd. He won his games by being some kid genius, luring everyone into an electrical trap. And since they’re always together, they’re Nuts and Volts.”

“The way you guys talk about the other Victors I thought you all got along,” I say.

“Not necessarily. We all understand each other. Nuts and Volts know about the nickname, they don’t mind. This isn’t exactly a loving and nurturing group of people. But we’re all in the same boat.”

We decide to give Kent a glass of water and let him sit off to the side. Garrick walks me around and introduces me to some more Victors. Blight and Oak from Seven are standing with Jeffer and Gear, both comment on my being short. Apparently, I wouldn’t even be allowed to wield an axe yet, had I been from Seven.

I know Blight won the games right before Jeffer, and that they’re good friends. I’m not sure about Gear, but he seems to be close to their age as well. Oak seems to be just hanging out.

I slowly start to realize who is friends with who. District Three keeps to themselves, and we let them. District Two also doesn’t reach out much, except for Lyme, a woman in her thirties named Hestia, and the man Flint, who I know is one year older than Mags.

Mags and Flint seem to get along, which makes sense. What surprises me is how close Mags is with Lyme as well. Then again, everyone seems to know and like Mags. So maybe I’m just reading into things.

Walsh seems close to two guys in particular: Woof from Eight and Andrew from Five. They’re all around the same age. Although Walsh and Elina from Eleven also seem close. Again, they’re close in age.

Maybe this is why everyone is commenting on my age? Maybe it’s easier to become friends with people your own age? If this is true, I’m completely doomed for the next three years.

There’s also Kent, Haymitch, and Chaff. Kent’s a bit older than them, but they probably get along because they all like drinking. There’s a group of victors that seem to be on Morphling. They all stick together too.

I’m wondering where Garrick’s group is, but I’m realizing he might not have one. He’s only twenty-seven. He’s not the most outgoing person. He seems on good terms with everyone, but he doesn’t have a group. Not like the others do.

I take that as a good enough reason to stick to Garrick for the rest of the day. He doesn’t mind. We meet Seeder, who I only know about because she wasn’t here the year before, for reasons that everyone else seems to have guesses on, but I, of course, could not be more clueless. She’s a very nice lady, and she pulls me into a hug and calls me adorable.

By the end of the day, my head is full of names and I’m ready to get going. But the Capitol audience is finally gaining some courage, and I’m pulled in for a number of pictures.

This is where things get really interesting. Because I’m discovering that all the Victors know most of these Capitol people by name. And this is where I finally understand the benefits of being friends with the other Victors.

Garrick, Seeder, and I are pulled into a picture. A woman with horrifyingly long nails wraps an arm around me and kisses my cheek in the picture, which is disturbing.

I’m wiping my cheek and shaking off the experience when Seeder leans over to Garrick.

“The woman with the claws, Hanne? Last year, she got super drunk and told Chaff that she’s practically broke. Living off her name and a bunch of favors. I give her another year of pretending she’s in high society. It’s why she’s being so gross this year. Enjoying it while it lasts.”

There’s something comforting in knowing the gross woman who just practically molested me is penniless. Some sort of nasty instinct in me is happy to hear it. That people I meet in the Capitol still manage to make themselves miserable. They have their luxury cars and use them to drive themselves off of cliffs.

At around five, when I know Noric and Marrot will be done with training soon, Caesar Flickerman walks in with a few cameras. I’m worried I’m never getting out of here when I realize Caesar’s purposefully catching Victors as they leave.

He spends at least five minutes on everyone. Sometimes taking groups of two or three, like Beetee and Wiress or Chaff and Haymitch. But when I finally get to the door he pulls me to the side and I know I’m going to be here for a while.

“Finnick,” says Caesar. “Finnick, Finnick, welcome back to the Capitol. How are you liking being a mentor so far? Stressful? Or perhaps you’re finding a talent for it.”

I like Caesar. I can’t help it. He asked a boring question, that I’m sure he had to ask, but then he gave me two possible responses for it. So I don’t have to stick with the boring old ‘it’s fine’ response. It’s easy to talk in front of cameras when he’s there.

“Well, I’m not sure how much mentoring I’m actually doing. I’m just shadowing Jeffer this year.”

“But next year? Maybe? Can you picture yourself as a mentor?”

“Honestly? I think it’ll be a few years before I can really mentor anyone.”

“How come?”

“Well, I’m years younger than both of District Four’s tributes!”

People have been cracking jokes about my age and height all day. I’m starting to realize there may be multiple reasons for it. For one, reminding everyone I’m still young is probably a good idea. I don’t want to be put in charge of anything important.

Caesar laughs and laughs good-heartedly.

“Of course! And speaking of your tributes: you know them, we don’t, any little details you’re willing to share?”

“Well, I’ll let them formally introduce themselves at the interviews. But we’ve definitely got some talent this year.”

“Oooh, we can’t wait, can we Claudius?”

Caesar pauses and I realize Claudius Templesmith is back at some studio, replying to Caeser through an earpiece.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll have plenty more interviews with Finnick here in the weeks to come. For now, let’s let him get back to his mentorship duties, shall we? Finnick!”

He shakes my hand good-naturedly and the camera’s light cuts out.

“Oh, is that all?” I say in earnest. “I assumed I’d be here a while.”

Caesar smiles. “Ah, one of my bosses told me to cut it short through the earpiece. I’m sure we’ll see plenty of each other this Games, Finnick. Quite an outfit you’ve got on.”

I look down. I’d almost forgotten about it.

“Oh, yeah. It’s a bit much for my taste. But I wear what I’m told to wear.”

“Hm, yes. Well, I’ll see you soon!”

And with that he walks off.

A bit odd, but oh well. I’m definitely not complaining. I walk outside and an avox gestures towards a car.

I assume I’m with my fellow District Four victors, but no. I climb into a car with Nuts and Volts, Enobaria, a man from Ten I haven’t met yet, a woman from Six that I suppose has to be Cella, since she’s the only one left, and Lyme.

It’s a bit much. I make myself small by the window and watch as we pull out.

The man from Ten is talking with Cella about her two District mates who are now addicted to Morphling.

“Well,” he says. “now you’ve got lots of alone time with your ex-husband.”

“Gear and I never got married,” she says. “And honestly, I’m not sure what we were thinking. Want some advice? Don’t date another Victor. They might end up being the only sober person you can talk to, and then what? I’m going insane. Not to mention we can’t very well let the addicts mentor the kids. So now I get to be a mentor every single year.”

“Unless you get a victor this year,” says Enobaria.

“I don’t find that likely,” says Cella. “I mean, the guy looks like he wants to live, and he’s stronger than he looks. But he hasn’t got a single survival skill. He went down to the training center today desperate to learn something that would save his life. But I mean, what is he going to learn there?”

“I learned how to light a fire in the last day of training,” says Beetee. “Proved very useful.”

Lyme barks out a laugh. “Volts you of all people can’t be suggesting the three training days can help you win the Games. You with your advanced degree in electricity.”

“Electricity isn’t a degree,” says Wiress. “And even if it were…”

She fades off. I wait a minute, but she doesn’t continue.

“Even if it were,” Beetee continues, as if he shares her thoughts, “where would I get a degree? We don’t exactly have university in the Districts.”

“You two need to lighten up,” says Lyme. “it was a figure of speech.”

“Did you learn all your funky knots in the training center?” asks Enobaria.

“Me?” I say, jumping.

“Who the fuck else would I be—”

“—be nice,” Lyme snaps. “Yeah, hun, you.”

“Uh… No. I already knew all the knots from working on my father’s boat. But I learned some specific traps and how to camouflage them in training.”

Everyone nods. I’m a bit freaked at how normal Lyme is, especially compared to Enobaria. But I honestly don’t think I could ever become friends with Lyme. It’s not her fault, it’s just my mom…

We ride the elevator together. Lyme, Enobaria, Nuts, and Volts get off before me. But the man from ten and Cella say goodbye to me kindly, despite my not speaking to either of them once before.

“Hey, you’re back already.”

Barry and all the Victors besides Kent are sitting at the table. I slide into my usual seat and heave a big sigh.

“Yeah, why the surprise?”

“We thought you’d still be chatting it up with Caesar Flickerman,” says Walsh.

“No, apparently one of his higher ups told him to wait until later,” I explain.

Everyone seems confused by that. We all, including Barry, come up with a few possible reasons. Perhaps they wanted a more formal meeting, chairs and such, before getting into anything. Maybe there was an issue with the network. Maybe they are still refining the questions they want to ask. No one is sure.

Mags finally puts the conversation to rest. She asks me what I thought of everyone.

“I don’t really feel like I know anyone yet,” I say. “I like Seeder.”

“Everyone likes Seeder.”

“I’m having trouble liking Enobaria.”

“Again, a normal opinion. She’s a lot.”

Before they can ask me anything else, the elevator doors open and Noric and Marrot enter, looking as tired as I feel.

We welcome them back and are immediately served dinner. I realize I ate very little today, because the buffet was swarmed by Capitol people, so I avoided it. I happily gulp down the tomato soup first course and I savor my very first taste of lamb.

“Alright,” says Jeffer once the plates are gone. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” says Noric.

“Second floor. Time to meet the allies. Marrot, last chance to try and get into the Career Pack.”

All the color drains from Marrot’s face. She shakes her head. Oh well.

“Okay,” says Jeffer. “Let’s go Noric.”

“Maybe a little warning next time?” says Noric, standing.

Jeffer shrugs.

I follow Noric and Jeffer into the elevator and we ride quickly down to the second floor.

District One is already there. I realize Cashmere is a mentor already. As is a woman whose name I vaguely recall to be Sheen.

Despite the conversation with Cashmere being a bit tense, she waves at me. I wave back, and Noric gives me a funny look.

Of course, he knew the boy Cashmere killed in her games. But… I can’t help that.

Lyme is not a mentor this year. It’s Hestia and a man named Willart. District Two has a disgusting number of Victors, I’m guessing they all switch off regularly.

The tributes are much more concerning. They all tower over Noric. I do manage to remember their names. Suave and Copper from One, Willow and Howe from Two.

We all settle around the table and the conversation goes almost exactly the same as last year. We all want the alliance? Good. We all are in the alliance? Good. Then we focus on the cornucopia.

The girl from one, Suave, wants to take out as many people as possible in the bloodbath. She’s insisting they trap people in, by letting the smaller threats get into the horn and then stopping them from leaving. It takes almost an hour to convince her this is a bad strategy.

“Oh for,” Cashmere snaps, “there are five of you. You can’t possibly stop everyone. You’re just giving people treasure from the Cornucopia that should be yours.”

The only thing of interest comes at the very end. Last year, they all chose signature weapons, so we were sure no one would be fighting over the same stuff. But this year, Jeffer seems to be actively avoiding the subject. The others mentions weapons they want, and fight over who gets to have a sword. But whenever Noric is mentioned, Jeffer just says he’s flexible, and will take whatever’s left.

However, the Willow, the girl from Two, doesn’t seem satisfied.

“I mean,” she says. “he was good with throwing knives, he could use those.”

I can feel Jeffer tense up a bit, and I know why. Noric was not supposed to throw things today.

“Like I said, many talents. He’ll pick from what’s left.”

The meeting ends soon after that, and Jeffer waits until we’re back on the fourth floor before bringing it up.

“So you threw knives,” Jeffer says.

Noric shrugs, like it doesn’t matter. “Not as well as I could have. You said to not show my talent.”

“I said to not throw knives.”

“You let me throw a spear.”

“Because anyone can throw a spear! Why did you—”

“It’s not like they know how good I am,” says Noric. “I’ve still kept it from them.”

“But now they’ve seen you’re good at throwing knives but didn’t stick to it long. They’ll assume that’s what you’re hiding from them. What possessed you—?”

“The annoying girl from One was bragging about how good she was, and I just—”

“Oh come on—she was baiting you! That’s even more of a give away!”

Noric looks at me for support, but I’m even more mad than Jeffer is. Does he not realize what’s at stake? Why can’t he focus? Why can’t he listen to Jeffer?

“It’s fine. They don’t know anything important. I’m going to bed.”

And with that he marches off.

Jeffer and I stand in silence for a moment. Finally, I have to ask.

“Do you think he could win?”

Jeffer doesn’t answer for a few seconds. Finally he shrugs.

“It depends.”

“On?”

“How long it takes for him to realize this isn’t a talent competition.”

Jeffer stalks off to bed, but I stay in the sitting room, thinking. That is what’s wrong with Noric, isn’t it? He is looking at this whole thing like he’s representing District Four is a contest. Which… I suppose he is. But the Hunger Games is not about who has the best aim. Even if it was something you could quantify, it would be more about outsmarting your opponents. Out preserving them. He needs to get his head on straight and realize he could very well die in a few days. But if he hasn’t realized that yet… when will he?

Chapter Text

The next few days go by very quickly. On the second day of training, there is another little party. I end up sticking to a table with Cashmere, Gloss, Cecilia, and Seeder. Not a bad group. Although I wish I had people closer to my age to talk to.

After the second party, I ask Kent and Jeffer if, maybe, the constant jabs at my height is some sort of hazing. They burst out laughing, whining about how it’s no fun if I’ve already caught on.

“We always harass the new guy,” says Jeffer. “And you’re very sensitive about your height. Even in the arena, when that kid from Six was joking about it?”

This makes the jokes a bit easier to roll with, since now I know they’re some sort of initiation.

I decide to go ahead and like the other victors, all of them, when the Capitol citizens start being more forward.

I know my fellow District Four victors hate it when people from the Capitol fall all over me, but I soon discover all the other victors have similar reactions. Seeder spends a good twenty minutes distracting a Capitol woman away from me by asking her about her tattoos. Beetee wedges himself between me and a touchy woman with golden hair for a picture. Gloss steps up to a man and woman who talked me into a corner and lets them focus on him instead.

Even drunk Haymitch gets sick just as a nasty woman named ‘Boo’ pulls me in for a fifth picture. And though I can’t prove it, I think he might have thrown up on her on purpose.

I’m beginning to see the Capitol as behind enemy lines. And my fellow victors, though I may not see eye to eye with them all, are my allies. I am the new kid, I’m young, it’s like they’re all protecting me.

I keep going back and forth between Noric having a real chance at the crown, and Noric being doomed to fail to his own hubris. Jeffer assures me that it could go either way, but we won’t know for sure until we see how he does in the arena itself. Perhaps being in there will wake him up. Or perhaps he’ll double down on this pride thing he has. Only time will tell. I hate not knowing, but I learn to deal with it.

However, it’s not an entire loss. Noric scores a nine in training. And so do all of his allies. A very even slate. Not a single ten this year. But the girl from Eleven scores an eight, and the boy from Ten scores a seven. Marrot rolls a three, which is unfortunate. But she just scowls and moves on.

Sometimes I sit with Mags and Marrot. They usually just talk about Marrot’s family. Her eyes light up when she talks about her three little siblings. Her sister Abril is apparently a beautiful singer. So we ask Marrot for some of her favorite songs and she tells us. She even sings a little.

It’s almost like we’re distracting her. Making her last few days as nice as possible, before the inevitable slaughter. I realize this is what Mags does most years. And I somehow gain even more respect for her.

Our day of prep turns out to be an interesting breath of fresh air. Away from any Capitol citizens, not counting Barry, it’s almost relaxing.

The first half of the day is funny, as Marrot and Noric learn to walk and sit in respectable clothes. Clothes that I have already mastered, after only a year. I try not to think on that too hard.

Marrot does better than Mandy did, and Noric’s only issue is how uncomfortable he looks. We’re ready to run through the actual interview before lunch is served.

I’m worried about Marrot, but Mags has got it under control. She picks out the perfect angle: sweet and loveable. Then she teaches Marrot to turn any question into a safe topic: her family, music, her life in Four, etc.

“What if Caesar asks her a question directly about the arena?” I mutter to Mags.

Mags explains that she can approach Caesar before the interviews and ask him to steer away from dangerous topics. Caesar’s more than accommodating. He doesn’t want kids shutting down on stage.

“You’re joking,” I say. “Why didn’t I get that?”

Mags just laughs, and asks me how I’m sure I didn’t. I make a note to ask about that later.

I spend the rest of the day with Noric and Jeffer. Walsh, Garrick, and Kent are all helping as best they can as well. But Noric is tricky.

He’s likable enough. He’s good coming up with answers on the fly. But he could never pass as intimidating. He’s just too skinny, too short. Especially compared to the other careers. But he’s not quite smart enough to be sneaky or mysterious or clever. Not attractive enough to be sexy or alluring. But the angles that would suit him well aren’t great for a Career.

Finally, we just let him be funny. Because that’s what he is. He’s a comedian every time we ask him a question. Might as well embrace it.

“There’s always someone willing to spend money on the guy who makes him laugh,” says Jeffer. “And you’ve got a good enough training score you don’t need to sell it more.”

But I know Jeffer would prefer it if Noric could be scary or intimidating or cunning. Oh well. His jokes are funny. Caesar will get a kick out of him.

I learn that night that while the tributes get dolled up for the interviews, we get to go to a huge party at the president’s mansion.

“You guys kept this all from me just to give me heart attacks in real time,” I snap.

“Yep,” says Walsh. “Oh, and this will be a big day for you. It’s always where they really latch onto the new Victor.”

“Fantastic.”

We’re waiting up for Barry, who left before lunch but said he’d be back tonight with big news.

“There’s been a development!” he had said cheerfully.

I’m not looking forward to the development. I nibble on a small chocolate chip cookie left over from diner and try to calm my nerves about tomorrow. And what was this news Barry had? Was it something about me?

The elevator door opens and a happy Barry comes bouncing in.

“You’ll never guess. It’s such a scandal.”

We all wait, trying to feign excitement.

“Harion got fired.”

This is news. We all perk up a little. Walsh and Mags exchange a knowing look that I can’t quite place.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because she was terrible!”

That’s true. The last thing she put me in was orange and had fringe.

“Yes, I mean why now? Why not let her finish this year?”

“I have a similar question,” mutters Jeffer.

But clearly, Jeffer has a better guess at the answer.

“Well, you’re a star this year!” says Barry. “Someone higher up doesn’t want you to interview in that nightmarish clothing. The past two days people have been trying to find a new stylist on short notice so your interview with Caesar tomorrow can be fully broadcasted!”

“Interview with Caesar tomorrow…” I mutter.

I glance at Kent, who’s the closest one.

“Surprise,” he mutters back.

I give him what I hope is a murderous look and then rejoin the conversation.

“Who did they get?” asks Garrick.

“I’ve never heard of him,” says Barry. “He’s not even really a stylist yet. He’s an apprentice under a legend, though.”

“Which legend?” says Garrick.

“You know Tigress? She’s the stylist for the girl from One. She’s the stylist. She was the first ever. Right Mags?”

Mags nods knowingly.

“Back in the eleventh Games, there was only one stylist for all the tributes and Tigress was it. She’s a bit out of style now, but one of the greats. Anyway, she’s got this young apprentice, straight out of the academy. He’s supposed to be the next best thing, at least according to Tigress. But who knows, right? He’s her apprentice she has to say good things about him. Anyway, we get him tomorrow. And he’s got to be better than Harion.”

“How young are we talking?” says Walsh.

“Oh, I don’t actually know. No more than twenty.”

“And he had time to make everything?” says Garrick.

“He’s been working all day and will probably be working all night. But this is a once in a lifetime opportunity for him, so I don’t think he minds.”

All of the Victors look a bit down. Maybe they think the bad outfits were helping me with the Capitol citizens. But honestly, I’m tired of looking so terrible. I’m sure it’ll be fine.

That night, I have my first bout of homesickness since I got here. It comes completely out of the blue, but I suddenly would give anything to see my dad. Or Kathrine. Or Ben. I miss Ben the most. I wonder if he’s walked yet…

I reach over to my bedside table and take out Emma’s necklace and bracelet. I had given up wearing them because Harion forced me to take them off at every turn. But I slip them back on as a reminder of home. It’s just comforting enough to get me to fall asleep.

The next morning, Barry arrives during breakfast. The tributes were woken by their prep teams and are now being prepped to death. Their stylists will turn up around lunch. But we’ll be in the President’s Mansion by then.

I’ve just finished eating when a few Avox’s come through with canvas bags I assume hold our outfits. Then our new stylist shows his face.

I knew he was young, but he’s young. He can’t be older than eighteen. He has black skin and short brown hair. He looks very normal for a Capitol stylist. In fact, he looks normal for a Capitol citizen. He seems completely natural. And the only makeup I can spot is shiny silver eyeliner that suits him very well.

“You must be our new stylist,” says Barry, happy as ever. “Welcome, welcome, we’re glad you’re here.”

“Happy to be here,” he says politely.

“Remind me of your name?”

“Cinna.”

“Of course. Well, who would you like first?”

Cinna glances at us. I like him fine, just based on how normal he seems. But the others are scowling and I’m not sure why.

“Whomever would like to,” says Cinna.

Barry starts to point at me, but Kent shoots to his feet.

“I’ll go first,” he says.

Once they disappear, I’m tempted to ask Mags what’s going on with them. But Barry is there, she won’t be able to answer honestly.

Kent comes out very quickly. He looks excellent. A simple suit made of some sort of black material that shines in the light. His suit, shirt, and tie are all the same shade of black, and it looks good. But he doesn’t comment on it.

Everyone goes in, and everyone looks better than I’ve ever seen them. He gives Garrick a shirt and tie with a vest but no jacket. It’s midnight blue and he looks comfortable in it. Jeffer wears a dark red shirt with a black jacket with gold buckles. Walsh wears a traditional black tie suit with gold designs up the sleeves and pant-leg. Mags comes out wearing a suit, the first time seeing her in one, with a pink blouse and low heals.

Finally, he takes me. I sit down and he takes out a small box that I realize is where he keeps the makeup.

“I’m supposed to really do you up, because you’ve got an interview today,” Cinna explains.

“Right.”

“Are you nervous?”

“About the interview?”

“Or whatever.”

“Not really. Dreading it a little… but just because it’s not my favorite thing…”

“I hate cameras,” Cinna confesses. “They make me very aware of how my face feels. Odd sensation.”

I laugh slightly. “Can I ask? How old are you?”

“Eighteen. Though just barely… Youngest in my field. Although we have that in common, don’t we?”

He pokes at my face for a few seconds in silence, before stepping back to take it in. Then he continues.

“Of course,” he says, almost lost in thought, focusing on the makeup, “in my case, my age is something I take pride in. Whereas I’m sure you would much rather have given the crown to an older kid if it meant you got to stay home last year.”

I almost jump, completely startled. He’s right, of course, it is different. Being young is always an obstacle, but for him it’s impressive. For me it’s just depressing. But no one in the Capitol has ever treated it as such.

“Yeah,” I say. “I mean, I guess so.”

How do I respond? I can’t badmouth the Capitol, I’m in the Capitol. He’s a part of the Capitol. And yet, he’s almost extended an olive branch to me, and I want to at least acknowledge it.

He’s very focused. He finishes my face and then does something with my hair. I realize I’m not in front of a mirror, so I can’t see what he’s up to. He combs my hair, which is odd, because the others always just spike it up.

Then the outfit. A simple green shirt, with gold geometric designs. And a black jacket. The jacket isn’t formal, though. It almost feels like something I could wear out in windy weather. But, of course, more fancy than anything I’d wear in Four. It’s soft, though, it reaches my thighs and has deep pockets. Simple black pants with similar designs, this time in green, to match the shirt.

The shoes are the most confusing. They’re like sneakers. But they’re all black.

“I like your necklace,” he says. “Pearl necklaces are hard to come by around here. I must say, yours looks better anyway.”

I smile slightly. He understands Emma’s joke. I’ve never met a Capitol citizen like him. I almost want to ask him what makes him so different from the others, but I don’t.

“Thank you, it was my token in the arena. I can take it off…”

“No need,” he says.

The outfit basically covers it anyway. I stand in front of the mirror and take a good look at myself.

I look excellent. Perhaps even better than my interview outfit Rujeria made me. I have a feeling if Cinna was given the opportunity to make something so fancy, he’d already knock Rujeria out of the park.

The shirt makes my eyes pop. My hair still has its curls, but I realize Cinna took away the normal Capitol look, like I just rolled out of bed. It looks more natural. And there must have been something on the comb, because when I move my head green and gold sparkles from my hair.

The suit jacket does look like some sort of fancy coat. I can put my hands in the pockets and look completely natural. I’ve never had functioning pockets in the Capitol.

No tie, loose fitting shirt. Black sneakers. I have gold around my eyes, that draws out their natural color. And some more color in my cheeks.

I look amazing, but different than how I usually look in the Capitol. I can’t put my finger on exactly what he’s done. But then I realize.

“I look… Young,” I say.

“You are young,” says Cinna.

But that’s not what I mean. I look handsome, incredible even, but somehow he has made me formal while also making me unavoidable, undeniably, fifteen-years-old.

“Yes. I… thank you. You’re very talented.”

“And thank you, for the compliment.”

He closes up his little kit and shakes my hand.

“I’ll see you plenty in the next month, I’m sure. I hope the interview isn’t too painful.”

Then he’s gone.

Who was that? Why wasn’t he like every other Capitol person I’ve met? Part of me wonders if he’s from a slightly poorer neighborhood. But would that be enough? He couldn’t be District, could he? No, there’s no way.

I walk out to see everyone. Barry raves about my look, and the others perk up immediately as well.

“You look…” says Walsh.

“Fifteen,” I supply.

“Very,” agrees Walsh. 

He approves. In fact the entire room seems to have relaxed slightly. I want to give Cinna some more congratulations, but he’s already gone.

Barry is loading us into the car only five minutes later. It’s a very short drive to the President’s mansion, we easily could have walked. But I suppose that’s not victor behavior. When we get inside, I can immediately tell this party is going to be worse than the prior two I went to.

I have about five seconds to say hello to a few victors I’m now friendly with before I’m pulled away towards the cameras. I stand for roughly a billion pictures and shake hands with a bunch of Capitol people. After what could have been anywhere between one and five hours, I am dragged away and I’m almost relieved to see Caesar Flickerman walking towards me.

“Finnick,” he says. “How about we find a place to sit?”

I nod happily. We sit in a back corner, with our backs to the party so the cameras can see where we are. As the camera people set things up I turn to Caesar.

“Busy day for you.”

It sounds a bit stupid coming out. I was hoping for pleasant small talk, but it sounds like I’m trying to be an adult.

Caesar doesn’t seem to mind, though.

“Best day of the year. Career wise, that is. Very exciting night ahead of us.”

I wonder, briefly, if this is an act. How much does this man know? How much does he agree with? I respect him for helping tributes look good, get sponsors, but am I just falling for his charisma? I can tell he’s very intelligent, but where does he stand? What are his beliefs? I have no idea.

“I learned yesterday that mentors can approach you and give you topics to avoid for the interviews,” I say. “I had no idea so much went into those.”

“Oh sure, topics to avoid, questions I should be sure to ask, questions I should save until last. We’ve only got a few minutes each, sometimes you’ve got to stack the deck.”

He winks at me.

“No kidding. Did I have any of those?”

“Oh of course, most tributes do. Mags told me not to ask about your family. It’s one of our most common requests. Said it was a sensitive topic for you.”

Sensitive in that I got pissed off whenever I had to talk about it. I remember Mags shooting some practice questions at me about Kathrine and my dad. But it always made me think of Ben, whose name I didn’t know yet, and how I’d never get to meet him, and how my dad was going to watch me die, and I could never give a pleasant answer. Mags said my answers were good enough… I suppose she was just avoiding conflict.

“Huh. I suppose it is…”

“Your father definitely doesn’t seem like a talkative man,” says Caesar. “Hard to talk about people who don’t like to talk about themselves. We’ll keep avoiding the subject.”

The cameraman signals and we start the interview. It’s not too bad. No interview with Caesar ever really is. We talk about the Capitol for a while, and I gush appropriately. He asks me what the most interesting thing about being a Victor is so far and I truthfully say it’s meeting all the other Victors and being introduced to Capitol citizens. Although more the Victors than the Capitol people. We spend a good long while on this until I have to say, finally, that it’s only been four days and I honestly don’t have any more to go on, which gets a laugh.

Eventually we return to Noric and Marrot. I hype up their interviews and ask people to keep an eye out for them.

We talk a bit about last year’s Games, and what this year might look like, when the camera man holds up five fingers and Caesar diverts the conversation.

“So Finnick,” he says. “In all seriousness. The life of a victor. Is it everything it’s cracked up to be? How are you liking it so far?”

I don’t know how to answer. Because no, it’s not. Everything about it has been challenging. Sure, it might have been incredible for someone else. Some eighteen-year-old who was okay with moving away, and who was done with school. But for me it’s just been nothing but forced endings.

But I can’t say that, can I? But can I lie? I lie in interviews all the time, but this one seems… harder. Because a simple ‘yes it’s great’ would need follow-up I just don’t have.

“Well, to be honest Caesar it’s come with some challenges.”

Caesar looks interested. “Oh? Well do tell, Finnick, do tell.”

“Well, I’m not saying it’s not great. You live without financial worries, you have all this free time to pursue interests. But even though the reaping pulls from kids from twelve to eighteen, I don’t think whoever came up with this system ever considered a fourteen-year-old going through it.”

“Interesting, how do you mean?”

“Well, when you’re eighteen, becoming a Victor comes with all these freedoms. You get to move out, graduate early, lots of money. But as a fourteen-year-old, I dropped out of school, so I saw my friends way less. I moved away. And I had to start worrying about things like… how to do the laundry. Cooking all my own meals. Going to the market.”

Caesar laughs, and I join in good naturedly.

“I just didn’t think I’d have to deal with personal finances for a while, you know? It’s been a lot to handle.”

“Something I find very interesting about you, Finnick, if you don’t mind me pointing it out. Is that, unlike most kids, you seem very aware of your age. And what I mean is: most fifteen-year-olds will say things like ‘stop treating me like I’m a child. I’m fifteen, that’s practically an adult!’”

“Come on mom,” I joke.

“Exactly. But with you, you’ve always been very aware of your own youth and perhaps even your own naïveté. Which might, in some backwards way, be a sign of maturity, don’t you think?”

“I’m mature because I know I’m not mature?”

“One way to phrase it.”

“Well, trust me, I was that kid, for most of my life. But there’s something about going into a death tournament with a bunch of eighteen-year-olds—”

“—Makes you realize how young you are?”

“Something like that.”

“But you won! You proved yourself wrong.”

I shake my head. “Yes, but I won in spite of my age. It was a constant hinderance. And now, I mean, Victors are supposed to be adults, you know? But the victor closest to my age is Cashmere, and she’s twenty! And, fun fact, if I were in the arena this year, I’d still be the second youngest in there. I think I’ve got some growing up to do before I can really consider myself a Victor.”

“Well lucky for you,” says Caesar, “you’ve got your whole life ahead of you to do just that.”

Caesar turns to the camera.

“I’m afraid that’s all the time we have with Finnick Odair today. But tune in tonight where we’ll meet the victor of the 66^th Hunger Games—we just don’t know who they are yet! See you tonight, folks!”

The camera’s cut out and Caesar shakes my hand.

“Excellent work as always Finnick,” he says.

“You too. Good luck tonight.”

“Why thank you, Finnick. I’m sure we’ll have another one of these in the next few weeks. The audience can’t get enough of you.”

And with that, he’s gone.

I scan the ballroom. I see hundreds of Capitol citizens I have no need to talk to. If I could just avoid them… but where could I go?

I stick to the wall for a little while, making my way around the room slowly. They’ve set up a lunch buffet, and it all looks amazing. I grab a bowl of some cream colored soup called clam chowder, because I’ve decided I must try all types of fish now that I can.

I spot a standing table with Jeffer and a few other victors and I decide to crash their party.

I slide in next to Jeffer and place my soup on the table.

“Hey,” he says, happily. “You’ve escaped!”

I nod. “What time is it. I swear, it could be midnight and I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“It’s two-thirty.”

We got here at ten, so that’s four and a half hours of Capitol nonsense. I groan, and Jeffer wraps an arm around me and pulls me into his chest.

“It’s okay, you can probably hide here for a while. Caesar is making the rounds, that usually distracts them.”

Just another reason to like Caesar.

I say hello to the others. No one seems to mind I’m here. Blight from seven, Gear from Six, Sheen from One, and a man from Nine named Ralph all happily welcome me.

I let them talk around me while I eat. When I finish my soup I stand around. I want more food, but a trip to the buffet may cause people to latch onto me. Ralph slips me a roll off his plate and winks. I like Ralph.

Chaff and Haymitch stop by. They are considerably less drunk today than when I met them earlier. Chaff formally introduces himself. He’s a bit loud, but quick to a joke and since most of them are self-deprecating, he seems like a good sport. Haymitch seems less nice. He mutters a few greetings and doesn’t speak again.

A few Capitol people stop by to meet me. Jeffer hovers at my shoulder each time, protective, which is nice. But I feel bad, because I’m sure they would prefer to be left alone.

“Sorry about the Capitol people,” I say after the fifth interruption. “I’m drawing them over.”

“We’re in the Capitol,” says Gear. “No getting rid of them. I want pie, anyone want anything?”

I put in a request for pie and then spend some time happily enjoying it while Ralph and Haymitch argue about which Capitol reporter is worse.

“Oh, here he is, I thought you were still in Capitol clutches.”

Walsh shows up behind me with his friend Woof.

“No, he’s been hiding here for a bit,” says Jeffer.

Walsh gives me a reassuring pat on the back, mentions something about food, and walks off.

“He looks nice,” says Sheen, looking at Walsh. “They usually dress him up like an old man, but today he looks nice.”

“You all look good today,” says Ralph, looking at Jeffer. “I mean you always look good, but you know.”

“We’ve got a new stylist,” says Jeffer. “They wanted Finnick camera ready.”

“Well, it’s nice you can benefit from Finnick’s popularity.”

I wonder, briefly, if Ralph is hitting on Jeffer. Do Victors hook up with each other? I know Gear and Cella from Six almost got married but from two different Districts? When would there be time?

My reprieve with the Victors can’t last forever. Soon more Capitol people find me and I’m pulled away. Jeffer makes a movement to follow me, but he’s pulled in a different direction.

I stand for a bunch of pictures and suffer through a conversation with “Waffle” as she rants about all the things she was doing when I was in the Hunger Games. After I finally shake Waffle I scan the room for Jeffer. I spot him in a corner, talking to Ralph. But when I move closer I stop, I don’t want to intrude on anything.

“Cute kid,” says Ralph. “You act like his dad.”

“His dad hates me.”

“Well, sure. But Finnick seems nice.”

“He is. He’s a good kid. Mags loves him, he fits right in. It all works.”

“Then why are you so tense this year?”

“Oh, come on.”

“He’s got years before that starts. He’s lucky, even, they might lose interest by then.”

“We’re not so sure. We’ve been getting some weird signs.”

“You need to relax. You get any envelopes this year?”

“Not yet. But I’m a mentor, so hopefully they’ll leave me alone. I’m older than you, last year was a fluke. I haven’t been in that game in a while. What about…”

“Oh, the usual tonight. I wish she’d get a life. Or drop dead. But it seems like a slow year for me. Probably because of Gloss, he’s taking the brunt of it. I know you’re a mentor this year, but if you’re free the first night in the center, do you want to meet up?”

I back away. I didn’t understand a lot of the first stuff, but that last bit was definitely personal. I leave them alone.

Fortunately, I spot Mags across the room. She pulls me in as soon as she sees me and introduces me to a few victors I haven’t met.

The rest of the day goes smoothly. Finally, there’s roughly a half an hour to the interviews, and the Victors are allowed to leave.

I stand with Mags and wait for the line by the door to thin. Jeffer, Garrick, and Walsh find us. Walsh says Kent got to leave early due to being drunk.

“So you’ve been hanging with Mags?” says Jeffer. “I was worried the Capitol still had you.”

“Yeah… I saw you but you were talking with Ralph, and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

He glares at me. “Snitch,” he says.

“Ralph?” says Walsh.

“Yeah, so?”

“He’s a bit young for you.”

“He’s not that young. What? Six… seven years younger than me?”

“No, he won the Games seven years after you. But he won at sixteen.”

“Shut up. Everything’s legal. And besides age matters less when you get older.”

The others poke fun at him for a little while. Then we start making our way to the exit. Ralph and Cella get corralled out with us. Cella and Jeffer hug.

“I haven’t see you at all this year,” says Jeffer.

“Yes, well, you’ve been with Gear.”

“You two have got to shake it off and be friends again, I’m tired of only being able to talk to one or the other.”

“Unlikely.”

“Finnick Odair!”

I glance around, but I can’t see who called me. But Mag’s grip on my hand gets tighter.

A man appears behind Walsh. One second there’s empty space, and the next there’s a man with lime green hair and gold face paint.

“Finnick Odair,” he says again.

Walsh jumps, and takes a step away. I notice everyone in the group has become uneasy.

“Um, hello,” I say.

The man reaches past three people to shake my hand.

“Billmont. Billmont Klinger. Could I steal you away for just a moment?”

I assume it’s for more pictures, but Mag’s death grip on my hand just gets tighter.

“Is something the matter?” I say.

“Hm? No! Not at all. I work for the president. Like his Hunger Games assistant. I just want to meet you formally, and introduce you to a few people.”

Works for the president. A shiver runs down my spine. President Snow. Is this man delivering a message directly from Snow? That can’t be possible, right?

“Um… of course.”

Mags gives me one more squeeze but then releases my hand. The others look very pale, even Ralph and Cella. I can’t help but get nervous myself. Clearly, they have bad experiences with this man.

But there’s nothing they can do. I follow the man, who now I can see is dressed entirely in neon green and gold. I glance back and see my friends getting piled into a car. I envy them.

He leads me into a side room. For a moment, I’m terrified I’m about to come face to face with the president. But what I find is a bit stranger.

There’s a Capitol man and woman, very well dressed. The man has a crisp velvet suit and the woman a floor-length golden gown. They both have on make-up, though more subtle and pleasing than some others I’ve seen. They exude wealth. Beside them sits a girl who could be my age.

She’s the first kid I’ve seen from the Capitol. I’m almost relieved to see she has no alterations or tattoos like most adults have. She has blond curly hair that’s up in an elegant bun, and dangly earrings. A golden dress, like her mothers, but it stops at her knees. She’s wearing make-up, but nothing too extreme. I can tell she’s a kid.

“Here we are! Finnick Odiar, I’d like to introduce you to the Phipps. Mr. Endritch Phipps, Mrs. Velvetta Phipps, and they’re daughter Lucia. They’ve graciously invited you to join them in their viewing box for the interviews.”

“Oh!” I say.

Not with a million tries would I have guessed this.

“Well, thank you,” I say. “That’s very kind, I’m honored.”

“Good manners for a District kid, huh?” says Billmont.

I hate him. But these people are clearly important and I don’t want to be annoying in front of them. Who knows what they could do to me.

“It’s nice to meet you… Finnick,” says the woman, Mrs. Phipps. She pauses before saying my name. As though she thinks it’s absurd. Well, Velvetta, it’s not exactly an uncommon name in Four.

I shake hands with all three of them and then Billmont steps up again.

“Excellent, well, the Phipps and I have some business to attend to. Why don’t I send Finnick to get ready and he’ll meet you in your booth.”

Billmont calls an avox and I’m lead from the room. I’m assuming I’ll get to go the Tribute Center to get ready. I’m already imagining my conversation about this to the others. But instead I’m led down a series of hallways and into a small dressing room.

Cinna is there. He looks just as surprised as I am.

“I suppose you’re getting changed here,” says Cinna. “I was on my way to the Tribute Center, and they redirected me.”

“I guess so,” I say. “You made us each two outfits? You work fast…”

“I got a little help in the actual construction. Some of my classmates pitched in. But thank you.”

He washes out and dries my hair. Redoes my make-up. Then he helps me into an evening outfit. Black vest and jacket over a golden shirt. No tie, which is odd, since I have a vest on. He puts a gold scarf on me and adjusts it just so. Then pins it to me with a broach. Lastly, he attaches an ornate golden belt that hooks all the way around and latches in the back.

“You’re going to bring belts back in style,” he says, half joking.

“It looks like it’ll take an advanced degree to get off,” I say.

“Then don’t take your pants off during the interviews.”

I laugh. It’s nice talking to someone around my own age.

“You know, I wasn’t planning on it.”

“No one ever plans these things. Stay away from any alcohol.”

I laugh some more and nod wisely.

“Alright, you’re done.”

I look into the mirror. Again, I look young. But more formal. The eyeliner branches out and forms some designs on my face. The gold makes my hair and skin tone seem warm and natural. The scarf almost looks practical. And I notice the broach is a little trident.

“It looks wonderful. Again.”

“Thank you, Finnick.”

He’s packing up. But I have a thought.

“Do you know the Phipps family?” I ask.

Cinna pauses. “I’ve never met them.”

“But you know who they are.”

“Well, yes. They’re one of the founding families of the Capitol. They’re a big deal.”

“Fantastic,” I mutter. I have no idea how to act around these people.

“Why do you ask?” says Cinna.

“I’m sitting in their box tonight. But I don’t know why they’d want me there.”

“Which one of them invited you?”

“They were all there.”

“All seven of them?”

“Oh. No. Just Endritch, Velvetta, and their daughter… Lucia, was her name. There are more?”

“Three more kids, a sister that never married, and then the elderly mother.”

“Oh… weird. I had no idea.”

“I’m sure it’s just for clout. Having the newest Victor in their box with them. They probably paid for you to be there. Sometimes big families like to show off.. It’s just a way of bragging, throwing away money, showing you’ve got that much to waste. If three of them were there, I wouldn’t worry too hard.”

I’m a bit annoyed at the idea of being bought. But what he’s saying makes sense.

“Thanks Cinna. I wasn’t sure what I was walking into.”

“Just be polite, you’ll be fine. I should get going, or else your fellow Victors are going to be late for the interviews.”

We part ways, and I take a few deep breaths as I’m led out of the building and into a sleek, small car.

The insides are different than the other cars I’ve been in. More… colorful. Clearly, this is the Phipps private car. I put my hands in my lap and try to stay calm.

The streets are full of Capitol people, there to watch the interviews. An avox helps me out of the car and leads me through the crowd, up into a building next to the Tribute Center I’ve never quite noticed before. It looks to be full of observation rooms. Probably to watch the Opening Ceremonies and the interviews. Do they have a purpose for the rest of the year? I can’t imagine what they’d be used for.

I’m led into an elevator and finally into a lush and wide observation room with soft chairs and carpets. There’s a table full of food and two avoxes with trays. Even though there are only seven people inside.

Two little kids, a boy and a girl no more than six, sit on the floor up by the window, playing with dolls. A young boy around twelve sits off in a back corner, reading. Next to him, and elderly woman watches the set up below with mild interest. There’s another middle-aged woman by the food table, and then there are the three Phipps I have already met.

Husband and wife sit in two thrones in the middle of the room, holding hands. The man stands to greet me again. We stand for a picture. Then he leads me over to my seat.

I’m sitting right next to his daughter, front row of the room. She’s wearing the same gold dress as before, but she’s added a pretty blue shawl. I realize, with my new outfit, we’re basically matching. Intentional?

I sit down and take another deep breath. So far nothing weird has happened. At least, nothing too weird. I haven’t said anything to make them upset. We’re doing fine.

I turn down the food one avox offers but I accept the glass of water. I take slow sips and try to find something to focus on.

“So, do you have academy in Four?”

The girl is talking to me. I swallow and try to focus.

“Um, academy? No. We have school. Is that the same thing?”

She laughs. “It’s similar, I suppose. What do you learn?”

“Oh, um…”

I try to think. What do we learn in school that isn’t obvious?

“Well, history of Panem. Math, some science. We learn a lot about the ocean. Like tides and weather and things, because that’s stuff we need to know. But all in all, normal school stuff. What do you learn in academy?”

“Lots of nonsense we’ll never use,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Calculus, geometry, microbiology, computer science.”

“Wow, you must be really smart.”

She smiles shyly. “Flattery will get you everywhere, I suppose.”

I almost take it back, I was more trying to make a joke than a compliment. But compliments aren’t necessarily a bad thing.

“So, um, how old are you?” I ask.

“Fifteen. Same as you. I saw your interview.”

“Oh, my interview today?”

She nods. “It was great. It’s what finally convinced my parents into setting this up, they can be sooo strict sometimes.”

At the words ‘set this up’ I realize that I’m on a date with this girl. My insides squirm horribly. Did these people pay the government to set me up on a date with their daughter? And, come to think of it, how am I for sale for such things?

“No kidding,” I say. Trying to fill the awkward space.

“Yeah, they were insisting you were too old for me. But we’re literally the same age. They can be so stupid.”

I’ve never heard a kid my age call her parents stupid. Strict, boring, protective, overreactive? Sure. But never stupid. While they’re in the room, no less. It’s not hard to tell this girl is spoiled out of her mind.

I’ve only ever been on a date with one girl before: Margaret, my old “girlfriend.” I completely lost touch with her after I became a Victor. But those dates were nothing like this. We usually just went swimming or did homework together. We already knew everything about each other. I’m not sure what to say. But I have a feeling if she’s not satisfied, she’ll complain. And her parents might complain. And I don’t want to get in trouble with Billmont Klinger, all the others seem scared of him, there must be a reason.

“This is a great view of the stage,” I say. “Do you always watch from here?”

“Oh, sure,” says Lucia. “Every year since I can remember. I loved your interview last year.”

“Oh, thanks. I was nervous.”

“You didn’t look nervous. All my friends are obsessed with it. This one girl Porte, she can literally quote it. But Porte’s a little brain dead, if you know what I mean.”

I dislike her. I’m also a little disturbed that my interview is so fawned over. It’s like one of those dirty magazines guys my age pass around until the pages start to yellow with age. I was fighting for my life up there. Girls flirt with me and giggle when I take my shirt off at the beach all the time back home. But that feels innocent. This is something different.

I clasp my hands in my lap and Emma’s bracelet brushes up against my other hand. It calms me down a little. I roll one of the pearls between my fingers, thinking about my last night with Emma. It was sad, yes, but we also connected. These girls can obsess about me all they want, for most of it I’ll be off in District Four, with Emma…

The Avox comes back and offers us some sort of pale liquid. Lucia takes one without question but I hesitate.

“Posca,” says Lucia.

“Is it… alcohol?”

Lucia shrugs. “Sort of. Really watered down wine. It hardly counts.”

“Are kids in the Capitol allowed to drink?”

“Not just anything, but like I said, Posca doesn’t really count. We’re allowed one glass. Maybe two or three for a special occasion.”

She looks at me and I can tell she expects me to take it. So I do. I’ve never had wine before, my dad would flip out. I taste it. It tastes like someone mixed vinegar and honey. It’s the first piece of food in the Capitol I really dislike. It burns the back of my throat slightly, and I cough.

Lucia laughs. “Wow, you really don’t drink. Coughing from nothing but Posca. Don’t you have any fun in Four?”

I try very hard not to scowl. “We have really early mornings in Four, not a lot of drinking because of that.”

It’s not entirely true. We don’t drink to excess. My father will have the occasional beer, for special occasions. And I’ve been offered sips. But I’m not used to wine.

“So…” I say, grasping at conversation. “What is it like being a kid in the Capitol? It must be glamorous compared to Four.”

This was the correct thing to ask. She’s off on a tangent about kids in her class, events she’s been to, awards she’s won. I nod along. Half of it is so drenched in Capitol jargon that I don’t understand it, but I don’t interrupt her. And she does not need me to understand.

Finally the lights flicker and I realize it’s a signal that the show’s about to start. The twelve-year-old in the corner puts down his book and the little kids run up and take their seats on my other side.

The lights in the room turn almost all the way off and I can see the stage clearly. There’s a screen up above the window that shows a close up shot. Two ways to watch.

I settle in and think about Noric for the first time today. He’s coming at it from a strange angle, but if he’s funny enough he could still earn a lot of sponsors today. I realize maybe I should try talking him up to the Phipps. They’re clearly wealthy…

Someone touches my hand in the dark and I jump. But it’s just Lucia. She’s trying to… hold hands or something. I cringe, but let her for a little while. When Caesar comes out, we all clap along with the rest of the Capitol, and I take the opportunity to lace my hands in my lap.

“How are we tonight, folks?” Caesar asks, all smiles.

Very nauseous, how are you Caesar? I make myself laugh a little.

Caesar tells us all that we’ve got some very special guests to meet. He brings out the tributes and they all take their seats.

I locate Noric immediately. I can’t tell, from this distance, what he’s wearing. Some blue suit. But he sits like a gentleman and even waves to the crowd a little.

Suave from One is up first. She glides up in a silver, floor-length dress and tells Caesar absolutely nothing about herself, while hinting at everything. Mysterious, playful. Then there’s Copper, who is loud and abrasive… but was probably going for intimidating. Willow is cool and confident, Howe is smart and calculating.

Interesting group of Careers this year. None of them were fantastic.

Then the girl from Three steps up and outshines them all. She’s likable, playful even. She bounces around in a pink dress that flows like it’s made of air and gushes about the Capitol and District Three.

“That’s such a pretty dress,” says Lucia. “I should get one like that.”

I don’t roll my eyes, but it’s difficult.

The twelve-year-old boy from Three does an even better job. Caesar asks him for an interesting fact about himself, and he replies that he is an amateur acrobat. Then we all watch as he does some impressive flips and tricks for the audience.

The two little kids next to me are absolutely enthralled by him. And while he does his thing, they even get up and start doing cartwheels with him.

I smile at them, because they’re cute, and it’s not their fault this is all drenched in death, but Lucia groans.

“They’re so embarrassing.”

I go back to Caesar.

“Where did you learn all those crazy moves?” he asks the boy.

“From my mom, she’s a dancer.”

“Well, do you have any special dance moves that could help you in the arena?”

“I definitely think so,” says the boy.

“You hear that folks? Finnick Odair better not get comfortable, we might have a new record breaker this year.”

Suddenly the camera above the window has my face in it. I jump, realizing it’s a live feed, and manage to smile and wave.

Lucia leans over and waves too, which is embarrassing. My friends are watching this. I don’t want them thinking I’m just hanging out with some Capitol kid. The camera cuts back and I relax slightly.

“Didn’t know there were cameras in here,” I say.

“Me neither,” says Lucia. “That was fun!”

Marrot’s up next. Compared to the boy from Three, she’s not much. But she holds her own. She’s got a rainbow dress on that sparkles when she moves. She talks about Four and her siblings and music. At one point, Caesar asks her to spin for us, which was the right decision. Her skirt fans out and creates a huge rainbow. The crowd oohs and aahs.

Noric completely exceeds my expectations. Caesar starts out by asking him if he’s got any visual gags for us, since the dress and the flips were such successes. Noric steps back as if he’s fully intending to do a flip himself but catches himself last second and says that, no, he does not.

He goes on to talk about District Four and starts categorizing buildings in the Capitol based on what fish they remind him of. I heard this joke in prep and while it’s much funnier if you know exactly what these fish look like, relating the President’s Mansion to a six-foot rainbow trout because ‘it’s big’ still gets a good laugh. Especially since all the others had extensive reasons.

“So what about your home life. Family? Friends? A girl, perhaps?”

“I’ve got my mom and dad and my little sister Emma.”

I notice he doesn’t mention what’s-his-name, his mom’s new husband.

“This night makes me think about Emma especially. Because when we were kids, she and I would watch this interview, and with each tribute we’d guess, based on their personality, whether or not they sing in the shower."

There’s a big laugh. I know for a fact this isn’t true. Emma and Noric did have a game at the interviews, but it wasn’t a funny game. They’d sit and guess whether or not the tribute was a tesserae kid or not, and how many siblings they had. It takes a certain eye to spot a tesserae kid while they’re decked out in Capitol clothes. Emma used to refer to it as her way of reminding herself that these kids were starving and helpless during the most fashionable day of the year.

“Do you think she’s guessing right now?” says Caesar.

“Oh, she knows I sing in the shower,” says Noric.

We don’t even have indoor showers in Four. Only three per sector, at the docs. No one sings in those. I can feel Emma’s rage from here. He’s making a joke out of something she still takes very seriously. She must hate him for it.

But Lucia’s laughing, which I suppose is what’s important. Sponsorships.

Noric moves on, and he looks even better when the girl from Five barely gets three words strung together. We go down the line and Lucia begins to get bored. The kids are back to playing with their dolls on the floor. I feel bad for the kids from lower Districts. It must be harder for them to get sponsors for so many reasons. This is just another barrier.

The girl from twelve, who looks considerably older now, steps up and says she’s the butcher’s daughter. She might looks small, but she knows how to use a knife. I’m not sure what her angle is. Because she’s both sweet and yet, talking about killing things.

The boy from Twelve finishes off the night. He’s big, I remember from the reaping, and he scored pretty high. An eight or nine. He doesn’t say much. Just answers a few of Caesar’s questions. But he doesn’t need to speak. His size, next to little Caesar, says enough.

Finally, we all stand for the anthem, and the stage goes dark.

“Nice batch,” says Mr. Phipps.

He stands and stretches.

“Mom, you’re taking the kids home?”

The elderly woman nods and snaps at the twelve-year-old to stand.

“Can I come to the party for a little while?” says Lucia.

“Just for a little,” says Mrs. Phipps. “You have to do your project before the Games start tomorrow, so you’ve got to get up early.”

Lucia rolls her eyes. “I know.”

I’m not sure what to do. I’m hoping this is it, and I can go back to the Tribute Center, perhaps yell at Noric about making light of Emma’s game. But no one is giving me any indication.

Finally, after the grandmother and the three younger kids file out, Mr. Phipps turns to me.

“Finnick?” he says.

“Yes sir?”

“Ready?”

I suppose that means I’m going to the party.

“I wasn’t sure if I was invited.”

“Of course, you’re my guest.”

“Well, thank you.”

Lucia slips her arm around mine like I’m her escort and we follow the three adults. We end up going up to the roof of the building, which is about seven stories. There’s even more food, and a bar. A band plays at one end. It’s a whole event. I’m disgusted by it.

A tray passes with more posca. Lucia takes a glass, but since I barely got the first one down, I do not.

There’s dancing and a few pictures from past Games, which I avoid looking at once I realize what they are.

Lucia finds two kids she knows. She introduces them to me all formal, but when I look away I can see them all giggling out of the corner of my eye.