"Sometimes success is as disconcerting as failure."

-Don Henley

Part I.

Just Want to Move Ahead

I try out different rooms until I find one where the sunlight creeps in each morning like it did in our old home. I awake too late without the light as an alarm (or I wake too early, in the dark, amidst the nightmares, and when I finally drift off again, sleep far too long).

This is my own time, one day after another. Patterns develop and fluctuate. Papa won't sell the old house, but he feels unkind holding onto it when, undoubtedly, there's need. He gives it to Dan Armain, his closest male friend, who basically lived on his rickety boat in the time from the rebellion until then. Dan has no wife or children, but he uses the opportunity to move his niece and her family in with him. The house may be filled to the brim, but it's a sturdier one, in a better area than they came from.

I find it hard to feel even as close as I did previously to my old friends, but I get along with basically everyone. The general gratitude is too widespread for many grudges.

Papa and I have settled physically, materially into the big house that was part of my winnings by the time the call comes (emotionally is a tougher call). "Consider this your first reminder, Mags," Apple says, "Your Victory Tour begins one month from now."

"Yes, Apple," I agree obediently. I'm neither looking forward to nor dreading this part. How much can I complain when I'm not going to have to either kill or die? Maybe seeing the other districts will be interesting. Will District 6 be as smog-choked as Sparrow suggested? "I'll be ready." It will be nice to see Apple and Aulie again, at least.

"Was that Apple?" Papa asks from his place at the table.

"Three weeks 'til the Tour," I answer. "I'm going out." If it were important, I would say more, but it's not. I'm just going out for the sake of being out. He understands the best he can.

I weave my aimless way between the empty next-door houses.

There are twelve houses in Victor's Village, so I guess the Capitol imagines a single district might have up to twelve victors at once? Will that be sufficient, or someday, somewhere, are they going to have to put up more? There is room for more. These were only the twelfth Games. The Victor's Village has its own docks and its own beach, though the houses are a ways up and away from the sand (it wouldn't do, having those pretty houses easily flooded when it storms). It's an island. Literally and figuratively.

It feels like we're very alone. Papa and I have no neighbors. …On land, that it. At sea it's another story. At sea, things are just like the old days. Odair, whose sister was a tribute, cruises by with a new girl alongside him and both of them wave. A bunch of younger teenage boys I don't know from the school rowing team alternately practice their sport and splash one another mercilessly.

Papa can't stand not to work, but there's no need any more for us to work very hard, so we pick around and don't take away from the needier people around us. I try to enjoy the familiarity of it. The simplicity.

Except when I have some inexplicable (in that I can't find the trigger) bout of nerves and seeing the shape of a big fish moving through the water makes me break out in a cold sweat. Sometimes I can go out on the boat, but I can't fish. Sometimes just wading in the shallows sets me on edge. Papa tells me to take things slowly. Rushing won't help. Setting your mind to it can only get you so far.

I have to go slowly, even when it gets boring.

The idea that Faline was saved by my actions this time, but could theoretically be reaped again some other year tugs at my mind. 'Lito has one more year of eligibility too. Sometimes when I meet up with one or the other of them after school I get into taskmaster mode. "You can't count on the arena to have big bodies of water to swim in," I say like I'm some kind of expert, or, "You can't expect to be able to get your hands on the tools you'll need or even ones you're capable of using decently."

'Lito calls this my "mentoring practice." He humors me, going swimming, practicing knots, throwing rocks at target, making fishhooks… I try to temper my arena-focused insanity in front of Faline, but from time to time she still ends up running sprints along the sand with me. Of course, as close as Faline came to it, to her, as well as to 'Lito, the exercises we engage in are a game at best. They like me, so they indulge my peculiarities. Anyway, at least we do ordinary things together too. I help Faline with her schoolwork and we make jewelry with shells and bits of glass we pick up off the beach. I help 'Lito paint in his father's boat shop; we talk a lot.

I can't manage everything they might like. I won't play a beachside game of Marco Polo. I won't let 'Lito hold my hand. How much is a result of my Games and how much is just me?

Where Games-related issues float uneasily between me and my friends, a decent number of adults have warmed to the feelings I expressed regarding readiness and volunteer-ship. I can't know how that would've gone if I'd lost (though second place would've still made my point pretty well), but I won. An older and just better prepared (marginally, in my case) tribute drastically improves the odds of halving the inevitable sorrow in District 4. So, maybe it's illegal to train for the Games, but what if a handful of kids have the inclination to hang out with a victor and learn some self-defense?

The Capitol wants District 4 to play into the larger game at stake here by lauding my victory, right? And they'll be doing that better if I'm a local celebrity of some sort than if I slip silently away to sulk at home in Victor's Village. There's a balance a victor seems to need to strike (unless you're on-television-weekly Jack Umber). Don't become too needy for the Capitol's attentions; don't hole up in your basement and black out all the windows.

Even if there's no battle training, which would do the most good, there is always my officially approved talent: basket-weaving. Weaving fibers by hand can make you a basket, but couldn't it also make a rope, a shelter, a component for a trap?

When the Capitol's cameras come back to capture me for my Victory Tour, led by a pushy woman named Tosca, Apple contrives to make sure they start with my weaving "class" (it's a bit more impromptu and instructed than how I'd describe an average class). The fact that there are seven boys present to the three girls (excluding me) is played funny, as an indication of my "who wouldn't want to date a victor?" (answer: probably plenty of people in the districts) charm. This was Apple's idea and she thinks it's exceedingly clever. I'm just happy that the Victor Affairs people are obviously buying into, or willing to pretend to buy into, this as a 'cult of Mags' thing, not an infringement of the rules.

A couple of my 'students,' Estelle and Rodrigo and Che in particular, even seem to enjoy being filmed and interviewed, which scares me on some level. The reapings aren't rigged, right? This isn't going to increase their odds of being picked? Even if they're preparing to consider staring death in the face, I think any volunteer comes at the situation differently than someone randomly picked. Just being that tiny bit more in control of your own destiny makes such a difference.

Apple becomes my temporary student for the sake of the viewers back home. She's like some shiny bit of foreign debris washed up among the ordinary driftwood, surrounded by my little group: Che, Rodrigo, 'Lito, Slip, Salvador, Tack, Jerrick, Faline, Estelle, Maria. Apple's not a natural, but we help her make a bracelet out of palm fronds and green ribbon and she's extraordinarily proud that she was involved in its construction as I see her showing it off to Papa while the camera crew takes their lunch break on our porch.

"Maybe Mags' talent is teaching as much as weaving," Papa says to her.

"Someone taught her well first," Apple smiles at him. In her sea green and silver heels she's a bit taller than him. She looks down into Papa's eyes with an easy fondness. I realize I have no idea how old Apple is or what sort of family she has, aside from the sister I happened to meet on the hovercraft on my way out of the arena. Does Papa remind Apple of her own father? Or would he be more like an older brother to her?

That he gets along with her is no surprise- Papa is my semiconscious role model in personable-ness. I've seen him angry and I've seen him argue, but I have never seen him start the fight. I can't claim the same about myself.

I say good-bye to Papa and Faline on camera. I say good-bye to Mrs. Mirande on my own. In the other districts, I'll have to see the families of the fallen tributes, but that's to be a reminder of unpleasant things for them (as much as for me?). District 4 has a victor; that they also have a loss- one that I knew and liked- won't be rubbed in. It would only diminish the viewing pleasure of the Capitol. Under the surface, everyone who knew Beanpole thinks about it anyway (Apple obliquely refers to him as 'that poor boy').

I'm upbeat with my good-byes in a "let's get this over with" sort of way. The sooner I go, the sooner I'll be home. And after the places I've been, it's easy to go anywhere knowing that I'll eventually come back.

The tour's first stop will be in District 12, working our way back down numerically through the districts (skipping 4) to the Capitol. It's going to take a while to reach 12, even at this speed. It's further from 4 than the Capitol is. My styling team reunites with me on board and spruces up my ordinary, plain appearance with some makeup and hairpins. "You know how they say 'spare no expense?'" Erinne says, laughing, "Well, we're supposed to spare expense. There's a budget and anything that goes over it, we're paying for out of pocket."

"Oh, uh, sorry," I'm not sure what to say, "I hope that the things I packed will be good enough."

Erinne laughs more at this. "Ooh, it's not up to you to take care of that, Mags!

"Knock, knock," Aulie bellows. "Ladies, may I come in?"

"Yeah," Irish counters, "And when we let you in we're never going to get you out!" She leans down toward my ear to share her more detailed grumblings. "Somehow he'll convince someone to do his makeup, which I think is how he saves money on his own."

"He can come in if you don't mind, Mags," Erinne shrugs.

"C'mon, Aulie!" I call for him. I've had his phone number this entire time, but I never quite felt I had the "need" to call him as he'd said, so we haven't been in touch. Apple only mentioned himonce among her various calls. For some dumb reason I had assumed they had some kind of common connection beyond me, but I think that's not true. Until I won, they probably worked with one another just that one month or so out of the year. And it's not like coaches and escorts have to coordinate what they're up to too closely.

"I'm going to paint him up like he's Zastra Charmain if he starts trying to use the eye shadow we brought for you," Irish grumbles.

Before I can ask an incredulous "Who?" (because if she means to be funny, I don't get her joke), Aulie bounds in, strong and strapping as ever. I reach out and he grabs my hands. "Mags! You look very nice! I think you've picked up the five pounds I thought you still needed the last time I saw you."

"Fortunately they weren't ones that made me have to alter all my clothes."

"Such a thrifty little victor!"

"You're going to have to be my spending coach too if you want me to live up to your standards in that area," I counter. "It's hard to change a lifetime of habits like that. Anyway, I plan on living a long, long time, so it's going to have to last me."

"Never ask someone from the Capitol for spending advance, Mags," Erinne warns me, "People in the districts may not know it, but a third of us outside the top echelons of society must be in debt."

"Don't mention it when that camera lady is around though," Spring grumbles, "There's a dyed-in-the-wool propagandist if I've ever met one."

"I don't like her either!" Irish laughs. Clearly, they hadn't exchanged opinions on the camera crew yet. "But the guys seem all right as long as she's not breathing down their necks."

"I like the little blond one," Aulie shares his opinion. "He looks so thin, but it seems like he can carry all that equipment just fine. …The lady, though, is Tosca Snow. She wasn't in charge of the Victory Tour filming last year, but working with- honestly, it sounds like it was more working around- Emmy Pollack burned out several of the next in lines for this. I don't know what made her want in, but she had the connections to do it."

"…Does that mean they think I'm going to be trouble? Because I don't want to cause any trouble." And I don't mean to, although I have a bad habit of wanting to know things that can be construed as troublemaking. I want to know about Tosca now- add that to the ever-growing mountain- and what was so wearing about working with Emmy Pollack.

"Oh, Mags," Spring edges between me and Aulie to finish the light makeup the team was putting on me before Aulie butted in, "You're so cute."

Aulie falls into exactly the behavior that was predicted for him and asks Irish to look over his own makeup. He's the cute one, I think. But "cute" also means "nonthreatening," doesn't it? And that's what I want to be. …The same as I was to some degree for my Games.

The stylists release me with news that there's another activity already waiting for me and that I should go straight there and not mess up my makeup (apparently I touch my face without even noticing it). Aulie gives me a thumbs up when Erinne begins fussing with his hair.

Someone else (Tosca, of course) has set things up in one of the cars for a "Hey, how've you been doing since your Games, Mags?" interview to be held while we travel. Apple is set to conduct it, which is good since we have a nice rapport.

Of course she still asks things that make me squirm in my seat in embarrassment. I try to answer even when it's awkward. I figure it can always be played for laughs. In fact, I'd rather it be portrayed that way considering some of the interview content. It's bothersome to imagine people in the Capitol sitting around wondering about my love life.

The questions fit the typical mold. The stuff they ask all sorts of celebrities, the stuff they ask every victor, the questions from fans.

"Have you and your father been enjoying your newfound wealth? What's the most fun you've had with the money you've earned?"

"Uh, I guess it's okay. We…re-painted and refitted the boat." As far as a living conditions upgrade, getting the new house would've been more than enough. We buy more fruit than we did in the old days, some of which has to be imported from 11, but, like I discussed with Aulie, we're used to living carefully. One windfall, however large, isn't enough to change that. I guess we're stuck in our ways. I was born in troubled times. I don't know a life that doesn't involve stretching to make ends meet.

Fixing up the boat was good though, because it employed a lot of our friends and neighbors. The Ortiz Boatshop did the paint job, the Crestas sold us nets, Majorie's shop stocked us up on all sorts of useful nautical miscellany.

"Refurbishing, hmm? Not a new boat?"

"I'm kind of the sentimental type, you know? The house in Victor's Village is really something, so that's enough newness for me and my dad. It's a good boat." It's not difficult to talk about either. We really like that boat.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No." That's one of the questions that kind of gets me. I twist Faline's ring around and around.

I think Apple enjoys teasing me and, as a result, relishes this job she's been given. "Well," she leans in conspiratorially, ignoring the fact that this will be on national television, "What about a secret crush?"

She wishes, right? Maybe the viewers do. I know that Kayta Hiro's girlfriend gets attention. …I suppose none of the other victors have significant others (or not ones that the Capitol approves of enough to reveal?), because I think that would be all over the tabloid TV. "Oh, no," I shake my head, "I've got so many other things on my mind." The Victory Tour, for one. Not freaking out, for another.

"I have a feeling that you'd be able to get almost any boy around there you wanted." I don't agree, but she saw Lito. I don't know if they talked, but he could probably sell her on that impression with some of his looks of restrained interest alone. Whether that's true or not, she's supposed to say it, I have to remind myself. I'm a victor. I'm supposed to be "desirable." …But if they were picking for looks, Sparrow's the one they should've gotten.

It's in "character" for me to downplay this kind of thing, fortunately. "I don't know about that… I'm not that pretty and I'm really stubborn and," I go in for the coup de grace, "Sometimes I sleep with my mouth open and drool."

"Just a nice reminder that no one's perfect, dear," Apple chirps back at me. I think I'm cracking her up inside, but she stays as perfectly professional as you would expect. "Is there something in particular you're looking forward to on your Victory Tour?"

I can play nicer with this material because I have a sincere interest in it. "Meeting the other victors," I declare plainly.

"Any of them in particular?" Apple continues.

Okay, maybe I still need to play it cautious. I can't just say that I want to find out what the deal is with Emmy Pollack. I can still be honest though, because there's a lot more on mind regarding my fellow victors than that. "Any of them; all of them, really, but if I have to pick someone specific, um, Shy Evert? I guess I'm kind of her fan, actually. I was happy when she won." I'm not sure if it's okay for me to say that this has a lot to do with the fact that I felt like she was avenging Aoko and the other weaker tributes like her."

And there's another one I want to mention, although saying so aloud gives me pause and I can't figure out the reason for my hesitation. "…We met briefly in the Capitol, but I'd also really like to see Jack Umber again."

I don't have any good reason to give as to why. I just find him…interesting.

Of course, Apple can easily find an angle to approach this from that will stir up the fervor of the big Hunger Games fans in the Capitol, mine and Jack's both. "More interesting than the boys in District Four?" she bats her gem-speckled false eyelashes.

"It's, uh, not exactly the same kind of thing, Apple," I counter, although I don't fight the accusation too much. It's not the same thing as the talk about the boys back home. That could be something (and it could send someone there the wrong message), but this is obviously fiction. I assume that Jack Umber knows more about show business than any other victor, since he's been in the spotlight longest and being on television is pretty much his talent (as a matter of fact, I don't know or remember what his official talent is), so I can't imagined this will ruffle him much.

"Hmm, I think I'm onto something here. …Well, boys, you have some tough competition. Miss Mags went away to the Capitol and came back home with sophisticated tastes!"

"Aaaaapple," I groan melodramatically, putting hands over my face. It's as much a game as anything else (but does she have to be so- so- ooh).

"Do you have a special message you'd like to say to Jack in case he's watching?" she prompts me eagerly.

"Jack," I turn my face to stare directly into the camera, "People listen to you and no one listens to me, so next time you see her, tell Apple to stop making fun of me."

To the right of the blond cameraman, Tosca Snow looks exceedingly pleased.

When the interview airs the following night while we're still on our way out to District 12 (it was the slow start that first day that stymied us), our exchange is followed up by a "special message" in reply from Jack Umber. It actually looks like he might be sitting at home, but it's probably just some sound studio set-up. "Apple!" he announces without preamble, "Stop making fun of Mags! It's not her fault that she has good taste!"

This is all so ridiculous and apparently shocking to me that it takes a moment to set in. I should be laughing now, right? I look around to see the reactions of the people watching with me. Aulie starts laughing first, hysterically, clutching his arms around his stomach. Erinne and Spring shove each other's arms, giggling, while Irish rolls her eyes and slaps her hand against her forehead.

Tosca only smiles and reaches for her drink.

When I meet Apple's eyes, I see that she's taken aback as well. She begins to laugh nervously, "Well, Mags, I suppose you got what you asked for..."

An equally awkward chuckle escapes my lips, "So are you going to listen to him or will the mocking continue?"

"I think our friends back in the Capitol just about expect it now," she counters.

I am playing by ear here and I'm no musician, so the best I can do is one thing (one step) at a time. Jack Umber, I hope you know better than I do how to deal with what I've started, because I have no idea where I'm headed now…