"Lartius Rankine."
The boys in the right-hand crowd all slowly turned to the back of the group. Some of them raised their eyebrows with interest. Lartius emerged from the back of the crowd and made his way up to the stage, flanked by Peacekeepers. He could hear excited whispers around him. Eunia Allardyce, the female tribute called up before him, glared as he mounted the stage.
Lartius knew he was a little unusual for a male District 2 tribute. Usually, the male tributes were tall and menacing. Lartius was the runt of his class at the Tribute Training Center. All the other guys and some of the girls towered over him. He was only five-foot-seven, pretty short for a seventeen-year-old guy. One of the younger girls mentioned once that he had an innocent look about him, particularly his eyes.
Eunia stood proudly onstage, a smug look of confidence on her face. Their Capitol escort went back up to the microphone. "Any volunteers?"
Surprisingly, there was silence among the crowd. District 2 males were most likely to volunteer for the Games. This was the first time Lartius could remember that there wasn't a male volunteer. He wasn't sure why no one was stepping up. There were a lot of guys who were bigger, faster, and stronger than him. Guys who thought they had a better shot of winning than he did. But Lartius had the distinct notion that no one was volunteering because they were curious to see how well he would do.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the Capitol escort said finally, "your District 2 tributes!" She gestured grandly. "Shake hands, you two."
She stepped back. Lartius politely shook Eunia's hand. Eunia, however, was looking at him with a hungry gleam in her eye, like he was a roast turkey.
"Happy Hunger Games," said the Capitol escort with flourish, "and may the odds be ever in your favor."
The Peacekeepers took Eunia and Lartius into the Hall of Justice. As Lartius was taken into a room to wait for his family to say good-bye, he felt a small sense of eagerness. He hated being the shortest in his class. People always underestimated him, thought he wasn't fast enough or strong enough, even though they all trained the same amount of hours. The people whispering in the crowds were waiting for a good show. Lartius was ready to give them one.
Lartius was only in there a few minutes before his family came in: his mom, dad, and seven-year-old brother Jax. Jax immediately ran and hugged his big brother around the middle, shouting, "They picked you, they picked you!"
"They sure did, buddy," Lartius replied, hugging him back. Jax was excited. No one he knew ever got picked for the Games.
His parents were smiling proudly of him, his mother a little nervously.
His dad took him by the shoulders. "Remember," his dad said seriously, "don't let anyone get to you, but make sure they don't ignore you."
"I know," Lartius said, nodding.
"And just," his mother interjected, "be careful in there. Make us proud."
"I will," Lartius reassured her. "I promise."
"Are you gonna win?" Jax asked his brother.
Lartius smiled at him. "I think so."
Jax hugged him again. "I'll miss you."
His father grabbed all of them in a giant hug. Then, the Peacekeepers came in and quickly pulled Lartius' family out of the room. He did feel a pang inside him, wishing they hadn't been pulled out so quickly.
The next minute, Lartius was taken by the Peacekeepers out to the car ride to the train station. When he saw Eunia, she wasn't smiling smugly. She instead looked stoic and stone-faced. Lartius suspected she and her family had a difficult good-bye.
The cameras continued to follow them as they reached the train station. As Lartius and Eunia got out of the car, reporters starting yelling questions at them. They were all in the same vein: "Were you surprised you were picked for the Games this year?" "How do you feel about your chances in the arena?" "Is there anything you'd like to say to the people you're about to face in the Games?" But the Training Center always told them if they were picked to never answer a reporter's questions. All of those questions would be asked in the interviews before the Games. This was to keep a bit of the mystery from the spectators. Finally, Lartius and Eunia were ushered into the train and whisked away from the cameras and reporters.
"Rendwick Combe."
From the far back of the crowd, Rendwick felt his heart sink horribly. He had been desperately hoping it wouldn't be him, just like he did every year. Sure, he was one of the best guys at the Training Center, but he hated every minute of it. And yet he couldn't let it show. He had to do what was expected of him.
Rendwick walked up to the stage with a little swagger. Nitya Flamsteed, the female tribute, eyed him with trepidation. She knew of his reputation in the Training Center, but she'd never seen what he was capable of.
Their Capitol escort went back up to the microphone. "Any volunteers?"
The silence in the crowd was deafening. Volunteers were not uncommon in District 4, but all the guys knew, like Nitya, that Rendwick was the best choice for the job.
"All right, then," the Capitol escort said finally, "ladies and gentlemen, your tributes from District 4! Shake hands," she said to Rendwick and Nitya.
Rendwick and Nitya politely shook hands. Rendwick noticed that Nitya was sizing him up, seeing how confident he felt up going into the Games.
"Happy Hunger Games," the Capitol escort chimed, "and may the odds be ever in your favor."
The Peacekeepers onstage took Rendwick and Nitya into the Hall of Justice. He could sense that Nitya was a little jittery. He did his best to steady his own nerves. He was taught in the Training Center that even the smallest sign of weakness opened the door to getting killed. Especially for a guy.
Rendwick sat on the sofa in the room the Peacekeepers put him in, waiting for his parents and sister. The idea of leaving them felt like a horrible knot in his stomach. His sister, Thonia, was only eight months old. He had been looking forward to watching her grow into her own person.
The door opened. Rendwick instantly stood up and hugged his parents tightly. He really didn't want to let go of them.
"We're so proud of you," he heard his mother whisper.
He nodded silently. This might be the last time he would see his family. He thought it was best not to mouth off.
"And we're sure you'll make us prouder in the arena," his father said, releasing him.
Rendwick nodded again. "Yeah, I will."
His attention shifted to Thonia, who was reaching for him in his mother's arms. Smiling, he picked her up.
"Hey. I'm gonna miss you a lot," he said to her. She waved one of her little fists. "Try not to grow up too fast, okay?" He kissed the top of her head.
The door opened and the Peacekeepers came to take them out. Rendwick quickly kissed Thonia again and passed her back to his mother. The Peacekeepers quickly ushered them out of the room.
The cameras were waiting for them to come out of the Hall of Justice. As he and Nitya made their way to the train, he noticed she'd been crying. He knew that she was quite close to her family. That's the way it was in District 4. People valued the friendships they made and the connections they had with other people.
The walk to the train wasn't that long, so the reporters tried to get a little information out of Rendwick and Nitya. Nitya glared at the cameras, clearly in no mood to talk. Rendwick just ignored them and kept walking to the train, his eyes forward. He pushed past them to get inside. He didn't even look back at them as the train slowly began to move.
Lartius and Eunia sat in the dining car of the train, waiting for their mentors. District 2 had a lot of them. They were always the most favored district to win. Lartius knew all of their names, but not all of their faces. He wondered who he was going to get.
His question was answered when the door to the dining car opened and Brutus and Lyme walked in. Everyone in District 2 knew them. Brutus won two years ago and Lyme won about ten years ago.
"Congratulations," Brutus said to them. He shook Lartius' hand, then Eunia's. Lyme did the same. Brutus was always a straightforward person. Lyme was, too, but she knew when to tone it down.
Brutus sat down in the chair opposite Lartius. "I'll be your mentor," he said to Lartius, "and Lyme will be yours," he added to Eunia.
Both of them nodded.
"You seem eager," Brutus noted, referring to Lartius.
"I'm ready to show what I'm capable of," Lartius said simply.
Brutus grinned. "That's what I like to hear."
"And what about you?" Lyme asked Eunia.
"I've been ready since my name was called," Eunia said, her smug smile back in place.
Lyme nodded. "Good. But I wanna ask both of you something: Do you think the Games are easy? Or do you think the past District 2 tributes just made them look easy?"
Lartius and Eunia were taken a little aback by this question. Given their intensive training back home, he knew the Games weren't exactly a cakewalk. But Lartius remembered how the high-district tributes were so confident going into the Games because of how well prepared they are.
"They made it look easy, I guess," Lartius answered.
Lyme nodded. "Why do you say that?"
"Because they prepared for it, just like we had to," Eunia answered. "And it's not like we were trained to survive a specific circumstance. It's not like we studied how to survive the Games in a swamp arena only to find out when they started that we're fighting in a desert. They trained us to be versatile survivors."
"That's true," Brutus put in. "Now why do you think tributes from outlying districts might survive if they manage to avoid the bloodbath at the Cornucopia?"
Now Lartius and Eunia were stumped. They looked at each other, puzzled, and just shrugged.
"Coming into the Games as high-district tributes is a blessing and a curse," Lyme said seriously. "Tributes from outlying districts are not as well prepared as you, because they aren't fed as much. They're used to not having enough to eat. You're not."
"If you team up with the right people in the arena, you'll survive most of the Games," Brutus added. "Then, you have to win. District 2 has a long-standing tradition of winning the Games. You both know that District 2 produces the most victors. You need to be able to handle that kind of pressure."
Rendwick and Nitya sat in silence, waiting for their mentors to show up. Rendwick could tell that Nitya was keeping herself calm after saying good-bye to her family. Her tears had dried, but the memory weighed heavily on her. He could tell.
The door to the dining car opened and Mags and Hyssop came in. They were the oldest victors of District 4, and always treated with respect back home. Hyssop won about fifteen years ago, and Mags about twenty years ago.
"Hello," Mags said kindly, "and congratulations to you both." She shook both of their hands. "Hyssop will be your mentor, Nitya," she turned to Rendwick, "and I'll be yours."
Rendwick was pleased. He always liked Mags. Even though she had to mentor tributes every year, she treated them like human beings instead of pigs being sent to the slaughter.
Hyssop looked expectedly at Nitya. She seemed to have gained some nerves. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
Nitya let out a breath. "I don't know, really. I miss my family already, and I'm afraid that that was the last time I'll ever see them."
Hyssop nodded sympathetically. "I know it's hard. But if you really love them and want to see them again, you'll make sure nothing gets in your way of winning this thing. Okay?"
Nitya nodded, albeit unsurely.
"And one way to ensure that you win," Hyssop went on, "is to team up with the right people. The high-district tributes are well trained. If you become their allies, you get to know their weaknesses. Use them to survive until the other tributes are killed. Then, you fight your way to victory."
Rendwick and Nitya nodded. This was the same strategy high-district tributes used every year.
"Should we take a look at the Reapings?" Mags asked. "See who you're facing?"
Rendwick and Nitya nodded again. Mags reached into the side table drawer for the remote control. She pointed it at the screen in the car and turned it on.
Several people stood out for Rendwick, most of them boys. A tall, very muscular guy with a shaved head from District 1, who volunteered in the place of a sixteen-year-old. This was no act of protection, though. The guy who volunteered believed he had a better shot at winning. A guy from District 2, who was a little short for a high-district tribute. A wiry, but confident-looking guy from District 3.
Then came District 4. When the escort called his name, he quickly searched for his own face in the crowd. He watched himself walk up and stand onstage, looking for signs of fear or even just nerves. He saw nothing. He let nothing show.
After District 4, there wasn't really anybody interesting. There were a few more sixteen through eighteen-year-olds, but the rest were younger. The younger ones usually didn't survive very long. He did note that both tributes from Twelve were over 16.
After watching the Reapings, Rendwick noticed Nitya looked more confident. She clearly didn't see much competition from the other districts. Mags and Hyssop had told both of them to ally themselves with the high-district tributes, to ensure they wouldn't die right away.
Rendwick glanced out the window and saw that the terrain was becoming more mountainous. The nerves began to climb up his throat. He swallowed hard. No nerves, no fear, no nothing. No matter what.