The sun is glaring upon my face when I set foot on the stage, the District 7 mayor announcing me for the first time as a mentor. There's no applause to welcome me, not that I blame the people. I remember when I stood there last year, amongst the seventeen-year-old girls, hands trembling in fear, heart stopping when I heard my name. And now, I'm supposed to be a Victor ready to forge another from these groups of frightened children. I look to my left, where my co-mentor of this year, Darren, is sitting. I'm happy he's the one I have to mentor with. He's the only true Victor of District 7, won his games by pure strength. Even now, eleven years after his victory, he's still incredibly muscular. A true Victor. I feel very little in comparison to him. But then again, I did win the Games too. I'm a true Victor as well, not by strength but by being cunning and ruthless.
"Ladies first," the escort says before she almost dances to the girls' reaping bowl.
"Jean Chaney."
A girl who stands in the group of the thirteen-year-olds comes forwards, tears streaking her face. As I eye her appearance I decide she won't be a Victor. It'll be a miracle if she survives the bloodbath. She's not particularly beautiful so she won't get sponsors that way, and she's a bit plump which means she's a merchant's daughter. No, she will definitely fall in the arena.
"Now, on to the boys, shall we."
I look towards Darren, who already has a look of defeat on his face.
"Dustin Clann," the high-pitched voice of the escort rings through the town square.
For some reason, this name lets sighs of relief breathe through the crowd. Even Darren stands up from his chair.
I stretch my neck to see why everyone is suddenly so alert, and as I see the young man walking towards the stage, I understand. He's one of the oldest to be reaped, more man than boy, dirty blonde hair hanging just past his broad and extremely muscled shoulders. He doesn't look afraid, on the contrary, he has a neutral look on his face, on the verge of bored. He looks like he could actually win the Games.
Jean and Dustin shake hands before they are lead to the town hall where they get to say goodbye to their families. Dustin stays outside though, refusing to go in with a curt shake of his head.
Ten minutes later, when the butcher and his family leave their daughter in the hands of the Capitol, we are on our way to the train station.
"The boy looks promising," I tell Darren, motioning towards the car in front of us.
"He will win," is all he says. "It's in his blood."
"In his blood?"
Darren turns to look at me before he speaks. "I knew his father, a long time ago. His mother died in childbirth so it was just the two of them. His father died four years ago, killed by peacekeepers."
"Where did he live?"
"In his old house at the edge of town, providing for himself, refusing help from everyone who offered him, including me."
So the boy is practically an outlaw, without being an actual outlaw. No wonder I've never seen him before at school. I doubt he wanted to fill his days with being in school rather than trying to make a living for himself. I wonder how he survived all these years, he must've been very good at it, considering his healthy appearance.
The car pulls to a stop at the train station, where Dustin is already on the platform. The girl is clutching the escort's gloved hand, crying.
"Let me guess," I say without removing my gaze from the girl. "I'm to train this one?"
A smirk from Darren confirms my suspicions.
"So tell me, Jean, what are you good at?" I try to make my voice sound soft and gentle but I don't think I succeed very much.
The girl shrugs. "I'm pretty good at algebra."
I sigh heavily and close my eyes for a second. "I mean, something that could come in handy in the arena?"
The girl shrugs again, this time without saying anything.
"Running? Climbing? Are you good with knives, axes, any weapon at all?" I probe.
Another shrug.
"Well, when you're ready to try to save your own life," I suddenly yell in anger. "Come find me."
I stand up, take a glass of scotch and leave for my room. I can't believe how people can just embrace their fate and die. How can you not fight? It's your life!
Not even five minutes have passed when I hear a knock on my door.
"What?" I yell when I swing it open.
It's Darren. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I sigh. "I just… I can't train the girl. You take her."
"What? No."
"Seriously, Darren, take her. I hate weaklings, let me take the boy."
"I'll train Dustin, he's family to me."
"Whatever, then train them both. I don't want the girl."
"I can't train them both! I need all my time for Dustin."
"DARREN!" I yell again. "I don't want to train the girl!"
"Then she'll die."
"She'll die anyway, no matter what we do or say. It's hopeless."
Darren opens his mouth to reply but another one beats him to it. "You do know that everyone here can hear you two fight?" Dustin says from the adjacent car.
Darren and I share a look before we both return to the main car.
Dustin stands up from the sofa he was lying on and pours himself a drink. "You know," he starts, taking a sip before he continues, "I really don't need anyone to train me."
"Really?" I ask skeptically.
"Really," he repeats, looking me straight in the eyes. "Darren can train Jean and you can just do whatever it is you like to do."
"So you have it all figured out then? Your strategy, choice of weapon, how to survive?" I ask, folding my arms across my chest, daring him to go against me.
"How do you think I survived the past four years?"
He looks as though he doesn't care about the games at all, as if it's just another obstacle in his life he has to overcome. Nothing new. Nothing to worry about.
"Then tell me," I say, sitting opposite him. "What weapons are you going to use?"
Darren interrupts us. "Did I not just tell you I'm training him?"
"Shh," I cut him off, "Jean is waiting for you."
I nod towards the little girl with a victorious grin on my face, knowing that I've won this contest. I may be a girl but that doesn't mean I'm to get all the weaklings to train.
"I can use anything that kills," Dustin says, much too comfortable with the topic.
"Okay, how will you survive? Say, in an arena with rubble?"
"Can't I just go with the moment? I work better when I improvise," he says, yawning.
"My first year as a mentor and I already have tributes who are either whiny or arrogant as hell," I sigh to myself.
"Don't fuss, Johanna," Dustin says, grinning at me. "You'll get used to me soon enough."