Part I - "The Tributes" Chapter 2
The following morning I have to fight to keep my breakfast down. The food is so rich and dissimilar to anything else I have ever stomached that my body can't handle it. A tureen of cold fruit, several plates of rolls and pastries dotted with seeds or filled with a chocolate paste or spiced jam, sit uneaten. I feel like a pig being fattened up for slaughter.
"Jaime, look!" Milagro cries, grabbing my arm. Up until this point there has been minimal interaction between us, the unspoken tension on our relationship clearly prominent.
I turn to follow her gaze. There it is. The renowned Capitol glittering with an unequaled brilliance. Oddly dressed people point and gawk at us as our tribute train rolls past. I grimace and pull away from their prying eyes, but Milagro is pressed right up against the glass, smiling and waving.
"What are you doing?" I hiss, not bothering to mask my disgust.
"Maybe one of them is rich," she answers with a sheepish shrug.
It's a fair point, and really quite clever of Milagro. While I am acting indifferent towards potential sponsors, she is encouraging them, and making what may be a lasting impression.
"So Mila's done something to gain a few sponsors. Any suggestions on what I should do?" I question Booster, who is refilling his glass.
"Oh, just be yourself."
I grit my teeth. Yes, because that has already helped me so much in the way of friendships. Not that Booster would know. He hasn't really bothered to get to know either of his proteges.
After the train stops, Milagro and I part ways and I meet my prep team. They're idiots. Like blithering, ridiculous idiots. They wash me down and lather my skin with something that supposedly makes it "glow". Next they're trimming my eyebrows, styling my hair and gelling it, all the while chatting on the current fashions and which tributes they think are going to die first.
It's sickening listening to these people. I manage to keep quiet, gritting my teeth when they pluck hair and scrub away layers of skin.
"You know," one of them says, "if I had to bet on whose going to go first, I'd guess that District 5 boy. He's looks so underfed, I bet even I could snap him in half."
Something about the comment sets me off. Not just because they-the Capitol children- speak so flippantly about the Hunger Games, but because they find it entertaining. My blood is broiling as she continues conversing with the rest of the prep team.
"I'm not sure about that. He's an Allen, after all."
The former makes a noise of assent. "True. If he's as fast as Barry it should be interesting Games. He'll need to be quicker than that cousin of his, though."
"Oh! When Wally died in last year's Games I was so shocked. I mean, I don't think anyone saw it coming."
I sit up, and push their preening hands away. "I'm done," I say with such fervor and finality that they actually step back.
They exchange a look, but make no attempt to argue. In other words, they're all talk and no action.
By the time my stylist walks in my skin is still tingling with pain and I'm still shaking with anger. She circles around me, most likely to observe and note my flaws. Her skin is dyed green, something not uncommon with Capitol citizens, and she has red hair and a light spattering of freckles across her cheeks.
"How despicable we must seem to you." Her voice is soft and timid. She doesn't wait for a response though, because she is already prodding my skin with her finger tips.
"You're my stylist?" She isn't at all what I expected. She is too caring, too gentle. There is something else, something in her gaze, that is a mix of pride and shame. I wonder what happened to her to make her so starkly different from the rest of the Capitol.
She smiles. "Let's just say I've always been good at changing appearances."
"You got stuck with District 12?"
"I asked for District 12." She examines me once more, her eyebrows cinched in concentration. "Jaime, is it?"
She pronounced it correctly. I like her already. "Yes."
"It's nice to meet you. I'm Megan Morse." We shake hands, as equals. But the moment of friendliness is fleeting, and before I know it, she's back to work. Megan measures my height, my arms, and waist.
"Your District's profession is coal mining, correct?"
I nod. The tribute's from our District usually end up in coal miner's outfits, which does nothing to win us sponsors.
"What do you use coal for? Fire, right? This year District 12 is going to go out with a bang. It'll be the hottest performance of the Opening Ceremonies!"
"You're going to set me on fire?" I joke.
"Oh, not me," she deadpans. "I'm not… I don't like fire. But your sister's stylist will take care of that."
I gulp. I'd suddenly rather be dressed in a clunky coal miner's suit.
I meet with Megan later, and she helps me slip into a sleek black outfit. It has highlights of blue, the color of a flame if it burns hot enough. Black and blue. I inspect myself in the floor-length mirror. I am the color of a bruise. Still, the material looks good; it adds a bit of padding to my muscles, but the fabric thins along my torso and rib cage, so that you can see the contours of my abs. The overall effect makes me look more muscular than I actually am.
Megan has already assured me that my costume will compliment Milagro's, but surely my sister isn't dressed in similar apparel. I bite the inside of my cheek and wait.
When Milagro enters the room, my jaw literally drops. What have they done with my sister? I survey her quietly. Her eyelids appear to have been dusted with a smoky powder that gives the illusion of coal dust. Her hair is no longer in its signature pigtails, and instead cascades past her shoulders in waves. Her outfit is a gossamer gown of midnight blue, accentuated with hints of gold and pink that enhance the fire theme.
She looks older. I cross my arms, frowning. I don't like it.
"Shouldn't she be wearing minimal make-up? To make her look innocent?" I challenge.
Milagro's stylist is a tall brooding man with steely blue eyes and black hair. He stands in such close proximity with Megan that it makes me wonder if they're together.
Milagro's stylist sighs, as if he is an adult about to explain something complicated to a very small child. "That won't help with sponsors. You're already at a disadvantage. The other tributes know you'll be going out of your way to protect her. We need to take away her innocence; make her look older, stronger."
Milagro and I step into the chariot. "You look good," she whispers, but the compliment only elicits a deeper frown on my part.
"Now, when we push this button," Megan starts, "well, when Conner presses the button, you two will be lit up with synthetic fire. It won't hurt, I promise."
Will Megan and Conner lose their positions if Milagro and I are reduced to ashes before the Games have even begun? My stomach twists and churns, and I direct my attention to the other chariots.
Our costumes are very artfully designed, but not at all unforgettable. My eyes sweep across the tributes, and stop on the District 5 Chariot. My heart gives a nervous flip-flop. The male tribute, Bart Allen, I remind myself, is dressed in a cream suit with red zig-zags. No, lightning bolts. Clever, given that District 5's profession is power.
As if he feels the heat of my gaze, Bart turns, and those luminous evergreen eyes lock on my brown ones. My cheeks flame brighter than my costume, and I turn away.
Milagro taps her nails along the side of the Chariot, and I notice that little flames have been painted on them. "What?" she asks. I have been staring at her for too long.
"Mamá and Papá are in for a real shock."
She grins and I grin back, and it feels so good to smile again. To really smile, without having to force it.
"Yeah? Well wait 'til they see you!"
"Please," I scoff.
"I mean it, Jaime. You're going to get lots of sponsors."
"So are you."
She shakes her head, and somehow I can tell the discussion is closed. Against my better judgement, my gaze flickers back to Bart, but he's no longer looking in my direction. I'm not sure why exactly, but for some reason I'm left a bit disappointed.
I don't have time to dwell on why I feel so drawn to the District 5 boy, because in another moment, the parade has begun, and the Chariots are moving down. Megan steps forward to feed a sugar cube to one of the horses pulling the chariot. "Good boy, Khaji Da," she whispers, giving him a pat.
And then we're off. I crane my neck to watch Megan and Conner, when I see his thumb press down on the button. Flames erupt along our clothes, glowing a scintillating blue. Milagro looks radiant, her face illuminated by a halo of blue, and from the awe-stricken look she sends my way, I guess I am equally enthralling.
The audience "oohs" and "ahs" as we move by. Mila slips her hand in mine, and I lift it up for the crowd to see. We are united.
Through the tumult of the crowd I hear desperate cries of "Jaime" and "Milagro", the Capitol people are pining for our attention. I smile and wave at them with my free hand, while Milagro blows them kisses. The sky is darkening, and the rest of the tributes fade into the night. But not us. We are as radiant as the sun.
"Nice work!" Booster nods his head approvingly at us after the Parade is over. "Jaime Reyes, the boy who was on fire!" He turns to Milagro. "And, of course, the girl on fire!" As he talks, the glass in his hand tilts, sloshing vodka all over the floor. Booster doesn't seem to notice. "I knew you two could do it!"
I find this statement rather ironic considering he was nowhere to be seen earlier. Behind Conner, Megan, and Booster, I see a silhouette approaching.
"A lovely performance," Queen Bee congratulates in a low voice. "Training starts tomorrow. You'll want to be fully rested." Her eyes, as merciless and cold as a snake's, gleam, as if challenging us to argue.
Megan's smile suddenly seems forced and Conner's gaze has hardened, as if Queen Bee's very presence is a threat. Booster, however, is too occupied with his drink to either notice or care.
Milagro and I head for our sleeping chambers, and for the first time, I feel like we may actually stand a chance.
—
"You are all welcome to use the weapons and training equipment, but you are not to engage in combat with another tribute. If you need a sparring partner, I'll be here."
There is something unnerving about Dinah, the head trainer. Maybe it's the fact that her upper arm is bandaged, or maybe it's that she has any bruises to show at all, but I can't help wondering what someone in the Capitol had to do to get injured.
For the course of the next three days, Milagro and I wander from station to station. I try teaching her how to set a snare, but my efforts are wasted. Surprisingly though, she has an impressive amount of knowledge on vegetation and edible berries. She also knows how to purify water using iodine, something I myself didn't know.
I test my hand at a few different weapons, and earn appraising remarks from our trainer. My years of hunting with Tye have given me a bit of an edge. When I throw knives I hit the target every time. I'm alright with a spear, as long as I don't have to throw it too far.
We're at the camouflage booth, when Milagro leans in and whispers, "I think we have a shadow."
I follow her gaze. Bart Allen stands several paces behind us, almost completely blended in with the shadows. Almost, but not quite.
"District 7, right?" Milagro whispers.
"Five," I correct. Her eyebrows jump in surprise.
"I, uh," I stammer, "I paid close attention to the Reapings."
She nods, but her gaze shifts to something curious. I finish my crude attempt at painting a leaf design, and we head over to the lunch tables.
The Careers, Districts 1, 2, and 4 all sit together, like a pack. I recognize the Terror Twins, as I refer to them in my head, as well as Cameron and Tigress. Seated beside Tigress, the raven-haired girl with slanted eyes, is a tall boy with coffee coloured skin and pale blonde hair. I can't place his name.
Milagro and I claim the farthest table, distancing ourselves as far from the other tributes as possible.
"You thought about making any allies?"
I gnaw on my lip. District 11's tributes, Mal Duncan and Karen Beecher, would probably laugh if I proposed an alliance. I watched them both during training. Karen is admirably intelligent and Mal's arms are wider than my head. He wouldn't even need a weapon to kill me. Both tributes from District 3, electronics, know how to handle weapons, and are both skilled fighters. The boy's name is Tim Drake, I remember, but I can't recall the girl's surname. Stephanie something.
The Careers are also definitely not an option. They seemed mildly impressed with my ability to handle weapons, but not enough to consider me. I wouldn't want them for allies, either.
District 5's male tribute, nicknamed Arsenal, has a sly smile that leaves me hesitant to trust him. An alliance with him could only be temporary, and from the way he watches all of us, I get the feeling that he has his own personal agenda.
Some of the other tributes look either too scrawny or too distrusting to be of any use.
One by one my I rule each of the tributes out. If I had to choose one, I'd probably say District 5, but Milagro's already suspicious about how I knew Bart's name. I'm actually growing a bit wary of him myself. Every time I notice him my heart picks up, which can only be a sign not to enlist him as an ally.
With a painstakingly slow pause, I shake my head.
"Me neither. Booster says it wouldn't be a bad idea, though. Forming an alliance."
"I doubt he really knows anything about mentoring. It's such a total rip," I grumble suddenly vexed, "all the other tributes have former victors backing them up. We didn't even get to meet the guy who should've been our mentor!"
"No offense Jaime, but who cares? It's not like we're going to-"
"No. Don't give up yet." The Games haven't even started, and I'll do anything and everything I can to keep her alive.