A/N: We're pissed at Scholastic. The forums are good. Inspired by a late-night YIM conversation. Yes, the characters are based off forum-goers, and we have their permission. Enjoy!
Part 1- Real Life
~1~
"Hello, this is Scholastic," said a calm, cool voice. "My name is Carla. How may I assist you today?"
Samantha Harp took a deep breath and collected her wits. Then, in as businesslike of a voice as she could muster, she said, "Hello. My name is Samantha Harp, and I'm a Moderator on The Hunger Games Unofficial Fan Forum. We were wondering when the results of The Hunger Games Writing Contest would be announced?"
Carla's tone turned sickeningly sweet. "You're here on behalf of an unofficial fan forum? Really? Well, isn't that just the cutest thing,"
Sammy's heart thudded. "Um. Yeah, well, see… the list was supposed to be posted a week and a half ago, but it wasn't. And no one seems to be able to tell us any information about the delay."
There was a brief pause the other end of the line; a silence for which Sam held her breath. When Carla spoke again, all traces of her so-called professionalism was gone. "Look, kid. We've been receiving a crap load of calls from you brats at the 'Unofficial Fan Forum'. To be perfectly straight—it bugs the crap out of all of us here. Especially me. And trust me, kid, you don't want to be on my bad side."
Cheeks flushing red, Sammy couldn't help but respond, "Oooh, I'm so scared."
"You should be."
"Is this how you treat all of your customers? Look, we're not in the wrong here. You are. You gave yourselves a deadline, and that date has come and passed. The least you can do is pretend to be remorseful."
The woman on the other end of the line laughed humorlessly. "You children don't understand anything at all, do you? The world is a changing place. Things won't always be like this. By this time next year.…"
"Okay, first off, I'm not a child. I'm thirteen and a half. Fourteen, come November. That's a teenager, not a child. Secondly, I came here to ask you about the writing contest, not to get preached at. And third- well, I didn't actually have a third. But if I did—"
"What did you say your name was?"
"Wha—excuse me?"
"Your name. Samantha…Carp?"
"No. No, it's Samantha Harp. But—"
"Where do you live, Samantha?"
"That's information that I'd prefer not to disclose—"
"Are you, by any chance, going to be attending the Hunger Games Convention in Alabama later this week?"
Samantha stopped. Asking for her name was one thing, but asking for her location? That was different. Darker, almost. "Why do you ask?"
"I'm a profiler, Sammy. It's what I do."
"Why did you call me Sammy?"
"I'm a profiler, Sammy. It all fits. Now, answer the question. Are you going to the convention?"
"Are you?"
Sammy could almost see Carla's noxious smile, the smirk in her tone was so pronounced. "Maybe. I sure hope to see you there, Sammy."
"Well, I—"
Click.
The phone went dead, and Sammy stared at it. She held it out at arms length as if Carla's grotesque nature could rub off on her by simply touching the artifact. Then she dropped it, and, with a disgusted expression on her faces, stalked off to her room to use the computer.
•••
Dally Leary leaned casually against the column, scanning the busy airport for signs of young life. Namely girls. Pretty girls.
Having just flown in from Ireland, a twelve-hour flight in all, he probably looked a little bit worse for the wear. His light hair was tucked securely into a baseball cap, and he wore a slightly crinkled uniform from his Irish Catholic School. Not the ideal choice of clothing for international traveling, but he had wanted to be in Alabama early so that he could "see the sights." The girl sights, that was. Not that he told his mother that… nay, the only reason that he had been released from school early and allowed to fly by himself to America was because it was, in a way, educational. He so dearly loved the book The Hunger Games that his teachers thought that it would be healthy for him to attend a convention. That, and the promise of a thousand extra credit reports kept his mother off of his back.
But the book wasn't the only reason that Dally had come to the convention. As a Moderator on The Hunger Games Unofficial Fan Forum, he'd vowed to come early and introduce himself to the other members of the site. And there was one girl in particular—one other moderator, to be exact—that would be meeting him today. Any minute now.
Dally pulled nervously at his uniform.
•••
Abby Malians refreshed the page for what seemed to be the millionth time, then closed her eyes and groaned. No matter how often she changed the page, no matter how late the day grew, it didn't change the fact that not one single friend of hers was online. And this frustrated her to no ends. Sure, real life was fun enough at times, but nothing beat being online. There was just something about feeling the mouse beneath her hand, scrolling down the web pages… Abby sighed. It was amazing, absolutely amazing.
She logged on to her absolute favorite website, a fan forum for Suzanne Collins' Hunger Games. Maybe some of her exotic Internet buddies would be online, bored out of their skulls and in need of companionship. Just like her.
Just as she was about to check her private messages, an icon on the bottom of screen popped up, bearing warnings about an incoming message. Abby narrowed her eyes. How ironic; just as she found something exciting, she was interrupted. Nevertheless, she pressed her mouse key, and, in a second, her YIM account was up and exploding with life.
Sammybears104: Abby-poopoo-kins!
Sammybears104: Are you there, Abbster?
Sammybears104: Seriously, Abby, I need to talk to you!
Abby smiled and shook her head. Sammy was one of the people whom she had met on the Hunger Games Forum, thus ensuring her to be either insanely awesome or insanely insane. Like most of the fans, she was a mix of the two- serious and shy for the most part, then insane when she was hyper.
I_Drink_With_A_Sippycup: Relax, Sammy, I'm here.
Sammybears104: Thank god. I just had the weirdest conversation with a Scholastic Employee.
I_Drink_With_A_Sippycup: Did she hear you talking about porn again?
Sammybears104: NO. That was an accident, the other time, BTW.
I_Drink_With_A_Sippycup: Yeah, sure. Okay.
Sammybears104: It was, I swear! Now, do you want to hear my story or not?
Abby grinned wider as she read Sam's tale. As she neared the end, she felt the smile drop from her face like a weight.
I_Drink_With_A_Sippycup: WTF??
Sammybears104: I know! She was so creepy!
I_Drink_With_A_Sippycup: Weirdo's. Just ignore her, Sammy. Or better yet, get Jennifer to find out whom she is.
Mindforecaster43: Did someone say my name?
Abby laughed out loud. It was an annoying and quirky trait of Jen's just to randomly pop up in any chat. Her mind casting abilities had only recently developed enough for her to fool full power computers; people were still an obstacle far off in the future. She could also make objects move and explode when she focused on them enough.
Jennifer co-ran the forum with her assistant, Leo.
I_Drink_With_A_Sippycup: What, the weirdo's part?
Sammybears104: Hello, Jen!
Mindforecaster43: Hey, Sam. You're not feeling very settled today, are you?
I_Drink_With_A_Sippycup: What are you, a fortuneteller?
Mindforecaster43: Why? Do you think that I have that potential?
I_Drink_With_A_Sippycup: What, to live in a shack and steal money from people? Absolutely.
Sammybears104: Can you track someone for me, Jennifer?
Mindforecaster43: Of course.
Sammybears104: Carla.
Mindforecaster43: Okay. Carla…what?
Sammybears104: Um…I don't know.
Mindforecaster43: Well then, I can't help you.
I_Drink_With_A_Sippycup: BORING. Anyone want to video chat?
Sammybears104: Sure.
Mindforecaster43: Why not?
•••
David Rayne gripped the block tightly, the serrated plastic edging digging into his palms. The world grew into a blur around him as a light flashed and the starter's gun fired. He pushed off with some of his might, and hit the water like a knife.
Breath, stroke, kick. It was the same pattern as he had ever used, but it was different. Now that he had his powers, he had to control himself and not go as fast as he could.
Ana very cleverly called his power the "Neptune Effect." Not after the planet—after the Roman god. All of his life, water had been David's world. Now it literally was. Breathing no longer mattered—not while he was under water, at least. His swimming skills also dramatically increased. Sometimes, he even felt as if he could outswim a dolphin. Not that he shared those ideas with the rest of his swim team—for all they knew, he had simply become a good swimmer. He was always careful to go fast enough to win, but slow enough to not bring suspicion to himself.
He neared the end of the race, exerting a little bit more speed than he had previous. He grabbed the wall and was met with cheers and whistles from the forthcoming swimmers.
Not only could David glide easily in the water, he could also swim in the air. It was an odd thing, the "Neptune Effect."
As he pulled himself out of the water, David let himself smile. Only one event left to go, and then he could go home. To pack for the Convention.
Only one more race….
•••
Ana Juelz walked with the certainty of a queen, but with the slouch of a gangster and unhurried gait of a sloth. As she stepped into the airport in Montgomery Airport, she raised an eyebrow at the number of rushing travelers who swarmed about in clumps of brightly colored cloth.
She fingered the lighter in her pocket and smiled a little bit. If there was one word to describe her, she was badass. She was also gorgeous. In that funny contradictory way that traits seem to have, men flocked to her like flies to honey, but she drove them away like a bee. Her machete had been left behind in her car—it was too big and noticeable to be acceptable at an airport. Instead, she carried along a lighter, a small dagger, and her own eyes.
Like every other moderator on The Hunger Games Unofficial Fan Forum, Ana had the gift of power sight. At least, that was what it was called officially. Leo, one of the co-heads, had coined the term, claiming that it held more authority than the infinitely simpler "lazar vision." It also held more mystery, which was something that Ana quite appreciated. With her baggy cargo pants and tight fitted silken camisole, her look was something entirely her own—a cross between "don't mess with me" and "ballet dancer".
Ana turned a corner and then stood still. The arrival gate was just opening, exhausted passengers just beginning to spill through. Ana hoped that Dally wouldn't be too tired—tired boys weren't any fun. She lightly touched the lighter once more, checking to make sure that it was still there.
A sudden weight on her shoulder made her turn around quickly. A group of guards, led by one very determined and stone-faced looking man, surrounded her. The man removed his hand from Ana's shoulder. He gestured towards Ana's hand, still in her pocket.
"I'm going to have to ask you to remove your hand and open it very slowly, Miss," the second guard said.
Ana felt a little flash of worry. A lighter was bad enough, but if she got caught with a dagger…
"Do you speak English, Miss?" The guard was miffed with her unresponsive state.
Ana peered into her opponent's eyes. They stood there, just staring each other down. Then the guard grabbed her roughly by the arm, and she dropped the lighter. It clattered to the ground in what seemed to be slow motion.
Two more guards moved in and seized Ana by either arm. She struggled, but they were very strong. Against her better judgment, she closed her eyes and focused her will, feeling heat gather in her eyes. Just as she was about to shoot a beam, a mellow voice, heavy with an English accent, stopped her.
"Is there a problem here, sirs?" Dally asked, his voice a lilting scale.
One guard turned to scowl at him. "This girl was found sneaking weaponry into this airport."
"Did she now?" Dally asked, his Irish accent more prominent now. "I have to disagree."
Ana shut her eyes and closed her ears, knowing what he was doing. Aside from the normal power sight gift given to the five moderators, each one had their own special talent. Her own was with swords and blades. Dally's came from his voice. By slipping something that Leo referred to as influence in as he spoke, he could deter or change the outcome of most situations.
"Did… she?" one of the guards asked, already dazed.
"I… think… so," the other one said, struggling to keep his eyes open.
"That's right," said Dally with a peaceful smile. "I'll take her to prison. You go back to your posts."
"Well, I guess so," they agreed reluctantly and turned to leave.
Dally grinned after them, concentrating so hard on their retreating figures that he didn't see Ana sneak up behind him until it was too late. Crack! The arm struck him across the back of his head, causing him to drop to the floor. "Oww!" he whined, all traces of influence gone. "What'd you do that for?"
"Idiot," Ana said, but she was smiling. "Let's go. We've got to get ready for the others."
•••
Emma Mussy stiffened as the doorbell rang. She closed the book that she had been reading very gently, then stood up slowly. She wasn't always so opposed to visitors. Nay, it was visitors who came at three in the morning that irked her pickle.
She placed the book down onto her cushy armchair, then straightened and came downstairs. Emma was a very paranoid person—almost as much as Abby. Now, she made sure to pick up a heavy bookend as she moved towards the latched and locked door. Her powers were such that they wouldn't help her at all against assailants, and her height—or lack thereof—struck fear into the heart of only small children.
Emma was a reader. Not someone who read a lot, although she did that too, but someone who could read emotions. She could always tell who would end up in a relationship, and with whom that person would be. It wasn't a very practical gift, but it was easy to disguise and hide.
She slowly unhooked the last door lock, then creaked it open a tad. "Hello?" she whispered shakily.
The door was thrown open, and Emma retreated several steps. She raised her arm to throw the bookend, but missed the shadowy figure that dominated the doorframe.
"Emma Mussy!" the figure cried. "Jesus Christ, are you trying to decapitate me?"
Emma blinked, and the figure moved into the light. "Ummm…ah…Polly?"
"That's my name, don't wear it out," Polly said with a grin. "Here's your bookend."
Emma took it and stood back up, all the while glaring at her friend. "Thanks a bunch, Polly," she muttered. "Thanks to you, I've been interrupted from reading my…. Hey, what are you doing here anyways?
Polly shrugged, taking an apple off of a nearby table and biting into it. "I was in the neighborhood and thought that I'd stop by."
"At three in the morning?"
"There's no time like the present," Polly said with a nod. Using the tip of her index finger, she drew a smiley face in the air. It burst into flames and burned for a moment, then ran out of fuel and disappeared.
Emma shook her head, and then reopened the door. "Out," she said, pointing to it.
Polly looked hurt. "Out? Really?" She sighed when Emma nodded. "Can I at least take this apple?"
Emma grabbed the apple from her hands and through it out onto the street. Polly dashed after it, stopping in the doorway to speak to Emma again. "See you at the Convention!" she shouted. Then she turned and flew out of the house.
"What was that about?" Emma mumbled, then turned and trudged back up the stairs.
•••
Leo Tate was the first one to arrive at the Convention, 3 days prior to its opening. He, as co-head of The Hunger Games Trilogy Unofficial Fan Forums, was scheduled to open the convention with a speech about the Games. He had planned it all perfectly. He was the only one in Alabama today, so that he could start bringing in the cleaning service and the set-up crew. Then tomorrow, his co-head, Jennifer, and the rest of the moderators—Dally, David, Ana, Sara, and Sammy—would join him in planning the festivities. They would plan for a day, help set up the ballroom on the next, and then, the day after that, the Convention would begin.
"Are you Mr. Tate?" A nerdy looking bellboy asked him. Leo nodded. "Please follow me, Sir."
Leo followed him into an empty, somewhat dingy-looking ballroom. Its only decoration was an ugly, shattered disco ball that hung from the ceiling rather precariously.
"Here is the grand ballroom," the bellboy said with a grimace. "I'll leave you to your…ponderings." With that, he lifted the two heavy suitcases that Leo had packed and carried them out of the door.
Leo looked around and sighed. He suddenly wished that he had arrived earlier. There was so much work to be done on the room in order to make it habitable for the Convention….Holding two fingers up a little bit shakily, he summoned a pen and pad of paper. They flew quickly towards him, startling the hapless bellboy as he stepped out of the elevator.
"New…carpeting…," Leo mumbled as he wrote it down. "Good…decorations…."
He glanced up heavenward, at the uber-worn disco ball. A twisted smile wormed its way onto his mouth as he muttered, "But first…"
The disco ball exploded into flames.
•••
Jennifer Le straightened up in her swivel chair, preparing to be viewed by the cameras. As a last minute thought, she swept her long, dark hair into a ponytail and snapped it into place with the help of a rubber band. Then, without touching the keyboard once, she closed her eyes and focused her will towards making the computer do her bidding.
"You can open your eyes now," a high-pitched voice said with a light giggle. "You made it work."
Jen opened her eyes and smiled widely at the screen. Sitting in their respective rooms were Abby and Sammy, the former in a t-shirt and jeans, the latter in a polo shirt and shorts. They smiled at each other for a moment before launching into conversation.
"She was just like President Snow—"
"—so Creepy—"
"—get her last name?"
Abby shook her head, her brown curls flying in every direction. "She didn't give it," she said.
"How would you know? I was the one who talked to her," Sammy said with a giggle. Then she widened her big blue eyes as a new thought occurred to her. "Do you…do you think that she's going to be at the Convention?"
Jennifer shook her head. "Doubtful. She doesn't really like children, eh? What would she be doing at a teenager's convention?"
"Being mean?" Sam asked.
Abby smiled. "Yeah, no. You're right, Jen. For once. She won't be there."
"For once?" Jennifer echoed. "What do you mean, for once? Don't make me shoot my lazar vision at you!"
"You mean power sight," Sam corrected automatically.
"Oh, pfft. No one but Leo actually calls it that," Jen said with a dismissive wave of her arm.
Abby grinned. "You wouldn't shoot it at me, anyways. You'd break your computer, not me."
"Shuddup," Jen mumbled. "I'm tired. I just made my lunch using my psychic powers. That tends to drain people, y'know."
"I wouldn't know," Abby grumbled. "I'm not a moderator. The only power I've got is the power to be paranoid. And look cute."
"Paranoia?" Sammy raised an eyebrow. "That isn't your power. You've got extrasensory perception. That could be really powerful if you developed it. And look cute? Hahaha."
"Are you trying to tell me something, Little Miss Sing-Song?" Abby said, sending a glower directly to Samantha.
"Yes," she said earnestly and then both burst out laughing.
Jennifer leaned back in her chair, smiling as she watched the exchange. She felt like a lioness watching over her cubs; her feelings for the members of the forum were nothing short of love.
"Respect your elders," Sammy commanded.
"What? You're only older than me by, like, two months!"
"Yeah. Those two months were the best of my life."
"Well, you know what?"
"What?"
"Bye."
I_Drink_With_A_Sippycup has logged off.
For a moment, Sammy looked shocked. Then she shook her head. "I'm going to go pack for the convention."
Jennifer grinned. "Have fun!"
"I can't wait to see everyone face to face! I'm leaving tomorrow for the moderator and administrator retreat."
"We are face to face. And I know, I'm going to that too."
"You know what I mean. Bye!"
Sammybears104 has logged off.
•••
Sara Leslie was packed. Completely, one hundred percent packed. Almost.
Where is that stupid hairbrush? She wondered, taking a look around her room. She patted down her neatly made bed, then opened and shut a drawer carefully. She could, of course, use her powers to locate it—but Sara was different. She didn't believe in using her powers for common problems. She believed that they were a gift, only to be used in dire emergencies.
This is a dire emergency! she thought viciously. I can't go to a convention full of my work associates looking like a cue tip!
She glanced around the room as if looking to see if anyone was hiding then closed the door gently. She backed into a corner and closed her eyes. Holding her hands up in front of her, she began to search the room.
Just like a scent seer from Suzanne Collins' other story, The Underland Chronicles, Sara could find and track any person using just smell. She took a deep whiff, then another. The whole room smelled like her, making it infinitely more difficult to track anything.
She narrowed it down, now searching for anything that smelled like her strawberry shampoo. There—a dark shape beneath her bed. Sara frowned and opened her eyes. What was her hairbrush doing there? She was such a neat, organized person; finding something out of place was like finding a needle in a haystack.
If Jennifer had been there, maybe she would have been able to tell. But it was Sara the scentseer, and she didn't recognize the beginning for what it was; the beginning.