"Goodness, your hair is thick!" laughs a member of my prep team, a tall, thin woman named Kay with bright orange hair. Her accent is high-pitched, with clipped words. Talk about annoying. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, squirming on my chair. I've always hated makeup.

"We just need to give you the finishing touches and then you'll be ready!" cries an overexcited man called Darrius. "I must say, with a little makeup and some actual style in your hair, you're rather pretty!"

I grit my teeth. I wouldn't have cared if he had said I looked like an ape or if he had said I was the most gorgeous girl he had ever laid eyes on. This is the Hunger Games, for God's sake! Does he really think I care what I look like?

Of course, he probably does. It would probably be his primary concern.

Kay, Darrius and Marion exit the room to fetch my stylist, and I scoop up a mirror, sighing in relief. They didn't plaster my face with their goopy makeup and I don't look like a complete idiot. Thank goodness. I set the jewel-encrusted mirror back down on the table next to me, wondering what my costume will look like. A couple years ago, the tributes from District Two were dressed as stone, because our principal industry is masonry. They wore huge, bulky costumes and looked absolutely ridiculous. I hope my stylist is better than that.

The door opens slowly and a middle-aged woman walks in. Her hair is spiky and done in lime green, and swirly tattoos in every color of the rainbow start at her lips and cover her cheeks and forehead. However, behind all the freaky Capitol attire, I see smile lines by her eyes.

When she sees me, her face lights up.

"My, my!" she gasps in her silly Capitol accent (although I'm grateful to hear her voice isn't as high in pitch as Kay's). "You are very nice-looking, you'll fit into the costume perfectly! Oh, and my name is Oliana," she adds as an afterthought. I notice she's holding a large black bag that probably holds the costume itself.

"What is the costume this year?" I ask, slightly apprehensive. Not rocks, not rocks, not rocks…

Oliana gives me a conspiratorial smile. "Oh, you'll love this one, dear. You and your district partner will be dressed as… Greek Gods!"

Oh thank God. No rocks.

Right now, Cato, Oliana, (who volunteered to accompany us) Brutus and I are heading down to the bottom floor of the Remake Center. I'm standing right next to Cato, and I nudge him when I spot the tributes from District One, who are leaning against their chariot. They are spray-painted silver (okay, I'm really glad I don't come from District One), in tunics glittering with jewels. The girl (Glimmer, I think is her name) is leaning talking to her male district partner, wearing a flirtatious smile.

"Should we go and talk to them?" I murmur to Cato, who is watching them thoughtfully.

"No," he replies. "Best to wait for them to come to us in training. Show them that we're in control."

"Alright," I say, "But we're not taking allying with them I they're wimps." I smile, and Cato smirks back at me. "Deal."

He steps into the chariot and offers me a hand. I take it, and can't help but notice how warm it is, rough and calloused from years training in District Two, strong and firm around mine…

I mentally slap myself. I can't go liking him! The Hunger Games are mine this year, remember? I can't afford to get sidetracked.

Now in the chariot, I let go of Cato's hand and turn to Brutus, who is saying our names, trying to get our attention.

"When you get out there, you'll get big cheers," says Brutus. "Don't ignore them, but don't act too flattered either. Win their favor, but don't be all starry-eyed. Got it?"

Cato and I nod to show we heard and understand and with jolt, our chariot starts forward.

As Brutus predicted, we get tumultuous applause from the Capitol citizens. I assume it's partly because of our costumes (they are cleverly designed, making us look powerful and dangerous but attractive) and partly because we're us, Cato and Clove, the small but tough-looking girl and the tall, muscular boy from District Two.

I grace the crowd with a tiny smile, and wave slightly, even blowing a couple of kisses. However, I stand straight-backed and proud. The crowd loves us, and I'm really getting into it when all of a sudden there is an odd hush, then the crowd goes wild, stamping their feet and screaming at the top of their lungs… What? Are they saying District Twelve? I can't turn around right now (I would topple out of the chariot for sure) but Cato and I exchange a tiny glance before quickly turning and facing the front again.

The moment our chariot comes to a halt at President Snow's mansion, I whip around. And what I see is… astonishing. The tributes from District Twelve (the male turns out to be a strong, stocky blonde boy with kind blue eyes) are on fire… but they're not burning. Their stylist must have found to way to recreate actual fire… shit. Yeah, Cato and I look great, but setting your tributes on fire? How the hell is anyone supposed to compete with that?

Cato looks furious, but I just straighten my back even more and look haughtily up at President Snow. I mean, it's District Twelve! They'll probably both be gone by the end of the first day of the Games anyway.

We listen to the President's welcoming speech and then, before I know it, it's over. The chariot is entering the Training Center and Brutus, Oliana and Sierra are there waiting for us.

"You did marvelously!" cries Sierra, tottering up to us and giving us each a pat on the shoulder. "The crowd loved you!" She appears oblivious to the fact that we were not the best, not by far, and apparently, so is Brutus.

"Great!" he says. "You did well, both of you. You certainly made a lasting impression."

Cato raises his eyebrows, incredulous.

"What about that District Twelve? They were on fire, for God's sake! Did you see how much airtime they were getting?"

"District Twelve?" Brutus laughs. "They're nothing to be concerned about. The Capitol loves underdogs, they're just trying to get a good show."

As we walk toward one of the elevators, heading for our rooms, Oliana squeezes my shoulder.

"Never underestimate your enemies, dear," she whispers in my ear, then turns around and walks away.

I shake my head, surprised. Is she right? Should I really think of the pair from Twelve, of all places, as serious competitors? No. She's just concerned for me. But… No, that's stupid. They're from District Twelve! I stalk toward the elevators behind Cato and Brutus, annoyed, trying to push the flaming pair from my mind.