Hello! :D

Thank you for all the reviews! I absolutely love them.

Real quick: I'm having a contest! *said in a singsong voice* And I'd love it if you enter! Check it out under my profile. It's called "AlmostSummer Writing Contest." (I win creative name of the year.) :)

On another note, this chapter was fun to write. A big something happens, and I'd like to know what you think of it. Also, I want to mention that there IS some name-calling in this chapter. I don't condone name calling. I fact, I kind of hate it. I also never use the words in this story in real life. Just because characters say it doesn't mean you should. Keep that in mind while reading!

Otherwise-enjoy! :D

-Homey :)

Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins created the world of The Hunger Games.

©HomeschoolGirl 2012, characters and plot. Please don't use this as your own. Thanks!

I don't leave my room until lunch the next day. I grab my food and head toward Karryoun and Sander, then stop. Art's sitting with them, his arm slung around Briar. My mind goes blank. All I see is his hand, barely grazing her shoulders, fingers dipping down occasionally to stroke her upper arm. Affection-I see affection. It makes me sick.

I hear someone calling my name. With relief, I turn and see it's Kayla, at the opposite end of the lunchroom. Her red hair is in its usual halfhearted braid, and her round face is full of delight.

"Will you sit with us?" She asks as I come forward.

I take in the people around me. I recognize Uzzi, who is not exactly her boyfriend but sticks around all the same. Master is there too. He smiles when he sees me and nods. The rest of the kids I don't recognize.

"Sure," I say at last, sitting down next to some girl with dark hair and a no-nonsense look about her. She smiles at me, though, and her hard exterior softens. She's not unlike Bena, with her calloused elbows and brown eyes and narrow features. In contrast, though, her skin is a warm chocolate. I like her at once.

"I'm Satchal," She says as I dig into my sandwich. I'm not sure what kind it is, but it tastes good.

"Rose," I say around a mouthful of food. I extend my hand. She just laughs.

"What?" I ask, looking around.

She holds up her right hand and smiles. I stare at it, surprised. The back of her hand is fine. Her skin is the same beautiful color. But she has no fingers.

"That's not fair," I say at last, swallowing my food. I reach out and tentatively touch the mound where her thumb should be. The skin is sensitive, and soft as cotton.

She shakes her head. "Nah, it's fine. I'm lethal, really."

I try not to scoff and instead shrug.

Kayla introduces the rest of the people. There's Corrianna, who's my height. Her brown hair is a shade darker than mine, though, and her eyes are a fuzzy grey. Next to her sits Wain, a boy who I only remember once he introduces himself. He was on the winner's side during training day. Figures.

I realize I am sitting with all the winners. I wonder why they don't mind me being here. Maybe they thought Holly had an unfair advantage-not that I'd disagree. She's practically an animal.

I see her a moment later, striding up to Art. My eyes automatically fixate on her angular figure. She walks with purpose, head held high.

She finally makes it to their table and asks him something. He shrugs.

I watch, biting my lip, as she says something else-with a sneer, no less, and Briar stands. She puts her hands on her hips, saying something to Holly. I can only make out a few words.

"…idiot…drag him down…he's great…"

I'm sure she's talking about me. Fantastic.

I stand, without even really making the decision to, and march over to where they're standing. Art sees me and lowers his eyes. Karryoun turns to me with a worried look on her face and shakes her head in a silent, 'Go Back.' I ignore her.

"Oh look, it's her now," Briar says with disdain, frowning at me.

I force a smile and sidle up next to Karryoun. "Hey guys."

"Told you so," Briar says, turning back to Holly. I see then what I couldn't when I was sitting five tables away. They're not arguing. They're talking. They're friends.

"Camaraderie, huh?" I ask in a sharp tone. Briar rolls her eyes but stares straight ahead. Holly, however, looks over at me.

"Yes. We have something in common, I've found."

"And what's that?"

She smirks and leans forward, close to Art. "We hate you."

I look down, toward my so-called best friend, but he says nothing. What a loser.

Karryoun, however, stands up next to me. She takes my hand.

"You two shut up. Rose never did anything to you. She's kind and smart and funny. You're just jealous because she'd never be friends with a couple of losers like you." She tugs on my hand, pulling me toward Kayla. "Come on. Let's go."

I'm in such shock my legs comply, and soon I'm sitting back down next to Satchal. She's smiling, and laughing.

"That was awesome, Karryoun."

Kayla nods her agreement. "I didn't know you had it in you."

I take a deep breath. "Thank you." I turn to Karryoun. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

She shrugs and smiles. "I know. But I wanted to."

I lean forward and hug her, insanely grateful for a friend like her-for someone who has stuck by me at my worst.

"You're going to make it out alive," I whisper into her shoulder. "I just know you will. I'll make sure of it."

She grins. "What about Art?"

"Screw Art. He's a worthless idiot."

Kayla tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "He likes you. You know that, right? He really does."

I shake my head. "Not really. Not anymore."

They don't argue with me, just go back to eating.

We're all told to turn on the television in our rooms immediately after training. I get back and take a quick shower, slick my hair into a ponytail, and sit on my bed. I pick up the remote and power the TV on.

I see him at once. Caesar Flickerman. For the first time in years, he's without the ridiculous Capitol makeup. His hair, so many colors in years before, has faded into a salt and pepper gray. It's cut short. He has a bit of stubble on his chin. His face, stocked full of facelifts and plastics, has sagged. He looks old.

His smile is the same, though. He grins at the camera and leans back in his chair.

"Looks like we've set out to have a very interesting Games this year. All the Capitol children are doing marvelously." He clears his throat. "Um, now I'm going to reveal the scores and-" He pauses, pressing his hand to his ear.

I've never heard Caesar say 'um' before. Never. It worries me, to watch him. He's flustered and nervous and he keeps pausing, as if he's not sure what to say. For years he's been confident, assured, and funny. I wonder what they did to reduce him to an anxious, blubbering fool.

I watch as one-by-one, my friends and enemies alike are scored. Kayla gets a seven, Briar gets a six, Art gets a six, Sander gets a nine, so on and so forth. I'm surprised that Satchal makes a ten. Holly gets the same. Poor Emera gets a two.

Finally my picture pops up. I can't believe it.

There's no number. It's blank.

"They said this girl terminated her scoring session," Caesar says, chuckling. "She's the granddaughter of President Snow. Guess they're not that much different, eh?"

Not that much different. Not that much different.

I feel rage bubble up inside of me. I get to my feet, lurching forward and push the TV off it's stand. It crashes to the ground, showering me with sparks and glass. I continue to kick it, over and over. Mercilessly.

I hear the door open and someone rushes in. To arms close around me, pulling back. I know it's Art. I see the pale hands clasp over my own, stilling me.

He pushes me into the bathroom and closes the door, locking it behind us. I glare at him. My heart is pounding and I feel sick.

"You're bleeding," he says at last, reaching for my hand.

"I don't care!" I yell in his face. He flinches, and leans against the door.

"Be quiet, Rose. They're going to punish you for this."

"I don't care!" I yell again, as loudly as I can. "Let them! I hope they do! I hope they kill me now!"

He rolls his eyes. "Enough dramatics."

"I'm not being dramatic-I'm being realistic!" I pause to catch my breath, breath heaving. There are shallow scrapes all over my legs, seeing as I chose to wear shorts, and an especially deep gash across my knee.

"Let me help you," Art says, bending over. The blood is pooling on the floor. I feel a little sick. I'm forced to sit on the edge of the tub.

I watch without word as he works over my legs. His hands are gentle as he washes the cuts off, then follows with an antibiotic spray. He plasters me with bandages. I look like a mummy when I'm done.

"That was stupid," he says, looking up at me. He's still crouched down. His hands are on my thighs.

"Maybe so, but you heard what they said-" My voice cracks, and I clamp my mouth shut.

"I know." He looks down, tracing a pattern on my leg. "That's why I came. I knew you'd be mad."

"Not so mad as disappointed," I whisper. "He's going to follow me everywhere. He's dead, yet he's still with me."

Art sighs. "I know. And…I'm sorry. About today."

I shake my head. "You're not. Don't lie to me. You made out with Briar and now you're sitting with her at lunch. You didn't even stick up for me."

He looks down. "I like Briar."

"She's mean."

"She's not. Not really." He touches my cheek. "If you'd get to know her-"

"I did know her," I say, pushing his hand away. I stare into his eyes. "I did know her, and we used to be friends."

He kisses me.

One minute we feel miles apart, the next we couldn't be closer. His hands travel to my neck and he leans forward, pressing his weight against me. I teeter on the edge of the tub then fall in. Our bodies make a dull thud.

His hand travels to my calf, up to the crook of my knee. He pulls my leg up over his hip, and I eagerly comply.

"Wait-stop," I command when his fingers graze the bottom of my shirt.

He looks up and presses his lips together. "Why?"

I push him away and sit up, awkwardly working my way out of the tub. "Because I'm not…like that. Get out." I feel tears pricking my eyes.

"What?" To his credit, he looks genuinely confused.

"I said get out. Leave me alone. Now."

He stands without word, heading for the door. I watch as he goes without so much has an explanation or an apology.

What the hell was that?

I lift my fingers to my lips. They're trembling slightly, swollen from where Art kissed me. Why would he do that?

The bandage over my gash has fallen off and the wound is pouring fresh blood. I quickly patch it up, but my hands are not as skilled as Art's. I fumble with the bottle of antibiotic spray and end up dropping it twice.

When I go back into the room, the television is gone, all remnants of glass and burning plastic cleared away. I wonder who did it. Johanna, or Art? Maybe even Karryoun or Kayla stopped by. Whoever it was, I wish I could thank them.

I'm still glad I broke that TV, though.

"Interviews are today!"

I groan and roll over, pulling my blankets up over my head. "Go away, Karryoun. I'm trying to sleep."

"You've had time," she says, coming over and tapping my foot. "There are stylists waiting for us! Finally, some fun."

I raise my head slightly. "Fun? You call that fun?"

She bites her lips. "Um, yes. Fun. We're gong to be pampered." She does a little jug and tugs on my arm. "You missed breakfast, so I bought you an apple."

I eat it slowly, watching as she hurries around her room, picking out my clothes for the day. She finally settles on an orange halter-neck and brown pencil skirt.

"Subtle, but edgy," she says, throwing them in my general direction. They land on the floor by my feet. The neck is cut way too low.

"I don't want to look like a hooker, Karryoun. Take it back."

She pouts. "Come on! I wanted us to be twins. See?"

I only then notice her outfit. She's wearing the exact same thing, except in pink and red. It looks great on her. That may be because she has curves and I don't.

"Karryoun, please-"

She shakes her head. "Change. Now. You have five minutes." She skips out, quite a feat in the stilettos she's wearing.

I decide, after all she's done for me, why not humor her?

I'm standing downstairs less than a moment later, among all the tributes. The boys are still in tousled hair and pajamas, which makes me feel stupid. I see Art, standing across the room, flanked by Briar and Holly. They're both wearing clothes that put our trashy looks to shame.

Briar sees me across the room and grimaces. Art follows her line of sight, and his eyes widen. I clench my fists. I didn't want to look good for him. I did it for Karryoun.

"Quit gawking!" I yell across the room. He blushes and lowers his eyes.

Holly gives me a very rude hand gesture but I ignore it. Instead I go to stand by Emera, who is gorgeous in a sundress.

"Karryoun wants any excuse to dress up," I say, sitting down beside her. I tuck my knees under my chin.

Emera laughs. "I know. She wanted to impress the stylists. You look good, though. Plain, but good." She looks at her own attire and grimaces. "I look poor. I wish I had some fake nails or something."

"Capitol fashions are grotesque."

She sighs. "They're modern. And form-fitting."

I decide not to argue.

Johanna appears then, wearing her usual getup, and I feel even stupider. Karryoun hurries up to me and sits down, grinning ear-to-ear.

"Tonight you all will have your first interviews," Johanna begins in a bored voice, looking at a clipboard. "Each of you has been assigned a stylist. I'm going to read off your names, and number. Go find that door in the hall and get started."

She goes down a very long list, until I'm called along with number eighteen. I wave goodbye to Karryoun and hurry off.

Number eighteen isn't hard to find, seeing as it's toward the end of the hall and plainly marked. I knock on the door and someone opens it.

"Come on in," She says.

I recognize her at once. She's a huge stylist in the Capitol.

Her name is Venia.