A/N Here's a pretty long chapter (at least, for me it is) for ya. Thanks for all the awesome reviews I got! :) It's a little sad, but this story itself is doing better than all three of my other stories combined.

Next chapter is the Games, woot woot. My request for suggestions is still a go, in case anybody has any ideas for the Games. They inspire me. ;D Anyways, I'll shut up. Go read.

Chapter Four

Today, I wake to find someone leaning over me. They have huge, brown eyes and red hair that tickles my face.

"Ahhh!" I scream, and the red-headed girl jumps back, surprised. "Who are you?" I demand.

In response, she pulls a bag of Scrabble chips out of her pocket, plops to the ground, and spells out 'YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE.' Then she busts into silent laughter.

"What are you doing here?" I ask next.

WAKING YOU UP, she spells.

Then—

SCARING PEOPLE IS FUN

I take a closer look at this girl. She reminds me of someone…

"Hey!" I blurt. "I've seen you before!"

The girl, looking nervous, and spells out 'WHERE.'

"You were in the Capitol's sparkling teeth commercial!" I remember her now.

Then she grins, showing me her sparkly pearly whites and winking. I burst into laughter.

"I love that commercial!" I tell her, and she gives me a thumbs-up

We are just about to start a game of Scrabble when there's a knock at the door.

"Katnit? There's someone here who wants to seeeee you!" It's Peetal, at the door.

BOYFRIEND, the girl spells with a sly grin, but I fake-barf and shake my head. She giggles silently. I go and let Peetal in.

There he stands, with his hair in curlers and Cat pit in his arms.

"Morning!" he says cheerfully. "Look Katnit, I've been up since seven twenty-eight doing this." He holds up Cat pit, and turns her around. I can see he's written 'Lil' K' in tiny rhinestones across Cat pit's butt.

Behind Peetal, the red-headed girl spells out 'WHO IS THIS GIRL.' I stifle my laughter in the blankets, pretending to wipe my noise as a cover.

"Katnit, do you want me to rhinestone your doll too?" Peetal asks, looking around. "Where is your doll, Katnit?"

I point to my closet, where it's laying on the floor among my dirty socks. Peetal lifts it up, and, cradling it in one arm, gives me a wave and leaves the room.

I turn to the red headed girl.

"What's your name?" I ask curiously.

I DONT LIKE MY NAME

She scrambles the letters and continues.

YOU CAN CALL ME FRIEND

"But what's your real name?" I press.

MY NAME IS ANALISIA PARAMAWNGUATO AVOX BUT SINCE NOBODY

She scrambles her tiles for more letters.

CAN REMEMBER THAT THEY JUST USE MY LAST NAME.

THEY CALL ME THE AVOX GIRL

The Avox girl collects her tiles and stuffs them back into her Scrabble bag. Her real name sounds like Effel trying to wish everyone a good morning.

Then Effel is at my door, wishing us 'analisia paramawnguato'. I look back for the Avox girl, but she's disappeared. She left behind one of her blank Scrabble chips, so I tuck it in my pocket and follow Effel down the hall.

Today is the day of the interviews. Haymill and Peetal are the only ones in the room. Peetal is crouching behind the breakfast bar, feeding his corn husk doll sips of the grape juice he stole from Haymill. Haymill is unaware of that and is searching the rest of the room madly for his grape juice, including behind the curtains.

Effel squeals a little bit until Peetal and Haymill join us at the dining table. Haymill has discovered Peetal with the grape juice and dumped it all over Peeta and his doll. Peetal's sniffling sadly at his purple doll. Haymill is in a very bad mood.

"All right," he growls. "Today Effel and I train you. We can train you separately or non-separately. What will it b—"

"Non-separately!" Peetal bursts. "Uh, I mean, is that okay Katnit?"

I shrug.

"Fine then," Haymill says. "Leave me in peace and go with Effel first. She's teaching you about all that etiquette…stuff. Good-bye. Bye!"

For the next four hours Effel teaches us all about etiquette stuff. At first, she only has me working on the high heels and dresses, but after she realizes that she doesn't know what to teach Peetal, she makes him participate in the high heels and dress segment too.

Unfortunately, Peetal can walk better than I can in high heels and a dress. I wonder if he's been secretly practicing.

Then Effel moves to teaching us about our facial expressions when we talk. From what I gather, she thinks I have too vacant a face, and Peetal has so happy a face it's almost scary. We repeat a whole bunch of nonsense, while Peetal tries to not look scary and I try to look like I'm not a zombie.

"Oobleck da pooha!" Effel says.

"Oobleck da pooha." Peetal uses his hands to press down on his cheeks, to keep himself from smiling.

"Oobleck da pooha." I use my hands to push the corners of my mouth up.

Effel frowns at the two of us.

By the end of the session, I'm afraid I've forgotten how to speak normal English.

"Gamha, Haymi—I mean, hello, Haymill," I greet my mentor, trying to be polite, as I walk into the room. But I see he's sleeping, half of his face is resting in a puddle of grape juice on the table. Peeta finds a basketball and throws it at his head. Haymill straightens up and we see that half of his face has been stained purple from his juice.

Haymill grumbles, "Are you ready for my session?"

Trying to rub off his purple stain, he leads Peetal and me back down the hallway into a white, padded cell.

For the next twenty minutes Haymill just stares Peetal and me down. Finally, he sits back and takes a swig of juice.

"All right," he says. "I have tuned into your brain waves, decided that Peetal is ready for his interview, and should now leave. Besides, I just like him better. I have decided that Katnit needs to finish this session. So she should stay."

Peetal hops up and dashes out of the room before I can even process what Haymill said. He's been soaking his doll in bleach and probably wants to check on Cat pit's purple stains.

Haymill then asks me a whole bunch of questions like 'What color is Effel's hair?' and 'What color are Peetal's eyes?', but after fifty questions or so he stops me.

"Gah! Stop! Stop, stop, stop. I've asked you about fifty question and I still don't know anything about you!"

"But you're not asking me anything about me!" I say.

Haymill lets out a dramatic groan.

"Don't argue! Just answer the questions. Look, I want you to try answering these questions from a different angle. You know, funny, sexy, mysterious? So I want you to try answering these questions like you're a dude."

So I do. I keep a very low voice and add 'Yeah! Demolition derbies!' to the end of all my sentences.

"That was…just weird. Weird," Haymill says after awhile. "I hate demolition derbies. I prefer watching male cheerleaders, myself. Anyways, we're done with that. This is the last one. I want you to answer these questions like… me. I want you to answer these questions like the happy, cheerful person I am."

"Wait, do I get props?" I ask. "Cause I need grape juice and maybe some pom-poms."

"No!" Haymill snaps. "Just answer the questions!"

And I do, but he stops me almost immediately

"Ugh! You have all the charm of a dead squirrel," he says.

"I do?" I ask happily. A dead squirrel! Haymill sure knows how to give me good compliments.

"Well, yes. I mean, no. Just…whatever. I'm not responsible if you get stoned by tomatoes tonight." Haymill leaves the room. I put down his negativity as jealously. Haymill is just jealous. I shake my head in pity for poor Haymill.

No one charms like a dead squirrel. And you can take that to the bank.

I meet Chinna in his fire-wall room. The stylist have just left, having attacked me with their mascara wands and powdery powders. Chinna is lounging on a couch humming 'Firehouse.'

"Hey, Chinna," I say casually.

"Katnit!" he says excitedly. "Oh boy you're here! You must see your new outfit!" He grins excitedly. "Ready?"

Chinna dresses me in a skintight red-orange suit. Then he spends the next five hours gluing fire-colored gems to me with a hot glue gun.

"OW!" I howl.

"Sorry, sorry! All in the name of fashion!" he cries excitedly. "I forgot to glue these on before you came—I was burning a book about this bear called 'Smokey.'I decided to ditch a dress for this suit, because then even shifting your pinky toe will make a huge difference in the way your fire-gems glitter. Here comes the hot glue gun again!"

"OW!" I scream again. To distract me, Chinna turns on some music for me.

Just gonna stand there and watch me burn

But it's all right because I like the way it hurts.

Finally, my skin is covered in burns, and Chinna has run into his back room to get one last thing. I hear a creak on the floor and whip around to see Chinna creeping towards me with a lit match.

"Chinna!" I shriek.

"Sorry, sorry! Habit." He grins and puts the match out with his tongue. "Okay, here it is, the final touch!" Chinna holds out a pale yellow cape. "It's the icing on the cake!"

Chinna dresses me in the cape, then makes me hold my arms straight out to the sides while he glues little candles all along my arm.

"Now, you must keep your arms out straight, because when these candles are lit, they must stay lit, and the Capitol doesn't want you setting anything on fire." The glint in Chinna's eyes makes me think that he disagrees with the Capitol on that particular subject.

"All right then!" Chinna says, as he pulls a jumbo set of matches out of his back pocket. "Arms nice and straight? Not too tired? Good. If they do get tired, or if you lose feeling, do little arm circles!"

Chinna lights his match and begins to light the candles. He turns on 'If You Love Someone, Set Them on Fire.' It's a catchy song.

Finally, the candles all up both my arms are glowing.

"Try not to worry about the hot wax hitting you! The cape is only kinda thick, so it might burn just a smidge!"

Because my arms are on fire, Cinna kneels down and hugs me around my legs. "You'll do great, fire girl! Go get 'em!"

Everyone keeps a good distance from me as we head for the stage. I try to channel dead squirrel energy. Charm like a dead squirrel. Charm like a dead squirrel, I think to myself.

Peetal is dressed in an outfit similar to mine, but there are only two candles, balanced on top of the baby fat on his stomach. And he's wearing a skintight suit with gems, just like mine! I see he's rhinestoned 'The P Man' across the back of his pants, just like Catpit. He shows me a miniature corn husk doll that he has in his pocket.

"For luck!" he tells me.

I sit, bored as a dead squirrel, through the first interviews. I'm sweating terribly, which only makes my hot glue gun burns feel worse. The wax from the candles is dripping too, all over the laps of the people I'm sitting next to.

Finally, it's my turn. Two Capitol workers come help me out of the chair so I don't have to use my arms. I walk carefully over to Caesar Flickerman. This year, his signature shade is puce. Everything about him is that very shade—his eyes, his hair, his nose hair, his ear hair. You get the picture.

"Well, Katnit!" he says excitedly, cringing out of the way from the flames. "What an interesting dress!"

"Oh yes," I tell him. "It's uh, very… warm."

"I see that!" Caesar says. "You look like a birthday cake!" The audience laughs, and I smile modestly. I've always been a funny person, even when I don't realize it. Sometimes, the kids at school laugh at me, and I don't even realize I'm being funny! Like that time I split my pants when I bent down to grab the chalk. Everyone thought I was hilarious, and I didn't even say anything!

Then I spot Chinna out in the crowd. He's standing up, making crazy motions with his hands and jumping up and down. I get the message.

Dance! Chinna is saying.

I stand up suddenly, knocking over my chair. As I'm rushing to center stage, I trip over something invisible and nearly fall on my face. But I manage to twist around at the last second and end up spinning around, still managing to keep my arms outstretched. I realize the crowd is applauding wildly. I name the dance move. It's the trip-twirl-yay move.

"Oh, do that again!" Caesar cries. So I run, trip, and spin around to keep myself up again. I do that again and again, until I finally get too close to Caesar and accidentally set his hair on fire.

"Ahhhhhhhhh!" Caesar screams, running around like crazy. In the audience, Chinna cackles and claps his hands. I hear him shouting, "Encore! Encore! Encore!"

A Capitol worker runs in with a fire extinguisher and sprays Caesar in the face. For a moment, everything is silent. Then the audience bursts into wild applause. I'm escorted off the stage while another person tries to calm Caesar, who's bawling hysterically. Chinna is still clapping and cheering.

Once I'm led backstage, I'm hosed down with the fire extinguisher as well.

Onstage, Caesar has composed himself and is welcoming Peetal Mellurk to the stage. I see that Peetal's excellent at keeping up a playful banter with Caesar. Like this:

"So, I hear your name's Petal?" Caesar asks.

"No, actually, it's Peeetal," he replies.

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yuh-huh!"

"Nuh-uh!

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yuh-hu—oops! You got me!"

Then they burst into laughter. After a few minutes of this, Caesar gets serious.

"So, Peetal, charming boy as you are, do you have a…shall we say… love interest back home?" Caesar tips a wink to the audience.

Peetal smiles shyly. "Well, yes. I do. Five of them, actually."

"My!" Caesar exclaims. "Do share!"

"Okay," Peetal says, thinking. "The first girl…puked all over me. That was disgusting. The second girl got braces that made her look like a—nevermind. You don't want to know. The third girl got her hair butchered. It was terrible. And then, I heard a rumor that the fourth girl got a nasty skin fungus. So I suppose you could say they're not really… interests anymore."

"Then what about the fifth girl?" Caesar asks.

"Oh… well, she hasn't done anything weird yet. So I guess she could still count," Peetal says thoughtfully.

"Great! Once you go home, all popular and rich, it will only be a matter of time before you can win her heart! Money and popularity are the keys to a happy life, you know."

"I don't have to wait until I get home, silly!" Peetal laughs.

"Why not?" Caesar asks.

"Cause she's here!" Peetal squeals excitedly.

I freeze. Who is it? Is it Effel? Porca? Another tribute?

Caesar gasps. "Who?"

Peetal beams. "It's Katnit!"

The audience gasps, and so do I. Me? For a moment, I think he possibly said 'Cat pit', until a spotlight swivels and focuses on me, standing just behind the curtains.

And what do I do? I faint.

It's officially the first day of the Games. I wake up without getting grape juice poured on me or the Avox girl all up in my grill. I lie in bed for a few minutes, taking it all in. I find I'm still in my gem costume, though somebody removed the cape. I wonder if this was because whoever brought me in here didn't feel like disturbing me, or if the hot glue and wax stuck the fabric to my skin.

Then I realize I'm not in my room at the Training Center anymore. I'm in a smaller bedroom, much smaller than the suite I was in before, and there is an outfit set out for me—a poodle skirt and a t-shirt with 'Sirko's Rafting' across it. I dress, peeling off the gem suit with only a lot of trouble and taking care with my headless mockingjay pin.

Chinna is sitting outside the door.

"Katnit!" he says when I walk out. "We thought you got a concussion when you fainted and hit your head on a fire extinguisher, and nobody could wake you up! So, we put you on the hovercraft anyways. That's where we are right now. But hey, the Games start in five minutes! Are you excited?"

I almost faint again, but Chinna tosses me in a wheelbarrow sitting next to him and wheels me through the hovercraft so I don't have to walk.

In the Launch Room, Chinna dumps me on a chair and starts making a tower of lit matches. I hope it doesn't collapse. The Launch Room is a small white room with a transparent tube running from the floor to ceiling, where I will rise into the arena. Like a beautiful worm poking its head through the ground, just before an evil bird comes and sucks it up.

A voice rings through the room. One minute to show time. Repeat: one minute to show time.

"Whoo!" Chinna says. "This is so exciting! Hurry, get in the tube!" Chinna gives me a big hug, and, humming 'Fire and Rain' under his breath, he shuts me in the transparent tube. Then he presses his face to the glass so his nose looks all funny and pig-ish and makes me laugh.

We wave and wave at each other until my tube disappears into the ceiling.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" a voice booms. "Let the Hu—" This is interrupted by a lot of coughing, hacking, and gagging.

"Sorry, sorry… Let the 74th Hunter Games begin!"