A/N: Thanks for the follows and reviews! I'm so glad you guys are enjoying my story :) I won't be able to post for a while after this because I'm going on vacation with my family. I've got stuff to post ASAP when I get back, though, so never fear! Please review and follow, but more importantly, please enjoy!


My stylist's name is Freema Quince. What a name. I haven't technically met her yet, but I already hate her. Currently, I am hiding from her in the linen closet. I don't know how long it will take her to find me, but I'm hoping it'll be a while. It probably won't be. I don't even really know where I am, exactly. She's already gotten her prep team to completely rid my body of any and all imperfections, but I decided it was time to run when they wanted to dye my hair. It might sound bizarre, but my hair is one of my only ties to home, since I don't have a district token. It reminds me of Father. And Cal. And any happy memory I could possibly produce from my limited memory.


When we got "up with the sun" this morning, we were pulling into the station. Xanadu instructed us to dress in something simple, so I threw on a pair of black pants and a blue shirt from my wardrobe. We sat at breakfast in silence while I picked at a piece of toast and Jeremiah turned into a vacuum. Bliss and Cyprus politely sipped at tea and made quiet small talk with each other while we waited for Xanadu to come out and give us further instructions.

It went on like this for about 20 minutes before any of us even began to question where he could possibly be, but when he finally appeared, it was obvious why he had taken so long this morning

He was wearing a silver suit that sparkled when the light hit it. His face was completely painted on, giving him a sort of artificial, plastic sheen that would have frightened Cal if he had seen it. His green highlights were twisted into corkscrews that stood on end. I shoved my entire piece of toast in my mouth to keep from laughing. One quick glance at Jeremiah showed me that I wasn't alone. Tears were pricking the corners of his hazel eyes as he faked a cough attack. Xanadu produced a clipboard out of his overlarge jacket pocket and skimmed his sausage finger down it until he arrived on the first item of today's agenda. Makeovers. Great.

We were led into these separate white rooms and instructed to undress. I did so and almost instantaneously, three colorful bodies entered the room. You could hardly call them people.

Each had a different color scheme. There was a tall lanky one whose pink hair matched her sequined dress and pin-curled hair. She introduced herself as Flamingo. How fitting. The skin of the second was dyed the same shade of ice blue from head to toe. She stuck out her hand for me to shake, and I noticed a snowflake painted onto each fingernail. It seemed unnecessary if you ask me, but I suppose I could see how that could be considered attractive. She's called Veronica. The third was a man, with a torso almost as slim as my own. He was decked out in green, and his garments were made of a patchwork fabric that looked a little bit like the leaves of a tree. He painted on his eyebrows, just like Xanadu. I can't understand the appeal of this. It's a little disturbing. He didn't introduce himself, but I heard Veronica call him Flax. He's Flamingo's twin brother, though you could barely tell they were related from the way they had both edited their appearances.

They circled me a few times, whispering to each other with concerned looks on their faces. And then they set to work. Veronica tackled my hands, shaping each fingernail into a perfect oval and making the skin silky smooth. Flax was on hair duty, and he smoothed out all the kinks, making it soft as a cloud. Flamingo supervised over all things skin. She waxed me down until the only hair that remained on my body was on my head, which honestly seemed a little inconvenient for the games, but I needed it for the sponsors. When I finally got a look in the mirror, I was... Disappointed. They put so much effort into making me look beautiful that you'd think it would pay off. I looked bald and pathetic and washed out. It upset me. I didn't even slightly resemble the fox girl in the dusty mirror at home.

The preps were almost as underwhelmed as I was. They whispered to each other a bit more, eyeing me distastefully. Keep in mind, I was still completely naked, which only added to the embarrassment. My face briefly matched the color of my flame-red hair. Flamingo went out of the room briefly to consult with Freema, while Flax and Veronica were left behind to stare at me worriedly.

I finally decided it was time to break the odd barrier between us with a few words.

"When do I meet my stylist?"

Veronica just stared at me in shock for a moment, as if I had just asked if I could blow my nose in her mouth. Flax had a similar reaction initially, but then he spoke up.

"Whenever you've reached beauty base zero. We should've been done by this point, but that hair of yours is really tricky. Great, though. Love the color," he smirked.

"Oh, yes," Veronica added condescendingly. "I imagine that if you win, it'll become a huge fad in the capitol. Everybody will want the fox hair."

I couldn't tell if this was a compliment, but it sounded like it was intended to be, so I said, "Thank you."

At that moment, Flamingo returned with a bright orange bottle in her hand.

"What did Freema say?" Flax asked, good-naturedly. He's certainly the most levelheaded of the prep team.

"Said that her hair could be redder. Gave me this," she held the bottle up. "It'll brighten it two shades."

I immediately tightened up. My face turned a deep shade of scarlet. My hair was my only link to home. Thinking back on it now, I have no idea what got into me, but in the moment, I was not going to let that happen.

"No," I whispered through clenched teeth.

"What?" Veronica asked incredulously. I couldn't tell if it was only the dye, but she seemed to actually be going blue in the face.

"You don't get to take me from my family, rip all my hair out, and then get rid of my last connection to home. No. I refuse. I won't do it," I crossed my arms stubbornly.

"It's what Freema wants. She's going to help you get sponsors," Flax tried to comfort me with a pat on the shoulder, but I pulled away.

"Then maybe I don't want sponsors," I started to turn away, shaking my head.

"Come back here. She's going to be angry," Flax hissed, reaching for me.

But I had already thrown on a robe and bolted out the door.


So that's how I ended up here, in a dark closet full of dirty clothes. I can't recognize the fabrics exactly, but I know that Mother had a few dresses of whatever they are. All of it feels familiar and cool on my skin. The feeling and the smell of it wraps me up in a warm cloud of nostalgia, neither happy nor sad.

I remember once, before Mother died, when I was about Cal's age, she used to read to me. I don't know where she got the books. They were old, impossibly old, and the pages were yellowed and brittle. Every Sunday, I sat in the silky fabric of her lap and she whispered stories about boys who flew and princes who turned into animals. Father would stick a log in the fireplace and hopefully we'd have something to eat that night. That was back when he had a real job in the power plant, so we bought food from the market. Warm loaves of bread and fresh eggs. Sometimes, when I did well in school, we'd get cookies from the bakery or flowers from the florist. It was a nice existence. But it ended. I frown when I think about that part, so I freeze time in the moments in front of the fire and I stay there.

I live in my reminiscent bubble for a couple moments. I don't know how long I was there, to be honest. Feels like hours, probably only lasts a few minutes. That's when the door flies open and a woman whose purple lips match her tight one-piece body suit and her jagged haircut. This must be Freema Quince. I want to spit.

"We won't dye your hair if you sit and stay like a good girl," she wearies, exhausted and frustrated. This, I decide, is a good enough compromise. Wordlessly, I stand up, releasing the silks and satins from my hands. Before I can start down the hall, though, she stops me with a finger on my chest. "One catch. I expect a formal apology to those preps. Compliment them. Make them feel good. They're not used to the drama. From now on, sunshine and smiles. Get it?" I force a nod, even though I don't want to agree. Something about this woman seems dangerous. It makes me want to rebel. But I know what's good for me. I turn the corners of my mouth up in a mock smile. I don't show my teeth. She leads me down the hall and back into my prep room.

"There she is!" Flax pipes up, a little too enthusiastically. That's the way the clueless teachers talk to children, like smiling will make people like you. But I do like him. More than the other two, at least. I aim my apology at him while Flamingo and Veronica roll their eyes emphatically and immaturely. Seriously, they'd give Cal a run for his money when it comes to whining. And Cal is really good at whining.

"I apologize for running out like that. I'm just so overwhelmed by how beautiful everything here is! It's, ahh, it's so much to take in after living in the districts!" I look over at Freema who winks at me. Sickening. However, the preps seem reconciled. Veronica and Flamingo grab hands and jump up and down together like little children. I'm hit with an odd pang of affection for them. They're only trying to help. I can trust that they won't do any harm. Freema, however... She's another story.