4
I finally fall asleep on the rags. They don't smell as flowery as the rest of the room, and the floor feels more like my bed at home, anyway.
In the morning, I don't bother washing. It's not like I've got any clothes to change into, anyway.
I look at the pile of clothes I destroyed, but I still don't feel anything. There's no point fighting, I realize. They'll get their Games, either way. The only thing I can control is how I behave.
So control yourself, Haymitch, Dad's voice says in my head.
A gigantic breakfast is laid out in the dining car. Maysilee and Twylah are already there, whispering together at one end of the table. Looks like Maysilee found herself another friend. Good. I don't have the energy to deal with either of them.
I eat in silence as Bowen and then Larvina come to the table. Finally Venetia stomps in. I can tell right away that she's seen what I've done.
"I hope you're very happy with yourself," she shrills, but I head her off before she can really get going.
"I'm sorry," I mumble into the sweet porridge I've been swirling around my bowl. "I won't cause any more trouble. I'll do whatever you want."
Venetia deflates. That might actually be a smile on Larvina's face. Bowen sneers. Of course, Bowen usually does.
"Well," Venetia fumbles. "Well, good. Those clothes weren't cheap, you know."
"Put them on my tab," I mutter. I really can't help it. But I shoot a smirk at Venetia so she knows I'm joking. She just narrows her eyes.
"We'll be arriving in the Capitol soon," she tells us. Her voice is a few notes south of her usual cheerful bleat. "You must all make sure you look your best!" She stares at Twylah for a second too long, then turns to inspect Bowen and me. The only thing that could improve Bowen's looks is a grain sack over his head, so she focuses on me.
"Your hand looks terrible!" she cries. I glance down and see that my knuckles have turned purple and green where I punched the wall.
Venetia sighs. "I'll get a medic."
"Leave it," Larvina says.
I glare at her, but for some reason, Venetia does as she's told. Maybe they've both decided that I need to be punished a little more.
After some more whispering, Maysilee and Twylah disappear into another car. Bowen and I keep right on eating. I can feel myself getting queasy from all the rich food, but I don't care. If I throw up on Venetia later, I'll try to pretend I feel bad about it.
The view outside the windows has turned rocky and beige, and I can see a mountain range in the distance. In school, we learned that this mountain range helped protect the Capitol from the rebels during the Dark Days. I don't understand why it couldn't protect the rebels from the Capitol.
When Maysilee and Twylah come back half an hour later, Twylah is wearing a green Capitol dress and her black hair is braided into a knot at the back of her head. Bowen, Larvina and I aren't the best audience for this sort of thing, but Venetia makes up for it by actually squealing.
"It's so nice to finally have a some tributes who understand how lucky they are to be here," she coos.
I don't care what Larvina says. I am going to punch her.
I'm halfway to my feet when the windows go black. I look around and realize that the train is underground. Then we're outside again, and the Capitol is spread out in front of us.
I knew the Capitol was big – I've seen it on television – but I guess part of me thought it was exaggerated in the broadcasts, like the hype around the Games. But they haven't exaggerated the size of the Capitol. They haven't needed to.
The city sparkles in the sun like shards of glass, stretching as far as I can see. Spires of pink and blue and green glitter under a cloudless blue sky fringed by distant brown mountains.
All four of us have drifted over to the windows to gawk. As we pull into the station, our train is surrounded by a screaming mob of rainbow-colored Capitol freaks, and I pull back in disgust.
Not Maysilee, though. She slings her arm around Twylah's shoulders and waves out at the hordes, beaming. After a second, Twylah joins in.
Get them to like you, Larvina said. Well, Maysilee obviously has her strategy worked out. I sit down at the table, my back to the windows. I told Venetia I wouldn't give her any trouble, and I won't. But that doesn't mean I have to play her games.
I just have to play that other one.
They somehow smuggle us off the train and into the Remake Center without running into any of the freaks on the platform. Once we get into the Remake Center, I want to get right back on the train.
We're separated at the entrance, and I'm set upon by three obnoxious little dye-jobs whose names I immediately forget. I call them Dim, Dum and Dam in my head.
I grit my teeth while Dim strips me down and Dum plunges me into a bath of foul-smelling oil. Dam starts scrubbing me with what feels like a wire-brush. They all laugh when I yelp, so I grit my teeth and keep quiet after that.
I'm scrubbed raw, then put in another bath of white, creamy stuff. Then I'm scrubbed down again. They trim, clip, polish and wax until my skin is numb. They complain about coal dust the entire time. It's under my nails, in my hair, between my teeth, and in other places it takes everything I've got not to knock them down for touching. I'll never be clean, they moan. This will take all day. What about their dinner reservations? Why couldn't they get clean tributes, like District 4?
"What makes you think Four would take you?" I finally growl. Dim, Dam and Dum shut up after that, but their silence is hostile. I'm relieved when they finally pack up and disappear, hoping that's the last time I'll have to see them.
They leave me sitting naked on a table. The only clothes in the room are the ones I wore from Twelve, but since those are probably covered in coal dust, I guess I shouldn't put them on.
I'm starting to get cold when Dayna Lush sweeps in, almost blinding in a reflective yellow suit.
Lush has been District 12's head stylist for ten years. I'm pretty sure he's the only one willing to do the job. He made his fortune designing uniforms, first for laborers in the districts, then servants and maintenance staff in the Capitol. His big break came when he designed the Peacekeeper uniforms twenty years ago. After hosting a few failed design shows, he finally managed to get into the Games. It turned out that his imagination couldn't stretch too far beyond uniforms, though, so he's been stuck with District 12 ever since. It's hard to get much more uniform than a miner's jumpsuit, which is what he puts our tributes in every single year.
"Am I going to have a problem with you?" Lush demands by way of introduction. Dim, Dam and Dum file in behind him, still sulking.
"Nope," I grin, turning on the charm. Dam's scowl deepens.
"Good," Lush says, snapping his fingers. Dum scampers over to me, fumbling with a measuring tape. "The preps are complete back-births," Lush continues, "but they work for me. Play nice with them, and everyone's day goes a little smoother. Do you have a token from your district?"
I show him my father's ring. Lush holds out his hand, then makes an impatient gesture when I don't get it right away.
"I'll take it to be reviewed by the Gamemakers."
My fingers curl protectively over the ring on my thumb.
"Why?"
"To make sure it can't be used as a weapon."
"It's my father's wedding ring!"
"Then there shouldn't be a problem." Lush holds out his hand again. "This is entirely routine," he adds, sounding annoyed. "Everyone does it."
That's a bad reason to do anything, in my opinion, but I don't see that I have much choice. After a moment, I slide Dad's ring off my thumb and hand it over. My skin feels cold and tender where the ring used to sit, and I wonder how I got so used to it so quickly.
Lush stays long enough to approve Dum's measurements, then swishes out without so much as a goodbye. One of his trainees oversees my costuming, which involves (surprise) a miner's jumpsuit. Or at least part of one. The arms and legs are missing, and the V in the front goes down so low I'm worried Dim's going to have to take off more hair.
True to my promise to Lush, I don't complain. Not even when Dim, Dam and Dum make our entire afternoon completely pointless by smearing fake coal dust all over my face and body. One of them sticks a headlamp on me and I'm taken out to the staging area to wait for the parade to start.
The other three from Twelve are already there, their expressions ranging from surly to shell-shocked. I'm glad to see that Bowen and Maysilee's costumes are just as skimpy as mine, but at least someone had the sense to realize that Twylah actually is a child, though a giant one, and she's a little more decent.
"Can't believe I lost three layers of skin just to get smeared in coal dust again," I grumble when I join them.
Maysilee laughs, which is nice of her. I notice that her face looks less round than usual, like maybe she's actually got cheekbones. I glance at Twylah, and her face looks nicer too – less sunken. Even Bowen doesn't look quite as piggish as usual. Maybe there's more to the preps' makeup than I gave them credit for. I might be impressed if it wasn't such a stupid skill.
It's chaos in the staging area, between the tributes, mentors, horses, designers and escorts – and yes; I rank them in that order. I take the opportunity to look over the other tributes.
Eleven's are nearest to us. Three of them, two girls and one boy, are tall and lean, with skin so dark it's almost black. The other boy is the odd one out – he's short and stocky, and he keeps twitching like he's got ants under his skin. Or maybe the grain skirt he's wearing is itching him.
A few others stand out from the crowd – a tall, gangly redhead from Five, a tiny girl from Seven and a tinier boy from Nine, a girl with long, slanted eyes from Eight who might be the most beautiful girl I've ever seen (apart from Marlys), and a boy with a crippled hand from Three. Looking at him makes me queasy, and my eyes go to the Careers.
Sure enough, the tributes from One, Two and Four are massive – all clearly eighteen, all clearly volunteers. Just like every other year. Unlike every other year, there are twelve of them. They're standing in a big group together, laughing and goofing around like they're at a market day.
Venetia finally totters in, Larvina rolling along behind her.
"It looks like Dayna's done it again," Venetia trills.
"We look stupid," Bowen grumbles. "Everyone at home will be laughing at us."
"Don't be an idiot," Maysilee snaps. "No one at home is laughing."
Bowen scowls at the floor and doesn't answer. Maybe because he knows she's right. The Games might entertain people in the Career districts, but no one even pretends to enjoy them in Twelve.
The four of us avoid each other's eyes as the silence becomes uncomfortable.
"Well, up you go!" Venetia chirps, shooing us into the carriage. "Dayna should really be the one to arrange you, but… Haymitch and Maysilee, you two in front. Bowen, behind Maysilee, please, and Twylah – yes, that's right." She fusses around us as a Capitol attendant hitches our chariot to four black horses that look like they should be pulling a funeral carriage. I guess the dopes in the Capitol haven't heard about irony.
Lush shows up at the last second, surrounded by a scurrying mass of preps and trainees.
"All right everyone!" he cries, clapping his hands together. "Big smiles at the crowd and remember to waaaaaave." He cups his hand and swivels it back and forth to show us how it's done.
"Okay, if we wave like that, people at home might actually laugh," I mutter to Maysilee. She rolls her eyes.
Someone grabs my wrist and I jerk around, pulling away on instinct. But it's only Larvina, her head barely reaching to my wrist. She slaps my right hand on the edge of the chariot and gives me a look that says, leave it.
I look down at my fingers where they grip the smooth, black wood. The preps tried to cover up the bruises with their fake coal dust, but plenty of purple and brown still shows through. I don't understand what Larvina wants from me, and I'm about to ask when the chariot rolls forward with a jolt and I'm hanging onto the edge anyway to keep myself from falling on top of Twylah.
The tribute parade has begun.
A/N: Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear what you think of the story so far.
