Chapter Four
We sit in the back room, waiting to be called onto the stage. It seems that everyone else has been welcomed up and we are the last ones left. Emery looks at me, his face vaguely amused, and I look back nervously.
"Welcome to the stage the final two tributes, Caela Fyers and Emery Scatern." Applause sounds and we push through the teal curtains in front of us and onto the same stage I had seen so many tributes have their interviews on. The crowd went mental.
I looked down at my dress, no longer the ugly mess that I had pulled out the cupboard, I have fashioned it into the style of one of my mother's creations. It is asymmetrical, going from a mini skirt and waving down into an ankle length gown, on one side a shoulder strap and the other falls slightly over the shoulder, and cuts down to a V-neck.
I smile, as the crowd keep applauding and the female tributes glare at me. They are all wearing the same dress I pulled out the cupboard, but in various colours, ranging from deep pink to a putrid green. I have also made alterations to Emery's suit, but those are less noticeable, pulling in the flares to skinny jeans, and fashioning a tie out of the spare material from my dress.
We sit down on the two remaining silver chairs as the crowd is reined in by officials, I smile a little at the impact the dress has made but hide quickly, not wanting to seem smug. Caesar Flickman saunters onto the stage and smiles at the crowd, sitting down on one of the two red sofas that take up the centre. His hair is crimson and I am sure the colour wasn't his choice.
"So, I know all of you at home are buzzing to find out which two tributes you have voted to take on as yours, but whilst the results are being collected, there has been an unusual rule added to the mix!" My heart pounds, this is when they put on the spin, what makes it their Game, rather than the Capitols.
"In honour of the Hunger Games that gave us the Mockingjay, two tributes, from the same district, will be allowed to win!" The crowd can't contain themselves and go absolutely wild. I flash Emery a grin, but he doesn't look so convinced.
"However," he shouts over them. "Should your other tribute die, all sponsorship gifts will be withheld and there may be other consequences besides. Now let the Tribute Claiming begin."
A slip of paper is pulled from a jar with a tribute's name on it. The tribute is then summoned to the stage, following which the voting would go crazy, and whoever had the highest percentage of their people bid on the Tribute, won them. So far Bellona Snow and the shop keepers son, Marcellus had been bid on by District 3, Corbin, the first to be drawn in the reaping, was the property of District 8 – a particularly female populated District following the rebellions. The last tribute to go up was a girl called Myra. She was stunning, the only female Tribute, it seems, to be wearing the shapeless dress and pull it off. She was chosen by District 5.
Another slip is pulled from the jar and Caesar calls "Caela Fyers". I step forward and seat myself upon his request.
"So, Caela, whilst we wait, let's talk about your fabulous dress. Now, I can't help but notice that all the other tributes are in very similar dresses, and yet yours... who did you pay off to get that beauty?" He jokes. I smile, feeling a little self-conscious – at least the ugly dress would have covered me up more. I see him waiting for an answer and try and sound amiable.
"I didn't pay anyone!" I laugh. "No, I got the same dress, but took the liberty of altering it a little. My mother was good with a needle, she taught me a thing or two." I look at the little screen that showed the voting, there was a lot of green. Hopefully that's good.
"Indeed she did! That is quite incredible." He glances at the screen, evidently gaining more from it than I did. "How about a twirl?" I get up and swivel on the spot, the crowd makes noises of affection and I sit back down. "Well, we have the results and I think everyone is dying to know which district has claimed you." The room goes silent. "Congratulations District 12 on your female Tribute, Caela Fyers!" I smile wildly, for some reason this pleases me, so I go with it. I wave at the crowd as I walk over to stand with the other claimed tributes.
I can't bring myself to look at them. My head pounds, I try not to let my discomfort show, not wanting to seem weak. I can no longer look at the other tributes, before I hadn't thought about it, but if I want to survive, at least 22 people have to die. I try to suppress the thoughts, concentrating my energies back onto the claiming and onto who my partner is going to be.
I look at the remaining boys, there are ten. Nine. I clap as District 10 claim a rat faced boy, whose name I can't quite remember and will never ask. Maybe it'll be easier if I don't know their names, easier to think of them as animals, to think of their deaths as necessary, an unfortunate sacrifice.
I shake my head, now isn't the time. I look up to see Emery sitting at complete ease on the sofa, he's talking about his suit, I grin as he recounts the story of me insisting that I take in his suit, and how I managed to stab him in the leg with the needle. He's most certainly a crowd pleaser, the audience is grinning and laughing.
"As much as I would love to hear more of your stories, Emery, I have the results of your claiming." my stomach clenches tight, my pulse beats hard and my breath comes quick. With all that had happened, I hadn't had the time to think over what would happen if we weren't...I try to stop my thoughts but they just keep coming. What if it ends up the two of us, could I? Could he?
My head spins faster and I will Caesar to just tell him, but I know that this is too good a moment of suspense to give up. Everyone is quiet. My heart is so loud I'm sure the whole studio can hear it. Caesar's face drops, and he looks at Emery with the deepest sympathy. I freeze, every bone in my body tort with horror. "It looks like you're going to have to put up with a few more needles in your leg, welcome to District 12."
I don't even have time to process this information before I am caught up in a tight bear hug, ordinarily the constriction of my vital organs would bother me somewhat, but not now. I just hug back, glad to have my best friend on my side. He puts me down and we grin at each other, the audience applaud, but we don't hear them. All that matters to me now is that I don't have to kill my only friend.
I don't pay much attention to the rest of the Claiming; just stand there, happy with the prospect that we could both survive this mess. We walk out into the streets we know so well, where a car waits for us. We slide into the back, ignoring the crowd around us. It is a short ride, shorter than the one that had taken us here, and as we get out I recognise the training building where the Tributes spend their time before the Games.
I get out, looking up to the polluted sky, which – although better than it was during the Capitol's reign – was still quite bad. A porter meets us at the glass doors, and leads us to an elevator. He presses the button labelled '12' and the ground moves smoothly downwards. We are still holding hands. The lift stops and the doors slide open. A man is stood in front of them, a man whose face has populated the Capitol screens for many months.
"Welcome to the Hunger Games," says Peeta Mellark, sarcastically.
