Chapter 4

"It burns." Gripping the edges of my prep table, I gritted my teeth as the facial cream chemically reacted to my minimal facial hair.

"We're almost there," said the leader of my prep team. The outlandishly dressed older woman nodded to her younger assistant to proceed.

The young female leaned over the table and placed a cloth over my face, pressing the fabric firmly into my skin. "Tell me when the burning sensation ends."

The nauseating cream forced its way into my nose, but slowly, the chemical burn began to subside, and my muscle began to relax. When I felt relatively pain free, I said, "The burning has stopped."

"This shouldn't hurt." The young assistant peeled the fabric from the top of my cheeks down to my chin, taking all my facial hair with it. She was right; it did not hurt.

When I reached for my face, the young man on the prep team stopped me. "Wait," he said. "Let me apply the neutralizing lotion. We don't want you accidently spreading the lysis cream to your scalp." When he finished applying lotion to my face, the young man helped me to sit up.

I touched my face and marveled at its smoothness.

The leader of the prep team leaned in closer, touching my face with her thumb. "Very nice. You probably won't ever have to shave again." The woman grimaced at what she had said. "At least, until you return home as a victor."

Confident of her remorse, I shrugged. "No worries." Repositioning the small towel over my lap, I asked, "May I dress?"

"After your stylist sees you," replied the leader.

The young assistant noticed my goose bumps and draped a towel over my shoulder.

"Thank you," I said, shivering.

The young man then returned to grooming my toenails as the two women discussed possible options for my hair.

Trapped on this table with nothing else to do, I studied in awe the various tattoos and piercings of the three members of my prep team, constantly thinking to myself, Why? Their flamboyant hairstyles also made no sense, and I assumed that all this was the result of having too much free time.

A woman entered the room, causing my prep team to position themselves behind me.

As the woman approached, her warm stare stood out. Her tattoo free skin was the color of light cinnamon, and she possessed high cheekbones that amplified her smile. Her black shoulder-length hair was brushed tightly back, spreading out into natural curls behind her ears. Wearing a pantsuit made from a patchwork of various tropical colored fabric, her clothing seemed to brighten the room.

The prep team leader placed a hand on my shoulder. "He's ready, my dear. We left his hair untouched as you ordered."

The stylist's eyes remained fixed on me when she said, "He's a handsome young man." The woman offered me her hand. "Hello, Pahl. My name is Bermuda. I will be your stylist."

I shook her hand. "Hi."

The young female assistant pointed to small reddish lump on my neck. "He has several of these blemishes. We can mask them, but they may still show up on camera."

Bermuda inspected my skin, pressing her finger against one of the lumps. "Are these mosquito bites, Pahl?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh my," gasped the prep team leader. "You have at least a dozen bites."

"You get use to it," I commented with a shrug.

"Don't they itch?" asked the male.

"No." I raised my arm to inspect a bite on the underside, which did itch. "Well, sometimes they do, but you learn to ignore it."

Bermuda stepped over to one of the many cases brought in by the prep team and produced a small jar of cream. She approached me, dipping a finger into the opened jar. "Let's try this."

When she applied the cream, I felt a soothing coolness that relieved the itch almost immediately. "That actually feels good," I said.

The assistant leaned closer. "The red lump is gone too. Bermuda, I can quickly apply the cream."

Smiling warmly, the stylist shook her head. "That's fine. I'll take care of his bites. You three go have lunch."

Once my prep team departed, Bermuda asked me to stand, circling me as she applied cream to all my mosquito bites.

Switching hands for cream application, I made sure to hold the towel before my waist.

"I just watched the replay of your reaping." Bermuda dabbed her finger into the jar. "You're a volunteer?"

Unable to confess the truth, I simply shrugged my reply.

"Interesting." With my bites treated, the woman returned the jar to the case and then turned to face me. "Please set your towel on the table."

I gripped my towel with both hands. "Um...why?"

I need to see you standing naturally. I can't fit clothes to you with your shoulders hunched forward."

"Can't I put my underwear on first?"

Bermuda continued to smile at me. "I need to see you as you are. You're a handsome lad. I'm not here to judge or ridicule you. It won't take more than a minute."

I gripped my towel tighter. "You'll know what alterations to make to my clothing by looking at me?"

"Yes. I'm an artist. Would you question a painter about his brush strokes?"

I stared at her, unmoving.

"Please? I'll be quick."

Gnawing my lip, I began to feel comforted by her charming mannerisms, her constant smile. I tossed the towel onto the prep table.

"Thank you. Stand up straight; stand natural."

I watched the woman take slow steps as she circled me.

"Look forward please."

When she reappeared from behind, she handed me a long bathrobe. "Thank you, Pahl. Are you hungry?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Come. Join me in the sitting room."

Quickly donning my robe, I followed Bermuda into adjacent sitting room and began staring at the beautiful buildings seen through the giant floor to ceiling windows. Only when the table mechanically separated in two and was replaced by a second table beneath it did I look away from the city landscape. Spread out on the table a feast, grander than what I had experienced on the train.

Not wanting to repeat what happened while watching the replay of the reapings, when I vomited, I began sampling the food at a much slower pace. I noticed that my stylist was not eating. "Aren't you hungry? This can't all be for me."

"I'm good," she replied. "I had a big breakfast."

Savoring a cheese roll, I admired her smile, how it appeared genuine. Her bone structure and skin tone made her face appear naturally glowing. Afraid to comment on her beauty, I focused on her clothing. "Did you design your own clothes?"

"Why yes. Do you like it?"

I nodded. "It's...warm. The colors remind me of a summer beach. Like when my friend and I would go swimming in the forest."

Bermuda tugged at the seam in her slacks. "I was inspired by some of the small islands just off the coast of District Four."

I next sampled a slice of honey-glazed ham. "What other forms of art do you enjoy?"

"Oh, painting, mostly water colors," replied Bermuda. "I also dabble with clay sculpting. Do you like art?"

My chewing paused at the question. "I guess I do. I've notice so much since I arrived this morning. Even the architecture of the buildings is amazing. The only art we see in District Seven comes from nature."

"I'm glad that you can take the time to admire the art around you."

I began staring at the food at the table. "I promised my teacher that I would spend my last days living and not succumb to the dread."

After a long pause, Bermuda asked, "You weren't volunteering, were you."

"No," I replied, breathing deeply through my nose. I met my stylist's gaze. "My mother is dead. I was denied a chance at secondary schooling." Feeling my eyes well, I reached for my napkin and choked out the words, "I'm tired of being sad and lonely. The usual stuff."

Bermuda scooted closer to me, wrapping her arm over my shoulders. "I want to help where I can. And since you are drawn to art, let us do something artistic for your chariot costume."

"Aren't the costumes made weeks ahead of time?" I asked.

"Most stylists make their costumes ahead of time, and I do have some costumes set aside if we need them; however, I find working under pressure to be inspiring."

"Okay." I bit into another cheese roll.

Looking into my eyes, the stylist's smile seemed to grow. "What is the first thing that pops into your head when I say District Seven?"

"Mosquitoes."

Bermuda laughed. "No, silly. Artistically, what comes to mind when you think of home?"

When I hesitated, she playfully snapped her fingers before my face. "First thing."

"Autumn leaves," I spouted.

...

"Keep cutting," commanded Bermuda to the combined prep teams.

The young male designer wiped his brow. "I'm almost out of fabric. Do we have anymore?"

"No," replied my prep team leader.

Maevery and I stood facing each other as our prep teams worked frantically to make our impromptu chariot costumes. As part of the team cut various leaf shapes from a variety of autumn colored fabrics, the rest of the team used glue to attach the thin fabric leaves to our simple long sleeve shirts and full-length trousers.

Bermuda glanced at the clock on the wall. "We only have an hour to finish this.

The young man turned to the stylist. "I estimate that we need one more meter of fabric to cover them fully."

Pausing for only a moment, Bermuda removed her designer jacket and tossed it to the man. "Cut the remaining pieces from my jacket."

He rubbed the material between his fingers. "It's too thick."

"That won't matter. We just need to cover the remaining spots."

The man raised a scissors to the fabric, but let his hands fall. "I can't cut this, Bermuda. It's too beautiful. It's some of your finest work."

"For Pete's sake." Scowling at the man, Bermuda snatched the jacket from his hand and tore it in half before handing it back. "I can make another. Keep cutting."

When a hand pressed a fabric leaf onto my cloth skullcap, I imagined the glue reaching my scalp. I turned to my stylist. "Will our clothes be glued to our bodies when this is done?"

"No," replied Bermuda. "It's a special glue that I once used during a recent fashion show. It's safe."

Looking to my district partner, she seemed to share my apprehension; nonetheless, we shared a smile. And despite the ridiculousness of the situation, I thought Maevery looked stunning. Unsure if it would be appropriate to comment, I kept the thought to myself as another fabric leaf was slapped onto my head.

With only a few minutes to spare, we stepped out of the elevators into a large staging room, accompanied by our stylists. Here, tributes and support teams gathered around horse drawn chariots as the tributes nervously prepared to be paraded around the city as part of the opening ceremony.

When we approached our chariot, Harmony turned and gasped. "Oh my. You two should certainly garnish some attention.

Johanna guffawed. "Did a unicorn throw up?"

Gnawing her lip, Harmony grinned as she recalled a distant memory. "Come to think of it, your costumes remind me of a calico cat I once had as a child."

"We're autumn leaves," I declared.

Blight aided Maevery into the chariot. "I kind of like it. It's something of a first for District Seven."

Shaking her head, Johanna fed a sugar cube to one of our horses. "A first of something alright."

"It's perfect," beamed Bermuda. "Once the chariot begins moving and the city winds start flowing through the leaves, it will be dazzling."

I entered the chariot and began to notice the long stares. I took a long look at Maevery and had to admit that, close up, we looked a bit like calico cats. The only thing missing were our tails.

With no time to fret about our appearances, our chariot soon passed through the gates in a procession that began parading the city streets. Immediately, our fabric leaves began to flutter, and on a nearby giant projection screen, our chariot stunningly appeared. I felt relieved to see that the fluttering did make us look like trees—not cats.

We passed through the streets as sweat ran down my back. I offered Maevery my hand in support and felt comforted when she accepted it, finding her just as nervous with equally sweaty palms.

When our chariot turned a corner, we could see the city circle up ahead. At this point, we noticed a few of the leaves falling from our costumes. I turned my head and watched the thin fabric float through the air like wisps of smoke.

When we entered the city circle, many more leaves began to fall loose. In a steady stream, our fabric leaves started falling from our bodies, filling the air around the city circle, drifting slowly outwards over the crowds. As we made a second pass around the circle, we could see people vying to catch a leaf, a rare souvenir of their beloved Hunger Games. A few people even called out our names.

To my surprise, this made me smile. It was nice to hear my name spoken by someone who was not a bully—or a stern father.

By the time we stopped before the president's mansion, all the fabric leaves had fallen from our costume, leaving us in our dark brown shirts and trousers. When I looked up at one of the large projection screens, our images made my mouth fall agape. Before the prep teams had begun gluing the leaves to our clothes, they had sprayed our cloth skullcaps and the tops of our arms and shoulders with a white spray to simulate snow frost. From the view of the camera, the snow frosting gave us a haunted look. Not only did our costumes show a change of seasons, they hinted at something more ominous.

...

We retired for the day to our assigned floor in the Training Center. After a quick tour of the premises, I went to my room to shower and rest before dinner.

Exiting the shower, I was pleased that all the glue residue had washed off. This should be no surprise since the glue was designed to release upon exposure to heat and moisture.

Fighting the need for sleep, I dressed in casual attire and joined the others at the dining table.

Johanna poked at her salad. "I owe you an apology, Bermuda. The costumes left quite an impression. Why didn't you do something like that for me last year?"

Bermuda's smile grew. "If I remember correctly, last year's female tribute had a quiet stubborn streak."

Skipping my salad, I began sampling all the succulent choices of meat. I was hungry, but I was more exhausted. Ignoring all the table conversations, I sat quietly throughout most of the meal, slowly working my way through a heavenly steak.

Blight asked, "Are you okay, Pahl?"

"Yes," I replied in a low tone. "It was a long day."

"Have some wine." Johanna raised her glass in a general toast before taking a sip.

"No, thank you."

"It's okay," said Johanna. "You don't have to worry about age restrictions. You can drink with the grownups."

"No, thank you," I repeated.

"I forgot," she continued sarcastically. "You don't like having fun. You're in no rush to grow up."

Tossing my napkin onto my plate, I stood up. "Drinking doesn't make you a grown up, acting responsibly does. You should try it sometime, Johanna."

The female victor eyed me with a smirk, holding her tongue.

I stormed from the table only to pause and turn at the edge of the dining room. "I apologize. Please excuse me, I'm tired and need some rest."

In my room, I was preparing for bed when someone a knocked on my door.

"Come in."

Bermuda entered my room. "Hey there. I just wanted to say good night and to let you know that you did well on your first day."

"I didn't do much. The leaf thing was all you."

"You gave me the idea. Perhaps after your training session tomorrow, we can enjoy some other art together."

"Sure," I said.

"Do you like music?" asked Bermuda.

"Yes. But all we have for music in District Seven is small live bands down at the market."

"Here, let me find you something soothing on your bedside media player. You crawl into bed." Bermuda stepped over to my nightstand and began touching the glass screen of a tablet that I mistook for a digital picture frame. Soft music consisting mostly of string instruments began playing from unseen speakers spread throughout the room. She dimmed my bedroom lights and took a seat in a bedside chair. "How's this?"

"You don't have to sit with me. I'm okay."

"I know. I'm just enjoying some music with my new friend. If you want to talk, we can; otherwise, we can listen to some music."

I smiled, appreciative of Bermuda companionship, but I had to admit that I did not feel like talking. Emotionally exhausted, I listened to the pleasing music and all too soon, drifted off to sleep.