Chapter 4: Training Day One
The Capitol - Training Center
When I wake up, I blow the blonde strands of hair from my face, and glance around my now-bright room. Lifting the thick, velvety covers of my bed, I stand up.
Wincing, I glance down at my feet. The bandages are tight, and there's a layer of extra cotton inside to keep it from putting too much pressure on the cuts, but I can feel it.
I make my way to the wall-length window on my tiptoes, and press my fingers to the thin glass. The city, bustling at daybreak, is full of the colorful buildings and people alike. Banners are hung around the square. Twelve of them.
Looking closer, I see that each has a different District. Each looks like a shot taken from the Tribute Parade, moving images showcasing the Tributes. I'm smiling faintly in mine, but compared to Bale, I'm forgettable. Completely forgettable. The Golden Boy outshines me again.
When I tear myself from the view, I decide to get a shower. It's a bit awkward as I sit on the matte tile floor, keeping my bandaged feet out of the glass shower stall. More complicated than that, the glass wall is full of buttons. I push them at random, gasping as a concoction of shampoos, soaps, and lotions fall onto me. By the end, I've scrubbed off all the makeup and smells from the Tribute Parade. Now I smell like citrus and seasalt.
After I dry off, I look in the drawers of my room to find an abundance of luxurious clothing to choose from. I pull on some gray leggings, a breathable, black shirt, and soft socks. It takes me a bit to find tennis shoes in my size. After I do, I put my hair up in a bun, and walk out to breakfast.
"You're late," Finnick Odair says coldly when I walk in. I notice the Avox's are cleaning up the food.
"I don't care. I wasn't even hungry to begin with," I say quietly. On the contrary. I'm very hungry, because I didn't eat dinner yesterday. The stress has gotten to me, and I don't feel like eating yet my stomach is begging for food.
Bale smiles softly, and pushes a small bowl towards me. "I saved you some grapes."
"Thanks," I say, and try not to make eye contact. While I munch on the grapes, Finnick just stares at me. I try to ignore him too. It's the kind of look I would especially not like. It's almost... loathing. Then again, I haven't given him much reason to like me. Why should I, anyways? It's not like he's my Mentor.
Emma clears her throat. "Well, Summer, would you like to take them down?"
Summer Sands, who looks like a stick of bubblegum exploded on her with all her pink clothes today, grins. "Oh, sure! Come along, children, come along!"
She pushes us out as I finish the last grape, tittering on the whole time about how she decided on her amethyst shoes, not the quartz ones this morning.
Bale rolls his eyes, and ignores her but smiles politely each time she looks at him. I almost sing the moment the doors swish open. Stepping out, I realize that one District is still missing. I'm relieved to not be the last District in the Training Center.
When they show up, Atala, the dark-skinned woman running the center, begins her speech, telling us about the stations that teach us about combat, survival, and agility.
She finishes it with "by the end of two weeks, twenty-three of you will be dead."
My stomach gets as knotted as a fishing net caught in a riptide. That could be me... I could be dead, shipped home in a box, in only a couple of weeks. Maybe not even that.
The very thought of never seeing my family again makes tears spring to my eyes. I quickly blink them away. I'm not about to cry in front of the other Tributes. By the time we're done, and Atala blows her whistle commencing the training, Bale walks over to me.
"Are you alright?" he asks in a low tone.
I nod quickly, wiping my eyes more than necessary. "Yeah. Something just... got in my eyes. Probably a piece of fuzz and stuff."
He gives me a look, but drops it. "Well, would you like to go over to a few stations with me?"
I contemplate this. If I ally with him, I'll have a better chance of winning, right? But, do I trust him... That's the real question.
Finally, I agree. After they pin the number 4 on our backs, we walk over to the fire-starting station. I can strike a match and light a fire, but manually starting it is the trouble. When we're in the Arena, as the instructor explains, we probably won't have matches. So it's nice to know the old fashioned way of making a fire.
The girl from District 6 rubs two twigs together for maybe thirty seconds, scraping them against a stone, and then a tiny spark alights, and grows bigger. She adds some "kindling" as the instructor calls it, little dried leaves and grasses. A fire blooms, and the flames lick the leaves. For a moment, I'm mesmerized by the beautiful colors of oranges and red but then I look at her face.
She has orange hair the same color as the fire. Her face is decorated in freckles, and her bright green eyes look like seaweed.
"That's amazing... How did you do that?" I ask her. By the way Bale's scraping of a flintstone has stopped, I know he's listening.
The girl from 6 blushes for a moment. "Oh, um... In my District, we make trains and cars and hovercrafts. To mold the metal, you have to know how to start a fire and sometimes we don't have matches. Learning it is as common as walking."
I nod. "That's really cool. In District Four we learn to weave nets, tie knots, sail ships, catch fish, find shells and other stuff. And swim, of course."
Her eyes grow wide. "You know how to swim? Oh, that must be lovely. Our rivers are too shallow to swim in. The dam we have is the only place deep enough, but it's used to generate electricity."
"Seriously?" Bale says, eyebrows rising. "In District Four, you learn to swim before you learn to tottle."
We chat for a bit, and then leave her as we move on to the spear station. I try to think of a way to balance the spear, watching Bale. He makes very good marks. I really wouldn't want to be an enemy of his in the Arena. Well, what do I know? I may as well be.
"So," he says. "Tell me about yourself? Do you have any siblings?"
For a moment, I consider telling him nothing. It could be a weakness, something he could use against me. But, I'd tell everyone during my interview, so what do I care? "I have eleven."
"Wow," he says. "That must be hard. I have a sister, and brother. Both younger. My sister is Ursula, and my brother is Sailor. They're eight and five."
I nod. "They sound nice."
I finally throw my spear, thankful it's so light, and it lands several inches from the bullseye. I groan, watching the Tributes from 2 snicker. I really don't like spears as much as tridents and knives. They're just too long and too thin. Besides, this is so different from spearfishing at home.
We pass the knot tying station in a breeze, and part of the edible plants too, thanks to the many aquatic plants there. When we get to the knives, I grin, picking up a glimmering, curved blade that reminds me of a trout fillet. A couple of tables over, an instructor at the knife throwing area is explaining something to the boy from 10. The instructor reaches over and presses a button. The tall rectangle boards in front of them turn. They reveal people-shaped figures drawn on the other side, a bulls-eye leading to their heart.
"Focus," the instructor says, adjusting the short knives in his hand. He looks at the boards, seeming to calculate the number of spins in his head, and then throws one. It finds its mark, hitting the would-be-heart of the person. He gets more elaborate, twirling and throwing, or using a bit of flourish in his wrist. Only twice does the knife not hit the bulls-eye.
I find myself putting down the knife I'd been holding, walking over as the boy from 10 looks uncertainly at the knives.
"Can I try?" I ask the instructor.
He nods, handing me a handful of knives, stepping aside. As I step forward, he points to my feet telling me to plant them further apart and stand up straight. I listen, suddenly aware of Bale watching me over my shoulder.
I weigh the five knives in my left palm, feeling their light weight. The tips of the obsidian blades gleam dully.
"This is the perfect distance for a half-rotation," the instructor says, pointing a hand to the closest target.
I take one of the knives, focusing on the bulls-eye. On the heart. It's only a board, I remind myself. It's not a real person. Curling my fingers gingerly around the knife, I lift my arm and throw. The knife bounces off the target, clanging to the floor.
"Try again," the instructor says. "You don't have to throw as hard as that."
I take his advice. This time, the knife lands in the target, sticking in the leg of the board-person.
Lifting my arm higher, I manage to hit the stomach. The knife slips out of the board two seconds later, joining the first on the ground.
"Relax," the instructor says as I take a breath through my nose.
I let my shoulders loosen, my arm hanging as though my right hand is held up by a string. Bale is still watching from nearby. I lift my arm and throw the knife.
It sticks solidly in the edge of the bulls-eye, the knife staying put. I grin, the instructor clapping. "You're a fast learner," he says.
I notice the pair from 1 nodding in approval a little ways away, muttering to each other. I grin again, and Bale leads me off to the rock climbing station with nothing but a quick smile.
We talk the whole way up, Bale asking me random questions like what my favorite food is and what my family does back in 4. I barely ask him anything, more focused on trying to keep hold of the colorful grips on the wall, my arms shaking from exertion, and then when I'm at the top, I reach for the bell. Suddenly, I feel my foot slip, and for a moment I feel weightless. Air rushes through my ears, and I'm back home swinging from a rope into water.
I spread my arms, like I'm flying. Flying, that is, until I do a pancake onto the mat below. Bale immediately rushes to my side, and helps me up. The instructor inspects me for injuries. A few Tributes that were watching scoff. The boy from 7 can scale the wall in less than two minutes.
Groaning, I stand up, and sit at the snares station until lunch is called. I take my time learning them, picking up the knots quickly, asking the instructor for more complex ones.
At lunch, I barely speak to Bale, stabbing at my salad and fish. He tears off pieces of our District's signature bread, drawn from a bowl with eleven others, chewing on it thoughtfully. Then, his eyes flicker up. He sits up straighter, and I turn around to see what he's looking at. The pairs from Districts 1 and 2 are standing there.
Without asking, they sit down. "I'm Porcelain," the girl from 1 states quickly. "This is Elegance, Maxx, and Luna."
They all bob their heads to their names. "So," Porcelain continues, "we were wondering if you two wanted to join in an alliance with us."
Bale immediately smiles. "Of course. Sure. I'm Bale, and this is Sea-Pearl."
Porcelain nods, and bats her long lashes. "Super. Welcome to, as I've heard the other Districts say, the Careers."