.

After every plan had failed and there was nothing more to tell,
you knew that we would meet again, if your memory serves you well.

Arika Rillon, 15, District Six Female

"You're littler than me!"

I can't help but exclaim in mild wonder at the little girl before me. Though thirteen, only two years younger than me, her wide eyes and small, gator-like front teeth give her an air of much more innocence – even though I personally watched her cut people open last year in her own Games.

"Don't misjudge me," Felicity sighs. "I wasn't supposed to be your mentor. I was only supposed to come along so I could see what it's like for next year… and then Dalton had to die."

Sensing that poor Felicity's feeling sad, I quickly adjust myself to her hip and wrap an arm around her tiny shoulders. "Don't worry, I would never," I declare, glancing up into the approving eyes of Gingham Cleaver, Felicity's companion mentor, a woman with flaming hair and a huge tunic. "I was just surprised at first."

A smile flickers onto Felicity's lips. "Well, that's good," she says softly. "I'm used to people underestimating me because of my age."

I poke her shoulder gently. "You proved them all wrong, though," I say. "You cut people open, even shed tears over it. You're not a monster, nor are you a weakling."

"That's supportive…" Gingham gives me a grateful smile, probably for boosting the spirits of the young mentor. "Arika, have you ever met Kyran?"

The lanky boy next to Gingham, my district partner, hangs his head, hands jammed in his pockets. I unloop my arm from Felicity's shoulders and stroll over to him, glancing up to meet his face.

His face is angled, with bushy eyebrows and a thin layer of blond hair on top of his head. There's a whisper of a mustache, marking him as an older boy, as if the height didn't set me off on that.

"I'm Arika," I say clearly, thrusting a pale hand forward. After a moment, a hand tanned to bronze connects, grasping mine warmly.

"Kyran," he mutters, his eyes swiveling upwards to mine, reminding me of the sad dog cartoons that they sometimes broadcast on the Square as a sort of daycare for the younger kids. "It's… nice to meet you, Arika."

"If only it were under other circumstances." I let go of his hand and sigh – the sigh's not necessarily miserable, just a little bit glum. "But we'll just have to make the best of this, won't we?"

"Such a go-getter!" Gingham smiles.

I giggle slightly. "Well, I came from Checkdamp. It's not exactly the best place to grow up."

"Checkdamp?" Felicity's small voice reaches my ears. I peer over to see her frowning. "How are you dressed so cleanly, then?"

I shrug. "Well, I figured that if my parents weren't going to help me, I had to help myself."

"Daddy problems, hm?" Felicity's frown grows deeper.

A chuckle emerges, though this one sounds rather fake. "Not really. They were just a little shocked after my brother died. And no, before you all ask, it wasn't because we lived in Checkdamp, it was because he decided to make a bunch of terrible decisions. It was all his fault."

Oh, Peter, I lament silently as the other three swallow this information. If only I could've heard your voice at the goodbyes. It would have given me a lot of encouragement, to be honest…

"I have a brother kind of like that," Kyran volunteers quietly. As three pairs of eyes snap to stare at him, he shrinks under our gazes. "Uh, I mean, he's not dead or anything… he just…" He trails off, obviously not flourishing under the limelight. "Oh, God," he mutters.

"Keep going," I say soothingly, patting a hand on his forearm. "Take your time."

"Um," he says, gazing down at my hand, "Kent's… he's very rude… and…. He makes bad decisions too. I just, um, made the connection with Arika's brother, and…"

"That's perfectly fine!" Gingham says jovially – perhaps a bit too cheerfully. And as I observe her more, it's obvious that Kyran's not at all what she expected. The lines in her forehead are stretched too tightly. Her smile is one hundred percent artificial. "It's good to make connections with your district partner, to build bonds, and maybe even alliances…?" She winks at him.

"Oh, God," Kyran repeats. He blinks a few times. "I don't even know if I want an alliance…"

Gingham utters a dramatic gasp, so I quickly volunteer my voice, the spotlight swiveling to me instead of my bashful district partner. "I personally think an alliance would be great!" I chirp.

"No trash-talking," Felicity says sarcastically.

I shake my head, painting on a picture-perfect grin. "I'm not one to flame people like that. It's just a personal preference. Who knows, maybe there's a couple girls my age!"

"That would be great," Felicity giggles. "You guys could have sleepovers and everything. Like a clique of the girls at my school."

"Exactly." I wink.

Kyran, meanwhile, is still fumbling like a bumbling, mumbling fool. "Um, I guess an alliance could be pretty beneficial," he says quietly. "You'd have somebody to watch your back and everything… to fight somebody with you…"

I see that he's struggling, and, like a five-foot-five superhero, swoop to his rescue once again. "No matter what happens in the arena, alliance or not, both of us are going to try our very best!" I announce. "No slacking for us, no sir! We're going to train until our hands fall off, and then we'll perform onstage until we lose our voices!"

"I'm sure they have pills to remedy that," Gingham chuckles.

I shrug, smirking. "Hey, I wouldn't know. But if I come back as victor, I definitely would!"

Quentyn Allard, 18, District One Male

The scene is pretty relaxed – Auriga and Lincoln are murmuring amongst themselves in some other cart, our escort is eyeing up the cutlery, and Pelly's stuffing his face with some delicious hot stuffed mushrooms. Me? I'm just sitting back, enjoying it all.

"So, Quentyn." Pelly swings his legs up to the table, nodding at me. "Tell me about yourself! This is the first time we've been alone in… well… forever, really. Never really talked to you in the district, either. So… talk?"

"Well," I say cautiously, "I'm not the boldest, and I don't stand out much in a crowd, which is probably why you haven't noticed me much."

"Awh, don't say that." Pelly waves me off with his hand, smiling. "I'm sure you're plenty special."

I blink. There's a long pause, and Pelly coughs, probably to encourage me or somehow make me feel better. I finally talk. "No, I literally mean that I'm just not the most noticeable. I stay under the radar pretty often, you feel me?"

"Well, that's alright," Pelly chuckles. "I'm not the most loud, either. I enjoy solitude, really!"

"Exactly how I feel," I say, relieved. "I don't do well with people."

Pelly's wide smile melts into a sudden frown. "Are you allying with the Careers, then?"

Wincing slightly, I shrug. "I think it would be the best decision for me," I say, almost robotically. "But social-wise, I really don't think it's going to be very easy."

"Nobody said it was going to be easy!" my mentor exclaims, raising his thin eyebrows. "By God's name, Quentyn, you're a District One citizen, born and raised. I'm assuming! And you don't want to ally with the Careers?"

Acid floods my chest, and I clench my fist under the table, really wanting to punch Pelly in his arrogant little nose, but restraining myself because really, who am I to question authority? "Fine," I growl out. "I'll join with the Careers. If it makes you happy."

Pelly sits back in his chair and stares at me for a long time. During that time, I count four stuffed mushrooms that are crammed into his little mouth. "Well," he says finally. "…Hm. You're a strange case, Quentyn, and I'm trying to figure out how to handle you."

"Just let me go on my own," I whisper to myself, but of course he doesn't hear me.

"So let me get my thoughts together," Pelly hums, eyes on the dish of hot – now warm – mushrooms. He stabs half-heartedly at one with a silver fork. "You're… quiet. I got that much. You seem competent. I want to have faith in you."

"And you can," I say back, my voice edging on sassy.

He leans back, the mushroom impaled on the tines of the fork. "Prove it, then."

I sigh treacherously. "You know, I'm not liking your attitude, Pelly."

Pelly seems to be just another in a line of people who share his attitude that I've encountered. Outspoken, friendly, maybe a little cocky. I guess first impressions aren't everything – when he first won, Pelly was a shaky little twig with huge glasses and fluffy red hair, his face smooth and unmarked. Now he's a cocky little twig with giant glasses, big hair, and clear skin.

He frowns and blinks. "You don't like my attitude? Can I ask why?"

"You just did."

"… Huh?"

Groaning slightly, I shake my head. "Never mind. Forget what I said. Do you know where the desserts are? I've really been craving a good blackberry tart lately. They made the best ones at the Academy."

His eyes light up, youthful and icy blue. "You liked the fruit tarts, too? Peach was my favorite, but the blackberry were right up there!" Now that he's aware of something we have in common, he's a little more open, generous. "The desserts table was one car down. To the left, first table. I can't promise that there's any fruit tarts there, but there's an awful lot of others."

"Hey, thanks." I stride away from him, sliding open the door to the car containing the desserts and slump into a chair, happy to have gotten away from the pest.

A snort comes from the other side of the train car.

Auriga.

"You left your mentor, too?" she scoffs playfully.

I hesitate, wondering whether I should confide in her or not, when she rolls her eyes and smooths her skirt down, the black material ruffling. "I couldn't stand Lincoln for more than five minutes at most. She's past her prime, and she's only in her twenties, I think."

"Pelly was very loud," I sigh. "And I'm just… not."

"Lincoln was the opposite," Auriga replies, her eyebrows raising slightly. "She just wanted me to talk and talk about my life in District One, to try and size me up or something. I hated it! I just wish that I could have somebody louder to talk to, who I can actually have a conversation with, not just a rock for a mentor, you feel me?"

She's talkative, too. But for some reason, she doesn't remind me of Pelly. I nod, smiling slightly. "I get that. I'd love if we could switch, but…."

"They would give us a seven page list of reasons why not to," Auriga says, defeated. She glares at the ground. "Sometimes I just wish I was older. Eighteen would be nice. Or twenty. Yeah, twenty."

"Why twenty?" I furrow my brow for a moment.

Auriga looks at the ceiling briefly before swiveling her gaze to me, smirking. "Well, people would take me more seriously. And, legal ages, you know?"

She winks, and I mentally slap myself. Of course. Kids my age are so stupid at times.

Not that I'm the pristine needle in the haystack, oh no. I've done some incredibly idiotic stuff. I just try not to let people know.

The door slides open and in pops Pelly, his face full of confusion. He looks from Auriga, to me, to the dessert table. "Did you… did you find the tarts, then?"

I reach over and pluck the first dessert I see – some creamy puff pastry with sticky frosting. "I decided to try new things," I say, holding up the pastry. "First this, then maybe that good looking tiramisu."

Auriga sniggers. I ignore her, and follow Pelly back into the other car, where he's sure to irritate me once more with his childish ways.

Jazzlyn Li, 17, District Two Female

This place is spectacular.

I twirl about, feeling the taffeta of my skirt swish on my bare skin and my silky black hair fly about. I feel Corton's observant stare on me, but I don't care. Why should I? I flourish in the limelight.

"Careful," he says, his voice teasing and playful. "You might get dizzy and upchuck. Right before dinner, too!"

Stopping briefly to flash him a grin and an eye roll, I continue spinning, loving the feeling of cold air on my skin. "I just love it here," I drawl, tilting my head back. "The food, the people, the luxuries… even the Avoxes! They're so cute!"

He smirks – that much I can see through the mane of hair that flies in front of my face. "You know why they can't talk, right?"

This time I stop for good, feeling rather wobbly. Staggering over to a bench, I plop down and stare at Corton. "They don't have any tongues. I'm not a fool, you know."

"The Capitol cut out their tongues." Corton's eyes are strangely warm.

I don't know quite how to feel about Corton. Sometimes we hit it off all fine and dandy – we can uphold a great conversation about the most meaningless things. And we have a lot of similar interests, too. But other times, he's just rude. Cold and blunt. It's like he's got an evil twin.

"I know that much, too," I say, my heart sinking a little bit as I think about what the poor things go through. Imagine the fear in their hearts, cold like shards of ice, and the sweat beading on their foreheads as the sharp tool cranes inside their mouths.

Snip snip.

I shudder. Corton notices.

"What was that for?"

"Just thinking about the Avoxes…" I frown. "Can you imagine what it would be like?"

"Imagine all the tongue blood you'd be tasting." Corton squelches up his face and his body gives a tremor. "Disgusting. The Capitol really sucks."

He says it so flippantly, I almost miss it. But my ear catches on. "You think that the Capitol sucks?" I blink a few times, curious. "Can I ask… why?"

He raises his bushy eyebrows. "You beg to differ?"

"N-Not necessarily…" I stammer, fiddling with the skirt of my dress. "It's just… you're from a Career district. I'd think that you'd be a little more loving towards the Capitol and how generally generous they've been to us."

Corton laughs creakily for a moment. "You're from a Career district, too, Jazzlyn. It doesn't matter what district we're from in the end. In the end, Jazz, all that matters is that you have motivation, a pointy weapon, and heaps of Capitol support to turn the tides in your favor."

My shoulders slump briefly. "The Capitol doesn't rig the Games, do they?" I guess I've never really considered the idea. I just thought that, naturally, the best fighter there is the one who makes it out. That's why I thought I was good to go to volunteer and all, with that sick roundhouse kick that I performed at the Reaping. "What about the tributes who don't have Capitol support, but can put up a mean fight?"

He shrugs. "Sucks for them."

He's so blunt. I hate it, but at the same time, it's alluring and mysterious. I myself have always been the compassionate type. I don't like to see the bad in people, which is probably why I'm hitting it off so well – at times – with Corton.

"I, for one, think that we'll get a lot of sponsors and support," I say confidently, standing up. The dizziness in my head is gone completely. "We're from a strong district and we're both cute and charismatic!"

Corton gives me a sarcastic look.

"Okay, fine, I'm cute and charismatic. You can bring the intelligence to the table. You'd be good at that."

A smirk pops up on his face. "I can show the Capitol that District Two is to be taken seriously this year. We're threats, just like every other year."

"And I can flaunt the fact that we've got good looks and can be really, really nice!" I chirp.

Corton guffaws. "You're kinda an airhead. You know that, right?"

I sit down somewhat grouchily. The one thing that I absolutely despise is when people underestimate me, just because I like talking all positively. Being positive is not a curse. It's a golden ticket to happiness. "Please. I passed all my tests in school with flying colors."

"You can be school smart, and still not be too bright." Corton raises an eyebrow.

"Obviously, you've proved that!" I grin, happy to have gained a sort of advantage in the conversation.

He sniggers at me, but nods. "Funny. You're nice, but sarcastic. It's… weird."

"Didn't think that a girl with this personality could be this cute, hm?" I wink.

His smile drops and he shakes his head. "Nope, just didn't think that a girl who could perform that killer kick out at the Reaping could be so mentally incompetent."

I laugh off his jabs. If it's one thing I'm good at, it's seeing that people really don't mean what they say, half the time. Corton must be no different. He's probably just insecure or something. Nothing to get my panties in a twist about.

Honestly, sometimes people need to chill. Not everything is serious. I flash a smile at Corton once I'm done laughing, no doubt provoking some serious confusion in his blond little head, but I don't care. It's all in good fun.

For now, anyways.

Solari Cordova, 18, District Eleven Male

The spread in front of us is overwhelming.

Kiah breathes sharply from my side, eyes widening as she takes in all of the sights and smells to view – savory sauces, juicy hunks of meat, salty slabs of fish, fluffy buns and biscuits, boats of gravy, platters of vegetables and sandwiches, steaming soups of varying colors, and pitchers of more beverages than we could ever ask for back in Eleven.

The daily breakfast tart that we were assigned daily doesn't even measure up to one of these items.

I glance over at Hudson and Serine, who are each scouting up the food with predatory looks. "C-Can we have a little?" I ask softly. I barely hear myself, but somehow Hudson does.

He nods, puffy lips stretching into a wide smile. "It's all for you, Solari – every single thing on here! And there's still desserts!"

Taking a breath and clutching to the edge of the table, I decide to wait until my district partner has had a nibble. But she, too, is in awe – her eyes scan every item individually for a long moment, her weary lips parted slightly. After a moment, a trembling hand reaches up and plucks a single hard biscuit from a plate.

Our escort guffaws. Her name's Billie, and she's by far the most irritating person I've ever met, with her unnatural blond hair and dangly blue earrings. "Come on, kid!" she barks. I can't tell if she's trying to be abrasive or if it just comes naturally. "Take heaps! Slather some butter on that piece of bread, swallow down some chicken breasts like they owe you money! Steal the gravy boat! Honestly, every year it's just the exact same, two kids who can't know a pork butt roast from a porterhouse."

"What are those?" Kiah asks me rather loudly. I shake my head.

Billie must not have heard us, because she pipes down pretty fast, tutting and pulling a greasy sliver of fish onto her own plate, coating it with some chunky white sauce soon after. Kiah and I, however, aim for the more tame looking food items. She tries a small round circle of meat on a bun. I choose a bowl of creamy soup with potatoes.

Serine's staring at me, though. Not Kiah, who she's supposedly mentoring. Me.

I look up a few times from my soup in confusion, but her gaze never wavers. Eventually, I decide to do something I almost never do – speak up.

"Do you n-need something?" my soft voices catches and my chest tightens.

"Not really." She shrugs, her piercing eyes never leaving me. "Just decided to try and size you up. I've already done Kiah."

"Well, okay…" I smile shyly, peering bashfully from behind my bowl of soup. "Size up away, then…!"

Hudson hums. "Why don't we play a game?" he says good-naturedly. "To try and get to know one another better, you know?"

"Sounds fun," Kiah says gamely. I nod quickly in agreement.

"Hm… a question game, how about." Hudson raises a thick eyebrow. "Um… Kiah. Favorite memory?"

Kiah's cheeks heat up and she stares at the table, shoulders slumped. Serine's expression goes from analytical to panicked, and she's about to soothe Kiah when the girl speaks up, in not a trembling voice, but one with verve and confidence.

"It was before I was twelve – probably eleven. Before my mom died. We were all gathered at the table around the holidays, when it was snowy and we didn't have to work. Everybody got each other a sort of present, no matter how small. My brothers gave me a tin of cookies, a rock shaped like a heart, and a yarn headband, and I got a sweater from my parents. We were gathered around the table, the house all warm from the fireplace, eating groosling and rice and fruit sauce, and… and everything was so happy." Kiah's eyes well up in tears and she sniffles. "And then about a month later the disease came and we lost my mom. And every holiday after that's been a lot less nice."

I wrap an arm around her shoulders, and she pushes me away, her eyes drying up quickly. "I don't need to be pitied for it, though," she says. "I mean, a lot of other people lost their parents, too. I'm fine."

Unfortunately, I can't sympathize. Coming from a large, jovial family myself with six kids and supportive parents, there hasn't been much poverty in my life.

Unless you count the bullying.

"Solari, I'll ask you the opposite," comes Hudson's voice. "Least favorite memory?"

My throat constricts, but I don't let it show. I even offer up a grim smile as I start talking.

"W-When I was littler, I-I was kind of, um…" I stare at the table. "Scrawny, you k-know? Not as muscled since I-I didn't work in the fields yet… and, in school, um, th-the kids there… they'd mock me and t-tease me and call me Stuttering Solari. They'd t-take my books and stick things on my b-back and g-gossip about me to no end, and I-I could never say anything in m-my own defense…"

It's true – it was terrible. I was the reject of my class, spat at and left out. Nobody wanted to be friends with the skinny boy with the well-kept clothes and self-imposed scars and the dreaded stammer. The one whose nose was always buried in a book to block out the real world. The boy who would gladly volunteer in class to try and make a friend in even the teacher.

"I-It got better, though," I say a bit louder, not caring if Hudson or Serine's started to try and comfort me. "I-I went to work in the f-fields, to support my f-family… I-I never made a good friend, b-but it was all good… I-I mean, I had my siblings."

Kiah hesitantly slides a hand onto my arm. My soup sits, forgotten. "It'll get better soon," she says gently.

A weak smile makes its way to my lips. "I-I sure hope you're r-right."

A/N: This Wheel's on Fire by Siouxsie and the Banshees.

Alright, after a mini-hiatus involving me going on vacation and a rewrite of one of these characters a few times, a chapter is out! As always, reviews are definitely appreciated – they let me know who's reading, and they keep me motivated. I was pleased at the amount for last chapter – if only we could keep that consistent throughout this story!

And hey, if you're looking for a cool new artist, I definitely recommend Sioxsie and the Banshees. It's a very old group, but the music's so haunting. Baaaaabe.

Questions~

Thoughts on each POV?

Chart?