A/N: So… now that school has calmed down and all that jazz… I'm actually going back to writing Life on the Line. Yes, I know it's a long time. Feel free to surround me in a circle and beat me up with sticks. I deserve it. I haven't posted a new chapter since April *sigh* But anyway, here's the new chapter! Hopefully I'll be able to write more chapters… Oh, and by the way, I don't own anything except for the Ocs and the plotline. Once you're done, I'd greatly appreciate it if you'd R&R!
Chapter Seven – Jerome
Training Day Two finally arrived. How wonderful.
I wake up in my gorgeous, luxory suite to the bright sunshine and groan. I'm not looking forward to training, knowing that I'd kill anyone of those kids in a matter of days. I try to hide under my pillow and two layers of blankets, but then I think of Poppy's sweet, innocent smile. That's when I tell myself to suck it up and become a man. I've been trained my entire life just for these stupid, pain-in-the-ass Hunger Games so Poppy wouldn't have to. Once I win, we can dump my power-hungry, absolutely insane mother in the trash and head onto a beautiful house in Victor's Village. We'll never have to work in those stupid stone quarries, or become stupid Peacekeepers, and we'll live in happiness and ease for the rest of our lives.
If only it was possible. I'm only deluding myself with that fantasy, after all. Poppy will still have a chance to go into the Hunger Games, and will have to get a job somewhere if her name was never called from the Reaping Ball. I hope it never does. I'm the only Clarke that has to deal with the Hunger Games, and that's something I want to stay the same. Sure, Poppy's had to go through those boot camps. She knows how to kill. Our mother would have to be hit over the head seven times in order to allow only one of her kids to not train for the ever so glorious Hunger Games.
Rodger Vayne would laugh at my determination to win the Hunger Games. Or shake his head with that sad, vacant look in his eyes. Rodger's my mentor, but I've known him forever. The Vayne family live right next door, and before his Hunger Games, Rodger was my idol. He was the most talented guy at boot camp, he was dating Dana Roberts, the most talented girl at boot camp, and he was fiercely determined to win the Hunger Games and bring back honor and glory to his District and to his family. A few years younger than the big man on campus himself, I wanted to be just like him when I grew up. But after his Hunger Games, Rodger let himself go to seed. He broke up with Dana, the only time I've ever seen the girl cry, and became this empty, vacant drunk lost in memories of the past. Whenever kids would say to their friends, "I'm going to win the Hunger Games just like Rodger!" he'd snap at them, saying that the Hunger Games weren't worth it.
I think I'm Rodger's only friend. One time, when I visited, Rodger told me I was the only tolerable guy to hang out with because I wasn't hell-bent on winning the Hunger Games. But I told him I was. And I am "hell-bent" on winning the Hunger Games. So then Mom won't take Poppy and make her into her trophy daughter. Because I've already been through so much thanks to that woman who called herself my mother, and I knew if I died in the 17th Hunger Games, Poppy's treatment would be ten times worse than mine ever was. When I told Rodger that with a dead serious expression on his face, he didn't say anything. But the look of respect on his face said enough.
Putting on my training outfit, I head down eagerly to breakfast. Despite everything, those Capitol chefs knew how to cook. Everyday was a neverending feast, and since I would never be able to eat like that once I'm in the Arena, I fully intend to make the most of it. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Upon entering the dining room, I saw Dana stabbing her blueberry pancakes with her fork and Rodger awkwardly drinking his booze. It was more than obvious that there had been some problems in Dana-dise. Or Rodger-dise. For the sake of my friendship with Rodger, I didn't roll my eyes, even though I really, really wanted to. It was clear that Dana wasn't over Rodger. As for the devil himself… well, it was hard to tell what Rodger was thinking. Even me, Rodger's only friend at the moment, didn't know what the guy was thinking when it came to Dana. He just never mentioned her whenever I went over to his McMansion in Victor's Village, and I never really got the desire to ask.
Piling my plate with waffles, eggs, bacon, mini potatoes and a million of other mouth-watering delicacies the Capitol has provided for me today. Once I've stacked a years worth of food on my plate, I inhale it all in less than five minutes. Dana gives me a look of sheer disgust on her face, and I ignore her. Turning to Rodger, I say, "I'm going down to training. See you later." I know I'll probably be the first one there, but I don't care. After the first day, the introduction day, the tributes can go down to train on their own until a certain time. And if I'm going to win this thing, I need all the training I can get.
After a speedy trip down the elevator, I arrive at training. For a second I think it's just me and the Gamemakers, and I begin to smile. But that's when I see I'm far from being alone, and instead there's only a look of surprise on my face.
Mara Jaffrey, the girl from Eight, has a look of outmost concentration as she tries to make a fire in the fire-making station.
I've been able to make fires for years. You learn more than how to throw knives at Hunger Games boot camp. Her attempts are pitiful; she can't even form embers with the two sticks she's holding in her smooth tan hands. But still, the look of fierce determination in her eyes is admirable. Despite myself, I walk up behind her and say, "boo." Surprised, Mara turns around in the blink of an eye looking spooked until she sees it's me. Then she just rolls her eyes and turns back to what she doing before, desperately trying to create a fire she doesn't know how to make. "Stubborn one, aren't you?" I say. "Let me show you how it's done. You'll never be able to make a fire with just sticks the way you're doing it."
Mara doesn't even bother to give me a second glance. "Thanks but no thanks. I'm almost there, I think."
I sigh. Not only is her technique completely off, but also a fire in the Arena isn't even the wisest idea. "If you had any ounce of intelligence, you'd know that a fire would only lure other tributes to your location thanks to the smoke. Once the other tributes find you, they'd rip your head off in a heartbeat."
Mara looks over at me, a look of pure annoyance written all over her face. "What if I want to lure them there? Did you ever think of that? Plus, even if I hadn't thought of that, why are you even helping me anyway? You're the big bad wolf and I'm a fluffy, innocent-eyed sheep."
I shrug. "Why are you so upset that someone's helping you in the first place?"
For that, Mara has no snappy comeback to come up with. She merely places the sticks down gently and mutters, "I'm going to the healing station."
"I was planning on going there anyway. I need help with healing in the first place," I say, feeling stubborn.
"Fine," Mara mutters. Once we get the healing station, Mara works on one dummy and I work on the other. She's a whiz at it. Though she might have been truly awful at starting fires, Mara Jaffrey is a natural when it comes to healing. I'm not as good, though. While I excelled at most stuff at boot camp, healing was something I could never get. Just as I'm about to pound a dummy in frustration while trying to help a broken bone, Mara comes up beside me and easily wraps the dummy's broken leg in a few, short seconds.
"Thanks," I say, slightly confused as to why she's helping me. Not that I'm going to complain, though.
"No problem," Mara says, giving me a quick smile before looking away. I think my heart skips a beat, but the moment is so quick I barely notice. After a couple of seconds that seem to stretch across for a couple of millenniums, Mara speaks. "I'm sorry about snapping at you earlier," she says with a sigh. "I think the 'going-to-be-slaughtered-in-a-couple-of-days-thing' is getting to my head. I didn't really have a right to take it out on you." When she sees the look on my face, she says, defensively, "what?"
I shake my head. "Nothing. It's just… nobody ever really apologizes, where I'm from. Nobody but my younger sister, anyway."
"You mean Poppy? You're younger sister?" When I don't reply, Mara knows to take that as a yes. "I have a million of younger brothers and sisters of my own," she adds. "I'm the second Jaffrey kid to go into the Hunger Games." The last part is so quiet I almost don't hear it, but I do.
"The second?" I ask. I know I shouldn't, it isn't any of my business, but at the same time, I'm curious. Plus, the Capitol knows all about it. Mara will probably be asked about it during her interview.
The look on Mara's face is enough for me to open my lips and apologize. But for some reason I can't say a word. "My older brother, Berkeley, was in the Fifteenth Hunger Games," she says quietly, looking as if she's about to cry. "He got killed by the boy from Two shortly after the Bloodbath."
Awkward. Rodger won in the Fourteenth Hunger Games, so I know he couldn't have killed Berkeley. But he would have known the guy who did. Rodger was the most recent victor from Two, so I know Berkeley's killer isn't alive anymore. But at the moment, I realized how hard it must be for the families of the fallen Tributes. Especially if their child's killer is still alive and breathing. Being showered by fame and glory he or she didn't deserve. Suddenly, completely throwing sanity to the wind, I give Mara a hug. I shock even myself, but unexpectedly, Mara doesn't slap me across the face. She just cries silent tears as she leans her head on my chest. Maybe in an alternative universe, one that didn't have the Hunger Games, we could have been friends, perhaps one day more than friends. But with our death coming towards us in a mere amount of days, that isn't possible.
There isn't anybody around to see us except for the Trainers and the Gamemakers. The Gamemakers are too busy chatting amongst themselves to notice, but the Trainers can't take their eyes off us, no matter how hard they try. Is that guilt I see in their eyes? Before I can tell for sure, the other Tributes start arriving. The tributes from Twelve, Nina and Eddie, are holding hands. Mara pulls away and quickly dries her face clean of tears before we go back to learning how to heal, then afterwards I help her learn how to hold a weapon. Unofficially, we've formed an alliance.
Once, when she thinks I'm not looking, I catch her giving me a look of sadness, regret and a wonder of what things would have been like in that alternative universe.
A/N: And it's done! What do you think? R&R please! Hopefully the next chapter will be up faster than the this one.
