A special thank you to Davos Seaworth for the review! And thank you to all the viewers, I appreciate it :) So, I finally got to storyboarding the chapters on this fic, so here's to hoping that the pace will now pick up. Thank you again!
The flames dance around, and my eyes follow it without any hesitation. It's already been minutes since I finally lit the fire, and frustration from not being able to light one earlier melted away and has turned into something beautiful. Even the frustration from not being able to finish the ropes course has buried itself. It feels as if the fire I lit burned all the frustration away. But there's also this nagging feeling that I am forgetting something.
To the station next to mine, I can hear the trainer praising Marcy about her aim. She has been bringing down bottles with a slingshot for some time now, with the trainer even timing her as soon as she showed her aptitude with a slingshot.
"You can go places with that skill, kid," the trainer, a man with dark skin and bushy yellow hair, tells her. He has a big smile on his face that reminds me of Dad. Dad smiled like that the day I cooked Mom's soup without fail. He smiled like that when Cliff stood up for one of his friends at school and earned a black-eye for it, and when Bron stood up for the first time on his tiny toddler legs.
The thought of my dad's smile makes me want to cry.
"Too bad I only have one place to go now." Marcy jokes, and she and the trainer share a laugh.
Just then, a buzzer sounds out. I turn around to see that Atala is in the middle of the room, hands behind her back, body straight, and a serious look on her face. "Time for lunch. We'll continue training after ninety minutes. Renee will lead you to the cafeteria and back." Renee is at the door, a servant with a normal look to her, with her short black hair and red uniform.
"Put out your fire, then, Miss Eight." My trainer says with a small smile. She hands me a bucket of water. "Neglected fires can be a cause of death, you know. Just like what happened with a tribute from the earlier Games. I forgot what exact year it was, but it was terrible. I remember watching the footage some time last month."
"I'll keep that in mind," I promise and pour the water over the fire.
"I thought Atala was announcing an evacuation order or something." Marcy says from behind me. I've grown accustomed to the sound of her voice. "She looks every bit like a soldier to me."
"Nice job with the slingshots." I tell her, and a grin breaks out on her face.
"Really? Thank you." She smiles. "Come on, let's have lunch."
We start heading towards the door, where several tributes have started gathering. The door opens and Renee leads us out. The walk to the canteen was fairly short, less than a hundred steps. I wonder why we even needed a servant to direct the way. We reach another door, and Renee pushes a button next to it. The door opens, and she stretches out her arm inside, instructing us to go in.
I realize that I'm starving when a delicious smell wafts out of the room. All of us waste no time and go inside. My stomach makes a faint rumbling sound.
The canteen brings me back to District 8. It's just like the canteen at the factory I work at, with bare walls and hanging lights, long tables and benches that could hold up to five people each. The only difference is that this canteen has carts and carts full of food, from soups to bread to meats and seafood and various bits of other scrumptious food. When we pass by a table, I notice that its centerpiece is a basket of bread. The sound of plates clinking as the tributes take their food fills my ears. It makes me even hungrier.
I take two trays and hand the other one to Marcy. "Let's eat."
"Whoever finishes getting food first will reserve the table?" She says.
I nod and we go our separate ways. I head over to the cart for soups. There are about fifteen varieties of soups, some with ingredients I've unheard of. I scoop the crab and corn soup into a bowl and place it gingerly on my tray. I head over to the cart that had the meats and select roasted beef. A few minutes later, my tray is filled with my soup, the roasted beef, a serving of buttered mashed potatoes, a small plate of vegetable salad, two fish sticks, chocolate pudding, a glass of water, and a glass of orange juice.
I see Marcy already seated, and I go over to her, avoiding touching elbows with the other tributes. I put down my tray from across her and seat myself. She is already eating noodles. "This is great!" She says after swallowing. She takes a look at my plate and her eyes widen. "You're going to eat all that?"
"I'll try to." I stir the crab and corn soup. "Making fire made me hungry." I take a look at her tray, too. There's a plate of steamed vegetables, buttered shrimp, red noodles with cheese grated on top, a serving of chocolate pudding, and a small plate of sandwiches. In the top right corner of her tray is a ring-shaped bread: it's colored gray, with intersecting lines on the top, as if it had been pressed too hard with two forks. In any case, it looked too simple against the backdrop of the other scrumptious and colorful food on her tray. I think Marcy notices me staring too long at the bread because she takes it and offers it to me.
"Hey, if you want it so much you can just tell me." She laughs. Her remark makes me blush.
"No!" I say defensively, almost spilling some crab and corn soup on my shirt. "I was just looking at it, really. I didn't see something like that at the bread cart."
"Oh, it's because it's from here." She pulls the basket of bread towards us. At the top of the pile is another piece of bread just like the one on her plate. She places her bread on my plate and takes the one at the top of the pile. "It's the bread of District Six."
District 6 bread from the basket? I suddenly feel excited. I search the basket, piling the other bread carefully until I find the one that I am looking for. A smile spreads across my face when I see it. I hold it up and smile at it, a lump forming in my throat.
It's the bread from District 8. The pretzel of my home. I bite on it. It's salty and tough to chew on, exactly like how it's supposed to be. I take a bite of it again before a tear could escape my eye. It could've been the best bread I've ever had in the Capitol.
"It's nice of them to give us a token from home." Marcy says wistfully.
"Cruel of them, actually." A voice says. Marcy and I both look up and see a boy, his sandy-colored hair in messy spikes. He has a square jaw like Zander's, I notice first. My eyes find the number on his shirt: 12. "Reminding you of home when it's them who took you away in the first place. Uh, can I sit with you guys?"
I look around to check if there are no more tables available, and see that there are. My eyes and Marcy's meet. I cock my head to the side and so does she. I place my pretzel on my plate.
"Come on, guys," the boy says, attempting to chuckle although it sounded like a strained cry for help. "I don't want to eat by myself."
Marcy shrugs. "It's fine with me. Anya?"
"Okay with me, too." I say, although I am still confused at his sudden entrance. Why does he want to sit with us? I lightly push the basket of bread away from me.
The boy seats himself next to Marcy. "Thanks a bunch." His tray makes a soft sound when he puts it down. I notice that he, too, has chocolate pudding on his tray. He stretches out his hand to Marcy. "I'm Aiden, by the way. District Twelve."
Marcy looks as his hand carefully before taking it in hers and shaking it. "Marcy, District Six."
Aiden stretches his hand out to me next. I shake it. He has a firm grip. "Anya, District Eight." As soon as we let go, I go back to my soup. Marcy starts on her steamed vegetables. For a short while, it's only the clinking of utensils that can be heard from our table.
It's Aiden who breaks the silence. "You're probably wondering why I wanted to sit with you guys." He dips his fish stick in ketchup and takes a bite.
"You didn't want to eat alone, right?" I say. The buttered mashed potatoes are delicious, like always.
"Yep." His lips make a clicking sound at the –p. He points his spoon over at a table. Marcy and I follow where he's pointing at. "Those are the Careers. Everybody knows you have to prove yourself before sitting with them." I look hard enough to see the girl from 2, Isistretto, sitting with her district partner and the tributes from districts 1 and 4.
"Careers?" Marcy asks. The term sounds weird to us both.
"That's what we call those guys back at Twelve. You know, since they make a career of these Games." Aiden states before taking a bite off of a slice of bread. "So, they train for these Games at a young age, and volunteer when they're ready—"
"We know how they work," Marcy interrupts. I hide a smile. Is this really the girl I saw biting her nails at the Tribute Parade? "Thanks for letting us know."
"And over those tables," he says, pointing again, this time with his fork, "are the tributes with their district partners. Oh, and some loners too."
I see the table where the boy from District 3 is sitting alone. Beside that table is another one where the tributes of District 7 sit. I turn back to Aiden and raise my eyebrows at him. "Why not just sit with your district partner? She's there with the ones from Seven."
He makes a face. "Callie? Blech." He pretends to vomit. "She hates my guts. It's alright, since I hate her guts, too."
"But you're from the same district." Marcy says.
"Well, Miss Doesn't-Know-It-All, just because we're from the same district doesn't mean we're obliged to like each other."
Someone puts their hand on my shoulder. "Unlike in Eight, where there is nothing stronger than our love for each and every one of our citizens." The voice makes me jump. That's it! My brain screams at me, the nagging feeling stronger than before. There's the thing you've been forgetting, you idiot!
I turn around and shout, "Garett!" I seem to take him by surprise. He almost lets go of his tray, but he doesn't. Only a small amount of water spills out from his glass. He places the tray immediately on the table and sits down, probably because almost all of the tributes in the room are looking at our table now. I have the decency to feel embarrassed, so I blush. I turn back to my food in an instant.
"Missed me?" Garett quips after he's settled down. I look over at his tray and see a plate of seafood, noodles, fresh fruit, and the same chocolate pudding all of us have.
"Stupid Garett." I reply before chewing on a slice of roast beef.
I can't believe I easily forgot about him once training actually started! How could I? He surely should've been a familiar sight in the training stations, or even as we walked towards the canteen. How could I have not noticed him at least once when training started? I feel ashamed. Upset, more so. But knowing Garett, he'll just brush it off, as always.
I'm still upset, though.
He introduces himself to Marcy and Aiden. I actually see Marcy blushing at the sight of my district partner. She's attracted to him. She obviously is. Even if she hasn't said anything, or done anything, I know she is. I have perfect senses when it comes to this. I could not help but laugh.
"Why are you laughing?" Aiden asks.
"This vegetable salad is delicious." I avoid the subject horribly.
"And it makes you laugh with its deliciousness?" Aiden presses on.
I shrug my shoulders, hoping that he would stop. He did, thankfully. We proceed to do small talk, our lives back in the districts. Marcy is training to be a mechanic for the trains, just like her father. Aiden is from what he calls the 'rich part' of his district: his family owns a shop. A drugstore, he calls it. Callie, his district partner, is poor and has always had a hatred for the people living in his part of the district.
"I don't get her, really." He says as he chews on a piece of bread from his district. "It's only us who have to help each other, and yet she hates my guts."
Marcy rolls her eyes. "Wow. I can't imagine why."
"Your sarcasm is lovely." Aiden turns to Garett and me. "And you guys? What do you do back in Eight? Textiles, right?"
Garett answers for the both of us. "We work in the factories. Pushing buttons and stuff."
Aiden makes a face. "Nothing even remotely interesting? You people seem plainer than us from Twelve."
"There's nothing plain about having to work for more than eight hours a day." I say, and I break another District 8 pretzel in half. I give the other half to Garett, and he starts eating it.
"So," Garett deviates—maybe because he misses home as much as I do, and is starting to hate talking about it—"what have you guys done today?" He pops a shrimp into his mouth.
Marcy answers as swift as the wind, her voice suddenly sounding sweeter and more… girly. "I tried the slingshot station. Also, the knots and the ropes course."
My ears perk up at the mention of the ropes course. Somehow, I want to die of embarrassment.
Aiden licks his fingers. "I did the Gauntlet. Almost got hit by one of the big sacks."
"I tried that first," Garett says, "then camouflage and a little bit of archery." He turns to me, smiling that very Garett smile. I want to curl up in a ball and hide away. Because why, I don't really understand.
I count with my fingers. "Knots, boxing, fire…" then my voice drops into a terrible whisper because of my shame, "and the ropes course."
"What?" Garett asks, bringing his face closer to me. "I didn't hear you."
My defense mechanism kicks in. I push him away, lightly than I probably should have. "The ropes course, stupid."
"Ah!" Aiden suddenly points his fork at me. "You were the one who fell!"
Thank you, genius, I think. I bury my face in my hands. "Fine," I start talking, confessing my sins so no can humiliate me further, "I fell down the ropes course. I didn't even make it to half of the stupid halfway, so can we just eat again?" I attack my pudding with the spoon and shove it in my mouth. It feels like a bunch of storm clouds have formed above my head. Needless to say, the pudding was very delicious.
"You never tried the money bars behind the school, did you?" Garett asks.
I shake my head. "Shut up and eat your pudding."
"It's actually really good." Marcy follows up. "The pudding, I mean."
Aiden takes a bite of his own. His face lights up, a grin spreading on his lips. His smile reminds me of Nidle's, the way his face would light up when Iris would give us candy. It's like a punch in the stomach, remembering Nidle all too well. Knowing that days from now, the last smile I will ever see of him was the one when we said goodbye to each other.
I swallow hard and shove another spoonful of pudding down my throat.
"Isn't it funny how all of us have the same dessert?" Marcy giggles, the sound of which comforts me a bit. I take a look at Garett, then Aiden, then Marcy. We are all holding the same serving of chocolate pudding, served in small white bowls.
It hits me, then. I glance back at Garett, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. He is looking at me, too, his eyebrow raised.
"You can make friends, or allies, if you prefer." Cecelia said.
"Just don't get too attached. You'll see, at the beginning of the Games, the alliances wouldn't matter at all." Zander said, too.
It feels like my head is about to burst.
"The Pudding Alliance." Aiden suddenly says, his bowl of pudding high in the air. "It has a nice ring to it, right?"
I stare at him. The Pudding Alliance? Alliance? "Alliance?" I confirm.
"Yep. Alliance." Aiden grins. He turns to Marcy. "You already have one?"
Marcy shakes her head. I think she's about to say something, but Aiden turns to Garett and asks him the same question. Garett briefly glances at me before answering, "Not really."
"And you?" Aiden points his bowl of pudding at me.
I cannot believe this guy. Marcy and I are friends, I guess, although we haven't talked that much yet. Garett and I don't have solid plans about partnering up just yet. And he said earlier to make friends today, alliances tomorrow! I take one good look at Aiden, with his sandy hair, his blue eyes, and a kind of recklessness etched on his smile. Alliances help you out of the arena. Sometimes they're the slightest difference between life and death. Alliances can either make or break a tribute. Am I ready to put my trust in Aiden and Marcy just because Garett and I have the same dessert as them?
"What do you say?" He urges me on. I look to Garett, and then to Marcy.
Marcy looks at me cautiously. She's probably measuring my agreement to Aiden's suggestion. I'm not even sure where I stand right now. "Well, I think it's a nice idea." She fidgets with her spoon. "I mean, we aren't… um… aren't, uh, even sure if we'll last long enough, you know, to see each other again." She shrugs her shoulders as if her words aren't such a big deal.
I envy how Marcy can remain aware of the situation. I take another bite of my pudding.
"Exactly." Aiden says. "We have everything to gain if we meet up in the arena, but nothing to lose if we don't meet up."
"So it's going to work this way. We find each other in the arena, we're allies. We don't, we're not, and we don't have any obligation to each other." Garett's voice surprises me. I guess he isn't on the edge about this whole alliance thing as I thought he would probably be. I put the bowl of pudding down and place my hands on my lap.
"That's right, my friend." Aiden replies.
I feel the warmth of Garett's palm on the top of my hand. He squeezes my hand gently. When I look at him, his eyes are filled with concern and gentleness. My heart thumps. I've seen this look before. I've felt this kind of comfort before. For a second, I am back in his house in District 8, lighting crashing, tears on my face, his lips on mine. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to," he seems to be saying.
I bite my lip. Am I ready to make a decision? I guess I am. After all, they do have a point. If we find each other in the arena, we can gain some things. If we don't, we won't lose anything. "It's okay with me, I guess." Zander's half-right. Make alliances while you aren't attached just yet.
Aiden breaks out into an even bigger smile. "So it's a yes from you, then?"
I nod. He proceeds to ask Marcy if she too is okay with the Pudding Alliance. She says yes, too. "And you, Garett?" Aiden asks to my partner.
"Fine with me." He coolly says. As soon as Aiden starts blabbing about the basic code of an alliance and other bunch of stuff, I take his hand and put it in between mine. His hand feels softer in mine, like it's my hand his belongs to and not anyone else's. I squeeze it.
"Thank you," I say under my breath.
Another squeeze back. He leans close to my ear and whispers, "I'll follow you anywhere, you know."
I feel my cheeks turning red. I am about to say "Stupid Garett" when I catch my tongue and say, "You can't dump such a big responsibility on me." instead. I get a chuckle in return.
Planning out the alliance isn't an easy feat. Once every one of us realized what in the world we were really thinking, questions arose. Questions such as are we going to do the same training? Or are we just going to do training on our own and hope that our skills don't overlap when we see each other in the arena? In the end, we all agree to do our training separately today and try to train altogether tomorrow.
"What if the other kids notice we're starting an alliance?" Marcy asks. I look back at the table where the Careers are sitting. Obviously, they have an alliance of their own. It's actually scary, how all these great kids at handling swords and axes and all these weapons are in one group, ready to hunt as down as soon as the gong sounds.
"My guess is they wouldn't care at all," Garett says. "In all honesty, I don't think we're a group to be reckoned with, unlike the guys over there." He looks over at the Careers' table. "Anyway, it'll all be the same. They'd still see us as individuals."
"If we see each other in the arena, we really have to use this alliance to our advantage. Let's try looking low-key for now." Aiden says. "Rack up all the skills you can, and then—"
The buzzer sounds. Tributes start standing up, leaving the trays behind. Aiden groans before we do the same. "See you guys around," he waves at us before going out of the dining area ahead of us.
"If this blows up in our face," Marcy turns to me with a grimace, "I'm going to cry."
"It's going to be fine," I smile—hoping that it really will be— "probably."
