Josef Inouye, District 3
Yesterday was the first day of training. Mostly, I ran around with my district partner, Wren, and tried out all the survival stations. Our mentor, who won the Games just last year, tells us this morning that today is the day to find a weapon.
I decide to size up the competition as well today. One can never go wrong by being observant.
The Careers, of course, are a huge threat. No huge surprise there. The boys from 1, 2, and 4 have deadly down to a science. The girl from 2 is an expert with almost every weapon is seems, but the girl from 1 didn't impress me as much as the others. She is adequate with knives, but other than that, the only thing that stood out was her slightly arrogant attitude. She continues to hold her chin above the rest of us as if we are all below her.
Today, the Career girls strut past us again, eyes forward and faces grim. The girl from 2 peels off to the strength station and the girl from 1, to my blatant surprise, walks straight over to Wren and I at the poisonous plants station.
Wren glances quickly in my direction. Her eyes are wide and fearful. I wish I could convince her that there is nothing to worry about, that we aren't in the arena yet and this girl can't hurt us yet. But it would be awkward with the girl standing right here. I keep my mouth shut.
"Hi," Wren greets the mysterious girl in a voice so small it's near a whisper.
The girl looks at Wren, or glares rather, before scoffing and turning around to pay attention to the trainer. I don't like the way she treats us outer districts, like we're scum. I think it's about time someone said something.
It won't be me, that's for sure. I have enough on my plate to be worrying about upsetting some Careers and making them angry. I would like to think that I have more common sense than that.
"We're from District 3," I say instead, just to make conversation while sorting through our piles of poisonous and not poisonous plants. I toss a dark berry into the poisonous bowl and continue on. "I'm Josef, and this is Wren."
The girl mumbles "Fiorella" under her breath and scoops a handful of safe plants into the safe bowl without skipping a beat.
"District 1, right?" Wren inquires shyly, eyes trained on the plants and not the Career.
Fiorella ignores that question. For the rest of the time, the three of us sort the plants in uncomfortable silence. However, the awkwardness doesn't last long. Fiorella finishes sorting her plants in no time and is sashaying away from us.
"Well, that was odd," Wren murmurs to herself. She focuses on her plants and finishes sorting before me. The trainer checks our work when we both are done and praises us for getting them all correct. We thank him just as the head trainer calls the tributes to attention. Lunchtime.
The cafeteria is made up of several picnic tables spread out across the lunch room. Surrounding the tables are carts and trays varying in foods and delicacies of all kinds. Wren runs off to the trays while I observe the other tributes.
The Careers sit together at one table, five in all. A few are spread around sitting alone. One group that catches my eye is the tributes in the far corner of the lunchroom. Different tributes from faraway districts eat huddled together, whispering confidentially. The boy from 12, the one with unhealthy pale skin and stormy eyes, walks past me, nudging my arm to break my trance.
"Hey, District 3," he says. "Care to join?" The 12 boy gestures over to the group in the corner. I nod silently, not knowing what else to say and momentarily forgetting about my absent district partner.
In the corner of the cafeteria, four tributes sit together. When the boy from 12 and I join them, they all look up. I don't recognize any of them by face or name. The reapings were such a jumble that most of the tributes slipped my mind. It's a wonder I remembered this boy next to me is from 12.
"District 3 would like to join," the boy from 12 announces to the group, sitting himself next to a girl, probably his district partner. "I thought we could use some brains, so I recruited him."
One girl holds out her hand and smiles kindly. She has the kind of smile that makes you want to smile back. "I'm Wynter, from District 6."
I shake her hand. "My name is Josef."
Another girl waves from her seat. "Freedom, District 11." I nod respectfully.
"That's Callum," Wynter says, pointing to a boy draining his soup bowl like he's never eaten before. "Who seems to have a problem with the soup." Callum grins at her and then nods toward me. I notice he sits a bit further from the rest of us and fidgets often.
"My name is Clementine, but you can call me Clem," says a girl with a long blonde ponytail pulled back from her thin face. She explains that she is from District 12.
"And I'm Saul," says the slightly mysterious boy from 12. Unlike the rest of us outer district tributes, he is tall, strong, and older than the rest of us. My best guess is that he is eighteen or near it, and his district voted him into the Quell for a reason. To have a winner.
I sit with this little group as they explain their plan to me. To be a part of their group and hear their secret plans makes me a part of their alliance, I'm guessing. They tell me all about their ideas to survive in the possible arenas and eventually defeat the Careers. Right now, they only have five members, and unless we recruit more, which is potentially dangerous, we have six members. We outnumber them, but that is considering all our allies are still alive and so are theirs.
The practical part of my brain is telling me that this is the right move. My mentor even told us to get in an alliance if at all possible. Numbers are important in the Games, especially if they are tributes you can trust. From watching the Games over the years, I know that having someone to save your neck in tough situations can be the difference between life and death.
However practical this may be, there is a small voice in my head (no, I'm not that crazy, it's just a metaphor) screaming at me to run for the hills. Though I highly doubt the Capitol has hills.
That tiny voice becomes so loud; I can't hear another word anyone in our alliance is saying. My eyes shift over and gaze across the cafeteria, landing on one person in particular. Wren is sitting all alone, nibbling a roll of bread and hunching her shoulders to make her look one million years older. Finally, the head trainer lets us return to the stations and resume training.
I follow Saul and Wynter to the sword station. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Wren slinking away to the camouflage station in the opposite direction. I can't help but worry that she won't be ready with a weapon when the time comes.
I probably shouldn't worry about my district partner anymore, though. I need to worry about my alliance and myself. I'm not Wren's brother or even her friend. We're just district partners. I don't owe her my allegiance. I don't owe her anything.
Back at the apartment after an uneventful training day, our team, which includes our mentor, escort, and stylists, eats dinner in death-like silence. I've literally seen more enthusiasm in a graveyard. Every scrap of a silver fork against a crystal plate is shrill and grating for my ears to stand. Wren ignores me successfully the entire time, for which I am both thankful and sorrowful about.
On one, kinder hand, I feel in my heart that I should work together with my district partner and share the pain of the Hunger Games. We were voted in together, so it is expected that we should pair up together as an alliance during the Games. That would be the honoring thing to do.
On the other, more practical hand, my brain tells me to follow the intelligent path and join Saul and the others. If I join them, I will be protected in numbers that I can trust. Perhaps I can even win if I am one of the remaining members of the group at the end of the Quell. Maybe I can go home to my mother and sister and District 3.
It seems I have made my decision.
