It's the last night: and everybody knows it. Last chance to see the Capitol: to convince them that I have the chance to join the ranks of Victors. My awful score in training has deterred lots of potential sponsors, as Dalia keeps pointing out very bluntly. Five minutes, five minutes to give it my all.

Calpurnia doesn't say anything as she comes to dress me for the interviews. She don't even mention Training. She brings out a rail after I'm pampered and spoiled until I would look almost like a Capitol citizen, where it not for my freckles.

My dress is inky dark purple, loose and floaty. It's also quite short, but not tight. Long wafty drapes of purple chiffony silk, with a black bit at the top, a circular neckline stiff with jet beads. I've never seen such a dress in my life. What a shade of purple!

After effortlessly hooking up the back, Calpurnia twirls me around so that I can see myself in the mirror.

"It's perfect," I say, not knowing if I'm all there or not.

"That'll give the President ant in his pants," laughs Calpurnia.

"Why?" I say.

"'Cause purple is the colour of emperors. In the Capital, wearing purple is only for the richest and most powerful. You're a District girl, so there are no rules because you aren't a threat. But wearing purple at the interview shows that you are just as good as them. They'll see a mover and a shaker, and it will leave just the right impression for sponsors."

"Even with a 3 in training?"

"Play your cards right tonight, and that won't matter."

I wonder what she means by this, as Cymbelline wheels in a trolley with my accessories. Tights I could swear are almost invisible, black velvet strappy high heels that take me from five nine to six foot, and a black feather head piece that clips neatly to the side of my head.

Calpurnia is just weaving a black ribbon into my hair when Dalia comes in. Comes in, gives a little gasp, mouth open wide enough to catch flies in (as we District 9 like to say) and then hurries out. Possibly to tell the President that little Leah from 9 is wearing clothes in colours deep in purple to rival him.

These days, such an act of rebellion ends the life of a stylist in the wink of a mascara coated eye. But back then, the President weren't actually all that powerful, so snipes like mine were tolerated with a pinch of a lip.

Georg is looking fantastic in a smart black suit that Calpurnia made for him. He looks skinny, but older than he really is. Like me. His shows his broad shoulders and puppy fat disguised into muscles. His gorgeous curls are as beautiful and childlike as ever, so I'm glad that something of him from 9 remains.

Not some dummy of the Capitol's creation, made to look real.

Nine stylists aren't usually known for finery, but Calpurnia's efforts make me noticed once again by the others. I could be a Career, with my feathers and jet.

Varnish, in particular, looks like she would quite happily kill me, right here and now, if it wouldn't send her the same way as the girl from 4. The male tributes barely notice, and Berenice (in a baggy white men's suit- boy she don't need muscle padding to make her look tougher) just looks over me with total indifference. But Varnish is spitting nails. The Careers' stylists have the biggest budget of all of u, and little Varnish (five one- tiny!) is a red strapless dress, with thousand dollar red soled heels. Her bunches don't quite have diamond encrusted swinging blades attached, but her mousy conditioned bunches are tied with real posh red lace, and I could swear that those are real rubies beaded in her hair.

The girls from 3 and 8 are whispering over in the corner, confidentially, but I don't think they're allies. Maybe they're just nervous, and need someone to talk too. The girl from 3 smiles at me as I stride over to them. She's in demure baby pink frills and the girl from 8's back in lime green. She gives me the same surly look she gave me when I was Ceres and her partner was a cotton reel. But given scores and all, I definitely need to worry more about Varnish than I do about this gal.

"I like your dress!" says the girl from 3.

"Thanks," I say shyly. "Do we wait here? Do they call us when it's time?"

8 gestures to the large screen that dominates the wall. We watch the interviews from here, and then they call us to the stage through that," she gestures to a loudspeaker.

A chaperone comes in telling us to settle down, settle down. The Careers push everyone out of the way to get the best seats in front of the TV and the others hang in clusters as far away as possible from them. There are a few toughies here, but none of them strong enough to take on the Career pack.

"1, Female"

Everyone jumps at the sound- except Varnish. Flicking her hair like one of them posh models she gets up and struts off to the chaperone, who ferries tributes to the stage. (According to 8.)

The national anthem booms over the loudspeaker, followed by Isis Polava's upbeat theme. I always hated having to watch the Hunger Games, but the interviews were the most bearable. Isis was the interviewer for over sixty years; until her son, Caesar Flickerman, took over.

"Hello and welcome all, darlings" drawls Isis, giving her trademark cheeky smile as she winks her dark eyes. She's never had surgery, but her make-up is famous across the country. I could swear she never wears the same thing twice.

Her hair's piled up in a hairdo that reminds me of a cottage loaf. It's been dyed purple and white with a marbled effect, so it's clear she's supporting 2 this year (the idea about being biased never crossed Isis' mind.) Stuck through the middle of the dyed wonder, is a golden lightning bolt. Music notes dangle from her ears and if she walks in her dress she deserves a medal.

She lounges comfortably in her posh red chair; and introduces the first tribute. Striding like she owns the Capitol, Varnish enters.

The wait takes forever.

Varnish entices the audience with her simpering evilness. Sparkle does the same, only with less hair flicking. Euler is blunt and Berenice is downright bloodthirsty.

None of the others really need mentioning. The girl from 6 stutters terribly. The girl from 8 looks very pale and pasty on screen; and her district partner is very unsure of his answers. The boy from 7 mumbles like he's lookin' at his reflection in his shoes. Nobody so far has really made anyone laugh much. The audience must be getting ants in their lacy pants.

There's a mild screech of feedback.

"9, Female."

The stressed out chaperone ferries me up to the side of the stage, ignoring the looks I get for my dress.

"When she says your name, walk on and sit down."

There's no time to argue because:

"It's the gal with the grain, District 9's own LEAH WISHART!"

I stroll on, shoulders back and head high: the Wishart way of doing things.

Isis beams a charming smile at me as she stands up. She don't look riled, but there are gasps in the audience at my dress.

"Well, don't you look smashing girlfriend!" She poses confidently at the audience, hand on hip. I mirror her, pouting slightly; and the crowd goes wild. We take our seats and Isis gets straight down to it.

"So Leah...a 3... what do you want to say about that?" Her eyes are friendly. Maybe she's genuinely trying to help me get sponsors, trying to let me redeem myself.

"Well, Isis" I give a confidential smile to the audience. "Let's just say that some things you just can't show them Gamemakers." There's a laugh which I follow up with a wink. From the audience, I can see Coriolanus Snow smile at me, as if he's intrigued, and wants to hear more. I wonder why he is here, and I silly sad part of me hopes it's cause of me. Stupid thought. I bet his parent took him along; maybe they do it every year.

"So, what do your fellow tributes have to worry about?"

Uh oh. What can I possibly say? Then it hits me. I don't know what's gonna happen. With a Wishart, it could be anythin'.

"What don't they have to worry about?" The words get easier as I get more reckless. Who cares. Who really cares any more.

"I'm unpredictable. I could do anything. But listen up, y'all Gamemakers: I ain't going down without no fight!"

There's a cheer; and Isis is dying to get more out of this interview.

"Now that's what I call spirited, ladies and gentlemen!" she turns to a different tack. "Aside from the Games- say that you win, will your future be unpredictable? What could we expect from you as a victor?"

She's only asked this question to the Careers.

"Well, I got it all planned, ya see Isis. I'm gonna run a grain farm like my aunt Emmeline back in 9. And I'll tell ya folks, " I stand up and walk towards the audience, real geared up now, "y'all in the Capitol, y'all gonna buy my bread!"

There are whoops and a wave of claps.

The Careers really hate my guts now!

"Now I swear, a little birdie told me that coming up next is your own brother- Georg! This is a first for the Hunger Games. Tell us about you and him, in the arena."

I don't know. I don't know what is gonna happen to Georg. I've been so stupid, thinkin' only 'bout myself. I forget that Georg is marked to go too.

"Georg is my brother" I said, "and I love him 'cause he is. We're a team bound together, and I'll look out for him when it comes down to it. We're gonna make the Games famous, Isis! Him and I, we gonna do it as brother and sister, 'cause gawd damn it I love my little brother!"

There are sighs of empathy from everyone around. A few melodramatic old dames in the front row even clap their hands on their hearts.

"And ladies and gentlemen, isn't that what the Hunger Games are all about? The bond between brothers, the bond that holds together the people of Panem!" Isis is triumphant, and I get a clap like no other. "

The buzzer rings off and I do a flamboyant bow, a parody of Varnish's fay curtsey. There's a laugh, but as I leave the stage I can feel the glares of Careers on the back of my neck.

There are whispers from the Careers' side of the room that stop as soon as I come in. I could definitely catch Sparkle saying

".. yeah, that'll sure take the wind out of her sails..."

I stick my chin up and flop down next to the girl from 3, the only girl tribute I actually like in the Games.

Georg does very well, getting even more laughs than I did, but he does it cleverly, without steppin' on no Career toes. Only now do I realise actually what a good ally he'd be.

I've been so dumb. Dalia is gonna kill me, if the Careers don't get me first.

She just ignored me that evening as we got back. Calpurnia congratulated me and reassured my doubts about upsettin' no-one.

I lay in bed awake for a while. Georg was crying softly, I could hear him from next door. We Wishart girls never cry, but our men do get a bit teary every now and again. I didn't really get it. I was the one who had offended the toughest brutes of the bunch, given the Gamemakers the two fingers and had infuriated my mentor, who would get me zero sponsors.

But I woke up Georg anyway, and gave him a bear hug.

"Don't worry, y'all be fine- finer than me."

"Yeah, ya blow it Leah."

"Thanks."

He looked at me with his gap teeth and red eyes and I just needed to say something.

"Listen, Georg Wishart, ya listen to me! You're a Wishart, kid and we never give up. Ya might lose me but hell we'll show them. Remember Granddaddy? Remember Mitchie? He didn't let nobody put him down and he sure as hell annoyed a bunch of people. But boy, he stuck to his guns and he got it right. We gonna take a risk, but with Wishart luck, we could make it!"