Chapter 8

This Is a Makeover?

O.K, I officially hate District 13 soldiers. The first sign that bad things were going to happen to me was when they strapped me down to the table where they will conduct my makeover. One small leather belt over my stomach. And that was after they stripped me naked, which is embarrassing and awkward since I am the self-conscious type. Luckily, the male soldiers didn't do any of the makeover - that was left to professional Capitol stylists.

First, they trim my eyebrows a little and plucked my eyelashes so they were all the same perfect, short length. Then, they blindfold me.

"What the-" I say, struggling against the bond that bounds me to the table. "Hey, what are you doing?"

"President Coin's orders," one of the stylists says. "You are not to see yourself until you're done,"

I hate it when someone takes away my vision, because then I feel vulnerable. I grip the sides of the table while they rub me down in different lotions which soothe and burn my skin. They spend ages on my hair, rubbing lotions into that too. They remove my nail extensions, and also shave most of the hair off my body (apart from the hair on my head, of course). It feels like hours till they finally stop working on me - then, I feel the starp around my stomach loosen until it no longer touches me. Someone gets a hand under my back and pushes me up into a seated position. Then, I hear footsteps leave the room. Then footsteps come back in. And the back of my blindfold is undone.

"When I take it off, look into the mirror," A male voice says harshly to me.

And he does. I'm looking at myself in the mirror. Then my eyes widen.

Because is that really me? It can't be! My hair... where's all the red gone? It's dark brown now. And my eyes... I swear, they used to be a turquoise blue, because now they're a hazel green. And where are the dots above my eyebrows?!

"My hair," Is the first thing I say. It's still wavy, although no longer red. "My hair... what dye did they use?"

"Dye?" I look up at the man, whose another soldier. He places the mirror next to me. "They didn't use any dye,"

"Then how is my hair this colour?"

The man frowns at me. "What colour did you think you're hair was?"

"Red, of course," I say, startled. Honestly, this man must be insane! My hair has always been red since birth! But it's the man that stares at me like I'm insane. Then he brings up a file that he must have been holding in his other hand, a file with my name written on the front. He flicks through it, before showing me a page of it.

It's a picture of me as a baby. Just after I was born, by the looks of it. I gasp. My hair... it's dark brown in the picture. And my eyes are hazel green as well. What is going on?!

"They must have dyed your hair not long after this photo was taken," the man says, a little softer. "All of the tributes' hair have been dyed at birth,"

"And my eyes?" I ask.

The soldier shrugs, clearly annoyed. "Permanent contact lenses? I don't have time for this! I'll go get your stylist," He places the file open on my lap, before walking out of the room. I repeatedly glance at the mirror, then at the picture of me in awe. Why didn't my parents tell me this?

The door slides open and I look up. Unfortunately, my stylist is a man. Fortunately, he is from the Capitol, which I can tell from his orange locks and tattooed swirls on his cheeks. Not to mention his long eyelashes. His grey eyes, which look so much like Coin's, drink me in. Next to him, I feel naked. Which I am. In his hand's is a blue robe which must be for me.

"O.K, Melody, can you stand up for me please," he asks, and I do. He walks around me, surveying every inch of my body, which makes me feel even more uncomfortable. I'm tempted to snatch the robe out of his hands and put it on, but I don't. He stands up straight again when he's done, and luckily he didn't touch me at all or I would have cracked.

"You can put this on now," he says, handing me the robe. I whip it on fast and sit back onto the table. My stylist puts a hand on my knee. "Oh, I almost forgot. My name's Chic, and will be your stylist for the Games,"

Chic. That's a funny name, even for the Capitol. Chic means stylish, right? Anyway, Chic takes the file off my lap and closes it, before placing it next to the mirror.

"I'm sorry you have to go through this," he says. "I really am," And I'm grateful that someone actually understands how I feel. But I still don't know whether I like or dislike him. "So, the Opening Ceremony is tonight and we only have a few hours to get ready. Luckily, Taka and I have already designed the costumes for you and Gino, and we've measured you and all. So the costumes should be being made as we speak,"

"Gino?" I ask. I'm guessing that Taka is the other stylist, but I have no idea who Gino is.

"Gino," Chic says, slowly. "Your "district partner"," He does the quotation mark sign with his fingers around the phrase "district partner".

So that's his name. Gino. Huh. It sounds foreign to me - and somehow, I like it. Now I remember! Gino Kentham. The one whose older brother is also in the Games. I definitely can't remember his name. All I know is that they're brothers - or they just share the same surname.

Just then, the soldier who talked to me earlier walks in with a huge box in both hands. Chic claps his hands together and helps the soldier place the box on the table. I jump down and watch Chic take off the lid and pull out the costume.

It's so District 12, I have to say. I shabby T-shirt, with blue dungerees and, to top it all off, a coal miner's helmet and filthy hobnail boots. The only thing that's dirt free are the underwear and socks. The outfit is... I hate it! I'm from the Capitol, for goodness sake! I should be wearing outfits that sparkle, not outfits that make you want to throw up! Why did I get District 12? Why couldn't I have had District 1 or a district like that?

And now it hits me. This must be Coin's plan. To put me in the worst district so I get the least sponsors. So I'm most likely to die in the arena. Well, thank you so much for limiting my chances! I can only think of one District 12 pair that actually dazzled at the Opening Ceremony, and they were on fire! Liturally.

I try not to hestitate whilst Chic helps me into my outfit, but it's hard. I'm starting to wish that President Coin would have just shot me in the head when she had the chance to.