Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.
"Ah, the guy who runs errands for the President." I take his hand and shake it. "Well, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."
His face turns cold.
"What kind of errands do you run?" I continue, ignoring his facial expression.
"I don't think that's information you need to know."
"I mean, doesn't she know that you can groceries delivered these days?"
He rolls his eyes.
"So why are you in my room?"
"I came to talk you. I just met you. Quinn and Spencer have had a whole day to start planning his strategy."
"And you plan to make up for that by keeping me awake all night?"
He looks down at his watch. "It's only eight o'clock."
"Fine. What do you want to talk about?" I say, sitting down on the bed.
He goes to sit next to me, but I hold out my hand to block him. "Oh, no," I say testily. "Unlike some girls from our lovely district, I actually have a shard of decency."
He eyes me. "What's that supposed to mean?"
I roll my eyes. "Nothing."
He sits on the floor. I look him over. His blonde hair, as I noticed earlier, is curled over his ears. His eyes, like almost everyone else in District 1, are emerald green. Standing up, he's about 6'3", and he's slim but muscular. He's actually pretty cute. His only fault is the scar, and it's actually not that noticeable. It's only a faint white line that starts between his eyebrows, runs down his nose and across his right cheek, and disappears under his ear.
"What's the scar from?" I say, pointing to his cheek.
"Not very subtle, are you?" he jokes. "It's from my games. If you remember from watching, after I was so lovingly betrayed by our district, I was a mess. It messed up my fighting. During the bloodbath, I had my guard down, and, someone- I can't remember who it was- raked a knife across my face. Barely missed my eye. I almost died from an infection."
"Yeah, I remember," I say, recalling in my head the image of him getting knifed. "Do you think that'll happen to me?" I add, unconsciously toughing my cheek.
He gives me a lopsided grin. "Only if you're lucky, Kallie."
"No one calls me Kallie. It's Kal. Or Kalantha, if you want to make yourself feel sophisticated."
"Well, it looks like you just got a new nickname, Kallie."
There's awkward silence for a few seconds, before he says, "Nice dress you were wearing, by the way."
I frown. "That's not a dress, that's a stripper costume. I'll never wear anything like that again."
"I was talking about your reaping dress," he says coolly.
"Oh." I'm kind of surprised; I hope it doesn't show on my face. "Um, thanks?"
"And you're right. That costume tonight was a stripper costume."
"I need to talk to Tiberius about that."
"I'll do it. But I'm confused- why are you so against wearing that? The girl tribute from last year wore costumes similar to that, and she was fine with it."
"I'm sick of being branded as a dumb slut just because I'm from District 1. I'm smart, or at least I think I am, and I'm not into dressing up like a whore, if you know what I mean?"
"So you're saying you don't fit in with other girls back home?"
"Are you kidding? I'm like the proverbial giraffe in a herd of zebras." I pause. "Well, actually, that's a bad comparison, because giraffes are ugly. They're like, I don't know, diamonds, and I'm the lone chunk of coal."
"I'll never look at coal the same way again," he mutters.
"I just mean that I hate being grouped into a stereotype. Downstairs, before and after the chariot parade, my so called "allies" were practically calling me a slut right in front of me. I actually went up to Delaney and Hali and told them to stop judging me, because I was forced to wear that."
"Hey, look at me," he says. "I was voted into the Hunger Games because I didn't fit in, either."
"We should start a band of misfits."
"How about we save planning to start a club until after you get out of the arena?"
"If I get out, you mean," I automatically correct.
"Step One to winning: Always assume that you're going to be the victor. If you worry, you get districted. And distraction is synonymous with death."
"Well, that cheers me up."
"Yeah, I usually have that effect on people."
I roll my eyes. "Anyway, when you talk to Tiberius, I want you tell him that my interview dress better be floor-length, with no plunging neckline, and it has to have a back. Also, it cannot be transparent anywhere. I am not going to look like a prostitute again."
"So I guess we're eliminating sexy as an interview angle?" He fiddles with his watch absently.
I sit up from my slouching position. "Covering up means I can't be sexy?"
"No, it's just… things are different here than back home. If you wear something like the dress you just described, the Capitol citizens are going to think you are some sort of conservative freak. No offense."
"Fine, just tell him that it can't be transparent, it must almost reach my knees in terms of length, and it has to have at least a little bit of back. And the neckline can't go beneath my ribs."
He smiles. "That's better, Kallie."
"I mean, just because I don't dress trashy means I'm not pretty? That's almost as bad me apparently needing blonde hair to be from District 1."
"What?" Of course he doesn't know what I mean. Of course he doesn't- he's never met me before, so he doesn't know that I dye my hair.
"It's just a stupid thing I do, dying my hair. Distancing myself from the other girls. Brown hair makes me different. There's an assumption among people that blondes are dumber than brunettes or redheads, and I didn't want to be assumed as stupid."
"Yeah, but what does that have to do with you apparently needing blonde hair?" Jared asks blankly, still confused
"At least three people have told me today that I would be so much prettier with blonde hair. Like, I have naturally blonde hair, but I don't want it. So what if I'm not pretty? I'm not here for a beauty pageant; I'm here to kill or be killed."
"Glad you've got your priorities straight," he says, standing up and brushing his hands on the legs of his pants.
"Where are you going?" I ask.
"Well, you've got training tomorrow, so you need to get to sleep early, and I've got another errand to run," he says, heading towards the door.
"So that's it? That's our talk? No personal questions?"
He looks back at me. "Do you want me to ask you personal questions? Because I think that would make this conversation very, very awkward."
When he sees me hesitate, he smirks. "That's what I thought."
"No personal questions is fine with me, but I watched Quinn grill yesterday on the train. Don't you want to know more about me?"
"Why would I want to know about you?"
"You know, so you can tell sponsors about me. Plus, if there are mutts in the arena… like a jabberjay or something… don't you want to know whose voices they're using on me?"
He opens the door and steps out. "After last year's disaster of a tribute I had to mentor, I don't think I want to know more about you. I've already given you a nickname, which is the first step to getting attached to someone. And when you get attached to someone, you almost always end up getting hurt. And I've already been hurt enough to last a lifetime. So, no thanks, I would not like to know more about you."
And he closes the door behind him, leaving me staring after him in disbelief.
