CHAPTER 9: PRESENTED TO THE WORLD

The next day, I really and truly don't know what to do with myself. Between losing my virginity and getting one of the best scores in hunger games history, I'm as high as a kite. The negatives take a sideline for now. I can let them seep in later when I'm being questioned or rather publicly humiliated by Nigel. Allowing myself to contemplate my impending doom would of course be my own undoing, and I'm not sure what they do with tributes who mentally unravel. I'll be too shocked to have a breakdown during my interview, I hope, so I'll lose my mind either straight after the interview or during the games, the latter not being as objectionable.

Despite, the gloominess of these thoughts, they have little to no effect on my mood. I am riding this wave of giddiness until it crashes, hopefully long after this evening's public torture. Perhaps tonight when the reality of my circumstances seeps back in, and I am despondent, hopeless, and ready to die. The other positive side effect of my complete indifference to the world right now is my ability to horse down a tonne of food when by all rights, my stomach should be cramping with anxiety. At breakfast, I easily eat a quarter of what is served to myself. I notice Korvin eyeing me. I notice how he turns his knife in his hand, as if considering if he could get away with stabbing me in the throat. I just smile at him contently like it doesn't bother me. That nearly pushes him over the edge, but he gets up and storms off instead. It's a pity really, I wouldn't have minded a fight with him right then. He might learn not to underestimate me.

What? Where did that come from?

Since I volunteered, I have thought about nothing but how inevitable my death is, and how Korvin would most likely be my killer. My score gave me some cause for optimism, but a good score can just as easily work against a tribute as it can for them. History has proven that. Some victors have had abominably low scores. Even a person who scored two has won before, mainly because people underestimated him. A girl with a score of three pretended to be totally inept and fooled everyone, especially her rival tributes. Darius, Joss's father, did win with his score of eleven, but I'm pretty sure the only other person to attain that score didn't. It doesn't matter how good you are to an extent. If you score double-figures, you have a bull's-eye on you. Everyone is gunning for you. You are the primary threat, and you may die in the cornucopia along with all the 3s and 4s. I could be betrayed immediately by my fellow 1s just so they don't have to compete with me later, or my excessive sponsorship. I'm thinking all of this, still not bothered.

As I finish what must be my fourth plate of food, I notice Tori eyeballing me. She's been doing that a lot since our tryst. I can't tell what she's thinking. Is she waiting for me to ask if we can do it again? To be honest, my memory hasn't recovered all that much. I remember a few flashes of looking up into her eyes as she smirked down at me, but nothing else besides. I don't remember how it started, how it felt, or the ending, which I've been told wouldn't be long coming for a guy's first time. I can't deny that I really want to be with her again, sober this time so I have some recollection of it. However, even in my elated state, I still don't have the guts to just waltz up to her and ask can we go for another round. I often wonder does anything like that ever really happen. Would a girl really be impressed by that much ballsiness, or would she just slap the guy across the face? I think most would, but I guess for guys like that, it's about striking lucky every once in a while. Well, I'm not that guy. Even drunk or high, I'm not like that. I have no doubt who was the forward one, who did the seducing between me and Tori.

So I slip away from the table quickly after my last bite, but managing to act casual rather than bashful. I make my way to the lift, not sure what to do with myself now. As much prep has been done with us as can be done, the afternoon hours will be spent making us look our best before our big television appearances. I walk into the lift, press the button for the boy's floor absentmindedly, and turn around to find Tori has followed me in. She presses the stop button and pushes me against the back of the lift. Her body is right up against mine, her lips find mine, and she kisses me strongly. I am too gobsmacked to respond at first but then she grabs the back of my head and pulls me in deeper. The taste of her, the feel of her lips and tongue, it's beyond me to control myself. My hands wander down her back lower and lower until I'm pulling her against me by her cheeks. She grinds against me. I know I must be fully aroused. I'm only wearing a pair of loose lounge shorts. We arrive on her floor, her room is the nearest. She pushes me in, and I fall back onto her bed. In one fluid movement, she slips out of the light dress she wore to breakfast. She straddles me. Before I can say a word, my shirt is up over my head and my shorts down around my ankles.

One moment, one movement, and it's all happening again, only this time, my head is clear, and I am aware of everything.

She pushes me back onto the bed, her fingertips digging into my chest almost painfully. She moves so fluidly, but the sensation is intense and rough, bringing me close to the edge already. She leans down to kiss me again, passionately like in the lift but the excitement is even greater. She leans back, grabs my hands, placing them to her breasts. That does it. I feel myself losing it and just like that, the ecstasy ends.

She dismounts me, my body shaking all over, I can't even sit myself up to look at her. She walks around the bed and lies down beside me, her hand trails lightly over my chest, grazing a nipple. I tremble with her touch, my breaths coming in short, fast bursts. She laughs in her devious way, taking pleasure in my being nothing but putty in her hands. When my breathing eases she says, "That was an improvement on the last time."

"How's that?"

"Four minutes versus forty seconds."

"Really? That's all I lasted."

"Don't worry yourself. I've had boys who've just touched me and lost it. I was impressed considering how drunk you were actually."

"I guess I'll take some consolation from that."

"It's okay. We can work on your stamina."

"Can we now?" I sound more eager and hopeful than cheeky like I intended.

"Indeed, you better be ready to go again."

"What? Now?"

"Yes now, I plan to have a very active morning."

Active was a mild and polite term for what we did from nine till noon. I lost count of how many more times there were. We did things I thought I'd never get to do. We did things I didn't even know existed. All the positions, all the tricks she knew to make it just that little bit more exciting, how could she know? I don't want to speak ill of her, she showed me a good time, but how does an eighteen-year-old girl gain that much sexual experience? I didn't think there were that many men in Settlement 2, or at least not so many that could handle a girl like Tori. We talked a bit until we were due our makeovers at one. She hinted she didn't limit herself to men of her own age group, and she had no lack of takers. She also said that men who trade often travel between the various settlements and counties. Some even come from out of province. After many having journeyed for hours or even days with potentially a few dozen stops, they are often thrilled to have the attentions of any woman, not to mention a young, beautiful mistress such as Tori. Her words, not mine, though I can scarcely disagree with her. She is incredible.

Okay, my brain is frazzled, and I'm completely suckered. I honestly don't care.

Tori is the most desirable girl in my hometown, or perhaps the whole of County 2, I wouldn't be surprised, and I slept with her, multiple times. I've heard even Joss's friends comment on how any man would be lucky to have her grace them with a passing moment of her attention. Joss rarely acknowledges their comments, and I'm kind of glad of it. It would be kind of weird for my eldest brother to like her, too, or am I already getting jealous? I can put that away fairly sharply. I know Tori couldn't possibly want me in that way. I hate to admit it, but I'm probably just a novelty, a toy she's always wanted to play with and since I've never made any of the moves, she's taking the lead. The timing is obvious, too, a last hurrah right before the games. Knowing all this, I still don't give a crap. I'm more than happy to be used or toyed with if Tori's the one doing it. I'm sure if my sisters knew about this, they'd slap me six ways from Sunday and tell me to have some self-respect. Well, self-respect is overrated.

One-o-clock comes and goes. I don't care that I'm going to be a few minutes late to my makeover. When I arrive, Adoremus, Felicio, and Marcel are frantically measuring Korvin and Festus from head to toe. When Adoremus sees me, he runs over to me with his odd stride, which leaves him out of breath covering the fifteen feet between us. He says, "Cato, you are lucky Augustine hasn't arrived yet. Had you been late for him, he would have had you crucified."

"I know but…"

"No buts, no excuses, no time…" He says while flapping his arms frantically, "…just get over here so I can measure you for your suit."

He measures my waist, across my shoulders and chest, and up the inside of my leg. I jump a little when he does that, as my nether regions are a little tender after all the morning's activities. He doesn't seem to pick up on that and just orders me to hold still. While Adoremus measures me, I hear the comments Felicio and Marcel make about Korvin and Festus. I work hard on strength, but I try not to put on too much weight that isn't lean, even though Adoremus told me I had a little belly flab when I got here. The brothers, on the other hand, work just as hard as I do but eat and drink whatever comes to hand. Their habits have left them beefy but certainly not lean. I hear Felicio complain how their legs fit one size whilst their waists fit another and however are they going to get a shirt that fits their shoulders but hides their paunch. Marcel just nods and grunts his agreement, too dismayed to comment properly. Korvin is irritated but holds his tongue. Festus doesn't seem to notice, he is too withdrawn.

After the measurements, we are checked over to be sure there are no obvious imperfections. Hair, skin, and nails must all be in order. I am glad that my grooming is limited to a few plucked eyebrow hairs and the filing of some fingernails. The brothers apparently have "miracle-grow hair", according to Marcel. They are subjected to a complete eyebrow reshaping, a hot towel shave, a haircut, and a few facial treatments to even out and soften their skin. I guess they are older than me, bigger than me, and eat like starved hogs, so I don't know what they expected. Despite their best efforts, our prep team have only managed to make them look like smoother, less hairy brutes. I feel a pang of guilt then, not for Korvin, obviously, but for falling into my old internalised mockery of Festus. He could be the size of a bear; he'd still look like a kicked puppy right now.

The suits finally arrive about half an hour later. I don't know how they alter clothes so quickly here. I thought sewing was supposed to be laborious. Mine was not an issue, I have normal proportions, but the brother's had to be very specifically tailored. The suits' colour scheme matches our costumes from the tribute's parade, a blood red shirt with a black tie, jacket, and trousers with black leather shoes to top it off. I don mine, but Adoremus insists on adjusting it so it sits perfectly. When I see myself in the mirror, I have to say I'm not ashamed this time. Augustine did a good job selecting our suits for us. Even the brothers look reasonable, the pants and jacket are cinched in and let out in all the right places, so it emphasises that they're just muscular and not also plump.

When the prep team are satisfied with our appearance, they release us, and we get on the lift up to the ground floor where we will be escorted to a stage set up specifically for these interviews in the Grand Square. When we exit the building, a column of peacekeepers leads us to the side of the stage where we will queue up before taking our seats in a semi-circle behind Nigel's and the interviewee seat. I see why our escorts are necessary. An arc of seating has been set up for special guests, our stylists and prep teams in the front row with other seating assigned to escorts, mentors, and an elevated set of seats in the back for the gamemakers. Some are also reserved for the Capitol's elite but for the majority of its citizens, it's standing room only, and every street leading out of the Grand Square is packed with the hollering masses. Every television set in Paneire will be tuned in to this event tonight. The eyes of millions are upon us. Normally, the idea of that would unnerve me, but I'm still flying high as a kite, nothing is going to bring me down. Even if Nigel annihilates me, I feel like I've lived enough in the last few days to make up for a whole lifetime of reclusiveness. So my interview goes to shit, I don't get sponsors, and maybe I die, to be honest I'm rather blasé about all those prospects at the moment.

We stop in front of the steps leading up to the stage. Korvin will be first to be interviewed followed by Festus and then me, third in line. It isn't a bad position to hold. The audience will still be excited, so their attention will not have waned. That means I'm more likely to be remembered than anyone who comes after me, unless one of them proves to be particularly interesting. I always feel a little bad for 4s in these games. The gamemakers see them last and so does Nigel. They are usually already forgettable anyways, so this is just another blow to their limited chances. Just then, the girls are escorted out. Unlike us, their prep work between hair, makeup, and their dresses has probably been a lot more intensive, no sitting around waiting for suits, every moment something is being done to them, probably even several things at once, and it shows. Pallantia wears an incredible full-length red dress with a black sash that fits her form perfectly without making her look too lean. Her raven hair flows straight down over her shoulders but seems to have more volume than usual. The black stiletto shoes she's wearing give her at least another six inches, making her tower over me. Ignatia wears a dress the reverse of Pallantia's, black with a red sash. It fits her torso well and emphasises her cleavage like her parade costume, but it goes out at her hips and stops at her knees in front but her calves in the back. The structure of it makes her look very stiff, but it is definitely eye-catching. Beside Tori, however, even with full makeup and her hair in loose curls, Ignatia is lost like a firefly in the glare of the sun. Tori's dress is above the knee and strapless. The bodice and skirt are black, but they are covered by a red, gauzy material that stretches past the underdress to her knees. Her blonde hair forms perfect waves framing her face, and her black, smoky makeup emphasises her chocolate eyes. Her lips are glossy and red with a slight blush to her cheeks.

She is mesmerising, and she knows it.

She catches me staring, her smile wicked, she gives me her trademark wink. I smile cheekily and turn to look forward. It is only briefly, but I catch my grin on one of the big screens surrounding the Grand Square. The cameras caught our wordless exchange. I hope that it worked in my favour, and that I didn't look like a total goof. It occurs to me then that it doesn't matter that I'm third. I will be forgotten. The girls have many admirers in the Capitol now, as proven during the parade whereas the brothers and I were practically ignored. Given how stunning they look now, even Ignatia, we'll be forgotten before the interviews are over. They'll be too busy salivating over Tori's legs or Ignatia's cleavage. My only hope would be to play on my very public tryst with Tori, and in a positive manner. My sessions with Sidra, however, have proven that that is beyond me.

Just then, the other tributes arrive.

The Province 2 boys line up first followed by the girls. Their suits are iron grey on black shirts and ties, but no effort has been made to conceal their scars. In fact, I think they've had makeup done to emphasise them. The girls have had their marks mostly covered up, and their dresses do like nice but despite them. They are too muscled, and their faces are too hard for them to carry off anything approaching femininity.

The 3s arrive next. All the treatments they've received since they arrived have pretty much eliminated that weather-beaten look they have. They've probably eaten better, too, than they do at home so their skin and hair look healthy. They are still very wiry and slender looking and surprisingly, the clothes look a little loose on them, even the girls' flowy dresses. I guess their stylists don't have the same experience or eye for detail that ours do.

The 4s queue up last. I have to crane my neck around and step out to get a good look at them. The boys' suits are awful, even I can tell. They're green, as in grass green, with an earthy brown inside shirt and tie. They look like fantastical elves or leprechauns. Even the eldest boy looks less than formidable now in his gaudy attire. The girls aren't as badly off. The two younger girls are blonde so the green suits them well enough, but they could do without the dirt-coloured sashes. The eldest girl, the one I'd seen before at training, is another story. Her green dress is only fitted on her chest but hangs on her beautifully; full of movement as she walks behind the young redheaded boy she's always keeping an eye on. The dress is strapless, but her arms and shoulders are covered by a silk shrug that whilst coloured brown is delicate and light, so much so that you can just see skin through it. Her red hair falls in ringlets onto her shoulders and down her back. Her eyes are coloured this vivid emerald green that just makes the blue of them pop. Her lips are nude but with the same glossy effect as the girls from my province. She is very pretty, beautiful even, and not in the sexy, in-your-face way that Tori is. She catches my eye and looks at me sternly. I gulp, only slowly tearing my gaze from her. I catch Tori's eye as I do. She seems displeased. I don't know why. Surely, she can't be jealous.

Suddenly, my attention is drawn stage-ward. Nigel has arrived. He waves to the crowd with his best beaming smile on, as his entry tune plays out over the many speakers in the square. The applause is stupendous as always. He is dressed in a purple suit with an open jacket and a black waistcoat. His hair is dyed lilac and styled up into a spiky do. His face is snow white but gradates towards his eyes in deepening shades of purple until it reaches his black eyeliner. He gestures for quiet and begins, "Welcome, welcome, ladies and gentlemen to the tribute interviews for the 99th annual Hunger Games!" The crowd cheers. "Yes, people, we are indeed just one year away from the fourth Quarter Quell and the centennial of the Hunger Games itself, but enough about next year. Let's have a big round of applause for this year's twelve tributes. Come on now, people, a big round of applause."

We climb the stairs, mount the stage, waving and smiling to the crowd as we do, the screens filled with all our faces, and take our seats. When we've all been seated, Nigel gestures to us with one hand whilst smiling at the audience, as if they can't already see us there. He then turns his back on us and says, "Now, this has already been a dramatic year, and we haven't even reached the games yet. The twists and turns, the ups and downs of all the reapings, especially with Province 1, we almost had a shortage of volunteers this year, and in Province 4, the brave girl who volunteered in her cousin's stead. Of course, we also can't forget about the scandal and delinquency we've witnessed. I think you all know what I'm talking about, hey?" There are knowing murmurs and laughs from the crowd. "Well, we'll be talking to those deviants, and that courageous girl, too, but let's not forget we've got a whole host of tributes to meet, so, without further ado, let us meet our first tribute. He looks all brawn, let's see if he has brains. Korvin O' Reilly everyone."

Seriously, that introduction by Nigel is open to so many jokes that it makes my head hurt. He'll be sorely disappointed if he's expecting to find a personality under all that muscle and blubber. Each interview lasts only three minutes, so I am exactly six minutes away from my own personal apocalypse. To my surprise, Korvin actually manages to come off a little charming if a bit too cocky. Nigel doesn't have to help him along, he blabbers for most of the time about his mad skills with swords, and how he's got this in the bag. I sincerely hope he's jinxed himself in that case. Before I even know it, Nigel and Korvin are shaking hands, and Korvin's returning to his seat. He introduces Festus who looks nervous but manages to smile and be polite. Nigel has to work a bit harder with him to make the interview entertaining and asks Festus his feelings about having been nude in front of the whole nation. Festus makes a joke saying it isn't the first time, but his audience is generally smaller. That earns him a good few chuckles from the crowd and by the end of the interview, everyone is clapping for him like he's such a dote. I guess I can't begrudge him getting the sympathy vote, especially after his showdown with Korvin in the apartment, which did get out, but Nigel chose not to bring up. Festus is sitting down next to me. He looks relieved to be out of the spotlight, as I am about to be dragged into it.

Nigel is calling my name. I stand shakily. It's time.

I'm only vaguely aware of sound, even though the crowd is clapping, cheering, jeering, whistling, and every other conceivable noise under the sun. I just see Nigel standing before me and my seat, my death chair. All the buzz and boldness from earlier has evaporated. I am alone in this. Despite my preoccupation, I at least remember to shake Nigel's hand, though I am practically catatonic as I stare out vacantly into the crowd. I take my seat like a robot. It occurs to me a few moments after the fact that he introduced me as "our playboy tribute". Damn it to hell, I was so hoping that wouldn't stick. Nigel says, "So, Cato, we have much to discuss and oh so little time. First, let's talk about your reaping. You're a career but sixteen years old. I shouldn't be talking to you till the 101st hunger games. Can you tell us why you chose to volunteer early?"

My mouth's a little dry, so I have to cough to clear my throat before I start talking, not exactly dignified. I reply, "Ahem, well, am, it wasn't ideal. Like any Career, I would've preferred to wait and volunteer when I'm eighteen, but that wasn't a good enough reason not to go in Aleron's place."

"Aleron, the young boy you volunteered for, brother to the O' Reillys behind me here?"

"Yes, he's also my second cousin." My mother will love that. I think I catch Festus and Korvin shuffle about. I don't think I ever mentioned to Festus that we were related.

"Very interesting, well, aren't these games a family affair?" The audience laughs at his joke, but I don't find it amusing. There's nothing worse than when two related individuals end up competing in the games. It happens far more often than it strictly should, if the reaping were truly just down to chance. I smile genially, though, not wanting to get any more negativity out of this than I will incur anyways. Nigel returns his attention to me and asks, "Well, Cato, you know I'm obliged to ask this. Whatever were you and your comrades thinking? Getting up to all that debauchery in a public place, it must be very embarrassing for you?"

I'm about to agree. I'm about to play the meek, quiet dote like Festus. I am about to admit that everything that happened, including my time with Tori, was a terrible mistake committed by a drunken, naïve fool. That is the truth, and that is what they expect, but not what the audience and my potential sponsors are hoping for. I straighten up, make sure to speak clearly, and say as nonchalantly as I can, "Of course not."

"Ah yes, what?" I even caught Nigel off guard. That is an achievement. He's usually such a smooth talker.

"No, Nigel, no mistakes were made that night. How could getting drunk, having the craic, and sleeping with a beautiful woman ever be a mistake?" The audience is in shock, full of murmuring and giggles. I catch sight of Leandra and Sidra a few rows back from the front. Their jaws are dropped. Camille has a hand to his mouth, but I can tell he's trying to hold in some giddy outburst. Clearly, none of them thought I had this in me. People's lack of faith in me is appalling, though, admittedly, I've surprised myself. I'm still as nervous as hell, but the fact that I'm pulling this off is bringing back my buzz-inflated confidence. Nigel recovers quickly and asks, "Well, surely, you didn't mean for it to become so public?"

"It's true that I didn't know we were under surveillance, but that wouldn't have stopped me at least, I can't speak for my fellow careers. It kind of made it more exciting." More whistles and catcalls from the audience, clearly they approve of the cheeky bravado.

"And, Cato, do you think that the girl involved feels the same way?"

"Surely, she must, otherwise she wouldn't have done it with me again."

A collective gasp followed by shocked laughter from the audience and then more whistles follow. All the screens are showing Tori's reaction. She seems totally blindsided in the first few moments, but then she manages to return to her less than demure self, even winking and smirking at the cameras, as if to confirm that she's in total agreement with all I've said. I'm not sure if her recovery will pay off for her. Nigel gives himself a moment, which allows time for the crowd to calm down. He then asks, "So you two have a connection would you say?"

I have to be honest about this, even brutally so. I doubt Tori would have spared me had I played the dumb boy who got drunk and laid for all the nation to see. In fact, I think that's the reason she was so surprised. She had planned to play the confident one, the one who was in control and didn't care about the consequences, about being embarrassed. Now I've made it seem like I was at least her equal in this. I may have been fawning all over her all day after this morning, but I have to see this through. So, with all this in mind, I reply, "We do, in so far as doing stuff together that's fun."

"So, what you're saying is that she's not your girlfriend?"

"I think that's a strong term. That would suggest exclusivity." More giggles and gasps from the crowd, most of them by women. They do a close in on Tori's face again, and this time she hides her shock perfectly behind a veil of indifference. I can tell, though, something in her eyes, I've unsettled her.

Nigel inhales and says, "Well then, between your obvious availability to the ladies in the audience, and that score which I know you can't talk about, I'm sure you'll have no lack of sponsors."

"I hope so, Nigel."

"Well then everyone, give a round of applause for our playboy tribute, Cato Mulqueen."

I still hate that label, but this is the persona I've gone with, and now I have to live up to it. I return to my seat, waving to crowd who are giving me some serious applause punctuated by shouts and whistles. I sit down and to my right Korvin is seething. His interview was at best typical compared to mine. He'll be forgotten, but so, too, will Festus. He couldn't have come off as conceited as his brother, but he didn't play the confidence card even a little. Even that nudity joke reeked of bashfulness. With his low score and modest persona, he'll be lucky to get even one sponsor. Pallantia looks displeased to have to take to the stage straight after me, but she smiles for Nigel and the audience. She comes off like a female Korvin, a little too up herself, boasting of her skills and when the discussion moves to the night in apartment 1B, she goes into great detail describing her antics and how much she enjoyed the strip-poker and table dancing. She's basically made herself out to be a stuck-up floozy, and the sad part is she thinks that's actually a good thing. Who knows, the male sponsors might not care, they may be more interested in a personal replay of that night's events.

It's Tori's turn to be interviewed.

I wonder what she'll say now. She probably spent all of Pallantia's interview trying to rework all of her answers to the questions she knows Nigel will ask. When she stands with Nigel, she gets quite an applause. Some of the men in the audience even stand as if to draw her attention to them. Of all the female tributes this year, none of them can compete with Tori in terms of sexiness. Pallantia and Ignatia probably come second and third, but it's by no means close. My gaze is drawn away from her, though, as I feel someone staring at me. I look over, and it's the redheaded Province 4 girl. She eyes me with a look of disdain, like I'm some randy twat. She probably thinks I sold Tori out to save myself, which I did, but she doesn't know Tori. She's no victim, and that redhead girl is about to find that out. I tear my eyes away, confused as to why I'm allowing the apparent opinion of some strange girl to bother me. Nigel sits and says, "Well, Tori, you have quite the male following here in the Capitol."

"Nothing I'm not accustomed to, Nigel. I take it in my stride."

"So the boys fall at your feet at home, too?"

"To say the least, but I do find the Capitol boys a bit more intriguing, very refreshing." That's appreciated by the crowd, but it's a boldfaced lie. Tori likes manly men. She likes ruggedness, experience, and lacking such, at least some adventurousness. Capitol men dress in bright colours, wear makeup, and fuss over themselves endlessly. Not Tori's cup of tea, but she'll say anything to draw in sponsors.

Nigel smiles despite himself before asking, "But I suppose we need to ask your opinion of what was said by your partner in crime, Cato. Is it really just about the fun?"

"Of course, Nigel, there is nothing else there, and Cato made it very clear that he's interested in playing the field. It goes without saying that that is my specialty."

"Yes, yes, quite, and I guess with your score of ten, the only other tribute from Province 1 to achieve double figures this year besides Cato, you'll have no lack of sponsorship."

Nigel's mentioned my name twice, and I could see Tori's face visibly twitch when he did it for a second time. She's been rendered an accomplice to my actions, and she's stuck associated with me no matter what. Her moment in the spotlight is more like ours. Even though we've insisted we're not a couple, that we enjoy singledom, Nigel knows the audience are just itching for us to get together. The Capitol folk love that romantic, mushy crap. Tori is having none of it and refuses to be drawn back to the subject. She replies, "A score is just a number, Nigel, no matter how big it is. Sponsorship can only take you so far. The real test will be in the arena, and I intend to ace it."

Could you say sending a message? Who knows if anyone has picked up on it, but she has stated clearly that she will win, and no one will stand in her way, including me. Nigel is a little taken aback by her intensity but says, "And we are all very confident that you will do your best, my dear. Ladies and gentlemen, Tori."

She returns to her seat, not even looking sideways at me. I do not risk looking at her myself. Ignatia is the last of the 1s to be interviewed. I didn't think it possible, but Nigel looks even paler as she describes all the exquisite ways she knows how to kill, and her knowledge of various poisons and exactly how they affect the human body. The audience, too, is deathly silent. You could hear a pin drop in the Grand Square. When she is done, Nigel almost forgets his send off, and the audience only claps hesitantly.

Thereafter, things get very boring.

The 2s are all the same, boys and girls. They're all broody and hostile with their monosyllable answers and lack of anything like charm or manners. They barely shake Nigel's hand. I at least picked up on some vital info that I really should've looked out for before. The boys are my main threat outside of my fellow 1s. They're big, powerful, and can effectively wield weapons. Victor is the oldest and biggest, he's eighteen, and the two others, Reginald and William, are nearly as big and both seventeen. All of them scored tens, so they may be competition for sponsorship. Their names are odd for them, I think, but they probably think ours are silly, too, emulating the mostly Latin names used in the Capitol. The girls, Carol, Darla, and Patricia are all sixteen, but they don't concern me too much yet. The 3s, if anything, are even more boring. They are not rude, but they are quiet with a very careful way of speaking. Their life stories vary very little, and their scores are all six or below. Nigel struggles to make them stand out from each other, let alone seem interesting.

Then comes the 4s. The strong-looking boy, the oldest of the Province 4 tributes, is first. His name is Darren and just as I thought, he's eighteen and this was his last year to be selected. He does not hide his disappointment, which is a brave thing to do, but he vows to win. The other boy is nothing special, I don't even catch his name, but he is thin, short, and has the joint-lowest score of two with one of the Province 3 tributes. Then comes the little redheaded boy, the youngest this year. His name is Timothy, but Tim for short. His feet don't reach the floor when he sits in the interviewee seat, and he looks really nervous. He reminds me of Aleron, and I instantly feel so bad for him. He shouldn't be here. He'll only get slaughtered, another body on the ground when the cornucopia bloodbath is over. He talks very quietly and carefully but in an endearing way. It's hard to believe he is twelve. He talks about home, his parents, and how much he misses them and his sister, how he hopes he gets to go home to them. There are tears in the audience; you can even hear the whimpers. He'll definitely be remembered, but I know that won't help him.

Then, it is her turn.

The redheaded girl takes to the stage, and Nigel welcomes her warmly. She smiles, but there's a sadness there that takes all the warmth out of it. She sits and Nigel says, "So, Marissa, I think everyone knows who you are by now. It was a brave thing you did, volunteering for your young cousin. What made you do it?"

"She's just thirteen. She wasn't up to this. Maybe I'm not either, but better me than her."

"Are you close with her?"

"We're all close. My mom and her sister have always been inseparable. My aunt is like a second mother to me and Timothy and Shauna like a brother and sister. I would do anything for them."

"And so you have. It's just a tragedy that your younger cousin was selected after you volunteered. That must have been so heartbreaking."

"It was. He's younger than Shauna. I wanted him here even less. I didn't see it coming. It's only his first year with his name in."

"I know, I know. Such terrible luck but at least he has you."

"And I will do my best for him. I will try to make it so he wins."

"But dear, in order to do that, you would have to die. You cannot guarantee his victory if you're not there to see him to the end."

"I can if we're the last two left standing."

"But then what will you do?"

"I'll take myself out of the equation."

I am awed. Did she just admit on live television that she intends to commit suicide to assure her cousin's survival? Is that even allowable? I suppose many tributes have offed themselves in the past rather than be brutally murdered. Still, her plan is out there and clearly doomed to fail, especially now she's revealed it to everyone. Nigel does his best to look grave and replies, "Well, dear, that is a very noble thing. I wish you the best. Everyone, please give a round of applause for Marissa."

The mood has just become sombre, and the audience claps rather unenthusiastically. No one in the Capitol likes to have the reality of the games dropped on them like that. They prefer to concentrate on the celebrity and entertainment side, you know, the less violent and despicable aspects. The last two Province 4 girls have nothing to say of note and have pitifully low scores. We are subsequently sent off by Nigel and escorted back to our apartments, the crowds hollering behind us. So, I have pulled off a miracle, and I know what I'm facing. Korvin, my long-time enemy, eager to slit my throat, Tori, a girl I one-upped and who will go right through me to win, the Province 2 boys who together could rip me limb from limb, and Marissa, a girl who is willing die to save her young cousin. Tomorrow it all begins, and I wonder which of them will deal me death, or, with so much in my favour, can I count myself out yet?