"Johanna?"

I snap awake. Dyera, Tubrette, and Lukal crowd around my bed. "Time to prepare for your big interview!" cheers Lukal shrilly.

"But it's not till tonight," I protest sleepily.

They all laugh that's the most hilarious comment they've ever heard, then drag me out of bed.

I can't imagine what the prep team will do that needs a full day to accomplish, but they work steadily the whole time. The team stencils designs on my skin, paints my nails a shimmering green, does something I can't see to my hair, and puts on my makeup.

Trinalle brings in a package, rips it open, and slides something heavy over my naked body. I wait patiently as they fiddle with my outfit, resisting the temptation to look down. Lukal fixes the shoes to my feet, and I gain about an inch of height thanks to the heels. Finally, Trinalle takes me to the mirror, and I step back in shock.

Cryptic patterns in clear, sparkly paint run over my bare arms and the exposed, lower part of my legs. My hair is shiny and wavy. My dress is entirely made of layers of dark green fringe, but there's something odd about it. I glance down and notice that each strand of fringe is stiff, thin, and straight. Plastic, not thread.

I think I'm supposed to look like I'm coated in pine needles.

My gaze swings up to my face and I get another surprise. My eyes are huge and glittery, inhuman. My mouth is small and dainty, my cheeks tinted palest pink.

Trinalle comes up behind me in the mirror. "You're a woodland fairy!"

I turn and spontaneously hug her. Because this fragile, dainty, fairy is exactly what I am portraying. It's almost like she knows my strategy, but that's impossible, because she's now saying, "I wish you were a better fighter, Johanna. Combine that with my fab costumes and you'd be drowning in sponsors!" We meet up with Sindaria, Drake, Ruben, and Gabea at the elevators, then zoom down.

The other tributes wait in a line off the stage. Drake and I sidle in between the District 6 and 8 tributes. And just in time, too, because music is playing and we march onto the stage and take our seats.

Caesar Flickerman, who has hosted the interviews for as long as I can remember, takes the stage. This year, his hair is bright orange, with eyelids and lips painted the same color.

The interviews commence. First the District 1 girl hustles out, then Auberg steps up. He's clearly going for a macho, tough angle. The District 2 girl is rowdy, bragging of her skills. The girl from 4 wears a revealing halter top, with what seems to be a beach towel wrapped snugly around her hips.

"Johanna Mason."

I'm called, and the speaking of my name reminds me of the reaping and Ida's tears. Fringe rustling, I walk over to Caesar, calling my sadness to the surface.

"So Johanna, anyone can see you're a little freaked out by all this," he quips.

I nod, feeling tears prick at my eyes. "It's been … hard."

"I'm sure it has," he agrees. "What do you think of your chances in the Hunger—"

But he has to stop, because I've started to cry. I wipe my eyes feebly, registering the smear of paint on my fingers that tells me my eye makeup is running. Excellent. "I just … I can't believe I got a one in training! I can't believe I'm here. It's too … scary," I sob.

Caesar tries to speak again, tries to comfort me, but I cut him off, my voice rising hysterically. "I don't have any good fighting skills! I'm not strong enough! I'm going to die!" I scream, collapsing in my seat. I think I can hear some of the brittle strands of fringe snap.

Caesar lays a hand on my arm. "Well, you can at least try," he soothes.

"Yes," I say with a watery, I've-already-given-up smile. "I'll try."

"And I suppose that's the best anyone can do," encourages Caesar.

I bob my head numbly.

The buzzer sounds, ending my interview.

I think Caesar Flickerman is attempting to wish me good luck, but I just wobble back to my seat and slump down in it, watching Drake stand up and stroll over to Caesar.