Chapter 8

"Up, up, up! It's going to be a big, big, big day!"

Effie's voice pierced through my sleep-muddled mind like a surgical knife. And then a searing light nearly blinded me despite my closed eye lids when she threw the shades open.

I sat up slowly and opened my eyes to look at Effie. She was a blurry mesh of color and I grimaced while mentally scolding myself as a dozen ways to rip off her annoying head entered my mind.

"Come, come, come! Breakfast is soon!"

Then she waltzed out of the room, her mood the complete opposite than when she had done nearly the exact same thing the day before. I wondered what kind of thoughts must pass through her head. Before her outburst last night I had thought it must all be glitter and unicorns. But now I wasn't sure.

I rolled out of the bed and simply slipped my boots on, having slept in my clothes from the night before. They were slightly wrinkled but I didn't care. It's not like it mattered what the people I was joining thought of me. I hated them.

As I walked to the dining car, I dragged my fingers through the tangles in my hair. Effie, Gale, and Haymitch were already there when I arrived.

They had started eating, but it seemed that only Effie was happy about it. She chattered gaily about everything and nothing as she spread a healthy layer of butter onto her golden roll.

Haymitch looked better than he had last night, but his eternally haggard face was somber as he drank something red and dished up some eggs for himself. Gale looked much like he had at the dinner table last night: head bowed, brooding, not touching anything on his heaping plate.

"Sit down! Sit down!" Haymitch commanded, waving me over.

I slipped into my chair and was immediately served my own breakfast; eggs, ham, piles of fried potatoes; a tureen of fruit sat in ice to keep it chilled; the basket of rolls they set before me would have kept at least three of the orphans fed for two days. I wondered if they would even be eating this morning. There was an elegant glass of orange juice at the head of my plate. I had only tasted an orange once in my life, when Peeta had let me have his at lunch one day at school. There was a cup of coffee. I liked coffee, it was bitter and sent a buzz up my spine. But today I added sugar and cream which made it even better. There was also a rich brown cup of something I'd never seen before.

I picked it up and sniffed it, and my senses were instantly assaulted with the most delicious smell I had ever experienced.

"They call it hot chocolate." Gale's voice nearly made me jump out of my skin. That was the first time I had heard him speak since we were reaped.

I raised my eyes to his in surprise. He just looked at me cooly and took a sip from his own cup. It seemed to be the only thing that he had touched.

"It's good," he added.

"Well, it speaks!" Haymitch roared in laughter and Gale glowered at him.

Ignoring them, I took a sip of the hot chocolate. My eyes widened in shock and then I quickly drained the rest of the cup and readily agreed when the Capitol pet offered to refill it. Then I dove into breakfast, eating almost everything but making sure not to overdue it on the overly rich food. The last thing I needed was another stomach ache like last night.

When I was full, I leaned back in my chair and regarded my breakfast companions like a hunter sizing up its prey. Gale still wasn't eating, but he occasionally took sips of his hot chocolate. The idiot was going to lose even more weight then when he was living in the Seam, he would probably die from starvation within the first week in the arena. I was okay with that, it would solve the problem of me having to kill him. He would just end up killing himself. Haymitch hadn't touched much of his food either, but he'd downed at least five glasses of the red juice that he kept thinning with clear liquid from a glass bottle—more spirits. At this rate he was going to be roaring drunk once again by the time we reached the Capitol. Effie had informed me we would be arriving later that day.

As I watched him fill another glass, I suddenly felt all the pity I had for him vanish, replaced with more hate than I felt for Effie. No wonder the District 12 tributes never stood a chance. It wasn't just because we were all underfed and lacked training; some of our tributes had still been strong enough to make a go at it. But we rarely got sponsors and I suddenly realized that he was the reason why. The rich people who backed the tributes—either because they were betting on them or simply for bragging rights of picking a winner—expected someone easier than Haymitch to deal with.

"So," I said casually, picking at the edge of the tablecloth. "You're supposed to give us advice."

"Here's some advice," Haymitch said after a loud belch. "Stay alive!" and then he burst out laughing.

My gaze was involuntarily drawn to Gale's and our eyes met. I forgot for a moment that I hated him as I looked into his deep, grey eyes. And then they flash-ed in anger as he ripped his gaze away from me and fixed it instead on Haymitch.

"That's very funny," he nearly growled and then he leapt to his feet. Before I could blink he had lashed out at Haymitch and the glass of spiked juice flew out of his hand and shattered against the wall. The red liquid ran like blood down the train panels. "Only not to us," he finished with a hiss.

Haymitch considered Gale's reaction for a moment, contemplating his empty hand. And then he reeled back and punched Gale in the jaw, knocking him back a few steps.

When he turned to reach for his bottle of pure spirits, I grabbed the knife at my elbow and leapt up, driving the blade between his fingers. "Don't even think about it," I hissed. I leaned back on my haunches, getting ready for my own blow. But it never came. Instead, Haymitch leaned back and squinted at us.

"Well, what's this?" he mused. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

Gale stood up slowly, working his jaw where an angry red welt was appearing.

"Leave that," Haymitch commanded, turning to a seething Gale. "Let the bruise form. The audience will think you've mixed up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena."

"That's against the rules," Gale growled.

Haymitch wagged a finger. "Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, and that you weren't caught. Which is even better." He turned to me and I instinctively raised my blade in warning. He grin-ned at me, something feral that set me on edge. "Can you hit anything else with that beside the broad side of the table?"

I could handle almost anything. Old Sam used to say that I must have been born with a weapon in my hand. I wouldn't be surprised, I surly learned young how to use the most natural one—my fists—at a very early age. Haymitch looked at me and I realized he was waiting for an answer. So, without a word, I turned and hurled the knife at a picture of President Snow that hung above a green plant. It lodged into his forehead, shattering the glass over it in the process.

I turned to Haymitch with a smirk, not even caring that the cameras had caught that. I was a tribute, the Capitol couldn't do anything to me until I was in the arena.

"Stand over there, both of you," Haymitch commanded, pointing to the middle of the room.

I didn't know why, but we did it. We were probably just shocked into obedience from his abrupt mood change.

He circled us, eyeing us like animals at an auction. He grabbed Gale's arm and felt his muscle before he ripped it away. I was prepared and stepped out of the way before he could grab me.

He smirked at that and stepped back to look at us again. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get ahold of you, you'll be attractive enough."

I didn't question that. The Hunger Games weren't a beauty contest, but I knew that the best-looking tributes always got more sponsors.

"All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you," Haymitch said. "But you have to do exactly as I say."

It wasn't much, but it was a whole leap and bound ahead of where we had been ten minutes before. I suddenly realized Effie was gone. She must have escaped when we started scuffling.

"Fine!" I spat.

"So help us," Gale cut in. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone—"

"Ah, ah, ah. One thing at a time. In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you but, no matter what it is… don't resist." He gave us each a glare, letting it linger on me which brought on a tingle of uneasiness.

What would our stylists do to us?

Then he grabbed his bottle of spirits and left the car. As the door swung shut behind him, the car went dark. There were still a few lights inside, but outside it was as if night had fallen again. I realized that we must be in the tunnel that ran through the mountains toward the Capitol. The mountains formed a barrier between the Capitol and the eastern Districts. It was almost impossible to enter from the east side except through the tunnels. This geographical advantage was a major factor in the districts losing the war that led to my being tribute today. Since the rebels had had to scale the mountains, they had been easy targets for the Capitol's air forces.

The darkness continued on and on, but Gale and I didn't leave the dark dining car, didn't even move as I tried not to think about what the darkness reminded me of... The mines back home, the dangerous alleys on the way back to my hut, hell…

Suddenly, the train hitched and I went sprawling at the suddenness of it. A grunt sounded from under me as I landed on something soft. Then I was look-ing into the eyes of Gale Hawthorne. The dim light reflected in his eyes as the darkness continued. They were the only part I could see of him—his glittering eyes and the faint highlights of his face. My hands were planted on either side of his head as I looked down on him, slightly stunned at my current position.

We stayed like that for a few moments. Neither one of us moving and I didn't know why.

His warm breath tickled the small strands of hair around my face as I looked down on him. Then I realized his hand was brushing against my cheek, he caught a stand of my hair between his fingertips. My chest constricted as his eyes darkened and… then the dining car was pierced with light again.

They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and Gale's had been opened during that moment. But as soon as the light came back, those windows closed and he shoved me off him. I jumped to my feet, not even able to process what had just happened as Gale walked to the window where bright flashes of color raced past.

My whole body was on edge, tingling with warning and something else I couldn't put my finger on. Whatever it was, it was making my stomach knot painfully. I put a hand to my head to get control of myself; steady my breathing; calm my mind; put the mask back on again. Then, with my whole mind screaming in protest, I joined Gale. I couldn't help it. I made Gale move and stood in front of the window to watch what we had only seen on television flash by the window.

The Capitol. The ruling city of Panem

The train began to slow as I gazed out the window with varying degrees of hate and fascination. The cameras hadn't lied about the grandeur. If anything, they had not quite captured the magnificence of the city. The glistening buildings rose up in rainbow hues that towered into the air, some even disappearing into the low cloud cover. The shiny cars that rolled down paved streets were like something out of a fantasy book. The only cars that I had ever seen were the old fords that the Peacekeepers liked to drive around every now and then while they pretended to be on patrol. But all they were really doing was showing off. District 12 was so forgotten by the rest of the world that the Peacekeepers didn't even own any guns. They brandished clubs that they made themselves, looking for someone to rat out so they could get the reward because even the Peace-keepers needed to eat. The Capitol had forgotten them too so they weren't in much better shape than the rest of us. But that didn't mean we hated them any less.

But the Peacekeepers here… they patrolled in front of government buildings in crisp uniforms while carrying glittering guns. They looked barely human, with cold, calculating faces as they surveyed the bizarre people milling about them. Those people looked even less human than the Peacekeepers; crazy costumes, bizarre hair, dyed skin, painted faces. People that had never missed a meal in their life. Despite their insane appearance, they glowed with health, painted lips pulling back behind straight white teeth where, in District 12, you would be lucky to even have teeth by the time you reached your mid-life.

It looked like a painting as it rolled past the train. All the colors artificial looking—the pinks too deep, the greens too bright, the yellows blinding, like the flat round discs of the hard candy that we could never afford to buy at the tiny sweet shop in District 12. It made my eyes ache looking at them.

Then, people began to point at us eagerly as they recognized a tribute train rolling into the city. I clenched my fists, sickened by their excitement, knowing that they couldn't wait to watch us die. I felt it building inside of me again, that rage as the fake people smiled brilliant smiles and waved to us like animals behind bars.

And then, a thought occurred to me, so I slowly lifted my hand and began to wave back. I forced a smile to stretch across my face as I greeted the people who had killed Old Sam, countless orphans, and now were going to kill me. I pretended to be friendly while I was really thinking how many of these sick people I could take with me before I died too.

After a few minutes we pulled into the station, blocking us from their view and I let my hand and smile drop instantly, replaced by my grim face.

Then I realized Gale was staring at me with that same intense, unreadable expression of his.

"What?!" I shot. "One of them may be rich."

When he just continued to stare at me I turned back to the window. "I need sponsors to win. And I promised that I would win… I don't break my promises anymore."

It seemed just seconds before the guards found us in the dining compartment and hauled outside. The lights assaulted my senses, nearly blinding me. I could see reporters being pushed back by more Peacekeepers, their cries were muffled in my ears, just monstrous voices pushing through the fog in my head.

I just had time to see Gale being marched calmly away before I was escorted inside and thrown into the arms of the most bizarre people of the Capitol yet—my prep team.

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