"Bold words, my friend! But, Arbor, maybe you shouldn't have said that in front of all twenty-three of them, hm?"
Chapter Ten
I wonder if they're going to cover up Merrick's split lip for the interviews. Knowing the Capitol, they've certainly reached the level of cosmetic ability to make it look as if nothing ever happened to him. However, they also could be emphasizing it, to make him look tougher. In short, if something on his face stands out to the cameras, he will stand out to the cameras. These types of questions are the only things distracting me from fear in these devastatingly early hours of the morning.
As I sit numbly on the couch and listen to Jocasta one-sidedly discussing my interview strategy—or more accurately, my lack of one—I think of what I still need to tell Xanthe. Wondering if what I saw in Acer was truly his will to live, or if maybe he was just too far gone to care anymore.
He's not like the girl from Five.
"Arbor, are you even listening to me?" Jocasta purses her sparkly lips.
"Yes." I lie. "Keep going."
And I sit. And I think.
…
Felicia Steinhart is dressed in her usual silver ensemble, but I notice a touch of gold in her jewelry, in the ribbons braided elaborately into her hair. Within a few minutes, I learn that her new look foreshadows the gold-accented suit she has designed for me to wear during my interview.
"Isn't it marvelous?" She dusts an invisible speck of dirt off my shoulder, her green eyes sparkling. She tugs on my cuffs to make sure it fits in the arms. The whole outfit feels heavy, as if it's soaking wet, yet somehow it's dry as a bone, despite how much I'm sweating. The weight is there, though, bearing down on me. Or maybe I've just gotten weaker.
"Had to conduct a bit of a last minute touch-up after I saw those eyes, but it was a breeze, so don't worry. I kept the red tie, as a reminder of that chariot sash you looked so dashing in."
I give a tight nod, not really perceiving the suit. I'm locked far too deep within my own mind to care.
"Arbor?" I feel my stylist's hand on my shoulder. "Are you alright?"
I swivel around, meeting her eyes for the first time. "I…"
"What is it?" Felicia frowns. "Is it the suit? You don't like it?"
I shake my head. "It's not that."
"Then what is it?" My stylist asks, with far more interest than I expect of her. "This is the easiest part of the Games, by far, love. What's the matter?"
"I've never done this before." I tell her. "I just…I don't want to say the wrong thing."
Felicia attempts to put me at ease. "Oh, don't worry about that. Egnatius will do all the talking for you if he has to." She regards me with those eerie green eyes. "Besides, you've got a look about you that'll speak for itself. Solid guy like you, what are you afraid of them finding out?"
I grimace. "That I'm afraid."
Felicia looks at me for a long moment. "Well, then that's what you should concentrate on."
I blink. "What?"
"You'll be thinking about it anyway."
"What, I should tell him that I'm scared out of my mind?"
"No, no." Felicia brushes off my question. "You should tell him the opposite. Tell him you're not worried at all. The further it is from the truth, the easier it gets. Like you're acting in a play. Make sure he knows that you're not afraid of anything."
The idea seems so ridiculous, I almost laugh. "That won't work."
"It's worked for me." Felicia points out. "I told you that suit was comfortable, didn't I?"
"I feel like I'm going to fall over."
"Real gold, darling!" laughs Felicia. "Listen, you don't have to do it. But if you really want to make a good impression, then don't be afraid."
"Easier said than done." I mutter.
"Now you're getting it." My stylist grins. "When you're up there and he's asking you questions, you think about who you want to be. And who do you want to be?"
"A victor?" I offer weakly. She shakes her head, golden ribbons swinging from side to side with her dark braids
"Easier than that," she says. "Someone who's not scared."
For a long time, I don't say anything. Is she right? That is who I want to be. But I'm not entirely confident in Felicia's reasoning. Becoming someone fearless might not be as easy as she seems to think it is. Not when fear is all I can feel, prodding at my skull, quickening my breaths, pressing on my chest. As far as I know, fear is all there is, and all there will ever be, inside.
…
It's late at night, although from the sheer number of artificial spotlights illuminating the stage, you wouldn't be able to tell. I've never seen so many people gathered in one place, not even in the City Circle. The rows of seats form a steep slope up the back of the hall, with painted and powdered Capitolites as far as the eye can see. Looking back, even shiny-haired Felicia and glittery Jocasta are lost in the vibrant sea of faces.
My seat is in the front row, so close to the stage that I have to crane my neck to see the baby-faced boy from District One cross the floor, looking charming in a sky-blue bowtie and blazer. A scowl crosses Glace's features; she can't see well either, and both of us end up turning to the mounted screens on the walls to watch his interview. When the Career is introduced, the audience roars so loudly that I miss the boy's name again.
The first interview itself is ultimately unremarkable, if you don't count the discovery of One's high-pitched nervous laugh, which makes the audience hoot. I don't laugh, mainly because I can't distract myself from Nelly on my other side; from the sound of her fingers tapping restlessly against our shared armrest.
I see Devine, although she's almost unrecognizable with straightened hair. It was a bad choice on her stylist's part, since the audience is going to need key features like hairstyle to identify us all when we're in the arena. I feel almost grateful, up until the Career's "adorable" tendency to say whatever is on her mind leads to a discussion of her forbidding weapons of choice. She definitely prefers efficiency to style, opting for axes and machetes to hack with. My stomach turns a bit.
I know immediately that District Two's first interviewee, the big albino guy, is going to steal the show—I glimpse the smirk on his face as he passes me. Listening harder this time, I find out that he's called Caliber Lockwood, an odd name to fit his odd, pale face. That's about all I get the chance to learn before he busts out a thunderous declaration of love for his girlfriend back home. It ends with him pulling out a ring and showing it off to the cameras, which sends a tidal wave through the already lively audience.
"You can answer me when I get back!" he declares above the noise, and I take the time to wonder if he even has a girlfriend back in Two, or if the one-sided proposal is just a ploy for sponsors. If it is, it's still a better strategy than mine.
Caliber looks very self-important as he strides back down the row, his jet-black suit setting off his white hair. He looks Capitol enough to take a seat in one of the rows behind us.
I decide then that I hate him, although clearly not as much as the girl from his district does. From the moment her interview begins, it's obvious that she's already been upstaged. As I'm studying her face on the screen and thinking about how she must feel, a glittering aquamarine dress shuffles past me. With her glossy dark hair brushing her shoulders rather than up in its usual ponytail, I nearly let her get by.
"Xanthe!" I hiss, and she stops.
"Look at you, Eleven!" Something is wrong. "All cutting-edge style." Her voice is high and she's trembling slightly, her features strained behind a hollow smile. It's strange to see her like this, and for the moment, her district partner exits my mind.
"Are you okay?"
"Acer Forsythe!" booms the voice of Egnatius Marchland, and we both turn to watch as the boy from Three marches out onto the stage.
"I'm fine." whispers Xanthe.
"What?"
"I said I'm fine." She looks back at me. "I'm fine." The third time, it starts to sound like she's repeating it for her sake, not mine.
"Are you ready?"
"As I'll ever be." Her eyes flick back to the screen, back to Acer.
"I think we should ask Acer to join us." I say, but it's not loud enough, and she's not listening. I follow her eyes to the wall. Acer sits uncomfortably in the chair, nervous and fidgety, unable to fix his gaze anywhere but straight into the camera. He hasn't answered a single question.
"What did you say?"
Kill or be killed. That's the bottom line.
"I said…" I can't stop staring at Acer's wan, terrified face; the blankness of his eyes. "I said you should think about who you want to be and, uh, be that person up there." For a moment, she looks confused, before her expression falls into something more steely as she continues watching her district partner struggle.
"Sharp." I can't tell if it's sarcasm. More softly, she says, "I hope it's quick for him."
I want to tell her she shouldn't say things like that. I want to tell her that I spoke to Acer, that some part of him hasn't given up yet. That maybe there's still a chance of her partner living to see the faces in the sky tomorrow night. But I can't tear my eyes from the screen, from Acer's mien of unadulterated terror.
So instead, I close them and say, "I hope so, too."
"You really shouldn't be talking to each other," Glace cuts in. "You're next. You should be up there."
Just as she says it, Acer's buzzer goes off, and he probably ends his wordless interview as hastily as he began it, because my ally's name is called shortly after. I hear Xanthe hiss out a curse and the rustling of her dress, but by the time I open my eyes again, she's heading for the stage. I try not to think that I may never get to speak to her again, that I've lost my chance in more ways than just one.
Acer passes me on his way back to his seat, having taken the wrong set of stairs down in his hurry to get out of there. He doesn't look at me, and I don't call out to him. I wonder if the words I hope so, too could ever be considered a death sentence. I clench my fists so hard that I carve four half-moon shaped indents into each palm.
Xanthe's interview is quite standard, although she spends more time talking about her siblings and father than her strategy for the Games. I can't blame her; I miss my family, too. The one time the arena does come up is when, near the end of her interview, she assures the audience that she has a stomach for gore.
"I feel confident going into the arena, Egnatius," she says smoothly, giving no sign of the shakiness I witnessed before. "I hope that you won't count me out."
District Four comes and goes without ceremony. Merrick, smiling so widely I'm sure he's close to splitting the sutures holding his lower lip together, can only talk adamantly about his goal to claim the first kill of the Games. Gwylan, in a pearly green dress that shows off her notable curves, comes across as a real airhead. That is, until Egnatius asks her about her skills in swordplay. I try to tune the rest of her interview out, lest there be a repeat of Devine's unsettling enthusiasm.
The rest of the districts pass more quickly. I notice that the Five girl doesn't feel like detailing her suicide plan to the host, nor does she seem very interested in the interview at all, spending most of her three minutes freeing her hair from its elaborate braids. Big Six and Little Six are indeed siblings, and are even more clearly exclusive allies. Carver, the little guy from Seven, speaks quickly and clearly. He may be one of the few tributes I'm not particularly afraid of, but I get the feeling that, if he can make it past the bloodbath tomorrow, he could stand a decent chance.
The boy from Eight is interesting, stretching long and thin as a rail, his skinny frame folded awkwardly in the plush armchair. At first, he comes across as perpetually angry for reasons unexplained. That is, until Egnatius brings up his home life, which gets him flustered and confused, sputtering out half-sentences instead of full answers. Intriguing, but unthreatening, I decide. When we reach District Nine, all I can think is that the girl's team must be overjoyed; she doesn't cry once. By the time my name is called, I have a hard time convincing myself that I'll be as lucky.
I climb the steps, the applause about as enthusiastic as a large group of people who have been sitting in the same place for quite some time can make it. Felicia's advice whistles through my head like a newsreel. It's hard to agree with her, that lying about my feelings is the best way to conceal them. But it's even harder for me to give up hope altogether.
"Arbor, Arbor, Arbor!" Egnatius shakes my hand, somehow still energetic after twenty tribute interviews. "What a name, what a guy. I'm sure everyone here is as curious about you as I am. What do you say, ladies and gentlemen?" A spattering of applause that makes my face grow hot. This is going to be harder than I thought.
Noticing my distress, Egnatius doesn't let the conversation lapse before it's begun. "Now, we've all been wondering about your rather interesting reaping, Arbor. Have you anything to say about the young volunteer who tried to take your place?"
I pry my hands from the arms of the chair and fold them in my lap, trying to suppress my trembling. "My cousin, Teo."
"How old is Teo?" Egnatius asks, leaning forward in his chair.
"Thirteen."
"Oh, that's very young to volunteer. He's a little taller than you, isn't he?" Egnatius remarks, before his voice gets a touch softer. "You must care about him very much, to prevent him from taking your place in the arena."
"I…" Thinking of Teo watching me from home, my throat tightens. "I do."
You're shutting down. Do something.
"I…" The hot stage lights beating down on me, faced with every pair of eyes in the crowd, it's becoming harder to stop my hands from shaking. Egnatius picks up on it immediately and shifts to a different topic.
"Would you want to talk about training with us?" he asks, and I feel myself relaxing. Just slightly, but it's something. Impersonal topics are easier.
"My score," I begin slowly, smoothing out my voice. "It wasn't the greatest."
"They didn't score you at all, actually." Egnatius corrects me. "Do you know why that was?"
I do know why, although the reason was insignificant from the moment it entered my mind. Before my session, I'd been thinking about what Xanthe had told me, how she believed that the gamemakers controlled every decision a tribute made. And then, about what the Five girl had revealed in her response. Her refusal to participate, however fatal, was also a refusal to be controlled. And despite how her insight alarmed me, I realized in the threshold of the training center that I wanted the same thing.
"I didn't do anything." I tell Egnatius. Control over my own actions, over myself. I just sat there.
"Why ever not?" The host looks genuinely confused. "If you don't have a training score, how will your sponsors know your skill level?"
"They should hear it from me." I say, my voice stronger than I expected it would be. It's time for me to take Felicia's advice. "I can tell them now."
"Please, do." Egnatius gestures for me to continue.
Be someone who's not afraid. Be someone who's not afraid.
"I'll make good use of any tools and weapons I can get in the arena." I begin. "And I can identify plants and set traps. But my greatest strength is that…"
"Yes?" Egnatius is patient.
"I-I'm just completely fearless!" I blurt out. It sounds like a lie, coming out of my mouth. The audience doesn't react as a whole, but Egnatius does.
"Fearless, you say?" He flashes me a smile. "Surely that's not the case. Everyone is afraid of something."
"Not me." My voice works faster than my brain. "I don't have a fear in the world. Not afraid of wildfires, not afraid of earthquakes, or floods, and certainly not any of the tributes you've met tonight, Egnatius."
He's laughing now. "Bold words, my friend! But, Arbor, maybe you shouldn't have said that in front of all twenty-three of them, hm?" I seize up for a moment—he's right—and try to gauge the faces of my fellow tributes for a response to my claims. Between the lights and the height of the stage, I can't see any of them well enough to look for reactions.
"Well, I don't care who knows it!" I try to laugh along with the host, but it ends up sounding awkward and fake. Mercifully, the buzzer goes off before I can dig myself a deeper grave.
"It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Arbor." Egnatius tells me, just me, as he shakes my hand. I'm grateful to him for making me feel more at ease up here. As a kind of parting gift, I bestow upon him my biggest lie of the night.
"I'll see you for the Victor Interview, Egnatius."
AN: Next chapter will be the night and morning before the Games, maybe the first moments in the arena. I'm excited to finally get this story moving. Thanks for reading, reviews are appreciated!