TyeTheLurker: Your feeling…is correct.
Arden Borynski / District Two Female
In the morning, I grab two slices of toast and wait by the elevator for Francis to finish his briefing with Penelope. The old victor has done this since the train, as if she needs all the extra hours she can get to groom my district partner for victory. Must be doing wonders for his self-esteem. Since we still have some time before training, I'm willing to linger a few minutes longer with my toast, happy that my mentor likes to sleep in.
Claude's style of mentoring differs from his partner's in that his sessions are quite a bit more erratic. He does give me advice, but it's often out of the blue, when I least expect it. A knock on the door just as I'd drifted off to sleep on the train, followed by an in-depth conversation about pre-Games strategy. A series of survival tips as he helped me down from my chariot. A tug on my arm after dinner, summoning me to the kitchen for a hushed discussion of my training plans before dessert. These are his more lucid moments, I suppose. We've both learned to make the most of them.
When he's not giving me advice, Claude spends a lot of time thinking, his dark eyes floating from place to place, transfixed by something no one else can see. I try not to question it. So he isn't entirely stable; he still manages to do his job quite well.
My partner emerges from his room in a black training ensemble, looking considerably more frayed at the edges than usual. Strange as they are, I certainly prefer Claude's sporadic advice sessions to whatever Penelope does to stress Francis out like this.
He comes to a stop next to me, raising his eyebrows slightly. "You waited."
"Course," I tell him. "You're surprised?"
"Uh, no," he says. "It's just going to be a little more awkward now."
"How do you mean?" I ask, pressing the elevator button. He heaves in a breath.
"I mean, I don't want to tell you that you've wasted your time waiting here, but I'm not joining the volunteer alliance."
It takes a second to sink in. "What?"
"Not joining the volunteer alliance," he repeats. "I work better alone."
"Are you joking?" I ask him.
"Why would I joke about that?" The elevator doors open then, and he steps inside. I almost hesitate to follow him in.
"Maybe because breaking off from the group early on is a decision we've been advised against since the beginning of training." I scan his eyes for even a glimmer of understanding. "You can't just decide to tackle this on your own."
"I already did. I'm perfectly—"
"You have to meet the others." I can't bring myself to let him finish. "You have to gauge the threat level of your potential enemies. Get to know your potential allies."
The floor number winds down to one, ground level, before he looks at me. "I don't really want to get to know them. Not if they all have to die for me to win this. You can't tell me you won't be thinking it when they introduce themselves."
I frown. "I try not to think like that. Not this early, anyway."
"That's dangerous," says Francis as the doors open. I throw up my hands.
"Well, if it suits you, you can think about them dying all you want. But when four well-trained tributes want to ally with you, you don't just pass."
My district partner stops in the hallway, letting the doors close behind us. "You really want me to meet the other volunteers?"
I try to contain my exasperation.
"Yes. You and I, Francis, we've got an opportunity that only belongs to us, and those four other tributes in the field." I tell him. "Taking it for granted would be a huge mistake."
I can tell he's thinking about it. I question whether I worded it in a way that could bring him back. Luckily, something I said seems to ring true for him. Hesitantly, he nods.
"If I can't trust them, I'll leave."
"Thank you," I say, my shoulders relaxing. The two of us approach the gym doors.
I glance at my partner's face, knowing that I don't have to ask him if he's ready.
…
The Head Trainer keeps it brief. Soon enough, she's off to the knife-throwing station, and Francis and I make a beeline for the District Ones.
They make an intimidating pair this year, the tall blond boy with a soldier's posture and a prince's air, the broad-shouldered girl with the coppery hair who smiles as if she's in the midst of a great adventure. I decide immediately that I like the look of the female tribute, that magnetic grin, so I direct my introduction towards her.
"Arden, is it?" She regards me with eyes the color of sparkling steel. "I'm Opal. This is—"
"Paris Calloway," the blond boy interrupts. "Near-top of my class in weapons training, back in One, with equally high marks for my leadership skills."
Opal touches my shoulder. "I told him we didn't need a proper leader. He won't listen to me."
It surprises me, the realization that I've never really thought about choosing a leader. Less surprising is that I don't have a problem letting Paris take the job. I could go out for the position myself, but I feel it's unnecessary. If no alliance is permanent in the arena, why go for a position of power that you'll never be able to keep?
"The only reason I'm not listening to you is because you're wrong," Paris says, looking indignant. "We may be a very capable group, yes, but a party like this needs someone to keep things organized."
"Which leads him to his point," Opal mutters.
"Which leads me to my point!" Paris tells us. "I would be honored to lead this alliance to victory."
"I'm sorry, did you say you were going to lead?" Another voice interrupts Paris's impassioned speech. I'm not sure how long the tributes from District Four have been standing behind us. It's the female tribute who's spoken, a heavyset girl with immaculate eye makeup—she's got a skill I'd probably envy, if that was my thing. Behind her stands her taller, broader district partner, who looks almost apologetic.
"Yes." Paris gives her a once-over, obviously unimpressed. "Did you say you were going to challenge me?"
The girl sniffs. "No. But it's not a bad idea."
Francis turns to me with what I can only imagine is a look of exasperation. I pretend not to see him.
"You're Brina Whaley, aren't you?" Opal puts herself between them. "And Beckett McKenzie?"
The introductions that follow remove some of the tension from the air, and Paris visibly relaxes. Brina, who has remained cool through the entire ordeal, begins to get on my nerves. Paris, at least, I can understand, but it bothers me that I can't get a read on the girl from Four.
I clear my throat, and the rest of the alliance turns to me.
"So, we're all here, then." I say. "What's the plan for today?"
Immediately, Paris brightens. "We should make showing off our skills a priority. Let's give the rest of the field something to be afraid of, huh?"
It's a solid enough idea. I nod.
"That's a dumb plan," Brina says, looking aloof. "Intimidation tactics are so…well, just unnecessary. They're already scared of us."
"Hey, wait. You just—" Her district partner, who's been quiet up to this point, looks astounded. Paris makes sure we don't have time to figure out what's wrong.
"I guess you've got a better idea, then?" Paris challenges her.
"I mean, not really." Brina shrugs. "But I'm sure the others do. Just look at them."
Paris frowns at us for a moment, trying to figure out if we're plotting to undermine his supposed authority. "Well?"
There's a pause. I break the silence. "I'd like to work on skills like spear-throwing, swordplay. And the survival stations, definitely. I think those skills would benefit us the most in the long run."
"I agree with Arden," says Beckett from behind us. "Spears, swords, and knives are the most common weapons found in the Cornucopia."
"And if we're prepared to use those," I say, "We don't have to search too hard for a weapon during the initial battle."
Paris considers. "He's got a point."
"Calloway, are you blind?" Brina rolls her eyes at him. "That's a girl." I cringe, feeling my ears start to burn.
Francis steps forward to interrupt. "I just want to observe for today. Pick a place to sit and learn about my competition."
Despite it being the first time Francis has spoken in a group setting, Brina and Paris take on the same look of distaste. "Next."
Opal steps up to the plate. "This isn't getting us anywhere. We should split up today."
"Fine by me," says Paris. "For now, at least, let's have Beckett, Arden, and I on weapons, and Opal, Francis, and Brina on survival stations."
"No," says Brina immediately. "Put me on weapons."
Paris exhales. "But you just said—"
"Do you have to be so difficult?" she asks him. "It's not that important, is it?"
"I'll switch with her." I cut in. I'd much rather be with my district partner and the less annoying One, anyway.
We split up, most of the pack satisfied with their respective assignments. Seems like we're in for a fun first day, the three of us. Despite the fact that Francis looks ready to ditch us the first chance he gets.
This time, I really can't blame him.
…
I spend the morning with Opal, hopping from survival station to survival station until we get unbelievably bored. Turns out, the two of us are both competent survival-wise, so we probably weren't the best candidates for Remedial Plant Identification, after all. I only make it a few hours before my hand starts twitching, longing for me to put a dagger in it and start fighting for real. But as much as I'd like to skip the formalities and head straight to the arena, the tributes by my side seem to genuinely need the training time.
At lunch, we pull two tables together, right in the middle of the dining floor, so we can all fit around them. Something about weapons training has warmed Paris and Brina up towards each other a bit, although it seems to have come at the expense of Beckett's energy. The boy from Four doesn't even get food, opting to rest his head on the table instead. I look around for Francis, and find him seated by himself in the corner of the dining hall.
"What's his deal?" Opal asks me, nodding to my partner. "Is he out?"
"We'll see," I say, pushing in my chair. I cross the floor to meet him, feeling more than a few pairs of eyes on my back.
"No change, huh?" I don't sit down in front of him, afraid my allies will think we're conspiring against them. "You're still not joining?"
He doesn't answer at first, staring at his sandwich. "I don't trust them."
"I just don't get it," I tell him. "Paris is an excellent swordsman. Opal can make a proper bear trap out of twigs and vines. Beckett knows everything about the Games you'd ever need to know. And get this, apparently Brina's got incredible sponsor power. You really didn't find any of them worth sticking around for?"
Francis lifts his cup slightly, as if making a toast. "Just you."
"Obviously not," I say, annoyed. "If you're leaving anyway."
"That's not what I meant." He shakes his head. "I don't want to be their ally. But I'll be yours, if you want."
"I want us to work together, man. I do." I look over my shoulder. Paris is the only one still watching. "But I also want to give myself the best chance I've got out there."
"So the first thing you do is surround yourself with enemies?" Francis asks.
"That's not what I'm doing."
"Leave them," he says, "and we can face the arena as a team. Or stay with your pack, and I'll keep working alone. No harm, no foul."
"No hard feelings," I tell him, turning around. When he doesn't respond, I start to put distance between myself and his sad little table.
"Hey, think about it!" he calls after me, but not before I've already crossed half the dining floor, made it back to the others.
Doesn't stop me from listening.
Tybalt Egan / District Nine Male
The only blade I've ever held in my hands, I used to cut stalks of wheat. I could never imagine pointing one at a person and shoving it inside of them, as this trainer seems to think is the tool's proper purpose. Most of the other tributes at the station look a little green as she explains the many ways this wheat-cutting object can be used to end someone's life.
The girl from Five kind of swats at the target, as if she's trying to squash a fly but doesn't like the idea of bug juice on her fingers. The girl from Twelve is trying to throw her knives, but can't make a single weapon stick. The boy from Six, the volunteer—Connor, is it?—can only stare at the knife rack, unable to pick one to start with. None of these tributes look like they have any hope of using this particular weapon in the arena—especially not on another tribute—and it hurts me that I have to count myself among them. I have yet to do anything with the knife in my hand.
"I've never even seen a knife like this in person before," I remark out loud, inspecting the weapon I'm holding. Some kind of hunting weapon, it must be.
The girl from Five looks up. "Me neither. I don't even know where to begin."
"I've used a scythe, during the harvest," I say faster, grateful for someone to talk to, "But I was never very good at it."
"How would you swing it?" she asks, and then flushes a bit. "Sorry. I'm Emmeryn."
"Tybalt," I tell her. "Kind of side to side, like this." I mimic the motion of my scythe in the fields, trying to imagine that I'm back in my home district, going through the motions of the harvest. Emmeryn copies my movements, seeming to understand.
"I worked in an apothecary's shop back home," she says. "I'm good at identifying plants, but…not much else, I guess."
"We all start somewhere." I shrug, and she smiles.
"Want to try a different station?" she asks. "Something more my speed? Maybe I can show you a few things, too."
It's then that I realize I've given this tribute the wrong idea.
"I, uh…" I blink, searching for an out. "sure, just…"
I end up excusing myself, going off to look for a bathroom, abandoning Emmeryn at the knife station. I try to tell myself it wasn't really my fault, that she can't blame me for not wanting to be her ally. But it was, and she can; I just had to start up a conversation, didn't I? I hope Perry's doing a better job listening to Whit's advice.
No such luck, for either of us. My real ally approaches me just before the end of training, and to my alarm, she isn't alone. Beside her—or rather, behind her—is the twelve-year-old girl from Eleven. All five-foot-nothing of her.
"Tybalt," Perry says cautiously. "This is Annona."
Oh, no. No, no, no.
"Hello, Annona," I say with a forced smile.
"Nice to meet you," the girl says. "You can call me Ann."
"Ann has very good aim," Perry says. "And, as we learned this morning, that's a skill neither of us has. It's something that could be very useful in the arena."
I look at the twelve-year-old again. "Can I speak to Perry alone for a minute?"
"Um, sure," she says, looking worried. I will myself not to look at her eyes.
Time to be the bad guy. You can do this, Tybalt. I try to use Ruy's voice to calm my nerves, but it doesn't work. Because that's not what he would tell me at all. If he were actually here, he'd probably say something more like:
I warned you about this moment. They're your competition. Don't screw this up by thinking about them like friends.
Oddly enough, the realistic version of Ruy helps much more.
"Tell me you didn't invite her into our alliance," I say to Perry.
"I, uh, can't do that." She avoids my eyes.
"She's twelve, Perry!" I whisper.
"She needs our help," she says, "And maybe we need hers, too."
"Maybe we're fine on our own," I say weakly. Perry looks at me.
"That's not true. We need all the help we can get."
"From stronger tributes," I say. "The boy from Seven. The girl from Ten. Older tributes, tributes with skills they can teach us."
"Give her a chance, at least."
"I want to," I say, conflicted. "I really want to, but I also want to do what's best for us both. What would Whit say about this?"
My district partner looks over my shoulder, distracted.
"Whit gives confusing advice."
Chapter Question: Who do you think should lead the Career pack?