I'm back, everyone...and no, I neither died nor disappeared, though I'm recuperating from a serious bout of the flu, complicated by bronchitis. The funny thing is, I got my flu shot this year, and yet I still managed to contract one of the strains not included in this year's vaccine. Just my luck.
Anyway, since I'm still stuck in bed most of the day but I'm no longer practically comatose from the medicine, I'm here today with our latest update. My special thanks go to reviewers NutsandVolts and Inksmith, as well as buecherwurm91, who recently favorited this story.
11
The tributes return earlier from their third day of training than they had on either of the previous days. Torque arrives first, because if I remember correctly, the boy from each district precedes the girl at private sessions, an order that will be reversed at interviews.
"How did it go?" Beetee, Lucretia and I all ask at once as he steps into the hall, mildly surprised to find the three of us lying in wait for him. We've been standing in a jittery, taciturn, expectant row about five feet from the front door, waiting in absolute silence for the past hour.
"Okay, I guess," he says, his response infuriatingly vague.
"Did you wreck any more of their training dummies?" Beetee asks keenly.
"Yeah, I remembered how much you liked that," Torque answers with a slight smile. "I changed things up a bit, decapitated one with a sword. That wasn't as easy as it looks," he continues pensively, breaking off as he watches our reactions in astonishment. Beetee and I grab each other's hands, trying valiantly to keep from jumping up and down in excitement. "How did the Gamemakers look?" I ask breathlessly. For this one reason, and few others, I'm forever grateful that we're a low-numbered district; I've heard that by the time the Gamemakers see the tributes from Eleven and Twelve, they're not even paying attention anymore.
"Impressed, I suppose…one clapped a little when I did my bit with the sword."
There's nothing for it; it's gone as well as we could've possibly hoped. Beetee and I, still handclasped, are literally dancing around the dining area in jubilation, because the idea of mentoring a tribute who impressed the Gamemakers with his physical prowess, of all things, is so novel it's intoxicating.
"Did you talk to the Careers?" Beetee inquires suddenly as he spins me around the dining table, and we freeze in our tracks, dizzy, slightly off-balance, awaiting Torque's answer.
"Yeah," he begins slowly, clearly not wanting to elaborate but recognizing that we won't settle for a one-word answer. "Yeah, Sable and Quartz—that's the girl from Two" he adds, seeing our puzzled expressions, "Sable and Quartz asked me at lunch. I said…"
"Yes? Go on, Torque, we're not judging you…we've all done what we had to do when it was our turn."
He hesitates. I know he wasn't keen on the idea of teaming up with the Careers, but there's no obvious explanation for the vague shiftiness in his manner. Finally, with the air of one swallowing some particularly unpleasant medicine, Torque confesses.
"I said I would, but only if they lay off Deirdre," says Torque in a big rush.
This is completely unexpected. I gasp audibly, unable to contain my surprise.
"And what—what did they say?" questions Beetee, who I can tell is trying to figure out how he should respond to Torque's surprising revelation.
Torque looks slightly relieved at having gotten the information off his chest, even if it's unclear how we feel about it at this moment. "They said okay, but they can't make any promises once most of the other tributes are dead. And they said if she attacks us, all deals are off."
I let out a sigh, feeling dizzy, knowing it's not due to the dancing and spinning, at least not anymore. The Careers, purposely avoiding Deirdre…it's better than I could've wished for. Beetee grins at Torque, whose shoulders seem to relax now that he realizes that he's not going to be reprimanded. "You did exactly right," Beetee praises him, "it was very noble of you." I nod fervently when Torque looks to me for confirmation.
"Can I go now?" Torque asks uncertainly, looking from Beetee to me and back again. Lucretia's giggling into her hands and is probably not the best person to look to for a cue just now.
"Go on," Beetee replies, and Torque disappears down the hall. Without waiting even a minute after Torque's back retreats out of sight, Beetee turns to me, looking serious.
"Well," he begins, "that was..."
"Unexpected?" I finish. He nods fervently in confirmation.
"It certainly was," he agrees. "I wonder what brought that on?"
"I think he...he feels...protective of..." I struggle to explain, thinking of how I might feel towards my younger brother Bolton in similar circumstances.
"Protective?" Beetee repeats absentmindedly, "yes, I'm sure he must...though that could be due to any number of...might have some other motivation behind...wouldn't be surprised if..." His voice trails off inaudibly, so engrossed is he in his own thoughts. I know better than to try and figure out what he's talking about, because he doesn't look like he's planning on explaining further.
"Do you think it'll hurt his chances?" I ask, hoping to pull Beetee out of his reverie. He looks up as if he's surprised to see me, even though not a moment ago, this had been a two-person conversation.
"I don't know," he admits. "If the Careers turn against him, then they'd both be targets. But if he stays in their good graces until he can kill them off, then she's safe as well." I reflect on this for a moment. Torque's dangerous gamble will apparently pay off either all or nothing for Deirdre as well.
Deirdre arrives shortly after Torque wanders off to his room to wait for dinner. Rather than converging on her at the door, we sit at the dining table and wait for her to approach us.
"Well, it's done," she says wearily, sinking into an empty chair at the table. We both fix her with inquiring glances and she elaborates. "I threw some knives, built a shelter…completely avoided the fires, though, hope you don't mind. It went pretty much the same way training went yesterday. They didn't speak at all; just scribbled stuff on their clipboards."
"Very good," Beetee says. "Remember, the training scores are only used for betting purposes. Some tributes try to do terrible, some tributes actually are terrible and end up winning…I'd say you'll score solidly in the middle of the pack, but that means nothing, because the arena's nothing like the Training Center."
Deirdre nods weakly, and indicates that she'd like to change before dinner, so she abandons us to discuss her progress in her absence.
"Well, she wasn't in tears, so that's a good sign," Beetee says flatly.
"Yes, at least there's that," I concede. "Did you really mean that, about the training scores?"
"Of course. Did you get a top score?"
I think back to my own private session. "No," I admit, "I got a six."
"I got a five," Beetee confesses. "And look at us now. Training scores count for very little in the grand scheme of things."
Beetee's predictions come true, down to the last detail. After dinner, we all gather in front of the television screen to watch the airing of the training scores. Caesar Flickerman appears on the screen, and there's some pointless exposition on what the tributes have been doing for the past three days before a picture of the District One boy appears on the screen.
Predictably, the tributes from One and Two all score in the 8-to-10 range. Then, Torque's score appears on the screen. Nine.
"Well, would you look at that!" quips Caesar onscreen. "Nine—a very impressive score; I believe it sets a new high score record for District Three! I'm telling you, the factory district is serving up surprise after surprise this year, ever since last year's shocking victory..."
We scarcely hear the additional commentary, thought, because we're all cheering so loudly. Torque had elaborated on his strategy to join the Careers over dinner, and his nine in training furthers his cover quite credibly.
Apparently satisfied in his discussion of Torque's unforeseen nine, Caesar moves on to Deirdre. Six. He immediately recalls the audience's attention to my own six last year.
We watch the rest of the tributes' scores in relative silence. The pair from Four score matching nines; the remaining tributes' scores range from four to seven, with the little boy from Seven standing as the exception. He scores a two. No one speaks when his score is read. Beetee looks down dejectedly, because we both know this boy will most likely be the first casualty of the Games.
After the final tribute's score fades from the screen, Caesar good-naturedly reminds the viewers to tune in the day after tomorrow for the live broadcast of the tributes' interviews. Felix clicks the remote control and the screen goes black.
"Well," says Lucretia briskly, "Off to bed, then! Big day tomorrow—so much to do before the interviews!" She leaps from her the spot where she'd been poised at the end of the sofa and actually chivvies the tributes out towards their bedrooms.
I'm brushing my hair in the full-length mirror in my bedroom after everyone's headed off to bed. My hair is so thick and unmanageable that this takes about three-quarters of an hour most nights. I'm doing battle with a particularly stubborn knot, my eyes squinting as I blink back tears, when I hear the voices coming from the dining area. I'd thought everyone would be trying to get some sleep by now. There's something furtive about the whispers I hear coming from outside, something that tells me that they'd break off their conversation if they knew I was listening, so I crouch down behind my door and, after only a moment of hesitation in which I question the ethics of eavesdropping, I crouch down behind my bedroom door, press my ear to the crack between door and doorframe and listen with bated breath.
"So, tell me: why'd you really do it?" It's Beetee's voice, politely curious but with a grave edge to it.
"Do...what?" Torque's feigned ignorance fools no one, not even me, hidden behind the closed door.
"You know exactly what. Bargain with the Careers to protect Deirdre."
"What, I need a reason? It seemed like the right thing to do," Torque protests. I can imagine him shrugging his shoulders noncommittally.
Beetee seems to laugh. "Everyone's got an ulterior motive; it's the Hunger Games. I'm just curious to know what I'm working with here. I can't help you if you're not honest with me. Now, tell me, why'd you do it? Did she ask you to?"
Torque bristles at this, his voice is vehement as he denies it. "No! No, she'd never ask me to...she doesn't even know..."
Beetee sighs audibly. "Do you love her? Is that why you did it?"
I gasp, then clap my hand over my mouth, hoping I wasn't too loud. Love? Two tributes? The very idea takes me by surprise; I can't remember seeing any Games where the tributes from any given district were in love with each other, though I admit it's possible. But wouldn't one of us have noticed something before? I cast my mind back over every moment I've spent with the two of them together. Had either of them acted in a manner that may have disguised secret feelings of love? Maybe she doesn't know about it, I remind myself. It would make sense for a boy to want to protect the girl he loves, even from a prudent distance, maybe unacknowledged. It would be terribly romantic.
"No, I'm not in love with her," Torque admits. "I barely know her. She just...she's so small, and she looks so helpless next to those Careers...tries to be so nice to the other tributes...I guess if I ever had a sister, I'd want her to be like Deirdre," he finishes. Beetee doesn't respond immediately. Even from the next room, I can tell he's thinking hard.
"So...so you're saying you feel...protective of her? Like an older brother?"
"Exactly."
"Very well," Beetee replies. His voice betrays no telltale emotion, none at all. "I just wanted to be sure. Like I said earlier, it was very gallant of you. I just...I hope it works."
"Me, too," Torque agrees. "I didn't realize, not until after I'd said it, that this meant they might go after her as a way of getting at me...by the time I realized, it was too late. I was stupid, I guess."
"No," Beetee counters. "No, not stupid. You were trying to do the right thing. Like you'd told your mother you would. It's admirable."
Torque's voice wavers ever-so-slightly. "I told my mom...told her I'd try to make her proud. I thought...maybe..."
"She'll be proud," Beetee assures him, "how can she not be? I know I am, and Wiress, too. You take that with you when you go into that arena, and think about it whenever things get too tough. You'll do that?"
Torque doesn't answer; I assume he must have nodded by way of response, because Beetee says, "Good. Now get some rest, won't you? We've still got work to do before the Games, and I can't have you falling asleep on me when I'm trying to give you valuable mentor-tribute advice." A moment later, I hear footsteps passing my door and retreat back, towards my bed, just in case either of them were to come looking for me and find me eavesdropping.
I lie in my bed, looking out the window, waiting for Beetee to make his customary appearance, turning over what I'd heard Torque say in my mind. I can't help feeling guilty, maybe inferior, because while he's tempting fate, possibly courting disaster so that he can think well of himself and make his mother proud, all I'd concerned myself with in the Games was getting out of that arena, one way or another. I'm a selfish woman, I conclude. But you're also a survivor, the voice in my head responds. Doesn't that make up for it?
I honestly can't say.
Well, there you have it. I hope you readers are doing well and aren't sick like me. Please do me the courtesy of reviewing and I will, hopefully, be back very soon with chapter 12.
Yours,
Delilah