The Mentors
Chapter Thirteen
Hazel Birchbark (D7)
I've come to the conclusion that Forrest is the most annoying son of a bitch I will ever met. Olive, on the other hand, I like. She's quiet, smart, and makes me not want to rip someone's hair out.
We're eating dinner and Forrest is having a conversation with the escort. I try to tune them out by imagining what a real male tribute would look like, but it only keeps my mind off his existence for a few minutes.
I swallow a mouthful of food and clear my throat. Olive looks up, her face expectant. "So what are you going to do if you win?"
Olive look down. "I don't-."
"I know what I'm going to do when I win," Forrest pipes up and I grind my teeth together. And then he babbles on, describing a horrifying lifestyle- well, horrifying to me.
He goes on and on until I just . . . snap.
"Just shut the hell up!" I scream. "I don't want to hear about what you're going to do when you win, because you aren't going to!"
His eyes widen and his mouth drops open in surprise. "Some mentor you are." He pushes away from the table violently, upending a bowl of soup, before storming out of the room.
"To hell with him." I grin brightly at his departure. The escort gives me an aghast look so I hiss at him, causing the bastard to run away. Olive and I are left at the table in silence.
"Thank you," she says quietly.
"What for?" I ask, while stuffing my mouth with a chicken leg.
"Making them leave," she answers. "They're annoying."
"Someone who feels the same way!" I exclaim. "I'm starting to really like you."
"Great," she drags out the word sarcastically. She reminds me of Birch, in some ways. She's more quiet than Birch, almost drifting into the background, but she has moments where I can see a slight resemblance between the two.
"Any skills I should know of?" I wonder aloud, ignoring the comment.
Olive's eyebrows furrow in thought. "I've been chopping trees down since I was eight."
"Can you throw an axe though?" I ask.
"I've never really tried," she admits, eyes glued to the table. "But I think I could."
I examine her arms. "You certainly have the muscle for it. Anything else?"
"I don't know how to use any other weapon."
"Skill with weapons is not the only thing that matters in the Hunger Games," I tell her with a small smile. I'm trying to be supportive and pleasant than usual, she seems to respond to it.
"I can run pretty fast and I'm strong." Olive grimaces. "That's . . . that's all I can do."
"Here's you training strategy, okay? Spend some time at the throwing knives station, it's basically the same thing as throwing an axe, but you need better aim and less muscle. The rest of your time should be spent with survival tactics. Understand?"
She listens fastidiously. "Thank you, Hazel."
I snort. "Any time. And don't ally with Forrest, no matter what else you do. But do try for at least one ally, they can help a lot. I, myself, didn't have the patience for them, but you'll do well with one."
"I can do that," she tells me, her smile brilliant.
Olive is such a joy to be around compared to my other tribute.
Garland "Garl" Riggs (D12)
Anise and Sage are not as hopeless as I originally thought. They might have some fight in them yet. They both have large families and are the eldest so they have reason to try to live.
They eat large amounts, but always stop when I tell them. I am fearful that the rich food will make another appearance and I can't have that. They need some meat on their bones.
The escort is horribly perky, and never fails to note that when Anise comes to dinner her eyes are red-rimmed from crying. I've been ignoring the idiot whenever she says anything just for that cruelty.
Anise misses her home and her six brothers. She misses her parents. She misses the simplicity of life before she was reaped. She feels cheated out of life.
Sage feels the same way, I'm sure. Every tribute I've mentored for the last twenty-eight years has felt that way. Hell, I felt that way.
I walk through the train hallways and hear a deep, guttural sound coming from Anise's room. I'm a little freaked out but I knock on the door anyway. I hear a noise of surprise from the other side of the door.
"Go away!" Anise shouts, her voice breaking. She's been crying, the guttural sound was most likely sobs. How did I not realize that in the first place?
"It's me, Anise." There's no noise from the room. "It's Garl."
I hear a sniff and the door opens slowly. Her face is agonized and I can suddenly relate to this seventeen-year old more than anyone else. She walks back to her bed and plops down, pulling her legs to her chest. I sit in the corner of the room in a cushioned chair.
"Are you going to write me off for missing my family?" she snaps, voice filled with bitterness.
"No, I'm not," I reply gently. "It's okay, it is completely natural. I cried on the train ride when I was reaped, it happens to everyone."
Anise sniffs once more. "It makes me feel weak to cry."
I tell her one of the only things I've learned over the years. "Everyone cries at some point. There's no reason to feel weak because of it."
"The sponsors may not like you if you cry in public, though," I joke, when she doesn't reply.
She doesn't even attempt a smile. I sigh and move to the bed beside her. "Just don't let this make you think you have no reason to fight. You have a family that needs you, don't you?"
"I do," Anise croaks.
"Then you have to try."
She thinks over what I've said and smiles weakly, "If I do . . . die . . . please tell my family I tried. Only for them."
"You think that now," I reply with a knowing smile. "But you're doing this for yourself, too, Anise."