The Pretty Little Liar
A/N: Welcome, welcome! This is Claudius Templesmith, your Hunger Games commentator. The almighty SilverAquaTrident apologizes sincerely for the late update - drama club and homework have been extremely hectic. She solemnly swears never, ever, ever to go so long without updating without notice ever again. Once again, she is really really really really really really really really sorry!
Anyway, this chapter is going to be a bit different than the previous ones. There will be excessive 'POV tango', meaning that the POVs will switch throughout the chapter. (i.e. one part will be from Cato's perspective, another from Glimmer's, etc.) This only pertains to this chapter; the other chapters will be just as normal, except for maybe the Bloodbath chapter (which, by the way, IS 2 CHAPTERS AWAY! :D)
As usual, thanks for all the reviews, favorites, and support.
May the odds be ever in your favor!
**UPDATED 9/29/12: A new poll has been created on SilverAquaTrident's profile page. This one only asks what Career you are rooting for. Can you please vote in in? Pretty please? And by the way, thank you for all the votes in her last poll!**
Marvel Tomlinson
10:44 A.M.
District 1 Residential Floor
I study the strange, frosting-covered object in my hands, turning it round and round and feeling the odd, squishy texture, observing the wide gaping hole in the middle. Natalie called it a 'doughnut' or something like that when I asked her what it was a few seconds ago. Apparently it's a delicacy in the Capitol, and it was very common when that place called America existed. Unable to contain my curiosity any longer, I sink my teeth into the doughnut gingerly and find that it's sweet and savory, melting in my mouth a bit. However, I don't see the point of the hole in the middle, that big, wide, gaping void. It takes away from the whole splendor of it, really.
As I stare into the hole, holding it close to my face like one would with a monocle, I realize something: I feel like the hole in the doughnut.
Yes, I am the hole in the doughnut. I'm like a doughnut with a vast, endless hole in the middle. And what used to fill that hole was Glimmer.
Last night, when Cato gave me that brilliant advice, I practically skipped off that roof. Something inside of me was telling me that Glimmer would listen to me, that she would know that I wasn't plotting to kick her out of the alliance. Reassurance was spreading through me like vinegar spreading through olive oil, because I knew that for sure that Fiona lied about Glimmer hating me.
Then that reassurance popped like a soap bubble.
Glimmer didn't believe any of it, not one bit. She screamed awful things at me, worse than our last fight. She said that I betrayed her, that I'm twisted and dishonorable, and that I had no right to call Fiona a liar when I was one myself. Thank goodness I had dodged most of the projectiles she launched at me, though I did result in multiple injuries.
Most of those injuries are internal.
It's almost as if that hole inside of me, the hole in the doughnut, is growing bigger and bigger every second. I was on my way to fixing Glimmer, to being a loyal and trustworthy friend for her, but Fiona completely wrecked that whole idea.
But why? Why did she have to do that? There's something suspicious going on among the rest of the Careers, and it's making me uneasy. Fiona's been lying to both me and Glimmer, and possibly Clove. She obviously wants to cause trouble for some reason. I don't know how that could possibly benefit her in any way, but the other Careers need to know about it. They need to know that Fiona will harm the alliance, and if she keeps this up, the alliance could be torn apart. We can't trust Fiona.
Fiona.
Just the mere mention of her name makes me want to scream. She's hurting Glimmer, she's filling us all with discord, and yet no one besides Cato and I knows about it. I've never felt this kind of anger before. It makes me want to yell, it makes me want to throw something, it even makes me want to punch someone. And never, in my entire life, have I ever wanted to hurt someone.
Then again, the Hunger Games change everyone. And almost every time, they change people for the worst.
"Marvel, sweetie, loosen your grip on that doughnut. Are you trying to kill it?"
I look down at the doughnut and realize that I've been clutching the doughnut so tightly that it's falling apart, and my hands are smeared with the chocolate frosting. I don't even have time to blush and mumble an awkward apology before Natalie laughs that annoying, chirpy giggle.
"Don't worry, sweetie, you'll have plenty of time for killing things when you get to the arena!"
I shudder, knowing that Natalie Fritter is absolutely right.
The phony grin plastered on her makeup-smeared face especially unsettles me today. I think back to the time on the train ride when Natalie barged in on me in the library and screamed at me to put down that curious little book that I had been reading. That's when I knew for sure that underneath that creepy smile was rage and suspicion.
There seems to be lot of that in the Hunger Games - rage, suspicion, and creepy smiles.
Cashmere clears her throat. "Well, on that optimistic note, I want to remind you that you're gonna have to go to your private training sessions soon."
Dionysus rolls his eyes and thins his cranberry juice with a clear, smelly liquid. "Yeah, because they didn't know that already," he slurs sarcastically.
Cashmere ignores Dionysus and continues on. "Just remember, don't hold back your talent at all. Get the best possible score that you can. You can go now. Have fun, stab some dummies, and please, try not to gain any more serious injuries." She shoots a worried look toward me, to which I send a weak, forced smile.
As I get up and walk toward the elevator, I avoid Glimmer's eyes and hurry past her. One look into those pained emerald eyes would hurt me more than the glass vase Glimmer threw at me last night.
Just as I'm about to press the button for the elevator, a force grabs me, jerking me from my spot. "Hey -" Before I can resist, someone drags me into a room a few feet away and slams the door behind me, leaving me in pitch black. "Whoa, what are you -" The lights suddenly turn on, and I find myself inside the bathroom, staring into an all-too-familiar pair of sea green eyes.
"Hey Marvel," Fiona says smugly, brushing back a wave of red hair. "So, did you do it?"
"Do what?" I snap, wanting to scream at the sight of that wretched, evil girl.
Fiona makes a mock pouting face. "Aw, did the little idiot forget the plan already?" Her taunting tone infuriates me as I remember the day I met her, when she seemed so sweet and good-natured, and now she stands before me as a girl with such a jet black heart. "You were supposed to sneak down to District Two's floor and spike up Clove's drink."
I can feel my eyes widen into oversized amber marbles. With all the other problems floating around, I completely forgot about the plan I made with Fiona to prevent Clove from getting the highest training score. That was back when I trusted her. But things are different now...
"Too bad," I say. "I can't trust you anymore, so I'm opting out."
I catch a small hint of surprise in Fiona's eyes, but she quickly recovers, snickering. "Well, that doesn't really matter. See, I kind of guessed that you'd say that, so I already carried out the plan myself just before I came up here. It was easy; I simply sneaked into the Avox kitchens and found her drink order and messed around with some vodka and such. By now, Clove should be completely disoriented."
"But if you already successfully completed the plan, why are you asking me if I did it?" I retort, raising an eyebrow out of confusion.
A devious smirk forms across Fiona's bright red lips. "I have my ways, Marvel," she says mysteriously, her voice dripping with smugness. "And when we get to the arena, you'll find out exactly what they are."
A glare darkens my face. "That's not completely true, Fiona," I say. "I know exactly how you operate. And let me tell you, by the end of the day, all the Careers will have discovered your twisted little schemes. I promise."
I'm about to step out the door, but I turn back around to face her. "And I always stick to my promises. No matter what."
Clove McKinnon
10:58 A.M.
I rub my eyes and suppress a moan as Maximus babbles endlessly about the latest underarm polishing treatments. Really, I think it's his brainpower that needs to get polished. I mean, he actually tried to order a lemonade 'without ze citrus flavor'. I politely atempted to tell him that that would make it just water with sugar, but somehow, that didn't affect his choice. He now sips a glass of water with a bunch of sugar resting at the bottom. If I had any doubts that the Capitolites' brains have disintegrated along with their dignity over the years, those doubts have all but vanished completely.
Enobaria holds up her hand just as Maximus gets a little too graphic about the gruesome process of getting his underarms squeaky clean. "Cato and Clove, your drinks are here."
An Avox waiter comes in bearing a tray of two brightly colored beverages - one of them blood red, the other a neon green. Both are the exact same drink, it's just that you can order whatever color you want. I absentmindedly grab the green one off the tray and listen as Apollo finally changes the subject.
"Drink those up," he comments, urgently pointing to his watch. "We're running a little late this morning."
"No we're not," Enobaria responds. "It's just that Districts One and Four always get down there way too early. We've got plenty of time."
I see Apollo's tense muscles relax slightly. "Okay, good. So, let's discuss your private training sessions."
I shrug and take a sip of the drink through the matching green straw. I cringe slightly. Is this drink supposed to be this strong? I glance sideways at Cato, who seems completely unaffected by the alcohol level in his drink. That's strange - I've endured tons of whiskey back at the Academy. How can one sip make me feel this woozy? I force myself to suck it up and keep listening to the conversation.
"I know exactly what I'm going to do," Cato says, beaming with cockiness. "I'm gonna dominate, like I always do!"
Enobaria rolls her eyes, but Apollo grins with satisfaction. "That's the spirit!" he exclaims. "In training sessions, confidence is key."
"In training sessions, confidence is key," I repeat in a mocking, sarcastic tone. I absentmindedly take a small sip of the drink, and the world suddenly seems to tilt. It feels as though a small rock is sitting at the bottom of my stomach. Cato shoots me a quizzical look, but I simply raise my eyebrows nonchalantly. I don't want him to know that the alcohol is affecting me this much.
Maybe you should stop drinking it, I think to myself. You don't want to be all tipsy during training today.
I ponder this for a moment. Nah, I'll probably get used to it after a few sips, I reassure myself.
Apollo frowns and leans toward Enobaria. "Do we have to support her in the arena?" he whines like a little five-year-old.
Enobaria cocks her head and pauses. "I'm working on that." She turns back to us. "Anyway, Clove, what will you do?"
"Uh..." I begin. My voice comes out as a crack, and the world starts to tilt again. I suddenly feel kind of nauseous, that slight, continuous yucky feeling you get when you're sick. I clench my fist under the table and begin again. "Throw knives," I mutter weakly. I'm starting to get worried about what this drink is doing to me.
Enobaria and Apollo exchange worried glances. "Okay," Enobaria replies uneasily. "Well, it seems like you all have this down, so there's no point in discussing it. Off you go, and remember, I expect no less than a Nine from both of you. In fact, you'd better get a Ten, or else you'll have to deal with fangs embedded in your throat." She gestures to her cosmetically altered pointy teeth, the ones she used to kill that girl tribute from 12 awhile back. Both her and Apollo head back to their rooms.
As I'm about to get up, Cato stops me. "You don't look good," he comments. "Are you feeling okay?"
For a split second, I think I notice something odd in those steely grey eyes. Is it...concern?
No, I probably imagined it. We've been enemies for eight years, Cato would probably cheer and rejoice if he found out I was sick.
"Why do you care?" I ask, doing my best to keep my voice steady.
Cato smirks, that little glimmer of concern in his eyes completely masked. "Well, apparently, you can't handle a tiny bit of alcohol."
Before I can protest, Cato holds up his hand. "I know the signs, I've experienced them so much myself. Your eyes are clouded up, you're all dazed, your voice sounds off, and you're swaying slightly. So I guess that wimpy amount of morning liquor was too much for the almighty, unstoppable Clove McKinnon?"
My vision grows blurrier, and my stomach begins to lurch, like it always did when we went out on canoes in the stormy lake at the Academy. "No," I mutter. A shiver runs down my spine, and suddenly I feel like the world is starting to spin.
"Fine then," Cato says smugly. "Why don't you have another sip?"
My body screams in protest - if I take another sip, I won't be able to think straight. In fact, all the emotions I'm feeling right now are numb, dull, kind of like someone's poking me with a pencil that hasn't been sharpened completely. I can tell that anger and frustration are spreading through me, but it doesn't give me the same rush I've always felt when I'm in an internal rage.
However, I can't seem weak. Not in front of Cato. I force myself to close my eyes and take a tiny sip of the vile green drink.
It takes all of my willpower not to spit it right back out. It feels like fire, blazing through me, devouring my body. My head is light and airy, like a balloon, but my arms and legs seemed to be weighed down like lead. Careful not to seem too affected, I stand up slowly and stumble toward the elevator.
Cato catches up with me, but his mocking smirk is replaced by that glint of concern again. "Okay, I'm sorry I made you drink that last bit. Are you sure you're okay?"
I freeze for a moment and turn to face him. A lopsided grin somehow finds itself onto my face.
"Hey, I'm a Career. Careers don't miss training for anything. You should know that, ya big bum," I slap him on the back and continue on my way toward the elevator, feeling worse and worse as each second passes by.
Glimmer Maybelline
11:04 A.M.
Small room adjacent to the Training Floor.
I clench and un-clench my fists slowly, repetitively, so hard that little marks begin to form on my palms. I'm barely aware of anything, anything at all, besides one thing that lurks inside of me: Rage.
Last night, I didn't sleep a wink - I was too filled with bloodthirst, an untamed desire for Marvel's blood. That boy is the lowest, meanest, most twisted thing I've ever met.
That thought had finally settled into my head when Marvel sauntered into my room last night and begged for forgiveness, because he thought I was stupid enough to believe him.
What he didn't realize was that Glimmer Maybelline, the shallow dumb blonde, is much more bright than she appears.
He probably thinks that eventually I'll succumb to his wretched lies, that I'll give up and surrender myself. He's been taking advantage of my instability for the past few days, feeding on my wobbling emotions like a maggot feeding on old meat. I had thought that pummeling him with all my might would give me satisfaction, but I still feel like he didn't get the punishment he deserves yet. I still can barely bring myself to believe he would try to kick me out of the alliance, but something's telling me that it's true. After all, Fiona would never lie about that to me. She's too sweet...right?
A little voice, albeit much different than the one that's been causing part of my rage, begins to tug at me. Some people are very good actors, you know, the voice says. Fiona could have been twisting the truth all along.
I just now start to consider that idea, the idea that Fiona might have been trying to make me upset with lies. Maybe Marvel's a good actor too, I point out to the voice. He could be lying.
Glimmer, will you gain a brain for once! the voice huffs exasperatedly. You know that Marvel is not the lying type.
The voice has a point there. Marvel? Lying? As my head starts to clear, I realize that the idea is downright ridiculous. Just by looking at him, you can tell that he's too genuine to be a liar.
I need to confront Fiona and get the truth before my head explodes.
I glance around the room, searching for a telltale glint of auburn hair, but to no avail. The only other people in the room are Marvel, who stares at the floor, the pair from 10, the girl from 9, Noah, the pair from 12, and the girl from 5, Finch, I think. I recognize the guy who fell from the climbing bars, and see that his leg is now wrapped in a big cast. The way he winces when he shifts his leg while talking to Annabelle almost makes me cringe. The girl from 9, Lisa I heard someone call her during training, is sound asleep in a plush bean bag. Noah talks quietly with Finch, who bursts out laughing suddenly when Noah cracks a joke. Katniss and Peeta, the two idiots who stole our sponsors, sit stiffly apart, seeming so much less unified than they did holding hands in that chariot.
But where is Fiona?
The door slams open with a bang, making everyone jump. Lisa shrieks and topples out of the bean bag, causing Mailey to snicker.
Cato and Clove stumble inside the room, looking completely and utterly ridiculous. Cato supports a dazed Clove, who grins merrily and staggers into a bean bag. I raise an eyebrow. Judging by Cato's anxious expression, and the way Clove is now twirling around her dark brown ponytail, it's obvious that Clove is dead drunk. I almost snort. And she calls me an idiot.
"Uh...Clove?" Marvel says suspiciously. "Are you feeling alright?"
"I'm jolly as holly!" she proclaims loudly. She ignores Cato when he tries to shush her. "So how's life, everyone? C'mon, don't be shy!"
The other tributes exchange glances, some nervous, some concerned, but most downright gleeful at Clove's public humiliation.
"Um...not bad, I guess..." Annabelle replies, snickering.
Clove chuckles. "Really? But you're gonna be in the Hunger Games, and you're gonna die!" She laughs loudly, doubling over with glee.
"Clove, you're making a fool of yourself!" Cato hisses, but Clove ignores him.
"Oh, what a shame that we're gonna die," Lisa spits sarcastically. "Death would be far more pleasant than looking at your hideous face."
Finch elbows her in the stomach, shocked that she has the gall to say that to a Career. Really, is everyone turning into Mailey these days? Normally, I would slap District 9 for saying that, but this is just too hilarious to ruin it.
"That's life," Clove replies, shrugging her shoulders flamboyantly. "Hey, you!"
She gestures to the crippled boy, who groans and mutters "Oh, no, here she comes..."
"Yeah, guy with the broken leg! What's your name?"
The boy shifts uncomfortably, as Clove is now very close to him. "Um...I'm Keaton," he says. "District Ten."
"Ooh, we've got ourselves a little cowboy in the house, eh?" She leans forward to pinch his cheeks but tumbles back down onto the bean bag. Lisa howls with laughter, while the other tributes are either nervous or amused, probably both.
The girl from 6 enters through the door, her long light brown hair tied in a high ponytail that cascades down her back, pulled back from her freckled face. "Hey, join the party, little girl!" Clove whoops.
The girl raises her eyebrow and stifles a snicker. "Did I...miss something?" she asks, nearly cracking up at the sight of a normally dignified Career completely drunk.
"Oh, nothing really," Lisa replies. "Just District Two showing her true colors."
The girl nods. "I see."
"Wha's your name?" Clove slurs.
"Me?" the girl clarifies. "Oh, well, I'm Siobhan. Um...nice to meet you?"
I watch with pure amusement at the drunken banter between Siobhan and Clove for a few minutes, but then something catches my eye. It's Fiona, slinking in alongside Mailey, who walks over to Finch and Noah and bursts out laughing. The moment Fiona sees Clove, her eyes light up with delight, then they dim back down in stifled glee. Funny, it's almost like she was expecting Clove to be drunk or something...
Something occurs to me just now. The fact that Clove got drunk on the day of private training sessions, the day that will determine who will become the leader of the Careers, doesn't sound right at all. Clove might be an arrogant little brat, but she's smart enough not to get drunk on training days, if even at all. It wouldn't make sense for her to choose to get drunk today, unless...
"Fiona!" I whisper as Siobhan buries her face into a stray pillow to stifle her laughs. "Over here!"
Fiona's attention shifts from the disoriented girl on the bean bag to me. She maintains a neutral expression as she saunters up to me. "Oh, hey Glimmer," she says. "What a shame that Clove is drunk...it's a bit embarrassing how much this'll affect the Careers' reputation, don't you think?" Fiona says that last part brightly and sweetly...too sweetly...
"Listen, we need to talk," I whisper as Cato tries to shush Clove again. "Like, right now."
"Okay," Fiona replies. "Let's talk out in the hallway-"
Suddenly, an automated voice resonates out of some invisible speaker. "Tributes, we will now commence with this year's Private Training Sessions. When your name is called, please proceed immediately through the door and into the Training Floor. Thank you, and may the odds be ever in your favor."
A single moment passes until the automated voice rings out again. "Glimmer Speciosa Maybelline, District One Female Tribute."
Oh, shoot! I feel like slapping myself right now. This morning I was so filled with anger, that the fact that my private training session was coming up barely even crossed my mind. I never made a plan, never even thought about what I would do. I guess I shouldn't have stormed off during all those strategy meetings...
I tell myself to relax and stop freaking out. I'm a Career. Even if I throw one knife, the Gamemakers will be relatively impressed. I just need to put on my seductive-alluring facade that I've been using, and as soon as I step into the room, they'll be completely mystified.
"We'll talk later," I tell Fiona as I walk toward the door.
"Good luck!" she replies.
"Yeah, don't die!" Clove hollers, then bursts out laughing again, earning quite a few weird looks.
I place my hand on the door knob and take a moment to soak it all in, knowing that whether or not I'll become the leader of the alliance will all depend on these next few minutes.
I take a deep breath and turn the knob...
Cato Black
11:48 A.M.
Small room connecting to the training floor.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I can sense the quickening pace of my heartbeat as the seconds go by slowly, much too slowly.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The mahogany grandfather clock beside me clicks and clangs nonstop. I want to tell it to shut up, and maybe run it through with a sword or two. I've always hated clocks; the way they tick repetitively makes it seem as though there's a bomb somewhere about to explode.
Like the bomb that's hidden in the Black mansion at this very moment.
I give myself a quick mental slap. I can't think about that right now. Not with all the pressure about to become exerted upon me. I feel like a small animal trapped in a stone quarry, suffocating as the rocks begin to slide onto me. Maybe I'm overreacting about this whole training thing. Maybe my nervousness is justified. Either way, the fate of my private training session will determine how the Games will play out.
If I earn the highest score out of all the Careers, I'll become the leader of the pack. That will change the actions and strategy of the Career pack in general, which will affect the outcome of the Games. Also, our training scores as a whole will impact the number of sponsors willing to spend their last coins on us.
Well, it's not like the Capitolites ever run out of coins, anyway.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Really, I guess there's no reason to be nervous. I mean, it's not like I had to come up with some genius plan. All I have to do is chop a few dummy-heads off, and the Gamemakers will be thrilled. They're always thrilled with District 2. I swear, I have never seen a District 2 tribute earn a score below an 8, and even an 8 is rare. 9's and 10's are the standards we set for ourselves, and we almost always accomplish them.
At first, I was extremely worried about how high Clove's training score will be. Being Clove, she probably developed some mastermind plan that would make her training score excel. Even the simple thought of Clove leading the Careers makes me cringe.
Well, at least I have nothing to worry about now, with Clove getting drunk and all. Actually, Clove's drunkenness gives me everything to worry about. Why on earth would she embarrass the Careers like that? I could barely even look at her stumbling around and hollering like an idiot without shuddering. Part of me is on fire with rage, complete, indescribable rage, but the other part of me is concerned for her.
No, not exactly concerned. I don't care about her well being. Actually, I do. Wait, no - maybe. I don't know...
This is not the time to be thinking of stupid things like that! I scold myself. You hate Clove and you know it. Now focus on the task ahead.
I've got to admit, I do have a point there.
I tap my foot impatiently. Clove has been in the Training Floor for much too long. What if she fainted in the middle of the Training Floor? I nearly gasp at the idea. That could have very well happened. That would disgrace her, me, the Career pack, and our district in general! We already lost enough sponsors on the night of the chariot ride, and now -
"Cato Spartacus Black, District Two Male Tribute."
It's time.
A new found determination spreads through me, like black ink spreading through a vial of water. I'm Cato Black, the most skilled Career in District 2. I can accomplish any thing that I need to.
And if that thing means becoming the leader of the Careers, then I will accomplish it, without a doubt.
Clove McKinnon
16:37 P.M.
Rooftop Terrace
Right now, maybe you expect me to be stumbling around, yelling drunken things, or simply passed out on my bed. Maybe you expect my mind to be fogged up. Maybe you expect me to have a spinning head, limp arms, legs like jelly.
If you expected any of the latter things, you really need to learn to expect the unexpected.
No, my mental and physical state is completely intact, and it has been for almost this entire morning. All I'm doing is lounging on hammock under a cherry blossom tree, smirking to myself because of my unbeatable cleverness. How, you ask? Well, it simply required some high-tech Capitol medicine, a handy talent at eavesdropping, and some incredible acting.
From the moment I took a sip of that vile drink, I knew that something was wrong. I've had that drink before; it's never been that strong. Somebody tampered with it, and I had a feeling that it wasn't the Avoxes.
After I had stumbled out of the room and into the elevator, I knew that I had to see someone about this. After Cato and I got off the elevator, I excused myself to go the bathroom. I actually went back to my room and dug through the medicine cabinet. Surprisingly, they did have medicine for my ailment. I had taken quite a bit of the medicine and headed back down to the hallway near the Training Floor.
And let me tell you, that medicine worked magic. Within thirty seconds, I felt completely better, and my drunkenness was gone without a trace.
When I was about to enter the room where all the tributes were, some hushed voices caught my ear. Of course, I wasn't able to resist the prospect of hearing a secret conversation, so I peered around the corner and witnessed a very interesting exchange between two tributes that I did not expect to encounter together.
I think back to that moment today where I ruined a fellow tribute's mildly clever scheme and replaced it with one of my own, just by eavesdropping in on a private conversation...
I gravitate toward the source of the noise, like a mosquito drawn to a bright light. I've never been able to resist a good chance at eavesdropping, of hearing something that I wasn't mean to hear.
My feet pad silently on the tiled floors, quicker as the voices grow nearer. Finally, when I seem to be close enough, I flatten myself against the wall and listen closely.
"It's quite a good offer, you know," a familiar hushed voice says, obviously female. "I really think that we will both benefit from it. Besides, either way, I've already done my part. Now, you can take up the opportunity to do yours."
A long pause passes, the silence seeming to ring off the walls.
"It's a brilliant plan, I'll give you that," another female voice says, this one also familiar. "But what's in it for me?"
I wrack my brain for who the two voices might belong to. Glimmer? No. Katniss? Definitely not.
"Think about it," the first voice replies, her voice smooth, annunciating every syllable. Funny, it's the same voice I always used when selling something to my 'customers' back at the Academy. "The first part of the plan has already succeeded. Everyone will think she is completely whacko during training, and her training score will be quite low for Career standards."
That sentence captures my attention. What was she talking about, with the whole "everyone will think she's completely whacko" part? And "Career standards"? That means she's referring to either me, Glimmer, or...
"Fiona, how will that make any difference?" the other voice inquires.
Fiona.
The girl with the smooth voice is Fiona, and she's trying to make a bargain with whoever the other girl is. Oh, the interesting things one can learn during the Hunger Games...
"In the Career pack, the tribute with the highest score will become the leader of the Careers. If she becomes the leader, she'll blatantly terrorize you in the arena. You've seen the hateful looks she's given you. Also, if you agree and hold up your end of the deal, she will look like a fool in front of all of Panem during the interviews. Now, wouldn't you like that?"
A sinking feeling enters my stomach. Something's telling me that Fiona's talking about me, and whatever this is about, I don't like that sound of it.
The other voice sighs. "Yeah, you're right. I guess some Careers might actually have a little ounce of cleverness after all."
Mailey. That's who it is. The cocky statements, the annoyingly snarky voice, even the exasperated sigh can only belong to the thirteen year old brat from District 3.
"So it's a deal?" Fiona asks. In my mind, I can just see the devious grin forming across her face, her sea green eyes lighting up maliciously.
Mailey hesitates for a moment. "Deal," she says. "But it'd better work. Will you give me the liquor for her drink on interview night? And are you sure that she'll be dead drunk?"
Fiona laughs. "Of course. I'm quite talented at playing around with liquor, you know. Oh, and thank you, Mailey. I can assure you, you will not be disappointed."
And at that moment, right then, is when it all clicked. I realized that Fiona was the one who poisoned the alcohol, and she was trying to get Mailey to poison my drink on interview night so that she wouldn't have to once again take the risk of getting caught. But before I could even have time to process my rage or consider her motive, my brilliant plan started form in my mind. It would take a bit of embarrassment, but it would be perfect, absolutely perfect. It would make sure that that lying freak of a girl would be ejected from the alliance by tomorrow night. Of course, it's worked perfectly so far.
I had stumbled into the room with all the tributes, acting like I was completely drunk. I almost couldn't stand all of the snickers and the stifled jeers. If there's anything I hate, it's being laughed at. But I stuck to the plan, knowing that the results would be brilliant in the end.
In my private session, I performed perfectly, and I pretended that I was never drunk at all. Every knife landed exactly on the dot of the bulls-eyes, and every ax flew in perfect motion. I could tell that the Gamemakers were impressed, very impressed.
Now, you're probably wondering, how will that help get revenge on Fiona? Well, that's where the true brilliance of it comes into play.
Somehow, I can guarantee it, the Capitol reporters will find out that I was "drunk" before the training sessions. When Caesar Flickerman asks me about it, I will tell all of Panem that Fiona poisoned my drink and tried to get me to perform badly. Surely, the mentors will see her as a problem to the alliance and kick her out. And if they don't, well, they have the opinions of all of Panem to deal with.
For now, I'll just have to put up with the mocking stares of the rest of the tributes.
But I can tell that in the end, it will all be worth it. After all, never, not once, has one of my clever schemes ever failed. And this scheme will be no different.