Kirin's strange intervention is still playing on my mind as I ride the lift back to our floor and take my seat at the dinner table, and as a result I give short, distracted answers to my mentor's questions. Yes, I leant new talents. No, I wasn't very good. And no, I didn't start on any careers today. I smile at Benton for this question and then cast my eyes over at Nico, wondering if he saw Kirin approach me, if he was as confused as I was. If he did witness it then he doesn't say anything, silently stacking his plate as usual and rising to leave for his room before Peyton's voice stops him in his tracks.
"Nico. How is your training going?"
He looks at her warily and shrugs. "Ok. Fine," he says, but his short answer doesn't put her off and she gestures to his seat.
"Sit down a moment." He grudgingly complies and she leans forward, steepling her fingers.
"You've been visiting the sites Benton suggested?" she asks, and he shrugs, nodding. "And you feel like you've learned something useful?" Peyton persists, and Nico shrugs and nods again; his lack of enthusiasm is grinding on me, so I can't imagine what it must be like for our mentors. Peyton looks as impassive as ever, but one glance at Benton tells me he's irritated; his eyes are cast down to his plate but he looks tense, his jaw clenched.
"Is there anything you think you want to try and improve at?"
Nico shrugs, then since Peyton is waiting for an answer he replies with the shortest one he has; "No." Benton bristles beside me as Peyton perseveres.
"Do you have any questions about the instructions Benton gave you? Any questions in general, any sort of ideas you want to discuss?"
"What's the point. I'm not going to win" snaps Nico suddenly, his usually sullen voice brittle and angry. Peyton nods slowly.
"It's unlikely, obviously, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't try. After all, you don't know what the arena could hold, what may happen, what you could do-"
"I can't do anything."
Nico cuts Peyton off angrily. "Nothing. It doesn't make a difference what's in the arena, I just can't do it. It's impossible."
"I did it and I was the same age as you are now. Peyton did it and she was younger than you. It's not impossible."
Benton makes me jump as he speaks across me; his voice is hard, and his usually warm, amused eyes are cold and angry. Nico flings his hands in the air in frustration.
"Not possible for me then! You know it! So why try?"
Peyton leans forward, her gaze fixed on Nico, cutting off Benton's intake of breath as he prepares to snap back.
"Just because you think you can't is no reason to give up. You should still be fighting, Nico. Let us help you-"
"Why?" Nico cuts her off again, and I'm shocked at the savagery in his voice.
"Why do you want to help me? You don't need me! You have your potential champion right there."
He points at me and I start, my heart leaping at suddenly being the centre of attention.
"You're pinning District 7's chances on her and you know it, so why are you trying to change my mind? The less time you spend on me, the more time you have for her. You shouldn't be annoyed, you should be grateful. Thanks to me, District 7 may have a victor this year."
He storms from the room, leaving his food untouched on the table, and nobody speaks or tries to stop him. The table is silent, and despite myself I can't help but think Nico is right; they have been focused on me. Benton said as much to me yesterday, and he may be thinking the same thing as his anger has waned into what looks like a combination of exasperation and guilt. He sees me looking at him and clears his throat, taking a swig of his drink.
"That boy needs his head looking at; he has no sense at all. He'll be dead in a minute."
"He's just scared." Peyton replies with uncharacteristic sensitivity. "We all were, once."
I raise my eyebrows slightly. The idea of them ever being afraid is still one I struggle with; they're the victors, the glorious winners, and that's all they've ever been to me. The picture that was first painted in my mind by Benton, of them as frightened children being sent to the games, uncertain if they will return, is so foreign I still can't wrap my head around it.
"There's no room for fear," Benton says. "You've said it yourself a hundred times. How can you make allowances for him?" Peyton shrugs.
"I didn't say it would make him win. I said it was understandable, not sensible."
Benton rolls his eyes, pushing his chair back and standing up.
"Great, just what we needed. Another tribute with no sense."
He stalks from the room, followed immediately but less dramatically by Peyton, and I glance over at my remaining tablemate Xavier, who as usual is quietly sipping his soup. For someone capable of being so loud and flamboyant he tends to remain strangely understated in private. I wonder if he's keeping his thoughts to himself for reasons of decorum or if he just isn't remotely interested; I imagine it's the first one, as his conversations always seem to be focused on good etiquette, and as if on cue he gently places down his spoon, patting his lips delicately with his napkin as he sighs at me.
"I do wish people would excuse themselves before leaving the table, don't you?"
I raise my eyebrows. "Oh yea. Drives me nuts." I respond sardonically, and he either ignores or is ignorant to my sarcasm, as his response is his wide escort beam. He neatly lines his cutlery in the centre of his bowl and stands up.
"Do excuse me Tyla. Enjoy the remainder of your meal" he sings in his sunny Capitol voice before sailing from the room. I watch his shimmering ruby coat sweep out of the door with amusement, but my smile fades when my thoughts transfer to Nico. Scared, silly Nico, fighting the only people trying to keep us alive. I don't like to think of him as being afraid; it's just easier to see all the tributes as emotionless opponents I am tasked to eliminate, but that's ridiculous. Of course he's afraid, everyone is. Even I am, despite being exactly where I planned to be. I feel a wash of sympathy for him, and despite the fact I that I would have no idea what to say I am just contemplating going to speak to him when he enters the room.
I'm surprised he's come back, and I notice he is hesitant, checking the room for the occupants. He doesn't look pleased to see me, but I guess I am preferable to the others as he does not turn away, settling instead for ignoring me as he walks up to the table to collect his food. At least he's still following the first piece of advice Benton gave us and eating. I think back to that first night on the train, when I was so focused in asking the right questions, getting my game plan right; the only question I remember Nico asking is how to stay alive. I wonder when he changed his mind and decided not to even try. I refuse to believe that somewhere in there he isn't that same boy who, just a few days ago, was at least planning on attempting to survive. He can't have changed that much in just a few days, surely; but then, only moments ago, I was contemplating talking to him, actually trying to comfort him, so I guess it is possible to change. Peyton said the games would make you do things you never thought possible, and in my case it seems that this involves thinking about someone other than myself. With this in mind, I clear my throat as he picks up his plate.
"Nico, think for a moment. Where we're going the odds will be stacked against us, and our mentors are our best chance to stay alive. However uninterested you are now, you might regret it when we get in there. So let them do their job, let them help us."
Nico scoffs, looking at me witheringly.
"Please. They aren't helping us, they're helping you. Don't tell me you haven't noticed- they've barely paid attention to me, right from the start. You're their golden girl; they haven't even bothered with me. They've written me off."
His short reaction to my attempt at reconciliation hits a nerve, and despite my good intentions I find myself snapping back at him.
"Well are you surprised? You've hardly given them a reason to help; you've been moping around since the start! How are they supposed to help you win if you make it clear you don't even want to try?"
Nico widens his eyes indignantly. "They aren't supposed to help me win! How many times do I have to say it? I don't need their help. And I don't need to try. 23 of us are going to die, so at least one of us has to accept it! Why are you arguing this anyway? The sooner I die, the better your chance of winning."
I roll my eyes. "Don't be silly. I want you to at least try to live, same as I will. And I understand there's more chance of us dying than winning, but that doesn't mean you have to go in there as a human target! It doesn't make any sense to not at least prepare yourself, to have a plan!"
Nico's eyes flash and a curious look comes over his face. He lifts his plate and fixes his eyes on me meaningfully.
"I do have a plan. A plan which means I'll survive the games without any need to train, or prepare, or suck up to the idiots from the Capitol. I'm not as dumb as you think, you know. You've all decided I'm so inferior; just you wait and see what I've got in store."
With that, he spins on his heel and strides triumphantly from the room, leaving me to stare after him in amazement and wonder how anyone can be so in denial. He really thinks he has a plan that can outsmart the capital? One that hasn't been attempted and failed before by a tribute a thousand times more prepared than he is; a tribute who knew better than to disregard the training if it was their only chance of living, instead of coming up with an idiotic survival scheme? This plan must be the one he mentioned to Benton, but whatever it is, however great he believes it will be, I fail to see how it can eliminate the need for preparation. For all his indignation, all he's done is prove that he's exactly a dumb as I thought he was.
I shake my head in amazement, and am just reaching for a wedge of the softest, spongiest looking cake I've ever seen when I spot a person in grey hovering just out of my periphery, and I turn my head just in time to see one of the Capitol servants vanish behind the wall. He's obviously waiting to clear up, and despite the fact that nobody would argue it is my right to eat my fill in my last few days alive, I suddenly feel irrationally guilty. Perhaps because, despite their presence in the Capitol, they seem just as downtrodden as we are- they keep their heads down constantly and are never addressed directly by anybody. Unable to resist, I grab the cake quickly and stand up.
"Sorry, I'm done now" I call, but there's no response, which is unsurprising since I've never actually heard any of them speak. Maybe they aren't allowed, which weirdly makes me feel like my situation may be preferable to theirs. I recall my thoughts about Caleb yesterday, how I wondered if it was harder to be surrounded by food and be denied it, and wonder if it is the same for these silent grey creatures, so unlike all the other residents of the Capitol. I imagine many of the residents of District 7 would trade with them in a moment, but would it be harder to live in the Capitol but be forced to serve, to see all the possible splendours of the world right in front of you but be forbidden them, forbidden seemingly to even speak? I imagine it would, and find myself in the strange position of contemplating that life for some people might be harder beyond the District walls. It's a curious notion, and one that refuses to assimilate to the preconceived notions in my brain, so I shake it aside and walk back to my room, picking at the cake as I do. As I expected it's delicious; sweet, light and powdery with a soft lemony sponge and sharp, citrusy icing. I walk into my room, cramming the last mouthful in, and as I do notice Peyton seated by the door. She stands up as I enter and I swallow hurriedly as she waits for me to finish.
"I was still hungry," I say, weirdly inclined to explain myself, but Peyton simply gives a disinterested smile.
"So, Tyla. You've been following all my instructions as agreed? Only approaching new talent stands?"
I nod, sinking onto the edge of my bed as she sits back in the seat, her gaze focused on me. "Yes. Although it feels like a waste of time; I've barely learned a thing, and what I did learn I was terrible at."
I let out a sigh of exasperation at the memory of my less than inspiring performance as Peyton raises an eyebrow.
"Surely it would have been more of a waste of time to practice skills you already possess? Not to mention giving away your talents to the others. For that reason alone it was time well spent, and you never know, what you did learn may be useful to you."
Once again Peyton is correct, and I am forced to accept that, despite my frustration over the last two days, her guidance was, as ever, exactly right. She straightens up and folds her arms, assessing me.
"So you'll have tomorrow morning to train, then lunch. During your lunch they'll begin calling you out, on by one, boy then girl, starting with District 1. You'll go back out into the gymnasium and this will be your chance to demonstrate your skills; everything you've told me you can do, they need to know you can do it. You will have ample time, but if you dawdle they'll lose interest- highlight your best skills as fast as you can without making any mistakes. You need to be as impressive as you possibly can, show them exactly what you're capable of so it is reflected in your score."
My score. It's solely for the Capitol's benefit, so I want to tell myself it doesn't matter to me, but I know it does. The Gamemakers will assign me a score between 1 and 12 based on my capabilities, skills and my predicated performance in the arena; this serves mainly to allow the Capitol audience to make bets, but more importantly for me it can encourage sponsors. I run my mind back over Peyton's instructions and nod slowly.
"Ok. So I just walk in and go to a stand?"
Peyton shakes her head.
"The training stands will have been removed. The weapons will be placed together in the centre of the room, and the remainder of the room will be as it was. Just walk in, stand in front of the Gamemakers platform and introduce yourself; say your name and your District, and then show your talents to the best of your abilities. Be quick, be impressive and do the absolute best you are capable of, and once they've completed their assessment they'll dismiss you. Do not speak to them until this happens and do not leave before it does."
I nod as I commit her words to memory. "It sounds simple enough- stay quiet and don't screw up." I say, and Peyton smiles as she gets to her feet.
"Pretty much. You'll be fine- you're talented, and you have a lot to impress them with. Don't over-think it, just go out there, and if you're as good as you say you are you'll know what to do."
I can't help but smile. She's reiterated the importance of tomorrow and then thrown out the instruction not to over-think as a parting shot. Fat chance- it's the only thing on my mind, and as I get ready for bed my brain is racing with possibilities, running through the weapons I haven't been allowed to touch, trying to figure out how to show them what I can do, get a score that reflects what I am capable of. A score that makes all that time in the woods worthwhile. I have to do well. I have to. For as much as I remind myself this score is only for the Capitol, so they can choose whose life to bet on, I can't help but imbue it with personal meaning. Score high and I show myself- and everyone else- that my years of work were worth it, that I am good for something. Score low and I'm exactly what everyone expected me to be- another nobody from the Community home, another unremarkable, nameless tribute, destined to die and unable to do anything about it.