District 3

Belle Mechan (13) and Leighton Blitz (15)

The two tributes sat on the coach in their suit, surrounded by their entourage as the television flashed on. Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Temple's faces popped onto the screen. They were sitting in some booth, talking about each tributes chances. Behind them was a board full of betting numbers that must have meant something to the capitol people, but that were complete gibberish to both the tributes from District Three.

"Oh they won't be starting for another fifteen minutes," Carlton sighed as he watched Belle and Leighton sweat over the training score announcement. "Stop squirming about it."

On the coach beside Leighton, a young man shot the escort a cold look. "Maybe they'll stop fussing if you do," the man grumbled, running his hand through his mop of tangled tweed colored hair.

Leighton shot his mentor a despairing look. "My score is going to suck," he moaned, shoving his face into his knees.

"What could you have possibly done that was so bad," the man asked, his voice thick with sarcasm. Leighton didn't respond. When he had first heard Sparky Nuetro, District Three's golden boy, was going to be his mentor, he had been ecstatic. Finally it had seemed that he was getting some luck. Of course, his opinion of the victor had quickly changed when he had met the man. Sparky was the most negative sarcastic guy Leighton had ever met. It was no wonder he had refused to tell his mentor what he did in the private session.

"Maybe it's not that bad if you get a bad score. They won't look at you as a target," Belle chimed in. Oh, the optimist, if only she knew. Belle of course just wanted Leighton to feel better. He had been griping ever since their training sessions had ended, though she had no idea why. The poor girl just couldn't stand seeing her District partner looking so down.

As for herself, she was feeling pretty good about her private session. She had shown them how good she was with a knife, and though she wasn't as good as the careers who had been throwing all sorts of sharp objects all over the place during training, she thought she had held her ground.

"Maybe," Leighton muttered.

"Actually the odds of someone with a high score winning are relatively close to those of someone with a low score. Wiress and I did the statistics a few years back. I think it's like a fifty-six percent chance of someone with a score over six winning and a forty four percent chance of someone with a score under six of winning. Really this score is just to help out the gamblers," Beetee, Belle's mentor, said.

Well that did make Leighton feel a tad better, though it didn't stop him from sulking.

At that moment District One's seal appeared on the screen, and the girl's face flashed onto it. The room went silent.

"Autumn Mistveil," a robotic voice called. Belle held her breath as it paused in suspense. "Nine."

Leighton groaned as he ran his hand through his hair.

"Eros Cunningham... Ten."

"Chateaux Masona... Ten."

"Kegan Capiton... Nine."

"Annabelle Mechan... Six."

A round of applause sounded as Belle sighed in relief. A six, that wasn't horrible. In fact, it was probably some kind of record for somebody as young as her. Thinking it over, she was actually quite proud of that score. Now all that she needed to make this day even better was for Velt to do well also.

"Leighton Blitz... One."

Leighton yelped as he buried his face into his pillow. Nobody bothered to give him any applause, or even utter words of encouragements. He had told them that he had blown it, and boy had he been right.

"What in the world did you do to get a score that bad?" Sparky asked. It seemed for once the sarcasm had been shocked right out of him.

"I hid," Leighton mumbled.

"You what?" Sparky asked, positively dumbfounded.

"You said to just show them what I was good at, and all I've ever been good at is hiding. So I went in there, told them that my talent was hiding, and that they had to turn around and send somebody to go find me. Then when they were turned around I left the room because the best way to hide is to go where they'd never look," Leighton blurted out, an embarrassed blush.

Sparky suddenly laughed. "Wait. So you basically just told them to turn around, then left the room," he said, grinning. "Well that's no wonder you did so bad. I'd have given you a Zero."

"Gee thanks Sparky," Leighton mumbled. Suddenly he didn't feel like hanging around anymore, and so he stood up and ran to his room.

District Four

Kyla Brooke (16) and Foster Finner (14)

"I think we've got some big shoes to fill," Foster commented as Kegan's score flashed onto the screen. He smiled to himself, feeling proud of his allies. Chateaux's and Eros's scores specifically were quite impressive. It was good that they had done so well to. It meant even mores sponsors for the historically well off District, and of course, Foster was sure they would be sharing any of their particularly tasty sponsor gifts. It would only be right, given that they were friends and all.

"Looks like it," Kyla agreed quietly. While Foster had been relatively happy with the well-of scores of their career counterparts, Kyla felt her heart drop when she saw them. She knew going into this day that her score was going to be below normal career expectations. She had never excelled in training the way other kids had. Her heart had just never been in it. Her one hope had been that the other tributes would score a tad lower than normal also, therefore making her failure not look as bad. With the tributes from One and Two doing so well though, she could only pray the Gamemakers were feeling generous when they had ranked her.

"Leighton Blitz...One."

Foster suddenly let out a loud howl of laughter as he elbowed his Kyla. "Oh my gosh, Kyla, you see that? A One. Good grief, what did he do?" Foster cried.

Kyla shrugged, feeling sorry for the poor kid from District Three. She knew she'd be feeling horribly awful if she were in his place. Still, she wanted to be on Foster's good side. "It's not that surprising, I guess," she tried half-heartedly, trying to sound cruel, like a normal career.

"I guess not," Foster grinned. "Do you even remember him from normal training? I don't." Kyla shook her head in agreement as Foster had another belated fit of laughter, effectively missing the girl from Three. Not that it mattered though, that poor little girl probably didn't do much better than her District partner.

"Kyla Brooke... Seven."

Kyla exhaled a shocked breath. A seven? That wasn't so bad. Foster would probably score better, with his skills with his bow. Still though, she wasn't eons below her peers, and she still had a chance to beat Roan's score. She had secretly been worrying over the past day or two that the girl from Ten had become a more valued member of the pack than herself. If she beat Roan's score though, her placement would be solidified.

"Good job," Foster smiled, clapping her on the back as the rest of the District Four entourage clapped. Kyla's heart squeezed with gratitude as she saw genuine sincerity in Foster's face. He may have a questionably harsh sense of humor, but below that, he was a good guy.

The chorus of congratulations from Kyla's mentor, stylists, and the escort grew silent as Foster's face flashed on the screen.

"Eight," Caesar called.

Foster grinned and brought his arms up, flexing his biceps as if he were some kind of body builder. "Not bad, not bad," he joked in his good-humored way. His Aunt and mentor laughed as she put her hands on her nephew's shoulders.

"I think that Paylor is looking pretty sorry back at home right now," she praised. Foster's eyes lit up.

The numbers went on, getting into the outer Districts, but Foster had checked out. He didn't care that much about how the rest of the tributes did. They weren't his allies, and these numbers didn't really matter that much, at least not as far as the actual games were concerned. Maybe he would turn his attention back when Roan's name came up.

Kyla paid attention though, personally routing for each and every individual to get a Twelve, however unlikely. She watched attentively as everyone else chatted amiably to Foster about the career's scores.

"Luna Morristeen...3"

"Layton Cross...4"

"Totem Earhart... 7"

Kyla caught Foster's Aunt glancing upwards, scribbling something on her notepad when Totem's number was called. She knew that the girl had just gone onto the target list. Kyla's score had been the lowest of all the careers, so now she had set an unsaid bar. Everyone who scored the same as her or above was a threat. For a moment, she couldn't help but feel guilty that this stranger's death was probably now written in stone just because Kyla hadn't done very well.

"Conner Trayston... 4"

"Terra Oasis... 5"

"Lindon Lizar... 7"

"Colleen Reyna... 4"

"Raven Textan... 11"

Eleven

Everyone went silent and stared at the television, wondering who made this awful mistake. Because this boy from Eight, he had just done the impossible. His feat would not be missed, not by anybody. Oh no, Raven Textan had just made a statement:

He was now unforgettable.

District 10:

Roland Bucks (16) and Roan Ardennes (17)

"Skye Ager... 4"

"Velt Ganger...5"

The tributes in District Ten's suit weren't paying attention. Both were still in awe over what had just happened in District Eight. In fact, Roland had yet to return to his seat. When he had seen Raven's name appear on the screen with such a high score, he had leaped to his feet, giving a loud whoop. Pride flowed through him, and he couldn't help but feel a little bit giddy. That guy, the guy who got an eleven, wanted him, Roland Bucks, as an ally. He could barely believe it. Since when did he become so lucky.

"That's my man," Roland boomed loudly. Just moments earlier he had been rubbing his sweaty hands together anxiously as he awaited his own score. Raven doing so well though was such good news that it had effectively distracted the tribute, turning him from a nervous wreck into an explosive cheering fan.

Roan just shook her head quietly as she leaned back into her seat. Roland was foolish to be so ecstatic. He didn't understand what that number meant for his ally, himself, or his alliance. The guy was just too simple-minded to even think about how his enemy would view that score. Roan knew though, probably because she was his enemy. When her allies saw that score, Eros specifically, Raven and anyone who associated with him would become number one on the career hit list.

Roan bit her lip as she considered telling Roland this. He was going to find out eventually after all. She decided against it though. The two District partners hadn't spoken since Roan had agreed to join the careers. She knew Roland felt a bit cross with her about the decision. It wasn't his life though.

"Roan Ardennes... 7"

"Whoop di doo, look who scored," Cyran Stunners hissed with an odd look of pleasure.

Beaming, her chest swelled with self-satisfaction. That score was perfect. She had managed to tie with Kyla, meaning that she was an equal to her allies. At the same time though, the big threats- meaning Eros- had outscored her. Her seven would in no way hurt that alpha-male pride. Hopefully, that ideal number would buy her another day or two before she had to desert.

"Good job," her mentor and stylist cooed in unison as a general applause erupted. Even Roland cast her a silent hidden encouraging smile, though he didn't say anything out loud. He had sunk too far back into his own worries to have the attain the calm he needed to speak to her. Cyran was the only person who didn't look overjoyed was Cyran, but she had long since decided that his creepy expressions were unreadable. For all she knew, plastic features were overflowing with happiness.

"Roland Bucks... 6."

Another round of applause.

Roland spun around, soaking in his mentor's look of approval. "I did good," he said, just letting the words roll off his tongue.

"Real good," his mentor agreed.

A grin stretched across Roland's face, making his deep blue eyes glow. His shoulder's looked suddenly relaxed as his posture seemed to have an entire wire of stressed removed from its frame. Roan hadn't noticed her District partner's nerves before, but an entire layer of worry had vanished. In fact, Roland had indeed been extremely terrified that he'd done bad in his personal session.

It wasn't that he had done anything wrong. No, he had performed his lasso routine to perfection. After staying up for hours the night before, meticulously planning each and every movement, it was practically impossible for him to have failed. Still, the entire process had worked him up to a peak of nerves. The night before hand he hadn't gotten even a wink of sleep, and he'd been rubbing his hands together nervously all day. That Six was like a breath of fresh air.

"Ivy Willosen... 6," the numbers went on.

As much as Roland wanted to continue celebrating his own score, he quieted himself for the remaining tributes. It wasn't in his nature to disrespect them by not dutifully watching their scores. Roan on the other hand, had been keeping a careful tally on her competition. She wanted to keep watching so that she didn't miss anything significant.

"Oatis Hanes... 8."

Roan frowned. She had already known that Oatis was a threat, now that seemed to be true even more-so.

"Cassia Greene... 5."

"Eshad Fuele... 2."

Well that made Roan snort. She couldn't help but remember the way thaw kid from Twelve had demanded entrance into the career pack. To think that all he could muster up was a two, it was actually kind of comical. That poor kid, he didn't stand a chance in the arena. Roan already felt a little guilty for what would no doubt be her hand in Eshad's death. She didn't have much of a choice though. This was her biggest chance to live, and she had every intention of making the most of it.

A/N So there are the scores, hopefully they sound realistic. This chapter was a bit shorter, but I've been short on writing time so I'm just happy that I finished it in a resonable time period. Next chapter will be interviews. The Games are almost here, get excited (or sad, whatever floats your boat)