Training — Day 1, Part 2

Barrett Adler, 18, District Ten

The heavy sword in my hand feels foreign. This ain't my first rodeo; I've got plenty of experience with heavy tools. However, all the heavy tools I use at home are for farming, or cattle raising, or construction, or even for machinery repair. This one's for killin' and nothin' else. I can't even use it to cut open a bag of peanuts. Believe me; I tried.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spy Elena, who's studying some fancy interactive model of the human body. It's kinda like the charts we have at home of the different internal organs of a cow, but I've only ever used them when I've had to improvise surgery on a steer. These human anatomy models exist solely for the purpose of teaching us where to stab for the most efficient death. I'm not sure which bothers me more—that these morbid models exist or that Elena's so nonchalant about it.

As I watch, she stabs a knife into one of the dummies, twisting the blade around it until the lights inside are flashing bright red. I wince. It doesn't seem that bad when you perform that on a dummy, but in real life, that'd wreck a major artery, leading to blood splattering everywhere. I'm not exactly opposed to blood, but human blood splatters aren't exactly a pleasant image.

She catches me watching and simply stares back, cocking her head with a satisfied expression. I look away.

I stare at the sword in my hands, and I slowly lower it, my heart racing at the idea of actually using it on someone. That's enough combat for now; I'll come back later. As I slide it back on the rack, I scan the room for any sign of the kid. Ever since I saw him on the Reaping recaps, I haven't been able to not notice him. He doesn't seem to have noticed me at all, though, which is a marvel, considering my massive size. Perhaps he's ignoring me. Even now, he glances over in this direction from his training with knives, yet there's no reaction on his face.

Though his expression is flat and calm, his body language betrays the fear inside. His arm is shaking ever so slightly as the trainer adjusts his posture and grip, and when the District Two girl brushes past him, he shrinks back slightly. I have to commend him on his bravery—I was a much bigger mess of nerves when I was thirteen—but the truth of the matter is, he doesn't stand much of a chance on his own.

I have to change that.

As I approach, the trainer is backing away from Bryson. "Try stabbing," she says, "Remember to keep your hands in a defensive position."

He stabs at the dummy, slicing across the unmoving electrical mannequin, whose chest flashes red. "Like that?"

The trainer nods hesitantly. "That's… exactly right. Keep practicing that for your best bet at survival in a fight."

Bryson's face falls, seeing completely through the trainer's thinly veiled lack of confidence. Though he doesn't say anything, his eyes flash with angry, focused fire and he slashes the chest of the dummy again and again. The trainer, apparently satisfied, walks off to go help Viyella, who's just walked up.

"Howdy," I say.

There's no response from him—he doesn't even turn to look. Did he hear me? If anything, he seems so lost in thought that he's blocked out everything happening around him.

After a brief wait in vain, I get a little closer and try again. "Howdy—Bryson, right?"

"Whatcha want?" he snaps, head whipping around and his knife held up.

Okay… I didn't see that one coming. "You doin' alright, buddy?"

"None of your business."

Ouch. In this moment, he almost reminds me of a cornered cat, lashing out with his claws. To be honest, that's what Elena does too, but she has the height and the skill to make it work. With Bryson… it's just sad.

"I'm not tryna hurt you," I say.

"Then whatcha want?"

In his wide brown eyes, I see a mixture of pain and fear, masked by a steely resolve as he stares aggressively back at me. I avert my eyes—I don't mean to challenge him. "I just came by to see if…" I trail off—how do I phrase this without patronizing him? "Do you want to team up?"

His head jerks in confusion, and he lowers the training knife. "What?"

I take a step closer, my arms open. "I wanted to team up."

"I'm not trying to be rude, but… are you okay?"

For a moment, I'm transported ten years back in time. Though the words were spoken so long ago, they still linger fresh in my mind.

Are you… okay? Why can't you just be normal? You look like a monster.

Ouch. His words press into my heart like a splinter, but I'm not going to let a splinter keep me from doing what I know I need to do. I give him a pained smile. "If you don't want to… you don't have to accept. But I'm offering—do you want to team up?"

His eyes grow wide as I tower over him. "I'm… sorry. I didn't mean to snap, and you just caught me deep in thought, and—"

"It's fine."

"And—"

"It's fine," I repeat, smiling down at him. It's almost comical—I'm almost a foot and a half taller than him. "It's all good. Whaddya say?"

He relaxes a slight bit, yet he still stares back at me with a confused look. "It's… yes, I guess."

I beam at him. "Great! Why don't you catch me up on what you've been up to?"

"I'm practicing my knife skills."

"That's pretty impressive, you know? Most of the others haven't touched the weapons at all."

"I… I want to be able to defend myself if I get in a fight, but…" His face falls as he trails off.

But even if he trains, he's still inherently at a disadvantage because of his size.

"Hey—knowing something is always better than knowing nothing, ain't it?" I place an arm around his shoulders, but his body instantly stiffens. I remove my arm. "Maybe it's too early for hugs."

"…Thanks."

I give him a reassuring smile—I'm not offended. "We'll work on that part. Here—I'll help you train. So if someone comes at you like this…"

It's a bit of a rough start—who doesn't like hugs?—but this will do. In the corner of my eye, I spy Elena staring at me with an unimpressed expression. She probably thinks I'm an idiot. Is this the smartest strategy for the Games? No.

But all the same, my heart is at peace now.

Hass Kirchoff, 16, District Five

After a bit of observation, I can confidently say that Marleigh is a no-go. She's been reading at the poisons station, but her face contorts every few minutes as she reads the nasty ways these poisons kill. I suspected this much when we watched all the Reapings together—she kept bringing up how sad it was that "these poor kids are in the Hunger Games." I'm sorry, but we're both in the Hunger Games too. I can't afford to bring on board someone that's already so averse to killing.

The other main conclusion is that if I can rope the Tens in, then everything will snowball from there. Welp, there's no time to waste. It's time to get this show going. Where did Barrett go, anyway?

My heart sinks as I see him chatting with the kid from Nine, shielding him from the gaze of the intimidating girl from Two. The bear of a man has sought out literally the weakest kid in the room.

I repeat.

The bear of a man has sought out literally the weakest kid in the room.

Dang it, Hass. Why didn't you act faster? Immediately rush over and recruit him? Not having him decreases my odds of success, but bringing along the thirteen-year-old is a huge liability. The universe seems to be working against me—first, my district partner Marleigh is useless, and now the most important figure to my plan has been taken.

It's okay; sometimes, the story doesn't quite flow the way you want it too. I'll just have to alter my story without changing its final destination—my survival. if I can't get Barrett, then I'll have to get the next one on my list.

I spy her over by the human body models, carefully observing the effects of knife wounds on different parts of the body. Though she's clearly got a disadvantage with her one arm, she clearly doesn't let it bother her since she's fast, nimble, and silent, completely capable of defending herself with a light sword or a dagger. I even saw her throw a lasso with one arm, which is impressive enough, though it took a little while for her to set up the weird loops. I had planned on recruiting Barrett and writing a story of strength enough to overpower the Star Alliance, but with Elena, I'll have to switch to stealth.

Speaking of stealth, I silently approach behind her as she squats by the training dummy, watching the way she probes it with a knife, stabbing it here and there, testing different stabs and twists with the methodical patience of a doctor, though she's trying to kill, not heal. If I can catch her off guard, it could shift things in my favor.

"Hello," I say.

She doesn't show any sign of being startled, and she doesn't even bother to face me, instead continuing on her hypothesis testing. "Howdy, and good morning. What do you want?"

My fingers begin to fidget, so I cram them into my pocket, hoping that this'll keep any signs of nervousness hidden. "I… have a proposition."

"Let's hear it."

Her indifferent tone… The way she continues as if I didn't exist… The aggravating calmness…

You can't let it get to you. Take ownership of the story. The moment you give someone else control of the pen, your own story is over.

"I'm sure you realize that the tributes from One, Two, and Four are the biggest competition for us," I say, doing my best to sound professional and rational. I'm not sure that either of those qualifiers matches me, but hey—you fake it till you make it. It's gotten me through all of school, after all. "Statistically, they've won 50% of the past Games."

"It's common knowledge."

Perhaps I could find a way to soften her, just a bit. "So a rational person like you would understand the need for an equalizer."

"Don't flatter me. I see right through it."

Dang. Calling me out like that? Rude. My fingers in my pocket ball into a fist. I mustn't show any sign of giving in. "I'd like to suggest a plan for an equalizer."

"And that is?"

"They've controlled the narrative of the Hunger Games for decades now. If we can form a large counter-group and cut them down at the Cornucopia, then we'll have the visibility to shift the narrative from 'ambition and victory' to 'the sympathetic underdogs fight back.' "

She wheels around and stands up, inspecting me from head to toe. "I can see why you'd want me, but what's keeping me from getting the Sevens and Elevens and doing it myself? What do you have to offer?"

I smirk—I long saw this question coming, and I have an answer tailored to every potential recruit. "No offense, Elena, but you're cold." I wouldn't talk like this to any other person, but this girl doesn't look like she has much of a feeling heart anyway—she can take the bluntness. "Unappealingly cold. You need someone that can talk people into joining you and make you look good to the Capitol."

"Hmm… I'll admit—you sure can talk."

"So—"

"The answer is still no."

No? My heart sinks again. I was sure I had her in the bag. "May I have a reason?"

"I just don't need you," she says, "I know how I'm going to win, and I don't need you for it."

"It's much riskier to go at it alone."

"It's nice of you to pretend to care about my well-being." She scoffs, turning back to the dummy and flicking on the switch. "But the answer is still no."

"Please consider it, at least."

She doesn't even acknowledge that I said anything, and I wait in vain for an answer. The universe is definitely working against me now. I sigh and leave the ice queen alone. My first and second picks are both non-options—who does that leave me with? The Elevens? The Sevens?

The bell rings for lunch, echoing off the concrete walls. It'll be the perfect time to grab the people I need.

You can do it, Hass. No hesitation—look at what happened when I waited to speak with Barrett. I take a deep breath and fix my eyes on my next targets, careful to keep a wary eye on the Ones, Twos, and Fours, who are gathering at one of the lunch tables. They volunteered, expecting to dominate the story for this year.

They won't see my plotline coming.

Naaman Rhus, 17, District Eleven

Across the table from me, Anetha picks at her pile of mashed potatoes. I'm not sure what cosmic power has it out for me, but I'm stuck with her. I snort. Who am I kidding—it's not some cosmic power; it's Seeder who's forcing me to stick around little miss stuck-up. I suspect that woman's tryin' to kill me before the Arena.

As if the Capitol needed help.

But this is a temporary situation. She forced us to stick together until the final eight, after which we're free to kill each other. I wouldn't normally cave, but she pulled me aside before we came down and told me that all our sponsorship money would go to Anetha if we split. I suspect that she told the opposite thing to Anetha, but I don't dare to confront her about it.

'Cause no one argues with Miss Seeder. An angry Victor is a sight to behold, and I don't intend on beholding it in my lifetime.

"I'm done eating," I say.

She glares at the bits of food left on my plate. "You ain't gonna waste that, are you?"

I shrug because I know it'll piss her off. "So what if I do? They already waste most of the food here, anyway."

She straightens up, leering down at me, much like a cobra preparing to strike. "Those scraps are the hard work of District Eleven citizens! How can you just throw it away?"

"It was wasted the moment it got sent to the Capitol," I shoot back. "And this isn't your business, b— —."

She huffs and turns back to her own plate. I twiddle my thumbs—how long do we have to be here, anyway?

A shadow falls across us. I look up to find a kid at the head of the table, a stupid smile on his face.

"Hey," he says, "I'm Hass, from District Five."

I snicker. "Hass? Like a—"

"No," he says, "Hass. With a pronounced 'H.' "

"Who cares?" If I were home, I'd pretend to be nice, but there's no point in frivolous niceties here.

That stupid smile doesn't leave his face, much like our puppet mayor on television. "You might. I have an idea—just hear me out."

"Wait," Anetha says, sitting fully upright in her crane-like posture—shoulders straight, chin up. She rises. "I'm sure it's important, but you'll have to give me a moment."

Before Hass can say anything, she's gliding over to the bathrooms, leaving the two of us in uncomfortable silence.

"So," he says, "What—"

"Don't. I'm not interested in small talk."

After a few moments, Anetha returns, settling down into a relaxed posture that screams power. As annoying as she is, there's something satisfying about watching her use her intimidation tactics on someone new. "Now what are you here for?"

Hass clears his throat. "I have a proposition."

She raises an eyebrow. "It'd better be good."

"It is," he says, "The Star Alliance always dominates the early game beginning from the Cornucopia, but if we can cut their advantage there, all of our odds of victory rise dramatically."

"What's your actual plan?" she says.

"I'm inviting you both to join a coalition."

"Like an alliance?" I say.

"No. A coalition. We band together to take down the Star Alliance at the Bloodbath, and then we'll divide up the resources and split up from there."

"Who's in this little coalition of yours?" Anetha says, waving her ugly finger at him.

He smiles sheepishly. "Well… You guys are the first people I'm asking. I plan to get the Sevens in on this too for sure, but I'm open to grabbing anyone I can get. It's about time we evened the playing field."

"In that case, we can talk about that later," she says, a relaxed look on her face. She's dominating this conversation and she knows it. "So tell me more about this plan. What will you be doing while we're killing the Star Alliance?"

He seems taken aback. "There're… a lot of things I could do. I know I'm not the strongest, but I can gather supplies or even help out one of you guys if there's an even fight that needs my help."

Anetha and I glance at each other for a split second. Red flags might as well be circling his head.

"But that's a topic for later," he says, "What do you guys think?" When his question is met with silence, he laughs nervously. "Then… why don't I give you a moment to think about it while I go take a quick one?"

Both of us keep our eyes on Hass as he walks away. His figure has barely disappeared into the bathroom before Anetha snorts. "Ha! That boy's a player."

"Who does he think he's trickin'? The moment that gong sounds, he's gonna be gone, ran off to who knows where."

She laughs. "I know, right? With those skinny arms of his, there's no way he's sticking around to help 'take down the Star Alliance' or any of that crap."

"So we're fixin' to ditch him?" We. That word still hurts me, but I'll go through this for Seeder. Or rather, for myself, so that Seeder doesn't beat the crap outta me.

'Cause no one argues with Miss Seeder.

Anetha taps her fingers on the table, thinking. A mischievous glint appears in her eye. "I say we stay."

I deadpan. "What are you—crazy? He ain't gonna follow through."

"I ain't kiddin'," she says, "It looks like he's fixin' to grab a couple more people. If we stick around, we might get some leverage with the competition, y'know?"

"Leverage?"

"We won't have to fight as many people for supplies, at least."

I bite my lip. "I still don't think this thing will last. That boy don't have nothin' but a silver tongue, and as soon as people see through him, everything's gonna fall apart. Besides, there's no guarantee that anyone else will listen to him."

"You never know—it could work. It's not exactly a horrible idea, and most people don't have your experience with lyin' to see through him so fast."

"Oh please—you saw through that boy just as fast, and you're callin' me a liar?"

"Lemme tell you," she says, waving a finger, "I'm just good at detecting liars—"

"Because you a liar too!"

"You just don't like being called out."

"And—"

"Shush!" she says, her voice suddenly hushed. She jerks her head in the direction of the bathroom. "The boy's coming back. We're sticking with him for now."

"But—"

"We don't got time for 'but's."

'But's. Hass. I snicker. Anetha frowns.

Hass returns with a smile, but the two of us just stare at him. He fidgets slightly in the uncomfortable silence. "So… what do you guys say?"

"It's a yes," she says, extending her hand, "You have a deal."

They shake hands, and I glare at Anetha. She might've coerced me into this bullcrap coalition, but I don't plan on innocently following.

Mark my words, Anetha; I'll get back at you.

Zeus Strikon, 18, District Two

I'm usually pretty self-controlled, but I'm sure I overate, even if it's just by a hair. I never have the luxury of a large meal at home, but here, I'm getting banquets three times a day. My stomach's probably already doubled in size—I'll have to cut back so that I don't starve easily in the Arena.

"…and then the shark came in for the kill!"

Devrell hass been telling a story of a shark encounter, and I'm not sure I believe him. Sure, I've never seen a shark before, but I doubt sharks wear the bones of their victims as trophies of their victories. Cleodora's unamused look only confirms my suspicions. When she notices me watching her, she rolls her eyes, ever so slightly. The other three don't seem to have any problems with it, though.

"It was larger than I thought—it must've been as long as a bus! So I did the only rational thing to do."

"Grab the spear?" Lannister says, eyes wide.

"No way! I was out of that water in a flash! The shark wouldn't leave me alone, though, and he started slamming against the hull of the boat!"

"Really?" Jasmine says, "Do sharks do that?"

"I don't know if they normally do, but this one did! I felt the thud, thud, thud… he was trying to tip the little boat! Then he poked his head out of the water, and I slammed the oar at his gills as hard as I could—but he didn't stop!"

Alia laughs. "That's bull! You had me for a moment, but there's no way this story is real."

Devrell shrugs. "I'm just telling you what I experienced. And then—"

That's it. I'm done wasting time—I came here to train, not to listen to some half-true story of a kid that has to die in the next few weeks. I push my chair back and stand up.

"What's up?" Lannister says.

"Back to train."

Devrell checks the clock. "Come on, man. We still have… twenty minutes?"

"Extra time to train." I turn my back and stride back towards the various stations. I've spent my entire morning learning how to differentiate edible from poisonous berries; it's time to get in a bit of weapon training to keep myself as fit as possible.

I don't want to expose all my skills, so I'll start with all the weapons first to get them done while the others are still listening to Devrell's shark story. I slide a spear off of the rack and toss it lightly in my hands. I've missed this feeling after not touching a weapon for… two days? Gosh, that's the longest break from training I've had in years. Without requiring a second thought, I hurl it at the target on the wall, where it hits the edge of the bullseye with a thud. Dang, the two days off have slightly dulled my instincts.

"Nice shot."

I turn to find Lannister standing a few feet back, standing relaxed as he watches. What's he up to? Is he trying to scout me out to identify my weaknesses? The District Ones have stuck close together all morning; perhaps they plan to break off from the alliance and run off together. No words come to mind, so I just stare.

"So you prefer spears?" he says, "It's kind of weird not knowing what weapons we all prefer. Y'know, since we all did survival skills this morning?"

"I guess."

"I'm more comfortable with swords, personally." He slides a lighter sword up from the weapons rack and twirls it a few times in his hand, sending sparks of light off its polished surface. "It just instantly brings you home, doesn't it?"

I raise an eyebrow. Is he trying to intimidate me? "Impressive."

"Thanks." He grins. "I spent way too much time working on it. It's impressive, I guess, but it's also useless."

I grunt. He's completely right. I've been careful not to waste a single moment of training, and that's why I'm a capable fighter with any weapon in hand.

"Oh—I'm sorry for interrupting you. Don't let me keep you from training. I'm fine watching for now—I think I had just a tad much to eat."

I narrow my eyes. There's no way I'm just going to let him stand there and analyze me.

He shrugs, grabbing a spear. "I guess I can give it a shot, if it makes you feel better." He hurls it forward with a grunt, and it lands a few rings out from the center. "Oh well. As I said, I'm best with a sword."

I throw the spear a few more times, and my aim soon returns to its regular precision. I've reached a point where I simply have to maintain my skill level, so there's no reason to waste more time with the spears. I'd like to go to the swords next, but with Lannister around, there has to be a change in plans.

Instead of the swords, I head over to the rock wall, where I scramble up to the top without much of a hassle. Right as I'm about to head back down, I notice Lannister right behind me.

I raise an eyebrow. "Trying to keep up?"

"Just trying out your workout routine," he says with a smile. "But I'm pretty sure I could keep up."

"We'll see."

I scramble back down the rock wall, Lannister trailing slightly behind, and jog over to the track, where I run four loops around it to complete a full mile. Here I have to admit that the guy is an excellent runner—we nearly end at the same time despite me starting earlier. Finally, I head over to the pool, diving right into it—these clothes are basically one-use anyway. I complete a few laps and then lift myself out of the pool, settling down on the edge to catch my breath as I dangle my feet in the cool water.

After a few minutes, Lannister emerges, wiping the water off his face and gasping for air.

The corner of my lip curls up. "Too much?"

He pushes himself up onto the edge and sits beside me. "That's a lot after such a big meal. Maybe I need to eat less."

I silently agree.

"You've got a mad routine going," he says, "Do you normally train like this back in Two?"

"Sometimes." It's a perfect response, answering the question and projecting stength without giving away much information.

I look him up and down as he tries to wring the water out of his shirt. Somehow, I'm not getting a threatening feel from him as he grabs a nearby towel and rubs his hair to dry it, all while wearing a goofy grin and kicking his legs in the water. Most people only act to benefit themselves, doing whatever it takes at the cost of others—and this sad reality of humanity is encouraged here in the Hunger Games. But Lannister…

He doesn't have much of a selfish aura. I'm sure he'll kill like everyone else once we're in the arena…

But maybe he's not too bad.

A/N I don't have much to say today except that I'm so excited for the rest of this story to unfold; I wish I had all the time in the world to write.

How do you feel about the groups that are forming? About the group dynamics in the Star Alliance? How long will they all last? Will Hass' plan work?

Thoughts?