Training — Day 1, Part 3

Baize Liliwin, 17, District Eight

F— — the Capitol. F— — the effin' Capitol. I'm sitting here at the alternative food source station, and I grab the sample bird eggs and slam them at the hard floor. They don't crack; they just bounce and roll, roll, roll away.

Effin' fake eggs. Effin' training. Effin' Capitol bull that forces us to be here, to strut around like peacocks for slaughter, to kill other kids. Kill. And I can't even get back at them by breaking their stuff.

Viyella looks up from picking apart a fake snake to give me a stern look. Shut it, Mom. I glare at her and grab a model turtle, as if busying myself will protect myself from her disapproval.

"You need to go pick it up," she says.

"Just leave me alone, okay?"

"You chose to follow me around."

I give an exaggerated sigh, get up, and pick the fake bird eggs off the floor. I roll them over the table to her. "Here, Mom."

She simply gives me another hard look and returns to learning how to eat snake meat. Ugh. Snake. I'm sure I'd eat it in the Arena, but the thought is still revolting—especially since we just had an abundant lunch. I slide the turtle away from me, spinning it on its shell. "This is disgusting."

"Just shut up, okay? I'm busy right now."

I roll my eyes and wander away from the table. Viyella's sick of my jabbering. I'm sick of her bossiness. It'd be best to put some distance between us.

But still, effin' Capitol.

I scan the room aimlessly, wandering without any direction. If only there was a way I could get back at them without completely jeopardizing my shot at victory. Like smash all their berries at the edible plants station. Or burn their instructional books. Or drain the swimming pool.

My eyes land on the ropes course in the corner of the room, held up by firm knots tied to handles protruding from the walls. Only two or three of them need to be taken apart, and the entire thing will come crashing down.

I scurry up the side labelled "easy"—it's only ten feet up—and examine one of the knots holding the ropes up, carefully balancing on the ropes. The way the ropes are looped around the handle isn't complicated—anyone with half a brain could undo it. The issue is the translucent white substance that has soaked into the ropes and hardened there, solidifying the knot into a solid mass. I suppose I could cut it down with a knife, but I doubt I could sneak one away from the trainer. I run my finger along the rope. What to do…

A voice appears from right behind my left ear. "Whaddya doing?"

"Ack!" I jerk to the opposite side, but there's nothing there. I flail my arms, barely hanging on to a nearby rope as my feet slip off the rope I was on.

I'm going to fall.

Hands grab my legs and steady me. It's a boy I don't recognize, with dark hair swept up in a mess and eyes that hold a mischievous sparkle.

"What was that for?" I growl.

He winks. "Sorry. I couldn't help myself. Whaddya doing?"

I glance at the spot I was just examining and then look back to him. "Nothing."

He pouts. "Oh, come on. I saw your face and you looked like you were up to something fun. Naturally, I had to come check it out."

"Well…"

"What's your name?"

Gosh, his brain is running faster than a convict from Peacekeepers. "Baize. District Eight. And you?"

He smirks. "I go by Chaos."

"Chaos?"

"Yeah! As in 'complete disorder and confusion.' "

I narrow my eyes. What?

"That's the dictionary definition, by the way. C — H — A — O — S."

"Yeah, I got that part. It's… an unusual name."

"Exactly! So what are you up to? I want to know."

Should I tell him? "I…"

"Then I'll guess! I think…" His voice drops to a whisper. "You're going to take down the ropes course!"

"Was I that obvious?"

"Nah. That's just what I would've done. Can I help?"

I stare at his eager face. Who is this kid and where did he come from? I appreciate the enthusiasm and all, but… What am I supposed to think? I glance back at the structure of the ropes course—I'd need to loosen at least three of the anchoring knots, and one of the three key ones is high, high up.

"…I'd really appreciate help."

"Excellent!" He slips something out of his pocket… two lighters. "I thought these might come in handy."

Lighters—those are potentially destructive! A smile breaks across my face. "So we'll burn it all down?"

Chaos cocks his head and pauses to ponder. "I was originally thinking of just using the fire to melt the thing that keeps the ropes stuck, but that works too!"

That could be awesome… but if the fire goes wrong, we could be caught up here. I'm just looking for a bit of revenge—not to get myself killed. "Maybe we should just stick to melting the stuff off."

He shrugs. "Sure. I'll the one up top—you want to get the two lower ones?"

"Yes!—" Whoops, did I sound too excited? I don't want to climb all the way up, but I don't want to come across as… wimpy? "I mean, that sounds perfect."

"Great!"

Without another word, he scrambles one of the rope ladders, heading to the highest point of the course. He looks back down and waves. I shudder. That's… a bit too high up for me. Even thinking about the fall from here is nerve-wracking. Keeping a wary eye on my surroundings this time, I turn back to the knot I was inspecting before Chaos scared me almost literally to death.

When I put the flame up to the knot, the translucent substance becomes transparent and drips onto the ground far below. Within minutes, the entire knot becomes loose enough to pry apart. I back away to the more stable center of the course—I'll just have to give the ropes a good tug when the other knot is loosened.

Take that, effin' Capitol.

Marleigh Gaskawee, 18, District Five

I slide my fingers underneath the next page of the book on natural poisons—My goodness, they're so smooth and new—and flip it over, inhaling the scent of a new book. Well, these books are probably pretty old, but they've retained their smell due to lack of use.

On this new page is a picture of a plant with deeply jagged, fern-like leaves with gorgeous purple spires. It looks vaguely familiar—I think I've seen them before at the florist. I eye the title on the page.

Larkspur (Delphinium spp.)

The seeds and young plants of the larkspur are toxic to both people and animals. Toxicity decreases as the plant ages. Symptoms of poisoning include general weakness and muscle spasms, as well as abdominal pain and nausea. Eventually, it can lead to respiratory distress, paralysis and death.

That's a pity; it's such a pretty thing. I close my eyes and imagine what it'd look like for someone to die from larkspur poisoning.

The guy's tired as he walks through the woods, but when he stops to rest on a rock, his muscles begin to twitch uncontrollably. He clutches his stomach and vomits as his breathing becomes strained—

Nope. I'm done. I slam the book shut and hold my head in my hands as I rest my elbows on the table. This is so much worse than the first aid I was learning this morning. Leave, foul mental image. What am I going to do in the Arena? I'm clearly not going to be able to fight directly, and now I can't stomach poisons.

Hass is over at the improvised weapons station with the District Elevens. He's basically ignored me since we watched the Reapings together on the trains. Did I do something to offend him? I can't think of anything; all I said was that it was so sad that we were all in the Hunger Games. Maybe he thinks that I'm already dead. It still seems cruel to ignore someone just because you think they don't have a chance, though.

Well, you certainly don't have a chance if you don't kill anyone at all.

That's right; I'll need to find some way of… eliminating the others. Maybe I can just learn the plants without reading what they do, so I won't have any idea how they'll die. I think I can stomach looking at the pictures. Hesitantly, I open the book again and move on to the next page, covering the "symptoms" section with my hand.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I look up from the book—not too far away, under the ropes course, a puddle of a waxy clear substance is forming. Above it is Baize, the boy from Eight. Baize. If Hass heard me, he'd roll his eyes—he doesn't think it's worth learning the names unless there's a use for the person behind it. But isn't it just common decency?

Even further up the web of ropes, Tommy, the boy from Three scrambles down with a wicked smile on his face, giving Baize the OK sign. As Tommy hits the ground, Baize scrambles to the center of the course and gives the ropes a strong yank. Oh no, oh no, oh no…

He doesn't have a way to get down! What is he thinking?

As several of the cords release from the wall, Baize's eyes widen, realizing his mistake. The entire center of the structure comes crashing down along with the wooden platforms, plummeting down towards the padded mats underneath. I release my breath—the mats will keep him from any major injury. He slams into the mat, the ropes falling around and on top of him. The platforms should miss him; he'll be—

One of the platforms hits the ground vertically, and then it falls over onto the boy's head with a clunk. Ouch!

I spring up from my seat, knocking the chair to the ground, and rush over to the mat. I tug at the platform, but I'm not strong enough to lift it all the way off. The boy's district partner, Viyella, appears beside me, her face in a mess of panic. Together, we move the wooden platform off his unmoving body..

"Baize!" she yells, shaking him, "Gosh—tell me you're okay, you idiot!"

I place a hand on her shoulder. "Don't shake him. It could cause damage."

She looks at me with worried eyes. "What do we do?"

I close my eyes—what did I read earlier today? It takes a second, but the instructions come back to me, line by line. I place my ear to his mouth. Soft breaths tickle my ears. "He's breathing." Then, I press my finger against his wrist, feeling for the bump… bump… bump. "His pulse is normal."

"Now what?"

"We leave him here, just in case there's been a neck injury."

Stern voices appear from behind us. "Back away from the tribute." It's a group of Capitol medics, and they gingerly place him on a stretcher before they carry him away.

Viyella places her head in her hands as her breathing slowly stabilizes. "My gosh…" She looks up at me, still blinking back tears. "Thank you so much… What's your name?"

My body freezes. I wasn't ready for this to become a social situation. Still, I manage to choke out my name, albeit softly. "Marleigh."

"Thank you, Marleigh."

What to say, what to say, what to say… "Are… you two close?"

She laughs, causing more tears to spill out of her eyes. "That's the stupid part—We barely know each other. He probably hates me too, but I can't not care for him, can I?"

I can't think of anything to say, so I try to smile.

She wipes her eyes again and gets up to go. "Thanks again, Marleigh."

As she walks off, my body relaxes again. Perhaps I'll go back to first aid—it's proven to be useful. I was sick of poisons anyway.

Alia Bernold, 17, District Two

I carefully eye the hulk from District Ten at the plants station, who's been hanging around the little kid all day. It's getting late now; it's time to go ahead and talk to him. My eyes meet Cleo's, and she tilts her head towards him, watching me with questions in her eyes.

Are you going to ask him?

I nod and give her a smile to reassure her that I'll follow through with what I said this morning I'd do. It's a bit of a lie, though. I'm going to talk to him, but it's not going to be what any of my "allies" think. The Star Alliance is a tradition, not a law, and I don't intend on letting some stuffy tradition keep me from my full, blazing glory.

I amble up to him, and he looks up from the various tubers that he's studying. Even though he's sitting and I'm standing, his size is still intimidating—and I'm supposed to be on the tall side."Howdy."

"Hey," I say, sticking my hand out. "I'm Alia, from District Two."

"I'm Barrett, from District Ten. Nice to meet 'ya."

I point to a quiet corner. "Can I talk to you over there?"

He looks back at his little friend, who shrugs. "Sure."

He gets up and follows behind me. As I walk, a shiver runs down my spine, almost as if I can feel the looming shadow of his towering stature. He could probably pick me up and toss me aside without too much trouble. I know he can't do anything to me here, but that doesn't make it any more comfortable. I may be excellently trained and the very best of District Two, but his hulking size keeps the playing field from fully tipping in my favor.

And that's why I need him out of the way as soon as possible.

I survey the room one more time before I speak. Lannister and Jasmine are huddled over, trying to build a fire together. Devrell is trying to make the largest fish hook possible, and Cleo is at the neighboring first aid station, looking up every so often to make sure he isn't getting himself in trouble. They're all far off; there's no risk of eavesdropping. Zeus worries me a bit, sitting at the nearby ropes station, but he's deeply engrossed in a book. I should be fine.

I clear my throat and look him in the eyes. It's a bit uncomfortable with the height difference, but I need to quickly establish that I'm not to be taken lightly. "I was tasked with inviting you to join our alliance."

He speaks without any hesitation or thought. "Pardon me, but that ain't ever gonna happen."

"That's fine, since that wasn't why I wanted to speak with you."

He raises an eyebrow. "Go on."

I glance back at the room and lower my voice. "I don't plan on sticking with the alliance at all—the Capitol wants a show, and every year, the Star Alliance tries the same-old boring strategy."

Plus, that's what Andreas did. I'm not going to win the Hunger Games her way. I can already imagine the headlines. "Younger Sibling of Beloved District Two Victor Follows in Her Sister's Footsteps." The thought is enough to make me puke.

I pause to give him a chance to speak. He has no comments, so I go on.

"I want to leave the rest of 'em early, possibly as early as the bloodbath, but it would be risky to go at it alone without any backup."

"And that's where I come in?"

"Exactly. It can't be a formal alliance because that would expose us, but I'm offering you a chance to ally with the very best that District Two has to offer."

He nods slowly, considering it. "I just have two questions."

"Sure."

"What do you plan to do in the Arena if we team up?"

That's a rational question—it'd still be two against five. "We clearly still have the numbers disadvantage, so we'll have to pick them off one at a time—bonus points if we can wipe one out in the bloodbath before we run."

"And then?"

"Then we hunt."

"Hunt?"

Does he seriously not get it? Maybe this is why the outer districts don't have victors—the tributes don't understand that you can't be passive. The Hunger Games are glorious, and you don't win by wimping out and hiding in a corner. "The rest aren't just going to drop dead, you know."

"My district partner might be a better hunting partner if that's what you're looking for."

It takes me a moment to process what I'm hearing. It's unheard of for District Two to ally with an outer district, and he's suggesting that I find someone else? Is he crazy? "But I'm asking you. What was your second question?"

"I'm already allied with Bryson from Nine. I'm assuming he's not invited?"

Be polite, Alia. "Of course not," I say. "It's a huge risk that doesn't offer any reward."

"I see. Well then, Miss Alia, I'm gonna have to turn down your generous offer."

"Are you sure? This could be your best chance at victory."

He gives me a sad look. "We both know you don't care about my odds of victory."

I press my lips firmly together. "Well then—I'm glad we had this talk. I'll see you in the arena."

Without a second glance, I whirl around and stalk off. That boy—he probably thinks he's better than the rest of us for sticking to the weakest kid in the room. Harsh reality will be hitting him in less than a week.

A stony voice catches me off guard. "Hey."

I nearly crash into my statue of a district partner, who steps out from behind a rack of weapons. I think this is the first time I've ever seen him initiate a conversation. "Oh— Hey! What's up?"

His stone face doesn't change at all. "I overheard."

So… he was listening. I got careless, speaking to Barrett when Zeus was nearby. I should've known that he was paying attention to his environment. My heart sinks, just a bit. "Overheard?"

"With the Ten kid."

That… could potential throw a wrench into everything. "And?"

A light smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "I know."

Gosh, I wish he'd give me more to work with—his succinct answers aren't much help at all. How do you even talk to someone like him? Whatever you say, you end up in a weird silence. "Look, there's no need to worry," I say, "He turned me down. Case closed. Story over—"

"I won't say anything."

"Oh—Good." That's a bit of a relief, though I didn't expect him to. He doesn't really care at all about me or anyone else, so there's no reason to help one side or the other.

"But I'm watching, genius."

I stare back at him, fumbling for words to say to a statute that defies all social conventions. Before anything clever comes out, he walks off, leaving me staring off into nothing.

Although I haven't really lost anything, there's a small pit forming in my stomach. Why? It's not like my plan has been foiled—I still plan to leave as early as possible.

Things just should've gone my way. Barrett will regret his decision.

Devrell Sibley, 18, District Four

I slice the knife across the tip of the stick, removing another layer of wood shavings from the increasingly pointed tip. I run my finger parallel to it—it should be sharp enough now. I take the fishing line and wrap it securely around it to form a gorge hook, the most basic of the hooks—except this one's larger than they usually are.

"Hey!"

Cleo looks up, face as cold as ever. "That's… certainly a large fish hook."

"You think it could work?"

She goes back to her own stick. "Maybe."

She's definitely calm—I'll give her that. But she also won't say anything straight; I feel like I'm playing a riddle game every time she speaks. Just say what you mean, man!

I sigh. Fish hooks are boring. Every kid in Four, from the richest of rich to the poorest of poor, knows how to make one before they're eight. I suspect Cleo decided on doing this because it was something calming to do in the afternoon, but this is the freakin' Hunger Games! Who's got time for calming?

"Hey, Cleo."

She looks up."Yes?"

"Nothing."

She sighs and looks back down. I tap my finger on the table and look to the clock. It won't be long until the bells rings and we all go back to our quarters, where I'll probably spend the evening scrolling through the food ordering service for weird stuff I haven't tried before. Perhaps I'll get Cleo to come with me at a reasonable hour this time. She's so wound up; she needs something to relax.

I look up again just in time to see Alia, about to pass us. I wave, but she doesn't respond.

"Hey!" I say, jumping up, "Alia!"

She whips around with a grim look on her face.

"How'd it go with the Ten guy?"

"He refused," she says, turning back around and marching off.

"C'mon!" I fall into step beside her. "You've got to say more than that!"

"What's there to say? I invited him, and he said no."

"So I guess we'll have to fight him early then, huh?"

"Yeah. Real early."

She settles down at the fire making station and furiously scrapes a hard stick back and forth in a groove cut into a softwood board, creating a pile of shavings.

"Did he give any reason?" I ask.

She keeps going, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Gosh—that takes endurance to do. Either she's got super strong arms or she's distraught enough to ignore her tiring muscles. "No."

"Nothing at all?"

Smoke begins to rise from the shaving pile and she increases her speed, her eyes fully locked in and her teeth clenched. No response. I raise an eyebrow, but she doesn't notice. This isn't anything like her usual, perceptive self.

"You good?"

As she continues to ignore me and scrape the stick against the board, the smoke becomes a flame. Once it's more than just a flicker, she places some dried leaves on top, and it soon burns nicely. She watches with tunnel vision eyes.

I sigh and get up. "Fine. Ignore me."

A loud bell rings, causing many of the tributes around the room to jump.

"Tributes. Put everything down and pair up by district in a ring around the elevator. Your escort will be here shortly to collect you."

I find my place beside Cleo, who's standing straight as a stick. She was one of the first to get here.

I laugh. Of course calm, robotic Cleo was here first. "You should try stupid stuff sometimes," I say, playfully patting her on the shoulder.

She raises an eyebrow.

I shrug. "It could do you some good to not be serious sometimes, you know?"

She smiles.

"Why are you so quiet all the time anyway?"

"I don't know," she says, yawning, "I guess I like the peace? It makes me feel… balanced and in harmony."

I snort. "So you're one of the water-energy healing people? Like the ones that go, 'Feel the energy of the waves and let it enter your soul…' "

She cracks slightly, allowing a chuckle past her guarded lips. "No, not like those people. I'd like to think I'm not off my rocker."

"You're not," I say, "You don't need brain rewiring—just some time to relax and enjoy all the foods the Capitol has to offer."

"You'd better not burst in my room at three in the morning again."

I grin. "Don't worry; I don't plan to. I was thinking three-thirty this time." Her face scrunches up as she begins to protest, and I laugh. "I'm just messing with you! Geez, Cleo, don't take everything so seriously."

She tries to frown, but she can't completely hide that slight smile. Perhaps I misjudged her.

"So," I say, "Bison steak or white asparagus alfredo?"

A/N We've finished Day 1 of Training! Two more days (5 more chapters) of training to go! I wish I could update faster, but you'll have to settle for these biweekly chapters. I'm really trying to mix these guys together so we get some sparks and sweetness.

Also, if you're behind on reviews… I care more that you're here in the moment than if you completely something for every past one, so if you want to just skip reviewing the chapters in between, I won't be mad. You can do them if you want to (and I love reading them reviews!), but I won't hold it against you if you don't.

Thoughts?