Training — Day 2, Part 1

Evelyn Darby, 15, District Six

Another day, another morning where both Reuben and I have gotten up far too early. We're back in the living room again, and I'm shaking on the couch, pressing my palms into the cushion so that I won't bite my nails. Yesterday was a failure. Even Reuben admits that—he only talked to the lazy boy from Twelve.

I can't do this!

"Evelyn! Look at me!"

Deja vu. I lift my head anyway and look into his concerned eyes. "I- I can't do this."

"Yes, you can."

I close my eyes and replay what happened yesterday. We had decided that I would approach the thirteen-year-old District Nine boy—he's thirteen; how bad could it be—but when I tried to say hi, he didn't respond and kept his eyes fixed on the tools in his hand. I tried again, but then he snapped at me and told me that my voice was annoying. "People hate me."

"Why would you think that?"

"I'm awkward, and I don't know how to talk to people, and I fumble over my words, and my voice is annoying—"

"I don't think your voice is annoying," he says with a smile, "Just ignore that kid; he doesn't know what he's talking about. And you've been able to talk to me, right?"

"But you're different. I already kinda knew you from home. I don't know any of these people!"

"Evelyn—"

"If I try to talk to them, they'll think I'm an idiot, and then they'll hate me—and then they'll kill me! I—"

"Evelyn!"

All I can do is stare back at him, pleading with my eyes for all this to go away.

He places a soft but firm hand on my shoulder. "Breathe."

I obediently suck air into my lungs.

"Now release it slowly."

I push the air out as he says, and my heartbeat calms ever so slightly.

"How about this? Let's figure out how you can start a conversation with someone."

I nod. "I need help so bad…"

"So," he says, "How do you normally start a conversation with someone new?"

"I don't."

He nods slowly. "Okay, then… Think about the first day of school."

My muscles tense. I hate the first day of school. Everyone's judging everyone, so you have to watch everything you say, every step you take, every place you look. Last year, I tripped on an untied shoelace on the first day. I couldn't look anyone in the eyes for almost a week. Even the thought is enough to make me cringe.

"Okay…" he says, "Maybe not the first day of school. You could complement them."

"Like flattery?"

"Not flattery—just look for something they're doing well. If they're working really hard at a survival station, then you could comment on how they look like they know what they're doing, you know? Or if they have a nice shirt or something."

Is that what people do? "Um…"

"And if you can, share something from your life that's connected to it. Going with the shirt idea, you could say how it's your favorite color or something."

"I… guess?"

"Let's practice," he says, adjusting himself in his seat. "Pretend I'm hard at work at… making fish hooks, and you want to talk to me. Try starting a conversation." He pretends to work at something in his hands.

"H- Hey…" I say, half-whispering. What to say… what to say… "I… like your beanie."

He looks up with a smile, touching the blue woven hat on his heat. "Thanks."

"I…" Words, words, words! "My district partner really likes wearing them too."

He beams at me. "There you go! That's how you start a conversation!"

Really? It feels so… unnatural. "Then what?"

"Then you ask if they want to work on that skill with you. If they say no, then you probably don't want them as an ally."

I nod slowly—that makes sense. It provides them an easy way to say no. I hate being coerced into saying yes to things too.

Still… all this feels so… rehearsed? "Can I ask a question?"

"Go for it."

"Is this how you talk to new people? It just doesn't feel natural."

He laughs. "Nah. I play by ear. But it helps to have a blueprint if you don't have anything to say, right?"

I sigh. He's socially gifted and I'm not. "I guess so."

"Trrrributes!"

The sharp sound of our escort rings through the room like a splitting headache. I groan, and my heart begins to pound again.

Reuben pats me on the back. "They can't hurt you down there, and no one's going to target you in the Bloodbath."

That's because I'm not worth targeting.

Somehow, it's a bit reassuring. Depressing, but also reassuring. "Thanks, Reuben."

"Of course! Now we'll go get 'em!"

You can do this. You can do this.

"I'll do my best."

Achan Combrush, 17, District Twelve

As the elevator descends, my ears ring with my mentor's biting words from breakfast.

"If you don't get your sorry a— — talking to someone today, you'll be sure to regret it."

Hmph. She just had to interrupt our beautiful morning with that. I'm probably going to die in a week—can't you just let me enjoy my last moments on earth? At least she has the decency of letting us eat as much as we want, much to the chagrin of our escort.

But she does have a point. You're a puny stickling from District Twelve, and District Twelve sticklings don't win the Hunger Games alone.

I hate to admit it, but it's true. Maybe it was different thirty years ago when the Games were just getting started and hiding the entire way was an option, but in the past decades, the Gamemakers have punished those that just hide. Nowadays, it's better to get instantly killed by a Career slice than tortured to death by the Capitol—so I'll need to find some kind of partner in order to get through this thing.

But that takes so much work…

If little Dove can do it with her diminutive stature, then I can too. Granted, her ally is Integra of all people—that girl wouldn't stand a chance against anyone that's a key player. Maybe she'd be helpful against…

The Fives, the Six girl, the Nine boy… And me. That's a scary thought—Dove and her ally combined now pose a larger threat than I do. I need to get a move on.

So who are my options…

Speaking of the Nine boy, the doors open and he and his partner step into the elevator. Though I haven't been paying too much attention to them, his face does look considerably brighter than any other time I've seen him.

He looks confident.

That's right; he's now allied with the scaryman from Ten. Only heaven knows how that happened.

Just goes to show how important allies are.

The doors open again, and the boy from Six steps in, a comforting arm around his little district partner. I talked to the guy yesterday; perhaps he'd be willing to team up?

I wave, but though he waves back, he seems preoccupied with consoling his trembling district partner. The same thing happened yesterday. We were having a nice chat when the girl started freaking out about something and he left the conversation. Perhaps it's best that we aren't allied. That girl is a huge liability.

Or maybe I'm just making excuses for not talking to them.

I open my mouth, but the District Twos step in. The Six girl hides even more behind her district partner. I shut my mouth and do my best to avoid staring at either the fierce girl or the stony boy—neither of them look like they'd hesitate to slice me open.

Once we're released to train, I sit down with the fire starters. It's a popular enough station; perhaps it'll save me the energy for seeking people out. Sure enough, it isn't long before the boy from Seven settles down nearby.

Here's your chance. You even got lucky with this one—he's one of the stronger options out here.

What if he says no? I've already got a reputation for sleeping after the hammock incident from yesterday.

Even if you fail—at least you tried.

But what if he gets super involved in the conversation? That'd be even worse—I hate conversations that drag and drag without a sign of escape. It's just so… tiring.

Better tired than dead.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Whatever happens, happens.

"Hey," I say, giving him a weak smile.

He looks up from the wooden board beneath him, an annoyed look on his face. "Oh—Hey."

Bingo! Time to leave—he doesn't want to talk anyway. "I'm sorry; I'll leave you alone."

"Oh, no," he insists, "It's fine. How's it goin'?"

Dang it. "I… just thought I'd say hello. Nothing much."

"Well then… Hello."

I stare at him for an awkward moment. How do I even say this—"How are you doing?" seems inappropriate, given the circumstances.

"So," he says, "I doubt you said 'hi' because you wanted to stare at me."

It was awkward enough as is—You didn't have to call me out on that. "Not exactly, no," I say, laughing nervously, "I just thought I'd scout out potential allies. Would you be interested?"

He gives me a weird look.

Welp, time to backtrack. "It's fine if you're not interested, though."

He cocks his head and looks at me with a thoughtful expression. "You know… I think I figured you out."

Figured me out? "What's that mean?"

"You seem like the type of guy that doesn't try because he's afraid of failure," he says, "Or you're still lazy because you're still in denial."

Yikes. That kinda hurts.

But he isn't wrong, either.

He smiles when he sees my expression. "Which one is it?"

"Maybe… both?"

He nods slowly. "I can see that. But that's also why I don't think I can accept an alliance request from you just yet."

Ouch. My face falls. That's harsh—he calls me out on being afraid of rejection, and then he goes right out and rejects me.

"Oh—I'm not saying no, per se," he says, "I just need evidence that you're not a lazy dunce. You can't afford to be lazy in the arena, you know?"

"Sure."

He turns back to his fire-starting materials, and I return to mine. He's working at making a firepit, but I just stare at the blocks of wood in my hand.

He might've been harsh, but he gave you a chance.

He's District Seven too—now that the Tens and Elevens are both tied up, this might be the best chance I'll get.

It's time for the old Achan to go away. No one at home expects me to make it far, and it's about time I decided to prove them wrong.

Y'know, this unfamiliar fiery feeling is actually quite exciting. Maybe it's not as nice as a soft cushion, but it's got to be up there somewhere.

Jasmine Softwing, 18, District One

Alia struts over the moment we're released to train. "Jasmine! Your hair is gorgeous today!"

"Thank you!" I say, twirling my braid—a huge departure from my regular hairstyle. Normally, I'd tie it back in a simple ponytail for training and leave it down for everything else. "I just woke up today and decided that I wanted to try something new."

"I love it! Did you do it yourself?"

"My stylist did!" I lie, though I'm not sure why. I just can't seem to ever be honest around the others in the Star Alliance. "Let me tell you—he is a magician."

"Well," she says, "I'll have to get my stylist to show off a bit more, then. I'll see the two of you at lunch, okay?"

I wave back as she stalks off towards the Unconventional Foods station, and once she's not watching me anymore, I let my smile drop.

Lannister gives me a concerned look when he notices the cloud over me. "You okay?"

I spent so much time on my hair this morning to distract myself, but I suppose I can't do that here. I nod. "Mostly. Maybe I'm not."

He doesn't reply, but he puts an arm around me and gives me a squeeze. I lied about not being honest with my allies—I can be honest with him. I can't thank heaven enough for giving me such a wonderful district partner. I haven't told him everything yet, but I've said more to him about what I feel than I've said to anyone else in years.

Okay, Jasmine. Get it together. That's enough moping for one day.

I smile at him. "Where do you want to go today?"

"Well…" He eyes our allies from Two and Four. "I was thinking we should split up for a bit."

Split up? My heart sinks—maybe I shouldn't have been so open with him. Have I scared him away? "What's wrong?"

"Oh— No! Nothing! I just don't want the rest of 'em getting the impression that we're bonded together because that'll put a target on our backs. Did you see the way Alia just looked at us?"

I must've been preoccupied because my mind is drawing a blank, but I'll trust Lannister on this one. "We'll compare notes after lunch?"

"Sounds perfect."

I go down the list of stations. We did fire starting and knots yesterday; maybe I'll start with edible plants today. I quietly slide up to the table to take a seat. The only other person here is a younger girl from… Five? Six?

You're so inhumane, Jasmine. You're about to kill them, and you won't even give them the decency of learning their names and districts?

No—I never meant it like that! I've just been too worried over stuff to notice. Stuff like… my hair.

How shallow are you, anyway?

I bite my lip. There's no way I can deny that accusation.

Exactly. You're—

"Umm… Hello?" A voice cuts my thoughts off. It's the girl at the other end of the table, leaning towards me with nervous eyes.

I put on a weak smile. "Hi."

"Well… I just wanted you to know that your braid is really pretty."

"Oh, really? Thank you." I play with it in my hand—I spent a long time working on it this morning.

"I had a classmate back home with hair like that," she says, "But my hair's too crazy. It won't listen to me no matter what I do."

"I think it's beautiful."

She blushes. "Um… Do you want to… study plants with me?"

"Of course!" I say. I get up and settle in the seat next to hers—there's something about her sweet face that warms my heart. "What's your name?"

"I'm Evelyn, from District Six—" Her eyes widen. "I'm sorry, I just realized that I forgot to introduce myself and I'm so sorry—"

I give her a little squeeze, much like the one Lannister gave me. "Don't worry about it! You're doing a great job."

She beams. "So that's me… What's your name?"

I freeze for a moment—would revealing that I'm trained be a bad idea? I can't just leave her hanging, though… "I'm Jasmine," I say, my voice a little unsteady, "District One."

The words are barely out of my mouth before all the color drains from her face. A small shriek escapes her lips and she shrinks away from me. "D- District One? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to talk to you! Please don't hurt me—"

"No! It's fine!" I say, but it has no effect.

"I really didn't recognize you with your hair in a braid!" She stumbles to her feet, dropping the model plant on the floor without thinking as she backs away from me. "I promise I won't get in your way ever again!"

"Evelyn—" I call, but she runs off towards an older boy, likely her district partner, who glares at me.

She's gone. Gone! All because I'm a monster that trained to kill—and considering that, I don't blame her for fleeing from my hideous being. The corners of my eyes are threatening to leak tears, and Evelyn's panicking has turned some heads.

I can't have anyone see me cry. The untrained already hate me. Crying would turn the rest of my allies on me.

I bolt to the bathroom, lock myself in a stall, and collapse onto the toilet seat, burying my head in my hands.

You're a monster, Jasmine. Sweet, little Evelyn wouldn't have run away if you weren't one. You deserve to die, and people like her need to win.

I'm blinking rapidly to keep my watering eyes at bay when my braid brushes against my hand. I stare at my twined blonde hair, and something inside boils over.

Stupid braid! How selfish am I, that I would waste my time this morning on my f— — hair instead of facing the truth that I volunteered to murder? And if I hadn't done it, perhaps I wouldn't have scarred that poor girl!

I slam the stall open—thankfully, there's no one else in here—and I growl at my own reflection in the mirror before I slip the hairband off and tear the strands of hair out of the horrible, horrible braid until it's all hanging loose. It's a mess that needs to be combed, but I don't have a comb on me right now and I don't care. I stare at the monster in the mirror.

That's right. You're just a monster. You—

"Jasmine?" Lannister's voice echoes into the bathroom as he knocks on the door. "Are you okay?"

I sniffle and clear my throat. "I'm… fine."

"Is there anyone else other than you in there?" When I don't respond, he pushes open the door and steps in. "Are you okay?"

"What are you doing? This is the women's bathroom!"

"There's no one else here, right? I can't just let you fall apart alone."

I stifle a cry or laugh or I-don't-know. "They'll drag you out!"

"Then I guess we'd better get going," he says, coming right beside me, "You ready?"

I wash my face and wipe it dry with a paper towel. The rough paper rubs against my skin—I'll have to apply extra lotion tonight. "I… think so. Do I look okay?"

He carefully observes my face. "You've clearly been through something, but it doesn't look like you've been crying or anything."

"Whew."

"If anything, you look scarier now."

Scarier. Like a mon—

"Whoops—that was the wrong word. You look… fierce."

I sigh. "I think I can live with 'fierce.' "

He smiles. "Then let's go. It won't be long until security comes to drag me out, right?"

I check my reflection one more time—hair adjusted, shirt straightened, face wiped. "I'm ready."

Orysa Edrei, 16, District Nine

My eyes wander between the flail in my hand and the dummy up ahead.

The flail is familiar—it's a tool with two sturdy sticks attached with a chain. To use it, you grip the longer stick and swing the shorter one, and it's usually used for threshing grains and wild rice, which I did often back in Nine.

The dummy is not. When Dad and I used the flails, we were always careful to make sure no one else was around that might get hurt. Now, I'm supposed to swing towards the dummy instead of away from it? In my brain, it makes sense that it's kill or be killed—yet my reflexes and my muscles still feel so wrong aiming the flail towards another person…

Or the dummy. It's not even a real person. Maybe it'll be different when the person before me is trying to kill me.

It'd better be different.

I grit my teeth and swing the flail, which hits the dummy with a sickening thunk. If it were a real person, he'd be knocked out.

Better the dummy than me go thunk.

Besides, this is still one of the less gory flails. There are also some with spiked balls instead of a second wooden stick; those would tear into the victim, leaving nasty wounds.

I can stomach this if I try hard enough.

When I glance up, I see Bryson with the massive District Ten Male—Barrett, I think? Bryson was talking about it at dinner last night. Apparently, the guy just walked up to him and asked to ally.

In some ways, it pushes a button inside. I've tried my hardest to cheer him up and even let the Peacekeepers rescue him first during the fiasco known as the Chariot Ride, but I can't do enough to protect him. Barrett can. I can only hope that the guy is genuine.

If he lays a finger on Bryson… Oh, he's going to get it.

Sure, this may be the Hunger Games, but it doesn't change some fundamental truths, one of them being that we from District Nine look out for each other like members of one big family.

I hope Bryson will vouch for me if I ever run into them in the Arena.

This isn't right, the way we're being turned on our own families. I growl and swing the flail at the dummy again, and it knocks the head off with a loud rip, leaving it barely hanging by a thin strip of fabric.

If that were a real per—

No, Orysa. You're not allowed to think like that. Family comes first, and in this case, that means I'll have to rip other families apart to get back to my own. Even my hardest efforts to picture Dad's warm face can't straighten the twisted Capitol logic that applies here.

"Dang," someone says from behind me. "You've got some pent up anger." I whirl around, almost slamming the flail into the head of the boy from Eight, who's wearing some kind of weird helmet. He yelps and leaps back. "I don't need another head injury; thank you very much."

"Sorry," I say, gingerly placing the flail on its rack. "That was close. You're… Baize, right? We spoke a bit before the fire fiasco happened, remember?"

"Yeah—and you're Orysa?"

"You betcha," I say, "Is your head okay? That was a nasty accident."

He knocks on the helmet on his head. "They said I might've had a mild concussion, but this boy is supposed to get my head back into perfect shape by tomorrow. Can't have tributes damaged before the Arena, can we?"

"Just imagine the uproar," I say, "Not giving the tributes an 'equal chance'?"

He laughs. "Like we ever got that. Districts 1, 2, and 4 were pampered early on for betraying the rebellion, and now they get to train?"

I shiver slightly at the mention of the rebellion of the Dark Days—there are cameras around, after all—yet there's something homely about that shameless speaking. "Hey," I say, "I know you're supposed to rest and all, but do you want to work together for now?"

He raises an eyebrow. "I'm down—are we making this official?"

"Sure!" I stick out my hand. "Would you like to be allies?"

"That sounds so cheesy…"

"Blame me; I enjoy a good slice of homemade cheese. Are you gonna reply or not?"

He rolls his eyes, but he shakes my hand. "Done."

My smile dims slightly when the magnitude of this decision hits me. This could be life and death. Baize isn't even the best option out here—the Seven Girl is stronger; the Five girl seems smarter. Even the Six Boy looks like he could take Baize down purely by virtue of being better fed. Still, something about the way Baize talks feels like family.

And we of District Nine don't abandon family.

A/N Whoops, I think I have too many awkward kids. But it's all good and well; teenagers are awkward anyway. :P

Fun fact: The bit between Evelyn and Jasmine was the first thing ever planned for training! I've been waiting to make this happen for like forever.

Thoughts?