Training — Day 2, Part 3

Viyella Mackinaw, 18, District Eight

I twist the rope in my hands, trying to force it into the shape shown in the book. It bends and loops, but it refuses to obey. What's wrong with you? I shouldn't be struggling; my hands are adept at all kinds of work, trained by taking care of all my younger siblings.

Perhaps I'm just unnerved by the silence, now that I'm alone. It's weird without Baize's constant stream of complaints. Peaceful, but weird. Ever since he allied with the District Nine girl, he's been training with her. It's the best for both of us—I'm sick of his whining and he's sick of me telling him what to do—but it doesn't make the new silence any less strange.

Thud.

Well, I would have silence if the Star Alliance weren't showing off the million ways they know to kill a person. It's not my place to complain, considering that they've waited until after lunch today to start with weapons, but every single time I see them pierce a dummy in the chest, my muscles tighten and my throat feels dry.

Thud.

The boy from Two skewers a dummy from over fifty feet with a javelin. The girl from Four is nearby, hurling tridents with speed and precision. The District Ones are using swords with trainers. While the boy swings a heavy greatsword with long, scary slashes, the girl wields a light rapier. Her dainty dodges and graceful footwork make it look like she's dancing; it would almost be beautiful if she weren't training to kill. Over in the simulation room, the girl from Two and the boy from Four are messing around with their respective sickle and spear.

I gulp. Those last two seriously look like they're having fun. How can anyone be having fun here?

And stupid rope!

The loop finally slips in correctly, and I tighten the knot. There we go. Now I just have to commit it to memory. I really should be practicing the knife skills I learned yesterday, but the knife station is near the spears, and I really don't want to be there…

The rope slips and the knot falls apart. Ugh! Why am I here, tying stupid knots? This game is so unfair, but I'm doing nothing about it. I'm not one to sit around and complain about my problems, but what is there to do?

Gosh, I think I understand Baize a little bit better now. I'm not sure whether I should be annoyed that I'm agreeing with him or proud that I've finally empathized with him. In the Hunger Games, it's probably the first—empathy is definitely an issue.

Stupid rope.

A shadow falls over me. It's the boy from Five, who's been floating around the room for the past day, chit-chatting with various people. Chit-chat. I've had more of that in the past week than I've had in the past year.

"Hey," he says. "They're scary, aren't they?"

I nod gravely. "Clearly."

"You have a plan yet?"

A plan. How do you even plan when the odds are so stacked against you? "I'll figure it out as I go, I guess."

"If you need a plan, I have a proposition."

I sigh. I should've seen this coming—why else would he bother talking to me? "What is it?"

"We're all gonna have to team up if we don't want to get wiped out by the Star Alliance. They already have an unfair advantage. It's the least we can do to even the playing field.""

I nod slowly. That's actually not a horrible idea—it's better than Baize, at any rate, who just complains about how unfair everything is. "Who do you have on board so far?"

"The Elevens. The Sevens."

"Is that it?"

"And me."

I purse my lips. "That's… not much of an advantage."

"I know," he says, "But the Ten girl rejected me and her partner teamed up with the little kid from Nine."

I frown. "He's still a frickin' mountain. Why not give it a try?"

"The little kid is a huge liability…"

"And you're afraid to talk to him?"

He grins sheepishly, much like my brother does when I find him eating in his room or not doing his homework. "Maybe… Just a bit. Does that mean you're in?"

"Definitely," I say, "It's not much, but it's better than letting the trained kids wipe us out individually, at any rate."

"Great!" he says. "Just so you know—this entire thing is under the table, so you won't receive an alliance request or anything."

"No alliance request?"

"Yeah. We can't have the Star Alliance find out."

I nod slowly. No request? The reasoning makes sense, but my gut tells me that something's a bit off. Years of dealing with my siblings' bullcrap have honed my intuition for tricksters. "Gotcha."

"I'll have more information tomorrow," he says, getting up to leave, "Keep your eyes peeled."

I watch him take a few steps away, but my heart is pounding—what am I forgetting? There's something I need to say, but…

Baize. If he and his ally go in alone, they'll be sandwiched between two large alliances.

"Hey!" I call, "Did you get my District Partner?"

"Who?"

"He's allied with the girl from Nine." I point to the knife station, where Baize watches his ally train while nervously eyeing the nearby trained tributes. That girl's got guts.

He rubs his chin. "I guess…"

"The girl clearly has experience and some muscle," I say, grasping for words, "Baize isn't the strongest guy, but he's bold. Remember the Reaping recaps? Or the accident with the ropes course?"

"But…"

"We need as much help as we can get."

He taps his finger, mulling it over. "I guess I could invite them too."

I glance at the clock—there isn't much time left for training today. "Then you'd better hurry up."

He hesitates, but he heads towards them anyway. I take a deep breath. What was I thinking? Was it for my own good? Was it for his sake? Why do I even care about him? Have I accidentally adopted him?

You are so welcome, you stinker.

Tommy "Chaos" Chassis, 16, District Three

Day Two is about to end, but I haven't done anything fun yet. It would be a huge pity to waste a day of training; never again will I get another chance to prank someone without fear of grave, deathly retaliation.

Not that I mind deathly retaliation. Being chased by Peacekeepers probably counts, and I've been there more likes than I can count.

I glance over at Baize with his protective helmet, who's training with the girl from Nine. I don't suppose he'd be up for some fun. That fall yesterday left him pretty beat up. Clearly, he doesn't have as much experience as I do. I went along with him because he looked like he was going to do something exciting—and it was, if you ignore the collateral damage. But for me, I like to keep my pranks targeted and focused.

So who will I target today? The two tributes in the simulation room are out of question; I don't have the expertise needed to hack the simulation system. There's nothing I can do to those in training rings either. Their minimalist setup is no fun.

My eyes lock onto the boy from Two, who's been going between this room, where most of the stations are, and the neighboring one, which holds the regular, freezing, and hot swimming pools as well as the least popular stations—such as surviving in the cold and dealing with excrement. The two rooms are separated by a single door that provides the only way between them. Above the door is an indentation in the wall that seems like it's part of the room's interior design.

A perfect ambush chokepoint.

I spy a bucket in the corner—likely left out by the cleaning Avoxes after the accident yesterday— and the plan comes together in my head. I smile. The boy from Two hasn't shown a single trace of emotion as far as I know, and I like a challenging target.

This should be fun.

Around the room, most of the trainers have bored, spaced out expressions on their tired faces as they await the day of training to end. Even better. I slip over to the bucket and then over to the Arctic swimming pool, conveniently situated in the back corner of the room. No one comes back here. I discreetly fill the bucket with water and slide it over to the edge of the room. Cautiously, I dangle my feet in the icy water—a slight wait will throw off anyone that's watching my movements.

Gosh, this water is cold. My legs are about to turn into popsicles, but it's getting my blood pumping. I love it.

The boy from Two crosses back over to the other room—this is my chance! I turn around, but the boy from Four is right there. For a moment, my heart stops beating. Wasn't he in the simulation room?

"Oh!" I say, "Hello."

"What are you doing with the bucket of icy water?"

I shrug. "I dunno."

He rolls his eyes. "C'mon! I'm tryna have some fun here. I'm Devrell, by the way."

"Chaos," I say.

"Chaos?"

"That's my name."

"That's so weird, but I love it!" he says. His eyes light up as he looks at the bucket of water. "You know, I really want to dump this on someone…"

Have I found… a kindred spirit? "On someone uptight?"

"Stony cold?"

"You know the one."

"Awesome!" he says, "We get him when he comes back through the door?"

I suppose I have. "Exactly." I glance at the single bucket. "But… that one's mine. You go find your own."

He winks at me. "No prob. I'll meet you there."

While he finds something else to hold water in, I sidle over to the door. Now how do I get to the ledge? Leaving the bucket on the ground, I climb up the doorway and swing myself onto the ledge.

When Devrell returns with a sad hollowed-out half-coconut of ice water, he stares up at me with incredulous eyes. "What—? How—?"

I grin. "Hand the bucket up to me, will you?"

An excited smile breaks across his face, and he shakily lifts the bucket up, spilling a bit on himself. He yelps when the ice-cold water hits his shoulder. "Whew!"

"Cold, ain't it?" I say, grabbing the bucket by its handles and pulling it up. "Imagine what a bucketful of this feels like."

He grabs the coconut shell and slides out of the doorway, pressing his back against the wall. "He's coming!"

There's a few moments of excited anticipation. I force my breathing to quiet and listen for approaching footsteps.

Step. Step. Step.

I look down at Devrell, and he winks back at me. I nod.

When the Two boy's blonde hair appears underneath me, I tip the bucket over, splashing a momentary deluge of ice water on his head.

"What the f— —!"

Devrell breaks out howling, hardly able to stand as he barrels over. The Two boy growls at him and shoves him back against the wall, where my laughing partner in crime collapses on the floor, unable to stand straight from the laughs that are flying out of his lungs.

Time to leave.

I leap off my ledge and scamper away, holding in the chuckle that wants to escape. I look back for a moment—the Two boy has moved on and grabbed a towel from the rack by the pool, leaving Devrell gasping for breath on the floor with a content smile. Dang, he moved on quickly. You'd expect a bigger reaction, but he looks unbothered now, if only a bit wet.

The bell rings to end the day of training, so I step up beside Integra as she waits by the elevators. We don't talk much. She's so… cautious.

"Did you have something to do with that?" she says, gesturing at the soaked boy from Two.

I grin. "Maybe."

"Be careful, okay?"

"You know me."

Marleigh Gaskawee, 18, District Five

Hass spends the entire elevator ride talking to the District Eights, barely acknowledging my existence. There's been no change since yesterday; he still hasn't spoken a single word to me. Of course, I can't blame him—he has every reason to believe me to be hopeless—but I'd like to think that I'd try to be nice to someone about to die.

Well, I don't know that I'm going to die. The probabilities are just stacked against me. Statistically, the Star Alliance wins about 50% of the time, even though they make up only 25% of the tributes. The tributes from Seven, Nine, Ten, and Eleven win another 30% of Games. That leaves a 20% chance of victory for the remaining five Districts.

Four percent.

That's the chance that either Hass or I survive. That leaves me with only two percent—or even less, since he's stronger than I am.

This isn't good.

But I must hold on to that two percent. If I give up now, that number drops to zero. At any rate, I feel a little bad for Hass. He's working so hard to make his plan play out right; he must be exhausted.

The doors slide open and we step back into our tribute quarters. The escort tells us that dinner's been delayed, so I retreat to my room and spread out on the silken sheets.

A sigh escapes my lips as I run my fingers across the surface of the bed. It's just so… comfortable. I stare up at the gorgeous ceiling. Did the previous District Five girl stay here too? Did she admire the intricate designs as she tried to forget her possibly imminent death? That must've been so hard…

You're in her place now.

I bolt to my feet and step into the hallway. I can't rest right now, knowing that every moment could make a difference. Even if it's just from a 2% chance of victory to 2.5%, 0.5% percent is 25% of 2%. The numbers aren't good, but they're comforting. It's better than living in limbo, without any idea of the future.

A voice floats down from Hass' room. It's his mentor, Photine. I peek in through a crack in the door—they're sitting across from each other at the table by the window, which displays the magnificent Capitol skyline.

How beautiful.

No wonder they can forget all the injustices happening in Panem; it's far too easy to live in bliss here. Those poor people…

"How did today go?" Photine says.

On the table is a plate of crackers and cheese, and Hass gulps one down. "I got the Sevens, Eights, and the girl from Nine on board today, so it's been pretty productive."

"Good," Photine says, "That makes it… eight, right? Including you and the Elevens?"

"Yeah. We have two more than the Star Alliance now, but…"

"The odds still aren't good."

Hass' face drops as he runs a finger back and forth over the grooves in the table. "This will either be the biggest success or the biggest flop."

"You still have time to recruit a few more tomorrow, you know," she says, her voice kind and encouraging.

Where's my mentor? Off drinking somewhere? That poor guy! He's suffered so much trauma. If I win, will I become like him?

"Yeah…" Hass says, pulling out a sheet of paper. He circles something on it. "Maybe… I'll try talking to the guy from Ten."

"What about the others?"

"I don't think the Twelves are worth the effort." He crosses something off. "I hate to say it… but they're bloodbath fodder anyway." Photine looks at him disapprovingly, but he just shrugs. "The Ten girl is ice in human form. If the Ten guy says yes, then the boy from Nine will follow. The Sixes didn't want to join."

That's so… calloused. Their names run through my head—Dove, Achan, Elena, Barrett, Bryson, Reuben, Evelyn—are their names even on that sheet of paper? Or does he just list them by District and gender? Does he even have my name on there?

Photine takes the sheet and examines it. "That leaves the Threes."

"The boy gives me weird vibes—I feel like he'll try to blow up the Cornucopia while we're all still in it, so I'm not going near him."

"And the girl?"

The girl? She briefly introduced herself to me when we were both at the poisons station. Her name is Integra, and she's so nice… Her ally, Dove, seems nice enough too.

"I actually already invited her," he says, kicking his leg nervously, "She's hopeless in combat, but plant knowledge is super useful."

"Hass…" Photine says, peering at him over the sheet of paper, "She already has an ally, and you said you didn't want the Twelves."

"It shouldn't be a problem," he says defensively. "The Elevens agreed to send an alliance request tonight—there's no competition there."

"You know it's considered bad taste to break someone else's alliance, right?"

He sighs. "This is the Hunger Games. I think I'm okay with doing something in 'bad taste' if it helps me survive."

"I can't stop you, but doesn't this leave a bad taste in your mouth?"

"It doesn't feel right to me, but I'd rather feel bad than die."

Photine gets up, so I back away from the door and slip back into my own room, Hass' words ringing in my ear. I've never heard of someone breaking an alliance in training. Is it even allowed? It must be; Photine would have said so otherwise.

Poor Dove.

If my theoretical ally abandoned me, I'd be heartbroken. That's such a mean thing to do to someone! She's probably already scared enough at the prospects of going into the Hunger Games; taking away her ally would be taking away one of her last sources of confidence. Integra isn't super strong, but she seems like solid emotional support.

Though Hass is from my District, I almost hope that Integra sticks to Dove. No one deserves to be abandoned like that.

Integra Simms, 18, District Three

I take a bite of mashed potatoes as the clatter of forks and spoons and dishes fills my ears. The taste sends a tingle of warmth though me—it's surprisingly similar to Dad's cooking. If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend that I'm back in Three.

But then I smell the air freshener, hear the voices, and feel the cushion underneath me, and I know I'm not anywhere close to home. You can take all this decadence away; I'd still prefer to be in my own rickety chair at home, chatting with Dad after a day of helping people with their problems. Are Mrs. Cashe and her baby okay? What I'd give to know…

"…Did it work?" Chaos says.

Our mentor, Beetee, looks down at his holoscreen. He only won a couple years ago, so he's barely older than we are, but he's currently the only District Three victor. "I got it cleared with the Gamemakers, so I went ahead and made a post asking what people wanted to see."

"Great!" Chaos says, jumping up and leaning over the mentor's shoulder. "Dang… we already have over three hundred responses."

Beetee scrolls down the page. "You're not physically capable of doing most of these…" He cringes visibly. "I don't suppose you know how to gut and debone a dead body?"

"Oh!" our escort chirps, "That was my idea! I thought it'd be…" She trails off when she finds all three of us glaring at her, but she crosses her arms indignantly. "You all are no fun."

Seriously? They actually enjoy gore? I place my fork down. I don't think I can eat anymore.

Chaos points to a reply. "What about that? I think I could pull off a fire trap."

"Fire is incredibly dangerous." Beetee sighs. "You'd risk burning yourself up."

"That's what makes it fun!"

Chaos is insane. He's just put-together enough to pass as normal, but he's crazy. First he helps the Eight kid tear down the ropes course, and then he pranks the Two guy, and now he wants to burn down the entire arena? I'm not a genius, but even I can tell that it's an unnecessary risk.

"That… doesn't sound like a good idea," I say, "What if you burn everyone up?"

"It'll be fine," he says, eyes shining with excitement, "The Gamemakers need a Victor. They'll find some way to put it out."

"Y-You're right…" I concede, "But could you please not if I'm still alive? Burning alive is such a horrible way to go…"

He pouts, but he nods anyway. "Fine. But if you're out of the game, anything goes."

"I won't be alive to care."

The image of burning alive is still fresh in my mind. The food now looks revolting. Get yourself under control. I might have every right to freak out, but I can't afford to.

Suddenly, the holoscreen dings, and Beetee's eyes grow wide. "Integra… You won't believe what just came in."

"What?" I mumble, playing with the tablecloth.

"An exclusive alliance request."

I frown. "Exclusive" means that the requester only wants me. "Alliance? I'm already allied with Dove, so I think I'll have to turn this down…"

"It's the District Elevens."

District Elevens? What do they want from me? Come to think of it, Hass, the boy from Five, came over earlier today saying something about a coalition and the Elevens… "It's exclusive?"

He nods. "Unfortunately so."

I sigh. "What should I do?"

"Thinking strategically… the Elevens are just that much stronger than both of the Twelves, but breaking an alliance is a serious decision."

No one can deny that the Elevens are stronger, but I'm not sure if I can trust them. Even if no one here is completely trustworthy, I think I trust Dove more than those two. Judging by the way they treat each other in training, you'd expect them to kill each other at the Cornucopia.

Slam!

The escort brings her hand down on the table, causing me to jump in my seat. Her powdered face is twisted in confused frustration. "What are you doing?" she huffs, "You'd better accept!"

I open my mouth. "But—"

"No 'but's about it! I'm trying to get promoted to a better district next year, and that's not going to happen if you stick with some slum girl from Twelve."

I take a deep breath. Be brave, Integra. "She's not a slum girl—"

"She is, and you know it! She's hopeless! I simply cannot understand why you would ever stick with her!"

"Calm down," Beetee says, "This is a big decision—"

"You're her mentor!" she screams, "You should be on my side!" She turns back to me and jabs her finger, causing the ornaments up and down her arm to jingle menacingly. "You're already useless enough as is. Can't you help me out a bit? I'm just trying to increase my prestige."

My blood boils. I'm going to die, and all she can think about is her prestige? A million things to shoot back at her spring up in my throat—how could you be so heartless, are you even human, maybe you should get a taste of your own medicine—but none of them make it out of my mouth. Tears well up, blurring my vision. "Please—"

"And you're crying?" she says, "You might as well step off the pedestal and end your suffering as soon as possible! You are a shame to District Three!"

She turns around and stalks off. Chaos' seat is empty; he must have slipped away amidst her ranting. Beetee watches me with concerned eyes.

"I'm sorry," he says, "I should've stopped her."

I choke back a sob. She might be the most entitled, selfish person on the planet, but there really is no point to sticking with Dove. I'm cringing right now just imagining her disappointment when she finds out, but I have to do this for survival. "N-No… it's not your fault." I shake my head as I dab my eyes with a tissue. "She's right."

"Not necessarily. Allies can be risky—and the District Elevens aren't exactly trustworthy either."

"It's fine," I say, "I'll accept the request."

"Are you sure? You shouldn't let her pressure you into anything."

"I'm sure. I'll let Dove know tomorrow morning." I gulp down some cold water to calm my nerves. "I hope she won't hate me."

He sighs. "If you say so."

"Thanks," I say, getting up. A wave of exhaustion hits me—I need to lay down. "I think I'll go to bed."

"Sweet dreams," he says, giving me a warm smile.

I smile back, but I know I won't have good dreams tonight. All I can think of is Dove's hurt face at my betrayal, and though I mouth the words, they can't fill the ever-widening pit of guilt in my heart.

I'm sorry.

A/N Whew! Friday update it was. At this rate, we should arrive at the arena in… less than three weeks.

What are some concrete things I can do to improve my writing? Y'all have full permission to rip my writing to shreds; I won't be offended. You might have to message me over discord if you want me to get your message though, with the review glitch and all.

Thoughts?