Today is the day that we get prepared for the interviews. Willow tells me that each of us will have four hours with Mica for presentation and four hours with her and Nolan for content. She tells me that I will start with Mica while Monty starts with Nolan.
I can't imagine what Mica will have to teach me that could take four hours, but she's got me working down to the last minute. We go to my room and she puts me in a full-length gown and high heeled shoes, not the ones I'll be wearing for the actual interview, and instructs me on walking. The shoes are the worst part. I've never worn high heels and can't get used to essentially wobbling around on the balls of my feet. But Mica runs around in them full-time, and I'm determined that if she can do it, so can I.
The dress poses another problem. It keeps tangling around my shoes so, of course, I hitch it up, and then Mica swoops down on me like a hawk, smacking my hand and yelling, "Not above the ankle!" When I finally conquer walking, there's still sitting, posture 𑁋 apparently I have a tendency to duck my head 𑁋 eye contact, hand gestures, and smiling. Smiling is mostly about smiling more. Mica makes me say a hundred banal phrases starting with a smile, while smiling, or ending with a smile. By lunch, the muscles in my cheeks are twitching from overuse.
"Well, that's the best I can do," Mica says with a sigh. "Just remember, Ember, you want the audience to like you."
"And you don't think they will?" I ask.
"Not if you glare at them the entire time. Why don't you save that for the arena? Instead, think of yourself among friends." says Mica.
"They're not my friends!"
"Well, try and pretend!" snaps Mica. Then she composes herself and beams at me. "See, like this. I'm smiling at you even though you're aggravating me."
"Yes, it feels very convincing," I say. "I'm going to eat." I kick off my heels and stomp down to the dining room, hiking my skirt up to my thighs.
Monty and Nolan and Willow seem in pretty good moods, so I'm thinking the content session should be an improvement over the morning. I couldn't be more wrong. After lunch, Willow takes me into the sitting room, directs me to the couch, and then just frowns at me for a while.
"What?" I finally ask.
"I'm trying to figure out what to do with you," she says. "How we're going to present you. Are you going to be charming? Aloof? Fierce? So far, you're shining like a star. Teak made you look unforgettable and you got a pretty decent score. People are intrigued, but no one knows who you are. The impression you make tomorrow will decide exactly what I can get you in terms of sponsors," says Willow.
Having watched the tribute interviews all my life, I know there's truth to what she's saying. If you appeal to the crowd, either by being humorous or brutal or eccentric, you gain favor.
"What's Monty's approach? Or am I not allowed to ask?" I say.
"Likable. He has sort of self-deprecating humor naturally," says Willow. "Whereas when you open your mouth, you come across more as sullen and hostile."
"I do not!" I say.
"Please. I don't know where you pulled that cheery, wavy girl on the chariot from, but I haven't seen her before or after," says Willow.
"And you've given me many reasons to be cheery," I counter.
"But you don't have to please me. I'm not going to sponsor you. So pretend I'm the audience," says Willow. "Delight me."
"Fine!" I snarl. Willow takes the role of the interviewer and I try to answer her questions in a winning fashion. But I can't. I'm too angry with Willow for what she said and that I even have to answer the questions. All I can think is how unjust the whole thing is, the Hunger Games. Why am I hopping around like some trained dog trying to please people I hate? The longer the interview goes on, the more my fury seems to rise to the surface, until I'm literally spitting out answers at her.
"All right, enough," she says. "We've got to find another angle. Not only are you hostile, I don't know anything about you. I've asked you fifty questions and still have no sense of your life, your family, what you care about. They want to know about you, Ember."
"But I don't want them to! They're already taking my future! They can't have things that mattered to me in the past!" I say.
"Then lie! Make something up!" says Willow.
"I'm not good at lying," I say.
"Well, you better learn fast. You've got about as much charm as a dead slug," Nolan says as he walks into the room.
Ouch. That hurts. Even Nolan must know he's been too harsh because his voice softens. "Here's an idea. Try acting humble."
"Humble," I echo.
"That you can't believe a little girl from District Nine has done this well. The whole thing's been more than you ever could have dreamed of. Talk about Teak's clothes. How nice the people are. How the city amazes you. If you won't talk about yourself, at least complement the audience. Just keep turning it back around, all right. Gush."
By the end of the session, it has been decided that I will do the humble approach. I am not sure how I feel about it, but if it will get me sponsors then I'll do it.
I have dinner that night in my room, ordering an outrageous number of delicacies, eating myself sick. And then I go to sleep knowing that tomorrow will be a big and dreadful day.
In the morning, it's the prep team who hangs over me. My lessons with Mica and Willow are over. This day belongs to Teak. He's my last hope. Maybe he can make me look so wonderful, no one will care what comes out of my mouth.
The team works on me until late afternoon, turning my skin to glowing satin, stenciling patterns on my arms, painting golden designs on my twenty perfect nails. Then Ivy goes to work on my hair, weaving strands of gold into a pattern that begins at my left ear, wraps around my head, and falls in one braid down my right shoulder. They erase my face with a layer of pale makeup and draw my features back out. Hugh dark eyes, full red lips, lashes that throw off bits of gold when I blink. Finally, they cover my entire body in a power that makes me shimmer in gold dust.
Then Teak enters with what I assume is my dress, but I can't really see it because it's covered. "Close your eyes," he orders.
I can feel the silken inside as they slip it down over my naked body, then the weight. It must be forty pounds. I clutch Ivy's hand as I blindly step into my shoes, glad to find they are at least two inches lower than the pair Mica had me practice in. There's some adjusting and fidgeting. Then silence.
"Can I open my eyes?" I ask.
"Yes," says Teak. "Open them."
The creature standing before me in the full-length mirror has come from another world. Where skin shimmers and eyes flash and apparently they make their clothes from jewels. Because my dress is covered in reflective precious gems, gold and orange, and white with bits of yellow that accent the golden sash over my shoulder. The slightest movement gives the impression I am engulfed in a sea of gold.
For a while, we all just stare at me, "Oh, Teak," I finally whisper. "Thank you."
Teak dismisses the team and has me move around in the dress and shows, which are infinitely more manageable than Mica's. The dress hangs in such a way that I don't have to lift the skirt when I walk, leaving me with one less thing to worry about.
"So, all ready for the interview then?" asks Teak. I can see by his expression that he's been talking to Willow and Nolan. That he knows how dreadful I am.
"I just can't be one of those people they want me to be," I say.
Teak thinks about this a moment. "Why don't you just be yourself?"
"Myself? That's no good, either. Nolan and Willow say I'm sullen and hostile," I say.
"Well, you are... around them," says Teak with a grin. "I don't find you so. The prep team adores you. You even won over the Gamemakers. And as for the citizens of the Capitol, well, they can't stop talking about you. No one can help but admire your spirit."
My spirit. That is a new thought. I'm not sure exactly what it means, but it suggests I'm a fighter. In a sort of brave way. It's not as if I'm never friendly. Okay, maybe I don't go around loving everybody I meet, maybe my smiles are hard to come by, but I do care for some people.
Teak takes my icy hands in his warm ones. "Suppose, when you answer the questions, you think you're addressing a friend back home," says Teak. "When you're asked a question think of that person and answer it as honestly as possible," he says.
"Even if what I think is horrible?' I ask. Because it might be.
"Especially if what you think is horrible," says Teak. "You'll try it?"
I nod. It's a plan. Or at least a straw to grasp at.
Too soon it's time to go. The interviews take place on a stage constructed in front of the Training Center. Once I leave my room, it will be only minutes until I'm in front of the crowd, the cameras, all of Panem.
We meet up with the rest of the District Nine crowd at the elevator. Piper and her gang have been at hard work. Monty looks stricken in his gold suit with sparkle accents. Willow and Nolan have fancied up for the occasion. I accept Mica's compliments. Mica can be tiresome and clueless, but she's not destructive.
When the elevator opens, the other tributes are being lined up to take the stage. All twenty-four of us sit in a big arc throughout the interviews. Just stepping on the stage makes my breathing rapid and shallow. I can feel my pulse pounding in my temples. It's a relief to get to my chair, because between the heels and my legs shaking. I'm afraid I'll trip. Although evening is falling, the City Circle is brighter than a summer's day. An elevated seating unit has been set up for the prestigious guests, with the stylists commanding the front row. The camera will turn to them when the crowd is reacting to their handiwork. A large balcony off a building to the right has been reserved for the Gamemakers. Television crews have claimed most of the other balconies. But the City Circle and the avenues that feed into it are completely packed with people. Standing room only. At homes and community halls around the country, every television set is turned on. Every citizen of Panem is tuned in. There will be no blackouts tonight.
Caesar Flickerman, the man who has hosted the interviews for more than forty years, bounces onto the stage. It's a little scary because his appearance has been virtually unchanged during all that time. Same face under a coating of pure white makeup. Same hairstyle that he dyes a different color for each Hunger Games. Same ceremonial suit, midnight blue dotted like stars. They do surgery in the Capitol, to make people appear younger and thinner. In District Nine, looking old is something of an achievement since so many people die early. You see an elderly person, you want to congratulate them on their longevity, ask the secret of survival. A plump person is envied because they aren't scraping by like the majority of us. But here it is different. Wrinkles aren't desirable. A round belly isn't a sign of success.
The girl from District 1, looking provocative in a see-through gold gown, steps up to the center of the stage to join Ceasar for her interview. You can tell her mentor didn't have any trouble coming up with an angel for her. With that flowing blonde hair, emerald green eyes, her body tall and lush.
Each interview only lasts three minutes. Then a buzzer goes off and the next tribute is up. I'll say this for Ceasar, he really does his best to make the tributes shine. He's friendly, tries to see the nervous ones at ease, laughs at lame jokes, and can turn a weak response into a memorable one by the way he reacts.
I sit like a lady, the way Mica showed me, as the Districts slip by. 2, 3, 4. Everyone seems to be playing up some angle. The monstrous boy from District 2 is a ruthless killing machine. The girl from five is sly and elusive. I spotted Teak as soon as he took his place , but even his presence cannot relax me. 5, 6, 7. The crippled boy from six is very quiet. My palms are sweating like crazy, but the jeweled dress isn't absorbent and they skid right off if I try to dry them. 8.
Cassia, who is dressed in a gossamer gown makes her way to Ceasar. A hush falls over the crowd at the sight of this magical wisp of a tribute. Caesar's very sweet with her, complimenting her seven in training, and excellent score for one so small. When he asks her what her greatest strength in the arena will be, she doesn't hesitate. "I'm very hard to catch," she says in a tremulous voice. "And if they can't catch me, they can't kill me. So don't count me out."
"I wouldn't in a million years," says Ceasar encouragingly.
The boy tribute from District 8, Finn, a twelve-year-old boy who is even smaller than Cassia. He's been very solitary, speaking to no one, showing little interest in training. Even so, he scored an eight and it's not hard to imagine he impressed the Gamemakers. He ignores Ceasar's attempts at banter and answers with a yes or no or just remains silent.
And then they are calling Ember Graves, and I fell myself as if in a dream, standing and making my way center stage. I shake Ceasar's outstretched hand, and he had the good grace not to immediately wipe his off on his suit.
"So Ember, the Capitol must be quite a change from District Nine. What's impressed you the most since you arrived here?" asks Ceasar.
I rack my brain for something that made me happy here. Be honest, I think. Be honest.
"The showers," I get out.
Caesar laughs, and vaguely I realize some of the audience has joined in.
"Oh I know, sometimes I just get in the shower just to play with the buttons." He turns sideways to the audience, "Do I smell any better?" They shout reassurances to him and applaud. This is what I mean about Ceasar. He tries to help you out.
"Now, Ember," he says confidentiality, "When you came out in the opening ceremonies, my heart actually stopped. What did you think of that costume?"
Teak raises one eyebrow at me. Be honest. "I thought Teak was brilliant and it was the most gorgeous costume I'd ever seen and I couldn't believe I was wearing it. I can't believe I'm wearing this, either. "I lift up my skirt to spread it out. "I mean, look at it!"
"So, how about that training score. Nine. Give us a hint of what happened in there."
I glance at the Gamemakers on the balcony and bite my lip, "Um ... all I can say, is that was the first time I picked up a weapon."
The cameras are right on the Gamemakers, who are chuckling and nodding. "You're a natural, but you're killing us," says Caesar as if in actual pain. "Details. Details."
"Sorry. My lips are sealed."
He looks at me for a moment, "Is there a special someone back home waiting for you?" He asks and I think for a moment that there might be a different meaning to his words but I quickly brush it off.
I shake my head staring at him rather than the crowd, "No, there's no one back home." I tell him honestly and the crowd starts shouting.
The buzzer goes off. "Sorry, we're out of time. Best of luck, Ember Graves, tribute from District Nine."
The applause continues long after I'm seated. I look to Teak for reassurance. He gives me a subtle thumbs-up. I'm still in a daze for the first part of Monty's interview. He has the audience from the get-go, though; I can hear them laughing, shouting out. And then his interview is over and the girl from ten comes on stage. It was over, now the only thing left was the actual Hunger Games.