Chapter 15- Astrid Clearwater
I've held it together the whole elevator ride up to the apartment. Honestly, I'm too furious to cry. I can't believe I didn't land that last throw! Up to that last axe, I did so well; now I don't know what score they're going to give me. And yes, scores aren't hugely important in the big scheme of things; I could be hiding my talents to get a low score on purpose.
But District 3 tributes don't do that! When we get low scores, it's because we're useless, and everyone knows that. If I get a 3 or a 4 tonight, everyone in the whole world will think I'm a pathetic girl who's going to get taken out as soon as the gong goes. Please let me get higher than a 4.
"Beetee's out," Circuit says, coming out of his room. You would think he would have gotten tired of blinking constantly, but he's still doing it. Hugely irritating.
"Where?" I ask.
"I don't know," he says, shrugging. "Delia's out too."
"How do you know?" I snap at him. Maybe I shouldn't attack Circuit, but I need to get angry at someone besides myself right now.
"They're not here, so obviously they're out, Astrid."
"Whatever," I say. Circuit comes closer towards me, into the living room.
"How did your private session go?" he asks.
"Why do you care?"
"I'm just asking!" he says, throwing his hands up in the air. He looks so young and stereotypically District 3 that it just infuriates me further.
"Why do you want to know in the first place? We're not allies, we're just stuck together until the Games start!" I say, going to push past him.
"I was just being friendly, so sorry," Circuit says sarcastically. "Don't get so angry about it."
"I can get angry if I want to!" I shove Circuit out of the way and storm into my room, slamming the door behind me.
As soon as the door shuts behind me, I sink down and start to cry. I hate this; I hate all of this. I want to go home and pretend this never happened. And I'm not even in the arena yet! I don't want to go in; I just want to go back to my home and my family.
I hate the Capitol, and everything they stand for. I hate their Games, I hate their people, and I hate their tributes too. I don't hate Beetee, though; it's hard to hate Beetee. I promised Mama that I would go home, but I'm feeling the chances of me actually succeeding in doing that are dropping by the minute.
How can I compare to Agrippina, who never misses? Or Shore who can skewer a dummy with a trident from fifteen feet away? District 3 is to be played with and discarded, before the real fun can begin. Forty-one years and we've only pulled two victors. And one of them is dead. District 3 does not have the best reputation.
But I promised Mama that I would go home. I promised, and I don't like to break a promise. And I really don't want to let everyone I've ever known see me go out as soon as the gong sounds in just a few days. They hate me already; I won't give them the satisfaction of seeing me die.
Wiping my eyes and hiccupping, I force myself to sit upright and not slump against the door. Tears aren't going to get me the crown. It doesn't matter what score I get tonight; we all know I'm not going to get many sponsors. If I was a rich Capitolite, I wouldn't pay money to help me either; I would bet on a Career, or one of the idiots who go around shooting people.
I'm just going to have to show them that I'm worthy of being sponsored. Tears are not part of that.
So I stand up and go into the bathroom to wash my face. I don't want the others to see that I've been crying. My eyes are red and my face is blotchy when I look in the mirror, but I don't care. By the time supper rolls around, all evidence of me crying will have faded from my face.
Back in my room, I take off the clothes I wore to training today and throw them on the floor beside the wardrobe. I've always wanted pretty clothes, so I'm going to wear pretty clothes. Sorting through the options given to me, I pick a beautiful flowy green dress. I really do feel beautiful when I spin in it and see the fabric fly out around me. Like a beautiful, green bird.
With a hairbrush I found yesterday, I comb out my hair gently, letting it stay loose over the green. There are full length mirrors here in the Capitol, which we never had back home, and for the first time in my life I can see the whole of me. Astrid Clearwater.
The first thing I take note of is how skinny I am, but that's no different than most of the other tributes. Excepting, of course, the Careers, and even the little girl from 8. Eating well gives you an edge, which is something I don't have. Often enough, Mama has to choose between food or the rent, and we go to bed hungry. If I win, we'll never go hungry again. That's enough of an incentive to push me through the coming weeks.
The rest of me I know by heart: long red wavy hair, green eyes; freckles. A nose that, in my opinion, is too thin, but which my mother loves. "You are beautiful, my Astrid. And you grow more beautiful every day," is what Mama often says to me. I'll hold that in my heart and believe it. I'll need it.
While I wait for everyone to get back from wherever they've been, I jump around on the furniture. The bed is soft and bouncy; I jump higher and higher until I finally launch myself off the bed onto the floor. I could never do this back home; our bed is close to falling apart just from us sleeping on it.
After a while, I order some bread and fruit from the machine in the corner of the room. Very clever technology; I recognize the machine from the ones I've seen loaded onto the trains headed to the Capitol. If I win, I wonder what I would do with myself. I'd leave school immediately, of course, but then what?
I'd be so rich I wouldn't have to worry about it, I guess.
Once I tire of jumping on the furniture, I sit by the window and watch the cars and people go by down below in the street; tiny in their outlandish clothes. I can't tell if they're costumes or not. Every day seems to be a celebration for these people. Or is it just because the Games are on? I don't know.
I'm close enough to the ground that I can see individual people and what they're wearing; feathers, collars that go up two feet above the coats, and all manners of fabric. I couldn't tell you what fabrics they are, because that's District 8's affair, but none of them are cheap. District 3, you get some rough cotton if you're lucky. Maybe a bolt of wool sometimes if you trade enough.
We never have much to trade for cloth, which is why my reaping outfit fit so poorly. Axel's lucky to be a boy; all his clothes have to be made new, while I get hand me downs from Mama, or occasionally a generous neighbour. Mama's kept Axel's father's clothes packed away for him when he gets older. I think she should trade them now and be done with it, but I can't help it now.
I watch and watch out the window until the daylight starts to fade into darkness. The city stays lit up, though, and the busyness of the Capitol never stops. Back home, when darkness falls, that's when curfew hits and you don't go outside again until dawn.
"Astrid? Are you back yet?" I jump a little when Sparkle calls through my door in that horrible high-pitched accent.
"Yes; I've been back for hours," I say. Where'd she come from, and why is she here?
"Why don't you come on out? Supper is in ten minutes."
"Is Beetee back?" I ask.
"Not yet, dearie." Don't call me dearie.
"What about Delia?"
"She's not back either. Come on out and join us!"
Sparkle's high heels click down the corridor away from me; I don't want to go and talk with her, but I'm hungry again, and I really don't have anything better to do in here. So I get up and follow her down the hall. My arms hurt from throwing axes for the past three days.
She's not in the living room when I reach it, so I go into the dining room instead. There I find Sparkle already seated; across from her is Circuit and his stylist, Pompey.
"Why are you here?" I ask Sparkle, sitting down beside her.
"To keep you two company while Beetee and Delia are away, of course," she says, smiling brightly. "And to watch the scores with all of you tonight! I just know you're going to do wonderfully!"
"Thank you for your unwavering confidence," I tell her. Back in the Prep Center, I heard her chatting with my prep team about how she hates being the stylist for District 3, because we die right off the bat and waste her 'artistic talents.'
Two Avoxes come in, dressed in red as usual, and place bowls of stew in front of us, and a large basket of bread in the middle of the table. One of them, an unsmiling girl with dark hair, pours wine into each cup, then both Avoxes leave the room. I know neither of them can speak, because they have no tongues. What did they do that was so bad to deserve that fate?
"And how did your private sessions go?" Pompey says. He's a balding man, not attractive by Capitol or District standards. He doesn't have any alterations that I can see, either, so I wonder why they keep him around to style the tributes. Usually the Capitol likes their pretty things, like my mother said.
"I'd rather keep that a secret," I say, eating a spoonful of stew.
"Got something to hide?" Pompey asks, nudging me.
"Don't touch me. I don't want to tell you anything," I say. Pompey's mouth drops open, but he doesn't say anything more. Circuit looks from his stylist to me, and back again, but he doesn't say anything either. Wise choice; I'm not in the mood for conversation.
"I see we've nearly missed supper." I look up to see Beetee coming through the doorway, followed by Delia.
"There's plenty left," Pompey says, gesturing to the full plates.
"Where were you?" I ask Beetee. He keeps his face blank, not giving me any information as to how he's feeling.
"We were at a party looking to sign you sponsors," he says evenly.
"And did you get us sponsors?" I ask.
"We did well enough," Beetee says, sitting down. The dark haired Avox comes in and puts a bowl of stew in front of him, and another in front of Delia. Neither of them acknowledges the girl's presence.
Beetee's not going to give me anything, and it's driving me crazy. He's not the kind of man you press, though, so I bite back everything I want to say.
"I am going to assume that your private sessions went well," he says, peering up at us over his glasses. He's looking to see what emotions I give, too. We're alike in that way; maybe that's why I like him. I give him nothing, keeping my face as blank as his.
I look at Beetee and say, "We did well enough." He cracks a smile.
"Good. Good."
Sparkle launches into a longwinded story about one of the other stylists and how annoying she is, while the rest of us pretend to listen as we eat our stew. Pompey is the only one who looks like he might be enjoying the story, while even Delia starts to zone out after a while. I just focus on the food.
"I propose we eat our desserts in the living room," Beetee says once our bowls have been cleared and we're waiting for the last course. "While we wait for the scores to be shown."
"What time is it?" Circuit asks.
"Almost 9:30. They'll be airing the scores soon enough."
I take my piece of caramel colored cake from the Avox girl and walk into the living room with it. It smells wonderful. I sit down just as Beetee turns the television on; being broadcast right now are the highlights of last year's Games.
I particularly hated last year; our tributes got taken out immediately, as usual, but the girl from 5 turned out to be sadistic, torturing her victims to death. She finally got killed, and the victor ended up being the nervous kid from 4.
"The boy's still a nervous wreck," Beetee says, eyes glued to the screen. "I see him occasionally. They usually don't let him out of the apartment."
"A good thing?" Circuit asks. I hope nobody this year turns out to be sadistic; they'd have a wonderful time with him. Weak and helpless, that's Circuit.
"Yes," Beetee says.
"It's starting now," Delia says, nodding to the screen.
"They don't usually start early; must be the preliminary talking," Beetee says, taking a bite of cake.
"We have an entertaining season ahead of us, Panem!" Caius Glorystream says, grinning into the camera like a madman. His tattoos look worse every time I see him. "24 of the best tributes the districts have to offer, and we're going to take a look at some of our favorites!"
Pictures flash onscreen of several tributes. "Cloak and Tiara, from District 1! How can you not love them? I think they're beauty and brains this year, don't you, Marcus?" Marcus Fireglen, the man who does the tribute interviews, laughs.
"I love all our tributes equally, Caius! It wouldn't do for me to pick favorites, now would it?"
"But if you had to, who would you pick?" Caius presses, laughing himself. I don't see what's so funny.
"I'm awfully fond of that pretty girl, Elowyn, I have to say, Caius. I think she's just the loveliest thing we've had in forty-one years!"
"I'll have to agree with you on that one," Caius replies. "Another favorite that we're seeing is Eleanor- pardon me, Nell- Slatefield. Ooh, she's a firecracker that one!"
"I really do think this is going to be the best Hunger Games yet!" Marcus says. I hate them, hate the Capitol and the Games and everything they stand for. I hate them.
"Now, it looks like we have the scores for our latest tributes, so shall we see how they rank?" Caius says.
"Yes," I mutter. Just get on with how badly I did.
"Starting first with District 1, we have Cloak Greysong with a score of… 8!" Classic Career score. "And Tiara Softshield has also received a score of 8!"
"Those are mediocre scores for a Career," Beetee says, watching the screen intently. "They're not the real threats in these Games."
"8 is still high," Circuit says.
"If they had a 9 or 10, then you worry. 8 is a standard Career score."
"From District 2, we have Dominicus Sorce with a score of 7!" Beetee nods like he understands something. "And Agrippina Crass has received a score of… 9!"
"You watch her," Beetee says, pointing at Agrippina's headshot with his fork. "A 9 means they've seen something in her. Scores don't tell you everything, but when it comes to the Career Districts, they give you a good idea of what to expect."
"This is you two," Delia says. I'm getting used to her white skin and cloud blue hair; it's tame compared to some thing I've seen in the Capitol. Looking away from my escort, I bite my nails, waiting to see my score.
Circuit's picture flashes on the screen with the number 3 beside it. Ouch. He did worse than I thought he would. I thought he might pull a 4.
"Scores aren't everything," is the only thing Beetee says.
"And also from District 3, we have Astrid Clearwater!" I hold my breath. Please don't let it be lower than a 3. "With a score of… 7!"
I clap my hands over my mouth, knocking my cake over in the process. I don't care. A 7! That's the highest score I've seen for District 3 in years. It's a Career score! I couldn't be more surprised than I am right now. Mama will be so happy.
Beetee looks over at me and nods approvingly. "Well done, Astrid." Such simple words, but they make me glow inside. I want to dance, to sing, to jump up and down with joy. A 7!
"Have a seat and celebrate later," Delia says, smiling at me, "Let's see the other scores."
Shore from District 4 receives another healthy Career score of 8, and the girl surprises me by getting a 6. "She's no threat," Beetee says. "A 6 is nothing for a Career."
The small twelve-year-old from 5 gets a 3, the same as Circuit, and the girl, Hazel, gets a 4. Both of them will go out pretty fast. I wonder if they know that. I don't care right now; I got a 7!
Trestle Deadwood, the troublemaker from District 6, blows all of us out of the water when he gets an 11. Beetee raises his eyebrows and adjusts his glasses. "What was he like in training?" he asks quietly.
"A troublemaker," I say. "He and Nell from 11 were glued at the hip the whole time."
"I see." Mariana, the eighteen-year-old, gets a 5, as does Kiril from District 7. Elowyn, his district partner and the pretty one, gets a 7.
Azlon from District 8, the really tall guy, gets a 7 as well. "Just a point higher than average," Beetee says. I'm a point higher than average too, but District 3 never even hits average. He should be thrilled. I think Beetee only got a 5 or something in his own Games.
The little District 8 girl, Iry, gets a score directly in the middle; a 6.
"I feel sorry for her every time I see her," Delia says. "Especially since her sister was a victor already."
"It's marvelous entertainment," Sparkle says. Circuit glares at her, but she's too wrapped up in her own little dramas to notice. I don't care right now; the happy glow inside me is pushing out all negative thoughts. They think I have a fighting chance, which will bolster my ability to pull sponsors, and thus keep me alive.
Reaper, the boy from 9 that I haven't paid much attention to past seeing him wrestling in training, gets an 8. "When it's an outlying district that gets an 8, then it's noteworthy," Beetee says. "You would do well to watch him as well."
Tilling, the desperate girl who wanted me to be her ally, gets a 5. Really, I'm surprised she got a score that high.
The pair from District 10 get scores of 4 and 5; neither of them will go far. I can't see them playing the weak route only to come out fighting at the end.
"I'm interested to see what Nell got," Delia says, fluffing a cushion behind her.
"We have Lotem Raanan from District 11!" Caius says; the boy's headshot goes on the screen. "With a score of 5! And our favorite firecracker, Nell Slatefield, has received a… 10!"
"She's allied with Trestle, if I am not wrong?" Beetee says to no one in particular.
"You're not wrong," Circuit says. He looks disappointed at his own score; I would be too if I were him.
"Then they will be a tough pair to beat."
Finally, Fissure from 12 gets the lowest score in this year's Games, with a 2, while Celosia manages to pull an 8. The Capitol seal appears on the screen, and then Beetee's turned it off.
"The Careers might be the least of your worries," he says, looking from Circuit to me, and back again. "Outlying districts with high scores are the ones to look out for. They have not been trained like in the Career districts; whatever they can do is pure talent or ability. And so, they will be more difficult to defeat. Keep that in mind."
"Yes, sir," Circuit says.
"Never sir. Beetee does just as well. I would like you two to go get a good night's sleep; tomorrow we begin to prepare you for your interviews."
The faces of my fellow tributes flash in my head as I walk towards my room. I have some dangerous opponents, but I'm not going to count myself out. Far from it! I am the District 3 girl who got a 7, which means I'm just as much a competitor as the others.
But, unlike them, I'm going to win.
"Goodnight," I say to Circuit as we part ways at our bedroom doors. I can't hate a boy who only got a 3. It's just too cruel.
He blinks a few times in surprise, then replies, "Goodnight."
Closing my door behind me, I sink down to the floor, grinning from ear to ear.
I'm going to live.