~Chapter Nine: Confrontation~

"The best lightning rod for your protection is your own spine." ―Ralph Waldo Emerson

…

My feet were frozen in place as I stared at Cato, something almost akin to panic rising in my chest, panic that I tried to squash back down. He wasn't giving me the same death glare as he had the day before, but I didn't feel reassured by the inscrutable expression on his face. It seemed more dangerous not to know how he was feeling.

He can't kill me right here, I mentally tried to reassure myself. The Gamemakers and Capitol wouldn't like that. It wasn't allowed; he'd be punished. And surely there were cameras or surveillance equipment up here. Johanna had made a comment before we arrived about how nearly every square inch of the Training Center would be monitored during our stay.

I remained silent, though, staring at him warily, feeling my heartbeat pounding in my chest. Part of me just wanted to turn and leave…but turning my back on Cato after he'd spoken to me could just piss him off or come across as an affront. And right now, that was the last thing I wanted.

It would also be cowardly and pathetic, to just scurry away after he spoke.

Those icy eyes narrowed slightly. "What, too scared to speak now?" The mocking tone in his voice had intensified.

I didn't want to appear weak, yet I didn't want to anger him. It left me in a difficult position, knowing how to act. I folded my arms across my chest protectively, aware that my nervousness was probably palpable. Get a handle on yourself, I thought. Cowering in front of Cato wouldn't help anything.

"I was just getting some fresh air," I responded, and was pleased when my voice came out evenly, not betraying my emotions. Good. Giving a boring response would hopefully make him drop the conversation.

One of Cato's eyebrows rose, then. "Is that so? Interesting how your district partner left without you." I didn't miss the way his tone harshened slightly on the words "district partner." I wondered if Cato had actually seen him leave, seen whatever (probably unpleasant) expression was on Ben's face as he departed.

I forced my face to remain as neutral as possible, giving a light shrug. "He got tired."

Cato turned to face me fully, then, pushing off of the roof's railing, though not making any move to come closer. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he didn't believe me in the slightest. One side of his mouth curved upwards, ever so slightly, in a cruel smirk.

"Lover's quarrel?" he asked condescendingly.

I wasn't sure if Cato was actually trying to get a rise of me, or if he just thought so low of me that he didn't care how he came across. I suspected the latter.

I gritted my teeth slightly, but didn't take the bait. My body still wanted to turn and leave as quickly as possible, to get away from this threat to my safety, so I decided to just get to the point.

"Is there something you wanted, 2?" I asked, proud of my indifferent tone yet again.

Cato did take a step towards me, then, and then another, until he halved the distance between us, stopping less than ten feet away. Instinctively, I had taken a step back as he moved, but then I forced my body to stop moving. There was no need to come across as even weaker than he already thought I was.

He'd noticed my immediate movement as he approached me, though.

"Worried I'll kill you right here, 7?" He asked coldly, condescension still present in his voice, emphasizing the "7" with distaste.

I forced aside the unpleasant mental image associated with his words. "I don't think the Gamemakers would like that very much," I responded.

I needed to get away from Cato as soon as possible. Why was he talking to me anyway? Just to try to intimidate me?

Obviously, I thought. He knew it would work, that he could get under my skin.

"Probably not." Cato shrugged his massive shoulders then, casually, as if we were discussing the weather. "Though it would probably be better for you if I just killed you now."

I blinked at him, feeling my expression turn into one of disbelief. Was he serious?

Cato correctly read my expression and continued, "You weren't built for the Arena."

The words were harsh, mocking, carrying the implication that because I hadn't been trained for the Games, I would just be better off dying beforehand. Cato was right that I wasn't built for the Arena; but most tributes weren't. Wasn't that the point? That shouldn't be an insult.

To a Career, though, it was…because they were born and bred to go into the Games. I stared at him, his mindset so far apart from something I could comprehend. I couldn't help the incredulous words that spilled out of my mouth.

"And that alone determines whether someone is worthy of living?"

His eyes were cold, unforgiving. "Once you're in the Games, it does."

"Most of us don't choose to come here," I responded, an edge of disbelief in my voice.

"Sounds like a convenient excuse for districts who refuse to train their tributes, instead just sending them in unprepared."

My indignation rose, along with anger at the implication. I was sure it showed on my face. Was he seriously implying that other districts should train tributes into merciless killers, ruin their childhoods, for these stupid games? Technically training tributes was illegal; then again, the Career districts got away with it, so the Capitol clearly didn't care. Still, the thought of turning children into…well, people like Cato…was horrifying.

Somehow, though, I didn't think insulting Cato's upbringing was a good idea. I was still incensed because of his way of thinking about it all, though.

"So, because I wasn't trained for the Games, I should just…do what? Die beforehand? Jump off this roof right now?"

Cato did not look at all put-out by the idea. "There's a forcefield preventing that. Doubt you'd make it five feet down."

The way he constantly spoke to me, as if I was just lowly and beneath him, really grated on my nerves.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to take my chances in the Arena then," I responded, straining to keep my tone even, but there was a clear edge in my voice.

His eyes narrowed again. "What I fail to understand is why you think you have a chance at all. I told you: I'll personally make sure you don't make it out."

I swallowed, hard, fear trickling down my spine. The air was already tense, but the tension had thickened. How could he be this arrogant? This dismissive, especially after last year's Games? And, worst of all, how could he talk about ending my life so casually, outside of the Games, right to my face? His inhumanity was alien, horrifying.

I wondered how much of this had to do with what the District 7 tributes had done all those years ago, in his sister's Games. I felt another chill go down my spine.

But I refused to be a complete coward. I didn't want to aggravate Cato, but it was a delicate balance of putting on a brave face versus maintaining some semblance of self-respect. Everything in me wanted to stand up for myself right now, at least to some degree. He had already written me off as dead, and also by implication insulted all of the outer districts for not glorifying the games. My pride and sense of morality just wouldn't allow that.

This time, though, I had learned; I was much more careful with my words and tone.

I tilted my chin up slightly. "I don't have the training or advantages you do. But I'm not going to just roll over and give up because you think I'm weak," I responded.

"I can just look at you and know you're weak," was his cold response, gaze sharpening. He eyed me up and down, but it wasn't lecherous like Caspian or jokingly flirtations like Ben. It was the analytical gaze of a hunter, sizing up a future victim.

That same desire to defend myself persisted. It probably didn't help that Ben had already severely wounded me earlier with equally as harsh—though vastly different—words. "I'm sure most of us don't measure up to those lofty District 2 standards you grew up with, but that doesn't mean we're weak."

Cato's eyes glittered, then, and his countenance hardened.

He took another large step towards me, and I barely managed not to step back again this time. "As if you know anything about my district," he responded, an underlying hint of menace in his tone.

Somehow, I'd hit a nerve, without even meaning to. I decided not to push any conversation about District 2. Despite what Johanna thought, I did occasionally have the wherewithal to catch myself before I said something stupid.

I tore my eyes from Cato's then, looking out over the glittering city. I wished I could be anywhere but here right now.

Well, almost anywhere.

"Fine, I don't," I responded, voice coming out taut due to the effort of keeping my emotions under control. "And you don't know or understand what it's like where I'm from, either."

Cato scoffed. "As if I'd want to." Disgust was clear in his voice. "I've seen enough of it."

I presumed he meant the glimpses of District 7 he'd gotten on television over the years, or during the Games. I knew he hated District 7 in particular for personal reasons, and he was obviously projecting, but my anger still sparked. I felt the need to defend my home.

"We may not train our tributes, but-" I began, but he cut me off.

"If you're about to make some sort of pathetic excuse, save it. All of you outer districts choose to be unprepared for the Games. Because of that, your tributes nearly always die for it. It'll be no different this year—especially when your precious District 7 is letting a sick girl and an old man enter the Arena."

That struck at something within me, and my eyes snapped back to him as I felt a wave of white-hot anger rush through me, battling against the fear inspired by Cato's presence, causing my hands to automatically curl into fists. Insulting me was one thing; but making a disparaging remark at my home district, and my fellow tributes was another. Those were my people, and just because we weren't as privileged as his district, and because we didn't train children to kill from a formative age, didn't make us lesser, didn't make us deserving of death.

But, if I responded harshly…it would only take one quick movement on his part to cause me grievous harm. Cato was volatile, and we were alone. Killing me now was against the rules, but if he got angry enough, would he even care? And even if he did care and wouldn't retaliate now, every time I made him angry would just cause more trouble for me in the Arena. I would be taking steps closer to a gruesome, drawn-out death.

I was sure Cato read the anger etched in my expression but I somehow—with what, to me, was a herculean effort—didn't snap an insult at him in response.

"Well, this has been a lovely talk…but unless you have some more insults lined up, I'm heading back to my floor," I grit out instead, tone stiff, masking my fury beneath the sarcasm. Surely he had gotten enough digs in that I could extricate myself from the situation?

Something akin to satisfaction briefly flickered in Cato's icy eyes, and I knew he was content with getting an obvious rise out of me, with no retaliation. He'd wanted to unnerve and anger me, to poke at my pride. He wanted to see how deep my fear of him ran. And this time, I hadn't been brave (well, stupid) enough to insult him back. Cato knew that, and he knew that was a victory in itself – that I was intimidated enough by him that I'd even swallow my district pride to avoid antagonizing him. I hated him and everything he stood for.

"Is that your way of asking my permission to leave? Worried I'll kill you when you turn around?" he asked coolly, scornfully.

Despite my anger, I stiffened at his words, and hated myself for the obvious reaction. He'd been going for the shock effect. Judging by the derision in Cato's eyes, he'd noticed. It was yet another battle for me to fight down the response threatening to bubble up in retaliation—but I stayed silent, self-preservation winning out over self-respect.

And, I hated myself—just a little bit—for staying silent.

Cato didn't say anything else, just giving me one more mocking look before he turned away from me, walking over to the railing to look out over the city again. The dismissiveness was evident in his posture. It was as if he no longer cared that I was there, or cared to interact with me. I was beneath him. My feet were free to move again, and my stomach unclenched.

I whirled around and, anger still coursing through me, made my way back to the elevator.

…

As I reached the District 7 floor, I realized that some of my anger was actually directed at Ben. I knew I'd brought up the conversation that led to our argument, but he'd escalated it with his harsh words, ultimately throwing a fit before leaving me alone on the roof with Cato. The boy I was trying my absolute hardest to avoid at all costs, and I'd been forced into a conversation with him.

I wanted to fly under his radar, but it was growing more and more impossible. At least I'd refrained from outright insulting him again.

Barely. And my pride was still angry at me for it. Overall, I knew Cato had gotten the upper hand in the encounter. My ego stung, thinking about it like that. I'd been pelted with insults from every angle tonight.

Johanna was on the couch in the living room, but nobody else appeared to be around. A Capitol program droned on in the background, theorizing about the Tributes' strengths in the Arena, even prior to the private sessions and scoring.

I tuned it out as I glanced over at my mentor. Her dark eyes had settled on me, narrowing as I crossed the living room. I could see a question evident in them. She must've seen Ben coming back separately, possibly looking upset.

I wasn't in the mood for questions right now, though, and I certainly wasn't going to talk about it.

"I'll see you in the morning," I muttered, feeling another wave of frustration and weariness wash over me.

For once, Johanna decided not to throw a snarky comment my way, and I was allowed to return to my room unimpeded. I noticed Ben's door was shut tightly, and I felt my stomach churn with both anger and hurt as I mentally revisited the conversation again.

Tomorrow was going to be awkward. But I wasn't going to dwell on it any more tonight. I had to get some rest before the second day of training.

Unfortunately, I tossed and turned again for longer than I cared to admit before finally drifting into an uneasy slumber.

…

Breakfast, as I expected, was horribly tense.

Minodora was nowhere to be found this morning, and our stylists still hadn't returned, so there weren't as many people around to distract from the awkwardness. Johanna clearly knew something was up, made even more obvious when Ben sat two seats to my left at the table, piling food on his plate in silence, not even looking at me. I barely tossed him a glance. I was still mad, too, and his words had cut me more than I cared to admit.

I had thought about it more during my shower this morning, and come to terms with the fact that I could've dropped the conversation sooner or handled it with more sensitivity. But that didn't mean his harshness was completely warranted. We were both to blame. And my pride, as battered and bruised as it was, was not quite ready for me to be the one to bring it up, to apologize first.

So we just sat stiffly during breakfast as Johanna went over some strategies for the day, though she didn't go into too much detail—she would save the detailed instructions for our separate mentoring sessions after the day was over. Ben and I didn't speak directly to each other once, instead each of us asking Johanna short, clipped questions and giving curt answers.

To my surprise, Johanna didn't bring up the obvious tension at the table with her usual lack of tact. Maybe she thought this was for the better. Only one of us would be coming out of the Arena, after all. This probably made it easier, if we didn't get along.

Still, my stomach churned from the discomfort, and I ate with less than my usual vigor. It was an overall miserable morning, made worse by yet another night of poor sleep, though at least I'd gotten more than the previous night. The District 7 floor was taut with strain and I felt dread settle deep within me when it was time to make our way to the elevator. I just had a bad feeling that today wasn't going to go well.

Happy 19th birthday to me, I thought dryly as the elevator whisked us down to the ground floor, the four of us standing in silence.

…

The first thing I did that morning was swing back by the edible plants station. There were several other tributes there, but since I'd heard the lecture yesterday, I didn't mind standing a bit further back. Autumn wasn't with me, this time, heading off towards the camouflage station. I knew I was spending over an hour on something I'd already done, but I truly felt like this was one of the most important stations for me to learn. Johanna had agreed, given the tentative strategy we were preparing for me.

I'd done decently well on the quiz yesterday, but I did better today. I felt like I knew enough to at least get by in the Arena, and I recognized the vast majority of the plants. I just wouldn't eat something I didn't recognize, I thought.

I then made my way to the edible insects station, which I hadn't bothered with yesterday, because I really didn't want to think about eating bugs in the Arena. At this point, though, I knew it would be smarter to at least stay for the lesson, and so I did. I actually found the quiz easier than the edible plants quiz, because there were fewer to memorize, and most of the dangerous ones had bright colors.

The thought of actually eating some of the multi-legged creatures disgusted me, though, and I hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Afterwards I glanced around the room, mentally reviewing the list of things I wanted to do. One unfortunate thing I'd noticed this morning was that even more Gamemakers had showed up to observe us today – there had to be more than thirty of them. I supposed they needed quite a few Gamemakers this year, given that there was double the amount of tributes. It was unsettling, though I assumed their beady little eyes were mostly fixed on the Careers located at the obstacle courses, hand-to-hand combat and weightlifting stations, and various weapons stations.

I had scanned their observation room once, noticing Plutarch Heavensbee's presence. He seemed to be studying all of us carefully. As I watched the pale blonde man, he almost seemed to sense my gaze focused in his direction. For one brief moment, his calculating eyes rested on me. His face was inscrutable, but the back of my neck prickled with discomfort. I felt an immediate scowl forming on my face and I forced it back, wrenching my gaze away quickly. The last thing I needed was for the Head Gamemaker to see how much I openly detested him.

I scanned the gymnasium again, trying to push the Gamemakers out of my mind.

I'd promised Johanna I would at least try a weapon besides the axe – I was saving axe throwing for my private session, but it couldn't hurt to just test and see if anything else felt even slightly comfortable.

The thought was not appealing, though. As usual, the Careers were monopolizing most of the weapon training stations. Cato was swinging that stupid sword again, Tatiana was doing pretty well with a bow and arrow nearby…and Caspian was teaching Chiffon how to throw a trident, standing far too close to her, adjusting her arms and placing a hand on her lower back as he instructed her how to stand. She clearly didn't mind at all, a bright grin on her pretty face. He seemed to flirt with all of the other female Careers, but none of them got worked up about it; probably because he wasn't forcing himself into conversations or being manipulative with them. Though I had no doubt he would've been touchy with me, too, if I'd wanted to learn how to throw a trident. I felt a wave of revulsion for the boy and I quickly looked away.

And then the pale, dark-eyed boy from 1 caught my attention. Onyx. I remembered his name, because I had found him very unsettling during the Reaping and had marked him as a major threat. There had been something about his shifty expression that made me uncomfortable in a different way than the cocky arrogance or large size of the other Careers. He just seemed a bit off.

He was on the hand-to-hand combat mat, absolutely outclassing the trainer there. Though skinnier than Lambent and Cato, he was still well-built and had considerable reach. He moved fluidly, ducking out of the trainer's blows and responding with aggressive counterattacks. Luckily the Trainer was wearing some sort of padded, fancy Capitol gear to weaken the blows he was taking. Getting up close and personal appeared to be Onyx's main style. I was already going to stay as far away from him as possible, though, so it wasn't like this changed my strategy.

My eyes trailed to the left, looking for an empty station, settling on a rack of throwing knives a short distance from a couple of stationary targets. I supposed that wouldn't be too ridiculous to try, since throwing weapons was more my style than letting other tributes get close. I probably had thirty minutes or so before lunch, given the time I'd spent at the edible plants and insects stations. The station was currently unoccupied by Careers – Lambent was at the virtual knife-throwing simulation again a safe distance away. I was sure they'd circle back around, but perhaps I should capitalize on this small window of opportunity.

On the one hand, I really didn't want to get anywhere close to them, or potentially humiliate myself if they saw what I was up to.

On the other hand, this was legitimately a life-or-death situation. I shouldn't waste the opportunity to take a crack at something that could potentially save my life. Plus, Johanna would kill me if I didn't at least try it.

What fully convinced me was the pair of tributes from 11 making their way over to that station. Perfect – I wouldn't be the only non-Career there. Quelling my nerves and pushing thoughts of public embarrassment out of my head, I strode over.

I recognized the dark-skinned, proud woman at the station – she was the older Tribute from 11 that had stood out at the Reaping, unafraid as she strode forward when her name was picked. She looked like she was around my father's age. She turned as I approached, having just grabbed a knife off of the stand, dark eyes assessing me coolly. Her district partner watched me too, with a suspicious, hooded gaze. I tossed both of them a small smile.

"Mind if I join you? I thought I'd at least try something besides the survival stations." I decided the pleasant approach was safer here. She had no reason to trust me, and I didn't actually need to ask for permission to be here, but I felt like it would be awkward to share this station if I just ignored her and her partner.

She gave me a curt nod, and then the Trainer began to give us some general tips about how to properly throw a knife, and what size and shape of knife was best, depending on our build and intended purpose. After the Trainer threw several knives to demonstrate and then switched the target out, it was our turn.

Needless to say, I was not a natural at knife-throwing.

It was just so different than an axe. Lighter, shorter, and the balance was completely off. It felt uncomfortable, unnatural in my hand. I had to pull back a lot compared to how I threw an axe, and the wrist movement was strange to me. My first few attempts were laughable, and the Trainer spent a decent amount of time correcting me before I finally stuck one in the target. It was nowhere near a bullseye, though.

"It appears that knife-throwing is not my calling," I finally grumbled, as my next throw barely even made it on the target, sticking right on the edge. It would probably have missed most tributes entirely.

The woman from 11 eyed me again. "I think you should stick to a different weapon," she replied, though there was no malice in her tone. She had a very rich, warm voice, and she spoke with an assurance that matched her presence. I found myself slightly more relaxed than I had been around most of the other tributes; or, maybe it was just because she was older and seemed level-headed.

I briefly glanced over to the Careers. "Somehow I don't think I'll be welcome at the sword station," I said dryly. The other boy from 2 was hacking the heads off of nearby dummies.

"Somehow, I think you're right," she responded.

I couldn't help the wry smile that appeared on my face. "Maybe I'll just learn camouflage and pray nobody finds me," I said, half-joking, but not entirely.

The woman shrugged. "It worked for 6 before."

"True." I watched her next throw, which wasn't a bullseye, but was better than my handful of throws had been. "At least one of us didn't embarrass themselves," I added.

"Oh trust me, I've seen worse," she responded, raising an eyebrow at me. "Though…not much worse."

My smile returned. "I'm June," I said. It wasn't like I expected her to ally with me, but perhaps we could get to the point where she wouldn't try to kill me on sight.

The woman turned to look me over more thoroughly, then, but clearly she didn't see any ill intent in my expression because she responded, "Basil."

We practiced at the knife-throwing station for a bit longer—well, mostly Basil did. I was concerned that throwing knives too much would somehow mess up my axe throws tomorrow, so I held off after just a couple more, though I was pleased my throws improved slightly after some additional instruction from the Trainer. Then it was time for lunch, and I realized that it wasn't unpleasant being around Basil and her district partner, Harrow (a short, stocky man around her age).

We headed to the dining room area together, and the three of us actually settled down at the same table after grabbing our food—though I sat several feet from the District 11 pair, near the other end of the rectangular table, almost feeling like I'd be imposing otherwise. I wasn't sure if Basil would want prying eyes thinking we were deliberately trying to present as allies. This way, it was obvious we had become acquainted, but weren't necessarily friendly.

And, quite frankly, I wasn't comfortable enough around them to sit any closer.

I noticed most tributes either sat alone or with their district mates (save for the Careers), but it looked like a couple other groups were intermingled. It was all very awkward, seeing as how the Quell was set up this year with the upcoming pairings. I imagined that lunch on the training day after the pairings would be extremely interesting.

I waved quiet, wispy Autumn over when I saw her lurking nearby, and she slid into the seat across from me somewhat awkwardly, eyeing the pair from 11. Basil definitely picked up on the frail girl's condition, and I saw sadness flickering in her dark eyes before she turned away.

Then, the other two from 11 joined the table, glancing at me surreptitiously with baleful, dark eyes as they settled next to Basil and Harrow. It was hard not to feel a twinge of sympathy – both of the young tributes from 11 were painfully underfed. They reminded me of the girl from 11 last year, the one the Girl on Fire had teamed up with, though both of the tributes this year were slightly older.

I did not expect Ben to join us.

So, I was completely shocked when the younger tributes from 11 stiffened, eyes going wide as they stared at something over my shoulder, and I turned to see him approaching. I supposed he was intimidating to them at first glance. His green eyes flickered to mine, and his expression was unfathomable as he moved to take a seat next to Autumn, diagonal from me-deliberately not choosing the empty spot next to me.

But it was Ben, and he had no qualms about turning that bright smile on Basil, Harrow, and the others from 11—in the charming manner he pulled off with ease—as he sat down. The younger pair from 11 were still on edge, but Ben was almost at the other end of the table and quickly dug into his food, making no attempts to talk to me or otherwise force a conversation.

He was rather out of place at first glance, I thought, compared to the rest of us. He wasn't as well-fed as the Careers, but it was a stark contrast from the tributes sitting at the table.

Perhaps it was a bit awkward sharing at table with a different district (and sitting somewhat near Ben after our argument last night), but this whole damn thing was difficult, so I ignored any discomfort as I began shoveling food down as fast as I could.

I found myself remaining mostly silent, allowing Basil and Harrow to converse with their district mates, though I made small talk with the woman from time to time as the allotted time for lunch started to pass fairly quickly.

At one point, I felt my eyes wander over to the Career table. As much as I didn't want to lock eyes with any of them, my survival instinct forced me to observe them at various points throughout the day, just to try to get the best idea possible of what I was up against.

I tried to be discreet as I scanned the group, taking in the dynamic, but fortunately none of them were really paying attention to anyone else. Cato was clearly the ringleader, though he wasn't the loudest or most raucous. In fact, the other boy from 2 was much showier and more animated, waving his arms as he told some sort of story. The strawberry blonde from 4 was looking between the two boys from District 2, clearly enraptured, or faking it well. Onyx from 1 and the bored redhead from 2 were by far the most muted of the bunch, not seeming particularly inclined to interject. Caspian was sidled up to Chiffon again.

What is even the point? I wondered. Like last night after viewing the scene on the roof, I thought perhaps it was a legitimate strategy for some of the very pretty Career girls, who were focused more on flirting and sex appeal, to try to get into the strongest Tributes' good graces to buy themselves more time. What about the boys, though? Were they truly unaware? Surely not. Perhaps their egos were just flattered by the attention, even if Cato outwardly seemed disinterested. Or perhaps Caspian truly thought he could get some action before the Games started. What a gross concept. Who could even focus on that at a time like this?

My eyes fell on Cato yet again, my brain returning to our conversation from last night. He didn't look furious or inscrutable right now, as he listened to the other boy from 2's story. I found myself wondering about the dynamic between the boys from 2. I had noticed they seemed well-acquainted at the Reaping, and even now I could see they were comfortable around each other. At least, Cato seemed to not get annoyed when the boy spoke, and they stuck together a lot.

I refused to believe that Cato actually considered the other boy a friend, though. He just didn't have the humanity for that.

Shortly thereafter, according to the clock on the wall, lunch was over. The District 11 group stood up from the table and the rest of us followed, leaving the food to be collected by the Avoxes.

We were heading back towards the gymnasium—Ben trailing a few feet behind me, Autumn lurking like a shadow next to me, and the District 11 tributes a few feet ahead—when Caspian smoothly stepped up next to me, clearly deciding he wanted to make my day worse.

Because of course he did.

"So, June," he drawled loudly, almost lazily as we re-entered the training area.

I stopped walking once we were a few more paces inside, turning to see the obnoxious District 4 boy staring down at me. I did not want him shadowing me to the next station.

I saw the group from 11 glancing at us curiously as they continued to head in the direction of one of the survival stations, Basil's dark eyes unfathomable, the younger two looking uncomfortable. Autumn had quickly scurried off.

He always showed up right when I was trying to make…well, acquaintances, not really friends. I figured Basil would be smart enough to realize my distaste for him, though. I didn't want them thinking I was trying to associate with the Careers, especially since the Careers usually preyed on districts like 11 and 12.

"Yes?" I asked, realizing Caspian was gazing at me expectantly. I was determined to come across as indifferent as I had during our last interaction.

Ben had made his way towards a nearby weapons station, but I was sure he'd be surreptitiously observing the conversation.

"Isn't it a very special day for you today?" the District 4 boy drawled.

Of course, he had been watching the program the other night, where Caesar had mentioned that my birthday was upcoming.

I stared at him, unwilling to let him annoy me this easily. "Come to wish me happy birthday, then?" I responded, glad I still sounded neutral.

Birthdays weren't exactly a huge deal back home. We had a small, celebratory dinner each year with my cousins, aunt and uncle, and sometimes my father would give me some sort of token or small, inexpensive thing as a gift, but beyond that it was mostly pointless to make a big ado about something that came every year. It wasn't like we had the money to, either way. The day only stood out to me so significantly this year because of the unfortunate timing. It was especially cruel that I had been Reaped so close to the day I would've been free from it.

Well, I still could've been Reaped at nineteen this year, but the odds would have been significantly lower.

"That's what friends do, isn't it?" Caspian smirked knowingly.

"Well, thank you for the birthday wish," I responded, in the same indifferent tone, with a hint of dismissal. I just wanted him to leave. Normally I'd look at Ben to at least somehow intervene in the conversation, but I doubted he had any desire to help me out today, nor was he close enough to. He was a watching us from the station with the maces, I could sense his gaze, though I was still focused on Caspian. I remembered his comparison last night, and my stomach clenched. Surely, he could see the blatant differences between myself and Caspian?

Caspian tilted his head slightly, like he was observing an oddity. Those amber eyes held a glimmer of something sinister. "You know, June, that tone you always take with me...it's really starting to hurt my feelings." The lazy smirk on his face said it was doing anything but.

I was tired of his games. "4, just get to the point. I doubt your friends want you over here." With a jerk of my head, I indicated the general direction the Careers had headed off to, but I didn't dare look over and risk eye contact with Cato.

"Always assuming the worst," Caspian said lightly.

"Call it gut instinct."

He leaned forward in a smooth, abrupt movement then, his mouth suddenly just inches from my right ear. I froze, body stiffening, too startled to move away, and unwilling to give him the satisfaction of such an obvious subconscious response. I felt a wave of discomfort and repulsion wash over me as Caspian whispered, breath warm against my ear,

"Don't worry, you'll get your gift soon."

Then he pulled back, and with one last, lazy grin he was gone. I was left staring after him with disgust and unease.

I felt queasiness erupt in my stomach. What the hell did that mean? It almost seemed like a threat. Or did it even mean anything? Was he just trying to mess with my head again? I tried to push the swirling thoughts out of my brain, knowing that's what he wanted.

My eyes sought out Ben, but he had turned away, and I felt myself angry all over again, knowing he was probably judging me unfairly.

Trying to force down the simmering frustration, and erase the entire interaction from my mind, I made my way back to the survival stations.

…

The food and water preparation station was very helpful. It was a two-hour lecture and demonstration that supplemented what the mentors had covered previously. There were several other tributes here, but fortunately multiple trainers also, so that we could observe in smaller groups.

First, a trainer went over the dangers of drinking unpurified water, the best way to detect how safe water was to drink, and the ways to make it safe for human consumption (I hoped I'd get ahold of iodine tablets in the arena).

Then, a messier bit—the trainer demonstrated how to skin and prepare a rabbit for cooking. Here and there he notated the differences that would be involved with butchering and preparing different animals to eat, since we didn't know what type of wildlife would be in the Arena, but the general principles he taught would work for the most common types of animals encountered. I wrinkled my nose as the animal was skinned, feeling the familiar unease at the sight of the blood, but not as badly as normal, knowing it was an animal and not a human. I'd seen plenty of dead animals back home—Rowan and I visited the market regularly to purchase food—so I had a general idea how to do it, but I'd never completed the process from start to finish myself. I knew that memorizing precisely how to do this properly would help greatly in the Arena. I pushed back the twinges of disgust so that I could focus better.

About halfway through the skinning of the rabbit, a young girl from District 8 coughed and staggered away from the station, her lunch coming back up ungracefully before she made it ten feet. Some of the other tributes sniggered or made repulsed noises, but I just felt bad for her. I remembered her—she had thrown up on her way to the stage on Reaping Day, too. A sensitive and nervous stomach did not bode well. The trainer snapped at an Avox to clean it up, and I heard one of the District 9 tributes tell another that apparently, the same girl from 8 had thrown up in the elevator after the Parade, too.

Ah. So that's why the elevator had been stuck on the 8th floor, ultimately trapping me with Cato and Caspian.

I brushed my feelings and growing sense of pity aside as the small girl was ushered towards the entrance of the gymnasium, likely to get cleaned up. I didn't have the time or energy to worry about her.

After that small stutter, the lesson resumed. I tried to absorb as much as possible as the trainer listed off the edible parts of most small animals, which organs were dangerous to eat, which others would give good nutritional content, etc. He then moved on, showing us how to pluck and prepare a bird.

Then, there was a rough demonstration about how to cook the meat over a fire –the trainer showed us how to set up a spit for cooking, and then gave us a general timetable of how long to cook the meat for, though he didn't actually cook the meat. Apparently, that would just take too long for the lesson.

I felt a wave of disgust rise in me as I realized that all of this was perfectly good meat that was just going to be tossed into the bin after the lesson was done, with more dead animals brought up to repeat the lesson for the next group. What a waste of food. We would never do that back home.

After the lengthy food and water preparation lecture, I decided to swing by the first aid station. I already knew the basics, but it wouldn't hurt to review them. Three other tributes were already there when I arrived, among them Rory Hawthorne, and I nodded at him (a nod he returned albeit somewhat hesitantly) as the trainer began the lecture.

Thankfully, the few things my father had taught me as a child turned out to be a pretty good base of knowledge. Over the next hour, though, I picked up additional tips and tricks that would no doubt come in useful, especially with my newfound knowledge and recognition from the edible plants station. The trainer seemed content with how quickly I was able to make a poultice of perfect consistency with the ingredients provided. I finished before all three of the other three tributes. It was similar to one my father had taught me, and I hoped I'd get to try other poultices with ingredients I was unfamiliar with, to expand my overall familiarity.

"A little better than my fire-starting, at least," I muttered, knowing Rory could hear me. He didn't respond, and I observed his efforts for a moment.

"You need a bit more water to make the paste," I told him, seeing as how the trainer was assisting another tribute. "Even more than you think you might need, at least with what he's having us use. Also, you should crush the plants up just a bit more."

Rory frowned, but did as I instructed, and soon his poultice looked nearly as good as mine.

After a moment he glanced at me, eyebrows furrowed. "Why are you talking to me and helping me if you're friends with 4? Why bother?"

I snorted incredulously, unable to help myself. "After seeing that interaction yesterday, you honestly think I consider that guy my friend?"

Rory was young, but not stupid. I refused to believe he'd interpreted that conversation as a friendly one.

"Well, he seemed to think of you as his friend."

I shook my head before the boy even stopped speaking. "No, trust me. He's just trying to get under my skin and piss me off."

"Why?"

I frowned. "Mind games, I guess. I've never been good at hiding my emotions or controlling my temper, so I guess I'm easy prey for him." I turned, then, meeting Rory's grey eyes. "Trust me, though. I'll be staying as far away from him as possible in the Arena."

"What if he ends up being your partner?"

I stared at him, my eyes wide in horror. "Don't even say that Rory," I basically hissed, more intensity behind my words than expected.

He looked taken-aback, almost alarmed by my fervor.

I lowered my voice until I was quiet enough so he could barely hear and added, "I don't want you giving the Gamemakers any ideas."

"Most people would want a strong partner," Rory responded, though his eyes narrowed as he caught my meaning. "But you wouldn't trust him?"

"He's been screwing with me constantly the past few days. He'd throw a trident in my back the instant he got a chance," I replied, hoping he saw the deathly seriousness on my face. There would be nothing worse than being paired with Caspian.

Almost nothing, I mentally corrected myself, eyes sliding almost against my will to the group of Careers across the gymnasium.

Rory turned to follow my gaze, his face twisting in a frown. He spoke after a moment. "I don't know who I want as my partner…I'm not supposed to trust anyone," he said, then looked almost guilty, as if he didn't want to admit that to me.

I once again felt a surge of pity for the boy, looking down at his small face. He shouldn't even be here at all. He was too young for this. Smart for his age, but still young and inexperienced in the ways of the world. Hell, I felt like I was inexperienced in a lot of the ways of the world, and I was nineteen now.

But I realized that if someone from District 7 didn't win…well, I wanted it to be Rory Hawthorne.

"The Capitol loves you. They'll vote for someone strong for you," I said, to reassure him. I hoped he realized I was being sincere.

And then the trainer was moving on to ways to treat a wound to help lower the risk of infection, halting our conversation, and I forced the thoughts of murderous Careers and innocent children from District 12 out of my head.

…

I didn't have much time left after the first aid station, so I decided that the last thing I would do today was try out one of the obstacle or ropes courses. I didn't want to show my hand to all of the other tributes, which was why I wasn't going to throw any axes. But Johanna had decided I should at least try to show the Gamemakers that I was quick and agile, and wouldn't "keel over and die right as the countdown ended," as she eloquently put it. So, I was to practice a couple of the climbing options before my private session, and try to fit in one of them during the allotted time to try to show off my nimbleness.

There was a ropes course, the first part of which consisted of a large net stretching up towards the ceiling for tributes to climb. There was a pad underneath to catch those that fell. There were also vertical ropes you could use to climb straight up, hand over hand, a feat of upper body strength. Another portion of the course was completely horizontal, and you'd have to travel from one platform to another also using upper body strength and momentum, feet dangling beneath you. I had seen a few Careers having a go at it in some of my cursory reviews of their activities. At least the net portion involved climbing, and seemed like something I'd be able to do.

Then there was the Gauntlets, the course consisting of several platforms that ascended and descended rapidly, forcing the tribute to jump from platform to platform while dodging clubs that would be swung by nearby trainers. I was tempted to try it, but the Gauntlets usually had quite a few eyes on them, and at least one Career practicing. Right now was no exception.

There was also a tall climbing wall nearby, with handholds and footholds strategically placed nearly all the way up to the ceiling.

I smiled. I wanted to try the climbing net portion of the ropes course, but this would be a nice way to ease into it, and then I could tackle the ropes course in the morning.

…

It was obviously different than climbing a tree…but the skillset, I realized, was mostly the same. Sometimes a tree didn't have an easily accessible branch, so I had to locate knots, indents, or other naturally-formed handholds and footholds when climbing. The handholds and footholds were obviously placed on this climbing wall, so I didn't have to guess what was safe.

Of course, the trainer had approached me to equip me with some sort of rope-based contraption to ensure that if I fell, I wouldn't hit the ground and injure myself. Not that I was remotely worried about that.

As a kid, while learning, I had fallen on a handful of occasions. Usually the falls weren't very far, but one time, it had been almost high enough to be dangerous. Fortunately, some bushes had helped break the fall and I had been incredibly lucky on top of that. I hadn't broken anything—but it was a far enough fall to hurt, wound my pride, and teach me a lesson. My father had given me quite the stern lecture, too. I hadn't seen that type of fear in his eyes too often. My brother and I had spotted each other more often after that, but I'd never taken a complete tumble the same way.

I hadn't just climbed trees, either. For the couple years I'd been entrusted to trimming the logs at the sawmill, I –along with some of the other small children—could often be found clambering all about the large clusters of logs piled outside, waiting for us to attend to them before they were brought inside.

As a child, I'd also climbed onto roofs plenty of times. In fact, my brother and I—along with Brooke and Glenn—used to love to hang out on top of my cousins' small home. We'd kept finding unique and creative ways to get up there, but eventually the practice slowed as we started hanging out around the Stump, and I spent more and more time in the woods behind my house.

So, as I began to climb the wall (despite never having climbed something exactly like this before) my muscles didn't protest. I had developed some arm and leg strength from all the climbing and my job at the paper mill. I wasn't built anything like a lumberjack (or a Career), but I had some muscle tone in my arms and legs. I was small, but wiry. Slender, but not soft.

The first few handholds and footholds were a bit tentative. I took time to locate the next one, then to pull myself up or shift to the right or left…but soon, instinct and familiarity started to take over. This was different than a tree, but yet, had enough in common that my abilities translated to the climbing wall.

The effort to climb was comforting, in a way. I could almost pretend there were leafy branches stretching up around me, could almost picture sunlight filtering through the green stretching above. I knew I had gear equipped to prevent injury, but I pretended it wasn't there as I climbed. I wouldn't have such coddling in the Arena. I didn't even think about the height. It had never concerned me before; I wasn't afraid of heights. I focused on the next place I set in my sights, channeling my years of experience with tree climbing into this exercise.

I began to climb faster, enjoying the stretch of muscles. It became an even rhythm. There was less hesitation in my movements. Each handhold and foothold were committed to more decisively as I increased my pace to something almost brisk. It had only been a few days since I climbed, but it felt like a lifetime. These handholds and footholds were even safer than something I'd find in a tree; they were specifically meant for this. That thought gave me more confidence. I hoisted myself up, and up, and up with growing ease as I approached the top of the climbing wall. My body welcomed the familiar exercise. I enjoyed the slight burn in my arms and legs resulting from the effort expended. It felt nice to be good at something here. There was some minor discomfort in my bare hands due to the strength with which I gripped the handholds, but it wasn't any worse than gripping the bark of a tree.

And then, faster than I could have anticipated, I was at the top. I pulled myself up and over, as there was a flat ledge at the very top. I scooted back a bit and then turned until I was in a sitting position, legs dangling over the side, staring down at the gymnasium. I felt the faint sheen of sweat all over my skin, but it had been worth it. I wasn't breathing particularly hard. Glancing down at the trainer, I saw her nod with approval, clearly impressed at my speed.

I couldn't help but smile in response. I could sense a couple of curious eyes on me from down below, but I didn't make eye contact with anyone in particular. I didn't want to ruin this moment.

I decided to sit up there a few moments longer, trying to take this brief opportunity for familiarity, for some peace and quiet.

My eyes trailed across the gymnasium, not really settling on anything, until they found the ropes course. Ben was there—and to my great displeasure, so was Caspian. As I watched, the two boys exchanged a few words, then Ben stepped forward and began climbing one of the vertical ropes. Unsurprisingly, he progressed quickly. It was straightforward, but required a lot of upper body strength to complete the exercise. Strength that Ben clearly possessed. He pulled himself up hand over hand, the rope pinched between his legs, climbing with relative ease considering the difficulty of the task. Caspian observed him closely, though from this distance I couldn't see his expression.

I wasn't sure if the two had been training together previously, but I was sure that Caspian was noting the strengths that would make Ben a valuable ally in the Arena.

Perhaps Johanna's plan might work out after all.

I tried to ignore the sick feeling in my stomach at the thought.

…

True to her word, Minodora had ordered cheesecake for dessert tonight.

The Avoxes were serving us again—dinner was always a fancier affair than breakfast—and she was absolutely beaming as they brought out a three-tiered, insanely well-decorated monstrosity of a cake drizzled in syrup made from strawberries, and something apparently called caramel. Various brightly-colored fruits formed an outer ring on each tier. There were even a few delicate pink and red flowers (Minodora said they were edible), strategically placed in the enter of the top tier of the cheesecake.

I had never seen a food so…pretty. And elegant. Part of me felt guilty that this considerable expense was technically on my behalf, but then I realized the Capitol would find a way to spend the money regardless.

"Oh, June, you'll just love it!" Minodora chirped excitedly, clapping her hands in glee as the servants began to cut into the cake and serve it. She then began to prattle on about the various "incredibly expensive" ingredients in the deluxe cake, and how hard some of them were to get.

As a massive slice of cake was placed in front of me and Minodora squealed out something about me getting the biggest slice for my birthday, I felt an odd churning of emotions in my gut.

Minodora had done this for me. She had actually done something…well, nice on my behalf. I was sure that, like my prep team, it was selfishly motivated to some extent. I was sure she'd enjoyed barking orders and organizing this whole affair, and she'd probably find a way to brag about it to the other escorts. I knew she was out-of-touch, making such a big deal out of some cake when I could be dead a week from now. And Minodora acting like I could be happy right now, as if I should be ecstatic at the opportunity to be here and eat this, just showed her complete lack of awareness. It also proved how materialistic they were here. The Capitol thought problems could be solved with some cake.

But still…despite all that, she had gone out of her way to do this. Regardless of the motivations, Minodora had put some legitimate effort into getting me something that she knew I would like on my birthday. She had specifically remembered Ben's comment about the cheesecake (and remembered my birthday), and tailored this dessert accordingly. At least some part of her—no matter how small the part—actually cared that I was getting something I would enjoy.

And I found myself hating her just a little bit less.

As I dug into the cake, I realized that it was, in fact, the most delicious and delectable thing I'd ever tasted.

And I managed to muster up a genuine smile as I told Minodora how much I loved it.

…

The mentoring session with Johanna that night was even more exhausting than the last.

Today as a whole had just been jam-packed. I'd almost collapsed before dinner after my shower, before reluctantly dragging myself to the dining hall. But now, I was full to bursting from the dinner and the perfect cheesecake, and I felt like I could drift asleep at any second. Multiple nights of poor sleep only exacerbated the problem.

I managed to force myself to answer Johanna's multitude of questions about the day, though, and then together we formulated the best possible plan we could come up with for the next day. Tomorrow afternoon, my private scoring session would take place. I allowed her to drill every possible instruction into my head even knowing I couldn't possibly retain them all. I tried not to get irritable or short with Johanna as she continued to pepper me with specific questions about the day while throwing in a jibe here and there, as was her nature; though, by the end I knew I was coming across surly, judging by her deepening scowl.

I was in far too unfortunate of a mood to tell her about Caspian's comment earlier. I couldn't deal with how she'd react knowing that I hadn't manage to avoid the two boys she most wanted me to, even if it wasn't my fault.

Finally, I was dismissed.

There would be no returning to the roof tonight. I was going to get some more of that tea, and hopefully get eight hours of sleep for once.

In keeping with the previous two nights, I stood on the balcony overlooking the city as I sipped the warm tea. An undercurrent of nerves had been growing stronger throughout the day as I thought about what tomorrow would bring.

I'd be getting my training score—one of the most important ways to get Sponsors going into the Arena.

Johanna and I were hoping for a 6. With forty-eight of us, Johanna wasn't sure if the Gamemakers would be harsher or more forgiving with scores than usual.

A 6 would be decent, though. It was low enough to fly under the Careers' radar, but high enough to show that I at least had some skill that would be useful in the Arena. It would allow me to be mostly overlooked by the threats, but show Sponsors that I wasn't a lost cause. A 5 was more mediocre, but she said we could still work with that. Any lower would pretty much disincentivize all Sponsorship.

The Careers would probably all get scores in the 8-10 range, though those were much less likely for the rest of us. I was pretty sure in most years, the overall average was around a 5. Even more reason why a 6 would get me to the perfect spot. Just slightly ahead of the crowd, but still understated enough to not put myself at risk.

Of course, a wrench could be thrown into everything once I got my partner. We still didn't know how they'd be chosen, though apparently, we'd be given information about that tomorrow, after the scores were announced. So, either way, tomorrow was as a big day.

I sighed, finishing the rest of my tea.

As I turned to walk back towards my room, I noticed Ben was currently lounging in a chair near the living room, facing the giant window that looked out over the twinkling lights of the Capitol. He seemed lost in thought.

I hesitated as I drew even with him, coming up short for a moment.

We still hadn't talked after training, or really at all during dinner. The tension was still evident. I had felt his eyes fixed on my face when the birthday cake was brought out, but I had studiously ignored him.

I still felt angry with him, underneath the surface, though it had lessened somewhat. I had come to realize I was a little bit at fault for instigating the conversation. That didn't fully excuse his biting words, though. Still…I knew it wasn't a good idea for Ben and I to be friends, but I disliked the tension that had built up between us. The last thing I needed was more stress before the Games. The awkwardness just created another layer of discomfort on top of everything else. I felt like it also made everyone else uneasy, and made Johanna's job harder.

Sensing some else's presence in the room, Ben turned in his chair, green eyes meeting mine. He was silent, studying me, and I couldn't fully read his expression—though he seemed tired, a bit pale, and less angry than the night before. Just like me.

I wondered if my own exhaustion was evident on my face.

I hesitated for a moment longer, a tiny part of my brain urging me to speak with him, but the rest of it—the still-angry, prideful part—refusing. Sighing, I turned my gaze away from Ben's again.

He didn't move to stop me, and he didn't speak as I returned to my room and shut the door behind me.

And, for the first time in several days, it didn't take me long to fall asleep.

...

A/N: I know that there isn't canon information about first aid or food and water prep stations, but to me, if they're teaching the tributes how to build a shelter and fire, it only makes sense that they'd teach other basics, as well. I hope you liked my take on those stations!

Next chapter: Juniper (and all the other tributes) get their scores, and we find out more about the pairings!

Also, AS OF 8/15/2021 I have decided to also post this story on Archive of Our Own. The updates will always be at the same time, though, so don't feel pressured to go read it there.

Finally: thank you Guest for all the reviews! I can't respond directly, but I'm very glad you're enjoying the story so much :)