~Chapter Ten: The Score~

"Of all the hardships a person had to face, none was more punishing than the simple act of waiting." ―Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns

...

Some changes had been made to the private scoring sessions this year to accommodate the additional tributes.

First, training started at eight-o-clock sharp instead of ten, meaning breakfast was at seven, and also meaning I was practically dragged out of bed at a more miserable hour than normal by a screeching Minodora.

Second, we only had two hours until we were ushered into the dining room and tributes started getting called in for their private sessions, which started right at ten.

Third, instead of the fifteen minutes that was apparently standard for a scoring session in previous years, we'd only have ten minutes.

That didn't seem fair to me, at first. Five minutes could make a huge difference, and the private scoring session was hugely important to attract Sponsors. Plus, I'd had a tentative idea in my head of what I wanted to do…at least prior to my mentoring session with Johanna the night before, when she had informed me about the time change. We'd had to revise the plan accordingly.

But I also knew things were different this year – there was the fact that each of us would get an Arena partner, which could significantly impact our Sponsorship prospects, especially when there would be a Sponsor luncheon on our final day in the Capitol. So perhaps our individual score carried slightly less weight on its own than in past years.

Either way, we'd only have ten minutes to try to make as good of an impression as possible.

Even with those changes, with forty-eight of us, and ten minutes per tribute, the private sessions would begin at ten and not end until much later this evening, especially considering the minute or two of cleanup time in between each tribute. Then, after all of us had gone, there would be some additional deliberation time for the Gamemakers. The scores weren't being announced until nine-o-clock tonight, at the earliest.

Unsurprisingly, I was extremely nervous. I sat in the dining area off of the gymnasium—Autumn and I alone at our own table—shifting nervously in my seat. Ben was a short distance away, but I refused to look at him. It seemed slightly less tense today between us, but that was probably because we were more focused on our upcoming private sessions.

In the limited two hours of training we'd had this morning, I had first revisited the fire-starting station. It had been the most difficult station for me, but Johanna had agreed that it was probably one of the most important stations for me, given that there would be three Arenas and survival skills would be very important. So, I'd tried my hand at it again. It had taken some time, but I'd managed to create another fire with only sticks, and it was certainly faster than the first day I attempted it. It would be good enough for the Arena.

Then, I had gone over to the ropes course I had eyed yesterday. I had wanted to try one part of the course in particular—the net stretching up diagonally towards the ceiling, intended for climbing, and a true test of balance. The net got narrower as it got closer to the top, requiring more precise positioning and weight distribution.

It had not been as easy as the climbing wall. It tilted this way and that unexpectedly, requiring incredibly quick reflexes and balance adjustments. My skillset helped, but it was harder than expected.

My first attempt, about midway through, the net flipped and I'd been left hanging upside down. I hadn't been thrown off—I reacted quickly enough to avoid that—but upon realizing I couldn't flip the net back over, I'd reluctantly dropped off to try again, landing on my feet on the mat. At least I hadn't totally fallen on my face (I'd seen multiple other tributes gracelessly fall on this part of the course). I could tell the Careers weren't overly impressed with my showing, though.

But I was a quick learner, especially when it came to climbing, and I wouldn't give up. My second try was successful. I was able to make the necessary adjustments and corrections to not unbalance myself or flip the net. The ascent was slower than I'd like, but I managed to reach the top without any incidents (despite a couple of close calls). The two nearby Careers (thankfully not Caspian or Cato) stopped smirking after that, ignoring me entirely.

I tried it one more time, just to be able to do it more quickly. I made pretty fast progress, and was pleased with myself when I reached the top. Johanna wanted me to impress the Gamemakers with how easily and quickly I could climb while maintaining my balance and without a safety harness, which is why she thought this would be better than the climbing wall. This part of the ropes course was considered difficult, but well-suited for nimble tributes. If I could do it at quick pace, it would make a good showing during my scoring session. I wasn't going to focus on the other parts of the ropes course during the session, though. Some of the other sections required a lot more upper body strength as opposed to balance. I could probably do (most of) the rest of the course, but not quickly enough to be impressive, and we needed to leave plenty of time for me to throw several axes from various distances.

The final thing I had done this morning was re-visit the snare station to practice the three snares I had learned, with some guidance and reminders from the Trainer. Once I got back into the rhythm and made a couple of corrections, I was able to put the first one together easily. The Trainer then reminded me how to make the second snare, and I was able to recreate that one as well. I didn't have time to fully complete the third one, which was much more complicated, but I was pretty sure I knew enough that with some time in the Arena I'd be able to do it. Not that there'd be too much use for it, as the first two were applicable in most situations. It was just good to have a backup, just in case—who knew what to expect with three Arenas.

Originally, the plan had been to also make a basic snare during my scoring session. Unfortunately, if I wanted to leave enough time to throw more than a couple of axes, I just didn't think I'd be able to pull it off. Even the most basic snare took time, notching both pieces of wood and wrapping the wire properly. And it just wasn't as impressive in the eyes of the Gamemakers as the ropes course or sinking an axe into a target. So, I was just going to stick with the other two.

To be fair, they had been watching all of us (well, mainly the Careers) the past days. So, hopefully, at least one Gamemaker had noticed all of the time I'd spent at a lot of the survival stations, and realized that I wouldn't be completely hopeless in that regard.

After re-visiting the snare station, it was time for the private sessions with the Gamemakers, and all of the tributes were ushered into the dining room before they started calling us out one by one. It would be a long day; I felt bad for 12. Apparently, food would be brought out at some point and piled on the carts to help tide over those of us who went later.

So now I sat, feeling jittery and restless, fiddling with the ring on my finger. My stomach swelled with nerves.

I glanced over –Autumn was at my table, but several feet away. As always, she was pale and withdrawn, staring at her feet.

It had been about an hour since they first started calling tributes. Nobody came back after they were called. The tributes were called starting with the younger pair, and went in boy, girl, boy, girl order. All of District 1 had already gone. The copper-haired girl from 2 was in there right now. Cato was up next.

I glanced in his direction out of the corner of my eye. The blonde boy was standing, not sitting, and had his arms folded across his chest. He was completely still, staring in the direction of the closed double doors leading into the gymnasium. From here, Cato's expression seemed completely impassive, though there was tension in his stance. I was sure he was eager to go in there and show off.

After he got called, I tore my gaze away, not wanting to witness the sheer confidence with which he strode out of the dining area. It only made me feel more insecure in comparison.

You won't be competing with his score, anyway, I thought, trying to reassure myself. Hell, you wouldn't even want to even if you could. It would only draw attention.

My eyes settled on Ben, then. I still felt somewhat torn about the whole situation. Part of me thought it was better like this. We'd be in the Arena soon enough. Plus, his insult still cut deep, and I still wanted him to apologize for it. But…I did miss the sense of camaraderie we'd had. And I supposed that another part of me also felt somewhat guilty, because I knew I was to blame for starting (and pushing) our argument. I had always carried guilt with me pretty easily, especially if I felt like I wronged someone.

Ben looked nervous too. He sat slightly leaning forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands. One knee jittered, letting me know he felt the same anxious energy swirling within him that I did.

Rudd was at Ben's table, but the opposite end. As always, the man's beady eyes were completely unreadable, and his dark beard masked most of his inner thoughts.

I looked away, knowing it was best to just focus on myself right now.

I bit my lip, nervously crossing and then uncrossing my legs. Time seemed to drag at a horrifically slow pace as District 2 finally finished, and then 3 started getting called. Sandwiched between Career districts…that had to be the worst position to be in. The scared tribute from 3 that had been dragged on stage after he was Reaped was openly shaking as he was called into the gymnasium.

The room was mostly silent, save for whispers or quiet murmurs here and there. The tension could be cut with a knife.

Eventually all of 3 had gone, and District 4 was up. Caspian was standing, practically bouncing around on the balls of his feet in excitement. I had no doubt he'd get at least a 9 with those trident-throwing skills. We had made eye contact once, the insufferable boy tossing me a brilliant grin that I pretended to ignore.

The one girl from 4 who wasn't a volunteer was called last for her district; the expression on her face likely matched mine.

Food was brought out sometime around when the tributes from 5 started getting called. My stomach was roiled in knots by then, but I forced myself to at least eat a roll and a couple slices of meat. It wouldn't do to be shaking from hunger by the time I was summoned out there. I munched on the food woodenly, small piece by small piece, as the District 5 tributes left one by one.

Time seemed to speed up, then.

As the first boy from 6 was called, I could no longer sit still; the nervous energy was bubbling in my veins.

Ropes course first. Quickly, but no mistakes. Then to the axes. As many throws as possible, while still being accurate. Complete throws from at least three different distances.

I kept mentally replaying my plan in my head, over and over, as a sort of mantra to keep myself calm as the rest of District 6 was called, one by one.

It felt like only a few minutes had passed since the first tribute from 6 was called, but suddenly, it was our turn.

"Benjamin Thorne!"

Ben stood up, nerves plain on his face. He steeled himself. Glancing to the side, his eyes briefly met mine as he began to step forward.

Words stuck in my throat, refusing to escape (and I wasn't even sure I wanted them to), but I felt myself giving him a brief nod. Good luck, I thought.

Something akin to determination flashed in his gaze in response, and Ben gave me a slight nod in return, before turning and walking with resolve towards the gymnasium.

I began twisting the ring around my finger again, over and over, feeling the intricate grooves of the carving on the band.

I could do this.

It was nerve-wracking, but I had to swallow my anxiety as much as possible. I had to face it head-on. This score could heavily influence my chances of success in the Games. Not because I expected to land a ton of Sponsors off of my score alone, but because I needed to score above the average. I needed to fly under the radar, but also not be written off entirely. And, because I was a small girl from an outer district, it would be easy for the Gamemakers to write me off if I screwed up during my private session.

But I wasn't aiming for a Career score. A 6 was by no means overly difficult to achieve, if one had a useful skill. And I had spent all day telling myself that my axe skills alone should put me above the average outer district tribute. I only had to show what I was already capable of doing.

I could do this.

I wasn't aiming for the stars, I was aiming for a freaking 6.

I shouldn't even be nervous, I thought, with some self-directed frustration.

"Juniper Ainsley!"

Showtime.

I stood up, ignoring my unsettled stomach. I couldn't show the Gamemakers how nervous I was. I was sure they didn't have high expectations of me, so the very least I could do was exceed them.

I tilted my chin up, attempting to put on a neutral expression as I opened the doors into the gymnasium.

There they were –probably at least thirty of them, in their fancy robes, up in their special little observation area, with a banquet table and endless wine. Looking down on me. Looking down on all of us.

Some of the Gamemakers didn't appear to be paying a lot of attention, too focused on the feast in front of them, but plenty of eyes were on me as I stopped in the center of the floor, right below them. Johanna had told me what to do.

"Juniper Ainsley, District 7," I said, raising my voice only so that they could all hear, trying to infuse my tone with as much confidence as possible. I stared up at the men and women above me, spine stiff, hoping my expression didn't give away my distaste for them.

Plutarch Heavensbee stood near the front of the observation area, gazing down at me with a cool, unreadable expression in his blue eyes. He gave a brief nod, indicating that I could begin.

Taking a deep breath, I strode with purpose over to the climbing net at the ropes course. I didn't have any time to waste.

I began to climb the net without hesitation. As I moved, I mentally thanked my younger self for being so insistent on climbing anything and everything. That had ingrained the necessary nimbleness and balance to be able pull this off quickly.

Remembering the lessons I'd learned from my previous attempts this morning, I kept my center of gravity low, placing each hand and foot strategically as I climbed, forcing myself not to go overly rigid or overcorrect when the net shifted underneath me.

As I'd anticipated, I was able to progress even more quickly than before, my movements more practiced, more adjusted to the way the net would tilt and jolt. I couldn't afford to slow down; I had to impress the Gamemakers. I pushed myself a bit, pulling myself up at a fairly quick pace, keeping the main part of my weight centered and directly over the middle of the rope net, only slowing slightly as I reached the last few feet before the end.

And then it was done.

I wanted to smile, but I kept my face neutral as I tapped the knot at the very top, then began to climb back down. I didn't have a lot of time to waste. Luckily, the bulk of the challenge was getting to the top of the climbing net, not getting back down.

As soon as I was free of the climbing net and my feet were safely back on the ground, I straightened and glanced up at the clock. I still had plenty of time. Perfect.

I didn't look at the Gamemakers as I quickly made my way over to the stand of various axes by the stationary targets. I guessed District 7 was known for this weapon, so they probably weren't too surprised.

I wondered if Ben had thrown axes or knives.

Focus on yourself.

I wiped my palms on my pants, ignoring their clamminess.

Reaching the axe stand, I noted there were several rows of them, of various shapes, lengths, and weights. They might all look similar to an unpracticed eye, but as I grabbed some of the axes to test how they felt in my hand, I could note the differences. I took the time to pull a few different ones off of the stand, testing the balance and feel of each. I wanted something as close my own axe back home as possible. The third and fourth rows down contained axes that felt the most familiar. They would do.

Then I turned to focus on the closest target. There was a long row of stationary targets, so that I could aim at a new one for each throw if I wanted. I planned to throw from a further distance after warming up a bit, but this was a good start.

Taking a deep breath, I got into position. I was going to start with a two-handed throw. I could pull off a one-handed one as well, but this would give me more power. I was sure the Gamemakers would be more impressed if the axe sank slightly deeper into the target.

It had only been a few days since I'd last done this; less than a week. Yet, somehow, it felt like an eternity ago.

I closed my eyes briefly, steeling myself. My stomach still roiled with nerves, but I forced my body to still as much as possible. It wouldn't do to be shaky right now. I tried to gather my confidence, to prepare myself for the throw as best I could.

I opened my eyes, pulled the axe back over my head with both of my hands gripping the handle, and then hurled it forward, putting strength behind the motion, releasing it when my arms were level with the target.

It wasn't as good of a throw as I would have pulled off at home; I could immediately tell that.

The weight was slightly off, and my timing hadn't been perfect. I had released it slightly early. I was nervous, too, which had influenced it a bit. By my standards, it wasn't an acceptable throw for this distance.

The axe still connected, but it bounced off of the target area. It would have injured a larger tribute standing there, though non-lethally. It hadn't sunk into the target at all, either, because my release timing had been off. It wasn't as good as I could do, but it also wasn't a total humiliation; it had still connected in the target area.

I felt annoyance at myself bubble up, along with a new wave of nerves, but I forced it down. This was not the time to get down on myself. I had to focus on the positive: now I knew how to adjust for the slightly different weight than I was used to.

I could do this. I pretended I was back home, surrounded by my family. I pretended I was a stone's throw away from my back door, gathered around the Stump with the people I cared about most. I pretended it was them watching me, and not these despicable Gamemakers. I pictured Rowan there, egging me on, teasing me. I imagined him watching this unfold. The mental images gave me a surge of determination.

Going back to the stand, I grabbed another axe.

Returning to the same exact spot and same distance from the target, I repeated my actions. This time, though, I decided I didn't need to close my eyes and steel myself. I had thrown enough axes in my lifetime. I didn't need to hesitate, as if I were new to this. I felt a surge of pride rear its head in me, desperate to show the Gamemakers that this was something I was confident about.

I trusted instinct to guide my hand, just making a mental note about how I would release the axe because of the minute weight difference. I quickly took the position, pulled the axe back, then threw it forward.

A much better throw than the first, and this time sinking cleanly into the target. Not a bullseye, but likely lethal. Though I hated the fact that I'd considered the throw in terms of lethality to a tribute, I still felt my confidence grow slightly, just the smallest bit of tension releasing in my gut. The axe sat there, embedded enough to show the force I had put behind it. The Gamemakers now knew I could kill with this weapon.

I refused to consider how horrible that thought was right now. Right now, I had to succeed.

My determination increased even more. I imagined Rowan giving a slight nod of approval. I returned to the weapon stand, adrenaline still coursing through me.

I repeated the actions with a third axe, from the same distance, but positioning and aiming at the next target over.

Bullseye. Dead center.

I felt my lips quirk up then, slightly.

Now that's what I'm talking about, I thought, and returned to the stand to get another.

For the next few minutes, until time was almost out, I threw as many axes as I could, moving down the line of targets each time after my axe sunk into the previous one. I made sure that one of my throws was one-handed, so the Gamemakers knew I was capable of that, too. It wasn't a bullseye, but it was a lethal throw. I moved further from the targets after my first few throws, so that they would also know I was capable of throwing from different distances.

When there was less than a minute left, I made the decision that getting one more good throw off should be good enough, especially if it was from an even further distance than my previous throws.

Choosing a new target to line up with, I moved several feet further away than the last throw, taking my time to determine the distance properly.

Turning around to aim the axe, I realized that I was as far away from the target as the maximum distance I ever threw from back home. It would definitely look impressive if I had an adequate throw here, I thought. It wasn't easy to hit a target from this distance without a lot of practice. It would leave no doubt in the Gamemakers' minds that I'd done this a lot back home.

I couldn't psych myself out. I trusted myself, and my experience, and my instincts.

I took a deep breath.

I pulled the axe back above my head, fists clasping the handle slightly, then threw it forward with great force, feeling the noticeable—but familiar—burn in my arms and shoulders at the exertion.

And it sank into the target, to my great satisfaction. It wasn't a bullseye, but it was near the center, a lethal throw yet again (as much as the thought was disturbing).

It would do.

Glancing up at the clock, I realized I basically out of time. Overall, I was pleased with what I'd done. Other than the first throw, all of the others had sunk into the target, and I'd gotten multiple bullseyes. Nearly every throw had been lethal, too.

Unsure what to do, I turned and finally looked up at the Gamemakers.

There were quite a few sets of eyes on me. Some of them looked mildly curious, others had unreadable expressions. At least none of them looked outright condescending or disappointed. A couple others were scribbling notes, or so I assumed. And, of course, some of the Gamemakers were paying no attention to me whatsoever, too focused on the food and wine. Whatever. If even half of them had paid attention, I supposed it was good enough.

I briefly made eye contact with Plutarch Heavensbee. His eyes were narrowed slightly, but as always, I found his thoughts to be completely indecipherable.

Not like I expected any of them to be impressed, after seeing all of the Careers earlier. I was just glad none of them looked like they were mocking my efforts. I felt a new surge of confidence – surely I had done enough to get a 6?

Clearly realizing my time was essentially out and I was done throwing, Plutarch inclined his head slightly in my direction. "Thank you, Miss Ainsley. You may go." He gestured in the direction of the main gymnasium exit, near the elevators.

I knew that I had to be polite, even despite my outright dislike for these people that would be playing with my fate and the fate of forty-seven others. So, I nodded my head in response once.

"Thank you," I said in a raised voice, attempting a polite tone, maintaining eye contact with Plutarch for just a moment longer.

Then I turned and headed towards the exit. I still felt some of the Gamemakers' eyes on me as I departed, but I forced myself to keep an even pace, and not look like I was trying desperately to get away from them.

As soon as I left the room and pressed the button to summon the elevator, I felt a huge surge of relief crash over me.

My private scoring session was over. I hadn't totally humiliated myself. I had done almost as well as I could possibly have hoped, given the time constraints. I wasn't overwhelming anyone with my skills, but I felt fairly confident that I would get the score I was aiming for, unless a ton of other tributes had tricks up their sleeves. Which seemed somewhat unlikely.

A small smile settled on my face as I stepped into the elevator. For once, I didn't think Johanna would be angry with me.

…

When I arrived, Johanna and Minodora were chatting with Ben in the living room, Blight lurking nearby. Immediately, several pairs of eyes swiveled to me. I hesitated, unsure if they were talking about Ben's performance, and whether they'd want me to overhear.

But Johanna beckoned me to join them, so I tentatively joined the group, settling into an armchair near the couch. I realized now that there was a light sheen of sweat across my forehead. I wiped it on my shirt sleeve, ignoring Minodora's disapproving look. I had showered this morning but I was definitely going to take another one as soon as I was released from the questioning that was about to occur.

Ben had clearly already recounted his private session. I thought he was going to stay to see what I had to say, but then his eyes rested on me briefly. I saw some sort of conflicted expression flicker across his features before he turned and left the room, heading towards his private quarters. Johanna's eyes narrowed, but she didn't comment. I doubt she minded him leaving, seeing as how she wanted to keep some of our training separate.

Honestly, at this point, I didn't really care if Ben overheard what went on in my private session. He knew what I was capable of already. I didn't have as varied of a skillset as he did. There was really only one or two things I could've done during my private session, whereas Ben had more options. It wasn't like he'd get any more of an advantage against me in the Arena by hearing what went on.

But clearly, he didn't want to be around me, even still.

"So?" Johanna demanded, breaking into my thoughts, her eyebrows raised. Blight was observing me quietly—despite me not being his tribute to mentor, he clearly still cared to hear how all of us did—and Minodora was leaning forward in her chair, as if wanting to soak up every word.

I couldn't help the small sense of satisfaction I felt as I spoke. "First, I did the ropes course…well, the climbing net part. I had practiced it a couple times this morning. So, I was able to do it fairly quickly, and I didn't fall off. I think it showed that I'm pretty agile and have good balance."

Johanna nodded, not commenting, and gesturing for me to continue.

"Then I threw as many axes as I could in the time left. I threw from three different distances. My last throw was from pretty far away- as far as I've ever thrown an axe back home." I cleared my throat, almost feeling uncomfortable with how intently my mentor was observing me. "The very first throw wasn't great. It still hit the target, it just didn't sink in. But the rest of the throws were good. I got multiple bullseyes. So, overall, I think it went well. Some of the Gamemakers looked interested."

I shifted in my seat, suddenly anxious to hear Johanna's reaction. I had thought I'd done pretty well, and that she'd approve, but you never knew with her…

But she didn't look annoyed. Instead, she looked contemplative, one finger tapping her chin. Minodora, on the other hand, was smiling widely at me.

"Well, it sounds like you did a wonderful job, June!" The escort said excitedly.

Blight, as always, was inscrutable.

"Not bad, Twigs," Johanna said then. "With you, I wasn't sure what to expect. But if it really went like you said, I bet you did enough to get that 6."

That was about as much of a compliment as I could get from her, even with the interwoven jibe. So, I felt a small smile form on my face. "I hope you're right," I responded.

"Did the Gamemakers say anything? Or do anything interesting?"

"Not really. It seemed like quite a few of them were paying attention, at least. A couple looked like they were taking notes. But plenty of others were eating and drinking wine. Plutarch just kinda stared at me, in that creepy way of his, then nodded and dismissed me."

Johanna's expression had shifted into something I couldn't quite place, brows furrowed, but then her face quickly resumed its neutral expression. "Sounds like they didn't hate you, at least."

"I'm sure that's shocking to you," I responded automatically before I could help myself, my tone dry. The private session had lifted my mood a bit, since I hadn't totally been an embarrassment.

Johanna rolled her eyes, though only seemed mildly annoyed. "Quite. Now go entertain yourself for a while, or something. You look like you could use a shower. And I doubt Minodora wants you smelling up the living room."

Minodora frowned at her, looking as if the thought was seriously concerning to her.

Sighing, I stood up and made my way back to my quarters, though I felt better than I had in days.

Maybe…just maybe…it wouldn't be totally hopeless. Perhaps I'd done this one thing right, which could only help my chances. Only time would tell, as the scores wouldn't come out for several hours still.

Surely I'd done enough to get a 6, though. I only needed a score that could help me stay alive.

And, right now, I felt like just maybe I'd taken the first step towards that.

…

Later that night, once dinner and dessert had been served and we'd all partaken in the accompanying small talk around the dinner table afterwards, we all gathered in the living room.

Our stylists had joined us for dinner again that evening after not being around the previous two nights, making the room feel especially crowded as we all found a seat and waited for the scores to be announced.

Despite having mostly vanquished them earlier, my nerves were back.

I found myself half-heartedly chewing on a fingernail, ignoring the chatter of the stylists and Minodora, as my eyes honed in on the Capitol logo on the screen.

I was mentally replaying what I'd done earlier during the private session. I was convinced it could pull a 6. If it couldn't, then the competition must be extremely steep this year.

The music of the program started up, abruptly hushing the conversation in the room.

The screen flickered to life, revealing Caesar sitting alone at a table, lavender hair and eyebrows a stark contrast to the dark suit he wore. He had a solemn expression on his face, though I thought I could see the excitement lurking behind his eyes.

Or maybe that was part of his act. Caesar was good at projecting emotions, despite their likely sincerity.

There was a black screen behind him, where the face of a tribute would be brought up, followed by the projection of their score. Caesar had a stack of papers in front of him, which he clutched tightly as he began to discuss the importance of the scores, how difficult it was for the Gamemakers to decide this year, how hard they had worked to get the scores out today with forty-eight tributes, and how impressive it was that all of us had shown the Gamemakers our very best with only ten minutes on the clock.

I was too nervous to roll my eyes as I stared intensely at him, willing him to talk faster.

Lambent was up first, handsome features settled into a confident smile, the score quickly following. 10.

Typical.

Chiffon, the beautiful blonde, got a 9.

Onyx, the unsettling boy with dark features, got a 9. I was sure he'd shown off hand-to-hand combat skills in his private session, based on what I'd observed during training.

The other girl from District 1, Ruby, got an 8.

The dark-haired boy from 2 with the burn scar (Bastion, I was reminded as Caesar announced it) got a 9. Tatiana, unsurprisingly, got a 10. The bored-looking, copper-haired girl—Cassia—got a 9.

Cato, of course, also got a 10. I found myself not even remotely surprised. The three highest Career scores so far were Cato, Tatiana, and Lambent. But I probably could have predicted that from Reaping Day.

District 3 got predictably low or average scores, and soon it was District 4's turn.

Caspian's smirking countenance appeared on screen, eyes glinting as if he knew something the audience didn't. I felt a wave of dislike wash over me, and found myself glaring at the screen.

10.

Just my luck, I thought with some irritation.

Of course, Johanna wasn't nice enough to hold back a snarky remark. "I'm glad your two favorite tributes both got 10s, Twiggy," she said sarcastically. "I'm sure you'll be just thrilled for them. Maybe you can congratulate the boy from 2 the next time you're yelling at him in an elevator?"

I tossed her a dark look.

At least Johanna didn't know I'd been stuck in a conversation with Cato on the roof, I thought. That would only make it worse. I remained silent, though I didn't try to hide the scowl on my face as I re-focused on the program.

The strawberry blonde girl with the endearing dimples, Azure, had gotten an 8.

The other boy from 4—Marlin, the dark-haired one who had never seemed overly thrilled to be volunteering—also got an 8.

The final girl from 4 had not volunteered, so I wasn't surprised to see that her score was lower. A 6. Not like I could judge that score, though. That's what I was aiming for myself. It was above average compared to most of the other non-volunteers.

I clasped my hands in my lap, palms clammy, as Caesar moved on and began reading the scores for Districts 5 and 6. Once more, all of the scores were fairly mediocre or low, as expected.

Then District 7 was up.

I sat forward in my chair, riveted on the screen again. My stomach felt like it was in my throat. This was it: the moment of truth. How had everyone else in my district done? And, most importantly, had I done enough to at least get the 6 we were aiming for?

Ben's handsome face appeared on the screen, looking stoic, and a second later his score appeared.

9.

I felt my mouth drop open slightly and I glanced over at him. Minodora had absolutely shrieked in excitement, as had some of the stylists. They began congratulating Ben eagerly, talking over themselves in their fervor, as Caesar blabbered on about how fun it would be to watch him in the games, and how a lot of the Capitol would be rooting for him. An outer district underdog…only not so much of an underdog now.

That was a fantastic score. A Career score. I knew he would do well, but even I hadn't expected something quite that high. I felt an odd mix of emotions, along with some wariness, but I wasn't able to dwell on it for long.

Because I was up next.

My face appeared on the screen—I wasn't sure when the Capitol had captured this footage, but at least I looked focused and determined—and I held my breath.

The stylists and Minodora had abruptly quieted as my face appeared, Johanna loudly shushing them, as well.

I wouldn't get a score like Ben, I knew, but surely I had done enough…

The number appeared.

7.

My heart skipped a bit, and then I felt a wave of absolute elation. I couldn't help but grin, relief coursing through me. I had gotten a 7! A respectable score! Even better than I'd hoped!

I glanced over at Johanna and her eyes met mine. She quirked an eyebrow, a tiny smirk appearing on her face. "Not bad, Twigster," she said.

My grin widened.

A 7 had just been a distant dream for me. Of course, part of my brain had hoped I could score higher than a 6, but I had tried to aim realistically. I didn't want to get my hopes up. So, to actually overachieve…well, it felt incredible.

Even better, the score still wouldn't really paint me as a threat in the Arena, because it wasn't a Career score, but it was enough above the average that I might actually get a couple of Sponsors off of it. The score of a 7 let everyone in the Capitol know that I actually had some skills that gave me a fighting chance.

This couldn't have gone any better.

I rested back against the cushion of the couch, feeling overwhelming relief. I hoped my family was watching all of this. I hoped they were proud of me, and I hoped they knew that this meant I wasn't giving up, no matter how bad the odds were.

Well, maybe the odds had just gotten the tiniest bit better. It could still be affected by my Arena partner, though.

My good mood more or less persisted throughout the remainder of the program…though there had been some difficult moments.

Rudd scored a 5. This wasn't surprising to me. He had some strength in his frame and familiarity with axes, but he was older, and seemed aged even beyond his years. He also wasn't in great shape, and hadn't seem overly interested in anything the few times I saw him during training. I wondered if he was missing alcohol, or if it was taking a toll on him at all. In general, he just didn't seem to really care what happened to him half the time. That must have come across in his private session. Still, he had to have at least done one moderately useful thing to get an average score despite his seeming lack of concern.

Autumn only scored a 3. It made me a little bit sad, but honestly, I felt like that was the best she could hope for given her illness. She was just too fragile to be a threat. She was good with edible plants and (presumably) first aid, though, so I figured she must have shown them one of those things, which prevented her from getting a 1 or 2. Either way, I doubt she minded much. Being perceived as weak was inevitable given her condition. Even if they didn't know for sure that she was sick (surprisingly, Caesar and Claudius hadn't mentioned it as one of their tribute tidbits the other night, likely figuring that would directly harm Autumn's chances), Sponsors weren't really going to go for her, given her frailty. Maybe running and remaining hidden was her best option.

The next several districts were mostly unremarkable, but I noted any outliers as the program continued.

A man from District 9—I remembered he had been forced on stage by Peacekeepers on Reaping Day after they pacified him with weapons—actually got an 8.

A man in his late twenties from District 10, who was very large and in-shape, got a 9 like Ben. He looked menacing. I'd have to keep an eye out.

Basil, like me, scored a 7, and I found that I was excited for her before I mentally chastised myself. Her district mate, Harrow, surprised me by getting an 8. He had been decent at throwing knives, but he must have had something else up his sleeve.

Then it was District 12's turn, and grey-eyed Rory Hawthorne was on the screen.

He also scored a 7. I shouldn't be surprised, I thought. He was very young, but clearly had a backbone, and perhaps the Girl on Fire had taught him a thing or two. I'd never seen him at the bow and arrow station, but maybe he'd been hiding that skill, or perhaps he used a different weapon entirely.

Soon enough, the program was wrapping up. Caesar was telling everyone that, after a short break and some interview none of us cared about, there would be some announcements about the upcoming tribute pairings.

I had completely forgotten that some that information was supposed to be released tonight. Today had been so busy and chaotic, that it had been one of the last things on my mind.

Maybe now, though, we'd actually learn something useful regarding how our partners would be selected.

Johanna lowered the volume on the television as it transitioned to the interview with yet another ridiculously brightly-colored Capitol person; though, she didn't mute it this time, as none of us would want to miss any tidbits of information once Caesar returned to the screen.

In an imitation of what she'd done when the three Arenas had been announced after the Tribute Parade, she stood up, and began pacing back and forth, eyes contemplative.

"So. Pretty standard overall. High scores for the Careers, but a few surprises." Her eyes rested briefly on Ben. "Benny boy here, for one."

Ben looked very pleased with himself as Minodora once again began to congratulate him.

Blight chimed in, in his quiet, steady voice. "Four tributes got 10s this year, though with double the tributes, that's expected."

I grimaced. Half of the tributes who scored the highest had been making my life a living hell.

Johanna glanced at me, noting my expression, and her own face twisted into a scowl.

"Please, Twiglet, tell me you've avoided the boys from 2 and 4 like I told you to."

I opened my mouth, then hesitated. I'd certainly tried to avoid them, but I hadn't been successful. It wasn't my fault, but I'd had run-ins with both the last couple of days. As much as I wanted to reassure Johanna, I wouldn't push the lie past my lips.

She stopped pacing, turning to stare at me, scowl turning into a glare as her eyes narrowed into slits. "….tell me you avoided them," she repeated, words coming out as a hiss.

"I tried," I replied defensively. "I really tried to ignore both of them…." I trailed off.

"But?" Johanna demanded, sounding deadly. I was sure she was realizing that I'd left out these nice tidbits of information during our mentoring sessions.

Not liking the growing anger in her expression, I scrambled to elaborate. "The boy from 4 approached me both days of training. He was trying to get under my skin, obviously. But I did as you said. I tried to be neutral and not get angry or antagonize him."

Everyone was observing this conversation, including the stylists, and I didn't like it. I felt like I was being accused of something. I may have screwed up before, but I hadn't tried to interact with Caspian or Cato since then. It wasn't my fault Caspian was obsessed with making me uncomfortable.

"Obviously, you didn't do a very good job if he keeps trying to talk to you," Johanna replied, still annoyed. "Did he say anything in particular?"

I wracked my brains, feeling mild discomfort beginning to creep up on me under all of the scrutiny. This really wasn't my fault.

"Well, the first day of training he was mostly just trying to annoy me, but then he…said something that almost sounded like an offer to teach me how to throw a trident."

Johanna's eyebrows practically disappeared into her hairline as they shot up and I scrambled to continue hastily, "Well, not that it was sincere. I think he just wanted to see my reaction."

She was shaking her head, scowl back in place, but now looking somewhat perturbed. "Anything else?"

I rolled my eyes then, remembering my next conversation with him. "He stopped me to wish me a happy birthday yesterday." I paused, embarrassment now simmering under my skin, making my cheeks heat up slightly. "And he said I'd get my gift soon."

"What!?" Johanna was incredulous, eyes boring into mine. "Was he…hitting on you? Was that meant to be sexual?"

Completely caught off guard, I stared at her, feeling mortified and repulsed at the same time, an odd, choked sound escaping my lips. "W-what? Gross. Just…gross." I was shaking my head vehemently. How on earth had she drawn that conclusion? I had seen Caspian flirting with other female tributes, but it was different when he talked to me. With me, he was being manipulative. His intentions were sinister, not flirtatious. "No. He was probably just talking about spearing me in the gut with a trident during the Games."

Minodora gasped in horror, while Eudora gave a little shriek at my blunt phrasing. "Juniper," the escort scolded then, absolutely glaring at me.

"What? I'm sure he fantasizes about that," I snapped back defensively. I was sick of this conversation already. I hated all the eyes on me, and I hated talking about how abhorrent and insidious Caspian was. Why was nobody else getting grilled about anything?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ben staring at me, his green eyes actually looking somewhat concerned. Good. Maybe he realized how harsh his words had been the other night. Blight was looking between me and Johanna, face as unreadable as always, then his eyes flicked over to Ben.

Johanna had resumed pacing again, and began talking loudly over whatever indignant response Minodora was coming up with after my last comment.

"I'm going to have a talk with Finnick. I don't know what 4 is up to, but I don't like it. And it isn't anything like what we discussed." Her eyes settled on Ben. "We thought about you two working together, if we're able to have any influence on how the pairings are selected, because you have similar appeal and skillsets and there may not be a strong Career alliance this year. Twiggy was never part of the deal, so I'm not sure why he's harassing her."

Well, at least Johanna believed that Caspian was being a thorn in my side, and that it was something to legitimately be concerned about.

Her eyes settled on me again, though, and I knew I wasn't out of the hot seat.

I hopelessly glanced at the television behind her –the interview was still going on. It had only been a couple minutes, but it felt like a lifetime since everyone was apparently scrutinizing my every move. My excitement after getting the 7 score had been short-lived.

"But you've avoided 2? Haven't pissed him off any more than you already did?"

"I…well…I…don't think I've pissed him off any more since then, no," I responded, but deliberately didn't answer the first part of Johanna's question.

Unfortunately, my hesitation was obvious, and either way, my mentor was a sharp woman. Her gaze became harsh on me again. Those dark eyes bore into mine, waiting for me to elaborate.

"Had an unintentional interaction with him, though," I muttered under my breath sullenly. Could Johanna seriously not wait until everyone left the room to ask me about this? Was this really the best time? Was she not worried that talking about this would give others an unfair advantage over me in the Arena?

Maybe it's the opposite, something in my brain pointed out. Maybe she wants to let the other District 7 tributes know there's apparently a target on my back, so they stay the hell away from me. Or…maybe she thinks I'm doomed either way, and it makes no difference if everyone else knows why. Or maybe she doubts that the other tributes care enough to try to take advantage of this information.

Or maybe she hopes Blight or Minodora or someone can come up with a solution of how to deal with me, the problem tribute.

Honestly, it could be any of those things.

Johanna had approached a few steps closer to me. I felt vulnerable, sitting on the couch with her standing, especially given the tension evident in her form as she stood a short distance away.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense," she snapped. "What stupid thing did you do this time?"

My annoyance rose again, bubbling over. "Again, it wasn't my fault. I know you like to assume the worst of me, but I'm not trying to seek someone out that clearly wants to kill me."

Johanna didn't look impressed. "So, what? You just ran into him while out for an evening stroll?"

"Pretty much, yeah," I retorted, actually catching her somewhat off guard. "Ben and I went to the roof after the first night of training. We…he…" I scrambled for my words, knowing he was watching me intensely. "He left before I did, and I stayed behind in the garden for a bit." It wasn't a lie, and it made sure I wasn't telling everyone about our little spat. "Then when I left, 2 was just standing there, by the exit. He stopped me and forced a conversation. Nobody else was on the roof. I couldn't exactly just walk away from him, I thought that would make him angry."

"How romantic, a late-night chat with a Career," Johanna bit back sarcastically. "What types of sweet nothings did he whisper in your ear? Threats of violence?"

I glared at her now, not caring how obvious my frustration was. "Yeah, he reminded me that I won't be surviving the Arena. Said he'd make sure of it. And he insulted me and called me weak, said it would be better if I just died before we got to the Arena. Then, he insulted District 7. And you will be happy to know that the entire time, I didn't insult him back." By the time I was done speaking, my words were emerging harshly through gritted teeth.

Minodora looked completely horrified, mouth open. "H-he…how can he…say such things?" She demanded, voice an octave higher than normal. "So inappropriate and just not proper behavior!" She looked truly offended on my behalf, but I knew it wasn't because she actually cared about my wellbeing, more just Cato's breach of what she perceived as "proper etiquette."

I only shrugged in response, noticing how Johanna had fallen silent and was observing me. Her expression had become unfathomable, and I found that it actually made me more nervous than when she was just flat-out angry. I could hear some of the stylists muttering to each other, though, and it annoyed me even more.

I was tired of this conversation.

And, fortunately for me, it looked like the program was about to transition back into what all of us cared about: information about the tribute pairings.

I jerked my head at the television. "Can we watch this now?" I still sounded sullen, but I didn't care. I had enough to deal with, without feeling like I was being blamed for every possible thing going wrong.

I had been hand-selected to die in a fight to the death. Could I not get the tiniest bit of sympathy?

Johanna's gaze was still unsettlingly unreadable, but she reached for the remote and turned the television back up. The murmuring among Minodora and the stylists—which I had been steadfastly trying to ignore—ceased.

As the interview ended and Caesar returned to the screen, I glanced over at Ben. He was watching the television again, but his brow was furrowed. I found myself wondering what he made of everything, and then I wondered why I even cared. It was better for all of us if he just distanced himself from me in the Arena, right?

Unless we got exceptionally lucky with partners that would all want to work together…the thought had crossed my mind, but I just couldn't consider it. Not until we knew exactly what we'd be dealing with. And even then, Ben and I would one day be at odds in the Arena. With the type of enemies I'd unintentionally made, it would be best if he stayed away.

I turned back to the screen. This time, Caesar was back with Claudius, who looked ridiculous in his nearly-blindingly bright suit.

"Now, the moment I'm sure many of you—particularly our dear tributes—have been waiting for! An overview of how your partners will be selected for the Arena!"

They weren't in front of a live audience this time, but I could just picture the Capitol citizens cheering. It truly seemed like they lived for this. They never slept—even when I had been observing them from the balcony the previous nights, they were gathered in the streets in some sort of never-ending celebration of the Games.

The room had grown absolutely silent, all of our eyes riveted on the screen. This was a groundbreaking change to the Games, after all.

"Well." Caesar cleared his throat, and he leaned forward slightly, as if sharing something conspiratorial. "The decision will depend on two main factors: first, there will be a vote from the good people living right here in the Capitol!"

He grinned excitedly, no doubt predicting the squeals and gasps of enthusiasm emanating from said Capitol citizens—including the escort and stylists in our own living room—before continuing.

"In two nights' time—beginning immediately after the solo interviews—the voting window will open. However, you'd better be quick, as there will be less than twenty-four hours to vote! The ballots all have to be in by noon on the following day!" Caesar chuckled.

"It might be a good idea to start planning your votes now!" Claudius added, glancing at the camera knowingly. The stylists and Minodora were already muttering quickly to each other, words too fast for my ears to catch.

"Right you are, Claudius, right you are." Caesar nodded at the other man solemnly before looking into the camera again. "The main rule is this: you can only vote for up to one partner per tribute! However, you don't have to choose a partner for every single tribute. If you want, you can just vote for a partner for your favorites, or for the one special tribute you hold dear to your heart!" Caesar's grin was wide and bright against his tanned face, "The choice is completely up to all of you, my dear people of the Capitol!"

"This is a very unprecedented year for all of us!" Claudius chipped in.

My thoughts were already trying to jump on every little thing they'd said, to analyze and break it apart, to figure out how to best take advantage of this, but then I realized that Caesar had said there were two factors that would be considered. I forced my train of thought to slow down, and Johanna turned to the stylists and hushed them (quite rudely), as Caesar continued to speak.

"But, your votes—despite how incredibly important they are—aren't the only thing that will determine the tribute pairings!" Caesar had leaned forward yet again. I wasn't sure how he managed to shift expressions and moods so quickly while still looking fairly convincing. "Of course, the Gamemakers must ensure everything is fair before the tributes enter the Arena."

Surprise, surprise. The Gamemakers would never leave anything totally out of their hands.

"After the Capitol votes are all counted, the Gamemakers will review the top three most-voted-for partners for each tribute. Based on various factors—including the training scores, although the Gamemakers will consider other things as well—" Caesar gave a wink at the camera, and I felt the scowl return to my face, "they will then select that tribute's partner from among the top three." He turned to Claudius, beaming.

Claudius nodded, his smile looking rather smug. "Rest assured, there will be internal procedures in place in case of a tie, or in the event that there is a mismatch."

I frowned, unsure what he meant, but then I started doing the math in my head and realized there could be some issues if different tributes received different amounts of votes, since quite a few (such as the Careers) were far more popular than the others.

"Oh, Claudius, you know I'm no good with these technicalities," Caesar chuckled loudly, as if Claudius had told a funny joke. I knew what he was doing—pretending to be dumb and unaware so that Claudius would lay it all out for us, for the Capitol viewers, even though I was sure Caesar was a very, very clever man behind all that makeup and showmanship.

Claudius' smirk became even more smug. "Well, what I mean, Caesar, is that the good people here are allowed to vote for a partner for as many—or few—tributes as they want. Because of this, some tributes may receive far more votes than others. There may be an issue where Tribute A's most-voted-for partner is Tribute B, but Tribute B's most-voted-for partner list doesn't include Tribute A at all." Caesar was nodding, the look on his face suggesting he'd never even thought of this, though I knew that wasn't true.

"The Gamemakers want everyone watching to know that, in such a case—or in the case where a Tribute may receive a nearly identical amount of votes for multiple different partners—they have internal processes in place to ensure that every selection takes into account the Capitol's vote as much as possible, while still being fair."

Caesar was smiling broadly again as Claudius spoke, and all I could do was read between the lines.

This basically told us that, despite the effort the Capitol was going to in order to allow its citizens to vote for the tribute pairings, the Gamemakers had the final say. They would be the ones actually making the selection.

I wanted to scoff. What accountability was there? What would prevent the Gamemakers from just pretending to consider whoever the Capitol voted for, then choosing someone else? The Gamemakers could just lie about how the votes had turned out. The Capitol would never clue into it, especially if the Gamemakers were careful. It wasn't like each Capitol citizen would know how everyone else was voting. Perhaps with the most popular tributes it would be obvious if the Gamemakers deviated from what the Capitol actually wanted, but for anyone else? They'd be none the wiser.

It just seemed like a complete farce to me. A way to make the gullible people of the Capitol think they were having a say, when they may not at all.

Honestly…it was exactly what I would expect. I just couldn't believe the people in the Capitol were so blind.

But then, to my great surprise, Caesar seemed to have read my mind, at least partly. He turned back to the camera, leaning forward yet again. "I'm not sure if I'm supposed to say this," his voice lowered, once more implying that he was letting all of us in on some great secret, "But I've been told that some of you—who have Sponsored tributes in the past—will be shown a sneak peek of the voting results before the Gamemakers select the partners." He waggled his lavender eyebrows knowingly.

The stylists were excited again. Minodora was already theorizing which men and women would qualify for the sneak peek.

So that's how the Gamemakers were playing it, I realized. Previous Sponsors (I had no doubt that Caesar's words translated to "those who have spent the most money on the Games") would get the extra privilege of seeing the voting results. This would both make the richest Sponsors feel special, while also giving the impression that the Gamemakers actually cared about transparency. It was clever. They could probably still tinker with the voting results before the Sponsors saw them, but the Gamemakers would have to make their final selections with more care, in a way that would conform to the expectations of the wealthiest people in the Capitol.

That's how power worked here, of course. It only made sense that the Gamemakers and the richest Sponsors had the most influence, and that even a random citizen in the Capitol now had more of a say in my future than I did.

A week ago, I could never have believed that this is what my life would become.

The program ended fairly quickly after that, and the chattering from the stylists and Minodora increased in volume. They were just all too excited that they would get a vote in the pairing of the tributes. Caesar hadn't specifically said that escorts and prep teams were allowed a vote, but I supposed it made sense. Because every single tribute had one, it didn't really make it unfair if they could all vote.

"Oh, don't worry!" Minodora was addressing the room. "I'll make sure everyone that I know votes for excellent partners for all of you!" She clapped her hands excitedly, a happy smile on her painted lips.

I was sure she'd try the hardest to get Ben a good partner, but I wasn't complaining. The past couple of nights during dinner, Minodora had made sure we were informed—in great detail—of just how many people she knew around the Capitol, and how she'd been spending all of her free time (before the Tribute Parade, and then during the days while we were in training) marketing us to potential Sponsors. As she put it, it was "very hard work" and we were "lucky that she was acquainted with so many very important people." She'd come up with very creative and compelling ways to market each of us and our "unique qualities" and "quaint backgrounds", apparently.

I hadn't complained as she'd prattled on about it during our meals; any help was useful at this point. It was her job, after all, and she clearly took it seriously. It could only serve to benefit us when we went in the Arena. Hopefully Minodora wasn't exaggerating about how many people she knew.

I felt yet another rush of relief that I'd done well in the Tribute Parade; appealing to the Capitol citizens was even more important this year than it had ever been.

I'd really have to excel during my interview, I thought.

We were all, fortunately, dismissed shortly thereafter. Johanna ominously promised me that we would have "more to discuss later," but apparently, she needed time to sort out how to deal with me. As if any of what I'd told her tonight had truly been my fault.

As if I wanted to be on the radar of two tributes that had scored 10s.

Sighing, I automatically made my way to the nearest food and drink menu, to order some more of that magical tea.

…

Not long afterward, I was out on the balcony, as I had been the previous three nights. I'd settled down on one of the chairs that was situated near the end of the balcony, sipping my tea, realizing that being out here was one of the only times I'd felt even the tiniest bit peaceful since coming to the Capitol.

I wanted to go back up to the garden, with the trees. That had felt even more relaxing. But, remembering the events from just two nights ago, I decided I didn't want to risk it tonight. At least not alone.

I tried to focus on the positive. I'd scored a 7 in the private session. It was an ideal score for my Arena strategy. I clung to that, trying not to let the relief I had felt slip away in its entirety. I could have done so much worse; I knew my family would be proud of that score. I could picture a small, content smile on my father's face when he saw it. I was sure that Rowan, my father, aunt, uncle and cousins had all gathered together to watch the score announcements, to see my progress…and then I brushed the thought away, because it was painful to think about them, to visualize them watching all of this.

I tried to keep up the optimistic thoughts. Sure, about a million other things had gone wrong in the interim…but, the most important things had gone right. We'd looked good during the Tribute Parade, we'd made an impression, and then I'd shown that I had skills that could be at least semi-useful in the Arena.

Still, I was a realist. It was hard to focus on all of the good things, without my brain also flashing to the negatives, particularly the fact that my odds still weren't exactly great. Especially with Cato gunning for me. I really needed a partner that would be able to help me, someone whose strengths balanced out my weaknesses. I was going to be at the mercy of the Capitol in that regard.

Sometime later, I finished my tea, and the calming effects had begun to kick in.

I made my way back inside. As I walked towards my quarters, I glanced over to see Ben –in the same chair he had been the previous night, alone in a dark living room, staring out the large window at the Capitol city sprawled out below. Apparently, we were both creatures of habit.

Again, I hesitated.

This time, though, a desire to say something—anything—to relieve a bit of the tension won out. Perhaps it was my own small sense of guilt coming forward. Perhaps I wanted to see if he would apologize.

Or maybe, I just couldn't stand the thought of another strong tribute—especially someone from my own district—being angry with me. I didn't think Ben would ever come for me in the Arena. I was taking his word on that. But still, it made no sense to go into the Games with the two of us spatting. We didn't have to explicitly be allies, but it was illogical to just let this frustration from the argument linger in the air. We both had much bigger problems, and had plenty of other people who would be at our throats in a few days.

I approached him; there was a chair similar to his several feet away. I made my way over, conscious of Ben's eyes now fixated on me, and turned it to face out the window, mirroring his. I then settled down, staring out at the glittering Capitol radiance. I could see mottled crowds of people milling about across the street below. Out on the balcony I had been able hear cheers, carried on the wind. Cheers for us, for the other tributes, for the Games in general. In here, there was no sound from the crowd below, but I could imagine it clearly.

Ben wasn't speaking, but I could sense him watching me.

I fidgeted in my chair slightly. Part of me had been hoping he would breach the silence, that he'd apologize. He didn't seem the type to hang onto anger for very long. And his words had been incredibly venomous on the roof. I'd selfishly hoped he felt similar guilt to what I was feeling; that he also wanted to make amends.

But maybe I was wrong.

I sighed, looking down at my hands, automatically fiddling with my ring, the newly developed habit.

Perhaps Ben didn't want to apologize. Maybe he didn't regret the fight at all. I found my mind wandering to two nights ago. He had been uncomfortable with the subject, then angry when I pushed. I shouldn't have pushed; I knew that now. But then he had been heated, and spiteful as he implied that I'd lost some of my humanity, and then he had been…

Hurt, I realized. I froze, ceasing playing with the ring as the thought struck me. When Ben had stood over me angrily in the garden, I had felt frightened. The part of my brain that had shifted into self-preservation mode had been afraid of him. I had been picturing what he could do to me in the Arena. My fear had clearly shown on my face, and Ben had looked stricken by that.

He had been hurt by the fact that I clearly thought he was capable of—no, willing to cause me physical harm.

I felt a new wave of guilt crash over me.

I turned to Ben, then, meeting his gaze. It was wary, but conflicted. Mine probably looked the same.

What the hell was I supposed to say?

I decided that my traditional blunt approach was best, and that the honesty would probably achieve more than anything else.

"I'm sorry about that conversation in the garden…for making you uncomfortable when you clearly didn't want to talk about it." I said quietly, my voice breaking the silence. Because I was. I still thought that Ben's "bury his head in the sand" approach was a bit foolish and naïve, but it hadn't been mature of me to force a debate when Ben clearly didn't want to discuss it.

Ben looked down at the floor, then, his jaw clenching. The darkness of the room, contrasted against the twinkling lights of the Capitol spread out in front of us, threw his face into mottled shadow.

A few seconds passed, without Ben saying anything. For a moment, I thought he was legitimately going to give me the cold shoulder, and I'd have to get up and leave before another argument resulted.

"No," he said, catching me off guard, a slight rasp to his voice. "It shouldn't have made me uncomfortable. You were just trying to get me to face reality."

I felt somewhat vindicated, but pressed on, because I still didn't think my actions had been entirely justified. If they were, I would have never felt the guilt that was still buried in my gut. "Maybe…but we all are dealing with this in our own way, and I shouldn't have forced my way of thinking on you."

He shook his head again. "Maybe your way is the right way." For a second, Ben looked a bit lost, and forlorn. He must have been doing some thinking and soul-searching in the interim. I remembered what I'd thought that evening, after our argument: that I'd either brought out the thoughts he'd kept deeply buried and refused to acknowledge, or forced him into a new way of thinking. Whichever it was, Ben's normally cheery countenance looked morose. It was out-of-place on his features.

I scrambled for something else to say, the look on his face making me almost…sad. "I suspect we both made good points," I responded, trying to be as neutral as possible. "But…" then I trailed off, swallowing. My throat suddenly felt dry. I could still vividly picture the stricken expression in those green eyes as Ben had stood over me, angered by my words, then hurt by my fear of him.

I forced down my discomfort and continued, watching my hands as I spoke, "After I had made you angry…for a moment, as you stood there…I-I was actually afraid of you. I was picturing you as someone who could hurt me in the Arena. And I…I'm sorry for that, too. Because it was wrong to think about you like that. You're from my district. And I know you don't intend to come after me. Or Rudd, or Autumn. You're not that kind of person. It was just…I'm just on edge since we got here, so I overreacted."

My voice had strengthened by the last couple of sentences, and I hoped they came out sincerely, because I meant them. Ben was obviously a serious threat in the Arena—he had scored a freaking 9—but not to me specifically. I truly didn't think he would harm me unless it was an absolute last resort. And I couldn't judge him for that, because wasn't I the same?

I managed to meet Ben's gaze again.

He ran a hand through his hair, almost agitated, but silent for a moment. "The way you looked at me…" He sighed heavily. "Yeah, it bothered me. I haven't fully been able to get it out of my head these last couple of days. Because I'm not…I didn't want to be here either, you know."

"Yeah. I know," I replied softly.

It was almost reminiscent of our conversation on the train. And I knew Ben was also saying he wasn't like a Career, like the others who had obtained high scores in their private sessions, like the people that had trained for this and couldn't wait to be in the Arena.

Though he'd been perfectly happy to imply that I was becoming more like one, because of my blunt way of addressing our reality.

As if reading my thoughts, Ben's eyes slid back to mine. "I shouldn't have said…I shouldn't have compared you to the Careers. Or to the people that live here." He jerked his head towards the Capitol view. "I guess I just wanted to get a reaction out of you. Because you were able to...face the reality of our situation, despite how bad it is. I was struggling to do that. I didn't understand how you could do it so easily."

Ben's words sped up, to where he was practically rambling. His gaze had returned to the floor as he continued to speak, "I was struggling and you weren't, and that got under my skin, so I lashed out, to see if I could make you upset about something, too." He looked guilty, almost ashamed. "It was unfair. I knew that as soon as I left, I just was too angry to care right then. So, you're not the only one who should be apologizing."

Once again, those green eyes settled on me. "I'm sorry for implying that you're losing your humanity, June. I know you didn't ask for this, and you're doing what you need to…to cope with everything. Just like I am."

There was vulnerability in his expression. It made my stomach clench.

Because it struck me, then, that Ben really was a good person. It wasn't the first time I'd had the thought, exactly, but the first time I'd really let it sink in. And realized just how uniquely awful it was that he was here. That he was being sent off to his death.

If I died in the Arena, I wanted Ben lived to return home. I hoped he'd get to see his family again.

I brushed the absolutely depressing train of thought away, trying to force my face into a small smile. It felt like some of the tightness deep within my chest had been released, and I was lighter now. "That's all we can do, right? Take whatever is thrown at us, no matter how terrible it is, and then try our best to cope with it."

Ben nodded, some of the tension gone from his face.

"So, are we good then?" I added.

One of the corners of his mouth lifted upwards. "We're good."

I felt a rush of relief, and I settled back into my chair, watching the city and the citizens below. That was one more thing I'd had to stress about, and now it was gone. I had enough on my plate—so did he, I knew—without dealing with the fallout from our argument and ongoing tension. And it was nice to be rid of the guilt that had plagued me the last couple of days, as well as the anger and hurt that had stemmed from Ben's comments. Clearly, he'd felt the same way.

We sat in companionable silence for a while longer, just the two of us in the dark living room, before sleep finally started pulling at me, and with a quiet goodbye we returned to our separate quarters.

...

A/N: Ok! The next chapter is a bigggg one. It's already written, but it'll need quite a bit of editing, I think. I hope to have it up sometime this week.

It has plenty of Cato in it…so brace yourselves. ;)

After the next chapter, the pacing will pick up a bit, too. Just a few more chapters until we're in the Arena!