Endure Chapter 12: Public Speaking, a hunger games fanfic

~Chapter Twelve: Public Speaking~

"Humans said one thing with their bodies and another with their mouths and everyone had to spend time and energy figuring out what they really meant." ―Octavia E. Butler, Imago

Cato's incredulity quickly morphed into white-hot anger as he stared me down, eyes threatening to burn me to a crisp on the spot.

My own burning fury was quickly becoming something closer to horror and self-hatred, because I was positive that if Cato didn't kill me here on the spot, Johanna would later. I had just done something so ridiculously, indescribably stupid that I wished I could just vanish into thin air.

I dimly registered a couple of flashes in my peripheral vision, confirming that cameras—or at least nosy Capitol citizens—were capturing this moment for eternity. I knew that my decisions tonight would not bode well for my time in the Arena.

How could I be such an idiot? I thought morosely. The crowd of onlookers were muttering amongst themselves, some of them sounding far-too excited about this newest development. None of them clearly wanted to approach us and our little stare-down, though. Out of the corner of my eye I saw an Avox hovering, wanting to clean up the mess, but not wanting to step too close to the livid boy from 2.

Only seconds had passed, but Cato had already come to his full senses, and I could see conflict flittering across his face as he struggled to restrain himself from lunging at me. He wanted to jump forward, to snap my neck, to end my life after my sharp words and impulsive actions. His expression made those desires very clear. I figured the only things holding him back were the surrounding crowd and the knowledge that it would anger the Capitol…but his primal urge for violence was clearly fighting against his logic. Every fiber of his being wanted to attack, I was sure of it.

I felt cold, my body torn between the instinct to face down the threat in front of me, and the urge to turn and run.

A muscle twitched in Cato's jaw, and he shifted, almost looking like he was about to take a step forward.

His eyes flicked downwards briefly, probably calculating where best to strike. For a second, I could've sworn my heart stopped.

And then, a very unlikely savior intervened.

It was a big, burly man with a shaved head and a grim expression who looked to be in his early forties. I immediately recognized the man as one of District 2's Victors, though they had so many of them that it was sometimes hard to recall their names. His name wasn't coming to mind right now. He was clearly one of the mentors for this year. He stepped up to Cato fearlessly, placing a meaty hand on the angry boy's shoulder. His grip was firm.

"Let's go get you cleaned up." The tone left no room for discussion.

Cato hesitated, eyes still fixated on me instead of the District 2 mentor, boring straight into me as if he was hoping I could die right there under the intensity of his gaze. His shoulders were hunched, his fists clenched. A tense second passed, then another. I still hadn't moved. Neither did he.

"This isn't the time," the Victor added. His grip tightened imperceptibly on Cato's shoulder.

Cato didn't lunge at me, but he made no move to back off, either.

"Cato." The man's voice was even firmer, with a hint of annoyance. "Now."

I didn't think many people could get away with using that tone with Cato, but he seemed to respect the Victor enough to listen. Or at least not to retaliate.

With an angry snarl, Cato jerked out of the older man's grip. Frustration was etched into his posture as he let his restraint—and his mentor's logic—win out. Eyes still full of hatred, he glared at me for another half second before turning and stalking off. His rough, jerky movements made it clear that he wanted to reach out and strike at the nearest thing that offended him as he went.

The crowd nearest to his exit path quickly parted, eager to get out of his way. I released a breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

The older District 2 mentor hesitated, tossing me a quick look. His beady eyes were hard to read, but I thought I saw a hint of distaste in his expression before he, too, turned and followed Cato.

As soon as the Victor departed, I felt suddenly deflated.

Two Avoxes had rushed forward to clean up the mess on the ground. I found myself automatically apologizing to them, feeling hot shame from creating this mess. I made to step forward to help them clean up, but the look I received from one of the tongueless servants told me it would not be appropriate. Or even welcome.

I glanced around, hoping to spot Althea or the others, but they were nowhere to be found. They must be at the bar, or maybe they were too drunk to remember that I had been planning to rejoin them.

Plenty of eyes still lingered on me, though the conversations were beginning to resume all around. Some of them looked disapproving, others excited or curious. Too curious. To the point where I knew they were probably about to approach me. I felt my stomach sink even further. I was out of energy, and I was getting a bad headache. Johanna was going to kill me. I had to leave this gala—etiquette be damned.

Before anyone tried to approach and strike up a conversation with me, I turned and strode in the opposite direction. I had to avoid running into District 2 again at all costs.

I beelined for the edge of the banquet hall, deciding that skirting around the outside was my best chance to avoid further confrontation. I thought I heard someone calling after me, but I ignored it. My stomach was churning. I wanted to believe the image of me, standing in front of a wine-covered Cato, wouldn't be projected on any televisions later, or across the Capitol tomorrow. But I knew how bored these people were, and how desperate they were for gossip. This would be a fun little story to help create more excitement for the Games.

My anger at myself only increased. Where had that sense of self-preservation disappeared to?

I continued to make my way towards where I thought our table was, basically clinging to the wall as long as I could, in order to avoid the crowd. I kept my face turned to the side, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. My headache was getting worse. Probably a side effect of the stress combined with the wine. On top of that, my feet were really starting to ache, too, thanks to these damn heels.

At least I was far enough from the spectacle now that all the nearby people were totally clueless. They were lost in their drunken revelry, having no idea that they'd missed quite the show.

After another minute or two of trying to surreptitiously skirt by the crowd, I saw a sight of potential salvation, someone who could help with my great escape: Orea, cold silver eyes glimmering as she regaled her two companions with a story.

I was past the point where I was going to wait politely for their conversation to finish. I walked straight towards the group. The two Capitol citizens she spoke with practically squeaked with excitement, eyes widening as they noticed me, a temporary Capitol celebrity. I knew that plenty of the Capitol citizens didn't recognize me on sight—I wasn't a Career—but clearly, these two did. Orea turned, raising a dark eyebrow.

I tried to give a polite half-smile towards the people she was with, but did not allow them the opportunity to introduce themselves before I addressed my stylist.

"Can you help me?" I cut right to the chase.

Orea's eyes looked me up and down appraisingly. "You haven't ruined your dress or your makeup. Am I to guess there is something else you require assistance with?" Her tone was cool, as always, but just the slightest bit curious.

I leaned forward, whispering where only Orea could hear, disregarding her two companions. I knew it was probably improper, but I didn't care.

"I threw a glass of red wine all over Cato from 2 after we argued. Cameras saw. Johanna doesn't know yet. And I feel sick."

There was no reason to lie, or beat around the bush, I thought.

I leaned back to see Orea's eyes had widened, an expression of shock flickering across her normally stoic features.

"That is quite the…predicament." She said after a few seconds, and tilted her head slightly, curiously, as if seeing me in a new light.

"I think I need to head back to the Training Center," I responded, this time not caring if the others overheard. "Do you think you could help me get a car? I'm not sure they'll let me wander around alone."

Orea observed me for another moment, and just briefly, I thought she might not make any effort to help. That she'd just leave me high and dry. Stranded.

I nervously shifted from foot to foot, the other two still staring at me with blatant curiosity. Finally, Orea spoke again.

"Fine, I'll help you get back," she said, and with a dramatic sigh, turned to say goodbye to her friends.

And I was grateful. Because of course, Orea was part of my team. At the end of the day, it was her job to help maintain my image; to help do what was in her power to help my chances in the Arena. Even if it was selfishly-motivated, she was going to step in. I was sure she knew it would probably get worse if I stayed.

She beckoned towards me, leading me back to the edge of the banquet hall, clearly understanding this was the best strategy. We had to try to avoid drawing any attention. Orea stood to my left, between me and the nearby throngs of people, as we continued to make our way along the edge of the hall towards the entrance.

Surely, we wouldn't have stayed too much longer anyway, I thought. I'd avoiding dancing with anyone, but I'd talked to enough people tonight that all the faces blurred together. It's not like I was leaving right after arriving.

We were stopped twice. First, by a group that recognized Orea—fortunately, she was able to quickly introduce me and extricate us from the situation since she was talking to people she knew.

Second, by some potential Sponsors. We weren't able to get out of that quite as quickly, but after a question or two, Orea smoothly cut in and told them that I wasn't feeling very well, and that my mentors had insisted I get some rest. I wondered if I looked as bad as I felt, with the ache pounding between my ears, the self-loathing pulsing through my veins. Clearly so, because they made a big show about wishing me well before we departed.

Near the massive doors that led to the hall, my eyes fell on Plutarch Heavensbee, surrounded by a group of chatty citizens and simpering faces. He was facing me, and I hurriedly turned away and averted my gaze. That was the last person I wanted to interact with tonight.

Shortly afterward, I was breathing in the fresh night air atop the massive set of steps. I rubbed at my temples half-heartedly, trying to ease the ache there. Nothing I could do right now would ease the ache in my feet, though. I resolved to get these shoes off the instant it was socially acceptable.

I was pleased to see that most of the crowd had dispersed, though a lot of the Peacekeepers still lingered, still making sure they were kept at bay.

Several of the fancy black vehicles lined the drive outside of the banquet hall, clearly waiting to pick up the tributes once they departed. Orea beckoned to one, and it pulled up nearly soundlessly. The driver stepped out, coming around the vehicle and opening one of the doors for me.

Orea hesitated, glancing back over her shoulder. I could tell she wanted to head back inside. To rejoin her friends instead of babysitting me, the problem child.

"I'm fine from here," I moved to reassure her.

But the dark-haired woman shook her head, looking resigned and none-too-pleased. "No. They'd have a fit if they found out a tribute was traveling alone."

She didn't have to specify who "they" were. I felt another stab of guilt and self-loathing, that she was having to leave the party early. Because of me.

Noticing my expression, the stylist rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. The night is still young. I'll rejoin everyone after you're dropped off. I'm sure you can navigate from the Training Center lobby to the District 7 floor."

I didn't understand how these Capitol people could spend all their time drinking and socializing, but I didn't voice the thought aloud. We slid into the car.

"I hope you're ready to deal with that mentor of yours later. If it happened like you said it did, well…" Orea trailed off, cold gaze fixed on me.

Once again, she didn't have to say more. I got her meaning. "I'll…figure something out."

She shrugged, then turned and stared out the window as the car began moving, clearly not wanting to talk further. I wasn't offended; in fact, I was grateful that I wasn't having to recount the Cato incident right now.

We were silent the rest of the way back to the Training Center.

…

I went straight to the shower as soon as I got out of my gala outfit, carefully placing the jewelry on my nightstand and hanging the dress up in the closet.

After the very hot shower, I threw on a silky blue shirt and pants and ordered some warm tea, this time with an ingredient that was supposed to ease my headache. Shutting the door to my quarters, I sipped it in bed.

When my headache began to ease moments later, I curled up in a tiny ball under the covers, clutching at them as if they'd help me feel better. They didn't. I was so angry at myself and my decisions. My brain was also beginning to contemplate the full potential effects that could ripple out from my actions tonight. There was one awful, horrid possibility that was beginning to take shape in the distant corners of my mind. The more I tried to ignore it, the clearer it became, until I felt sick. I tossed and turned in bed, trying not to totally give into despair.

After a while, as I was still struggling with my own thoughts, I heard the light ding of the elevator.

Shortly afterwards, I heard multiple voices talking over each other as the rest of the group clearly arrived.

The television turned on, and not long after, angry footsteps approached my room.

Then, a loud banging on my door. I already knew who it was. I supposed it had been naïve to hope that Johanna wouldn't catch wind of this until tomorrow. Orea had probably gone back to the gala and told her. Or maybe that Victor from District 2 had spilled the beans…or any of the dozens of people watching.

I'm such an idiot.

"Twiggy! Get your scrawny ass out here right now!" Her voice was seething, loud enough to almost be a yell.

I sighed, but knew there was absolutely no point in refusing. I dragged myself out of bed. It was time to face the consequences of my own actions.

…

I quickly took in the occupants of the living room as I entered. Johanna stood halfway between the hallway to my quarters and the room, and her gaze on me could've melted steel. Blight stood behind the couch in his customary position, and his brow was furrowed as he stared up at the television. Minodora was sitting on the couch and had brought a handkerchief to her lips, her eyes fixated on the screen, as well. Her face was ashen, even under the layers of makeup. Ben sat next to her, and his eyes immediately focused on me as I entered the area, a frown marring his features.

Rudd sat on the opposite end of the couch, though he seemed half out of it. Autumn was nowhere to be seen, probably already having gone to bed.

Our stylists and prep teams were also absent, clearly still spending the night socializing. Or maybe Johanna had dismissed them. On the television, they were already displaying and recapping bits and pieces of footage from the gala, mainly just to show off how fancy and formal the tributes looked.

The current image on the screen was the source of all of the horror and consternation in the room.

"Take a good, long look," Johanna bit out, sounding livid.

Frozen there stood Cato and I, my arm extended, the image perfectly capturing the spray of wine as it had left the cup. Clearly, I had been correct that there were cameras nearby. My guess was that when the crowd had started noticing us and backing away to give us space, it had grabbed the attention of the nearest camera, and whoever was remotely operating it made sure to capture the moment. It was positioned fairly far away from us, but the operator had tried to zoom in as much as possible.

They had paused it the moment before the wine splattered all over Cato, and I could hear Caesar and Claudius talking excitedly as they discussed the scene.

I could feel Johanna's glare burning into the side of my face. She was silent now, though, which was almost worse than the yelling. As we watched, whoever from the Capitol was running this footage unpaused it, letting everyone witness the blood-red splash of liquid as the wine splattered on the floor and across Cato's shoes and clothing. Minodora made some sort of strangled gasp, head whipping around to give me a death glare that I tried to ignore.

"Can you believe that, Claudius?" Caesar was saying, sounding absolutely jovial. "Again folks, that is footage from this evening's Gala where Ms. Juniper Ainsley, District 7, appears to have had a little disagreement with District 2's Cato Hadley!"

"Isn't that something!" Claudius was saying. "Go on, show the other angle again!"

Johanna swore angrily under her breath.

And the screen flipped to a different camera, causing me to realize that at least two of them had seen the spectacle. Once again, we watched—the room intensely, awkwardly silent again—as they replayed the scene from the second angle.

I hoped the distance and absolute din of the dining hall ensured that none of our words had been caught on camera, including the "fuck you" I'd said as I threw the wine. They weren't currently replaying the sound along with the footage. Although…Cato's cruel taunt about my mother and his harsh words about District 7 might make me look more sympathetic. Anyone overhearing the entire conversation would surely understand why I'd done what I did.

But right as I had that thought, I immediately suspected that even if they'd caught our entire conversation, the Capitol would never broadcast it. Not only because it made Cato look bad, but because they probably didn't want to publicize a debate about one of the Capitol's favorite districts compared to a poor outer district. They wouldn't want to share my critiques about District 2's actions in training their tributes from birth and turning them into monsters. That wouldn't exactly be good publicityfor the Capitol, especially since training was supposed to be illegal.

"I do wonder what caused Ms. Ainsley to react so stronglyto Mr. Hadley!" Caesar was saying now.

"Well, Caesar, according to spectators, some heated words were exchanged beforehand! I mean, just look at their faces!"

Claudius gestured, and the shot flicked back a few seconds, pausing at another still frame. It was the moment when Cato stepped right up to me. The look on his face was deadly; murderous. Then the camera flicked to the other angle again, to where my face was visible as I glared up at Cato. The mutual hatred was obvious.

"Unfortunately, our cameras weren't able to capture what was said. But oh, how I would have loved to be a fly on the wall!" Claudius continued.

They could have asked a spectator, I thought, since there were enough nearby to at least catch part of our conversation. But then I realized the fact that they didn't ask a spectator only meant that my previous suspicions were correct. The Capitol had decided notto highlight the topic of our discussion. They could play up the drama just by showing the end result of the conversation. Caesar and Claudius were already theorizing about what caused my outburst.

I shifted from foot to foot, feeling like the tension in the room could be cut with a knife. I could sense Johanna's fury gathering like a storm cloud in the distance.

Caesar and Claudius didn't have much more to say about the incident, after deciding that our argument was either related to Cato's family's history in the Games, or was just the result of pre-Arena nerves between two very competitive tributes (yeah right, I thought).

But then, Caesar's next words made my blood freeze in my veins.

"Well, Claudius. I, for one, cannot wait to find out more!" He flashed a sunny smile. "And I'm sure the good people of the Capitol feel the same! Clearly, interesting things happen when these two are around!"

And with a chuckle from both, they were moving on to something else, but I couldn't listen anymore. Because one of my thoughts from earlier was resurging; a thought I'd tried to force to the back of my mind. I couldn't avoid it now, as Caesar had all but confirmed it.

This topic would undoubtedly be brought up in the interviews tomorrow. The Capitol would just be dying to find out what had caused me to dump wine on the most dangerous tribute in the Games. There were forty-eight of us this year, after all. They had to do everything they could to make the Games interesting, and they probably didn't want to spend the entirety of their time talking about the Careers and Rory Hawthorne.

I knew that in some circumstances, it was good to have the Capitol's attention. But here, when I had done something that violated all of their etiquette and that put my life in danger? It was less than ideal. My stomach sank even further.

Johanna had stalked across the room, grabbing the remote, and turning the program down before whipping around to face me. Her features were twisted into an angry, frustrated mask.

Wordlessly, she pointed a finger at the couch. Sit, her eyes said.

Without complaint, I sank into a seat next to Ben, avoiding his concerned gaze and Minodora's look of horror and betrayal.

"So." She began, and the soft, venomous tone of voice was actually much scarier than an outright yell, I thought. She spoke through gritted teeth. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Minodora clearly couldn't sit still any longer; she stood up in a rush, and turned towards me. "You…you dared…in front of all…potential Sponsors…I never…" her high-pitched voice was so choked up that she couldn't even force a sentence out. She sounded like a dying chicken, squawking in indignation. In any other circumstance, it might be funny.

It wasn't very funny right now.

"Enough." Johanna cut her off rudely, in a flat voice. For a second, I thought the escort was going to ignore her, but when Minodora opened her mouth again, Johanna shifted her dark gaze to the other woman. The look on my mentor's face was so livid that it clearly made Minodora think better of continuing her train of thought. The escort's lips snapped shut.

"Go on, let's hear it. Enlighten us. What the fuck could he possibly have said to make you act like such a brainless imbecile?" Johanna's voice rose as she spoke, and I could see the effort she was visibly expending to not full-on shout.

I refused to shrink back under her furious gaze, despite the fact that my stomach was in knots and the self-disgust was washing over me in waves again. "Do you want the short version or the long version?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. I was hoping that with some context, she wouldn't be as angry.

I knew that wasn't likely.

"Does it matter? Or do you look like an idiot either way?"

I gritted my teeth. "I think it does."

"Then talk. Quickly."

So I began to speak, starting from what had happened after I'd walked away from the Caspian situation.

Johanna interrupted me several times—usually to insult me and my intelligence, to lecture me on my idiocy for drinking wine and to forbid me from drinking again, or to ask for more detail about something I'd thought was inconsequential—but I persevered. I knew that, in part, I deserved the lecture. Maybe not all of the insults she was tossing at me, but some of them. I'd had the same thoughts myself. When I got to the bit about the Gamemakers and Liviana's comments, though, she grew oddly still. I could feel Blight's gaze sharpen, as well.

And then, it was onto the part where we'd traded insults. I could practically sense her frustration growing as I tried to remember everything that was said as best I could. I was able to give a pretty accurate re-telling of what Cato had said about my mother. It was hard to keep my voice steady during that bit. I ended the story there, because they obviously knew the rest.

Johanna closed her eyes, then, rubbing her temple. Several seconds drifted by, and I shifted uncomfortably on the couch. I felt like she was fighting the urge to scream at me or slap me. Maybe both.

To my great surprise, Blight spoke up before she could.

"He shouldn't have said what he did. But his words were obviously intended to make you angry. You shouldn't have risen to the bait. You're better than that."

My self-loathing rose even higher, practically strangling me. "No," I responded, my voice coming out lowly. "I'm clearly not better than that. Or, I wasn't tonight."

Johanna's eyes snapped open and fixed on me again. For a brief second, the look in them was undecipherable, before frustration settled back in. "He's a prick, obviously, but we knew that. You have only yourself to blame for letting the situation get to that. You're basically just asking to be killed. How am I supposed to deal with a tribute like you?" She gritted her teeth. "It's just impossible at this point."

"I know that I-" I began to respond, but she cut me off.

"No. You don't know. Have you even thought about the full ramifications of this?"

I felt a bit defensive, then. As if she thought I wouldn't spend the rest of the night considering what I'd done. "I know it looks bad for the potential Sponsors. And I know it might come up in the interviews tomorrow."

Johanna let out an exasperated huff. "Now we have to figure out a way to anticipate those questions and deal with them. Yet again, you've made our jobs way harder than they need to be with your impulsiveness and your temper."

I stayed silent for a moment, staring down at my fingers, my mother's ring. Ben shifted next to me, and I wondered how uncomfortable he and Rudd felt right now, witnessing all of this.

"I know. I'm sorry. You were right. Drinking the wine was stupid…I just wanted to make it easier to talk to those people." The apology was sincere, though the end of my sentence sounded somewhat resentful, because I was picturing all the painted faces, the lecherous stares from tonight.

Johanna scoffed, the sound cruel. "That's not even the worst of it. The interview is bad enough…but we may have even bigger problems now."

I stared up at her. She was still angry, but at least seemed to have controlled herself from screaming or striking me. "Bigger than him making an effort to find me in the Arena?"

"Think. The Capitol is just going to eat up this drama, the little scene you two made. And the Gamemakers will, too."

I felt my stomach clench tightly. My brain had danced around this concept earlier, when I lay in bed, and I'd really hoped the train of thought was just paranoia…but it appeared that Johanna was thinking the same thing.

"They'll try to force a confrontation in the Arena, won't they?"

Johanna nodded, but then a dark eyebrow rose, and she studied me. As if waiting for my brain to continue down that dark road, to the ultimate conclusion.

"What's an easier way for them to accomplish that?" She asked coolly.

I swallowed hard, anxiety gripping me. I really hoped I was just overreacting here. "You don't…surely they wouldn't, when we hate each other…"

"They might. Your mutual hatred would make the two of you being partnered exceptionally dramatic."

And there it was. The thing I didn't want to think about. I heard Minodora's sharp intake of breath, felt Ben's eyes fixed on the side of my face.

The Capitol and Gamemakers, seeing tonight's scene, might get the bright idea to pair Cato and me together…at least, some people might vote for it. For the drama, like Johanna was saying. For the excitement. At first, the thought had been absurd. But as I had tossed and turned in bed, thinking it through, it had started to seem possible.

For one thing, to my knowledge, there was no rule against one partner killing another. 'Up to' two people could win; it didn't have to be two. If there was such a restriction, they hadn't announced it.

On top of that, I'd always wondered at Snow's underlying motivations of allowing people from different districts to work together. I felt like there was going to be something more to it, something that would send a message to the districts, to disincentivize such a thing happening outside of the Games. To show the districts that it wasn't a good idea.

Partners turning on each other in the Arena, killing each other when they should be on the same side, would definitely make for good drama, but it would also help send the message Snow wanted. I figured most tributes wouldn't do it, wouldn't kill their partner, ever. Most of us weren't cold blooded murderers. But the Careers? They probably hated the idea of winning with a partner, of sharing the glory. Especially Cato.

For most of us, killing our partner could hurt our chances at getting Sponsor gifts. The Capitol citizens were voting on our partners, after all, so I figured some of them would have a vested interest in rooting for the pairs. Even if the Gamemakers did have the final decision. But for Careers like Cato? He'd probably have enough Sponsors all on his own. Perhaps he did already, even before the pairings were announced. He was a favorite. And he was expected to be vicious, merciless. Brutal and heartless. If anything, Cato killing his partner would only live up to District 2's reputation.

And finally, there was Liviana's actions tonight. She had seen the visible animosity between Cato and me and encouraged the interaction. If the other Gamemakers were anything like her…

Johanna was staring at me stonily, clearly seeing the gears turn in my head, watching me accept that this was a possibility.

"And now, you understand the full damage your stupidity caused."

I stared down at my hands again, feeling like I might be sick. What was I supposed to say?

"There's still a chance they won't pair her with him," Ben spoke up then, but he sounded uncertain.

"Maybe." It was Blight speaking, now. "If the Capitol decides someone else would be a more suitable partner for him. Maybe they'll put him with another Career. They always play favorites with them anyway." His tone was unreadable.

Johanna snorted. "Seems less likely, with District 7 killing his sister all those years ago on top of what happened tonight. The irony is too much for them to ignore."

I was still looking down, fiddling with my mother's ring.

"Either way, now I have to deal with the shit you caused. And figure out how we're going to pull off an absolutely-fucking-perfect interview tomorrow. Because that's the last time they'll see you before the pairings are decided."

I looked up, then, into her irritated eyes. I wanted to defend myself, I really did, but I felt worn out, and it was hard to argue when I knew that I really had gotten myself into this situation. Cato was an asshole, and his words were cruel, but publicly reacting was the wrong move. I could have just let him walk away, and this wouldn't have happened.

So, I said nothing.

Johanna closed her eyes once more, seemingly trying to get herself under control again. After a moment, she spoke.

"Just go. Go to bed. Now. I don't want to deal with you anymore tonight." Her tone was dismissive, and left no room for argument. Her eyes opened, fixated on me, and she roughly gestured in the direction of my quarters.

I opened my mouth, hesitated, and closed it again. I had nothing to say. And I didn't want to argue. What was the point? I was just as mad at myself as she was. I'd have to try that much harder to survive the Arena, now.

Without another word, I stood and left the room, pretending I didn't notice Ben's concerned gaze.

Sometime later, after the sounds had quieted on the floor and I assumed everyone had gone to bed, there was a knock at my door, and a quiet voice asking if I was awake. Ben. Of course. He would want to see if I was okay.

But I just couldn't handle him right now. I would crack, and break down. I couldn't do that again-I had promised myself that. It was hard enough to fight the furious tears as-is, to try to quiet my brain enough so that I could give my exhausted body some rest. I already felt like I was going to overflow with my own frustration, and I didn't want a repeat of my previous breakdown.

So I stayed quiet, pretending I was asleep, and ignored him until I heard his footsteps recede.

…

The atmosphere was not pleasant the next morning, when Minodora rudely woke me up just before seven-o-clock. I had shorter sessions with the escort and Johanna in the early morning before getting ready for the big interview, and neither of them wanted to be around me.

I didn't like Minodora, so I didn't really care what she thought about me, but it didn't make my session with her in the morning any more bearable. Once again, we were practicing my poise and etiquette, and my smile, and she was having me say basic, polite phrases. But today, Minodora's tone was clipped, eyes judgmental. She was far harsher with her criticism than the day before. The corrections to my posture, expression, and body language were barked at me as if I were one of the Capitol servants. Every time I did something even slightly wrong, I was made aware.

My mood was dark once my time with her was up, and she coolly dismissed me. When I joined Johanna, though, I suspected it would be even worse.

My suspicion was correct. I had never seen her in so bad of a temper.

We were practicing questions and answers again, with me still working on projecting the personality she had helped me cultivate. Only now, Johanna's frustration was more evident, and the questions she asked, at least at first, were clearly intended to mock me or get under my skin. It was a way for her to express her annoyance. Initially, she asked questions that Caesar would never bring up, because it always seemed like he actually wanted to help the tributes during their interviews. Johanna definitely wasn't helping, at first. She was needling me. But I knew that it was just a test of my temper, to see if I would snap. Again. She was looking for a reason to scream at me, to give up and end the session, to ship me off as a lost cause. I refused to let that happen, so I gritted my teeth and bore it.

Midway through the session, the line of questioning shifted slightly to the types of things that might actually be asked during the interview. Clearly Johanna had realized that we wouldn't actually make any progress otherwise. At first, it was relatively simple questions, about District 7 and my background. My family and friends. Those weren't too bad, once I forced aside the initial homesickness; keeping up the personality was the hard part of it. I didn't want to talk about my mother, but I accepted the possibility that it might come up.

But then, she began to ask about the incident with Cato, in various different ways. Just like Caesar probably would tonight. She asked about every conceivable thing that could come up. If I hesitated, she would jump on it immediately. It was frustrating, but I knew the Capitol would pick up on any vulnerability or inconsistency. Most of my answers were clearly not detailed or satisfactory enough, so I was often interrogated about the exact same thing over and over and over. Johanna would scoff, and ridicule, and correct, until I said something approaching an acceptable answer.

It was horrible. And exhausting. It felt like it would never end.

But finally, after well over an hour of questioning and mockery and endless criticism, we were out of time. I doubt I was anywhere near where Johanna wanted me to be, but I knew I had improved (even if she'd never admit it). I was sent off to Orea and my prep team after a quick early lunch.

…

At least my prep team didn't seem to hate me. Orea was as haughty and lukewarm, as ever, but Althea had actually whispered an apology in my ear about "letting me drink too much wine." Other than that, they pretty much behaved normally, gossiping and fussing over me for hours.

I closed my eyes once Orea brought my covered dress in, knowing the drill by now. As it was slid over my head, the first thing I noted was that part of my stomach—and most of my chest—felt very exposed. Then, I was quickly distracted by the extremely large and heavy piece of jewelry that was clasped around my neck. It sat there, dragging at my neck and digging into my collarbones until Arsenio adjusted it.

Then I was led to the mirror, and left staring in wonder yet again at Orea's talent.

It was green, of course, a beautiful shimmering color. The dress wasn't technically strapless, but through clever design, it looked like it. The topmost part of the straps, sitting on my shoulders, were made of thin material of a color perfectly matching my skin, to where they weren't visible from more than a couple feet away. Even looking in the mirror, it gave the illusion that the material of the dress started a few inches below my collarbones. With the straps, though, I didn't have to worry about it shifting…which would have been a very grave concern otherwise.

Because the bodice of the dress was very tight, and the plunging neckline was cut in a very deep and wide V, leaving much more skin exposed than last night. The bottom of the V ended just above my navel. The V was a few inches wide; anything inappropriate was fully covered, of course, but I still felt vulnerable. The inner curve of my breasts were just visible. I didn't like having part of my abdomen exposed, especially without body paint.

I just hoped that the tight straps and clinging fabric would stay that way when I moved around. Although, at this point, I doubt that flashing the audience would make my situation much worse.

Most of the dress was relatively simple in terms of design, sleek and elegant instead of overstated, but the sheen of the fabric still gave away its expensiveness. The gown flared out a bit wider on the bottom half than the one from last night had, and there was no slit. A thin layer of a different material overlaid the skirt part of the dress, and glimpses of gold hues caught the light when I twirled it.

The real star of the show, however, was this necklace...if that was even the right word. It was more like a piece of art. Part of me wondered if Orea had designed the bodice with the jewelry in mind. The dress both showed enough skin to be sexy, and also perfectly accentuated the ornate, intricate, monstrously sized piece clasped around my neck.

It was a glittering gold, of course, and I reached a hand up to it in wonder. I couldn't fathom how expensive it must be; it was heavy around my neck, and for a moment, I almost felt claustrophobic. There were layers upon layers of thick golden chains. There were so many small, delicate details and tiny golden parts that I felt like it had taken forever to design and make. At the very bottom was a large, intricately-designed pendant, with a beautiful deep green gemstone in the center, and smaller diamonds around the edges. As I moved, the breathtaking piece caught the light, the jewel and diamonds reflecting it back every which way, creating beautiful incandescent patterns. I wore no other fancy jewelry – I didn't need to (I'd refused to take my mother's ring off, which annoyed Orea, but it was small enough to barely be noticeable and it was a safety blanket at this point).

My hair was swept back and organized into a complicated, elegant updo. There was a small ornamental golden clip in my hair and a few smaller golden pins, holding back the complex knot and twists that kept everything in place, but the hair pieces were understated and didn't detract from the necklace. My shoulders and back, however, felt very exposed.

My eyeshadow was dark and dramatic, with hints of gold again, and my lips had a bit more color tonight, drawing more attention. As always, Althea had enhanced my bone structure with clever makeup. Even my skin had extra color, and almost seemed to shimmer as I moved, due to the lotion that they'd used.

I looked incredible, magnificent…as wealthy as a Capitol woman.

"Orea…this is…I can't…" I began, because I felt like this necklace must be far more expensive than everything else I'd worn combined. Was she sure she wanted to allow me—the tribute known to make a mess of things—to wear it? For some reason, I felt guilty.

But the woman waved me off, an indecipherable look in her silver eyes. "The dress isn't complete without it. Are you questioning my design decisions now?"

I clamped my mouth shut and shook my head hurriedly, not wanting to anger her. I definitely trusted her when it came to these matters, I just couldn't help but think that whatever Orea had done to acquire this piece, it had been incredibly costly.

"Good. You've already managed to capture attention on your own, positive or negative. Now this…this will make you even more eye-catching. Just don't do anything to disgrace all of the hard work I put in." She eyed me, an eyebrow raised.

"I won't. Thank you, Orea. All of you."

I was helped into more heels, different golden ones this time but of similar height. My feet ached in protest, but I didn't dare complain. And after a few more exchanged words, it was time to head downstairs.

…

Ben, Eudora, and his prep team were waiting for us just outside the elevators. Apparently, most of the others had already made their way down. Ben looked handsome, as usual, in another expensive black suit. His fancy tie matched the color of my dress, and his hair had been carefully styled. I also noted that there was an ornate, glittering golden ring on one of his fingers, which Eudora must have put there to correlate with my necklace in some way.

"You look incredible." He said, tossing me a small smile. At least he wasn't also treating me like a pariah.

I returned his smile. "So do you."

We proceeded into the elevator – a couple of the prep team members deciding to wait for the next one as to not crowd us– and made our way down. My heartrate had already started to escalate.

I was dreading this. I tried not to wipe my palms on my lovely gown as the elevator doors opened.

Every year, the Capitol constructed a make-shift stage in front of the massive Training Center, just for the interviews. It was even wider this year, to accommodate the additional tributes. We would all be sitting in a large arc on the stage, and as we made our way over to the backstage area, the tributes were currently being lined up in order by district. It looked like a lot of others had already arrived, but I knew we were a few minutes early.

I refused to look at anyone besides Ben, and then subsequently Autumn and Rudd as we joined them. They quickly maneuvered behind us in line. I'd be the first one to go from District 7, though I realized I'd be going almost exactly midway through the program. Maybe I could get an idea of what to expect from those who went before me.

Typically, the interviews were three minutes long. I had expected them to decrease that time this year, with double the tributes, but apparently that was not the case. The entire program would be around two-and-a-half hours, but there was going to be a short intermission in the middle.

I realized, then, that I would probably be the first one up after the intermission, assuming it started after District 6's interviews. Great.

I turned to Ben, wanting to distract myself from the growing nerves. As we chatted briefly, making idle conversation, I couldn't help my eyes from flickering around briefly, taking in the tributes behind me. Uneasy chatter pressed in all around, though some of the tributes appeared to be just standing silently. I could already hear the noise of the gathering Capitol crowd around and in front of the stage. There would be a lot of people watching this live, and everyone back home would be watching, too.

I could hear the boisterous conversations from the Careers all the way up front, though I refused to focus on them. The nervousness of the rest of the tribute group was palpable. Most of the interview costumes looked pretty good, though. The stylists seemed to take fewer creative liberties than they did in the Parade. I noticed some eyes flick over to me, a few of them honing in on my necklace, and decided it was time for me to stop observing everyone else. I needed to focus on myself.

Soon after this revelation I saw Johanna and Blight approaching, the latter stopping to talk to Autumn and Rudd.

Johanna stopped in front of us, scanning me up and down, then Ben. "You're going out there in just a moment. Remember what we went over today," she commanded.

I nodded as Ben murmured assent.

Her eyes honed in on me. "You know what's at stake tonight. Don't screw it up." The dark gaze settled on my necklace. "If you're lucky, maybe Caesar will be too blinded by that thing to ask any hard questions."

With that jibe, she turned and strode off, but I knew she'd be at or near the front of the audience, as all stylists and mentors were.

Sighing, I turned back to the front, heartrate picking up again. There was no point in making further conversation now, so we stood in nervous silence. Shortly after Johanna departed, it was time for the tributes to be brought out on stage, in single-file line. Although I couldn't see the crowd yet, I felt my nerves increase.

District 1 was first to make it onto the stage, of course, and there was an overwhelming wave of noise as soon as they became visible to the onlookers. I gritted my teeth against the grating sound. The screams and shrieks were already a fever pitch, and the actual interviews hadn't even started.

I clenched my fists tightly. I had been nervous during the Parade, but this was different. Worse. Here, when it was my turn, everyone would be focused on me, and my words. There was nothing to distract from my own individual performance.

Put your mask on, I thought, forcing my face into what I hoped was a neutrally pleasant expression. I could not afford to mess up tonight.

Soon, it was my turn to enter the stage. As the District 7 tributes became visible, I focused as much as possible on putting one foot in front of the other, oddly grateful for my practice at the gala last night. Turning, I gave the crowd a bright smile and waved, trying to remember Minodora's lessons from earlier. I didn't focus on any specific face; I knew it would make this harder. I attempted to control my breathing, keeping my steps steady.

The stage itself was absolutely massive and three-tiered, each tier of ascending height, with the top two tiers containing our seating, arranged in an arc to where we were all visible to the audience as the interviews proceeded. The lowest tier of the stage only contained two chairs, where the interviews would take place. I only hoped I wouldn't trip and fall on my face as I navigated the steps between tiers.

I kept the smile in place, feeling my heart absolutely pounding in my chest as we made our way to our seats. It felt like a butterfly, desperate to escape the confines of my body. I was too warm, and it was too bright out here. It was already evening, but there were lights everywhere, illuminating every single thing.

District 7 was situated on the topmost tier, on the far side of the stage from where we entered. Fortunately, I didn't trip or otherwise make a spectacle of myself as we reached our destination. I tossed the crowd another (hopefully) winning smile as I settled into my seat, Minodora's shrill voice ringing in my memory, reminding me to sit gracefully, to cross my legs at the ankle.

I felt like I did an acceptable job.

As soon as I was seated and situated, I scanned the crowd. It was huge. The wealthier or famous Capitol citizens had their own elevated seating area, with the stylists, escorts and mentors near the front. My eyes found and then briefly settled on our group. Johanna had an unreadable expression, but Orea dipped her head slightly when I made eye contact with her. I made an effort to sit up even straighter in my chair.

There were also balconies all around, holding plenty of cameras and television crews, with the large balcony on the far right full of Gamemakers in their purple robes. Everywhere else—the remainder of the City Circle, and the surrounding areas with a decent view of the stage area—were also packed full of people, but that part of the crowd was forced to stand. Even so, they were crammed in every possible space, screeching and screaming, clamoring to get a view of the tributes on stage. There were just so many of them. The noise was scarcely bearable. I kept my smile, though, knowing I was always being watched. Not just by the teeming streets of Capitol citizens, but by the people back home.

I thought of my family, my friends, everyone I knew back home, also forced to watch this. I tilted my chin up slightly, feeling a surge of energy and defiance. At the end of the day, this was all about maximizing my chances to get back to them. I had to do a good job tonight. For their sake.

Cato was on the tier of the stage in front of us, a few feet below and to my left. I felt tension coiling in my stomach, knowing he might be asked about our altercation, too.

Then Caesar Flickerman strode excitedly into view, beaming. It was a bit unnerving, seeing him in person, since I had hoped I would never have to. He wore his trademark, glittering midnight blue suit, hair and eyebrows dyed lavender. The crowd whistled and cheered, absolutely adoring him. He waved at them jovially. Caesar was in his element, clearly as comfortable being here as he had been when I was a child watching the Games.

He began warming up the crowd then, excitedly chattering about the Games and the special Quarter Quell, and even started cracking a few jokes to get everyone laughing.

Everyone except us, of course. I kept the smile in place, but I felt a profound lack of amusement.

Then it was time for the interviews to start. Caesar warmly beckoned the beautiful Chiffon down to join him, and she slunk down the steps, graceful and sultry in a short, skin-tight dress. Pretty much every year that I'd watched, the District 1 tributes had played up their looks during the interviews. I didn't blame them at all. I'd do the same, if I looked like her and had that much confidence that I might win.

I made sure to keep my proper posture and a neutral expression, but I observed the interviews keenly. Although we were seated behind Caesar and the interviewee, there were large screens all around the stage. A couple of them faced angles where we could clearly see the tribute's face during the interview, or otherwise what the cameras were choosing to focus on. The three minutes seemed to pass extraordinarily quickly, with a buzzer signaling when the time was up.

Caesar made an effort to keep the conversation going with each tribute. No matter how sincere it actually was, he projected believable, legitimate interest in their responses. There wasn't really an awkward silence or a dull moment. He even turned bad jokes into something for the Capitol to laugh at.

Chiffon, as expected, used her appearance to appeal to the Capitol. She was sexy and alluring, flipping her hair or winking at the crowd frequently. Her lilting, musical voice enraptured them, and she giggled more than was necessary, but I knew not to underestimate her. The girl knew exactly what she was doing.

Lambent was handsome and equally as charming. He was full of bright smiles and cracked a couple of jokes, but confidence oozed from every pore. Caesar asked him if he had anyone back home, and he winked, saying he was hoping to meet someone special after he won the Games. The Capitol crowd absolutely loved that.

I knew he scored a 10, and I couldn't underestimate him, either.

Ruby from District 1 went with a similar strategy, playing off of her lovely appearance and flirting with both Caesar and the crowd, blowing a few kisses.

Onyx, the dark-eyed, shifty boy, was one that piqued my interest. I had never been able to put my finger on a specific reason, besides the fact that he was always fidgeting, but he had always been unnerving to me. There was something off in his gaze. Those dark eyes darted this way and that often, as if he was gauging for threats from the audience as he spoke. Out of District 1, his interview was probably the weakest, as he wasn't as beautiful or charismatic as the others.

I sat up in my chair a bit more as District 2's interviews started, but I made sure my face didn't give anything away.

Tatiana, the brawny, imposing girl, was up first. Her strategy was obvious. She was strong, vicious, confident, and eager to get into the Arena. She sneered when Caesar asked her who she thought her biggest competition was, as if all of us were beneath her. I noticed that Caesar liked to ask a lot of the Careers that question. It was a chance for them to brag even more.

Second was Bastion, the boy with the shaggy dark hair and the burn scar on his face. Unlike the standard District 2 approach, he was a bit more lighthearted in his interview, full of bright smiles and cracking jokes that Caesar especially seemed to love.

Then was the copper-haired girl, Cassia. She was cool, aloof, and relatively toneless, though her words were carefully chosen. A different type of arrogance than what Tatiana had projected. Cassia seemed like she was so above the entire event as to be uninterested. It was the same approach she'd taken in every public event I'd seen so far. But because she was from District 2, and she'd scored high, she pulled it off. The audience was clearly both intrigued and intimidated by her general lack of care about an upcoming fight to the death.

After the buzzer went off indicating Cassia's time was up, my heartrate skyrocketed again. I gently folded my hands in my lap, resisting the urge to clench my fists or otherwise openly display my nerves. This was the first big test of tonight – I couldn't react to anything that was brought up in Cato's interview, even if it pertained to me. Maybe I'd get lucky and Caesar wouldn't ask about it.

Caesar was excitedly beckoning Cato down to join him. Like they had with every other Career tribute, the crowd went wild as he stood up, making his way with ease down the stairs. The District 2 boy exuded confidence. I heard whistling, and a few shouts of Cato's name as he gave Caesar a firm handshake, and they took their seats, the crowd quieting shortly afterward.

"So, Cato." Caesar leaned forward. I noticed that while he often called tributes by their last names on television, Caesar was less formal in person. He was probably trying to put us at ease by calling us by our first names. "How does it feel, being in the Capitol?"

Cato's response was instant. "It's incredible. I'm excited to finally be here. To show what I can do."

The crowd liked that answer, and Caesar nodded in response.

"And we're excited to have you, aren't we folks?" He turned to the crowd, and the resounding cheer was the only response he needed. There was just a hint of a small, confident smirk on Cato's face. He looked exceedingly comfortable and at ease in the chair, even in front of all of these people.

"So you're here, like the others from your district, by choice."

Cato nodded.

"How long have you known that you wanted to volunteer for the Games?"

"It's something that I've always wanted to do, since I was a kid."

That was horrifying, I thought. And, if I tried to be objective, it was almost a little bit sad.

Caesar nodded, as if expecting this answer. "And what, would you say, is your biggest strength coming into these Games?"

It was a standard question to ask a Career. They clearly weren't allowed to publicly admit they'd trained their whole lives, but they always gave generally the same answers.

"I'm strong, I'm vicious, and I'm ready to go." Cato's expression hardened, ever so slightly. "I won't hesitate."

"You obviously scored a 10 during your private session, one of the highest of any tribute. Congratulations on such an impressive score."

"Thank you," Cato responded with a polite nod.

Caesar rested a hand on the arm of his chair. "Given what you've seen so far, who do you think is your biggest competition? Anyone you're keeping an eye on in particular?"

Cato shrugged, almost nonchalantly. "Nobody." An answer given by plenty of other confident Careers in the past, but looking at Cato, it was obvious he truly believed it.

Caesar turned back to the crowd, beaming. "Hear that, everyone? Why, even I'm a little bit intimidated! Just look at him!" He widely gestured at Cato's broad form. Another wave of cheers emanated from the spectators, along with a few loud whistles.

The man turned back to Cato as the crowd quieted again. He leaned closer, his expression quickly transitioning into something almost somber.

"Now, Cato, as I'm sure you know…" Caesar took a pause. "Sometimes, I have to ask the hard questions."

Cato looked entirely as if he expected this. He had been coached thoroughly. "Let's hear it," he responded evenly.

Caesar's face was sympathetic, now. "I remember-" he indicated the crowd with one hand, "we all remember, that you are not the first one from your family to volunteer for the Games. Your sister, Cyra, participated in the 68th Hunger Games."

Cato nodded again. "She did." I was watching him carefully, but he didn't look outwardly uncomfortable. He undoubtedly knew he'd be asked about this.

The crowd had gone entirely silent and still. If I looked out at their unnatural faces, I expected to see false masks of sadness and compassion on many of them.

"A tragedy, really. She was quite a favorite to win that year. Very well-liked. My condolences for your family's loss." Caesar had an expression of perfect sympathy.

"Thank you." Cato's response was a bit short. But what else was he supposed to even say to that? He was a Career. In his eyes, she was probably a failure, not someone to venerate, as horrible as that line of thinking was.

Caesar leaned forward even more. "You would have been…eleven during those Games?"

Another nod. "Yes." The crowd made some sympathetic noises.

"You told us that you've wanted to volunteer since you were a child. Did watching your sister compete in the 68th Hunger Games have any impact on that?"

Trust Caesar to find an almost-tactful way to ask if Cato watching his sister die had altered his mindset about the Games.

This time, Cato was shaking his head. "If anything, it made me want to compete even more. I wanted to succeed where she failed. To bring glory back to my district, after she wasn't able to all those years ago." He turned, then, gazing out over the crowd. "And I will. I won't be making the same mistakes she did. You can count on that." Fiery determination burned in his blue eyes as he finished the little speech.

The crowd was just eating it up.

Caesar nodded, and he clapped Cato on the shoulder. "That's quite the mindset to have. I believe it. Especially after seeing that 10!" He turned to the crowd. "Don't you all?"

Once again, resounding cheering indicated assent from the teeming crowd. It was even louder this time. They loved this; a brawny killing machine speaking with such confidence.

Once they quieted again, Caesar settled back in his chair. "Just one more thing I wanted to ask you about." His mouth turned into what could only be described as a wry grin. "I'm sure you may be able to guess what it is."

I felt my stomach sink again.

"I'm not sure what you're getting at," Cato responded neutrally, raising a brow, face a perfect mask of politeness.

Some of the crowd chuckled; though I wasn't sure if Cato was trying to be sarcastic, or hoping to avoid the subject.

Caesar's grin broadened. "Well, I just have to know…"

He trailed off, leaving us all in suspense for a few seconds, some of the crowd eagerly leaning forward in their seats.

"Did the wine come out? I'd hate to think of that perfectly good suit ruined!" After he asked the question, Caesar laughed loudly at his own joke, turning to the crowd, egging them on. They joined him in laughter, the ripple of sound swelling across the gathered spectators.

A smirk returned to Cato's face, but I knew it was forced. It had to be, because his posture had stiffened almost imperceptibly. I was sure there was anger simmering under the surface. He kept the façade up well enough for the Capitol to be none-the-wiser, though.

"I was told it'll be as a good as new after a wash. The shoes, on the other hand…" Cato trailed off, shaking his head.

Caesar laughed again, beaming, as did the audience. They clearly thought the whole thing was hilarious. The chortling and guffawing of the massive group of onlookers grated on my nerves, but I forcibly maintained the placid expression. I could practically sense a couple of cameras trained on me. Sure enough, in the corner of my eye, I could see that a couple of the screens was currently depicting my neutral face. I was inwardly a bit pleased with how unaffected I looked. I wasn't even blushing…yet.

I was actually somewhat impressed by how well Cato answered the question, without coming across annoyed. He'd even practically made a joke. Damn him and how well he'd been coached.

The buzzer went off, then, and the interview was over. I felt myself relax, just slightly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, District 2's Cato Hadley!" Caesar was saying, and yet another wave of sound washed over us from the cheering and screeching crowd as Cato stood up, shaking Caesar's hand again firmly, and then turning to walk back up to his seat. I heard quite a few people chanting his name in support. I stared straight out, refusing to look down at Cato again, or at anyone in the crowd in particular. I couldn't get distracted.

They loved him. But I knew they would.

District 3's interviews were pretty standard and uneventful. Caesar, to his credit, seemed to be actively trying to put the tributes at ease, making sure there were no awkward pauses, even among the more nervous ones. It was obvious the onlookers weren't nearly as interested in District 3 as the Career districts, though.

Then it was District 4's turn, and my interest was piqued again, since I wanted to see what the last Career district had up their sleeve.

Azure was charming and giggly, and had an easy time engaging with the crowd. With her freckled face and dimples, she projected a vibe of adorable innocence that was a bit different than the other beautiful tributes' appeal. She'd score high enough to still clearly paint herself as a threat, though.

I didn't pay as much attention during the next two interviews – the other girl from District 4 had been Reaped, though she managed to project enough confidence to not totally fall flat. The dark-haired boy from 4 was another standard Career interview, though he didn't really stand out as much as a lot of the Careers had. He had always seemed a bit less confident, the few times I'd noticed him.

Caspian was clearly one of the favorites. He strolled up to Caesar, grinning broadly at the crowd. His handsome face belied a malicious, manipulative person underneath, but the crowd didn't know that. He was pure charisma and easy smiles, answering Caesar's questions without a care in the world. He was confident, as all Careers were, but he projected that confidence to try to be likable and easygoing instead of vicious.

Near the end, much as he'd asked a couple of the other boys, Caesar asked Caspian if he had a special someone back in District 4.

The boy's lips formed a self-satisfied smirk. "Not really." He learned towards Caesar, causing the older man to mimic the motion. "Actually, there are quite a few beautiful women here, Caesar." Caspian grinned winningly. "I mean, how am I supposed to even focus?"

Typical. Aligned perfectly with Caspian's flirty behavior I'd witnessed, especially with the girls from District 1, and even towards me at times…though I knew his intentions towards me were different. The Capitol onlookers—especially the women—squealed and tittered excitedly. They were loving the idea of a handsome potential Victor talking about them and how lovely they were.

"True, true," Caesar responded, giving the crowd a knowing look. "There's nothing quite like the Capitol!"

They bantered a bit longer, Caspian still coming across charismatic and tossing another compliment and wink towards the Capitol crowd, before finally the buzzer went off. Like with Cato, I kept my eyes studiously fixed away from Caspian, but I could've sworn I felt his gaze on me for a split second before he returned to his seat.

I tried to relax back into my chair—though I knew I couldn't slouch, or Minodora would have a fit—as District 5 went up next. It was nearly impossible, though. Because with each tribute, we grew closer and closer to my own interview.

Caesar really was born for this, I thought. No matter the tribute, he was able to bring something out of the interview. Most of Districts 5 and 6 weren't overly interesting. One girl stumbled a bit on her gown, and Caesar gallantly came to the rescue, but her face was flushed for the entire interview. The older man from District 6 who was missing an arm got a lot of looks of pity from the crowd, and I knew a lot of them had already written him off. My stomach clenched at the unfairness of it, and it was harder to keep my face stoic.

Each time the buzzer went off, my nervousness grew and grew. I had to restrain myself from clenching the dress with my sweaty palms. The anxiety was thick, slowly climbing its way up my throat, making me feel like I was suffocating.

I didn't love public speaking. I had never been afraid of it exactly, I could do presentations in school just fine, but I didn't relish the thought of so many eyes on me. It was made worse by the situation in general, knowing that I was just a plaything for the Capitol, a dressed-up ritual sacrifice.

After the last interview from District 6 ended, there was a fifteen-minute intermission, since the program was twice the length this year. Caesar momentarily left the stage after a bright grin in our direction. The overhead and surrounding lights temporarily dimmed and the crowd began to chatter and mingle. Avoxes with trays containing refreshments were serving the "very important" Capitol viewers in the elevated seating area and the balconies. The attention was momentarily drawn away from us, and we were instructed to stand up and head backstage.

My nerves had reached an all-time high. I was worried I'd start trembling.

I gathered with Ben, Autumn and Rudd backstage, though the latter didn't make any attempt to engage in conversation. Autumn's nerves were etched onto her pale face. Ben seemed slightly anxious too, despite the fact that he generally seemed to have an easy time handling the crowds. We made idle chitchat, distracting ourselves, because the alternative was worse.

When there was probably only a couple minutes left of the intermission, I heard a snide, despicable voice to my left.

"Nice necklace, June," Caspian said. I turned, suppressing my annoyance. I couldn't say I was surprised. Apparently, trying to rile me up was one of his favorite pastimes.

I was not doing this tonight.

"Thanks." My tone was short.

As always, there was a look on the boy's face that I didn't like. I could sense Ben watching closely, waiting to intervene if necessary, clearly displeased. I idly wondered if the two still had any inclination towards an alliance, even though we didn't get any say in who our partners were. Autumn seemed extremely uncomfortable, while Rudd just stared, dark eyes honed in on Caspian.

"Hey, just so you know…" A smirk curled on Caspian's lips. "They don't allow any liquids to be brought on stage. So, if that was going to be your interview tactic, you may want to reconsider."

I scowled. My irritation surged, but I was not going to retaliate. I knew he was trying to rile me up right before my interview. Caspian chuckled lowly at my reaction.

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news," he added slyly.

"Did you just come over here to make fun of June?" Ben broke in then, and I felt a surge of gratitude.

Caspian's amber eyes shifted to my district partner. "She really brings it on herself by being so entertaining. I mean, throwing a glass of wine all over District 2? Priceless."

"Glad you enjoyed it," I responded neutrally.

"It's like you don't even want to survive the Arena," he stated, the smirk still in place.

"Shouldn't you be more focused on your own survival?" Ben bit back, once again coming to my defense. I didn't need him to speak for me, but I had to say, it was nice to have someone else around to call Caspian out on his bullshit.

Caspian's eyebrow rose. "How could I be more focused? I've excelled at everything I needed to. Or was that some sort of threat?"

Ben's jaw clenched, and I felt the air thicken with tension. "I just find it odd, how much time and attention you spend on my district partner, trying to make her uncomfortable."

"Jealous, 7?" Caspian was sneering now.

I snorted then. "Stop trying to twist his words just because you know he has a point."

Caspian's eyes found mine again. "Like I said, you're amusing to me. I've gotta find entertainment somewhere, at least before we go into the Arena." His gaze flicked down my dress, and back up as he spoke. "And you know, you're not too bad to look at."

Ben made an indignant noise, but I spoke up before he could. "Your opinion about my appearance has always meant so much to me," I responded sarcastically, before mentally reminding myself that I shouldn't be encouraging this conversation at all.

"Maybe it should have meant more," Caspian responded, a conniving expression on his face now.

I just stared at Caspian, perplexed, but not wanting to encourage whatever line of thinking he was moving towards, but at the same moment, Ben asked, "What the hell does that mean?"

Caspian shrugged, as if he didn't even care about this conversation anymore, glancing at Ben. "It means that maybe we could have worked something out, if she wanted to live longer in the Arena."

I felt my mouth open slightly, my mild annoyance morphing into complete indignation as my brain began to connect the dots. But Caspian, not caring about my reaction or the fact that Ben was now glaring daggers at him, continued, "Sadly, the offer to protect you isn't on the table anymore, seeing as how District 2 is definitely going to come after you at the first opportunity. No sex is good enough to be worth that headache."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I bit out heatedly, feeling the flames of anger licking at me now. He was seriously implying that I would've made some sort of deal to sleep with him in exchange for his protection in the Arena? What kind of twisted arrangement was that?

For one, my body wasn't some commodity he could just barter with on his terms. For another, I knew people would do whatever they could do stay alive in the Arena and I couldn't judge that, but this idea made no sense. As if I'd ever trust him—or anyone—enough to make that deal in the first place. There was no way to guarantee he'd keep up his end of the bargain once the Games started. Even if that wasn't the case, I'd never do it. Caspian was despicable, and the thought of being intimate with him was abhorrent.

"I think you should go back and join your district. Maybe one of them would be interested in that proposition," Ben said, looking and sounding just as angry as I was, as well as a little disturbed. I could see in his rigid posture that part of him wanted to punch Caspian in the face as much as I did.

Autumn also looked perturbed, staring back and forth between me and Caspian, and to my surprise, even Rudd was frowning at the District 4 boy.

But the blonde wore a full-on grin now, and I knew that he was just trying to achieve his goal of angering me right before my interview. I realized then that his words could have been empty. He may never have even considered that deal in the first place. He just knew that bringing it up would get under my skin. I hated him.

And right on time, they were starting to fetch us to line us up, so that we could go back on stage, and I was now stuck with anger simmering under the surface.

"Good luck in your interviews," Caspian said, with a wink at me, then turned and casually strode away.

Clenching my fists, I stiffly turned and walked towards the general direction of the stage, refusing to look at the others. My shoulders were hunched, and I began fiddling with my mother's ring, hoping that would ease some of my internal tension and disgust.

"You've got this June," Ben said, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder as we made our way back towards the line. "Ignore that asshole. He just wants to upset you." His green eyes were concerned.

I nodded. "I know." My tone was clipped, and I felt bad, because Ben was only trying to help. With great effort, I forced my body to relax as we rejoined the line.

I took a deep breath, held it, and counted to ten mentally. If I started my interview annoyed and upset, that meant Caspian won. And I couldn't allow that.

I wouldn't allow that.

I felt a wave of resolve wash over me, and determination that I wouldn't fall into Caspian's trap. I wouldn't be a victim of his mind games. I was better than that. I was smarter than that. I had to be, if I wanted to survive. I'd already put my self-preservation instinct to the side too many times, and it would be stupid to fall for the same manipulative tactics here.

I straightened my back and tilted my chin up. I would show Johanna—and everyone else—that I still was going to fight tooth and nail to succeed in my interview, to make the Capitol like me. I was still going to try my hardest to survive this thing, no matter how bad the odds were.

I pictured my brother and father, my cousins, my aunt and uncle, my friends back home…they were all watching. I would make them proud. There was nothing the detestable District 4 boy could do to change that. I was part of the Capitol's game, but I wouldn't be part of his.

Soon we were rejoining the stage, the crowd's noise swelling into a resounding series of cheers and screams again as we came into view. Once more, I turned and tossed a smile and a wave out at the mass of spectators. My newfound determination made my steps surer, and my head was held high as I took my seat. The nerves were coursing through every inch of my body, but right now, my pride and sense of resolve were winning out, and I wanted to channel that as much as possible.

Soon Caesar was back on stage, warmly greeting the excited mobs of Capitol citizens, the Gamemakers observing all of this from their balcony on high.

"Well then, let's get back to it, shall we everyone?"

The crowd cheered in response.

Caesar had turned and was smiling broadly at me, his teeth too white, contrasting with his tanned skin (perfectly smooth and creamy under thick coatings of makeup) and lavender hair.

"Next up, we have the lovely Juniper Ainsley, from District 7!" He gestured for me to join him as he spoke.

The crowd cheered again, louder this time. I didn't think they had sounded this excited for districts 5 and 6.

I stood up, making sure my smile was perfectly in place, and strode towards the stairs. I prayed I wouldn't trip. The nerves crackled under my skin, but I didn't tremble, and my smile didn't falter. I delicately held my dress up (but not too high, or Minodora would faint, and we couldn't have that) and focused on putting foot after foot. It was surprisingly difficult, maintaining a perfectly happy smile while not stumbling and humiliating myself.

But I managed it, and I glanced up at Caesar after I reached the bottom of the treacherous stairs. He beckoned towards me again, still grinning widely as I approached. He stretched out a hand, and I took it, giving as firm of a handshake as I could muster. I hoped he didn't notice the dampness of my palms…but he was probably used to it, I thought.

In true Capitol etiquette form, Caesar waited to take his seat until I was seated and situated, hands once again folded in my lap. He turned to face me, his expression becoming one of polite interest.

"Now Juniper, I'm sure you have been told this already, but that outfit is absolutely ravishing!"

I had noticed Caesar complimenting nearly every female tribute on her outfit before doing anything else, likely hoping the flattery would put us as ease. Some of the audience applauded, agreeing with Caesar's assessment, as they always did.

I smiled back politely. "That's kind of you to say, Caesar. My stylist, Orea, did a great job."

I glanced over as I spoke, immediately making eye contact with the woman in question, allowing my smile to become more genuine. From my angle I could see some of the screens depicting the interview, and a couple of the cameras were currently focused on Orea's face in this moment. She looked smug.

"That she did, that she did! So, now that you're here in the Capitol, what are your thoughts? Is it everything you expected?"

A chance to suck up to the Capitol and the audience. After my stunt last night, I couldn't waste it.

"The television programs never did it justice; it's beautiful. And I've gotten the chance to meet a lot of interesting people."

I threw another small (hopefully alluring) smile at the crowd, knowing I'd probably met several people that were here now, watching this.

Caesar nodded, agreeing with my perception of the city. "And what has been your favorite thing since coming here?"

Another common question. "The cheesecake," I responded without hesitation. Some of the audience laughed.

"You have great taste in desserts! I could eat cheesecake all day." Caesar responded with a chuckle. "Unfortunately, I don't think my stomach would agree with that."

"Maybe not, but it's worth a try!" I responded lightly, resulting in another chuckle from the audience.

He adjusted in his seat, folding his hands in front of him.

"Now, I could talk about cheesecake all day, but I've got to ask about the Games. You scored a respectable 7 in your private session. So, what's your greatest strength going into the Games? Give us a hint of what to expect."

I let my smile become a bit sly, and mysterious. Recalling my persona from yesterday.

"I don't know, Caesar…the surprise is half the fun, isn't it?"

Caesar's eyebrows shot up, and he turned to the crowd briefly, then back to me. They were intrigued, wanting an answer. "Surely, just one small detail can't hurt?" He added, projecting the utmost curiosity.

"I have some tricks up my sleeve. But you'll just have to wait and see what they are." I kept the confident smirk on my face as much as possible.

Caesar chuckled, good-naturedly.

"Fine, fine, we'll let you keep your secrets about your Arena strategy. For now." He grinned knowingly, as if he knew what I was hiding, but wasn't going to say. Then he leaned slightly in, almost conspiratorially "So instead, let's talk about your competition. Do you have any thoughts about your fellow tributes? Does anyone stand out?"

Here it goes, I thought.

I could've sworn the ambient noise in the room got a little bit quieter, but maybe it was just me. I tried to ignore the way my stomach began to coil up.

For a second, I thought about just saying 'no.' But I knew that either way, we were getting to the Cato subject, and that acting nonchalant wouldn't make Caesar drop it. The video had been broadcast all over the Capitol, after all. He'd get to the point one way or another.

I let my lips curve into a smile. "You could say that." A few chuckles broke out from the onlookers.

Caesar beamed at me. "I'm sure you know where I'm going with this," he said, teasingly. He was making this into an entire ordeal. He was playing it up; I could sense the audience's intense, curious stares, desperately grasping for a hint of gossip.

I smiled, a bit sheepishly. "I don't suppose your next question is going to have something to do with wine?"

Even more laughs; louder this time, Caesar joining with a chuckle of his own.

Behind him, I could see a couple of screens had shifted, depicting Cato's face. His expression was perfectly impassive.

"How'd you guess?" The crowd was loving this. But then his expression became more serious. "Please, though, tell us – what happened, leading up to that moment?"

Johanna had prepared me for this. I just had to remember everything we'd practiced, the story we'd cultivated. Because I couldn't tell the full truth. Trying to lambast Cato—one of the Capitol favorites—probably wasn't a good idea, and the full contents of our conversation wouldn't be appropriate for this interview anyway. I could tell part of what happened, but I couldn't make it look like I was fully throwing him under the bus. Johanna didn't want me to make this a "he said, she said" ordeal. I had to also appear mature, like I was accepting responsibility.

"Well, let me say…that was my first time ever drinking wine and learning about how it affects decision-making." I turned to face the crowd, smiling sheepishly. "Don't worry, I won't be drinking any more at the Sponsor luncheon."

Another rough of tittering laughs – they seemed to enjoy self-deprecation.

Caesar laughed, too, and gestured for me to continue.

I was sure that somewhere, at least one screen had pulled up a still image of me throwing wine on Cato, just to remind the Capitol about it.

"Well, the truth is, Caesar…." I leaned in towards him, then, as if I was sharing a secret. He tilted his head slightly towards me, intrigued. "I've always had a bit of a prideful streak. It's not one of my better traits."

I tried to look humble, and sheepish. It wasn't too hard, since it wasn't even a lie, really. The audience was rapt, curious where this was going.

"Mr. Hadley doesn't consider me a threat in the Arena, and he voiced that opinion at the gala." I couldn't even call him Cato, I realized. Even saying his last name left a bad taste in my mouth. But calling him "District 2" probably wouldn't be appropriate.

"The wine definitely didn't help things, and I overreacted." I looked down at my hands, folded again. "I regretted my actions immediately. He's perfectly entitled to believe what he wants about me. Even if I disagree."

I turned back to the audience again, vaguely noticing that one of the screens was still focused on Cato's face, but I refused to look and see how he was reacting to my iteration of the tale.

"Mainly, though, I just feel bad for wasting perfectly good wine…I hope you all can forgive me."

Caesar chuckled again, laughter emanating from the audience once more, and he turned back to them. "What do you think? Is she forgiven?"

The responsive cheering and clapping suggested that yes, I was. My smile returned, and it was accompanied by an inner sense of relief. I felt like I had handled that as well as possible.

Caesar had turned back to me, his eyes riveted on my face. "We're about out of time, but I have just one more follow up question. You said that you disagree with Mr. Hadley's opinion. Is there anything you want to say to him, or to others who might be underestimating you?"

Oh no, I thought this topic was over, I thought, but quelled the quickly rising nerves as my brain strove for an answer. I did not want to piss Cato off more. But at the same time, I couldn't look weak up on stage.

"I would tell them…" I hesitated, but only briefly, the words coming to me after a moment. This was my chance to advertise myself as much as possible. To make up for any Sponsors I may have lost. I made sure I infused as much steel as possible into my voice. I turned back to face the audience as I spoke.

"I may not be the biggest or strongest tribute, but size and strength aren't the only things that matter. I'll fight as hard as I can to get back home and see my family again. So don't count me out."

Caesar turned back to the crowd after I spoke, grinning broadly, as the buzzer went off and the applause began to break out.

I couldn't believe how quickly the three minutes had passed.

"And we're out of time!" Caesar gestured towards me, as we both stood up. "That was Juniper Ainsley, District 7!"

The applause increased and the cheers were back, washing over me in waves. I smiled at the audience as brightly as I could and gave them another wave, as my eyes instinctively sought out Johanna. She raised an eyebrow as we made eye contact, and then gave me a slight, nearly-imperceptible, nod. My smile widened. I relished the feeling of relief as I turned, making my way back towards my seat, the audience's enthusiasm still following me as I did so.

I studiously ignored the lower row of tributes as I climbed the steps; the last thing I needed was to look at Cato or Caspian right now. Then Caesar was calling Ben's name, and the relief was hitting me even harder.

I had done it. I had gotten through the interview without screwing up too badly.

I made eye contact with Ben as I neared the top of the stairs. He had already stood up and was making his way down after his name was called. He smiled at me brightly, though, and gave me a nod as he approached. "Good luck," I mouthed to him, after returning his smile.

Not that he needed it. He was too likable to do poorly.

I released a deep breath as I settled in my chair. It was hard not to slouch, with the relief I was feeling, but I knew I still had to be on my best behavior.

My eyes honed in on Ben as his interview started.

As expected, he was charming and charismatic from the get go. At first, Caesar focused on what Ben thought about the Capitol, and even asked him his favorite food, clearly getting the idea after my answer about the cheesecake. The interview shifted a bit, then, to Ben's life back home. I supposed I would have gotten similar questions about my home life, maybe even my mom, if not for the debacle with Cato taking up half my interview. Caesar asked about Ben's family, focusing especially on his siblings. Then, predictably, the topic shifted into his love life, asking if he had someone waiting on him.

Ben said that he wasn't currently in a relationship, but then added that he planned on settling down when he got older, because he wanted a wife and kids someday. The Capitol oohed and aahed at that, but I just felt sad. It may have been embellished, or maybe he just made it up, but it was still hard to hear. Because Ben shouldn't even be here.

The last topic was about his score, since he'd gotten an impressive 9. Caesar complimented him generously, but naturally, wanted a sneak peek about what Ben's strategy would be in the Arena. He pursued a similar line of questioning with most tributes who scored very highly.

"So, when you go into the Arena. Well, the first Arena," Caesar corrected himself, resulting in a small chuckle from the crowd, "What advantage do you think you'll have over the other tributes?"

"Well…I mean, I'm strong, and I have a lot of endurance. I'm used to being outdoors for long stretches of time. I'm familiar with a couple of different weapons. But to be completely honest with you Caesar, I'm not really thinking about it that way."

Caesar raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I'm well aware of my strengths, of course, but that doesn't mean I'll underestimate others. Especially when I have some…concerns, about a couple of the other tributes." Ben's jaw had clenched, his voice becoming much more serious, intense.

What the hell is he talking about? I thought.

Caesar, as always, saw the potential for gossip immediately, and jumped on it.

"Oh? Care to enlighten us?" The crowd was interested too, I could tell.

Ben hesitated. "Well…I might be biased, or jumping to conclusions," he responded, but didn't elaborate.

This just made Caesar and the Capitol more interested. Some were leaning forward in their seats.

He's up to something. Since when is he conniving? I wondered.

"Whatever do you mean?" Caesar asked, practically on the edge of his chair, some of the voices of the onlookers echoing his thoughts.

Ben sighed, looking resigned, though at this point I had no clue how much was an act. "Well, it's Caspian, from District 4."

Surely he's not…

"He's shown a lot…well, too much interest in my district partner, June—er, Juniper. She's been a good friend to me, and I want to protect her. Especially from him. So I'm going to try to keep an eye on him, now and once we go into the Arena. You can be sure of that."

Excited murmuring broke out among the spectators.

My neutral mask had slipped into absolute shock as Ben spoke. I registered that some of the screens had started displaying my face again, broadcasting my obvious expression of surprise and alarm.

Once again, I was in the spotlight. Realizing this, I tried to get myself under control.

Other cameras had fixated on Caspian right after Ben mentioned his name. For once, the boy in question's face wasn't showing amusement, or condescension. At first, he actually looked completely caught off guard, amber eyes startled.

Then, right after Ben said "too much interest in my district partner", Caspian's surprise morphed into annoyance, eyes narrowing. He shifted in his chair, something about his body language becoming subtly threatening, probably because of the way his posture tensed. It was unsettling, to actually see him look outwardly menacing.

But quickly afterwards, it was like Caspian remembered where he was, and the fact that the entire country was watching him. His countenance relaxed again, and he settled back in his chair. By the time Ben finished speaking, he had assumed an expression of complete and total nonchalance.

Caesar, to his credit, was quite capable of rolling with the conversation. He just let the murmurs trickle through the audience for a moment before turning back to the boy.

"So, you're hoping to use your strengths to benefit your district partner, and to protect her from someone you perceive as a threat."

Ben nodded. "Yes."

"Well, that is very noble of you!" Caesar responded, turning to the crowd. "Isn't he just a gallant young man?"

The crowd quickly and eagerly voiced their agreement, and a smattering of applause broke out. They loved this type of thing. A handsome man, risking his life for a girl…even if it wasn't a romantic thing, they jumped at the thought of a fairytale. This was nothing in comparison to Peeta Mellark's confession of love last year, but it was enough to pique their interest.

Then the buzzer sounded, and Caesar was once again saying Ben's name, as the crowd roared with approval, cheering and shrieking for him. They seemed just as loud as they had been for a lot of the Career districts.

I had managed to force my face back in a small smile again, knowing at least one camera was still occasionally panning over to me. I hoped I looked appreciative of Ben's efforts, but my mind was racing.

Why would he do that? Why is he pissing Caspian off like that? The Capitol is going to remember this. But I thought he wanted to be part-

Oh. OH.

The thought hit me like a bolt of lightning.

Ben and Caspian had been in talks to ally in the Arena. Johanna and Finnick, at least, had seemed interested in that. And this little stunt would at least guarantee that the Capitol would be talking about Ben and Caspian in the same sentence. It could, potentially, mean that some of the citizens would vote for the two of them to be partnered. They loved drama, after all. And wouldn't that be especially dramatic?

It may not work, but there was certainly a chance it would cause that result.

But still, it seemed like a high risk for little reward. Ben was painting a big target on his back, ensuring Caspian would come after him in the Arena. Assuming there were no rules against that. Would Caspian do that, though? Ben was strong. Competent. Scored a 9. Probably not the ideal initial target.

Truth be told, another part of me just didn't like the idea of Ben putting a target on his back for me. He should be looking after his own life. I would take care of myself; I had to. At the end of the day, we had to protect ourselves the most, as horrible as it was.

While I was lost in thought, Ben had returned to his seat and Autumn was heading towards her interview on shaky legs. I didn't dare look at him, resolving to talk to him after the Arena.

Autumn's interview was hard to watch at first. Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she seemed like she could scarcely keep herself from trembling. Caesar was gentle, though, and did his best to put her at ease. By the end of the interview, she had become more articulate with her answers, and ended on a good note. I thought maybe she'd at least get some sympathy attention from the Capitol.

Rudd was even worse. He just projected no personality. He gave short answers, with little emotion, and didn't divulge anything particularly interesting about himself despite Caesar's best efforts. The crowd's applause after his interview was muted, at best.

Now that our interviews were over, the rest of the others seemed even less interesting, and I felt myself spacing out half of the time. Hunger was beginning to gnaw at my stomach. I hadn't eaten since my early lunch today, and nerves had prevented me from realizing that until now.

The girl from 8 that had thrown up several times in the past managed not to puke during her interview. I'd wondered if they'd found some medicine to help her with that problem. But, after her interview was over, I noticed her face looked rather green, and sure enough –instead of returning to her seat, she quickly strode off and towards backstage to get sick out of view and earshot.

At least she didn't vomit on stage, I thought.

Another boy from 8 seemed reasonably witty and intelligent, and did very well in his interview. He would be an elusive one, I thought.

The man from 9 that had been subdued by Peacekeepers then dragged on stage at the Reaping was gruff, aggressive, and fearless.

The massive boy from 10 who bulged with muscles as big as a lot of the Careers' was surprisingly soft-spoken and polite, but the audience liked him, probably just because of his size.

Basil was once again proud, and unafraid. She held her head high, and answered every question without hesitation. I felt sympathy squeeze my insides as she talked about her children and her family.

Harrow was quiet, and in my opinion, didn't come across very well. But he'd gotten a decent tribute score, so I knew he might still get Sponsors.

Pretty much everyone else was uneventful until Rory Hawthorne. He once again looked sharp and clean-cut, wearing all black, just as he had all week. It aged him beyond the youth in his eyes. The fabric of the suit was unusual, and so dark that it almost seemed to absorb light.

And then I realized why it seemed unusual: because as Rory approached Caesar, and strode directly under some of the overhead lights, the texture of the fabric of his suit—its very appearance—seemed to roil and shift. It appeared to come alive, to move underneath the lighting. It looked like the fabric itself was made of billowing smoke, even though it was an optical illusion. It was a nice callback to the Tribute Parade. I wasn't sure if there was a subtle pattern in the suit, or if Capitol technology was involved, but it was eye-catching. It was mainly noticeable when directly exposed to light, and I found myself unable to look away, fascinated.

His stylist had a gift.

The audience screamed every bit as loud as they had for the Careers as Rory took the stage, perhaps even louder due to the illusion that smoke was coiling within the fabric of his clothing. And, of course, they loved him. Not only because of his suit, or his age and the innocence that just oozed out of every pore, but because of his connection with the Girl on Fire. Caesar, naturally, asked him plenty of questions about his family, playing on the connection as much as he could. In the last part of the interview, Caesar asked about a small, silver pin that was attached to the front of Rory's suit. Apparently, it was a similar pin to the one Katniss wore last year, and depicted a Mockingjay. The crowd loved it – and we were told that it was quite the fashion statement now. Who knew?

Soon after, the rest of District 12 had gone (underwhelming compared to Rory), and the interviews were finished.

Caesar said a few closing words, specifically pointing out that the window would open shortly for the Capitol to vote for our partners, and close the following day at noon. I felt ill at the thought of who they might choose for me. The audience clapped yet again, and then we were instructed to stand as the anthem began to blare out from the speakers. Of course. As always, I felt annoyance at the grating tones and loud trumpeting, and I had to force my neutral expression to remain in place.

Finally, the overhead lights began to turn off as the anthem ended, cameras losing interest in us. Caesar tossed us a quick goodbye before disappearing off somewhere backstage, and we were instructed to immediately head back to the Training Center. We were ushered off the stage in a single file line again, relative quiet hanging over us.

I felt exhausted all of a sudden, and starving. And I needed to talk to Ben. But not until we were in private, and I'd eaten dinner.

We remained silent as all of us shuffled into the lobby of the Training Center, beginning to form two lines for the elevators, though still clustered in groups by district. None of our prep teams or mentors or escorts had rejoined us yet, since they were all part of the Capitol crowd and probably running a couple minutes behind.

Fortunately, the lines moved pretty quickly, since two districts' worth of tributes could fit into each of the large elevators at a time. It was still awkward, though. We'd all spent a couple of hours listening to each other's life stories, but most of us would be killing each other in a few days. And now, there were no other people around to serve as buffers. It made for a fairly tense atmosphere.

I noticed, with profound relief, that the District 4 group was one of the first ones to hop on an elevator, cramming in with District 3. I knew there would be some sort of fallout for Ben's actions, but Caspian clearly had no intent to confront him with all of the other tributes standing right nearby.

Our entourages began to arrive in the lobby before the elevator cars had returned, some of them mingling with the tributes at the back of the line, but I was too tired to really look for Johanna or Orea over the heads of the tributes behind us.

Fortunately, an empty car arrived before too much longer. The four of us stepped in, along with the tributes from 6. There was a deathly stillness in the elevator after the doors shut. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wall.

It had been an exhausting day. Fortunately, I didn't think that I made things worse for myself today. I'd pulled off an acceptable interview.

I wasn't sure I could say the same for Ben.

…

Freshly showered (I had made sure to hand my necklace back to Orea directly, refusing to risk anything happening to it) but still tired, I tried my best not to inhale dinner. Judging by the occasionally dirty look tossed my way by Minodora, I didn't do a very good job. The looks felt even more prickly than normal, even after I hadn't humiliated her during the interview. Apparently, "escorting wine-throwing tribute" was so far removed from her list of ideal job duties that she'd never recover. Pity.

After dinner, we moved into the living room yet again, for yet another replay. These Capitol people really couldn't get enough of watching things over. And over. And over.

I didn't pay too much attention at first, since I had seen all of these interviews already. I really only focused on Cato's response when asked about the wine incident, and Caspian's stupid arrogant smirk as he complimented the Capitol women.

Soon we were up, though, and I sat forward in my chair, watching myself intently as Caesar began interviewing me. They'd obviously cut out the more mundane parts of the interview, otherwise the replay would be two-and-a-half hours long. I took in every single facial expression, movement, and posture change, trying to analyze my responses as much as possible. My smiles towards the crowd came across well. They were certainly very intrigued by the discussion surrounding Cato, which was the bulk of the recap. The camera had panned to him frequently during my retelling. At one point, his eyes had narrowed slightly, but other than that he did not react outwardly at all.

I seemed pretty genuine, I thought. My answers didn't really come across too rehearsed, thanks to Johanna's help.

"Not terrible, Twiglet, all things considered," Johanna said, and I knew that right now, that was the best that I'd get.

Minodora made a noncommittal hmmm. Nothing could please her at this point.

Then the pertinent parts of Ben's interview were being replayed, and I found myself honed in on the television again. He was charming, and the onlookers were eating it up, especially when he talked about his future plans to start a family one day. But soon it came to the part of the conversation that most interested me – when he brought Caspian's name up.

The camera took turns flicking between Ben, Caspian, and my own shocked face. Caspian was startled again, evident even in the replay, then he was annoyed, though he recovered his composure quicker than I remembered. Then Ben was winning the audience over by claiming that he wanted to protect me as much as possible from Caspian in the Arena. Positing himself as the hero in this little tale, with Caspian as the main antagonist.

"Bold move," Johanna said, eyes narrowed at Ben. "And not exactly what we discussed." But she didn't sound as angry as I anticipated, and Ben just shook his head, clearly not wanting to talk about it right now. To my surprise, she didn't push the subject. Yet.

What blatant favoritism, I thought, knowing I was being petty.

It really was a bold move, though. Because Caspian had also had a great interview, and he was from a Career district. I was sure plenty of people in the Capitol were already taking sides. Expecting the two to be at each other's throats in the Arena. Even more drama for their viewing pleasure.

I was tempted to turn to Ben, to ask what exactly his plan was, but the program had already moved on to recap Autumn's and Rudd's interviews. Sadly, they didn't impress nearly as well as Caspian and I did, and the recap seemed to almost spend less time on them, because there were fewer highlights. I tried to force back my sympathetic thoughts. Every time I had them, it would just make my life harder in the Arena.

It was on to 8, then, and I quickly found my mind wandering. A couple of the stylists began talking in muttered voices, most of us not really interested in the recap of the remaining districts.

I glanced at Ben sidelong. His brow was furrowed, lost in thought.

The rest of the recap passed pretty quickly—the camera captured Rory's suit with its eye-catching effect of roiling, curling smoke again—and then the anthem was playing, and the stupid Capitol logo was filling the screen, before the program ended. Autumn immediately excused herself, and Rudd moved to follow.

I turned to Ben, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

His gaze found mine. He seemed tired. Before he could speak, though, Johanna broke in.

"Benny boy, come with me." Her eyes found me. "Not you. You can talk to him later, if he wants to discuss it."

I opened my mouth to protest, but her hostile look made me think better of it. She was his mentor too, and clearly wanted to get an idea of Ben's strategy in private.

But still, I felt like I was indirectly involved in this somehow. After all, Caspian had painted a target on my back, too. Surely, I could at least get an inkling of what Ben was up to.

I was determined to find out. But maybe I'd have to wait for the morning.

Sighing, I stood up, weariness pulling at my bones. Who knew how long they'd be talking? I didn't really want to linger in the living room, especially with just the stylists and Minodora in here. The escort had still not specifically addressed me all evening, unless the random dirty looks counted.

I wanted more of the magical tea, but due to the Capitol group still loitering about the floor, I decided to just order and drink it in my room. My brain was already moving ahead to focus on the next big thing, now that the solo interview was over.

Tomorrow could be hell. If the Capitol's desire for drama won out, I might be paired with Cato. I knew that would only piss him off more. I was sure he'd only be satisfied with a Career as a partner, because at least he found them useful, even if he still wanted to be the only one to win. If it were me, selected to be Cato's companion in the Arena? That would be a unique form of torture and humiliation for him.

And it went both ways. I wanted someone from a non-Career district as my partner. Because then maybe I could form a tentative alliance, a tentative bond of camaraderie. I didn't need—or want—to win by myself. And I thought most paired tributes would plan to stick together. Most of us didn't want to kill, or to be alone. The downside of having a non-Career as my partner meant they would be less prepared, not trained for the Games; but to me, it was worth the trade off to find someone I could get along with (and who probably wouldn't try to kill me right out the gate).

My thoughts traveled in the same circle for a while, but eventually, the tea began to kick in, and I grew drowsy. A small part of me had hoped that Ben would knock on my door, to explain what the hell he was up to, but the knock never came. I mentally resolved to confront him tomorrow, to see what he was playing at.

And, with that determined thought, I drifted into sleep.

….

A/N: 3k more words than I thought it would be. Meh. It's necessary for the intent of character development, I swear! Sorry if there are typos, I tried to edit, but it's probably the longest chapter so far (and probably the longest chapter I'll write in the whole book, if I had to guess).

Next chapter is the pairing and aftermath, and the following will be Juniper's last day in the Capitol. After that, it's Arena time. I can't wait for you guys to see what's in store. I hope to update within the next week again.

Thanks for the additional follows/favorites!