Chapter 5: Private Sessions
The Capitol - Training Center
The next day, I learn many things about my... allies.
For instance, Elegance can swing a mace and take the heads off of five dummies at once, but can't hit a target about five feet away with a knife.
Luna can shoot a bow and hit the bulls-eye with her eyes closed, yet can't tie the simplest knot I could think of.
Maxx may be intimidating with a spear, but when it comes to sword fighting, I don't think he could pick it up to begin with.
Porcelain can find the bulls-eye of a target from the end of the room with a blowgun, but she's uncomfortable when it comes to holding a sickle. When it comes to heights, she's terrified.
As for me, I stick to knot-tying and knife throwing. I get better at knife throwing, moving on to single rotations and earning several encouraging smiles from the instructor. Luna offers to teach me archery, but I'm somewhat terrible at it. Nevertheless, she insists I'm getting better.
By the time the third - and final - day rolls around, I'm nervous. Sitting along the benches with the other Tributes, I hear "Evestrom, Bale."
He nods at me, and then walks through the doors. All the Tributes behind me seem to be thinking hard. Some probably have an idea of what they want to show the Gamemakers for our private sessions, where the group of men and women judge how likely we are to survive in the Games and give us a predictive score later. Each District has an edge on the others in one way or another that goes beyond our three days of training. For instance, District 7. They know how to wield an ax. District 11 knows all the edible plants. It's all in how one looks at it. The Tributes from 1, 2 and 4 typically get the best scores, though, a result of the typical volunteer Tributes.
I try to dry my damp hands on my leggings, finding myself nervous. My allies are going to have high scores. The thought flashes through my mind that they might kick me out of the alliance if my score isn't up to scratch. For all they know, I've been training my whole life for the Games and just didn't show off during the past few days.
The Careers, as Porcelain said other Districts call us, just like to be flashy and use intimidation as a skill. The high scores they usually earn mean more potential Sponsors in the Arena.
After fifteen minutes, it's time for my private session.
I walk into the quiet room, my footsteps echoing. Sitting away from me, up high, are the Gamemakers. They all nod in silent greeting, pens at the ready on clipboards. I find my mouth is dry, and try to swallow. Padding over to the knot-tying station, I mimic naval and fishing knots, adding in some of the snares I learned from my instructor. By the time I'm done, there are about nine practice-dummies dangling from the low lights by their arms, legs, and necks.
The Gamemakers nod approvingly to one another, murmuring, so I move on. I slide my hand over the rows of throwing knives. Grabbing three of the black knives from earlier, I press the button and breathe. Focus on the target... Focus.
I keep my eyes on the bulls-eye as the boards turn around, and concentrate on the position of my feet, relaxing my shoulders. Tilting my hand a bit, I throw the knife in a single rotation.
It doesn't hit the center, but instead the ring next to it. The second knife lands in the same ring, but the third manages to hit the bulls-eye. I grab more knives, turning, and I hit the dummies hanging. I miss the third one, and it makes my cheeks sizzle.
Every time the knife manages to skewer the surface of the practice-dummies, I thank everything good and pure.
Realizing I'm doing somewhat well, I happen to get a little too excited and throw one behind me when my arm is arching back which makes the Gamemakers roar with laughter.
I make sure not to let it get to me. The next few knives hit the practice-dummies with precision. As my private session ends, I walk out, head held high proudly. I think I've done well enough and proved it to myself, and that's all that matters. For now, at least.
Training Center - 4th Floor
After dinner, we all sit on the plushy couches. I clutch a mug of hot cocoa while Bale has nothing but his fingers twining with blanket tassels. Our Mentors are drinking some Capitol juice, though if I'm right I saw Finnick pouring some alcohol into his glass.
"I hope you two do alright," Finnick says dryly.
Emma gives him a sour look, and then pats me on the leg. Her green eyes are gentle. "That's his way of saying you two did an amazing job no matter what."
Finnick rolls his famous sea-green eyes. I almost ask him why he's being so rude, but the Panem crest appears on our (now replaced) screen.
Caesar Flickerman smiles at his desk, his yellow hair, lips, and eye-makeup glowing. "Hello, Panem! Thank you for tuning in to our three-part pre-Games show. I hold in my hand the scores, and good job to all you brave Tributes. Now, the scores are as follows..."
As he says our names, our photographs appear on screen, a score appearing right under it.
"Porcelain, District One... Nine. Elegance, District One... Ten. Luna, District Two... Nine. Maxx, District Two... Eight. Digit, District Three... Five. Teresa, District Three... Four."
I hold my breath, and squeeze my hot drink.
My face appears on the screen, blue eyes staring back at me.
"Sea-Pearl, District Four... Eight."
I grin, and let out a sigh of relief. I made it. Not an amazing score, but not a horrible one.
"Bale, District Four... Ten."
Everyone leaps up and attacks Bale. Suddenly, I'm forgotten. They hug him, and tell him how good that is. Only one other Tribute got such a good score.
I drink the hot chocolate quietly, trying to listen to the rest of the scores and not focus on them.
"Steam, District Five... Three. Amarella, District Six... Six."
Hm. The girl from 6 got a good score. Or, I guess I should say Amarella did. Emma must see me, because she sits down and tells me that I did a good job. Not as good as Bale, I remind myself.
That night, I watch the stars glittering out the window. While the Avox girl re-bandages my feet, I think about home. Mama, all my siblings. The last time Oceanis saw me, she was running towards me and then got sedated by a peacekeeper. Seagrass shoved the pearl bracelet into my hand.
The last time everyone else saw me, I was crumpled in a heap on the floor.
I try not to think about Papa.
I lay a hand on my bracelet, tucked by my pillow, and with the other hand, I tap a glass remote. The scene out the window changes, morphing from the Capitol, and I see a frozen tundra.
A few more clicks, and suddenly tears flood my eyes.
It's the ocean.
Foamy waves lap over each other, seagulls crying from above. If I close my eyes, I can feel the hot sand. The glare of the sun beating down on me. I can smell the salty air and feel the ocean mist.
I lean back once the Avox finishes my bandages, and watch her leave. With a sigh, I squeeze away the tears that had sprung to my eyes and get into a soft, silky nightgown. The others that I've worn are gone. No Tribute will be made to wear the same thing twice. For a week, we live in the lap of Capitol luxury. And then it's into the Arena.
The Arena, where I might not come out alive. The thought speeds up my heart, and I try to forget everything as I crawl into bed.
But what is one supposed to do when they could die in three days, and never see their family again?