Chapter 6: The Interviews

The Capitol - Training Center

When I wake up, Emma has me take a shower, and then does my hair herself. She twists it, trying to figure out how to style it. Her own curly brown hair is left down, split-ends untrimmed. Mentors are out of sight during the Games and all the reverie before them. It's the Tributes that get shown off.

Summer has me walk in tall shoes, wave a fan, and hold my dress "just right."

Emma coaches me on the angle for my interview, and she figures I should try humble. I manage okay, but I keep talking about my family. Finnick hears us, walking past Emma's room where we sit on the silk couches.

"No," he says "You can't focus on any part of you if that's going to be your angle."

I shake my head. "No, I want to speak about my siblings."

Finnick stares at me before he turns away, stalking off, probably to go mentor Bale.

So humble is out of the question. We finally decide on hopeful.

Finnick finds this angle even more unbelievable when Emma tells him.

Training Center - Remake Center

Soon, the next day, I'm back with my prep team. Vonix scrapes my skin with a hard sponge that feels like a rock while the others pull my hair until my scalp aches.

When they're done, I'm totally clean. My fingernails are glossy ovals like before the Tribute Parade, my hair as soft as silk, and my fair skin glowing. Soon I'm put into my interview outfit by Mirarora.

She's outdone herself.

It's a floor-length, shimmering silver gown layered with glittering lace and sparkling sheer layers. My hair is pulled into a tight bun with some curls falling out.

My makeup is soft whites with hints of pink. My white slippers complete the look, and I'm considered ready.

Mirarora tugs at the spaghetti-straps of the dress. "It's feminine, and it's innocent." She gently reaches under my chin, moving my head as my she scans my makeup. "We're playing up the innocent part. You're fourteen, correct?" I begin to nod, and she steadies my head again, looking down at my hair. "You're younger than the other Tributes we usually get from your District. It'll be an edge for the Sponsors. You'll be innocuous and harmless to the other Tributes."

She finally lets go of my head, looking me right in the eye. My stylist puts her hands on her hips, nails filed to look like claws. "But in the Arena they'll see you're competition to contend with."

I don't reply at first. "Thank you for the dress," is all I say.

It's taken us about six hours to get me ready, and now it's nearly eight o'clock. I'm led to the bottom of the Training Center, to a hallway I haven't been in before. The other Tributes are being led there as well, everyone being quiet and barely speaking to one another. The District partners share a few words, though some look like they're trying to not get sick.

Once we're in a complete line out in the hall, ordered by District, noise blares from ahead. Doors open, a man in gold emerging with a clipboard. He waves his hand and then the Tributes in front of me are moving. I keep my eyes pinned on the back of Bale's head as we emerge into a sea of bright lights, the sudden boom of the opening music, and a cheering crowd. I can see the rainbow of colors in my peripheral vision, spotted with flashes of bright lights. I ignore them. I try to calm my speeding heart as we our Tribute train files into the first row and take our seats.

The familiar voice of Caesar Flickerman, loud and bubbly, sounds in laughs. The Capitol cheers in response, adoring and overjoyed about the upcoming 68th Hunger Games. As the noise settles down, Caesar starts warming up the crowd as they settle a bit. I focus on my dress, smoothing my hands over the rough lace until some glitter rubs off on them.

"First to take the stage is the one, the only, from District One - Elegance!"

Elegance climbs the stairs to the stage, waving with a bright smile, his plum suit studded with glimmering diamonds.

I take a breath, much calmer now than I expected to be. So much has happened today that it's just felt like motions. I glance at my District partner, focusing on his face for the first time since I've arrived.

Even I have to admit that Bale looks very nice in his black suit. His stylist must've decided to go for a more vintage look with him. The longer I look at his suit, the more I realize it's not so much black as shades of navy. It's like the part of the ocean between the twilight and midnight zones, just when the water almost can't reach light.

I tear my eyes away to look around Bale, past the pairs from 3 and 2. Porcelain glances over, glaring at me. Heat spreads up my neck, but then I realize she's glaring at someone behind me. A quick glance over my shoulder reveals it to be Amarella, the girl from 6.

Amarella is wearing a knee-length red dress that ends out in a tutu. It's shimmering with jewels. Some are entwined with her side-swept, orange hair. She's stunning.

While definitely jealous, Porcelain does a good job of hiding it from the rest of us once she stops glaring. In her interview she keeps gushing about how lucky she is to have "such lovely competitors!" Her simple pink gown and curled blonde hair make her look just as innocent and harmless as me. The only difference between us is that I know her look to be a lie.

As the petite girl from District 3 steps onstage, I get nervous. My hands are damp and I feel sick. Where did the calm from before go? The lace doesn't absorb anything from my sweaty palms. I want to run and hide somewhere, and suddenly feel vulnerable in my light dress. Bale turns to look at me as soon as District 3 starts talking.

"Are you alright? You look ill," he murmurs, not loud enough for the others to hear. Or the cameras.

My eyes flicker up to the large television screens broadcasting Caesar laughing. The cameras aren't looking at us right now. I nod, clutching my head. "I think so... You should be thinking about your interview" I whisper. I try to steady myself against the wall. Why is he being so nice? What does is matter how I'm feeling?

He gives me a worried look. "Sea-Pearl, if something's wrong, just tell me. Are you nervous?"

For some reason, it isn't just nervousness. I give a weak smile, trying to hide it. It's almost as if I can feel the time ticking down. "Yeah, that must be it. Go ahead, I'll be fine."

Bale knits his eyebrows together, and then breathes out through his nose. "Alright. Drink some water or something." He turns away, watching the interview - or at least pretending to - until District 3 waves goodbye and the crowd cheers.

"And now," Caesar says.

Bale runs a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath.

"Please welcome District Four's Bale Evestrom!" Caesar announces, beaming down at Bale as the crowd goes berserk again.

Bale gets up, walking to the stairs. His silhouette sways every so slightly in front of the bright lights as he climbs the steps, and then grins a confident smile when he shakes Caesar's hand. It's like they're old friends. Bale turns and waves to the crowd. He doesn't look at us Tributes in the front row. It's as if we aren't even here. As if he's already won the Games and is back for his interviews. Or maybe like they never happened at all.

For a moment, his light-blue eyes connect with the camera, and I feel warmth wash over me as if he's looking at me.

When he shifts his gaze, I want him to look back. A shiver runs up my spine. What's going on?

As he talks, I notice more and more about him, sound seeming to dissipate as my head aches. But I pay attention to Bale. His sandy-copper hair is the same color as dark cinnamon. He has a quick smile, yet caring eyes. His laugh, echoed by Caesar, is nothing but friendly. His interview flies by as I wait for my nausea to pass.

By the time Bale's heading back to the seat beside me, the crowd whistling and screaming, the sensation of terror and feeling like an ant under a microscope is gone, adrenaline taking its place. I straighten up in my seat, fixing my gaze on the stage.

Caesar stands up, and smiles so big it almost hurts to watch.

Finally, "now, Sea-Pearl Redweed, everyone!"

I'm a totally different person than in the Tribute Parade. I wave, and glide to the stage, blowing a kiss to the cheering crowd. The lights are so bright I can hardly make out the dark shadows that compose the Capitol citizens and their wild headdresses and hats. Caesar Flickerman takes my hand, guiding me to the cushioned white seats. Caesar sits down across from me, his lightbulb-encrusted suit twinkling.

"So, Sea-Pearl, do you mind if I call you Pearl?" Caesar asks with a grin once they settle down.

I smile. "As long as I get to call you Sar."

He laughs. "Sar! I like that! Do you all like that?"

The crowd cheers, but I don't look at them. If I do, I'll be sick. So I focus on the lemon-yellow eyebrows, lips, and hair of Caesar Flickerman, Master of Ceremonies.

"Now, Pearl, I've been dying to ask: why did you volunteer for that girl in your District? Is she family?" Caesar asks, leaning in.

I shake my head. "Actually no. I just couldn't stand the thought of her going into the Games with no preparation. Really, she wouldn't have survived an hour."

He gives a soft smile, lemon-yellow lips curving. "How brave."

I feel myself blush, and thank him.

"So... how are you liking it here in the Capitol?" He asks next.

"I love it," I lie, because it's not too hard when I just focus on the showers and the hot chocolate. I try to forget why I'm here. "The showers are amazing, the food is delicious, and the view is breathtaking."

He nods. "Thank you, Pearl. How are you faring being so far from your home in District Four?"

A lump appears in my throat. "Um, it's difficult. I really miss my family."

I have to bite my tongue so I won't begin to cry, and try to think of the pearls in my room.

Caesar nods again. "And who are your family? Do you have any siblings?"

I give a little laugh. "Eleven, actually."

Caesar gasps and grins, the Capitol citizens giving similar reactions peppered with a couple of surprised laughs. "That's a lot of children!"

I smile. "Yes, and my mother takes care of all twelve of us. She is, to sum it up in two words, the best."

"She must be a wonderful lady to raise such a fine young woman as yourself," Caesar says with a nod.

I thank him. Caesar always does this, managing to bring out the best in Tributes and make sure to show their personality in a flattering light.

The rest of the interview goes by and I talk about my 'strategy' of my alliance with Districts 1 and 2, just trying to use my knowledge in the Arena: Hopeful, Sea-Pearl, hopeful! I keep having to tell myself.

I'm still repeating it in my head when we're all led back into the same hallway we started in. The other Tributes chatter, walking towards the double-doors we came in, where our Mentors will be in just a few minutes.

A hand lands on my shoulder.

I jump, yanking my shoulder away.

I turn in a swirl of silver skirts to find Bale staring at me, eyes wide and apologetic. His hand is still in the air. "Sorry... I didn't mean to scare you."

I take a deep breath, suddenly embarrassed. The Games haven't even started yet and I'm already this jumpy? What would the others have done? Porcelain probably would've grabbed his wrist and broken it without even looking to see who it was. All I do is wrap my arms around myself, feeling all too small in front of him. "Don't worry about it."

"Are you okay?" he asks, taking a tentative step towards me. "During the interviews, were you alright? You did great. It's just... before, I was a bit worried about you."

I look away. Why does he care? He did great, of course. I'm sure he's had plenty of classes on how to look perfect in interviews and charm the crowd of potential Sponsors. What am I? Some frilly girl who's a "fine young woman." Fine young people don't win the Hunger Games.

"It doesn't matter," I snap without thinking.

Bale frowns. "What?"

I look away. "I don't need your pity, you know. Saving me breakfast, making small talk before the parade, asking me if I'm okay... you aren't supposed to care. We're District partners, not friends."

Bale watches me for a moment longer before his expression changes from concern to furrowed brows.

My stomach drops with his lips as the form a frown.

I already feel guilt twisting in my stomach. Mama would scold me for being rude. But I can't bring myself to apologize.

"You know, Sea-Pearl," Bale says, "being a Tribute doesn't give you permission to be a brat."

My jaw falls open at the insult.

"We're all in the same boat here," Bale mutters. He starts walking past me, not sparing a second look back. "May as well accept it and realize allies are good to have."

My brain joggles over words but none come out as he goes to the double-doors. They open for a moment, letting in excited chatter, and then they click closed, leaving me alone in the quiet hallway under buzzing lights.

I scowl at the floor. What's wrong with me?

I don't even bother going to the double-doors. Instead I turn and head towards the elevator. I slam my hand on the 6 button for our apartment. As the elevator rises, I can see my face turning red with anger and embarrassment.

I think back to what we he said.

We're all in the same boat here.

"We are not the same, Bale Evestrom," I say through gritted teeth. He's a trained Tribute. I'm a child.

I walk quickly back up to my room the second the doors open, scrub off all the glitter and makeup, yank off my slippers, and sink into my bed with my beautiful dress still on.

I fall asleep with the three-pearled bracelet in my hand.