Jason Baize (17) D8M
Walking into the training center filled me with a confidence I didn't know I had. I may not have been the most confident of people, shying away from public outings and avoiding eye contact whenever people wanted to talk to me, but I knew how to fake it. Quickly I learned that faking confidence made everyone respect me more. People moved out of my way when I looked to where I was heading, subconsciously avoiding my path so that I could walk wherever I needed to. And I knew exactly where I needed to go.
Easily I found my way to the hand-to-hand station. I knew ahead of time that I couldn't possibly learn everything I would need to know in a fight. That would take years upon years of constant training. Still, I could learn the basics. I could use what my dad had taught me when I asked how to avoid getting mugged. I could use all his advice in making sure the opponent didn't get back up again. And I could learn a lot more in one week of constant training under an actual professional trainer who would be able to spot my strengths and weaknesses and help me fix them.
The trainer I asked for, a 3 on a scale of one to 9, seemed unimpressed with me. I couldn't blame her. She was clearly far better than I was; I would have been best fit trying to fight a 1. I knew fighting stance and I knew how to maintain balance. I could throw a punch and I could kick. I could do exactly one of those things at a time. If I punched I would break stance, and if I kicked I would lose balance. She probably figured I was some cocky, overconfident kid who was going to try to join the Careers and would inevitably die in the Bloodbath. She was probably right about one of those things.
I squared up when she instructed me to, my feet shoulder-width apart and parallel to each other. I put one hand in front of my face and one by traitorously-large chest. Smoothly the instructor moved my lower fist to my hip and I let it settle there, remembering how I was supposed to hold myself. One fist would always remain near my face, ready to add strength to a punch from the other, or to block if needed. The other would always be on my hip. Whenever I punched they would trade places. That was simply how it went.
"Hit me as hard as you can, please," I requested. I was a bit spooked by the idea but knew that it would more closely simulate a real fight if she was giving her all. I also knew that my crappy reflexes stood a chance at being heightened if there was a very real chance of my nose being broken.
My instructor - I noticed that she had a name tag that said Aspasia - flashed me a grin when I said that and immediately threw a punch at my face. Much to my surprise, I actually blocked it, my high-block hitting her hand away with impressive form. Also to my surprise she immediately threw a second punch, that one landing square in my stomach.
I put one hand up, curling over for a second to catch the breath that had been knocked out of me. Then I looked up and asked, "This is supposed to simulate real fighting, right? I can fight dirty?" When my instructor nodded it was my turn to grin. Sure, she was going to beat the crap out of me, but at least I could have fun the whole time, and maybe I'd be able to learn a thing or two.
Once I had my breath I stood up again and squared up again. When my instructor nodded I threw the first punch, fully ready for her block. I threw a second and she blocked it as well, leaving her stomach open for me to knee. She curled over for just a second before lunging forward and dropping me to my back, pinning me on the ground with ease. I tried to knock her off but couldn't, and she showed me how to break a pin, letting me practice on her for a while. Then we stood up again and began anew.
For hours I fought with Aspasia, getting in maybe one hit for each of the four she got. My whole body ached and I was covered in bruises, but I was aglow with the knowledge that I was learning. I could get out from being pinned - albeit only if the person pinning me weighed about 120 pounds - and I could block punches better. I could also steel myself for getting punched a lot better, able to take a hit without absolutely collapsing anymore. It was only three real solid things, and two of them weren't useful skills until they had been honed, but it was better than nothing, and I could only imagine how much I could learn over the course of a week.
I only took a break to eat lunch, admitting to myself that I had to eat in order to stay in shape. The Capitol had the best food I had ever seen and I mentally calculated the calories of all of it. I knew I shouldn't. I would need every calorie I could get to stand a chance in the Games, but still I hated myself for each one I consumed. I put vegetables on my plate, avoiding the sweets, and took lean meats, avoiding the delicious, fatty meats I saw. Each bite was sand in my mouth while I forced it down, waiting to be able to go back to training and get away from food for as long as I could.
It was during lunch that I heard the comments. "Is she... he?... y'know..." "She got Reaped as a male?" "He's just trans, it's no big deal. But is he male-to-female or female-to-male?" Each comment annoyed me, though the last the least of all. It wasn't their topic to discuss. It wasn't their discussion to be having at all. If they wanted to know they could ask me, and I would be the one who chose what to say. Any questions I wanted to answer I would and any I didn't like I would avoid.
I finished my meal in silence before going up to Calico, her chipperness calming me down a bit before we even began to speak. It was only once I was with her that I realized my annoyance was actually anger, something that I had been working on tempering. "Hey," I said to my escort, trying to figure out exactly how to word what I wanted to say. "Is there any way I can, like, announce my pronouns? Like a pin or something? I... I've been hearing kids trying to guess and it's just really annoying. I'm not going to explain myself to strangers."
Calico nodded and led me to a room full of printers and tablets. She instructed me to draw exactly what I wanted, and I stared at the tablet blankly, not knowing how it worked. So she told me to describe what I wanted and I did my best. "Just a circle, please? With the trans pride colors. And He/Him and Xe/Xim on it, since I use both pronouns. So I don't get asked any more questions. Like why I got Reaped as a male."
Quickly Calico drew what I wanted, my pronouns written in a gorgeous font, and sent it to the printer to be made. They were 3-D printers, she had explained on the walk. They would take seconds to make exactly what I wanted. While the printer began to boot up she stood and wrapped me in her arms and I let her. I wrapped my arms behind her back while she played with my hair, holding me tight while I found myself crying into her shoulder. "You're a boy," she said quietly, rocking just a little while she spoke. "You, Jason, are just as much of a boy as you think you are."
If you can't tell, I've had a crap week! But hey, at least I finally got another chapter out.