[11] - August

"The ones without the legs are snakes, and the ones with legs are lizards," Rochelle recites back to me. "We should stay away from snakes. Lizards are usually fine."

"Usually," I agree. Rochelle and I are sitting in the corner of the training center, books in hand. I'm sitting against the wall, and she's laying next to me with her head against my legs. "Tell me something about plants."

"If a stem has three leaves sprouting from it, it's poison ivy," Rochelle informs me. "Or a similar muttation. Not good. And plants with square-shaped stems are good to eat."

"Sounds right to me," I confirm. "You're getting good."

"I have a good teacher," Rochelle murmurs back.

I hear a crash nearby. Princess is throwing spears, one after the next, sending practice dummies left and right. After a few throws, she sends me a dirty look, but she looks away quickly when she sees that I'm watching her.

I move my leg a bit, forcing Rochelle to lift her head. "I'm going to get another manual," I explain. Rochelle just nods, moving to sit up against the wall.

Princess pauses her assault as I approach. "What's going on?" I ask as she sets her spear to the side.

"Nothing," Princess says nonchalantly. "You know, just preparing for the Individual Assessments. They're almost here, you know."

"I know," I say. "You just seem... on edge."

"Oh, you know, I just want to do well," Princess sighs. "I want the Gamemakers to like me."

"They will," I assure her. "Just be yourself and they'll love you."

Princess's face breaks into a smile. "Okay," she says quietly. "But you should help me prepare, August. You're my partner in here. I feel like you've been abandoning me since you started talking to her."

I almost laugh. Here it is again; Princess just can't let this go. "I'm not your partner, Princess," I remind her. "Calder is. And you know I'm just trying to do what I can to survive. Rochelle's not very capable, and I need her to stay alive so that I can win the Games. You know that."

"Calder means nothing to me," Princess says, brushing my words away. "You know that what I have with him is nothing compared to what I have with you. I'm tied to Calder for survival purposes - and you're the same with Rochelle - but our history goes way deeper, August. You promised my father you'd look after me in here. I don't feel very well cared for."

I shudder a bit; I did promise her father that. But times have changed since then. Choosing Princess over Rochelle would be a fatal mistake.

"I have to go," I say, patting Princess on the shoulder. "You know I always have your best interest at heart, and that won't change. Good luck with your preparations."

I can feel Princess' eyes watching me as I return to Rochelle's corner, and I feel their intensity until we're called for our Individual Assessments.

"Good luck," Rochelle calls as Peacekeepers escort me away from the other tributes. As the male tribute from District One, I don't even have to wait with the others for my assessment. I'm first in line, after all.

The room of the Assessments is a small subsection of the Training Center, overlooked from a balcony by the Gamemakers. At the center of the group of Gamemakers is the man in charge: Acanthus Sylverthorn, the Head Gamemaker. Just like the tributes, Decimus made me study this man in detail. Unlike the tributes, though, there was much more information for me to study. I feel like I know more about Sylverthorn than I do about myself.

"August Vassault," I call, bowing to the Gamemakers. "District One."

"Vassault," Sylverthorn calls slowly down to me. He's stroking his long, white beard. "I've met your father. Years ago, before I was Gamemaker, of course, or else I'd get myself into trouble. He told me you'd wind up here eventually. I guess he was right."

"He was, sir," I call back, trying to still my shaking hands. "Here I am."

"Well, I look forward to evaluating your capabilities," Sylverthorn says. "Begin when you are ready."

I slowly approach the rack of weapons in front of me, but I already know exactly which weapon to grab. I wrap my hands around the hilt of a sword, and the Training Center transforms into my backyard around me. I can almost smell the flowers from my mother's garden; the chirping of birds across the yard haunts my ears.

I've been rehearsing my Individual Assessment for five years. Every single step, every single move, every single pause, is choreographed precisely. Not a single thought passes through my mind as I pass through the motions of my familiar dance. I no longer perform this ritual; I am this dance. The sword is a part of me, and I am a part of it.

It's not until I've finished my performance that I remember where I am. I'm not in my backyard anymore; my father's not going to come and give me critiques like he's done for the last five years. It's just me and the Gamemakers in here, and they look impressed. I'm met with a wave of applause as I complete my routine.

"Thank you, Mr. Vassault," Sylverthorn calls, his voice echoing around the room. "You are dismissed."

Sylverthorn looks impressed, and I'm filled with a sense of pride. I've done it; all my hard work has paid off. I've proven myself as a competitor, and most importantly, I've made my father proud. Now I just have to hope that Sylverthorn enjoys Rochelle's performance half as much as mine.