Since there are four reader-submitted mentors I decided to do their Districts for the trains and do everyone else as we go through parades and training and all that.


Totsuki Sugihara, District Two mentor

My pencil and notebook lay on the table in front of me as Nero and Nailah took their seats. Gallant was tied up at some pretentious Capitol event so it was just me on the train with the new pair. It was super old-fashioned to use a paper notebook instead of a computer pad like everyone used these days, but I'd learned it from my mentor and pretty much everything I knew about mentoring came from Shale.

"So, what are your plans for winning the Games?" I asked.

Nero launched into his answer first while Nailah seemed content to hang back and gather her thoughts. "I don't really see the need for a plan as such," Nero said. "I'm just here to kill everyone and go home, right?"

"I want to stick close to my allies and not take any big risks right away," Nailah said when Nero was done.

"Hmm…" I said as I made some notes in my book. Actually I was just doodling. I wasn't really a note-taker but I liked having something to do with my hands while I thought.

"When I first got here my mentor told me my plan didn't stink but it wasn't the best plan. Now I'm a mentor and I can tell you your plans stink."

"I kinda thought you'd say that," Nailah said. I could see the conflict on Nero's face. He looked half-insulted and half-amused and I watched the amused side win out as he went with self-deprecation instead of anger.

"Okay, maybe I'm not quite an expert yet," he joked.

"And neither of those plans are worthless. They just need refining," I said. "The thing with trying to stay close to your Career allies and keeping out of danger is that all your allies want that, too. So you're going to have to be ready for danger in the Arena and get yourself mentally ready for the possibility that even Careers die in the Bloodbath, so watch yourself and don't depend on anyone else. And it is true that the only way to win the Games is to kill everyone else. But everyone else wants that, too. You need to hone in on a few dependable and efficient ways to go about it."

I could see the wheels turning in their heads. They were willing to take criticism and for a Career that was one of the rarest and most valuable skills.


Rodney Sanchez, District Six mentor

It would never not be weird to me that I was a mentor. I didn't think of myself as a Victor, really. I thought of myself as a volunteer worker. As an advocate for addiction rehabilitation. As a painter. As a guy named Rodney. Not really as a Victor. That just kind of… happened. I still wasn't sure how.

"I don't know how I'm going to do this," R.J. said. "The only way to win the Games is to be a terrible person. I know I can, but I don't know if I want to. If I see someone who's hurt in the Arena I don't know if I'll be able to leave them to die. I'll want to help them and I just know I'll think surely they wouldn't hurt someone who helped them right? Because people are good, right? And then I'll get stabbed in the back and remember what the world is really like."

"Wow, I don't know how I'm going to do this either, but that's just because I'm dumb," Porsche mused.

"I'm sure you're not," I said.

"I kinda am," Porsche said. "Really I'm just super bad with impulse control."

"Oh… that's pretty important in the Arena," I said.

"Yeah. I'll probably be the injured one R.J. sees." she turned to him. "If you end up helping me I promise I won't stab you in the back."

Porsche was joking around but I could see that underneath it she saw reality. Different people deal with their mortality in different ways. People like R.J. think about their lives and their legacies and what they want to get out of their time on Earth. People like Porsche made up their minds that by refusing to be serious they could keep things the way they'd always been. Somewhere in there Porsche knew she was almost certainly going to die. She just wasn't going to let that stop her from living.


Rybbon Marboox, District Eight mentor

I'd been mentoring for a long, long time, it felt like. The thing about Capitol cosmetic technology was that I always seemed to stay the same age. That meant every year the new Tributes looked younger. Kjole was just a year younger than I'd been when I was Reaped. Archibald was one of the youngest Tributes I'd ever mentored. When I was seventeen I felt so old. Looking at Kjole I couldn't believe how young I must have looked. She still had the roundness of a child's face and the angelic peace that you lose when you leave childhood behind. Archibald was so young he hadn't even hit his growth spurt. What a thing to do, to cut off a life before it even finishes developing.

Archibald looked at me with a serious, strangely businesslike expression.

"I'm going to die, aren't I?" he said.

Kjole looked at me like she was waiting for me to say something encouraging- that anyone could win, or that I'd seen young Victors before. Both those things were technically true. I didn't think that was what Archibald meant at all.

"The odds… aren't in your favor," I admitted. "There's always hope. There is always hope." It came out sounding almost like hope: fragile, thin, based on nothing at all, but enduring.

Archibald looked down at the table and his cheeks twitched as he tried to keep himself together. A thirteen-year-old boy shouldn't have to try to be brave.

"This isn't fair." Kjole had been quiet and reserved since she came into the room but something lit up in her eyes as she looked up. "It shouldn't be like this."

"That's right," I said, making an awkward segue that would give Kjole plausible deniability that she hadn't been talking about the Games but about her partner. "What a way to meet each other. Let's take five and get settled into our rooms. We can meet back here in, let's say, two hours. Enough time to look around and take a shower if you want."

Kids shouldn't have to try not to cry. If they have to, they should be able to do it in private.


Nyra Pickering, District Ten mentor

The first day of mentoring was always the most stressful. No matter how many years I didn't get executed for being a rebel I would always be just a little bit nervous that this was my year. So I was always extra careful to be extra bland when I met my Tributes.

"Guess what!" Bess said as she pumped my hand in a handshake that probably just felt normal to her. "Omar and I might ally!"

"We knew each other a little bit in Ten already and we definitely want to bring it home for our District," Omar said as he slid in next to her.

"It works out really well because he's all smart and I-" she flexed her arm so the muscle stood out stark at the end of her short-sleeved shirt- "am super strong."

That was a nice safe topic of conversation so I let them stick with it. From what I'd heard so far in the Capitol reports, either of them could win. The Games took plenty of skill and smarts and all but the cold truth was brute strength was often a deciding factor. If those two worked together they were more or less the perfect package. Of course this package was mixed in with twenty-two others that all wanted to break it all apart. Perhaps I was better at mentoring than I was at metaphors. Not likely, though, since I didn't have any successful mentorships either.

"What kind of Arena do you think it will be?" Omar asked.

"Oh… I don't really know," I said.

Oh, I thought maybe mentors got insider information or something," Omar said.

"Don't I wish," I said. We did usually hear some things but I didn't want any hints of impropriety. If I did find out what the Arena was I'd tell them but I'd have to be sneaky about it. "Nope, all I can do is guess."