Chariot Prep, Chariot Rides, and First Night in the Capitol

Scylla Frigard, 18, District Two Female

The prep team is nice, I guess. Really chatty, though. I don't think any of them have shut up since I've come into the room to get cleaned up, except for to let me get out a response at maximum length of "Mm-hmm."

Not that I'm not grateful for it. I don't like talking to people. There is just a line between helpful and downright insanity inducing. But my inner silence also lets the demons. At least they're soft right now.

The chatty trio of Hippolyta, Eria, and Pluto's lips are moving too speedily for me to keep up with what they are saying. I think only half of it is about me. I only catch snippets here and there:

"-the perfect build for—"

"-oh, how wonderful!"

"He said that?!"

"-and horrible skin, too, I don't think she—"

I put a hand over my bare chest self-consciously as I sit cramped in the bath outside and stare absentmindedly out of the window into the city below, a towering gray imperial storm of building with little sprinkles of all colors of the rainbow and billboards advertising the very thing that I'm going into brighten up the scene. Green mountains, the tallest with icy white tops, guard the city. It reminds me of Two. I don't like the memory.

It would make a splendid painting, though, I can see that even from my low vantage point on the third floor.

It's a bit crazy to think back on what I have just done by volunteering for this, but on a different level, it isn't crazy at all. I know that I might not win. I probably won't win. I might even be the weakest career. But I don't have a problem with that anymore.

"Oh, shut up, you know you're the best of all of them!" Ichabod's whiny, pre-pubescent voice yells, fed up, out of the blue. "Don't be so weak." To Ichabod, there is not a more offensive insult.

"Sometimes I worry about her," Orchid says in a concerned tone to that mysterious somebody she is always talking too. "Doubting herself all the time."

"She is weak," Calisto chimes in.

"She'll die in that arena, and everybody will only remember her as the weird girl, the disappointment, the failure," whispers Yung in his horrible strangled moan. Calisto jumps in now, their twin voices intertwining. "Nobody even cares about her, nobody ever has. Not her father, not her peers, and not her dear, dead, boyfriend, who killed himself because she wasn't good enough."

"Stop it," I mutter to them.

"Those two certainly aren't helping," says Orchid.

"Counterproductive, they are," agrees Ichabod.

I pluck at my scabbed arm nervously. I know I shouldn't be, because if I do it much longer, it will swim up my arm, crawl up my shoulder and wrap around my neck until it seizes my brain. And then it will all be over…

"Ugh, darling, what, have you been doing to yourself?" Hippolyta chides me, clicking her tongue. "We must have that disinfected."

"And while we're at it, the face paint needs to go."

"Honestly, why any self-respecting girl would mar her face with such a thing?"

Hippolyta nears me, her four-inch dragon claws clicking menacingly as her gleeful face seizes my wrist from out of the murky liquid that they've been soaking me in to wipe my scar. It stings, but only mildly. I let her do it.

But then Pluto skips over to me holding a wet towel and Eria lifts up my chin with her purple hand, and this can't possibly be happening.

"NO!"

I twist Pluto's arm and send him tumbling into the bath, meanwhile pinning Eria's skinny arm to her back as she writhes in pain against my naked body.

"Aaahhh! Stop it! Stop it! Somebody, save me from this savage girl!"

Peacekeepers come racing into the room and I let go before they can strike me, my hands going immediately to the parts of them I don't want them to see.

"Yes! Get them, girl! Show them who is boss!" Ichabod cackles, thrilled.

I can't let them touch the blue. It keeps them at bay, the voices. And I can't bear them not being at bay, going on rampage throughout my head, incapacitating me. It can't be like that again, pressed up sweating against the bedsheets as I cried with my hands to my ears to stop the horrible, horrible pain. I'm too… too weak to let it happen.

I know, even though I try to convince myself that I don't, that all of this could stop. I could make it stop. But I don't want to make it stop, because I know that means no more picking at my arm, no more face paint, no more protection. I can't deal with that sadness and struggle with that pain again. I'm scared of it.

It's better just to stay like this, to live with it, even if the quality of life is far from perfect. Far from passable.

I wonder what Einar would say now, if he were still here. If only I could hear his voice in my head, to soothe me, to comfort me.

Would he be ashamed of me? I know I am? Would he be mad at me for not trying harder to make him happy? Couldn't he see that I was struggling too hard to notice? Or Is he mad at me for not noticing? Doesn't he know that I would have poured everything I had into trying to save him? We needed each other. Without him, I have no one.

"She has me," Orchid says. "And I hope that she knows that I give my all into making sure that she's alright. It isn't easy work, you know. The best that I can do is preventing her from self-harm, or something as dastardly and dangerous as that. She needn't worry about what is in the past, nigh, what is in the coming days. She must prepare."

In that moment, I am grateful for Orchid. I have no idea what I would do if I was just left with the male voices: Ichabod, Yung, and Calisto, who are all graciously silent for the moment. Like the mother I don't have anymore.

Better than the mother I had, at least during the later years. Before it all came down on her like a fog, she was caring, and sweet, and loving. But then the circles under her eyes grew as she shrunk and shrunk until she was a wisp of a woman who couldn't have a full conversation with anyone other than her own voices. Father was no help. He was worse to her than me. And now her blood, if she is dead, most likely, though I'll never be privy to where the ran off when she did make her bid for escape, is on his hands.

I want to be stronger than Mother so badly. I know that if her feet still walked the earth, she'd want me to be. To overcome it.

Yung and Calisto go off on their tome now:

"You best not."

"You can't survive without us."

"You are nothing but a pathetic, pitiful little girl who doesn't know what is best for her."

"A naïve little girl."

"Yes, a naïve little girl."

On and on they go, like a demented merry-go-round.

I hope Mother is still alive, that she beat her demons without Father around, that she now lives free. Yes, I tell myself, she is living free.

I desperately want to live free, but I don't know if I'll have the chance.

Aquatico Espovera, 16, District Four Male

The pirate costume that they've put me in is… not ideal, to say the least. The belt is too large and droops down my waist, weighed down by the heavy rusty sword dangling off of it, as is the black coat, and the boots are stuffy and rubbery. I hate shoes so much, and these are perhaps my least favorite pair that I've ever worn. Seconds into wearing them, my socks are already wet with sweat. I tried asking my stylist, Avalon, to let me go barefoot, but no amount of charm could make happen.

"Ah, the finishing touch," she says, placing a yellow and green bird on my shoulder. "You look just like the pirates from your district!"

The pirates from my district are typically muscular, intimidating rogue Peacekeepers dressed in heavy rags and sometimes parts of their old uniforms, not this number straight out of pre-Panem pirate culture like they taught us in school.

"Thanks, Avalon. Should be easy to make people laugh."

If not with me, then at me. That's going to be the challenge. Normally, I can take and embrace laughter at me. But this is different. I need them to think of me as a charmer, not a joke.

The prep team enters from the side door now upon their boss's summoning, and they and Avalon escort me and a crowd out into the lobby of the Remake Center, and then we all pile into the elevator.

"Oh, don't you look, wonderful, Aquatico?"

"A nice break of pace for our district."

"My, do I love a challenge!"

"Moi," I say, feigning shock and offense as I put a hand to my chest and lean backwards. "I'd never have thought."

For a second, the team is so dumb they think that I am not joking but being serious, but they laugh as I drop my act.

Now, we step out into the warm summer air of dusk, greeted by twelve chariots and an assortment of tributes, stylists, prep teams, escorts, mentors, Peacekeepers, and horse attendants. The prep team and Avalon fall back upon realizing one of them accidentally grabbed the phone of somebody on Talisa's team instead of their own, and now begin to split up, frantically calling for them. Good. A nice time to socialize, this is.

Talisa is already standing at the chariot, waiting anxiously.

"Lookin' good, district partner," I say to her.

"Thanks. You too."

"You don't have to lie about it, I know I look like a toddler wearing Daddy's raincoat and boots. And don't even mention the hat, if you can even call it one and not a headpiece. I'd rather forget that I'm not wearing a sunhat."

Talisa laughs, a genuine one. She does look dazzling, radiant, even. Beautiful. I don't know if our stylists were trying to achieve a romance angle between their tributes this year, but it definitely won't work out if they are, seeing as Talisa seems thoroughly uninterested in me being more than a friend and probably has a boy back home, the same is true for me, and she is almost half a foot taller than me. They have her dressed as a siren, with a silky, silvery green tail, a heavy fake tan, a pink clam bra, and hair done up so that it seems to magically be floating in place.

Atop her rocky perch on the chariot, she smiles down at me. "Aquatico, are you sure that you don't want to ally with the careers? I know that I could make it happen, and everybody would like you. If you don't, it's sure not to be half as pleasant in the arena."

"Thanks, but no thanks," I say back to her.

I can sense someone coming over to us now, not making any effort to be subtle. It's the One boy, Marvel, I think. His hair is slicked back and sprayed silver along with the rest of him. He wears a toga bejeweled with diamonds.

"Hi," he says waving over to us. "Marvel Silver, pleased to meet you." His cheeks lift up with force against the rigid paint on his face. He probably isn't used to smiling. "I just wanted to come over and say hello to my allies."

"Hi," says Talisa.

"Pleasure. Where is your partner?"

"She isn't joining the Pack. From what I heard, you aren't either, are you?" He asks passive aggressively, still maintaining that annoying subtlety of fake people. I hope Talisa sees this.

"No. I might as well leave and let you have your strategy time. Bye."

"Thanks," says Marvel, smaert enough not to say that he was just about to ask.

"Be back in fifteen," Talisa says.

"I will. Don't put him under your song spell while I'm gone."

My eyes naturally drift over to Marvel's partner. I can't remember her name exactly, something similar to Talisa. She's standing all alone, dressed like Marvel except in a tighter and more feminine toga and sprayed in gold and not silver. In that moment, I decide to walk over, past the empty Three and Two chariots.

"A little birdy told me that you weren't joining the careers, mi amor," I say to her, raising my left shoulder to magnify the stuffed parrot perched on it.

"How did the birdy know? Did my district partner tell him?"

"Yes. And I'm not either, by the way, in case you hadn't guessed."

I wait to see if she'll take the obvious bait. She does. "So, you want to be allies?"

"Yes, I do, and I think you'll see that I'm a strong one. I can swim fast, I know fencing, and my gymnastic skills are off the charts, not that anyone has ever tried to chart them. I'm Aquatico Espovera, by the way. You?"

"Turquesa Miracelest, and I think you'll see that I can do more than hold my own as well."

"You're not even a bit rusty?"

Turquesa chuckles, looking down at her metallic-painted skin. "I like you, Aquatico."

"I think we'd make a good team."

"I think you're right. Allies it is, then."

"Shake on it?" I hold out my hand. She takes it.

Elior Gobel, 15, District Five Male

It seems as if things have only been going downhill since we got into the Capitol.

To start off, the prep team promptly and rudely undressed me, practically ripping off my clothes, and then quickly went to bantering amongst themselves and making no effort to conceal themselves whatsoever as they talked about how angry they were to be put with another "unpretty" tribute, a particularly skinny and immasculine one to boot. Then, they stuffed me into the skintight black heat-trapping unitard and wrapped in a stuffy fur coat of the same midnight color, both sparkling with blinding neon lights and a shiny big number five on the back.

Now, Konani and I stand side by side on the chariot, swaying in the warmth. The heat is sweltering, the hottest I've ever been coming from the hottest district in Panem, and I've always preferred the winter months. The careers stand right in front of us gathered at the District Four chariot, where the siren-dressed girl from Four, silver boy from One, gladiators from Two, and the girl from Nine—Panem help her, her costume is so awful—all chat. The meaner ones, like the One boy and Nine girl, occasionally glare over at us. Hell, all of them look intimidating. The Two girl, the smallest one, still has to have at least twenty pounds of fat and muscle on me even though we're the same height, probably thirty. The boy from Two and girl from Four, both stoic and making no effort to scare weaker tributes like me, still look like they could rip me in half.

The Nine girl seethes over at us, and I feel like I could wet myself, faint, and throw up all at the same time. How does she make being dressed as a massive bagel still scary?!

The heat makes me wobble. I feel nauseous. How could I ever face them and come out unscathed, let alone alive? I've always been weak. Never strong enough to build any muscle, never brave enough to stand up to the bullies at school who resented me for being rich, never either of those two things enough to fight back against Father when he took out his resentment on me.

"Easy there, it's ok." Konani puts a hand on my back, though I can barely feel it through the fur. It's still comforting. "This will only last a few minutes longer."

"Why are you always the one supporting me?" I ask her. "I need to step it up."

"No, you don't. Just don't let it all out now. You can do it later. And then, once you do, it'll never be that bad again."

She smiles at me, and even though I'm sweltering, I still feel a hot flash through my face. I smile back.

"There we go. Got to practice, that's what we're about to be doing for the next half hour."

"I don't know how I'm going to make it through that. The heat, and the embarrassment. Is it wrong to hope that we're glossed over, because I do?"

"I don't want to be glossed over. I want them to remember me, not just my family. But no, it's not wrong to think that. Just push all of the negative thoughts down."

Konani is right. Just push all of the negative thoughts—and my lunch—back down. The last thing I want is another Reaping incident.

The stylists and prep teams break away from their rambling as one of them on Konani's team points to his fancy watch. "Only two minutes until the parade begins!"

"Remember, dears," my stylist, Venicia, says to us, "press the buttons at the same time and the dots on your shirts will light up. It will be exquisite!"

The gaggle of eight skip of to the stands to get a good vantage point, and our mentors are nowhere to be found. Atlas is probably trying to wrangle Antimony off somewhere. That leaves us alone again as all around us tributes who had been visiting at others' chariots hustle to their own and the roaring of the excited citizens above grows louder and louder.

Konani looks over, reading my face. "Don't worry, Elior. It's going to be fine. Just watch and see. When the night is done, nobody will be saying bad things about us."

"Thank you, so much. For just… being here. It helps, a lot."

"Any time."

I don't want this sensation to continue, Konani comforting me like this. I want to be the strong one just once. I want to show her. I want to show them all. I'm not going to worry, or panic, or anything like that how I always do.

"Tributes ready! One minute!"

Before I know it, the minute has passed in a blur and is up, and we are off of the track, displayed to the roaring crowds. The first to go is District One, met with standard fare of applause. Same with District Two, nothing special, and then the Threes. The Fours are doing quite well already. From the second that he is in the light, the boy is working the pirate gimmick as the girl shines and shimmers in her stunning costume, roses landing all around her.

It seems at first like we're overshadowed, wedged in between the Fours and the funny Six boy, despite our costumes being better than normal, at least visually. They're a pain in the ass to actually wear. It's overwhelming, being in the blinding lights, a cacophony surrounding me, in such stark contrast to seconds before. I waver. Konani steadies me.

Her arm ropes its way around my elbow. "For protection," she says. I hope her flushed face isn't because of the costume or the crowd.

I don't know what I'm doing now. My body is moving without my permission. My hand grasps hers and she makes no move to retreat. "On three," I say. "One. Two. Three!"

And then we light up the world behind us. All of a sudden, the roses are falling at my feet, at Konani's feet, at our feet, as one entity, a team, a pair. The crowd is pointing at us, cheering at us, applauding at us.

Despite feeling like I could pass out from heat exhaustion at any second and those constant, biting nerves of embarrassment and self-consciousness, this is the best moment of my life! Those nerves, they are too far down to hurt me now. Nothing can hurt me right now, my hand in Konani's.

At least, for now.

Carroll Heinback, 16, District Six Male

Keeley doesn't seem too happy about our costumes. I don't think I would be either if I was her, but mine does give me a chance to… stand out. To be humorous in the uncomfortable and albeit ridiculously silly Boeing 747 costume. Now that we've both been squashed into the electric blue and neon red plaster plane hanging off of either side of the chariot, there seems to be no going back. The prep teams have squashed the helmets of the same color onto our heads along with the safety goggles, and we look more like the race car drivers gambling and risking their lives in the abandoned sheds and warehouses of Backtown than actual pilots.

I'll have to work with what I can get. I'll still be able to get them to like me. I know they will be looking for me after my Reaping outfit fiasco. Whether the whole thing was good or bad has yet to be determined. It certainly got me attention.

Keeley is nowhere near as enthusiastic, yet she still manages to look noteworthy in her costume. It helps that she's been put in the driver's seat, that way she can break the typical thirteen-year-old mold if she hasn't already. Now, I look over to her.

"You ready?" I ask.

She only nods, but reassuringly for the most part.

At least we're trying. That's more than can be said for some of the other tributes here.

Behind us, a large contingent of outliers is forming: The pairs from Three, Seven, and Eleven, plus the young Ten boy and Twelve girl, have all crowded around the Eleven chariot. The Nine girl is fraternizing with the careers. The other four, however, look lifeless to some degree. The girl from Eight stands rigidly, like a statue, while her partner sobs uncontrollably beside her amidst futile attempts to keep himself acceptable looking. The Ten girl looks to be making no effort to socialize. As for the Nine boy, he looks positively aimless, hopeless even. None of them are trying.

I feel a surge of annoyance, maybe even something stronger. Why aren't they trying? Why are they all just going to lay down and let what is coming to them arrive? Shouldn't they be fighting?

What am I thinking? Shouldn't I be happy that they have little drive to win since it makes things easier for me? That feels wrong. I'm not that kind of person.

I just can't stand these four, though. I can't stand quitters. They should feel hope, they should pray on it and fight their hardest. Without hope, I'd have withered away into a sad, ugly failure. But I kept on trying, I persevered. And if I persevered through losing Hardy, I can for sure persevere through this.

Keeley will persevere, too. She just has the feeling of a fighter about her, somebody just as opportunistic as me. We'll make a good team.

"So, just to get it straight, I'm going to be playing up the crowd while you do the driving and press the buttons for the machine, right?" I inquire.

"Yes." Keeley pushes it out nervously.

"Okay, then."

The alliance of nine looks tempting as I glance back. They already make up about half of the outliers, and one is always safer with more friends around to protect them. There is safety in numbers.

Keeley follows my gaze. "Carroll? Can it just be the two of us?"

I look back over at her, sitting anxiously in her seat. It's as if she's reverted now to the way she was on the first night, after she seemed so invigorated and empowered earlier. I don't want to push Keeley into something that she doesn't want to go into. I like Keeley, a lot. And I can tell just by looking at her that she is more of a lone wolf type.

"Sure. No problem. We'll still kick some major ass."

Keeley giggles, a high-pitched one, and covers her mouth. "Thanks, Carroll, you're the best."

"I know, I know, Captain Obvious."

"Parade starts in two!"

Now the clumps of tributes start to disperse and return to their chariots or do some last minute smartening up of themselves. I even find myself brushing my curly bangs out from under my helmet subconsciously as I look out at the tributes.

Hope is the key. Hope and optimism, they will get me through. But deep down, I know that that won't be enough. I stare out into the crowd of children. Will I kill any of them? Could I? Would I?

I don't want to kill. I don't know if I could live with myself. And I don't want to roll over and die either. I know that there must be a way to do both. There has to be. I must just have faith that it will present itself to me.

In the meantime, Keeley will more than suffice. We'll do well, just the two of us. Teamwork makes the dream work, as they say.

"Ready for takeoff?" This time it is Keeley who asks me.

"Ready. And nice pun, too. I see I'm rubbing off on you."

She tries to hide a smirk as the horse tenders set the reigns.

I hope this will be enough. I don't know what I would do if it wasn't.

Imperia Crimson, 18, District Nine Female

This is ridiculous! This is humiliating! This is infuriating!

A bagel of all things to dress me, Imperia Vixen, up as! This is beneath me!

This whole affair is beneath me. I don't care about the dumb parades, or never did back at home. But this is vital. This was supposed to be my chance to impress the Capitol, not amuse them. How am I supposed to do that dressed up as a fucking pastry?!

I can hardly move my arms as my elbows a locked into the bread that chafes against my unexposed skin. Walking is as difficult as if I am a toddler just now learning. My whole weight is disproportionate now, and my knees just barely scrape out of the costume. Seeds fall into my hair and itch my scalp. My stomach and back are left exposed to the night. At least the o-holy Capitol can see my abs.

I wonder why they would put me into something like this. Could this be a lapse in their wisdom? No, they must have a deeper plan. I must just not be learned enough to perceive it, for I have never before been subject to the awe I feel after finally being in their walls. It's even more exquisite than Father has promised.

I'm not going to let some hideous costume ruin it. This is but a tiny chip on the honor bestowed upon me to be graced by the Capitol. It's a shame none of the other tributes truly share my piousness. True devotion is only taught to a select, lucky, and honorable few, as Father says.

I know he would be proud of me for holding my head high through this dreadful event and not disappointed by the confusing choice my stylists made. The last thing that I want to do is let him down. After letting the Capitol down, obviously. I don't know if I would ever be able to show my face if I do, let alone look Father or Mother in the eye, or President Nero as he places the Victor's Crown atop by black-braided head. There isn't a doubt I will survive. That isn't the problem.

My partner—I haven't bothered learning his name, he is insignificant in the Capitol's grand scheme of things—stands dejectedly in the chariots, looking perhaps the most nervous of any of the twenty-four of us. Rightfully so.

I pay little attention to him as I stroll past, ignoring chariots eight through five as well before reaching my destination, the Four chariot. There, four tributes already stand huddled.

"Imperia Crimson," I say, introducing myself loudly. I won't let my embarrassing costume degrade my confidence and intimidating appearance. "I will be the leader of the alliance."

"Oh, sorry Talisa, I think we better listen to her." The One boy gestures to the girl from Four, whose face quickly morphs from passive anger to unreadability.

"Talisa Rowland, at your service." She reaches out with her hand to shake mind and I oblige. "I'm good with any weapon, really, but spears are my mainstay. I also know some good survival skills and healing techniques."

Silly girl, wasting her time with healing and survival. The gracious Capitol will surely provide us with those tools to satisfy our, and particularly my, needs. I look to the One boy beside her, prompting him to introduce himself as well.

"Marvel Silver, District One, I'm good with ranged weapons." The boy looks particularly eager to compete, whether that be friendly or excitement or something fiercer.

"Arlo Maddox, and swords are what I'm best at." Maddox looks relieved as the spotlight is thrust to his partner.

The Two girl hesitates before she speaks, choosing her words carefully. "I'm Scylla Frigard, I'm from District Two, and I'm good at swords and pretty much any kind of hand to hand combat. I'm also smart in battle."

This is the time for me to read into my now-allies, judge them, study them. Four seems a bit too friendly and nice, not tough enough. One doesn't look strong enough. The Twos remain quiet and somewhat distant. They won't be good team players in the arena.

None of them acknowledge the costume, which is good. They all know their place already. I do, in fact, have Capitol ancestry, which I am quick to point out to them. Not that I only got to be leader on heritage, since that is far from the truth. This pageant, and the contest for leader, is won by somebody with a combination of strength, of strategy, of leadership, and of resilience. I have all four in spades.

"So, let's get straight to the point," I command as Frigard sputters out the last lines of her whisper. "In training, the top priority is scaring the outliers. They need to be afraid of us, afraid to go out into the open. You all know what usually happens when a large group of them take on one of us by themselves, I take it. Make them too scared to come out from their little hiding spot and socialize. Show them that we aren't the kind to mess with."

"Yes."

"You're right."

"Mm-hmm."

"We will."

"Perfect. Training isn't about honing any skills, it's about scaring." Mostly for pre-Games strategy—there isn't much of that in the arena—and partly just for the pleasure of it. I'm going to win this year's Hunger Games. All the good cards are in my hand, all the rules are in my favor. No bagel costume will get in my way.

Minutes later, as I am helped up onto the chariot, my face does not waver from its trained piercing, fear-striking scowl. I'll still get my point across; I'll still make Father and Mother proud, too.

I'm winning, and everybody knows it.

Tabitha Declan, 13, District Twelve Female

Victoria, our escort, told me to enjoy the momentary spotlight thrust upon me and to make the most of it. Cindra, my mentor, told me to just try to fade into the background with my unnoteworthy miner costume, the standard one, only a few modifications made to it per usual. She's nice. I was hesitant to trust her at first, but she assured me that she wasn't going to hurt me. That's happened far too many times.

I'm inclined to follow her instructions, too. I don't want to be the center of attention, right in the spotlight. I'd rather still be at home, if I can even call the community home that. It was better there. At least there I had Tristan and Dulcie.

I think Rooker isn't following the advice just to spite her. I know he's good on the inside, it's just buried deep, deep down. I'm a tad scared of him, to be honest. He stands beside me, fuming in his equally unbecoming miner costume and saying words that would have earned me a paddling back in Twelve.

I'm scared. I would give anything to erase the last two days, erase the last five years of my life to relive it all again, to try and warn Daddy not to go into that mine, and that way Mommy would have never left. We could stay a happy family again, forever. Me and Tristan could still play, and I could read to him like I used to, and I would never let any of them go for a minute.

My legs are trembling against the night. I know it must not be chilly, but it sure seems so to me with most of my skin exposed. I'm shaking like a leaf in the wind. My arms wrap around my chest as my throat has that familiar sinking, choking feeling. I try to prevent myself from crying as if feel a wet drop roll down my cheek, smearing the make up so meticulously applied to my face.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

Around me I can feel the pint up energy of the crowd, as if it could all at once trample over me in a roar. I catch glances of the other tributes and the careers, most with pity or indifference, some with a horrifying lust, others just laughing.

I left out a raspy gasp of a choked sob. It all feels so forlorn now. I have no chance, and everybody knows it.

"Hey, Twelve, want to join our alliance?" I look over at the speaker: The burly girl from Eleven, Sierra, stares at me expectantly with a genial smile. Her dark skin shines in contrast to her silvery green outfit. The basket full of fruit attached to her back is apparently no problem for her to support. She waves a hand over to some of the other tributes: The Threes, Sevens, the Ten boy, and her gloomy partner stand chatting at her chariot. "Well?"

I get shocked out of my nervous daze. I can't believe that this girl actually wants to be allies with me! Maybe even friends! One look at her face confirms that she is genuine, with her wide, friendly smile. I nod.

"Not one for talking that much, are you?"

I squeak out a "no," before scrambling to get out of the chariot to catch up with her. She's at least a foot taller than me, and her frizzy hair and buff frame only add onto it.

"What's your name?" she asks. "Mine's Sierra, Sierra Hay-Fields."

"Tabitha."

"Nice to meet you, Tabitha."

We arrive at Eleven's chariot now, adorned with hanging flowers and grape vines.

"Guys, this is Tabitha," Sierra introduces me. Everybody waves and some greet me with a "hello". "Tabitha, meet Aleyn," she points up to her small, pale-skinned partner, to looks uncomfortable as he sits on his chariot edge, "Bolt," she blonde-haired, twitchy, and energetic Three boy greets with toothy smile, "Nerissa," his pretty partner smiles just as nicely, "Raihan," the small boy from Ten cocks his cowboy hat and smiles shyly, "Tessa," the only tribute smaller than me gives me a hug, "and Rowan." The dirty blonde boy stretches out a muscular arm and holds up a palm that I hesitantly hi-five.

"H-hi." I quickly wipe the tears from my eyes. All seven of the people around me appear to be very nice. "Can I be in the alliance?"

"Of-course! What, do you think we'd just turn you down now?" Bolt laughs, his big blue eyes reassuring.

"We'd never do that," says Raihan.

"You're our friend. Everybody needs a friend." Tessa smiles at me and brushes her black hair, left free flowing in her elfish costume, behind her shoulder.

"The more the merrier." Nerissa winks at me, smiling her dazzlingly white teeth.

"So," Rowan prompts, "tell us some stuff about yourself."

Now I finally have friends here. People to distract me from what is to come, to save me from it even. I've never had this many. It feels like I'm a part of something now… a group. It feels so wonderful to finally be acknowledge by my peers.

"So… me and my brother live in the community home back in District Twelve. His name is Tristan, and he's ten. And my best friend is Dulcie, and we balance each other out. Oh—and I love fashion, and dresses, and make up, and pretty colors. I just wish I had a better costume than this thing." I pinch my skintight and unflattering miner's outfit.

It's true. I'm jealous of all the others. The Threes will their sparkly costumes, the Sevens with their elf ones, Raihan dressed up as a cute cowboy, and the Elevens like workers of their district, but glamorous, unlike me.

It doesn't matter. I finally feel welcomed. Despite the environment, here I don't feel uncomfortable. I wouldn't hesitate to call any of these seven my friends now. Friends. I don't think I've ever said the word aloud.

I mutter it to myself as I walk back to my chariot as the parades start, and now I'm shaking again, hoping and praying that they gloss over my chariot and Rooker doesn't make too much of a fuss: "Friends. Friends. Friends." It keeps me safe.

Well, hello again, dear readers! I'm back again with another update that I hope you enjoyed. I know I ask this every chapter, but please review and give all of your thoughts, I can't stress how important this is to me enough, and it makes me feel very good about my writing. What are your thoughts on the alliances that are developing? Surprised at Aquatico not joining the careers and Imperia filling his spot? Have a favorite POV or segment? Say it all.

Some things you need to know: There is a poll going up on the profile when this chapter is updated on who your favorite tributes are, pick three. Also, if you're on discord, this story has a channel there, so make sure to choose that role and answer in the poll.

Question time!

What alliances do you predict are yet to form, and do you think some tributes may withdraw from them?

What is Talisa dressed up as?

I'll list the alliances here now, just for future reference:

Careers: Marvel (D1), Arlo (D2), Scylla (D2), Talisa (D4), Imperia (D9)

Anti-Careers: Turquesa (D1), Aquatico (D4)

Starcrossed Lovers 2.0: Elior (D5), Konani (D5)

Good Cop and Bad Cop: Carroll (D6), Keeley (D6)

Nerissa's Band of Merry and Manipulatable Misfits: Bolt (D3), Nerissa (D3), Rowan (D7), Tessa (D7), Raihan (D10), Aleyn (D11), Sierra (D11), Tabitha (D12)

Also, just to make things clear, Tessa's older brother also died in the 152nd Hunger Games. I realize this was probably too difficult a question, as most people guessed Carroll's sister, but it was still fun to see everybody's answers. The next update is going to be an Interlude from Viola, where we'll get some spicy Capitol subplot action plus her perspective to witness the parades. After that, there will be six chapters in a row with four POVs each, eight per day of training, with the last four being private sessions.

Have a nice day or night and remember to review, vote in the poll, and become a reader on discord!

-Mills