Chapter 5: I'm a Pretty Girl, Mama

In my case, the Training Score I received from the Gamemakers causes me to sleep with the greatest hope I have felt since the Reaping. I wake up at my usual alarm to get ready for training the last three days feeling well rested. I shower quickly, not even minding so much that my navigation of the shower has only slightly improved from a state of slapping around blindly to half-knowing what buttons to press but still needing to guess.

Then, I turn back to the burgundy tunic and workout pants that I've been wearing in Training for the last three days. I'll need to put them in the wash now and pick out a new outfit, although it should be a slower day – nothing is scheduled for my fellow tributes and I until tonight for our interviews with Caesar Flickerman. Brutus and Dolly will no doubt want to take advantage of our clean itinerary to give us interview prep, but I am not sweating it. I'm not sweating much of anything at the moment….

…. Until I grant a closer inspection to my tunic, running the fabric completely through my fingers more and more frantically, smoothing out every crease just to be sure…. My mockingjay pin! Where is it?! It's been on my clothes since I transferred it over from my Reaping Dress the day we got off the train; Dolly was kind enough to bring our clothes up to the penthouse suite while we were made to traipse around naked for the parade.

I select a new outfit without much thought and dash out into the main living quarters in a panic. Dolly and Gilla are watching some ridiculous Capitol soap opera on television. Beech is at the table, wolfing down some eggs and toast. Brutus and Haymitch are standing at the far edge of the room, clearly having a fairly tense conversation. At least this will distract them – the less time Brutus and Haymitch have alone together, the better.

"My token! Where is my mockingjay pin?!" I cry out, nearly in tears.

"Huh?" Brutus blinks at me.

"The golden pin I've been wearing ever since the Reaping! The one from my sister! Where is it?!"

Comprehension dawns in my mentor's face. "Oh, that! Yeah, I sent Dolly in early this morning to fetch it off your tunic. Got a call from Games Headquarters – I was ordered to submit it for involuntary inspection."

"Why?" I demand.

"They have to inspect it to make sure it can't be used as a weapon," Brutus explains.

Oh. Well…. that's reasonable. My features soften in relief, though I'm still wary. "Will I get it back?"

"That depends on whether or not it's deemed dangerous," Brutus shrugs.

I scrunch my face up in bemusement, shrugging. "It isn't. Unless you count the tip at the end of the fastener, but it's only an inch long! How could I possibly do damage to a tribute with an inch-long thimble prick?"

Brutus chuckles, smiling kindly. "In that case, you'll almost certainly get it back – likely by this evening. I understand what that pin means to you, Maysilee, and don't worry. It's very, very rare for a district token to be disqualified. I'll deliver the pin back to you as soon as it's in my hands, even if I have to pin it on you before you get onstage tonight."

I smile at him gratefully, relieved. Brutus actually gives a genuine smile back and claps his hands together for attention; he appears the most buoyant I have ever seen him. "And speaking of tonight…. I know it may seem like a slow day with no more training, but trust me when I tell you that time is absolutely not going to be our friend today. I will be taking each of you into the conference room one at a time to work on an angle for your interviews tonight. Genius…." he jabs a finger at Haymitch. "Let's get you out of the way first. Those of you not in private prep with me will stay out here with Dolly – she's going to be giving you a lecture in Capitol etiquette. Pay very close attention to what she has to say, especially you, girls."

I bristle at the misogynistic undertone behind the comment, even though I know Brutus didn't mean anything bad by it.

And I can quickly see why he might think Gilla and I have to pay extra attention when Dolly presents us, beaming, with a gift: high heels. In bright neon colors and with three-inches on them.

For the next two hours, Dolly instructs Gilla and I on the proper way to walk around in heels. The experience is starkly different for us both: Kaydliyn and I both received pairs of high heels for our thirteenth birthday three years ago, which happened to coincide with a major party for my father, to celebrate his closing of a landmark business deal with Mellark's Bakery. For a place like District 12, the gift was expensive, even with the windfall of money Daddy accumulated from the negotiated contract: a good chunk of the left-over savings money was spent on the accessories. In contrast, Gilla has never in her life seen any kind of footwear whose emphasis is anything other than purely utilitarian. She is cautious and not at all sure-footed as she attempts to clop around in the pair Dolly loans her – which are slightly too small, even for her. I can also tell from the pinched look on her face that the slender design of the shoe is digging into the arches of her feet. I smile at her in sympathetic encouragement. I only ever wore my high heels back home to adult parties for my parents or the dances hosted by the school, and even with this limited experience, I know how uncomfortable heels are.

Throughout our pacing of the living quarters, Dolly calls out critiques, perched on the couch's armrest. She even ropes poor Beech into the evaluation, tutoring him on all the do's and don't's. The broad Seam boy seems just as out of his depth in giving advice on high fashion as Gilla and I are wearing it.

"Now, remember, girls – a Capitol lady always carries herself with grace and poise…. like this…." Dolly proceeds to feather-walk around us, the soles of her feet hardly touching the ground so that she appears to float on air. Gilla makes a half-hearted attempt at copying her, causing her to trip, stumble forward in a bizzare crouch and nearly fall flat on her face.

Dolly cringes. "So that doesn't mean we slouch like this!" She stomps around, back bent like a hunchback in an only somewhat accurate representation of Gilla's catching herself, contextually speaking.

A squeaky kind of laugh emanates from the couch; when I glare at him, Beech manages to obscure it into a coughing fit, clearing his throat. "Sorry, Gilla," he mumbles sheepishly.

Except that Gilla is giggling right along with him. The joviality seems to perplex our escort, who clearly sees such concepts as posture and gait as deadly serious business. "Well, the least you could do is put a little more effort into it!" she scoffs, but she is fighting an upturn in her lips, as if she's trying not to laugh herself. "You're trying, Maysilee, dear, but you have to be on all the time! It's…. it's like a performance! A performance except the point is never to reveal to others your true self – ever."

Gilla merely giggles again. "What, like that clothes show you and I were watching early this morning? What was it called..?"

Dolly blinks, smiling softly. "Capitol Fashions."

Gilla brightens in delight at this; next moment, she is making a grandiose impersonation of the models on that show. Knowing the basics of runways myself (the Merchants in Twelve once held a charity fashion show to raise funds one winter after part of the Justice Building's roof caved in), I take on the role of announcer. "Gilla Callan is up next, flaunting it in a stunning design from Madame Lucia's boutique – the latest trend in elite Capitol footwear!" The exaggerated pretend actually does wonders on both Gilla's posture and gait; she is carrying herself with the most confidence I have ever seen from her since the day she was plucked with me from the Reaping Bowl. Beech is hooting obnoxiously, egging Gilla on. Smirking, I soon join in the fun, Gilla trading off to "announce" me as I strike poses more and more daring and flirtatious. Dolly shrieks in surprise and mirth. She is nearly in tears, she's so thrilled.

"That's it, Gilla! You're getting it! If you walk onstage tonight and greet Caesar Flickerman just like that, sponsors will think you're a real Capitol lady!"

A sudden crash and shout from the next room makes us all jump, the merriment extinguished like a candle flame. The conference room where Brutus and Haymitch have been working alone is almost like a fish bowl with clear glass on every side…. except that Brutus drew all the curtains so we couldn't see what they were planning. While the conference area isn't entirely soundproof, the noise is deadened enough that I can't make out what the now raised voices are saying. I wince, debating whether or not to go in there and intervene.

I wonder if a mentor has ever actually killed their tribute before delivering them to the arena. From how loud Victor and tribute have gotten, I don't really want to know the answer.

Gilla turns back to Dolly. "Why do I have to be like a Capitol lady? Why can't I be a district lady? Why can't I be…. me?" Her eyes cast down to the heels on her feet that are still leaving her slightly unwieldy.

I suspect Dolly has an answer, but doesn't want to voice it. Perhaps it doesn't matter – the subtext in her silence is clear enough to me. I try to brush it aside, the implications of what the Capitol really thinks of the districts – and the people in them – to disconcerting to contemplate.

"…. you stubborn, through-going ASS!"

The door to the conference room bangs open suddenly and with such force, the hinges rattle dangerously. Haymitch comes slinking out like an animal on the hunt, his handsome face a tempestuous storm cloud. Gilla squeaks and scurries out of his way. I bite my lip in concern, wanting nothing more than to reach out to him, yet already knowing if I try, he won't take it well.

If it were possible, Brutus actually looks worse – apoplectic, in fact. "Die if you want to, you misguided martyr!" he screams at Haymitch's retreating back. The former Career finally registers how the rest of us are all cautiously staring at him, and can only manage a sigh.

"Dolly, which one of them's gotten the hang of…. whatever this is?" he gestures amidst the remnants of our childlike fashion game.

"Well…. I need more time with Gilla, and I haven't even gotten to gentlemanly comportment for Beech. Why don't you take Maysilee in the meantime?"

"Perfect," Brutus huffs gratefully. "Keep drilling with them. Save Mr. Stable Genius for last, or you'll get even less out of him than I did." He beckons to me, and I wordlessly follow him into the fishbowl conference room.

In one corner are two comfortable chairs, facing each other. The conference table behind them is pristine, untouched. Brutus ushers me into one seat and faces me in the other.

"Now, interview prep for every mentor is different. We'll get to roleplaying in a minute…. with the first order of business there being to come up with a different verb, because 'roleplaying' just sounds kinky. Anyway, in mentoring last year, I learned that the best strategy is for you and I to hone out a niche together. In order to come up with an angle, I need to find out who you are. I don't have time for any guarded, 'Oh, I'm-Shy' bullshit. Some tributes play the shy angle onstage, and that's fine, but being shy will never make you Victor. So:" he pauses to catch a deep breath. "Why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself?"

I squirm a little in my seat, feeling put on the spot. "That file didn't tell you much, huh?"

"It told me some things," Brutus waves away. "But not everything – and if I'm going to help you, Maysilee, I need to know everything: test scores, childhood, family life, weird fetishes…."

"Weird fetishes?" I wrinkle my nose.

Brutus oddly flinches. "OK, maybe not that. Boyfriends…."

I feel my face flush. "I don't have a boyfriend. Never have."

"Of course you haven't." He doesn't look like he believes me. "Now, quit stalling. It's OK to be a little nervous, but remember: it's just me. That's what practice is for. And once you're up there, Caesar will know how to put you at ease even better than I could. Now, enlighten me: who is the real Maysilee Donner? What makes you special?"

There is a gaping silence, as I try to turn the question over in my head. What does make me special? I'm not precocious like my sister. I'm not civically minded like Merle. Though I know some boys think of me as pretty, I'm not drop-dead gorgeous like Belle. I'm not brave like Haymitch, or strong like Beech. I'm just…. me.

After a moment, Brutus tries a different approach. "Let's start small, and see if that helps. What was it like, growing up in District 12? How was your home life?"

I shrug. "Idyllic. My family runs the sweet shop in Town. Kaydilyn and I take turns manning the counter."

Brutus capitalizes on something. "You run the candy shop. OK, I know of a way we can transition that into an angle: you're caring. Kind. Sweet as all those little sarsaparilla candies you make in your shop." I cringe awkwardly; it sounds like a tagline from a Capitol commercial. Seeing my expression, Brutus chuckles. "You don't believe me."

"No, I believe you, but…."

"You've been caring and kind to the Shrimp."

"Her name is Gilla," I remind him.

"Yes, Gilla. That's not nothing. See, Maysilee, the way this works is you have to start being confident in yourself. Right now, your self-esteem is a flat line. You need to find out what's special about you, and show it some respect!"

"But there's not anything special about me!" I blurt out. "I'm completely ordinary. Kaydilyn's the one who everyone gravitates towards."

"Ah, yes: Kaydilyn. Your twin sister, right? Tell me about her."

There's only so much I can tell Brutus about my twin, partially because a large part of what makes her stand out is a simmering desire for sedition against the government. If I told Brutus this, I don't think he would hesitate reporting such a thing to the Peacekeepers or higher authorities, no matter how he and I have become something close to friends over the course of this week.

"She's out-spoken. Has a very strong sense of right and wrong."

"And you don't?" Brutus is challenging me, I know he is, but the comment still rubs me the wrong way.

"Just because Kaydilyn and I are fraternal twins doesn't mean we're polar opposites! I stand up for what I believe in! I even stood up for Haymitch so he could take the same advanced courses as me in Upper School!"

This gets Brutus's attention. "Really? You vouched for a Seam boy like that? I don't know much about District 12 society, but from what I've read up on, I know there is some class warfare between Merchants like you and those who live in the Seam, out by the coalfields. Apparently, it runs quite deep. Now why would you go against that for a boy you didn't even know until last Monday?"

I don't have an answer. I didn't even have much of an answer last summer, when people asked me why I had stood up at the town hall meeting. I'm burning up, my cheeks are glowing the shade of cotton candy. And Brutus notices. He leans back in his chair, an 'Ah-ha!' expression blazed across his face. But if he wants to press me on it, he mercifully doesn't.

We veer off from Haymitch and my personal life for a while. Brutus still seems quite intent on working the sweet, district-girl-next-door routine for me, and even though it's never announced, we seem to flow seamlessly into the roleplaying section without either of us noticing. Posing as Caesar, Brutus asks me all kinds of questions – any and all are fair game when Caesar takes the microphone tonight – and we work on rehearsing solid answers.

"Now, Maysilee, apparently you have a twin sister. Would this be her?" We're back on talking about Kaydilyn again, but this time, Brutus suddenly summons a projector screen from the ceiling. My Reaping is played back in front of me, up to and including when Belle broke down in my arms.

I shake my head. "No. That's my best friend, Belle. Although we're close as sisters."

"How interesting. She's quite a pretty little thing…." and Brutus drops out of character for a moment to check out her body. "What did she say to you when she said goodbye?"

Back and forth we keep going like this. By the time we're done, two hours have flown by, though it feels longer. As I get up to leave and send Gilla in, Brutus stops me by the door.

"Maysilee, listen…." He falters, scratching the back of his neck.

I peer at him, frowning, bemused. "What?"

Brutus sighs. "I don't want to do this…. I don't want to ask it, but…. There has been quite a bit of chatter about you, from lots of sponsors. Real high rollers. They're asking questions – one question in particular."

My confusion deepens. "And what's that?"

"They're asking…. how you are in bed." He gets the last out in a rush, grimacing at how my mouth drops open in an astonished 'O'. "There are quite a handful of influencers who would be willing to back you all the way, to hopefully, in the event that you become Victor, have a night with you."

Everything seems to sway around me. I feel a sting go up my forearm; I must have bumped into the wall. "Why are you telling me this?" I whisper.

"Because they want proof." I feel Brutus's paw of a hand brush my cheek and I twist away. Brutus is now practically pleading. "Please, Maysilee. Let me sleep with you. It wouldn't even hurt that much, and if you do it, I'll make sure you practically skip through the arena. You wouldn't want for anything; I'd have access to funds that would keep you going in there for over a month, probably more!"

I thrash away from him, eyes flashing. "You monster!"

Brutus appears shattered. "No, Maysilee, listen…. this was not my idea! And you're right, I never should have even asked it of you, but you're my best chance to win!"

This makes me take pause.

"Do you hear me? You're my best chance at giving your district a Victor – one they badly need! But my contacts are hesitant to release their money until they can see what you can do. That's the way the Games are played here. I didn't want to put you up to this, but I don't want you to die…."

No more. I refuse to hear any more. Yanking open the door, I flee down the hall, nearly in tears, ignoring Brutus's and then Dolly and Beech's calls to stop. None of them pursue me, though, for which I am grateful.

All at once, I nearly crash into Haymitch, just emerging from his rooms. He catches me, holds me against him as I struggle to get away.

"Whoa, whoa, what's going on? Maysilee, are you OK?"

I sniffle, refusing to meet his eyes. "I'm fine."

"Bullshit. You look like you've just seen Lucy Gray Baird's ghost. Now what happened?"

I gulp. My throat has chosen this moment to refuse to work, but I manage to spit it out anyway. "Brutus propositioned me."

Haymitch draws back, his face going white. "He what?" Worrying his bottom lip, he finally elects to drag me further down the hall until we're at the far end, huddled under a window overlooking the back-lot of the Training Center. Far below, some Capitol citizens take sight of us and their cheers faintly waft up to us, but I ignore it all.

Haymitch takes me by the shoulders. "What did he say to you? Did he kiss you?"

"No," I shake my head, eyes as big as saucers.

"Did he touch you?" A bear doesn't have the growl in Haymitch's voice.

"No. Well, he touched my face, but nothing else."

Haymitch's orbs cloud over until they are as grey as flint. "He's dead."

"No!" I yelp, grabbing for my classmate and holding him against me. "Haymitch, he didn't even want to ask me. He felt obligated to, because he's under a lot of pressure from potential backers…."

"So the sponsors want to sleep with you too?" Haymitch is beside himself. "Gods, how many sickos do we got in this joint? And why would Brutus take such a vested interest…." He trails off abruptly, an epiphany hitting him. He stares at me almost in wonderment, as he answers his own question.

"Because he's chosen you. You're the one he's going to keep alive."

Something acidic – likely guilt – churns in my gut. "No, no," I try to lie. "I'm sure he'll give parachutes to you and the others…."

"Liar," he snorts, but it doesn't hold any bite. I don't even think Haymitch is directing the epithet at me. "Every mentor has to choose who they're going to keep alive at some point, Maysilee. Otherwise, no one would die in the arena, would they? And somehow, some time, Brutus is going to have to make a choice, provided the arena or the Gamemakers don't make the choice for him. Especially if two or more of us get far enough. If you and I and maybe even Beech make it close to the end, Brutus will have to pick one of us to save. He can't pick all of us." Once again, the near-certainty of Gilla's doom goes unmentioned.

My blue eyes have become glassy, my lip trembling. "Haymitch…." I whimper. "I'm sorry."

The frown he sends my way is ugly, but then it deflates with the rest of him. "It's not your fault. If Brutus thinks you deserve to win, then you do. He hates my guts anyway."

"You or Beech don't deserve to win any less than I do," I protest. "Especially you. You deserve to go home to your family."

"What? Like how you decided I deserved to go to class with all you Merchant kids?" he cracks a sad, rueful smirk in my direction.

I gulp, suddenly feeling very nervous. If he keeps looking at me like that, I just know I'll do something I'll regret. Something rash.

The blood is pounding in my ears so much, I barely hear Haymitch's next question. "Why did you do it? Advocate for me to test into the advanced courses?"

I can't bear to look at him, and can only hope against hope that the dim lighting obscures the warmth in my face. "I… I don't know."

Once again, I lie, but unlike before, Haymitch doesn't call me out on it.


Antonia must have been sufficiently intimidated by Brutus's raging and threats because, thankfully, I will not be going out onstage tonight naked.

I am standing before the mirror in the dressing rooms in back of the Capitol Recital Hall, staring at my reflection. I am as radiant as the sun…. which is probably helped by the fact that my dress is bright yellow, to highlight the color accents of my naturally blonde hair. Just the right touch of mascara has been applied to my eyes, and rouge to my cheeks.

Behind me, Quillia and Bette are both observing their handiwork, looking teary. "Oh, my dear, you look…. sensational!" the latter chokes up.

"Is she ready?!" Brutus comes barging in at that moment, looking a little strung out. When I turn to face him, he leans back a little, taking me in. He nods once in tight approval. "Very good. Oh, and I got your pin back, Maysilee. Just in time, too." He steps closer, and I instinctively flinch back, causing a flash of hurt to appear in his eyes. Neither Qullia nor Bette appear to notice the change in the atmosphere. "Would you…. like me to pin it on..?" Brutus's voice is the shakiest I have ever heard it.

"I can do it myself, thank you," I say brusquely, taking the pin from him and fastening it over my left breast, directly over my heart. I all but run past him to join the other tributes in the wings.

"Maysilee…." Brutus tries to stall me, his tone overflowing with regret. "I –"

I shake my head. "Save it. We'll talk about it later." It's a vague commitment, one that I don't know if I will keep, or if I'll even be able to. I believe Brutus when he says he was pressured into propositioning me. As to whether I'll forgive him for doing so…. I'm less certain. And in any case, I very well may end up dead by this time tomorrow, so perhaps the point is moot anyway.

Sliding past the bustling technicians and stagehands, I find my friends, predictably at the back of the line. Haymitch – statuesque in a sharp tuxedo – blinks rather rapidly upon seeing me. "Wow," he breathes. "You look great!" The compliment does wonders to my mood, making me almost forget my awkward encounter with our mentor just moments earlier.

"He's right," Beech nods vigorously. He too is in a striking tuxedo, though his is white, while Haymitch's is the classical black. Gilla is clad in a foresty-green dress with fairy wings; I guess Antonia was going for some kind of tree nymph motif – which, to be honest, is a damn sight nicer than the coal miner routine from the parade. I take my place behind the little girl, working a massage into her shoulders to calm her clear nerves. The order of our interviews is structured the same as our private sessions: girls before boys, and this year, age in ascending order within that. I will be third-to-last of all forty-eight tributes, with Haymitch right after me and Beech rounding out the night.

The program's anthem starts playing, and we all shuffle forward in line to mount the risers onstage. Moments after we take our seats, Caesar Flickerman comes bounding on – his hair and skin shaded the color of blood-orange smog – and the interviews begin.

Only a few really stick out in my head. Each Career tries posturing him/herself as more intimidating than the last. Among them, only Opal seems to make a memorable impression, gallingly guaranteeing that she will break the record for most kills by a single tribute that Brutus tied two years ago (and that was apparently set by Ahenobarbus Romero himself, the very first Victor) on her way to taking the Crown. The boy from 5 who caught my eye at the Reaping hedges over how exactly he got such a fine score. Aside from these two, everyone else who comes before us seems largely forgettable. I don't have any qualms about letting Gilla doze off in my lap sometime around District 6's questioning. I even start to nod off myself.

Then, the buzzer is sounding, jolting my body awake in response, and Haymitch is nudging both Gilla and me. I hastily nudge the little girl forward, hissing a reminder in her ear to not be nervous. Thankfully, Caesar quickly puts her at ease by clueing in to her dwindling fatigue and making a bit out of it. "Are the tributes this year really that much of a yawn, little one?" he asks of her.

"Maybe," Gilla shrugs, trying to be as nice as she can. "I won't be, Caesar. You'll remember me, just wait and see! So don't count me out!"

"I wouldn't in a million years," Caesar gives her a small side-hug. The spotlights wash out everyone not in the front row, but that doesn't stop me from noticing Brutus (in a prime seat) nodding his approval at Gilla's response, pleased.

Then, the buzzer is sounding, and I feel myself standing. Strong, calloused hands belonging to Haymitch press into the small of my back to gently push me forward. A jolt of electricity shoots up my spine where his palm touched my bare skin and I seem to almost sleepwalk forward onto the stage.

That strange sensation of being underwater that I first experienced at the Reaping is back, consuming me so thoroughly that I completely miss Caesar's first question. "What?" I blink stupidly. The audience roars with laughter.

Caesar giggles, throwing me a lifeline. "Uh-oh, I think somebody's a little nervous. I asked: what have you enjoyed most about the Capitol so far, Maysilee?"

A softball. Brutus and I rehearsed a near equivalent of this question. I can do this. "You have interesting showers," I offer up. "Has anyone ever told you that you have too many buttons? We only need two dials back home in District 12 – hot and cold." The audience eats it up, and I feel the butterflies in my stomach start to dissipate. "The first time I tried it, Caesar, it felt like the shower spray was attacking me!"

My smile is starting to become more natural, and Caesar giggles in delight. "I'm sure it must have been quite a culture shock. Now, Maysilee: how is life back home for you in District 12?"

I tell him about the chocolatier, and all the candies we make, and about how I man the counter, "although my twin sister is more of the saleswoman."

"Twin sister, hmm?" Caesar's eyes dance, intrigued. "Would this be her?"

Brutus damn near called it in our prep. Now as then, a projector screen behind us plays back the moment of my Reaping. Belle holding onto me. I smile with sentimentality. "Actually, that's Belle Foley, my very best friend, although she and I are practically sisters. Kaydilyn, my actual twin, is… that one." I point her out when the footage allows her to appear in frame, looking as enraged as she was that day. I don't fail to note how the Capitol quickly cuts away from the playback.

"Any special boyfriend at home, Maysilee?"

An image of Haymitch makes my smile broaden unbidden, even as I shake my head. "No."

"Are you sure?" Caesar purrs. "Striking lady like you. It's OK to say, you know. We promise not to tell."

I shake my head, lips pursed and sealed.

Caesar softly takes my hand, the way a close friend might. "One more question, Miss Donner: if you became a Victor, you would have riches and power beyond imagination. What would you use your influence to do?"

I ponder this for a moment before I seize on an answer. "I would encourage everyone to be kinder to one another. Being naturally kind isn't something that comes easily to my district, especially when in regards to the poor. If I do return home alive to District 12, I aim to change that."

"A humanitarian! How delightful!" Caesar crows and the audience roars so loudly, I barely hear the buzzer. "Very best wishes, Maysilee Donner!" When I retake my seat, I see Haymitch studying me with a curious look on his face as he passes me in the other direction. Caesar greets him warmly, and I do my best to pay more attention than I have the whole night.

"So, Haymitch, what do you think of your odds with this Games having 100% more competitors than usual?"

Haymitch sprawls back in his chair like he hasn't a care in the world, and when it comes to his answer, he doesn't miss a beat. "I can't see how it'll make much difference – they'll all be 100% as stupid as usual, so I figure my odds will be roughly the same." The audience gives their most enthusiastic response since Opal's vow to shatter the kill record, and I watch the Jumbotron catch Haymitch's smirk – cocky. Arrogant. Indifferent. He's carrying himself more like a Career who expects the Crown than a scrappy underdog from Twelve. He keeps Caesar off-balance with his smart-aleck answers the whole rest of his interview, and by the time his three minutes are up, people are chanting his name. I don't envy Beech having to follow that act – unfortunately, for the Seam giant, I can hardly remember what was said.

Our dismissal from the Recital Hall is a little chaotic, and I am quickly separated from my district partners in the clamor out to the street. Luckily, I do manage to find Dolly in the crowd, and we hail a cab back to the Training Center together.

Evidently, we're the last ones of our entourage to arrive, for we step off the elevator into the midst of a heated argument. Brutus is practically nose-to-nose with Haymitch, yelling himself hoarse like some kind of Peacekeeper drill sergeant, his charge staring defiantly back with Beech feebly trying to break it up before the pair come to blows. Gilla is huddled in the farthest corner of the wrap-around couch, eyes huge with fear.

"Are you crazy, you blithering idiot?! What in the hell was that?! '100% as stupid as usual'? You practically mooned the audience with that line! Dared the Careers into taking you down! You might as well have been flashing a sign at Glanius Crane, reading 'Hey, Gamemakers! Come eat me!'" Brutus is beside himself with rage.

Dolly goes to relieve Beech of attempting to make the best peace. "Brutus, to Haymitch's credit, it was one of the most memorable lines of the night. They're already replaying it in recaps!"

"Probably to send a subtle message to Snow that we need to take this guy out!" Brutus spits, gesturing at Haymitch with pure loathing. "Congratulations, genius. You just signed your death warrant. If you even make it out of the bloodbath alive, it'll be a miracle!"

Haymitch's jaw grinds in rage. "I'll make it farther than that, dipstick! I'm going all the way, and then you'll have to –"

"What? Respect you? Bitch, that'll never happen – not that it matters, cause you ain't getting within one mile of that Victor's Crown! None of you are!"

"Brutus!" Dolly hisses, glancing apologetically at each of us in turn. "I think you're being a little pessimistic. This is the finest batch District 12 has produced in years – I mean that sincerely," she makes sure we all meet her eyes, and I feel my heart warm in fondness for her.

"No, Dolly!" Brutus snaps, turning sharply to face her. "They need to hear this from me, not you – I'm the mentor! With the way they've been conducting themselves, they'll all be dead within a week. There's a thing. called. talent!" slapping his palm on each of the last three words for emphasis. "They don't have it!"

I frown hard. I thought I actually did what Brutus expected of me in my interview. But it's what my mentor says next that shocks me most of all.

"Maysilee is the only one who might be able to pull it out, but that's only if everything breaks her way!"

My cheeks instantly flush with embarrassment, and my gaze sweeps the room, especially Haymitch, terrified that he'll be angry with Brutus for elevating me (albeit with qualifiers) above the rest of them. His expression, however, is unreadable beyond its stony mask.

Brutus lets out a loud and long sigh, drained, running a tired hand over his face. "All of you go to bed. I can't stand to look at any one of you."

"Mr. Barsetti?"

"What, Gilla?"

"Everything's going to be OK…. right?"

He looks down at her like she's deluded, and I bravely shoot a glare at him. "Don't pay him any mind, Gilla. Come on," I hold out my arms, and she leaps into them. "Let's get you cleaned up."

I don't fall off right away after getting Gilla down to sleep. I keep thinking of everything that's transpired over the last five days. Fighting Brutus on the train. Painfully exposed during the parade. The mock-fashion show with Dolly, Gilla and Beech. Brutus propositioning me. And of course, my relationship with Haymitch that seems to violently seesaw from one unclear extreme to the next.

Tomorrow, we will all be thrown into the arena. I may never see any of these people again. I may never see another day again. On the other hand, if Brutus really believes what he said, about how I could do it provided I drew the luckiest inside straight in anyone's life, maybe I will see many more days after this one.

Can I really do it? Can I really win the Hunger Games and bring honor to my district – a feat that only one person from Twelve has managed to achieve?

It might take me the whole rest of my lifetime – however long or short it might yet be – to find out.