Amiee Smith, 13, D6F:

It's overwhelming to enter the backstage area, even with Quinten, our mentors, our stylists, our prep teams, and our escort. Even though twelve other people are walking next to me, they're nothing compared to the amount of people in the black-painted room. Thirteen people per district multiplied by twelve districts means that a total of more than a hundred and fifty people are here who are directly connected to the tributes.

There must be at least another fifty on top of that. There are people in navy blue vests who clutch clipboards and fiddle with their pens as they direct some of the other tributes to the far corner, which is a rectangular alcove lined with short benches. Folks wearing tall boots and purple bandanas lead around the horses and shoo some of the skittish stylists away from the chariots.

Somehow I've been separated from everybody I know in the chaos of the crowd, and I'm frantically trying to pick them out among the other people when one of the vest-wearing men catches me by the arm. "District Six Female?" he barks in question.

"Yes?"

"Opposite end of the room. By the benches. Go now." He gives me a nudge, and I start walking towards where he pointed. More than half of the tributes are already loitering around, and I get my first glimpse of them. Quinten, who seems to have made his way over here before I did, waves me over and I sit down sort of near him. I watch as the remaining tributes trickle in, and then a man in an ornate green waistcoat and a shiny gold watch detaches himself from the crowd and walks over.

As he gets closer, I recognize him from the television broadcasts we watched back home in District Six. This man is Jessiah Marius, Head of Peacekeeping. Today he's drawn up his dark dreadlocks in a bun, and as he surveys the group, counting us off, I can see his brown skin glinting under the lights. A slim, pale, glasses-wearing man stands next to him in a stretchy shirt the same color as the Head Peacekeeper's. Text across the front and back of it proclaim him to be "Chris" in black, white-lined block letters.

I know him from television too, albeit less well. He's the Head Gamemaker's secretary. The two men turn away for a private word, and then the Head Peacekeeper twists back around and straightens up, clearing his throat. "Hello, tributes," he says in a loud, cheerful voice.

Everyone looks up, some noticing his presence for the first time. "The Head Peacekeeper?" somebody asks in a hushed voice.

"You may call me Head Peacekeeper Marius," he says, inadvertently answering their question. "There's been a little trouble with one of the chariots, so it might be an extra few minutes. We don't want the mechanics to be tripping over your stylists and mentors as they rush to impart that last bit of advice, so we're going to be closing you in this little area for perhaps a quarter hour." As he walks, he reaches a small cutout in the wall, and pulls his hand out of his pocket. He swipes what's presumably an ID card, and a plastic cover flips upward.

"Now," he continues, "A fair warning: plenty of cameras are set up here." He points to the ceiling, and I see several wall-mounted surveillance devices that are continuously rotating in semicircles to get the widest shot possible. "Chris here is going to stay here and monitor you all in person, and he'll be available to facilitate introductions and answer your questions, but my subordinates will be remotely watching the live feed. If any sort of altercation happens, Peacekeepers will barge in and separate those who are causing the disturbance. However, I'd very much like to avoid that. Tonight is supposed to be a fun, relaxing evening, and I don't want to call them away from their families and interfere with their enjoyment of the parade celebrations because some of you decided to act up. My advice is to behave yourselves. This is a good policy for all of you to abide by," he says, "especially those of you who like to intimidate others."

He looks pointedly at a few tributes, who shy away from his gaze. There's muttering among the strongest of the bunch, the kids with snarly voices and heavy footsteps that I'm trying to avoid looking at. The Careers.

"If you start threatening other tributes, or try to encourage physical combat, it will not go well for you. I guarantee that. So behave, please, and once the chariot is fixed, I'll be back to get you." From the wall, Head Peacekeeper Marius draws a black folding divider from a slot in the wall, dragging it across the room to close us in, and departs with a salute.

Chris stands by the partition, looking sheepish. "You can all chat with each other," he offers. I almost feel bad for him. He looks like he'd rather be running errands or performing administrative duties. I wonder if the Head Gamemaker is a good boss. I doubt it, she seems pretty stiff and stern whenever she's on television. I certainly hope she treats him better than she'll be treating us. Head Gamemaker Lucent Saccharyn is about to become a very important person to me, because my life is soon going to be in her hands.

I'm not a fan of talking to people who are older than me, especially if I don't know them, which is rather unfortunate considering that I'm one of the youngest here. Quinten doesn't much seem like meeting anybody new either, so we converse quietly, trying not to draw unwanted attention to ourselves. "These are the most awful costumes I've ever seen for our district," I say to him.

"I know. My stylist said it was all your stylist's idea." He takes off his hat, which is borderline humiliating. It's a traffic cone on top of a black porkpie, and it's the most dreadful thing I've ever laid eyes on. Sadly, my costume is even worse. Rather than cones on my hat and shoulderpads like Quinten has, my entire dress is an oversized traffic cone with holes cut in it for my black-sleeved arms.

"It was. He was bragging about it. He said he was upset that your stylist was 'unappreciative of his genius' and he was worried about the future of the 'District Six Aesthetic' being in jeopardy with his retirement next year."

"If this is the District Six Aesthetic, I think that's probably a good thing."

"True." My mentor had told me that there would be ten or so minutes to meet the other tributes, but based on what Head Peacekeeper Marius said, it's now looking more like a half hour.

"Hey," Quinten says. "I think those people over there are District Seven."

"Where?" He lifts his chin a little, indicating two kids sitting on a bench below an air vent.

"Those two. See their costumes?" The outfits for the Tribute Parade are supposed to correspond to our districts, and our industry is transportation, hence the awful orange cones. District Seven is in charge of lumber, and their clothing is pretty bad, although ours is arguably worse.

The girl is dressed as a log. An honest-to-goodness hollow log that goes from her chest to her ankles. It looks plasticky, and almost laughable, and she's clearly pissed off about it. She's obviously strong, and I'd like to avoid her at all costs.. The boy tribute is dressed as an axe, wearing a white jumpsuit with a thick brown line painted down the center of it. He has a hat almost as stupid as Quinten's, a black thing with a silver edge meant to resemble an axe head. It's a pitiful display, but it's not quite as terrible as the costume of a short girl I see who's hanging around an older boy. I tap Quinten's shoulder.

"What district do you suppose she's from?" The girl is dressed in a large fluffy ball, and puts on a black headband with a large felt tab on each side. She also has short black gloves and boots.

"District Ten, obviously. Can't you tell she's supposed to be a sheep?" I look back at her. The fluffball does sort of resemble wool, and I'm guessing the headband is supposed to mimic ears. Maybe I'll talk to her later, she looks about my age.

"Quinten?"

"Yeah?"

"Which tributes really stand out to you? As dangerous, or as allies, anything really?"

"Well, I don't really know about any allies. The Careers are all obviously going to be dangerous. The tributes I think are from Two look particularly vicious, and I think I'm gonna stay far, far away from the girl from Seven and the boy from Ten. Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if they joined the Careers over there." He points to a brutal-looking boy dressed in the sheep getup of the girl we were looking at earlier.

"I'm scared to even look at the Careers." I know I'll have to eventually, but I also know that when I do, I'm going to be having nightmares about their faces. My greatest fear is dying a painful death or watching someone else die, so I'm already terrified, but the Careers are especially bloodthirsty and brutal. I don't want to know what a trained murderer looks like.

"You'll have to see them tomorrow anyways."

"I know. I'm just trying to put off the moment as long as I can."

"I understand the feeling. Anybody else who stands out to you?"

"Uh-huh, the girl over there covered with blue icicles. She seems like a good ally. Have you noticed anyone?"

"No." I can tell it's not true, he's blushing a little.

"Quinten, please don't tell me you caught feelings for somebody in the Hunger Games."

"What are you talking about? I don't have a crush on another tribute. Nobody here is even good-looking!" His voice cracks.

"You're a terrible liar. Seriously, who is it?"

"I told you, I don't like anyone." He glances down at his shoes before I can pinpoint who he was staring at.

"Fine, then. It's not as though two people would be allowed to survive anyways."

"You're right. Getting mixed up in a romance would be a stupid idea. The only thing dumber would be getting involved in a love triangle."

"Well, at least you're not in a love triangle."

"Amiee, could you not?"

"Sorry. I'll stop teasing you."

All of a sudden, I hear a shrill whistle, and a cruel-looking, muscular blonde girl in a short dress studded with reddish orange gems and a tall pair of high heeled pumps is standing in the middle of the room, the tips of two lacquered nails just leaving her crimson-lipped mouth. She gives two sharp claps, and all eyes fall on her. "If you would like to be part of the Career Pack," she announces, "You may convene around me at this time."

Pola Velek, 15, D3F:

The Career in the center of the room is the District One girl, judging by the jewelry and precious stones that are practically dripping from her costume. She's already identified herself as a threat and a candidate for the group's leader, and the other strong tributes begin to head over to her.

The first thing I notice is that the Careers all have light hair, the pattern jumping out at me the second I survey them. The girl from One is blonde, and the girls from Two and Four are strawberry blonde. The boy from One has sandy blonde hair, and a boy who seems to be from District Ten has sandy pale brown hair. The last person, the boy from Two, sticks out like a sore thumb with his thick black quiff. Oddly enough, the boy from Four (I can tell because he's draped in what's supposed to be kelp and seashells) doesn't appear to be fighting as a part of the Pack, and is instead chatting with a young girl in dark overalls.

I scoot along the bench to get a closer, better view of the Careers, and from my new position I can easily hear their conversation.

I speak quietly to the man designated as our chaperone, whose shirt identifies him as 'Chris.' "Excuse me, do you know the names of those people?" I ask, indicating the cluster by me.

"Yes, miss, of course. The District One tributes are Livieoula and Oscar, the District Two tributes are Eliza and Rafe, the District Four Female is Lyra-Rose, and the District Ten Male is Trey."

"Thank you."

I look back at the Careers, who are now deep in a shouting match. "Who made Livi the boss?" huffs the girl I presume to be Lyra-Rose. "Who said she gets to call us over to her like we're dogs?"

"Somebody had to do it," says the District Two girl, Eliza, evenly. "Someone would have had to gather us all in one place, and round up any outer-district tributes who want to join. Her method might not have been the best, but the important thing is that we're all here."

"Yeah, I'm with Lyra. Why should Livi get to call the shots? Nobody else even got a chance to be nominated," Trey blusters, as though they'd actually let a kid from Ten lead them.

"Okay, I get it. Here's the chance you've been wishing for. If you want to be the leader, step forward." Eliza's calm air seems to smooth away the tension for a moment, and then Livieoula, Rafe, Lyra-Rose, and Trey all move at once. Six Careers and four of them want to lead? There's definitely going to be an argument of some sort. I hope it won't devolve into a fistfight, but knowing the arrogance and brutality of these people, there's a non-zero possibility of it happening.

"Okay," Eliza says. "Wow. That's, um, that's more than I expected. I think the best way to proceed is to eliminate people one by one."

"Alright," agrees Rafe. "Sorry Trey. I like your confidence, but there's no way in hell I can let an outlier be in charge."

"True."

"Fair point."

"Seriously?" Trey gives a disgusted grunt but obediently steps back, putting his weight on first one foot, then the other, as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"Lyra, remind me, how old are you?" asks Oscar in a friendly tone.

"Sixteen."

"Look, girl, you're nice and all, but Livi and Rafe are both eighteen. You're the youngest person in the Pack, you can't be the one telling the rest of us what to do." Lyra-Rose visibly bristles, but also takes a step backwards, scowling at the others as Livieoula and Rafe face off.

"I think we should take a vote," says Rafe.

"So do I," agrees Livi. "Raise your hand if you'd like Rafe to lead." Eliza, Rafe, and Lyra-Rose all put their hands up. "Now raise your hand if you'd like me to lead." She puts her own hand up, and so do Oscar and, eventually, Trey.

"Alright," says Lyra. "An even split. I vote you two wrestle, and the winner gets to lead." She eyes Rafe's muscles, clearly assuming he'll win in hand-to-hand combat.

"A good idea," Rafe begins, "But the Head Peacekeeper did expressly forbid us from doing any sort of physical competition that involves sparring or fighting, so maybe let's not."

"Sure, sure. Whatever the bossman says," Lyra concedes.

"Why do you think you'd be the best leader, Rafe?" asks Livi.

"Look, I know what I'm doing. If you hand me a weapon, I know how to use it. I've got the presence to actually get us sponsors. I've got physical strength, I'm handsome, and I deal with people well."

"Alright," says Oscar. "What do you think is the best thing about you?"

"I'm not a bitch like Livi. I won't whistle and clap to get your attention. I'll treat you the way you deserve to be treated, and I won't say nasty things to you if you mess something up, because I'm actually a caring person."

"Okay. So Livi, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"First of all, you should know that I am joining this alliance for my own benefit. Only one person wins, let's not deceive each other. You are disposable to me, just as I should be to you. However," she says, ignoring Rafe's leer, "Although I will not mollycoddle you and pretend to care about not hurwting your pwecious feewings, I get stuff done. Don't you remember who called you all here? You might not like my personality, but I'm a far more efficient leader than Pretty Boy over there. I have no issue kicking out lazy people who skate by on conventionally good looks without contributing any actual skills to the alliance."

"See? She's delusional!" Lyra declares. "Let's just quickly put Rafe in charge before Livi can do any lasting damage to the alliance."

"I wouldn't go that far," Eliza says gently, "But I do think Rafe's charisma and people skills will get us farthest. And I'd prefer a leader who does consider my point of view. No offense, Livi, but I'm still on Rafe's side."

Oscar butts in on Livi's behalf with a far more aggressive pitch.

"Eliza, I understand, I really do. We all want to believe we'd do anything to take care of each other, but if Rafe's biggest strengths are being a yes-man and looking nice for the Capitol ladies, he probably won't be a very capable leader. See, I know a laissez-faire approach seems attractive, but having a leader doesn't do us any good if they're too laid back to make executive decisions."

"So what exactly do you want?" needles Lyra. "A tyrannical sociopathic dictator who probably drowns puppies in her spare time?"

"No. I want somebody who can take command of a situation. I want a firm leader who won't cave to the first person who says 'but that makes me feel uncomfortable' when they're trying to guide us away from danger. Livi might not have all the social graces you'd like, but she's smart, and intuitive, and methodical, and she does not take lightly the responsibility she's assuming over us. Rafe's not by any means a feckless do-nothing, but he doesn't have the resilience Livi does, and her leadership skills and cleverness are of more use than his handsomeness any day."

"Also," Trey cuts in, "Being able to use a weapon or two and having physical strength isn't exclusive just to Rafe. You've all been trained in academies with actual weapons, and I have my own experience. Livi's not exactly weak, anybody can see that just from her arms." As if to prove his point, Livi flexes her bicep, and it's just as impressive as Rafe's. So far, I think Livi's gaining ground. If it were up to me, I'd pick her in a heartbeat. Emotions have little value when one is fighting for their life, and I'd take leadership skills and a chilly demeanor over a friendly bumbling idiot any day.

Unfortunately, Soren isn't seeing things the same way. I tried to convince him that we should become allies earlier, when we were still on the train. He totally flipped out on me, telling me what a horrible person I was and cussing and saying he hated me, as well as something about how if I was on fire and he had a jug of water, he'd drink it.

Once we were in the elevator and his prep team was trying to stop him from whacking the escort with his hat, he came crawling back to me, and said that he had reconsidered my offer and was willing to team up after all.

His stupidity almost makes me pity him. He truly does believe he is justified in whatever his actions are, and he always, always finds a way to spin the story so that he can portray himself as the victim. Soren Ventra isn't infamous, not exactly, but he's well known, and not in a positive way. He's widely recognized to be selfish, petty, bothersome, and snakish, with just a dash each of paranoia and delusion.

Definitely not the ideal ally, but what am I going to do? Refuse him? That's practically condemning him to death.

This is why I hate feelings of all sorts, but especially sentimentality. It's the worst thing ever to feel responsible for someone else or obligated to take care of them. I'm going to be fighting for my life, and empathy is going to be my greatest enemy. It's far too easy to fall into the trap of caring for others who would happily bring about one's downfall.

Soren probably won't be very much help at first, but I'm banking on the idea that because he's a very private person, he'll have a couple of skills that he's hiding from me that will prove to be useful later on.

And if he doesn't? I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. I look over at him, sulking on his own, a three-bench buffer between him and the closest other tribute. I decide to ignore him for the time being. He's ignored all of my attempts at conversation thus far, and I don't want to aggravate him more than absolutely necessary.

The Careers seem to be getting progressively more upset with one another as Oscar and Eliza's debate about whether, respectively, Livi or Rafe is best suited to being the leader rages on.

"Oscar, please, listen. Livi is mean and awful and will use us all for her own gain. She's not in it for anybody but herself, you heard her say it. The audacity of you, saying that she'll be best for the Career Pack, it's awfully contemptuous of the rest of us!"

"Do you even listen to yourself? You've been going on and on about how she says she puts herself first. Eliza, this is the Hunger Games, only one person wins. The alliance isn't permanent, and she's saying that she's fully prepared to fight us when the Pack eventually breaks up. That's normal behavior for a Career. I'm serious, were you never trained or something? Do you not understand the mindset? All she wants to do is make the best choices and help us survive as long as possible while we're all still sticking together. It's not insulting to say she'll be the Victor, it's to be expected. Only a single person comes out alive, and it's unfair to call her selfish for wanting to be that one person. Any one of us would say the same thing."

"You know what, Oscar? I think you might have a point. I don't agree with you, and I still definitely support Rafe as leader, but I don't think either of us is going to make any serious headway in changing each other's mind. I think we need a better way to go about this."

"You're right. Not about Rafe being the best fit for leader, but you're right that this arguing isn't actually beneficial. Do either of you have any ideas?" He looks to Livi and Rafe.

"Yeah, actually," Rafe says. "I think that whoever gets the highest training score for their private session deserves to be the leader."

"I think that's a fair measure," says Livi. "What does everybody else think?" Everybody voices their support, and Livi and Rafe shake hands. "Also," Livi adds, "I know this goes without saying, but everybody here needs to earn at least an eight. Trey, that goes for you in particular, since you're an outlier, but I have total faith that you'll do great."

There's a long, terrifying moment of Rafe and Livi sizing each other up, but they break eye contact blessedly quickly.

"It's settled," Rafe concludes. "In three days' time, the person out of us two who has the best training score becomes the leader. No exceptions, no takebacks."

"No takebacks," Livi repeats with a toothy grin.

Emily Parker, 12, D10F:

I feel safe with Ardledge. That's the District Four boy, and he's decided that I'd be a good ally, so I'm sticking with him. He told me a little bit about life back where he's from, and he's got a wife–well, fiancée, but they're pretty much the same thing–and a son.

I can't imagine going into the Hunger Games with a child, but I'm certainly becoming more familiar with going into the Hunger Games as a child, and so far it's been a dreadful experience.

The Capitol is so cruel. It feels like everything the residents here do is rooted in their enjoyment of other people's suffering, which, considering their highest-grossing event each year is a competition where teenagers maim and murder each other, isn't too far off from the reality.

It's all about the song and dance of the celebrations. While we're still around to feel scared, they try to act like the real appeal is seeing us dressed up for the parade in costumes of our district's primary export, or getting to know us better when we're in formal wear for the interviews, or learning our training scores and trying to guess our abilities. Everything is tame and mild and is designed to relax us so we resist less when the time comes to load us into hovercrafts, the Stockyard, and then finally the arena.

I have a lot of experience around stockyards, being from District Ten. There was a rancher who I sometimes did odd jobs for in exchange for various dairy and meat products from his animals, and I got up close and personal with the butchering process.

Killing the animals was the worst part of it. Mr. Harris, the man whose ranch it was, never made me actually do it, but sometimes he's had me clean out the pens while he did, and it was the worst thing ever to watch. The cows were put out in a pasture, and one by one, Mr. Harris directed his two dogs to funnel them into fenced-in, open air stalls. Then, he let them into his paddock and let them run around and sap their energy before approaching them with an axe.

The whole thing was so the cattle would stay docile up until their deaths, and it feels like the Stockyard is a fitting name for the launch rooms underneath the arena. We're just livestock to the Capitol, there's always an endless supply of tributes from the districts for them to kill off, and a never ending wave of Careers who are all too ready to volunteer. We'll be loaded into the Stockyard, then set to expend our energy in the Bloodbath, so we'll be too tired to put up a proper fight when faced with death. Then, they'll package up our corpses and ship them all over Panem, for our families to enjoy free, government-funded funerals.

We're not only tamed like cattle, we're bought and sold and bet on like the greyhounds people would use to keep their larger animals in line, and occasionally forced to fight, money trading hands as the crowd cheered on the underdogs and favorites alike. Every dog would have its guts ripped out save for the winner, which was rewarded with a bounty of hearty food and occasionally a shiny ornament of some kind. I never got in on the action, but I heard of it happening every so often, and I just tried to pretend it didn't exist.

I'm not missing the parallels. The roaring crowd is the Capitol, the food like the extra oil and sugar given to the Victor's district, the ornament representing the Victor's crown.

I am no stranger to violence, I should be used to it by now, growing up in the district that slaughters creatures for food, but it still chills my bones to see Trey conversing with the Careers like he's one of them.

They're trained child killers, but he's a trained killer of children. I find myself wondering if any of the other Careers have murdered people. Judging by their looks, I wouldn't doubt it. This year, they seem to be an especially savage barbaric lot. They were up in each other's faces just minutes ago, screaming and spitting and chucking insults, but now they're completely calm, laughing and joking once more. What is wrong with these people?

Next to me, Ardledge gets up from the bench. I've already told him about what Trey did, to me and the other kids. When he found out, he was fuming that somebody was actually that sadistic. I also learned that Ardledge had never trained for the Hunger Games like his district partner had, but I don't think he would have joined the Career Pack. He has way too much empathy for other people, and he's protective on top of it. I doubt he'd ever be able to actually kill someone. He's just too nice to hurt anybody. Still, he's old and tall and strong enough to defend himself, as well as me and any other allies we pick up.

Speaking of which, Ardledge is talking to the boy from District Eleven, Griffin. Apparently his mentor, coincidentally also named Griffin, told him to consider him as another ally. I told Ardledge that I thought it was a good idea. I'm twelve, and having not just one but two older kids willing to protect me is giving me at least a slim chance of survival.

Honestly, I've almost resigned myself to death. I just hope it's not torturous. I want to live, of course, but I have the lowest odds out of anybody and there's a homicidal maniac whose life goal is to kill me, and he's running with a bunch of Careers who are perfectly willing to help him carry out his plan so long as he submits to their leadership.

"Hey Emily!" Ardledge is back, and Griffin is with him. So is another girl about my age.

"Hi," she says. "I'm Sorrel. You're from District Ten, right?"

"Yep! Where are you from? Actually, wait, let me guess. Black overalls, hard hat, and holding a shovel...it's got to be District Twelve."

"Right the first time. This is gonna be a great alliance, you know. You and I can sneak around and Ardledge and Griffin can help us in fights!" Everything Sorrel says is optimistic, and it's a nice break from the glumness that I'm experiencing from watching Trey sling an arm around one of the Career boys and knowing they and all the others will be after me like a drove of coyotes in just a few short days.

"Yeah, that is a pretty good idea! We'll get to be the best of friends, I just know it. You know, I'm not the biggest fan of commitments in general, but I sort of figured I needed allies, you know? It's going to be tough to survive out there, but we're going to be such a great team. I think Ardledge should be in charge, don't you? He's the oldest of us and he probably knows the most."

"I think that's a good idea. So long as Ardledge agrees to it." I say.

"Me too," agrees Griffin.

"I'm fine being the leader."

"Then it's settled! So, everybody, what do you think we should do in training tomorrow? My escort told me the timetable. Basically, training begins at eight and goes till half past five, with a half hour for lunch in the middle. That gives us basically nine hours to train, and we should all probably find something to do."

"Alright," Ardledge begins, "My mentor gave me some advice about this. He says that we need to focus heavily on the survival stations, and that each of us should learn two of them plus a weapon. That means three skills per person, and we have three days, so we have a day each to just get really good at whatever we're doing. According to him, we need to learn how to make traps, how to find water, how to identify edible plants, how to hunt for animals, how to start a fire, how to tie knots, how to perform basic first aid, and how to do camouflage. That's eight things, and each one of us needs to pick two. Which ones does everybody like?"

"I want to learn how to make fires," I say. "Could I be the one to do that?"

"Yeah, of course. What else do you want?"

"Uh, maybe edible plants?"

"That's great. Edible plants and fire making it is. Sorrel?"

"I'll take camouflage and traps," she says with a hint of a smile. "I've never done it before, but smearing around camouflage paint sounds pretty fun."

"Alright. Griffin, what do you want?"

"I think I'll go for hunting and finding water."

"Excellent. That leaves me with first aid and knot tying, which I'm already pretty good at because I was a fisherman back home in District Four and I had to tie my boat up and stuff."

"I think that's a good beginning. Now, I think we should all master one of the survival skills tomorrow. Emily will learn how to make a fire, Sorrel will try to set some small game traps, Griffin will practice finding water, and I'll do some knot tying. It's going to get tedious, of course, repeating the same thing for nine hours, but we'll manage. If you get tired, just get up for a few minutes, walk around, chat with another person for a few minutes. Or go to the bathroom or have a drink of water. Whether we live or die could end up hinging on whether we each learn our task tomorrow, so even if it's hard, we just have to struggle through until it happens. If we don't take this seriously, we could end up starving to death or passing out from dehydration or shivering in an icy cave, so please just do your thing."

"We know," Griffin says to Ardledge. "I get that you're worried, but it's going to end up ust fine. Everybody's going to do amazing. We all understand our responsibilities. I know it's tempting to get worked up about an uncertain future, but we've just got to have a little faith in ourselves. Remember, we're not on our own. There are trainers whose jobs are literally to make sure we're picking up all the techniques properly. If it helps reassure you, maybe you can pop in to our stations to see our progress now and again. And also, don't forget that we have a thirty minute lunch break. We can all reconvene and give updates about how we're holding up."

"Yeah. I think we'll be just fine. I mean, the trainers have probably had to explain things to lots of tributes over the years."

"Remember the boy from my district a few years ago? He didn't know his right from his left and couldn't understand basic math. He was a few years ahead of me in school, back when I went to school, and although he was incredibly dense, the people at the training center still managed to teach him survival skills. He won, and now we all recognize Kael as a Victor, but everybody back home in Eleven still knows him for always being so dense. He was dumb as a bag of rocks, but the trainers taught him, against all odds, and he ended up winning."

"I know we'll all be fine. We're planning to take advantage of all the resources we're given, and we have enough sense to pay attention and get good at our tasks, especially since we have a whole day." There's a chorus of agreement, and finally I'm starting to feel like I have a chance. I have a whole plan laid out to help me succeed, and a great alliance, plus a helpful mentor, but the threat of Trey still looms above me like a gray storm cloud.

Damon Archer, 14, D7M:

Everybody around me seems to be wrapped up in their own little world. The girls from Ten and Twelve, Emily and Sorrel, have grouped together with the boys from Four and Eleven, Ardledge and Griffin. The boy and girl from Five, Ryan and Amethyst, are sitting cross legged on a bench (must be uncomfortable considering their spiky outfits, which are arguably worse than mine,) and talking strategy. The pair from Six, Amiee and Quinten, are chatting with each other too, but not in a way that suggests they want to become allies, maybe just agree to not hurt each other when they branch out to other groups.

My costume is still pretty terrible, though. My stylist is evidently either very stupid or very lazy. He put me in a plain white leather bodysuit, painted a light brown stripe down the middle of it, and gave me a pointed hat that's shaped more like a wedge of cheese than an axe head. I'm supposed to be an axe, of course, and my district partner Jenna is supposed to be a log. How imaginative. Her whole outfit is made of poured brown latex, save for the same white leather garment that I have on, underneath it. She's obviously annoyed by all the squeaking it does when she moves. She's walking across the room towards somebody, scowling at the noise it makes.

Of course, there are also the Careers. These are the tributes I am truly afraid of, big, hulking killers who could crush me like the can my juice came in when the escort gave it to me on the train. Out of the three Career girls, Livieoula and Lyra-Rose are tall, and both Oscar and Rafe out of the boys are around six feet. Each one of them is strong-looking and intimidating, and I find myself wondering what would happen if they had weapons and free reign to kill each other when they were arguing earlier about potential leaders. It almost frightens me to know that the Career Pack, usually the strongest out of any alliance, is still so fragile, but the other, smarter part of me realizes that an unstable Career Pack is a good thing. If Livieoula and Rafe are constantly fighting to be the boss, maybe they'll forget to hunt down the rest of us.

Yeah right, as if they'd forget who they're supposed to be going after. Actually, I was sort of surprised Jenna didn't join them. She's a tough, serious person with plenty of experience using a deadly weapon, but I almost respect her more for staying away from the Careers. I still wouldn't want to ally with her though, I have the feeling she might stab me in the back.

Right now she's talking with the District Nine boy, Radley, again. They had been conferring earlier, probably forming an alliance, and she got up for a little bit to sweep the room once or twice before going back to him. I think they'll be dangerous together, since they're both quite clearly physically strong, and some of the oldest tributes. I hope they can take out a couple of the Careers and make things easier for everybody. I have no great fondness for Jenna, but she seems to be a decent person.

When she and Radey were chatting a few minutes ago, the District Six guy, Quinten, was pretty openly staring at them. I was wondering if he wanted to join them, but he didn't really give any indications of that, not even going over and introducing himself. Now, from beside Amiee, he's looking at them again, and this time I can see he's wearing a dopey smile. It's plain that he's in love, presumably with Jenna, and it's almost painful to watch, because he's probably going to die. I don't find anything wrong with love. It's something I definitely want to find someday, but the Hunger Games are a bad place to develop attachments.

I hope for his own sake they don't end up allying. That would turn sour quickly, and of course end in tragedy. I haven't made friends with anybody yet. I'm still on my own, although I've been checking out some of the other tributes who seem to be on their own too as of right now. As a matter of fact, I have my eye on Quinten's district partner, Amiee. She seems nice, if not very conversational, and even if she's not the strongest, I want an ally I can trust. Looking at her right now, it's hard to believe she'd betray anybody. She still glows with the sort of freshness that I wish I had. I've always been a little more jaded, being conscious of how terrible the Capitol actually is.

I feel sort of embarrassed that my stylist made me wear this thing. It's his fault, certainly, for being a part of the group participating in keeping the Hunger Games going, but the Capitol government is the real enemy. They're the ones who demand us to shame one another by putting on this mockery of a fashion show for them and tying it to our district pride. What's worse still is that the Capitolites and the Gamemakers make a point of it, forcing us to lower ourselves to laughing and grinning and waving and blowing kisses to people in order to get sponsors. It's downright intolerable, but I remember what Ma said about behaving and not talking poorly about the injustice, so I keep my mouth shut.

My mentor has told me that we're going to training tomorrow. She's actually quite nice, a girl from District Four who won about six years ago named Rémi. She almost acted sisterly to me, and was especially friendly when I was describing my previous experience with axes. "Good for you!" she had said. "Why don't you practice that a little bit tomorrow?" She was adamant that although I needed survival skills, I should also make sure I'm keeping my axe skills sharp, explaining that the Capitol axes were different from the axes I've used to chop timber, and that I have to get used to the new ones before handling them in front of the Gamemakers.

It makes a lot of sense. I want to get the hang of my weapons so that I don't make a fool of myself in the private sessions. I was part of a group in District Seven that kept bears out of the lumber yards by driving them away with our axes before they could snatch up a logger in the middle of a shift. I was good at it too, and the older boys who were on it treated me like an equal. I'm plenty safe if I have a good axe with me, but I need to be familiar with it. My plan is to handle the axes and intentionally do bad in training. I'll know when I've just been pretending to mess up and when I'm actually messing up, but others won't, and I'll be able to better impress the Gamemakers while leaving my fellow tributes to wonder exactly what I did to earn my score.

I have to be a good tribute while I'm here. Stay silent about Capitol mistreatment, absolutely no talk of rebellion allowed, listen to Rémi, listen to my escort, obey my stylist, tolerate my prep team. My survival depends on being a lovable kid from District Seven, especially since I'm so young. I don't like staying quiet, and I hate being so isolated and unable to trust anyone. I miss my group of friends. Still, I remain in my place on the bench. I don't want to become a threat to the Careers. Obviously I hate them, but six against one means I'm sure to lose. No, I've just got to wait for the right moment, bide my time, not act until the opportunity presents itself in the arena. I want to live, and people who foolishly challenge the Careers end up dead.

Suddenly, I hear a knocking noise. It's Head Peacekeeper Marius, returning and slipping past the partition. "Hello again, everybody," he says. "I'm happy to announce that the chariot has been repaired without further incident and the Tribute Parade is on track to commence in ten minutes. I was very impressed with your behavior, each and every one of you acted in accordance with the rules. Chris, I'm sure, is a bit relieved to get back to his normal duties. I had to pull him away from the Gamemaking Room to help supervise you, which is usually a little out of his lane, so shout out to him for going along with it."

He scratches his eyebrow. "Now, I'm going to be returning you to your teams in just a moment, but since I've got you all in front of me, I'll take the opportunity to give you some more instructions. The chariots are all lined up in the correct order, from District One in the front to District Twelve at the back. In ten minutes, they will be rolling out, whether you are on them or not. I suggest you use your time wisely, because being absent from the opening ceremonies isn't a good look. Your stylists and preparation personnel are waiting for you at numbered stations that have been set up. You are dismissed and may go find them at this time."

Once he slides the divider aside, I head out, along with all of the other tributes, and discover that there is now a clear aisle in the center of the room. I spot the sign spelling out the name of my district, and my stylist sits me down in the folding chair right away. I wonder what approach I should take as he adds a few tiny amber sequins to the brown line on my costume. Apparently, they're supposed to resemble knots and patterns in the grain of the so-called wood. Do I go for stoic? No, that would be easy for me to do, but it only really works for strong older tributes like Jenna. Flirty? No, I'd want to rip my own head off if I tried to wink at a Capitol woman. I settle for just a smile as an avox (what a horrible thing to do, cutting off the tongue of a slave) wheels over a cart full of various bottled substances.

The people on my prep team spray some sort of mist on my face and begin dusting it down with a fine substance. "A little powder to take the shine off," one says.

"Turn your head to the right." They hurry, making sure to arrange the front bit of my hair just so and smoothing my bodysuit flush with my skin.

"Hold out your hands." Someone pours gray dust from a container and rbs it into my palms in little circles. "So you don't sweat too much," they say by way of explanation. The third person adjusts my hat and yanks my laces taut, the sole of my boot against their thigh.

"Can't have you tripping over loose shoestrings," they mutter. My meteor, Rémi, appears out of thin air bearing a plastic cup of water and a grin.

"Wave and be natural," she suggests. "Everyone'll love you." She fades back into the clamor as my prep team draws back, the three people circling me like hawks, analyzing their finished product from every angle.

A woman in a blue vest taps me on the shoulder. "The District Seven Male is being taken to his carriage right now," she says into her watch. She turns and looks me up and down. "Come with me." She rips me away from my mentors, who wave, and leads me to a chariot drawn by two dapple brown and white horses. Jenna stands on her side of the chariot and the woman helps me onto mine, shutting the door without another word. A high voice comes in over an intercom. "Chariot one, begin rolling now."


Hey y'all! I'm so happy to have this chapter out. I'll have a quick chapter out on Friday about the President, and then on to the Tribute Parade itself! Any thoughts about the alliances that are shaping up? Please tell me, I'm curious about what you think!

~LC :)