Eliza Maddox, 17, D2F:

When I wake up in an unfamiliar bed, it takes a few minutes to orient myself, and then I remember where I am. This is the Capitol, and today is the first day of mandatory training. Rafe turned in early. "I need my beauty rest," he had joked, but I stayed up late into the night, chatting with Marjorie about my plan for the upcoming trials. I know almost nothing about what is expected of me, only that I must be in the Training Center at eight, and I get to come back to the apartment at five thirty, working for the entire duration of my time there, with the exception of a short lunch break.

I skim over the luxuriously soft bathroom rug and hop in the shower. The settings are awfully confusing at first, but I figure out which dial controls water temperature and take my chances with the others. In the end I turn out smelling like cornflowers and bone-dry, thanks to a fancy air jet, the only casualty being an itchy eye from when I knocked into a row of buttons and pink foam erupted from a hidden nozzle, drenching my face.

Blinking away the stinging and wrapping my unused towel around myself, I tiptoe out into the hallway. Marjorie told me my training outfit would be outside my door, and sure enough, a set of crisply folded clothes is laid out on top of a parcel on the white shag rug. I carry the stack into my room, shutting the door. I tear open the parcel, and my charm bracelet is buried in a sea of firm spongy things. I withdraw it from its packet of plastic-trapped air, and a note falls out with it.

Eliza–

The Gamemakers have approved your token, and you are permitted to take it into the arena with you. I would recommend not bringing it to training, it will probably get in your way, but it will be safe here in the apartment. I had it professionally cleaned for you, by the way. As you've likely noticed, I dropped off your training uniform. Although I cannot force you to, I'd suggest keeping your hair up. You'll want it out of your way for training.

Thank me later,

Corson

It's from my stylist. I stroke the clasp of my bracelet, happy to have it back, and place it gently in a turquoise dish I see on the vanity. I head over to the suede chair in the corner of my room where I dumped the clothes, and root around in the dresser for suitable undergarments. After putting some on, I slide into my training outfit, which clings to my body. Not necessarily in an attractive way, but like it's been custom tailored to fit me and me only. The whole thing is very comfortable, including the socks and boots, and I look at the backwards two on my shirt as I pass my inverted reflection in the mirror.

I need to represent my district well today. I remember how my parents tried to soothe my fears at the Justice Building, and I try to recall what they said to me in hopes that thinking of them will restore my courage. The moxie, Mom had called it, and she would know. Pop told me that I'd know it when I felt it, and it was certain to happen at some point, preferably sooner rather than later. I think hard and call back what he told me. "I guarantee when you step in the Capitol training gym, see all those weapons, smell the fear of the other tributes, the moxie will kick in. It always does." Those were his exact words, and I'm praying, not for the first time, that he turns out to be right.

When I was younger, it used to irritate me that Pop was always on top of things, never faltered, never erred, never made a mistake, and most of all, that he was never wrong. When he said rain was coming, half of the lower slums had flooded due to a surprise monsoon. When he said I'd do well on an exam, I got the highest score in the whole Academy. When he said he had a feeling something funny would happen to me at training, Jonas Calder and his big brother found a desert rat in one of the old closed-off quarries they hung out in and set it loose during an exercise in self-control and posture, where the goal was to not be distracted for a minute while a timer ticked down in preparation for the kickoff of the Hunger Games. It wasn't just funny, it was hilarious. Kids fell over, some ran away in shock, others banged into each other with weapons as they tried to kill it, one or two of the younger ones broke down in tears, and that fussy old trainer Miss Sweeney let out a loud, unholy screech and didn't come back ever again. She had retired on the spot. It was a fabulous day, and nothing much got done in terms of work. Pop had been right yet again.

Mom always joked when I was little that Pop had magic powers and that whatever he said would happen, did. I never really believed her, but now I find myself hoping it's true and that his prophecy will be fulfilled, the Career mindset somehow instilling itself in me the second I cross the threshold of the Training Center.

I tie my hair up in a messy bun, because I know that I'll get hot and sweaty training, and like Corson said, I want it out of my way. I trot into the living room and a full breakfast spread is laid out on the table. "Oh, hello there," Marjorie says with a smile. "I was just about to go in there and shake you awake. Eat up Eliza, you've got a long day ahead of you." Kael, Rafe's mentor, fills a ceramic plate with potatoes, grits, and spicy eggs, passing it over to me. Marjorie scoots a tall glass across the table to my placemat, the fruity smell of the red beverage inside wafting through the air. "Half bitter tea, half sour cranberry juice," she says by way of explanation. "It's disgusting enough to make you choke, but it's good for you."

Rafe grimaces when I try to teasingly goad him into tasting it. "I already had some earlier," he complains. "It's as gross as she says, but Kael said I didn't have to drink it. Looks like you're not as lucky." He's right. I down it in one gulp, swallowing it down as quickly as possible, and move on to my food, savoring the flavor of it. There wasn't anything this good in District Two, and Marjorie's right, I do have a long day ahead of me. Even though the richness makes my stomach churn a little (or maybe that's just the tea-juice talking,) I gobble it down.

When it's time to go to training, Marjorie walks us to the tribute elevator. Capitolites use an elevator on the other side of the building that doesn't have access to the apartments, for obvious reasons. "Your escort is already lining up sponsors for the both of you," she says sternly. "I suggest you learn today and make his efforts worth it." After her brief word of warning, she taps the button to summon the upwards elevator (the building is one hundred stories tall, so I've heard, the top floor being the Training Center) and sends us each off with a pat on the back. When we step into the car, two tributes are already in it, the pair from Ten. Trey's not that tall, but he still looms above his poor district partner, who is probably a Bloodbath death, considering her age, and he cozies up right next to us. Despite voting for Livi as leader last night, he really seems to jive well with Rafe, and they exchange a fist bump as the elevator stops.

The elevator spills directly into the corner of the Training center, and as the doors open, I see we've been spit out in the room itself. And what a magnificent room it is! My breath hitches in excitement once I see how bright and beautiful it is. High above, a sleek metal network of platforms and bars snakes around the ceiling below grand skylights. I can already feel excitement coursing through me as I begin to notice signs advertising the different stations. One only a few feet to my right is labeled camouflage, and the three next to it are all about how to start, build, and maintain a fire. Some unfamiliar emotion that's smooth and thick and heavy seems to settle in my bones as my eyes alight on the knife range, a mere twenty yards in front of me. I'm tempted to race to the adjacent storage rack at top speed, snatch up my precious weapons before anybody else can, run my hands over the smooth surfaces and gently grate their delicately filed edges against the ridges on the pad of my thumb, waiting for the light catch that I know means they're razor sharp and ready to use.

Then I notice the track. It's on one of the suspended levels in the air, the very highest one, so that it can be raised by slim steel arms to recede into hatches in the walls when not in use. It's lowered into its horizontal, accessible position, and I see the skinny metallic staircase that's used to climb up to it. I feel as though if I were allowed up there, I could run laps forever and never get tired.

I spot a display of shurikens hung up on a wall on the very far side of the room, hanging under a sign that proclaims the section to be for projectile weapons. Smaller shurikens are very much like throwing knives in purpose and execution, they're just a little less my style. I can use them fine, in fact I can use them to a high degree of expertise, but knives have just always been my preference. Still, I can see Amiee, the girl from Six, eyeing the area, and I have a sudden urge to jab her in the ribs and inform her that even though they're not really my weapons, they're my weapons, and she shouldn't be using them. I want to go over there, aim at a target, handle them with ease, show everybody how it's done and that I am the tribute whose shuriken skills are worthy of fear, and not hers.

I look back at the knives and the sight of them is almost calming. The simple-looking blades slotted in the rack look so unassuming, like they are easy to use. I assure you, they are not. I want to go over there, sling a few of them straight in the center of the target. They are so easily guided by my hand, and I have dominion over their every movement, sort of the way the Capitol has dominion over the districts. But it still messes up sometimes. What if I mess up and lose my resources or hurt my allies in the arena?

I push those thoughts out of my head and let the warmth and familiarity of my surroundings comfort me, and from the floor to the rafters, the whole room seems to be screaming, "Yes, Eliza! I'm with you, Eliza!" This is my domain, and I'm fully prepared, excited too, to show everyone my skills.

It occurs to me that this is the moxie. This is the winning attitude I was lacking, and I send a silent message of gratitude to my family. Thanks, Pop. The mood swings of sudden arrogance and anxiety disappear after a few minutes of getting used to my new space, and an easy confidence overcomes me. I am going to win these Hunger Games.

Rafe and Trey, who have also been staring in wonder, look up just as I do when Lyra-Rose waves us over to her. She and a few of our fellow tributes are standing in a loose circle around Hortensia, the Head Trainer. Most of the other tributes have yet to arrive, and they come in from the elevator in a steady stream. Livi and Oscar catch Rafe's eye and stand near us, until the last pair of tributes, Soren and Pola from District Three, appear through the doorway.

Hortensia claps her hands together. "Tributes," she announces, "Now that you are all here, I have a few announcements for you. First off, I need you to take this training seriously. The skills or lack thereof that you learn in the next three days can make or break you in the arena. There are many trainers here to help you and they are perfectly capable of teaching even the most confused of tributes. Each one of us wants to see you succeed, and there's nothing we want to see more than a bunch of able, knowledgeable, well-rounded tributes who excel in their private scoring sessions. As you all know, the Gamemakers will evaluate you one by one at the end of the third day, and will approximate your level of proficiency on a scale of zero to twelve. I'll tell you more about that later, but first I'd like to draw your attention to a very important feature. Those three rooms over there are private training booths. If you want to ask a question in secret, or you need some strategic advice, or you're searching for a specific station or weapon, pop over there and we'll hook you up with something right away. There will be a total of six mandatory training exercises, and I will alert you as to when those are taking place. At this time, you are dismissed, and you may move around and train at will."

The second she finishes her speech, I make a beeline towards the boxing ring, mainly since both Livi and Rafe are headed towards it. Us Careers convene around it, huddling together. "Livi and I have decided we're all gonna train with our weapons for the day. Head over to your best weapon station right now, and just do your best to try to scare the other tributes," Rafe orders. There are a few questions, and then Rafe and Trey peel away to the far corner and begin to examine some swords and daggers, while Livi, Oscar, Lyra-Rose, and I all head towards the ranges, which are back near the elevator. There are three: one for spears, one for knives, and one for archery. All four of us ignore the trainers and politely refuse their assistance as we get to work.

Lyra-Rose doesn't waste any time, plucking a bow and a quiver of arrows at random from the top of the rack, and heads over to some targets. I watch her for a couple minutes. Her first shot at the ten-yard line hits the innermost ring. The second hits the coin-sized dot in the middle, and the third arrow slams into the second, splitting the wooden bolt apart. It's an impressive show, and I think she'll definitely score high. No telling if she can keep up the accuracy at a longer distance though, so I'll have to watch her a little more later.

Livi is equally nonchalant, but takes more care when picking her spear, taking note of the different kinds and eventually selecting two of the angon variety, long metal poles with barbed spearheads. Holding one in each hand, she prowls towards the firing area and backs up to the twenty yard mark. I immediately learn that she's got a powerful throwing arm, and she nails both of her targets, right arm lashing out powerfully twice in what seems to be a single moment. I notice that she only throws with her right, since it's probably her dominant hand, so it might be easier to attack her from the left if it ever comes to that.

Oscar comes over to the knife rack with me, and also like me, is carefully going about choosing specific knives to clip into the storage vest he grabbed from a nearby bin. He's made similar choices to me, some larger knives, some deceptively small and harmless looking. Typically knives come in the Cornucopia stored in either a bandolier sash, a special utility belt, or a knife vest like the one I now also have on. To be honest, I'm happy Oscar is the companion who shares my weapon. I think I'd go nuts if I had to listen to Lyra all day, but although Oscar isn't quite as friendly as Rafe, he's still pretty nice to be around. My first flurry of knives hit the target exactly where I want them to, and so do Oscar's. This is what I'll be doing for the rest of the day, throwing knives, and unlike back home in the Academy, there's no place I'd rather be. I feel fantastic, and judging by Oscar's grin, he feels the same way.

Even when I back up to the thirty yard line, my knives fly straight and true, embedding themselves into the bull's eye of my chosen target, and I feel a flutter of pride when I see that I'm making just as much progress as Oscar is. Like Pop said, I had the skills, I just never had the passion. As it turns out, I've made up for lost time pretty well so far, and I'll make sure to impress him and Mom.

"You'll be the Victor and come home safe."

"I will." Pop's word is true, and I want to prove that mine is equally reliable. I will win these Hunger Games, and I will be happy to do so. Maybe my problem was never that I feared being inadequate. Maybe it was that I didn't want to disappoint people, and now that I'm succeeding, it's so much easier to believe in myself. Still, I have to remind myself that arrogance has no place in my mind, and that carrying myself with confidence is already enough.

Even so, I can't help but notice that I haven't missed once.

Ardledge Merton, 18, D4M:

The Careers are frightening. Every one of them is either hitting targets perfectly or ripping dummies apart, and here I am sitting at the knot tying station. If I keep up like this, I'll be helpless if they decide to target me in the arena. Griffin is working near me, learning about how to find water, and we've already formed a gameplan with the rest of our alliance about what we're doing. Chip, Sorrel's district partner, joined too, and he's practicing first aid today. Both of them are at their respective stations, which are also near me, but I find myself watching over Emily. She's in the fire-building area, far away from me if I need to rescue her from Trey. Trey is on the opposite end of the room from her though, clutching a dagger and sparring with a trainer next to his newfound friend, the boy from Two, Rafe.

Emily told me that she had to be in the elevator with him alone today, at least until Rafe and his district partner Eliza got in with them at a lower level. Apparently she was terrified he was going to attack her, and as much as I hate to say it, that's the sort of situation that definitely merits a little terror. Griffin agreed to go with her next time, to make sure she's safe. We've sort of become the parent figures in the group, because everybody else is twelve or thirteen, but we've also created the possibility that Trey will now make it his mission to kill Griffin and me so we can't stick up for Emily. I can't let that happen.

Last night I was a little out of sorts. As it turns out, being locked in a room with twenty-three other people, one being a murderer, before being put on display for an entire country, is a little bit nerve wracking. I can't afford to do that again. I need to have my wits about me at all times in case I need to break up a conflict. I've developed a keen eye for trouble, a natural result of being a parent whose child is now mobile and crawls everywhere he can, but now the sources of trouble are not hot pans or high counters but people who are trained to murder others.

Still, there's a certain happiness that comes with tying knots again. I start with a bowline, since I use it so often. I had to moor my boat every day at the dock, and if it wasn't secured properly and the tide went out, it could be forever lost to the ocean. When I was less experienced, I'd ask some of the older fishermen to check my knots, and their practiced hands saved me a lot of trouble more than once. After I met Winnie, she checked them for me instead. The first time she did, she scolded me and pointed at the pole and the rope that went through the hole in the center. I didn't know, but the wood was rotting away, and a split had developed in it near the hole. If it deteriorated much more, I would lose my boat no matter how good my knots were. She bought some fresh wood and fixed it up properly, and now I know to make sure the pole is dry, and my oars are secured to my boat, and my rope isn't wearing through every time I tie it up at the dock.

She was always big on preparing ahead of time so we never had to run off in a panic, chasing some broken thing or another. And for the record, my pole wasn't the only one that had rotted. The old-timers knew to take Winnie's advice, but the cockier, younger ones didn't always listen, and I knew one whose boat floated away and he had to live thin for a couple months as he saved the money to get a new one.

Preparation is an even bigger deal now, so I call the trainer over to check my knots even though I know they're perfect. They are. He tells me that I've mastered as much as I possibly can, and that there's not much else I'll need to know, essentially giving me the push I needed to head over to the weapons area. The ranges are on the other end of the room, but there's a big area with a squishy mat on the floor where Trey and Rafe are working together to battle armored trainers and the dummies themselves, who apparently have some robotic mechanisms in them to mimic real humans, ducking and weaving to avoid their blows. The trainers are armed too, but the boys defeat them, and I see Rafe hang up his sword and head to a table of long daggers.

I prepare myself for an imminent confrontation, although I doubt Rafe is looking for a fight right now. As I sidle up next to him, searching for a tanto, he taps me on the shoulder. "Hey you," he says. "You're Ardledge, right?"

"Yeah. And you're Rafe?"

"Uh-huh." He bats irritatedly at his hair, which seems to have been grown out an inch past his preferred length. It's damp and sweaty and keeps sticking to his forehead. I'm guessing he'll have his stylist trim it before the Hunger Games begin so it doesn't bother him in the arena. "Hey man, look, don't take this the wrong way, but why didn't you join the Career Pack?" It's a little more blunt than I was expecting, but I answer him anyhow. What am I going to do, act like he didn't just address me by name and ask me a direct question?

"No real training. Lyra-Rose went to an Academy when she was a kid. I went to the harbor and fished with my dad. I'm just not cut out to be a Career." I purposefully don't mention my aversion to blood. Rafe seems nice enough now, but any information I give him can be used against me and I don't want to give him the opportunity to learn about my weaknesses.

"Look, I'm gonna be frank. That's complete bull. Even if you've never had professional training, you came right over here like you were looking for something in particular. That means you know how to use a dagger, and that means you're strong. What's the actual reason?"

"Okay, fine. I hate Lyra-Rose and I don't want to be in an alliance with her." It's only half a lie, since I really wouldn't want to, or just to be with the Careers in general, but I still don't mention the really important reason.

"I respect that. She's way too much of a diva. Now what sort of dagger are you looking for?" The assortment of weapons before me is overwhelming, so I finally give in.

"A tanto." Rafe locates one for me quickly, giving it to me handle-first.

He directs me to the practice area and largely ignores me as I practice using my fishing tools against a cloth dummy, having taken up a weapon of his own. Since the dummy doesn't have blood, synthetic or otherwise, it's easy to stab its fabric exterior in what I hope is an effective way. The trainer comes over after noticing how confused I look, and she fixes my stance a few times before ordering me over to the area where the Careers had congregated earlier, the fenced in, cushioned spot where we get to learn boxing and wrestling. "Get a handle on your posture and then come back," she tells me.

The trainer at the new station passes me a set of protective pads. I slip them on, along with a helmet and a pair of fat spongy gloves.

I have never been in a fight before, so when the trainer models the correct movements, I feel clumsy and slow. The trainer demonstrates a motion, and I try to replicate it. He gives me a few basic pointers (keep one heel off the ground, point your feet in the same direction, always have a hand by your face) and walks in a slow circle around me, adjusting my position, until he deems me good enough to actually try to fight something. He doesn't even put on with padding of his own. "Punch me," he says.

"Punch you? Won't you be hurt?"

"I'll be fine. Now punch me."

"How? I don't know what I'm supposed to do, where do I-"

"Doesn't matter, just give me your best punch." I do, curling my hand into a fist and ramming it into his chest. He grunts when it connects, and I start to feel bad, but he waves me off. "Good job. So that right there, that's your default punch. If somebody got in your face and started pushing you around, that's the punch you'd use if you had to defend yourself unexpectedly. It's a strong start, and it'll work fine if you just have to hit somebody once and run away, but if you need to continue to fight, you've got to be a little more refined."

He pulls a tablet off a storage shelf and shows me an auto generated fight sequence. "This here," he says, tapping the screen, "Has no set rhythm. Everybody has a fighting cadence. There's a certain amount of time between your kicks and hits, you use different attacks at different frequencies, maybe you incorporate pivots or fakeouts. Almost any cadence will work, but there can't be a specific pattern. Being predictable is the best way to lose a fight. You won't have the opportunity to stick to a plan because fighting is so sporadic. Instead what you need to do is develop an arsenal of both offensive and defensive moves so that you'll be prepared."

The first thing he teaches me are blocks. "When someone is coming at you, you have two options: block it or get out of the way. Moving around too much can drain your energy, and you'll get sluggish over time, so your best bet is usually a block. See, most people, especially shorter ones, are going to punch near your chest. If you hold your elbow sideways like this and keep it tensed, very few of those punches are actually going to hit you. Then there's the problem of your face. The face is one of the most vulnerable places on the body, especially in a fight. Whether the hit is to your eyes, nose, or jaw, it'll leave you incapactitated. Your visibility is going to disappear when you do this, so use it only in emergencies, but if you have to protect your face, push your forearms and the sides of your fists together with the thumbs out, and stick that up in front of you. Yes, just like that. See how I can't get to your face now?"

I do see. The trainer is a good teacher, and I'm rapidly learning all sorts of ways to prevent myself from being hit, both by blocking and dodging. Next he teaches me offensive strategies. "What have you heard about fighting?" he asks.

"Fighting fair is important because what you see is what you get? I had a friend who went to the Academy and he told me about all the rules he was supposed to follow."

"Forget that stuff. It's absolute tosh. If you were just casually sparring with somebody, then yeah, but you're fighting for your life here. It's the Hunger Games, do you really think you're going to be penalized for not being genteel enough? No. Play dirty if you have to. Scratch, gouge eyes. Pulling hair is a pretty good way to get the upper hand too, because it gives you control over the person's head. If somebody with long hair tackles you or something, just grab a fistful of their ponytail and yank it to the side. Like this, see?" The trainer sets up a robotic dummy, this one with a soft silicone exterior instead of cloth. It has two braids, much like the Head Trainer, Hortensia, and when he clicks it on, it begins to stride quickly towards me. I was expecting it to be more lumbering and herky-jerky, but no, it's behaving like a human opponent would. When it reaches me and attempts a high punch, I stop it with an elbow, then grab one of the braids and twist it to the side. The dummy crashes to the ground.

"Hey, I did it!"

"I saw. Good job. Did you notice that you were using the right stance too?"

"No. Was I?"

"Yeah. I know it felt strange when you first tried it out, but you naturally fell into it when the dummy started approaching you. You had your hands up to defend yourself, your weight balanced between your feet, knees bent to spring forward and launch a counterattack. It was like you knew exactly what you were doing, but you didn't even have to think about it."

Now that I've mastered the basics of my posture, and learned some useful defensive strategies while I'm at it, the trainer at the dagger station approves me for instruction. I retrieve my tanto and she practically jumps on me the second she sees how I'm holding it. "Oh honey wait, this is all wrong," she exclaims. "I know you've probably used this before as a utility tool, but you need to grip it differently if you want it to function as a weapon. If you look carefully, you'll see that you're grasping quite loosely, and your fingers are spread apart, with your thumb slotting between two of them. That's fine if you're skinning a carcass or cutting some rope, but with fighting you need a more flexible handle on it. Here, keep your fingers closer together. Yep, nice and firm like that. Now tuck your thumb on top and brace the knuckle in that slight dip–yes, that's exactly right. I know it feels unnatural right now, but it'll come in very handy while fighting."

It does feel uncomfortable. She's right though, I used my tanto back home to fillet fish, and occasionally slice some rope to mend my nets and things. It makes sense I need a different hold since I'm using it in a different way. The trainer sets up a dummy. "Keep your padding on," she says. "This dummy also has a dagger, although it's made of plastic. Do what feels natural, alright? You'll feel a mild electric shock if its blade touches you, but it can't cause you any real harm."

"I have a question."

"Yeah?"

"Does the dummy bleed? I know the still ones don't, but do the robotic ones?"

"Yeah, they do. It's fake, of course, but the robots are meant to mimic the experience of an actual fight."

I clutch the tanto, palm sweating from nerves, as the dummy begins its approach with a dagger. It lashes out with no warning, and, remembering what the boxing trainer taught me, I snap up an elbow and knock its hand out of the way. It strikes lower, dull plastic connecting with my stomach, and a faint buzz runs through me. If that were a human, I'd be bleeding profusely. "Stop!" The trainer flicks a lever on a remote, and the dummy halts immediately. "What did you learn just there?"

"Attackers are unpredictable?"

"Exactly. You stopped the dummy for a second there so he tried to get you in a different place. Your problem was that you used your elbow. A couple inches off and you would've gotten a deep cut there. When you have a dagger, use it to parry their dagger. It's a lot harder to hurt you if somebody has to get through your tanto than if your skin is the only thing in the way. When you parry, it's not about whacking their knife as hard as you can, just apply some pressure so they can't hurt you. This time I want you to try that again, just use your dagger, okay?"

The dummy advances forwards again, this time going right for my throat. I stick my tanto out right in front of me, and it makes a sharp clapping noise as it hits the hard plastic knife of the dummy. I block it another three times before it manages to get me in the leg.

"You're doing great," the trainer praises. "This time, I want you to practice your first attack move. Thrust with the tip of your dagger. The new grip you're learning will help you maneuver better, and you can flip it every which way. Lay your hand horizontally and rotate it ninety degrees to the right. That's the thrusting position. From here you can stab your opponent if you're at a close enough distance. Slashing is more advanced, so that's going to come later. Just use thrusting as your attack move for now, alright? I'm going to run the sequence now."

I battle back and forth with the dummy for a few minutes, parrying the way the trainer showed me, until I nick the dummy's arm. It falters, just as a human would, distracted by the injury, and I plunge my dagger into its chest. A warm jet of fake but still disturbingly realistic blood spatters my front, and it's just as horrible-feeling as actual blood. Still though, I took the dummy down, so I must have acquired at least some skills today. I think regretfully of my younger allies, Emily in particular, and realize that on her own, she wouldn't stand a chance against that dummy, let alone Trey.

I guess I'll just have to use my newfound abilities to keep her safe, along with the rest of my alliance. Something inside of me screams that I'm a horrible person for practicing fighting, but I need to get back to Adrian and Winnie, and I'm happy that having allies allows me to justify my actions to myself. Learning how to use a weapon is morally okay if it's for the purpose of protecting twelve-year-olds, and thinking about that finally seems to shut my conscience up for once.

I am a good person now, but what if I have to kill someone in defense of me or my allies? What about then?

I certainly have a rough road to traverse, but I'll do anything to see my son again.

Jenna Reyer, 18, D7F:

The swimming pool is just the right temperature. The trainers have taken their time showing me what motions–strokes, they called them–I need to use to stay afloat. Last night my mentor Bethany and I stayed awake for a long time, watching recaps of the Reapings and deciding what tributes I need to watch out for and which ones might be a good addition to my alliance. So far, my only ally is Radley, but I'm perfectly fine with that. He's having a good time working over at the edible and medicinal plant stations, and is evidently doing very well in both.

I, on the other hand, am picking up swimming quite well. Bethany decided that I had to be prepared for an aquatic arena, and that I should devote a chunk of training to preparing for it just in case. "My arena involved water," she warned me. "Plenty of tributes didn't know how to swim. I had a huge advantage, being from District Four, and I found that most of the tributes just drifted along with the current. They didn't, and they really couldn't, figure out how to do anything else. You don't want to get trapped in that situation."

She was right, of course. I started doing that earlier today, right when the training began, and now my axe-strengthened arms are cutting through the water rapidly. I feel like I have a good grasp of the swimming, so I climb out of the pool and dry off, instead heading to a rack of hatchets. I call the instructor over to show me where the biggest and heaviest axes are, which he does right away. He's just finished giving some advice to my district partner Damon, who had a hard time even picking up the axes. The trainer had to teach him to lift them in a way that wouldn't hurt his back. Damon is nice, but I don't have high hopes for him. He's young and weak and doesn't have any experience with weapons, so I'm sort of expecting him to die in the Bloodbath.

No, Radley's a much better ally. It helps that he's got a sunny disposition, a humorous personality, and is actually fun to be around. He doesn't make that many jokes, but he does laugh at mine, and it's a blessed relief to have a strong ally that's not irritable or bloodthirsty. I glance over at Trey, the boy from Ten. He was practicing with a dagger for a while, but is now trying his hand at the station labeled Expediency. Expediency usually refers to the quality of being convenient and practical despite being immoral, which makes it a fitting name for the area where tributes are taught the easiest ways to kill people based on the position of veins and vital organs.

If any other tribute were there, I'd assume they were trying to figure out the simplest, most humane way to dispatch someone when the time comes to go into the arena, but Trey seems to be savoring the lesson a little too much. It's not like he's cackling evilly or anything, or even just overly gleeful. It's more that he's watching the trainer with such rapt attention. I strain my ears, trying to hear them talk without moving and being obvious about it. I catch a short snippet of the lesson. "This here is the carotid artery. It is very sensitive to pain, and one of the largest and most important blood vessels in the body. In fact, when we refer to slicing the throat, we're not actually severing the esophagus. That's a common misconception. Laceration of the esophagus is not what's fatal, it's the nearby carotid artery getting cut along with it that causes the victim to die. However, it's needlessly torturous to draw things out when the carotid artery is involved, so the best method is the simple throat slice that I just mentioned. When facing another person, the carotid artery is slightly left of the noticeable throat bulge. Simply move your weapon from right to left for the quickest outcome."

The trainer is speaking in the most clinical voice she can, as though even she finds her subject matter disgraceful, but Trey is smiling peacefully. "I know," he says, smirking a little, as though what's really drawing him in is not the useful information being provided but the discussion of eedless torture. Actualluy, Trey looks excited at the prospect of inflicting needless torture on somebody, probably the poor Emily girl from his district. I heard him threaten her earlier, and although her allies jumped up and made him back off, I doubt he'll give up that easily.

The Capitol axes, despite being so large, are light and easy to swing. I've started hacking away at some of the still dummies, which seems to be a successful approach. I've seen tributes in past years throw axes, but that's not something I plan on learning. I've established a solid foundation of skill back home in District Seven, and I don't want to waste my limited time in the training center. I spend enough time with the axes to get used to their weight and balance, and no more. I hang them back up in their slots, ignore Damon, who is trying and failing to throw an axe at a target six feet in front of him, and proceed towards the metal staircase that will take me to the upper level, where an oblong track is laid out, all sorts of other things dangling in the center, mostly hanging from the ceiling. There are rings and bars to swing from, as well as a cargo net and plenty of other equipment. The deciding factor, however, is a real tree in the corner that's suspended from a thick chain.

I run up the staircase easily and speak to the trainer waiting at the top, a spry-looking man with gill implants on his cheeks. It's not the most outlandish modification I've seen in the Capitol, but it is one of the silliest. "Um, hi. I was sort of wondering if there was a tree-climbing station I could visit."

"Hello! You must be Miss Jenna from District Seven. I'm a huge fan, actually. And yes, we most certainly do! As you can see, if you head along that beam right there, the tree will be just on your right." I follow his gaze. A thin catwalk winds in circles, with little mini paths branching off of it to some of the other obstacles. Following her instructions, I find the station easily. A separate trainer is there, and she starts rummaging in a bin.

"Excuse me–sorry for interrupting, but I was told this was where I could climb some trees?"

"That's right. Come here, I'm finding your safety gear for you." She eventually pulls out a tangled mesh, sorting it out until she's left with what looks like a bodysuit with most of the fabric missing. She orders me to step into it, tightening the straps around me and attaching them to what she says is a carabiner, with a safety rope running through an elevated rigging. "It's your harness," she explains. "There's no soft forest floor for you to tumble down to, and if you fell this far, you might be injured. This makes it so you're safe while climbing."

I really don't need to worry about falling, but I don't bother arguing with her. "There's no catwalk extending to it," she says. "You can walk along that beam or try to jump it." I leap the distance easily, and smile as I dig the tips of my fingers into familiar bark. I scale the tree easily, taking the opportunity to survey my fellow tributes from above. The Careers are having some kind of argument at the knife range, gesturing angrily at a couple of outlier kids who are trying to use the range alongside them.

Radley has moved on from the plant stations and is messing around with a sword. He rejects help from the trainer, so I think he's examining it more than actually trying to use it on the dummies. Damon has apparently given up on axes, and is instead listening intently to an instructor who is describing the best ways to avoid infections after having sustained an injury. I begrudgingly climb down from the tree, unclip my harness, give it back to the trainer, and return to the main level. I gave myself a break with easy activities I've performed loads of times, so now I force myself to get down to business.

I think back to my conversation with Bethany last night. She had warned me about the dangers of unpurified water and that I should never drink salty seawater, but the station labeled Safety Around Water must cover more than that, right? I walk towards it right away, and the trainer there greets me effusively. "Hiya there, sugar! Do you want to learn more about bodies of water and the proper precautions to take when around them? Please tell me you do, nobody's visited my station so far and I'm getting bored with just sitting here." She gestures to the low black stool she's perched on.

I tell her that I do, and settle in on the cushioned seat of the stool opposite of her, tucking my feet up as she pulls up a colorized holographic projection of a lake. "This here is a blue lake. Very few lakes appear clear, although the water is usually naturally colorless. Various environmental factors make lakes like this look blue. Blue lakes are safer sources to gather water. If you must take your chances because you have no means of water purification and you have several sources to choose from, pick the blue one. It has the least amount of algae and fungi that can be harmful, and usually has fewer bacteria. They are generally safe for swimming, as the water clarity is high and you will be able to see predators if they approach." I make a note of this in my mind. If in a pinch go for blue because it's cleanest.

"Here we have a brown lake. Brown lakes are usually in heavily forested areas or wetlands, and they are usually very shallow. They tend to look brown due to a brown, muddy bed at the bottom, and the water clarity is very good here as well. Brown lakes are usually good places to gather food, since plants thrive near them. They are home to many amphibious creatures, which may sometimes be poisonous, so exercise caution. Although not deep enough to swim, feel free to wade in, so long as you're not disturbing any visible burrows or holes in the silty banks." I also try to tuck this bit of info away. Vegetation is usually present, but so are poisonous animals.

"This one is a green lake. Green lakes are good places to find fish, who are attracted to the high concentration of algae, since they feed off of it. That's what gives the lake its color. However, these lakes are usually deep, and should not be entered. They contain ecosystems of their own, and many dangerous animals live beneath the surface. Water clarity is poor, so you should be able to see only one or two feet deep. Reach in to fill your canteen or empty your net, but don't, you know, chill out in it." Green is good for fishing but not much else, I tell myself.

"Now for the final two categories: clear lakes and black lakes. Clear lakes, proceed based on what you see. You'll be able to visually assess whether the lake is suitable for water, plant gathering, or fishing. Black lakes, on the other hand, are the most dangerous sort. Do not even stick your arm in them. Actually do not stick any part of your body in them. Black lakes have virtually no water clarity. A ferocious beast could be lurking just two inches below the surface, and you'll have no idea until it's dragging you in. Keep a buffer of two feet between you and any black lakes you encounter. There is no way to determine the depth, and oftentimes they house predators who can walk on land for short periods of time. They are exceedingly dangerous and you need to stay away from them. Alright?",I try to remember this bit as well. Clear, wait and see. Black, stay away. I thank the trainer and tell her I am going to learn more about how to safely consume water, and she points me towards the station on purifying water.

Here I meet the boy from Eleven, Griffin, and I somehow end up mentioning what Bethany said about not drinking saltwater, even if it's purified, because the salinity can actually dehydrate you more than if you didn't drink anything at all. It quickly leads to a conversation about mentors, and I feel genuinely terrible for Griffin. "You really lucked out in the mentor lottery," he groans. "Mine is so drunk he can't even hold a conversation. You know Soya, my district partner? Her mentor is even worse. He told her she should go harass the Careers and swear at them a bunch."

"He told her to insult them? That'll get her killed for sure!"

"I know, and she does too. She told him so, and he was like, yeah, that's what I'm hoping for. So obviously not great. Soya's kind of on her own, we don't get on very well, but it's good to have allies. Ardledge introduced me to his mentor last night. The other Griffin, last name Cadbury, won a really long time ago? Apparently tonight I'm supposed to check in with my escort and go to the District Four suite after training so he can coach us together. He seems a lot nicer than person, actually. I think the grumpy old guy thing is just an act for the cameras."

"Honestly, I'm sorry you have to deal with that. My mentor's originally from Four, actually."

"Bethany?"

"Yeah. She's super friendly but her advice is solid too. It's a real shame your mentor is so unhelpful, especially because you seem so nice, allying with Emily and the Twelve-ers. I'm a little too selfish to team up with kids. I'd have to spend so much time protecting them, and I'm just not up for that."

"Yeah. They're valuable allies though, they're pulling their weight fine and really putting in effort. They just might need more help in a fight. I do definitely get where you're coming from, though."

I return my attention to the posters that plaster the station. This one has no trainer, and is more about learning and memorizing the amount of minutes that water needs to cool down after boiling so that I don't scald myself, how much time I need to wait after using water purification capsules before it's safe to drink, what the right amount of iodine is to purify this or that much water.

I think I've got it down well enough by the time eleven-thirty rolls around. Hortensia blows her whistle and summons everybody to the center of the room. "You will now be given an opportunity to eat lunch," she says. "I recommend that you exercise moderation and don't drink too many fluids. The food is heavy and flavorful, and having too much of it could cause a stomachache. Likewise, copious amounts of liquid might result in cramping later. You do not want to be dealing with those things during the mandatory activities that will take place after lunch ends. Your dishes will be taken away at noon, so I suggest you prioritize eating over talking." She makes us line up and leads us into a mostly empty cafeteria, where avoxes wait at buffet counters to take our orders.

I find Radley right away. We stand in line to get some food (my meal is a sandwich with a disproportionate amount of bread. I always loved the fresh white rolls from the shops near my house, but they pale in comparison to the Capitol's baked goods) behind the Careers, who all end up sitting together at one of the long tables. Radley and I choose one all to ourselves, and as he grabs silverware from a basket in the middle, he asks me, "Should we debrief?"

"Yes, we should. Is there anything in particular you want to talk about?"

"Yeah." I prepare myself for dramatic news, either good or bad, but still, I'm not expecting the words that actually leave his mouth. "I want the girl from Eight in the alliance."


Hey y'all! I'm so excited to have the first training chapter out. Does this change your opinion about some of the tributes? What things are you curious about? A few of you have PM'd me with questions about sponsorship or new items I should put in the sponsor shop. If anybody has ideas for things they think would be useful in the arena, or has questions in general, feel free to message me about them. Also, I have a new poll up on my profile regarding which tributes you believe will have low training scores. I always look forward to hearing what you think!

- LC :)