Chapter 6
Morning light streams through the gaps in the curtain, forcefully waking me. Sitting up, I rub the sleep from my eyes using the heel of my palm. The unexpected sound of steady breathing sends me into a state of momentary paralysis. I regain enough sense to turn my head in the direction of the sound. Over by the couch is a sleeping figure. It's all I can do not to scream bloody murder right there and then. Why on Earth is there someone in my room?
Not taking my eyes off the sight of the slightly lanky figure reclining rather uncomfortably in the sofa, I reach blindingly for the hairbrush on the bedside table should the need for a weapon become necessary. After about a minute I still remain without a weapon. Getting frustrated, I look at the side table expecting to see the Capitol hairbrush and my mockingjay pin, only to see a pawn piece from a chess set in their place.
Upon closer inspection the pawn piece is made of wood, handcrafted with such skill and perfection. The wood is a golden brown colour.
Eyes flicking a couple of times from the pawn to the sleeping form on the couch, realisation hits me like a struck of a lightning bolt. No stranger is in my room. In fact, no one is there at all. I'm the one who intruded into another person's room.
With that realisation comes the sudden need to leave. Placing the pawn piece back down and then practically hopping out of the bed, I swiftly cross the room. Once safely out in the hall, I quietly close the door. My tense body relaxes, feeling safe, until I turn around and give a tiny yelp of surprise and stumble back against the wall. He's as silent as a ghost, I think, heart hammering.
"You were in there the entire night?" Konrad nods meaningfully at the name plaque I missed last night due to the darkness. The doors to each of our rooms have been nailed with our names in fancy calligraphy.
I shake my head vigorously. "No. We were merely discussing potential strategies for the private session with the Gamemakers."
At this point a particularly loud snore sounds from behind the door. I cringe internally, hoping against hope that Konrad didn't hear it. He does.
Any opportunity of steering the conversation elsewhere and distracting Konrad vanishes before it even presents itself when he speaks first. "Look, how you kids choose to spend the night together is scarcely my problem. Just remember it may seem like a good idea fraternising with someone you may ultimately end up facing off with in the arena. But it's not."
Stumbling over my words, I continue shaking my head, trying to explain to Konrad that his assumption is utterly wrong. "No, you're completely misinterpreting the situation. It's-" Before another word can be hopelessly stammered out, an Avox appears and hands Konrad a letter. He reads it and then turns back towards me.
"My sincerest apologies, Maysilee, but I'm needed elsewhere. Urgent business of the tedious kind, you see. Anyway, I'll see you at breakfast," Konrad says. Without further explanation, he walks the length of the corridor before turning a corner.
With a resigned sigh I head back to my proper chambers. I close the door and lean back against it, exhaling once very deeply. Looking down I realised my shoes have been left in the other room. Great.
Within mere minutes I'm standing under a steaming hot shower, scrubbing in grape-scented foamy soap furiously. It is in the shower that vague memories of last night become clearer.
A memory of being shaken awake appears. The strong scent of fresh lemon lime that could only have come from one of the many soaps offered in the shower. Then a voice saying, 'You're in the wrong room, Donner. Get up.' To which there is a mumbled response of, 'Not yet, Edith, five more minutes.' An unmistakeable sound of stifled laugher, then a dramatic sigh, is soon followed by a, 'Just this once. This had better not become a regular thing.'
Having spent enough time getting clean, I dress in the fresh set of clothes that have been laid out in front of the wardrobe.
Replacing the pair of shoes with a new one from the closet, and deciding that I've put off going to breakfast long enough, I open the door. Instantly a familiar pair of shoes neatly placed at the corner of the door catches my attention. Without even having been told who they belong to, I place them back in my room, knowing full well to whom they belong.
Breakfast begins oddly enough with the discovery of Adam already eating alongside Haymitch and our mentor. Stocking a plate up with pinwheels, chocolate muffins, a small bowl of yogurt, a slice of apple tart, and sausage rolls, I place them on the table and reach for the pitcher of orange juice. It is then that a mug of warm milk is set before me.
I give Konrad a quizzical look. "What's this for?"
"I had that milk specially made for you. We don't want any... accidents or complications occurring just before the Games, do we?" He looks down at my lower abdomen pointedly. "You realise that no matter what condition you're in, they'll still make you compete, I trust."
He isn't wrong. Just a few years back a tribute from 9 sustained severe stab wounds caused by another tribute. Thanks to top-notch Capitol treatment, the victim was able to walk away from that attack with hardly a scratch. The same could not be said for the assailant, however. Word quickly got out that the assaulter was later summoned into the presence of the Gamemakers where he met an unfortunate 'accident'. No matter what, the Capitol could do nothing to mend the tribute's broken arm. Curiously enough the arm in question was the stabber's preferred throwing arm and allegedly the one used during the attack. That tribute ended up starting the Games as a broken-arm cripple who still managed to make it to the finial ten, despite the disability.
Suddenly the words 'accidents', 'condition', and 'specially made' make sense. The sight of the warm milk no longer seems so innocent or harmless anymore.
I try getting through to Konrad once more. "Look," I begin with a sigh, "you've misunderstood the situation entirely. Nothing-" Evelyn enters the dining room just then, shattering my weak resolve. I can't seem to find the courage to even bring up the subject.
Making a point of pushing the mug of milk away, I settle for a glass of juice instead. For the duration of breakfast nothing exciting really happens. Konrad's usual run through of the day's schedule is the only real talk around the table. He goes on to explain that the private session with the Gamemakers usually lasts for fifteen minutes or until they deem they've seen enough. But due to the second Quarter Quell demanding twice the amount of tributes, each session is likely to lasts no more than eight minutes.
As we are dismissed from breakfast until having to meet up again for the third and final training session, I cannot help but note that one of the tributes linger behind. Haymitch stops Konrad from leaving, wanting to have a few private words with him. Whatever those words were, Konrad has never once brought up the topic of 'accidents' again, for which I am eternally grateful.
Free time until the training session with the other tributes is spent as usual with intense training in the privacy of my temporary living quarters.
Training down below ground floor begins much the same as any other day. The difference being that during lunch, tributes will begin to be called individually for their private session with the Gamemakers. The males precede the females from each district, starting with the first district and ending with 12.
During the morning of that third day I resolve to try out as many stations as possible, despite the shorter-than-usual time period.
The first station of the morning is shelter building followed by hammock making. Then it's hand-to-hand combat before finishing off with sword fighting.
Shelter building is particularly tricky to grasp the concept of but fortunately the instructor there is a patient teacher. Hammock making is almost easy once the knot weaving skills mastered a few days back are applied. Hand-to-hand combat and sword fighting are both brilliant ways of testing out speed. It turns out that because of my small stature I am fast, making it virtually impossible for any assistant to land a blow on me.
Lunch is signalled approximately twenty minutes into the first aid lesson that I wasn't expecting to do but managed to squeeze in the time for nevertheless.
Eating a tuna sandwich and nachos dipped in sour cream, I sit in an isolated corner, anxiously watching as each tribute gets called. Once their private session is done, they are not required to come back. Meaning as time progresses, the dining room empties. Being from 12 the waiting lasts for hours. I manage to occupy my mind by coming up with potential skills that the Gamemakers might appreciate enough to give an adequate training score for. By the time the second female tribute from ten is called, my mind still has not come up with anything. Evelyn is still with her District 11 group whilst Adam sits at a table eating lunch alone, now that the rest of his group members are gone.
Before long even Evelyn is sitting by herself. Eventually Haymitch is called. I begin to panic as the first of District 12's tribute leaves the room.
Adam gets summoned shortly afterwards.
My name is called eight minutes after Adam left. Steeling my nerves, I march purposefully into the gymnasium and am meant with an unwelcomed sight. It is not difficult to work out that the Gamemakers have been confined in one place for far too long. They've had to endure forty-six other tributes displaying their skills and trying to impress them. Most are drunk and all are impatient, irritable, and would like nothing more than to go home. Deciding how best to gain the attention of these pathetic unprofessional drunks, I look around for some skill to display when the pile of materials, the shelf of heavy weapons, and the archery station catches my interest. Formulating a quickly improvised plan, I grin mischievously.
I head over to the materials piled amongst the floor and within six and a half minutes have constructed a makeshift shelter. Gathering up some leftover wood, I then place them on the ground beside the archery station. Quickly breaking the wood into smaller pieces I arrange them in accordance to my need. I go behind the shelf of heavy objects and lean my bodyweight into it. Just as it seems the plan is never going to work, the shelf rocks slightly. This serves as motivation to push even harder and the next thing I register is the shelf falling forward with a satisfying crash! I turn towards the Gamemakers and am pleased with the response. One, who had passed out, wakes up enough to vomit all over the food on the table. Many are in a frenzy trying to talk over one another now. Others are babbling and gesturing wilding at me. Now that got their undivided attention. I clear my throat loudly. "Maysilee Donner of District 12."
Going back to the pile of wood next to the archery station, I rub two sticks together until a fire catches. Picking up a bow and choosing a specific type of arrow that best serves my purpose, I nock and hold the arrow to the fire until that too catches alight. Standing in proper position, I raise the arrow high and aim it at the makeshift shelter. Instantly it bursts into flame. Placing the bow back down, I look over at the now silent and attentive Gamemakers. The big one in the centre in the head Gamemaker's robe stands up. "That will be all, Miss Donner."
I bow in their direction and nod once, lips pursed.
Reaching the elevators, I stand and wait patiently as one of the Avoxes guarding the exit pushes a button and stands aside.
Back on twelve's floor I sneak into the confinement and sanctuary of my room for a nap before anyone is none the wiser of my return.
The nap is disrupted when Wendy knocks on the door saying that supper is about to start. Tonight we are joined by our four stylists. We are first served creamy smoked salmon pasta. Then there are fried snapper with honey mustard sauce on rice, barbecued barramundi, steamed garlic prawns, and the salty fish-shaped loaves of bread tinted green from seaweed that could only have come from District 4.
About halfway through the fried snapper, Konrad questions us candidly. "So how did the four of you go with the Gamemakers?"
"It's hard to say. By the time I was called, they seemed to be more interested in consuming all the food and wine available," Adam offers.
Evelyn chimes in too. "They were all singing and talking amongst themselves rather than paying attention to me like they should have been," she complains with that childlike pout.
"Poor sweetie, now that's just poor manners on behalf of the Gamemakers, isn't it?" Wendy makes a sympathetic noise that does not at all sound genuine. "We'll just have to have a word with them."
"Haymitch," Konrad says around a mouth of food, "Maysilee. Is there anything either one of you would like to add?"
I shrug. "Could've gone worse."
"That's magnificent, Maysilee." Wendy smiles brightly. "Haymitch, how did you go?"
"All right."
After dinner it's straight to the sitting room where training scores are televised. First a tribute's photograph is shown, followed by their training score. Training scores range from one to twelve; one being the shamefully lowest possible score and twelve being the highest.
District by district, each and every tribute have their score announced by Caesar Flickerman, the host of the Hunger Games.
Predictably the Careers all average the eight-to-ten mark. In particular I note that the girl Evelyn is afraid of from One gets a nine.
So not just a pretty face, then.
The male tribute from Two who tried to intimidate me gets an eleven. I shiver at that announcement.
The other tributes are awarded with training scores of seven or less.
Another person that stands out is a male tribute from Six. He gets a score of nine. The two from Eleven that have allied themselves with Evelyn are scored four and five. Then Haymitch's photo is shown. In half a heartbeat the number ten is flashing below his image. The entire room erupts in applause with every person congratulating Haymitch on his remarkable achievement.
"Just what did you do?" his stylist asks him, wonderment clearly evident in her voice.
In response he simply smiles crookedly. "That would be telling, now, wouldn't it?"
On screen Adam's photo is shown moments before the number seven appears under it. The applause directed at Adam is noticeably less enthusiastic than that of the tribute before him.
The photograph of Adam is soon replaced by mine.
I turn away, nervous and expecting the absolute worst. Then suddenly Wendy lets out a happy shriek, causing me to look up. Upon seeing the training, my jaw hangs open in pure astonishment.