Chapter 7
Lying in bed the image of the number eight blinking repeatedly under my face replays over in my mind. Many pats on the back, congratulatory words, and suffocating hugs followed the announcement of my training score. Wendy clapped enthusiastically and jumped with excitement. Alex even hooted in delight and ruffled my hair affectionately. But it was the look on Adam's face that was priceless. He looked like he had just eaten mouldy bread and now trying to swallow it.
The moment was short lived when the time came to announce the training score of the final tribute of the Fiftieth Hunger Games.
Evelyn's photograph was shown first, followed by her training score of five. The poor girl was in tears just at the sight of it. She was quickly comforted and consoled by all those that surrounded her; each showing her their support. Coming from anyone directly from the Capitol the comfort seemed hollow. Only the words spoken by our mentor felt authentic.
"People only care for high scores," he had remarked, "no one thinks too much for those that score low to average. As far as they know, you may have intentionally gotten a five in a guise to hide your true strength. Anyway, having a high score isn't as splendid as it sounds. That only means that the other tributes are more inclined to target you in the arena. Scores simply signify the potential tributes displayed during training. They do not guarantee or predict who the winner will be." His words worked. Evelyn felt better instantly.
Even after that, it is with the image of Adam's amusing expression that I fall asleep to.
Dawn comes along bringing with it Sunday. Back in Twleve my mother would be making the entire family pancakes on this day off. Thinking of my family and home only strives to motivate me to do my absolute best in the Games. With my training score I might just get sponsors and make it back to them.
Taking a shower in cherry blossom-scented soap, I'm still in a particularly good mood from the events of last night.
Breakfast consists of a bowl of cereal, sliced oranges, two waffles, one hardboiled egg, and doughnuts of different flavours including chocolate, strawberry, caramel, and vanilla.
Once everyone is gathered in the dining room, our mentor and escort begin explaining the day's schedule.
"As you should know, the entire day will be devoted to coaching you for your interviews tomorrow night," begins Konrad, cupping a mug of coffee with both hands. "Now, normally each tribute gets four hours with Wendy and another four with me."
"That's right. I'd coach you on presentation and Konrad on content," Wendy includes, obnoxiously cheerful as ever considering how early in the morning it still is.
"Nothing there will change. The only alteration is that you will have each of us for but two hours. Along with a well deserved four hour break," says Konrad, spreading butter onto a freshly baked muffin.
"We'll begin the day with Konrad coaching Haymitch first. And Maysilee will be with me," Wendy says, turning to us with that plastic smile on her face. "Adam and Evelyn; you two have the next four hours to yourselves. Once our time is up with Haymitch and Maysilee, there'll be a half hours break for lunch before you four switch over. Is everybody clear on the schedule?"
We all make sounds that the two adults take as acquiescence.
After breakfast Wendy leads me into her massive room; thus beginning an exceptionally long two hours.
If I was still remotely in a good mood this morning, that all changed by the end of my time with Wendy. Half the time the only thought that I can seem to conjure is how grateful I am that the duration of this session has been reduced by half.
The first thing Wendy does to start our session is lend me a pair of her high heels and incredibly long gown. Of course they are not the ones I'll be in during the interview but she wants me to gain experience wearing them.
It's already difficult enough as it is simply wearing the high heels without falling over. The damn gown makes another potential hazard for tripping on.
Wendy all but takes it upon herself to coach me to walk as she notices that I'm a tad unstable and wobbly – and generally inexperienced - in heels. Next she instructs me on the proper technique of sitting. Wendy emphasises the importance of keeping one's back straight whist in a chair. Sitting is then preceded by posture.
This includes many wearisome details such as where one's hands and feet should be place, and when the appropriate time for adjusting hair and dress is. All of which she decides to emphasise with demonstrations of sorts.
Then Wendy is grilling me on making more eye contact.
Half way through the session and she's already got me wanting to pull out my hair by the fistful. It seems like every chance she gets, she is more than willing to point out my flaws.
Supposedly I tend to chew my lip or roll my eyes or wrinkle my noise when I'm nervous, irritated, or annoyed.
The worst part is when Wendy attempts to teach 'proper' pronunciation. She's basically ensuring that not only will I be guaranteed to look stupid in front of the nation, but I'll sound equally ridiculous too.
Eventually Wendy calls time on our two hour lesson. Nothing else she may have said at that moment could make me as relieved as I felt right then.
Heading back into the dining room we are shortly joined by Konrad and Haymitch. Quick quiet words are exchanged between escort and mentor before Haymitch and I are made to apprehensively follow them respectively.
Wendy guides Haymitch to his room – to get him into a suit of some kind, I figure – whilst I follow Konrad into the sitting room.
Sitting on the couch opposite to him, I really get a look at District 12's mentor. Up until this very moment I've seldom given Konrad Stark a second thought.
It is common knowledge that his father died during a mine explosion while at work when Konrad was still very young. As an only child it was entirely up to Konrad to look after his terminally ill mother. She was extremely sick even during her son's Games and consequently died one week prior to Konrad being declared District 12's first ever victor. She died never knowing whether or not her only son would have ever made it home to her. It's a wonder Konrad has managed to deal with living in that mansion of a house in Victor's Village completely alone.
When thinking along those lines, one can scarcely blame him for turning to alcohol as a primary source of escape from this hell he now calls life. It certainly beats the alternative. Other victors have been known to resort to other forms of coping with what they had endured in their Games. Such as a narcotic pain killer called morphling, a sort of medicinal drug that can become extremely addictive.
Hearing someone clear their throat, I look up and realise Konrad must've just said something.
"Sorry, could you please reiterate that?" I ask.
"What do you know about these interviews?" he repeats patiently.
Thinking back, I recall anything relating to the interviews that may be relevant. "You mean besides the fact that they're basically a popularity and personality contest?"
"That's the essence of it, yes. So you understand that each tribute commonly displays a specific personally at the interviews."
"Well, yeah. Tributes have an angle they believe will appeal to the audience. Be it fearless or meek or intimidating or quirky; to name a few. These angles are vital because, as you've mentioned before, they are one of the determining factors sponsors consider when betting on their favourite tributes."
Konrad allows a grin. "Couldn't have said it better myself. Now, normally half the standard allocated time is dedicated on trying to come up with the best approach that individual tributes should use. Fortunately we've already talked enough that your angle seems quite clear."
I move closer to the edge of my seat, intrigued by his words. "And...?" I prompt.
"And the other half is spent on having a mock interview of sorts. To see whether or not that approach suits the tribute."
Connecting the dots, I recline back against the couch. "So now you want to do the mock interview, without mentioning the angle, as a way of solidifying the notion that the angle you deem appropriate is the right one."
"Precisely," he says, "Only if you're ok with it," Konrad adds quickly.
I shrug, "Doesn't seem like you're leaving much of a choice either way."
"Not unless you've got a better idea."
"No," I wave a gesture, "by all means let the commencement of the mock interview begin."
"How are you feeling, Miss Donner?" asks Konrad in an unnervingly accurate imitation of the Capitol accent.
"Both anxious and excited, I guess. With the Games just around the corner they're not uncommon feelings. Undoubtedly most, if not all, the tributes are feeling similar emotions."
"Well said. And what type of arena are you hoping for?"
I take a moment to mentally construct my answer before replying. "Any type of arena is fine so long as they offer some sort of concealment for their contestants."
What I'm not hoping for are jagged cliffs and huge canyons. That was exactly how the broken-armed crippled wound up meeting his end. His was chased by a group of four Careers. They'd been out for his blood the moment he tackled one of their own to the ground and stabbed them to death. With the four Careers chasing him, the cripple eventually found himself trapped between a pointed cliff and his pursuers. There was no way he could fight his way through. He was either going to die by their hands - where they would drag out his death - or meet his fate over the cliff. The choice for him was easy. Without a backward glance, the cripple jumped off the cliff where he smashed head-first into the cliff side.
"Okay," Konrad intervenes through my thought, "so what type of weapons are you hoping to get your hands on?"
"Are you sure it is appropriate for me to be answering that question?"
"How do you mean?"
"Well, assuming the other tributes don't say anything, wouldn't I be giving away too much? Anything I say would leave me at a disadvantage." To this Konrad simply gives a crooked smile.
The rest of the mock interview goes much the same way. Questions and answers fly back and forth. Needless to say the mock interview alone is one hundred percent more stimulating than any amount of lessons with Wendy.
"Yup, it's just as I thought," says Konrad simply after the final question was answered.
"And just what," I ask, "is that exactly?"
"Your angle; it's somewhat a mixture between calculating and intelligent."
My eyebrows rise up. "Like your angle some ten years ago. Where you were able to elude many of the other tributes and only kill when it was absolutely necessary to. Are you positive I'll be able to pull it off?"
"Of course, I wouldn't have brought it up if I thought even for a second that you weren't proficient of pulling it off."
"Well, thanks. Your confidence means a lot to me," I say earnestly.
"That's what I'm here for. Now, what do you say we go through another mock interview now that you know what your approach will be?"
And so it was that we resumed the questions and answers until Konrad declared it is time for lunch.
Back in the dining room Wendy sits by herself. That did not go unnoticed.
"Where's Haymitch?" Konrad asks as Adam and Evelyn enter shortly afterwards.
Wendy accepts a mug of tea from an Avox. "He decided that he'd like to try out room service and eat lunch in his room. Then he's going to take a nap."
"Ah," says Konrad, "is that so?" Judging by his tone, it sounds as though he actually does understand what Haymitch and I had to endure with our district escort. She is just that draining on a person.
Wendy nods once sharply. "Um hmm, that's right. Now, Lyn, sweetie, you'll be with me after lunch. Adam will work with Konrad. Maysilee-"
"Gets the rest of the day off," I finish.
After lunch the assembled group disband once more. To the privacy of my quarters and it is back to the regular calisthenic training as is routine whenever we are allocated free time. Roughly two hours goes by before a little snack is in order. Looking at the menu list I order a shepherd's pie and a bottle of water. Afterwards I poke my head out the door. Seeing as the hall is empty and the stairwell is right there, I spend half an hour or so racing up and down the stairs just working on leg muscles. With lungs and legs burning with exhaustion, I take a refreshing shower to wash away the sweat. All dried and dressed up, I take a much needed nap.
Punctual as always, Wendy alerts the entire floor that supper will begin shortly, thus waking me from a pleasant sleep. Quickly waking myself with a splash of water in the sink, I join the others at the dining table. Avoxes come and go throughout dinner bringing spaghetti carbonara, pan grilled lamb chops, steak with onion gravy, spring rolls, and rolls shaped like a crescent-moon sprinkled with seeds. Wendy informs us that the rolls are from District 11.
Only when the grilled lamb chops are placed in front of us does Konrad say anything.
"Most of you would be nervous about the interview tomorrow night. But don't be," he beings. "Just remember everything we went through today and you will be fine."
"Our interviews aren't going to last as long as they normally would. Are they?" Adam asks, with an air of already knowing the answer.
Wendy wipes her lips with a napkin before answering. "That's correct. Interviews with Caesar Flickerman usually last for three minutes. Given the current situation these interviews will last for no more than one and a half minutes."
"Of course," Adam mutters sarcastically under his breath, "the last thing we want to do is bore the Capitol." He savagely tears at a piece of meat with his hands.
"Now, dear, we don't-" at the glare Adam directed at her, Wendy falters and stares down at her lap.
"Will we really be fine tomorrow if we remember the things we talked about today?" asks Evelyn, her imploring puppy dog eyes directed at Konrad.
He pushes back the remainder of his plate and pours himself a glass of water before answering her. "You most certainly will."
When supper is over, Wendy suggests we get an early sleep for the busy day ahead of us tomorrow.
Changing clothes in the privacy of my room, I finally turn in for the night.