Trucy insists on tagging along when I leave to watch the reapings. There's only one chair in my room, but she's happy enough to sit on the edge of the bed.

"What are we looking for?" She swings her legs, making the bedframe jiggle.

I check the clock—the recaps should start in two minutes—before turning on the television. "We're seeing who we're up against. Who to watch out for, who might make good allies." I glance at her. "You want to be allies, at least, right?"

"Uh-huh."

I fold my arms. "That's all right with me." I don't think pulling woodland creatures out of her hat is a great method of self-defense, but I'm sure she could come in handy. And we're practically meant to ally with out districtmates, the way they pool our donations. She's a little... hyper, but I think I can put up with her. She doesn't strike me as a bad person, at least.

The show comes on with a blare of music over a faded montage of the district symbols. After some chatter from the announcers, the footage from District 1 kicks off the show. The boy has an unnerving skeletal face, but his district partner seems normal, if threatening.

The tributes from 2 have the same last name; according to the commentary, they're siblings. But why on earth would they both volunteer the same year? Even if one won, the other... wouldn't. Do they not think losing a sibling would be terrible? What kind of people are they?

But the recaps continue, and I can't reflect on any one thing for too long.

The next girl charges up all three stairs to the stage in one step. At least, that's what she attempts before her foot hits the wrong surface and she crashes back to the ground. The commentators assure us she wasn't injured.

Neither from 4 seem that big, but I can't really gauge the size of the guy with the baggy clothes he's wearing.

And then there's us.

"Ah!" Trucy jumps, shaking the bedframe more. "My hat is crooked! Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"They were probably more worried about other things."

She shrinks a little. "Yeah..."

I sigh and shut my eyes. My part's up next, and, honestly, I don't even want to look.

Unfortunately, I can still hear myself screaming in confusion. What a first impression. Ugh! Even the hosts are laughing!

"Oh, Polly, look!"

"I'm not opening my eyes until District 6," I growl, crossing my arms tighter.

"Party pooper."

"There are plenty of worse things to be, Trucy."

Finally, the commentators announce the next district, and I resume watching. The male tribute has quite a beard going, although they're bound to shave it off before the Games start. I'm not sure why they never let any stubble into the arena, but I can't really complain.

Next is 7, whose volunteer causes a commotion among the hosts. He's... a little imposing, I guess, but the big deal is his older brother, who won his own Games seven years ago. Needless to say, this guy is going to be a crowd favorite.

The guy from 8 has a wide-shouldered eyesore of an outfit, while the boy from 10 is decked out in all white. I can't say either clothing choice is that appealing, but they're more memorable than mine, unless the Capitol just really likes red.

The guy from 11 is clearly thinking of bolting, while his district partner clings to her knitting needles until the Peacekeepers pry them from her hands. As if they're vulnerable in those thick suits.

No one else stands out that much.

The hosts are wrapping things up now, so I turn the volume down and look to Trucy.

"What do you think?"

"Hmm." She crosses her ankles. "I think I like the pair from 3."

Your first choice is the terrible klutz. All right, then.

"Maybe the two from 7—the guy's awfully cute—and Jinxie from 8 seems nice."

Added to our winning roster are one more likely killer and a girl who has trouble not shaking or hiding her face. Then again, I guess none of us are at our best right after getting reaped.

"And maybe District 11. Sound good to you?"

"Sure," I deadpan. With an exhale, I rub my forehead with one finger. "In all honesty, we should try to take whoever we can get. There's strength in numbers, even if none of us know what we're doing." I slump. "Hopefully someone will, though."

"Okay!" She fists her hands, leaning toward me. "Once we get to the Training Center, I'll recruit as many people as possible!"

"Great." My yawn is silent as I sit up. "I'm kind of stuffed, to tell the truth. Might turn in early tonight."

"That's a good idea." She hops off the bed and straightens her hat. "I'll head back to my room now. Good night, Polly!"

I smile. "Good night."

She slips out and closes the door behind her.

I don't think I'm going to win the nickname battle, but Trucy really isn't all that bad. It might actually be nice to have her with me in the Games if she's going to keep smiling. We could all use a little cheer in a place like that.

But she'll have to be out of the picture if I'm going to make it home alive...

That's... not something to think about now, though. No amount of planning is going to stop inevitable things like that. I'll handle those things when I get to them.

I don't have much of a choice.

The stylist with bright yellow tattoos sighs. "Are they really necessary?"

"Yes!" It's harder to make a point without anything around to bang my fists on, but I stare her down regardless. "They're extremely necessary!"

She pouts, twisting half a spike's worth of bangs between her fingers. "But they're not even real."

"What do you mean, not real?!" I do my best not to point out her partner's purple hair. Even if I use hair gel, my locks are a lot more real than hers.

The violet-haired girl rests her hands on her hips. "Oh, we can keep them. They give him a unique silhouette if nothing else."

The other girl flips my hair into my face as she lets go. "If that's all we want, I can make a much better design of them."

...I don't think I want a woman with her sense of style redesigning my hair.

"Oh, let's just leave it to the boss. He'll have the final say, anyway."

I'm not sure whether to be relieved or terrified. Whatever the head honcho's decision is, I can't hope to like all of it. Just please don't make me parade around without decent covering. This morning has been bad enough, even with a more private audience. The last thing I want is the rest of the Capitol commenting on how pathetic I look.

The assistants leave my hair down when they leave, and the head stylist doesn't show up for a few minutes. He motions for me to put on some underwear—finally—and spreads the plastic-covered something in his arms across an empty table. He gives me a once-over before turning back to the garment bag thing.

"Good afternoon, Apollo. Are you excited to see your costume?"

"Er, yes." At least it looks big enough to be a full outfit.

The plastic crinkles, but not enough to obscure his voice. "Now, this was short-notice, so it isn't quite as grand as I would like, but once I heard your name, I thought that I simply must adapt my idea appropriately. I'm sure you'll find it excellent."

My name? Justice? Is he going to give me judge robes or something? I feel like that would get pretty warm...

He shuffles the plastic off the outfit, but all I can see from here is the dark bluish tint.

He gets the thing all scrunched up in his hands before he brings it to me and throws it over my head. After a little tugging, I look down to find myself wearing... a dress.

"It's a tunic," the stylist says quickly. "Now, cooperate with me, and we'll get the toga on over it."

It's not covering much for a tunic.

He grabs the rest of the blue stuff and comes back.

"Of course, I still had to tie it to your district specialty. I think the little solar panels make for an interesting texture, don't you?"

"Yeah." Not something I would have come up with. I can't say it looks bad, though. I'm just not used to wearing this kind of stuff. Especially without pants...

He sets up the matching toga and walks me over to a chair. I'm relieved to sit down until I realize I'm next to a large display of makeup.

...I give up. Just keep compromising my masculinity. I didn't need it for anything, anyway.

In the end, he at least lets me out with my hair styled appropriately. It was a mess to get it into spikes with the laurel in the way, but everything seems intact, and I'm ready to get this chariot ride over with.

"This is so exciting!" Trucy tilts onto her tiptoes and back. "There's gonna be a huge crowd—and look at everybody's costumes!"

I'm not sure why either of those things is thrilling, but I nod. The chariots get lined up—I'll have to be careful not to lose my balance—and we head out once the door is open and the anthem is playing.

As we enter the open air, the smell of the horses fades. The crowds on both sides shout and laugh. Some are waving, but the conglomeration of outfits is too bright to look at for long. The guy from 8 must love this place.

There's not much else to watch but the huge television screens, so I gaze at them. They feature District 3 at the moment. Their colors don't match, but they're both in jointed, armor-like costumes that must be robot-themed. I can't focus on the details much when the girl draws my attention. Hunching, she keeps a nervous smile on her face, but her hands keep flying to her ears no matter how hard she tries to stop them.

District 4 seems to be some sort of swimsuit pirate theme. They guy's actually bigger than I thought... A lot bigger. Gulp...

And then there's us. Trucy's decked out in blue, too, although it's a lot brighter than mine. All to match her top hat, I guess.

You know, despite the whole dress thing, I really don't look bad in this.

But the camera feed changes, and I disappear from the screen. Did we get less time up there than District 4? I feel like we did. Great. Showing favoritism already, you guys? Not cool.

By the time I'm paying attention again, we've moved on to 7. Instead of facing ahead like a normal person, the boy stretches across the width of the chariot, his shoulders and arms resting along the right side of the handle. He's also shirtless for no apparent reason, unless the chains stenciled onto his arms are really that relevant to the lumber industry. The girl, in some sort of wood saw motif dress, squishes herself against the other side of the chariot and grumbles.

The more high-pitched voices of the crowd quiet a bit as the screen goes to District 8. I don't get a good look at those costumes because I'd rather not go blind.

District 9 is onscreen until we pull up to the City Circle. Time for the president's welcome speech.

A welcome to the Hunger Games. I suppose it's sort of a nice gesture. Everything to come is a nice gesture until they dump us in the arena to kill each other.

Smile, be cordial, then tear all of us to shreds. Reminds me of a certain victor from 7.

At least our mentor isn't like that. She understands that we don't want to be killers. That maybe, just maybe, we don't have to be.