The first thing I do when I get to my room is run my hands over all the material, eat everything in sight, and press every single button in sight. Yes, I know I grew up in District Three, around all the various machines and electronics. But there was nothing, [i]nothing[/i] as high-tech as this Capitol stuff. I didn't manufacture anything yet. We're taught how things worked, what goes together and what doesn't. Our products would be disastrous to get wrong. But these—man, these were a work of [i]art.[/i] The wall was so smooth, so seamless, until a button was pushed and food came out. Or clothes. Or anything I wanted. I studied it for a long time, taking things apart, putting them back together. It took my mind off the games.
It took my mind off the games until I was called down for dinner and a meeting with the mentors. Mine was the winner of last year's games; an eighteen year old girl named Jenica, who stares sullenly across the room and refuses to meet anyone's eyes. The other mentor is a thirty-year old man named Sand, who is surprisingly normal for a victor. He sits in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, and my eyes slide to the boy next to him. My heart skips a beat. Of course I knew he was a tribute—how could I not? We were chosen together. First was the name [i]Holly Leigh,[/i] me, mine. Me? My one slip in thousands. My family was relatively well off; no need to sign up for tesserae. But no. Fate was against me, against my twelve years of life. But also with me, in some cruel, vicious way, because the next name to be called was Logan.
Oh, Logan! There he was, sitting there, looking all handsome-like and sexily eating a roll. I slide into the chair across from him and smile, chin resting on my hand. He looks at me warily, tearing his roll into a bunch of tiny pieces. "Yeeeeees?" he asks, and I smile a little wider.
"We're tributes!" I blurt hysterically. Of course this was not a good thing. Nothing about this situation was a good thing. Well, other than the tasty bit of Logan sitting across from me. I've taken the games as kind of an excuse to lose my mind, to go to my happy place and forget everything. Because, really? Was there a point to rebelling? It was inevitable, and nothing to dwell upon. I could dwell on Logan, though. It would make me feel better.
He starts to shred the roll into smaller pieces. "Yeah, we are," he says, voice trembling slightly. Four years older than me and he's scared? Funny the way the world works. I watch him a little more, my mind wandering off to a place I'd heard about watching the Hunger Games. District Four had something called…a beach? Where the water was salty and waves that were bigger than any our lake made lapped against the shore, where soft white sand covers the shoreline. I'd asked Sand about sand before, since he'd been named after it, but he wasn't sure what it was either. We came up with the idea it was some sort of dirt or grass like substance. It made for a pretty picture. Well anyway, I was on the beach, and of course Logan was there too… and we'd both won the games, we moved far far away and decided to have little Logan/Holly babies together.
Man, did I love my imagination. Nothing good would come from these games—although I've mentioned that already, didn't I? But I could hope, I could dream, and I'd drag Logan along with me, whether he wanted me or not. And oh, soon enough, he would want me. Trust me.