Underdogs

The moment that I'm pushed out of the car at the station, I want to cover my eyes before I'm blinded and press my hands against my ears before my eardrums burst. Bright flashes from cameras cause spots to appear in my eyes and I meet a wall of sound as people start shouting my name.

I don't know how to react to any of this – I know they're only excited by me because of who my mother is but I'm not sure what the best way to use their interest will be. I decide that I can't be bothered dealing with this right now; after all, isn't this what the mentors are there for? So I just adopt a look of mild disinterest and try to encourage the Peacekeepers holding my arms to pick up the pace.

I really have no desire to remain under the scrutiny of the Capitol cameras for longer than absolutely necessary. Particularly when I am fully aware that I will undoubtedly be under a lot more observation than the other tributes this year because of my mother.

This is just another reason for me to resent her and I clench my fists tightly, hoping that the cameras won't pick up on my reaction. I can't help being angry whenever I think of her though – she must have surely realised what she was abandoning me to.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I finally step onto the train, and though I can hear Stelson's noises of admiration behind me, I barely spare a glance for the decor inside the train. I'm not really in the mood to be impressed by anything that the Capitol has to offer right now.

I remember a time when even just the idea of the Capitol would excite me and I would be so jealous of my mother whenever she would have to mentor for the Hunger Games and get to head off there in a fancy train and eat their fancy food. I had used to watch the Games with avid attention – my eyes glued to the screen and willing my mother's tributes on. I could never understand why she was never as enthusiastic about it as I was, or why she told me off when I had exclaimed that I wanted to volunteer as soon as I was old enough.

I don't think I had even quite been able to comprehend it when she had died. In my childish mind there had been part of me that had believed it was an accident.

It had taken me seeing the other victors to finally realise why my mother had wanted out. You see them on television – the alcoholic victors, the abusive ones, the perpetually silent ones, the twitchy ones, the drug addict ones just as my mother had once been.

Still, if they could deal with it enough to at least stay alive, then why couldn't she?

I find myself being propelled along a long corridor and I pull myself out my thoughts long enough to glance around at the over-the-top luxury of the train. Seriously, why would anyone put marble in a train?

I look back at Stelson who walks a little way behind me – his mouth and eyes both wide open as he takes in the decor. I supposed that after living his whole life in the Community Home that this is something he never expected to see. Whereas I had spend the first eleven years of my life in a Victor's House. While it doesn't compare to this of course, it was still fairly ostentatious. And besides, I don't want to be impressed by this so I'm not really allowing myself to look. I want to continue blaming the Capitol for my mother's death, because it makes it a hell of a lot easier.

"You'll meet your mentors in there," one of the Peacekeepers grunts, gesturing to a door just in front of us. They leave and I can't help wondering whether they escort everyone onto the train, or just the "dirty little orphans" from the Community Home because they're worried we might nick something.

"Neri," Stelson says from beside me as I hesitate in front of the door.

I can't do this right now – I can't talk to him because I have no idea what I'm supposed to say to him. Instead I reach for the handle and slide the door open.

Inside sit our two mentors and Cookie, gathered around a glass topped table groaning with various delicacies, all of which turn my stomach. So many of them are shellfish – I suppose to make us feel at home – but it just makes me feel worse. I know that if I hadn't been chosen today, then fishing is where I'd be, and it's exactly where I want to be. Not on this claustrophobic train with Stelson who makes me feel guilty even by just being here with me. But on a fishing boat – the salty spray staining my cheeks and the breeze rippling through my hair. It may be backbreaking work, but it's a place I feel familiar in. But here, I'm about as far out of my comfort zone as I could get.

I recognise both of the mentors who now gesture us into the room. The woman, Cordula, won the Games about ten years ago. She watches me now through her iron grey eyes, so intently that I start to feel uncomfortable and want to look away. They always used to show the tapes of her Hunger Games during training because it had been proof that the underdog could win, and we were the biggest underdogs there were.

The other one is Caspian; he won the Games two years ago when everyone had underestimated him. He'd been up against some fairly nasty opponents as well so I have no idea how he did it. I'm not too happy about having such an inexperienced mentor though; I'd rather have someone who had been doing this for years. At least we have Cordula as well, I think.

Cordula surges to her feet as I step lightly through the door way, and she holds out a stiff hand that I look at awkwardly. Does she want me to shake it? I've never been particularly good at social niceties. I extend my hand anyway, and find it clasped firmly in between both of hers. "I don't suppose you remember me, do you?"

I shrug in response to this question and draw my hand back, pressing it uncomfortably against my side. "I used to look after you, when your mother was-" she trails off for a moment, "when your mother was ill."

Ahh, you mean when my mother was passed out someone or injecting herself with some vile toxins. Ill is a very euphemistic way of putting it.

I choose to ignore her and take a seat at the opposite side of the table. Cookie leans towards me with a bright look on her face, "You must be so excited to be following in your mother's footsteps?"

I decide not to justify that question with a response and I just glance away from her, my eyes landing on Caspian as I do.

He's watching Cookie with a mildly amused expression on his face, but his dark eyes seem shrouded in sadness. I certainly wouldn't believe that he's nineteen years old – he appears so much older and carries an air of weariness with him. My stomach clenches once more as I realise that this is what the Hunger Games do to a person.

I start suddenly as he notices me watching him, and his smile grows even wider as I quickly avert my eyes and for some reason I feel a faint blush begin to rise under my skin. Luckily the sunburnt patches on my cheeks will cover it but still, I'm being utterly fucking pathetic.

I don't have time to dwell on my reaction because Stelson and Cordula have taken their seats and she is leaning towards us expectantly.

"I'm assuming that both of you are going to take part in the traditional alliance?" she asks, knowing that we will understand what she means. It's a long followed tradition, since almost the very first Hunger Games, that the tributes from the more rich and powerful districts join together in order to take down the weaker tributes. This alliance is full of trained tributes, the majority of who will have volunteered in order to try and win the glory and status that the title of "Victor" brings with it. I can understand why the tributes from the other districts might despise us because of it, but I'm planning on doing everything I can to make it home, and there's certainly safety in numbers.

At least there's no pretence in the traditional alliance – the tributes always know that the others are there to win and there's none of this stupid making-friends-with-your-allies junk that always goes on between the other districts.

I glance up, realising that she's still waiting for an answer, and I nod my head tightly. Being part of the alliance is a good way to ensure that you'll make it past the bloodbath.

But my eyes can't help but stray over to Stelson's skinny form. The tributes from one and two will eat him alive – he's completely the opposite of the stereotypical tribute from our district and I know that joining this alliance might put him in danger.

I press my nails into my palm, and force myself to concentrate on what is really the most important thing. If I worry about Stelson, then I'll be distracted – and no matter which way you look at it, there's no way that both Stelson and I can make it out of that arena.

This is what I try to tell myself, but when he raises his head to give a gentle nod of agreement to Cordula's question, I have to look away to ensure that he doesn't see the expression on my face.

Once again, I wonder why no one volunteered for him. But then, volunteering is spasmodic within District 4. I remember a few years ago, there were five guys who tried to volunteer, and three girls, but for the last couple of years, volunteers have been virtually non-existent. I think it's because, recently, the tributes from District 2 have been even stronger than usual and no one really believes they can take them on. Great.

"OK, that makes things easier. We'll be mentoring you together, if that's alright with you?"

Stelson nods eagerly before I can say anything. Honestly, I would prefer to be mentored separately because I don't think I'll be able to bear watching him, but now I don't have the heart to say otherwise. I must be going soft or something, I think in annoyance and lean my forearms onto the table.

Caspian pushes a bowl in our direction, "Have something to eat," he tells us.

Stelson doesn't need telling twice and drags a plate of small white sandwiches towards him. He sticks one in his mouth and begins to chew with relish. Then he shrugs, and seems to decide that he still has plenty of room in his mouth. He pops another one in, and his cheeks bulge out as he struggles eat his massive mouthful.

I can't help but laugh at his utter lack of table manners, "Matron wouldn't be impressed if she could see you now," I tell him teasingly.

He starts to laugh, and manages to sputter breadcrumbs onto the table, which only makes him laugh even harder. The laughter is slightly too high pitched and bordering on hysterical though, and I realise that he if wasn't laughing, he'd most probably be crying.

I bite my lip, trying to stop myself laughing as Cookie stands up, looking utterly scandalised and brushing crumbs from her robes. "I think I'll go and eat in my quarters," she says, and darts from the room before any more food can be sprayed in her direction.

I can't help the burst of laughter that escapes from my chest once the door snaps shut, but a stern look from Cordula has me swallowing it back down.

"You shouldn't get on the wrong side of your escort," she says firmly, "she'll be able to find us more sponsors for you if she actually likes you."

That subdues me, and I press my lips together tightly, not wanting to get in the conversation that begins at the table. Cordula and Caspian make some stilted small talk about who they suspect the other mentors will be this year and Stelson continues stuffing his face.

When he finally seems to have eaten enough, Cordula glances between the two of us. "The recap of the reapings will be in about an hour, so I suggest you go and get changed, take a shower if you want to and meet us back in the living room to watch it."

I shrug and stand immediately, prepared to do anything else as long as it means leaving the stifled atmosphere in this room.

Once I get to my room, I survey it with distaste. It's a far cry from my box sized room back at the Community Home – a massive four poster bed stands in pride of place at the centre of the room and I lean forward to touch the purple velvet cover.

I roll my eyes and wonder for a moment how the Capitol citizens can sleep safe and sound in their beds while the rest of us worry about the Hunger Games and the Peacekeepers that roam the streets. But then I suppose if I'm being honest, I'd be exactly the same way if I had been brought up in the Capitol. Besides, the majority of the people in my district actually support the games and I suppose I should consider winning an honour like the rest of them. Anything to make this easier.

Once I'm dressed in a pair of thick black leggings, a soft blue tunic and a pair of leather lace up boots, and have examined some of the strange buttons on the shower, I make my way back down the hallway, promising myself that I'll try out the shower as soon as the recap is over.

However, it doesn't take me long to realise that I have absolutely no idea where I'm going. All the doors look exactly the same to me, and there's no way I'm going to try every single one until I finally locate the living room.

I sigh heavily and glance around me, guessing that there must be some staff somewhere on this train who can point me in the right direction.

"Neri," a voice sounds behind me, making me jump violently. Cursing myself for being such a pathetic idiot, I turn around and find Stelson staring at me. It's the first time I've seen him wearing something that isn't primarily rags.

"What do you want Stelson?" I say heavily and sigh as his face falls at my tone.

"Nothing," he mumbles under his breath, "we're supposed to go to the television room, right?"

I nod my head in response, "Any idea where it is?" I ask him, just in case.

"Yeah, Caspian said it was the last door on the left," he replies and I bite my lip at the mention of Caspian. There's something about him that makes me feel distinctly uncomfortable, but I suppose it's just because he won the Games so recently and I've seen what victory can do to people.

I wait for Stelson to catch up to me, and then I fall into step with him. We're halfway along the corridor before I actually have the guts to say something to him.

"You alright?" I mutter, annoyed about the fact that I've actually said anything at all. The clever thing to do would be to just ignore him until we get into the arena, it might be less painful then.

He just replies with a nod and we carry on walking in silence. As we reach the door, he turns to me with wide, frightened eyes, and says determinedly, "I'm not going to be a burden for you Neri," and then he slides the door open and enters the room before I have time to do anything except splutter in response.

It's a good thing, I force myself to think as I follow him through the doorway, he has to accept that I'm not his mother or whatever else he may think about me. I resent the fact that I feel so bound to him, and it's all his fault because he's the one who latched onto me. And now here he is, making me feel guilty when I have nothing to feel guilty for.

I glare at him viciously as I throw myself down onto the sofa opposite him, and pretend I don't notice the confused glance that Cordula shoots at me.

"Right, are you ready for this then?" she asks. When Stelson and I both nod, Caspian crosses the room and presses the button to turn the television on.

I clench my fists and push confusing thoughts of Stelson and Caspian out of my mind as the recap starts.

District 1 is first, as always, and I sigh as I see the stereotypical beautiful blonde girl rush forwards to volunteer. She looks confident and extremely athletic as she reaches the stages and waves jauntily at the crowd.

The boy is almost as bad, but he doesn't actually volunteer and a grumpy expression crosses his face as he's pushed towards the stage by other members of the crowd. He barely even reacts when he reaches the stage, just narrows his eyes at the escort. I realise that he's almost certainly going to be trouble.

This Hunger Games is definitely going to be full of clichés, I think to myself as I watch a muscular girl from District 2 volunteer and then a boy with a brutal look in his eyes shoves the other potential volunteers out of the way.

I don't like the way this is going – it certainly puts Stelson and I at the bottom of the food chain in the Alliance. Well, actually it puts Stelson at the bottom.

I almost feel bad as I see a pair of skinny, fragile looking kids get selected from District 3, but I don't let myself because I know the weaker the other tributes are, the more chance I have of winning this thing.

Then we watch as Stelson and I are reaped. I'm relieved to find that I don't look that fazed by it, and the commentators go wild as they realise that I'm the daughter of a victor. I'm sure this will place me at the front of the viewer's minds. Nothing will ever cause them to remember Stelson though – he's visibly trembling as he ascends the stage. The commentators discuss how he is the complete opposite of a stereotypical District 4 tribute and I can't help but glance over at Stelson to see how he deals with this news.

I roll my eyes as I watch his head droop – I suppose it's not like I thought he was going to make some declaration about how he was going to prove them wrong, but still – and Caspian clasps a hand onto his shoulder. Stelson doesn't react though; just stares at his feet and knots his fingers together.

I turn back to the screen, intending to concentrate on the other tributes, but a headache is starting to pound at my temples, and all I really want is to collapse onto my bed. The other districts disappear into a blur, and I only notice some of them when Caspian or Cordula make comments about them.

"The girl from District 7 is absolutely massive, how did that happen?"

"The male tribute from District 10 looks like he could do some damage."

Finally Cookie says with disinterest, "Why are the tributes from District 12 always so boring?" and the recap is over.

I know I should be strategising and visualising which tributes I plan to take down, but I can't make my mind focus. I wonder what the other tributes are thinking of me right now – do the stronger tributes see a pathetic weakling who will cause them no bother once the Alliance breaks down? Are the weaker ones discussing me with hatred, assuming that I will kill them with no remorse?

And you know the worrying thing, I don't know which one of these perceptions I think is worse.

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