If anything, things took a turn for the worst the next morning. I'd spent a restless night lay staring at the ceiling, wondering what people were thinking. By now, the highlights of the Reapings would have been shown all around Panem, which meant everyone I ever knew - in District 11 and 4 - would know I was about to be sent to my death. I wondered about my parents, and if they were worried about me now.
Getting up and meeting everyone for breakfast was another mistake. Apparently, I had a knack for saying the wrong thing, something Chaff found hilarious and Flynn found aggravating. He'd told me over and over again that I had to buck my ideas up before the interview, but Chaff just waved him away. No one, however, was quite sure what to say when I blurted out a sarcastic remark about trying to make my death more entertaining for the Capitol viewers.
Circa banned me from talking to the prep team unless absolutely necessary.
The whole morning was an awkward experience, if I was being truthful. Circa and Klaus were nowhere to be seen, and Flynn rushed in, apologised for his absence, then rushed back out again. The thought of the prep team made me shudder, but Seeder and Chaff managed to convince me and Layton to eat something, though they had to almost force feed Layton plain bread and a glass of water just so that he could keep it down. While I ate my large bowl of porridge that I had almost drowned in honey, however, Chaff was particularly interested in discussing what we believed to be our strengths.
Layton, a boy who could barely sit upright in a chair, physically shrank at the question and dropped his gaze to his hands. "I-I only ever went to school and back," he mumbled, and I found my stomach twisting sharply. Maybe promising Trey that I'd get him out alive was a bit naïve after all.
Chaff grunted slightly, swigging back something that smelt suspiciously like alcohol. I decided not to point out that it was only seven o'clock in the morning. Seeder rolled her eyes at him with a small smile, eyeing me curiously. "Blake?" she asked. "Anything to offer?"
I hesitated, drumming my fingertips on the table. "Only if you count beating up Peacekeepers," I grinned, winking once in Layton's direction.
Chaff let out a throaty chuckle. "I'd say that counts," he laughed.
"Well, you still need to visit the prep team this morning," Seeder sighed. "I'm sure we can sort some sort of strategy out for the both of you when you get back." Layton looked sick at the idea, but I ushered him out of the room and kept close behind him to keep him on his feet until I managed to hand him off to his prep team. Then, I steeled myself cautiously and turned to find my own team.
Three people had gathered in my room, all huddled together by a wardrobe that had been thrown wide open. They were talking so intensely that none of them heard me when I stepped inside. The sight of them made my knees a little weak, as though them being here was confirming what I already knew. There was no going back.
The choking, horrified sound that found its way out of my mouth made the three of them turn in surprise.
"Oh, you must be Blake!" the woman breathed. She was tall and slim, wearing barely anything with bright purple hair and matching curls tattooed over her face. She hurried forward, embracing me tightly and scanning my appearance. "Oh dear! Not much, but much prettier than the last girl we had."
"Um," one of the men stood behind her greeted. The two of them were almost exact opposites - one was tall, young and lanky with a brooding, troubled look, while the second was short, fat and beaming.
I cleared my throat awkwardly. "I don't meant to be rude . . . but who are you?"
The woman chuckled, clutching my hand tightly in hers. "I'm Ava. This is Rye-" She pointed at the tall man, about twenty one years old, who nodded once, "-and Xavier." The fatter man beamed and waved a stubby hand at me. "We're your prep team."
"I gathered," I answered slowly. "And, erm, what exactly do you do?"
Ava just laughed again, taking my shoulders and steering me toward the centre of the room. I blinked in surprise, my lips tugging slightly at the sides. "You didn't think Circa would see you like this, did you?" She looked genuinely puzzled by the idea, but before I could ask any more questions, she started unbuttoning my shirt. Automatically, I yelped, clamping my hands over my chest. "Well!" she protested.
Rye, the taller man, stepped forward with a straight face. "Ava, you know what these kids are like. They don't know how this works."
Ava sighed heavily. "Of course," she said with a roll of her eyes. Then, taking a deep breath, she straightened out and regarded me like I was a five year old child. "Blake, here is what's going to happen. We have to get you prepped before Circa sees you. She won't work with you while you look like this."
I raised an eyebrow, slowly letting my arms fall from my chest. "And prepped means?" I questioned, already knowing that I wouldn't like the answer.
There was a wicked glint in Rye's eyes when he met my gaze. "You'll see," he promised.
As it turned out, 'prepped' meant taking away any hair that stylists deemed unsightly, cleaning and drying my hair with so many different chemicals, I thought I might faint, and making me lay in a bath filled with god only knows what until my skin felt smooth and soft. My nails were polished and painted with a clear liquid, and my hair was cut into some sort of style. By the time the prep team deemed I was ready to see Circa, my skin felt like it had been set on fire and my head was spinning from all the chemicals and movement.
Circa herself was waiting in her own room, dressed in a very simplistic consisting of jeans and a black blouse. I restrained myself with difficulty from groaning out loud. Trust the irony that meant I had to be done up like some doll while my stylist slouched back in jeans and a shirt. I couldn't help but feel a little awkward. The only thing I was dressed in was a silk robe that fell - open - to my ankles.
"Definitely better than last year," she said thoughtfully, as though confirming the thought she'd had last night. "Perhaps this year . . ." A small smile played at her lips.
"This year what?" I asked with a heavy sigh, knowing I wasn't going to get a straight answer. And, as I thought, Circa merely pursed her lips.
She told me to go back to the prep team while she sorted out a few outfits to try, testers for the opening ceremony she called them. The prep team, as I could have guessed, couldn't wait to see what she had in store for me. Apparently, she hadn't even let them see what she'd created for me.
"I hope it's better than last year," Ava groaned. "It's always so . . . generic. But then, I guess it might look a little different on you."
I tried to view this as a compliment, but when Rye scanned over my body appreciatively with another "Um", I couldn't stop myself from shivering.
When Circa decided that she didn't want to be interrupted for a few days while she altered my outfit, I was allowed to work with Seeder and Flynn on what to say if I was ever faced with a camera, or how to train and what to train on. They seemed to make a point of keeping me away from Layton, who I only ever saw when we were eating, which annoyed me to no end. How was I supposed to make sure he was training properly if I never saw him?
Luckily for me, Chaff had managed to convince Flynn that my sarcastic, out-spoken nature could be used to my advantage in front of the cameras. That meant I could be as cheeky as I wanted, and all I had to do was turn the entire thing into a joke.
The one thing Seeder had insisted on was playing down my abilities. The way she spoke about, the uncomfortable look on her face, made me think that she knew something she wasn't letting on.
The one thing I wasn't looking forward to was reviewing the Reapings. They'd been showing every hour or so since they were filmed, accompanied by commentators' infuriating remarks about the tributes.
"Do we have to watch these?" I grumbled childishly as Circa pulled me into the sofa beside her that night. The train rumbled along the tracks in the pitch black, and all I could see in the windows was our own reflections.
"Yes," Flynn answered sharply, frowning at me. In the past couple of days, I'd come to the conclusion he just didn't like me. "You have to know what you're up against."
"Twenty- three other kids?" I guessed under my breath, and Circa elbowed me gently with a reproachful look. My lips twitched slightly in humour, but I wrapped the warm, large knit jumper she'd given me around my upper body and focused on the TV screen that we were all huddled around. My one comfort was that I couldn't possibly look any worse or anymore petrified than Layton.
The Reapings were shown in the order of Districts, meaning District One came first. Both of the tributes looked as threatening as I was expecting. The boy, Rory, was tall and incredibly muscular, like he spent all day body-building. The girl didn't look much kinder, with a strong form and a wicked glint in her eyes that even through the camera lens, made me think she was already trying to decide the best way to kill me.
Districts 2 and 3 weren't much better. 3 wasn't as well off as 1, 2 and 4, so the tributes did look a little slimmer and not nearly as health, but they were still up from us. The tributes from 2 were apparently related, though neither looked at all bothered they'd have to kill each other in a week or so. The 3 tributes smiled politely at the camera and waved, like they were in some modelling show rather than the Hunger Games.
It was the District 4 kids that gave me the first real shock. They were called Myles and Iris. I remembered Myles from school. He'd been the bully in the year above me, with arms so strong they were the size of tree trunks and an already naturally bald head, despite his young age of eighteen. The thought of meeting him in the Games didn't exactly worry me; I'd never had anything remotely nice to say about him anyway. The idea of hurting Iris, however . . . She was a thirteen year old girl, who had been one of my favourite, if not very reluctant, students back when I taught the kids how to swim in District 4. She'd never taken to it quite the way the others had, but we'd persisted with her lessons on strict instructions from her parents and she'd finally gotten there. She was short, with tumbles of strawberry blonde hair around her face and kindly chocolate eyes. The moment I saw her step up onto that stage, I promised myself I'd find her in the arena, no matter what it looked like to the Capitol.
Districts 5, 6, 7, 8 and 9 passed by in something of a blur after that. I was too busy worrying about Iris. But I shook the thoughts away as District 10 flashed into view. Rhys, the male tribute, looked nothing more than skin and bone, with a hollow face and dead eyes. The girl, Amnesia, actually burst into tears the moment her name was called out and she had to be dragged up on stage by Peacekeepers. My lips pursed at the sight, and I jumped slightly as Circa wrapped a hand through mine comfortingly with a small smile in my direction.
Then District 11 came on the screen and I felt myself go rigid on the spot. For a moment, it showed Flynn rambling on, and the man himself straightening importantly at the sight of himself on TV. But the moment my name was called, all cameras were suddenly trained on me. I watched with a lump in my throat as I took confident steps toward the stage, my hood still covering my head. "Look at that!" one of the commentators was saying. "There's blood and rips in her hood! Do you think this girl may be trouble in the Games?"
His friend laughed shortly. "I certainly hope so! It's been quite a while since we saw much of a fight from the likes of District 11!"
I snorted darkly before I could help it, and Flynn shot me a cold look. Circa, on the other hand, tightened her grip and smiled, while Chaff winked deliberately from the other side of the room. It was like they wanted me to get angry, to fight back and make a point. They probably had higher hopes for me than I did.
We watched as Desirae ran forward, crying her little heart out, and my chest tightened in despair. Just looking at the poor girl's face made me want to tear the Capitol to pieces. Luckily, Circa provided a distraction before I got too carried away. Just as I started taking the steps up to the Justice Building, she gasped loudly and jumped to her feet, causing everyone to jump in surprise. "That's it!" she breathed, wide-eyed and smiling from ear to ear. Without another word, she spun around and hurried out of the room.
"What was that about?" I blinked, staring after her.
Klaus just chuckled softly from between Layton and Seeder. "She's had an idea for your dress for the Opening Ceremony by the sounds of it."
"Oh, joy," I mumbled sarcastically, rolling my eyes and cuddling up tighter. Honestly, I thought I might've been dreading the dresses more than the Games.
The cameras were then on Layton, who couldn't even walk in a straight line. My lips pursed. God, he looked weak. How was it possible that someone could be so clumsy? Vaguely, I wondered if he could be doing all this on purpose. No one could be that weak and pathetic. My eyes slid to the left, where he was currently wrapping his arms around his stomach to stop himself throwing up. Never mind, I thought dryly, rolling my eyes again and turning my attention back to the TV.
After the Reapings had finished, Flynn excused Layton and I, and I gratefully dragged myself back to my room. Without even the energy to get changed, I wrapped my jumper around my upper body tighter and crawled into the sheets, closing my eyes tightly and trying to tell myself not to think. It was harder than I thought it should have been.
My mind kept drifting back to District 4, and my parents, and my old friends, and Iris. It had been so long since I'd sat and thought about them all in any great detail. Remembering only hurt, so I choose not to. Now though, I wondered if my parents had seen me in the Reaping, or if my two best friends from school, Cyra and Beckett, recognised me after so long in District 11, or if they all knew I'd immediately run to find Iris the moment the countdown stopped. That poor little girl . . . she didn't deserve this. None of us did.
The thought made a lump rise in my throat, so I shook it away and tightened my eyelids against the tears.
The next few days passed in the same way. I woke up, went through the hellish ordeal with my prep team, had breakfast with Seeder, Flynn, Chaff and Layton, practised my sword-work and targeting, worked out, ate some more, before I was finally allowed to sleep again. On the fifth day, we arrived in the Capitol.
The train rolled into the station lazily as we were having breakfast one morning, and I couldn't help pushing away from the table to stand by the window. Layton, on the other hand, slumped over the table and tried to hide his face. I'd only ever seen the Capitol on the television before, and it in no way did justice to the scene in front of me. The sunlight made everything glow in a way that took my breath away, and I found it difficult to describe just how beautiful it really was, with the tall, grand building and bustling, exciting streets.
Circa shifted to stand beside me with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Welcome to the Capitol, Blake," she muttered in a quiet voice.
Somehow, I got the impression she was warning me to be careful.