**Sea's POV: I wake up in Red's arms. His grip is tight around me and I spare a moment of my time to lightly trace the lean muscle of his bicep. Then, with a smile, I slip out of his tight embrace and quickly change into loose corduroys and a brown T-shirt. I open the door and tiptoe into the hallway, glancing both ways before darting across the expensive carpet and knocking curtly on Cedar's door. It opens quickly and I jump back in surprise. From the look on Cedar's face I can see he feels the same way.
"Sea?" he asks, blinking his tired brown eyes. I've seen those eyes a million times before; at the dinner table, on the beach, in my kitchen. I am not new to these big copper eyes that demand attention.
"Can I talk to you?" I blurt, glancing into the room past him. Clothes are scattered across the carpet and the little bottles of shampoo the Capitol provides are in a pile on his bed. I never took Cedar for a slob, but I may be wrong.
"Sure," he says, moving aside to allow me entry. I step in, gripping the bar on the wall for support. I've wanted to have this conversation since Clemencia called his name at the reaping, but I still don't know what exactly I'm going to say.
I carefully perch myself on the edge of his bead, being careful not to touch anything that might be of importance to him. The old Sea Farley wouldn't have cared what she touched, but a lot has changed since I was sixteen. Sometimes when I close my eyes I can remember the small girl with the wavy brown hair and icy eyes who stuck her jaw out at the Capitol and wasn't afraid of death.
"So what was it you wanted to talk about?" Cedar asks, snapping me out of my nostalgia.
I reach out and tentatively grab his wrist, hoping in the back of my head that he won't mind.
"I don't know if I can get you through these games," I warn. Sometimes honesty comes easily to me, which is why I don't understand why I have such a difficult time talking to my own daughter. She wants the truth more than anything else and yet it's the one thing I can't seem to give her.
Cedar's eyes don't waver from my face. "I know," he says gently. "I've known that since I walked on the stage. It's your job to try, not to succeed."
"I don't know what I'll do if you die," I admit, squeezing his wrist tighter. "How I'll live with myself, how Shay will live with me."
"Shay would understand," he assures me, but I know his words are only for comfort. I know my daughter, and she is not forgiving.
"Do you love her?" I ask suddenly, turning my head so his eyes meet mine.
He detaches his wrist from my grip, looking mildly stunned. I open my mouth hastily to take the question back. If he does love Shay, it's none of my business.
"I don't know," he answers after a minute. He is shaking slightly, maybe from the pressure, or the threat of the games. "Maybe. Maybe not. I haven't had much time to think about it."
I nod, understanding what he means. I felt that way with Jersey for months. But in the end, my answer was no. I didn't love Jersey Odair, at least not in the way that counted.
"I've been thinking about ways to keep you alive," I add. "Tips. Hints. Anything."
"Sea-" he starts, placing a hand on my shoulder. I shrug it off and stand up, wiping non-existent dirt off my pants.
"I've never known my tributes before," I continue, the words rushing out a like a waterfall. "I'm always nice but I never get too close. It hurts me, and it hurts them. But you're different. I've known you your whole life." My chin wobbles and I know I'm about to cry so I speed up my words. "It's like I'm bringing my own son to the games." He's still standing in the middle of the room, staring at me without saying anything.
"This is new territory for me," I sniff. "For the first time, I'm forced to show compassion towards my tribute. I can't not love you because I've loved you since the day Shay brought you home after your first day of Kindergarten."
"The Capitol," Cedar breathes, and I raise an eyebrow at him. Only, he's not focused on me anymore. I wonder if he even heard what I said.
He rushes over to the window and peers outside, his lips parting in awe as he stares at the golden buildings that seem to be racing toward us at a thousand miles per hour.
"Magnificent, isn't it?" I murmur, joining him. I see this city every year, sometimes more than once, and it still astounds me every time. With its glass structures and people who look like exotic birds, it never ceases to amaze me. If only the Capitol's core were not so corrupt, I could learn to love it here.
"We have to go," I mutter, pulling the tall boy away from the window. "Your stylist will be waiting." He nods, looking nervous, and pulls on a sweater with the Capitol logo printed on the side.
"Take that off," I demand, pointing at the garment. "Now."
He does as I says but turns a confused gaze on me.
"I can't do much to save you, Cedar," I say. "But I can tell you that if you want to survive in that arena, you will remember that you are Cedar Moore. You are not a pawn of the Capitol, and you are not their show dog. You are Cedar Moore, and that is all. It is enough." With that, I open the door and stand back so he can pass. He pauses when he's reached the hallway and looks back, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
"Thank you, Sea," he says, nodding his head at me. I nod back.
"I want to help you Cedar. Remember District Four and why life is worth living. Remember that, and you've got a chance." My voice is shaking now as I remember the multiple times I almost took my life when I thought there was nothing left to live for. There was, there was so much, but I didn't take enough time to think about it. I was angry and depressed and scared. I had no home and no family. Death was what I craved.
And I don't want questions of what life holds to be the undoing of Cedar Moore.
"Don't worry about me too much, Ms. Farley," he says, throwing me a quick smile. I catch a glance of perfect white teeth.
"Please call me Sea," I chuckle, following him down the hall and throwing my hair into a bun. "You make me feel old."
"You are old, Ms. Farley," he teases, picking up his pace. I catch up to him and throw out a fist as if to punch him playfully on the shoulder but stop myself at the last second. He is my tribute and I am his mentor. There is no place for fun and games here.
"Sorry," I mutter, letting my arm drop to my side. "I mistaken you for-" I bite my tongue to stop the words from flowing freely. I was going to say he reminds me of Tray Kimberly, the boy I met on the train over a decade ago. Cedar's chestnut hair is only a few shades lighter than the dark mop that covered Tray's head, and his eyes are wide with confidence. We stood in this exact corridor, Tray and I, but I was wearing a small green dress and my skin was an odd shade of gray from the sickness I had carried.
"I promise I won't forget who I am, okay?" the boy asks, pushing his hair out of his face. His mouth is upturned in a knowing smile and I remember what Shay said. He's smart; he knows how to solve things. All I have to give him are the resources.
"What's 356 times 980?" I ask him suddenly, eyeing him curiously.
"348880," he answers with a shrug. "Why?"
I gasp in surprise under my breath. I saw that problem written on Shay's math homework one time, I know the answer. And he's right.
"No reason," I muse. "No reason at all." And although I am still worried, I think maybe Cedar is going to hold his own just fine. Math might not get him through the games, but if he can survive like he can multiply, I don't think there will be a problem.
We reach the door and I fling it open, savoring the burst of warm Capitol sunlight that hits my face.
"After you," I say with a smile, gesturing at Cedar to exit the train. He nods, hops down, and stands in the walkway, once again gazing at the skyscrapers surrounding us.
I turn to see Brett making her way down the corridor and she too exits the train, almost hitting me in the face with her book. Smirking, I turn once more to look for Red, but he's already standing there. He's striding toward me swiftly, his feet pounding against the aluminum floor of the train.
He flips the collar of his coat up as he moves and ruffles his hair so it stands in a wild mess around his face. He stares at me with dauntless brown eyes and all I can see in my stunned daze are his striking cheekbones and the look of danger on his face. Then he's towering over me and taking my face into his callused hands. His head turns to the side and he leans into me, pressing his lips to mine. He kisses me which such force I forget where I am for just a moment. Then he pushes backward, releasing my face and jumping out of the train. I stand against the wall, breathing heavily, my cheeks flushed and my lips swollen. I haven't been kissed like that in years. Hell, I'm not sure I've ever been kissed like that. He had complete control, and it was out of nowhere. And then he was gone without a word, walking away as if nothing had happened. I have to admit that was pretty badass.
I stumble off the train, hoping I don't look too flustered, and follow my team down the sidewalk that leads to the training center. I'm going to face a lot these next few weeks, but right now I don't really care. I laugh silently as the thought hits me. Red Cresta has this whole romance thing right. Damn straight that's how you kiss a woman.
**Cedar's POV:
"What is this weird...splotch you have on your shoulder?" a woman named Eustacia chirps as she eyes my arm warily. Her short hair is gelled up into two pink spikes that stick out in opposite directions and her eyes are doused in a heavy coating of puke colored eye shadow. I glance down and see nothing unusual about my bronze skin. "A tan line?" I offer blandly. Eustacia's eyebrows furrow. "Tan line?" she echoes. I roll my eyes. Of course tan lines would be foreign here, where appearance is everything. I would bet my life savings, which I'll admit, isn't much, that Eustacia wouldn't be caught dead outside if her skin were different shades of brown in different places.
"We'll have to take care of that," she clucks, shaking her head so forcefully that little specks of silver dust fly out of her hair and land on my face.
I remember what Red said on the train. All of these people are blonde, bossy, and bouncy. My lips curl up in the beginning of a smile. Eustacia isn't blonde, but she is definitely the other two.
"Shut up," she demands, taking my shoulders and thrusting me back on the table. "Your voice is distracting me." I roll my eyes and take a deep breath. If I relax and let them poke and prod me it will all be over soon.
The first image that appears behind my closed eyelids is Shay. Her hair is in its signature French braid and she's wearing leather pants and a wool sweater. Her blue scarf is wrapped around her neck. She smiles at me, showing the gap where she knocked out her molar when she fell on the steps leading up to her house a few years ago.
"What are you doing Cedar?" she asks, her voice full of laughter. Shay's voice is never full of laughter. Then again, this is all in my head.
She reaches her arm out and curls her fingers as if to touch my cheek. "They could kill me," she whispers, her lips carefully pronouncing each word. "They know you love me. The Capitol knows everything." She spins around, blinking her perfect blue eyes. "And the Capitol doesn't like my family." She raises one finger and places it to the glowing skin of her neck. She begins to press in until a spot of blood bubbles up around the tiny wound. "I don't have any scars, Cedar," she continues. "But I will." Then she brings her hands up to cover her face and she's gone.
I open my eyes with a start. Eustacia clucks her tongue but doesn't look up from my hair. I settle back down on the table and try to slow my racing heart.
I think I've known it since I stepped on the train. I can't love Shay Farley. She's Sea's daughter and I'm no fool. I know that the Cresta family is a touchy subject in the Capitol. If I'm attached to Shay in that way, The Capitol could use it against me, and against her family. They could hurt her.
"Done!" Eustacia chirps, flying to her feet and pushing me off the table. I stumble to my feet and hold my arms out obediently as she measures my waist.
"Your stylist, File, will be here soon. He's an absolute joy." She leans in, her sparkly eyes flitting from side to side. "And you didn't hear it from me, but it's been said that he was involved in a Capitol scandal many years ago." She smiles giddily. "I wonder what it was." I grunt in agreement. I try not to focus on her constant chirping as she circles me, taking more measurements. It's like being pecked at by a giant bird.
The door behind us opens and a man with spiky purple hair walks in. Eustacia straightens up quickly.
"Remember," she whispers in my ear. "You didn't hear it from me."
"Are you going on about that Capitol scandal, or whatever you call it, again?" File asks, humor clear in his voice. Eustacia's cheeks turn a deep shade of fuchsia and she shuffles away without another word. File chuckles and makes his way over to me.
"Cedar Moore, is it?" he asks politely. I nod quickly and he smirks again. "I can tell you're anxious."
"Smart man," I say.
File leans back on the counter and looks me up and down.
"You're acquainted with the Cresta's?" he muses. I nod again.
"I know them both very well. Especially Sea Farley. Such a wonderful girl." He smiles a kind smile, one that wrinkles the skin around his eyes. "And I heard they have a child now?"
"Shay," I say automatically, the word natural in my mouth from having said it hundreds, thousands of times.
"Hmm. Knowing Sea, Shay doesn't know much of her parent's days in the games?" he asks, but it seems like a rhetorical question.
"Hardly anything," I respond. File glances at the package that presumably holds my chariot outfit sitting in the corner.
"There was a Capitol scandal, you know," he says suddenly. "But that was a long time ago, with a different President. I doubt anyone even remembers." He stands up and picks up the package. His fingers pull at the top until it rips open, revealing soft blue fabric.
"Really?" I ask, testing him. "Do you really believe that no one remembers it?" File hesitates; his long fingers inches above my costume.
"You're quick, aren't you?" he asks, the smile still plastered to his face.
"I've been told so," I respond, only half to mock him.
"Hmm," he mumbles, and takes the outfit out of the box. It's a long blue ribbon. I raise an eyebrow in surprise but let File elaborately wind the fabric around me. It's knotted strategically in the right places and makes me look a bit like a mermaid from the old children's stories that Shay has in her house. I bite my lip as her smiling face appears in my head again. I can't love her. I won't. I can't.
"And now for the net!" File cries cheerfully, sounding more like a Capitol citizen than before. Of course net is involved. We're from the fishing district.
He pulls out a long bundle of net; the fancy stuff only merchant's have the pleasure of using, and hangs it over my shoulders like a cape. Then he takes out a smaller piece and drapes it over my face, attaching it to a headband made of heavy blue jewels.
"You look like Poseidon," File says, beaming at me. "And your chestnut hair completes the look."
"Who the hell is Poseidon?" I ask.
"The mighty sea god," he says, looking at me as if I've just asked him how babies are made.
"I don't read much, if that's from a book," I say apologetically. He sighs dramatically. "You should. It's good for the arteries."
"Not the brain?" I ask.
"Well if Sea has been honest with me, your brain doesn't need much help," he chuckles. He plants his hands on my back and steers me out of the room, all the while muttering something about kids these days ignoring all the important things in life.
Sea, Red, and Brett are waiting for us in the hall. It is quite a sight, seeing the three of them together. Red is leaning nonchalantly against the wall. His mouth is pulled up into a half-smirk and his arms are crossed across his chest. Sea is standing as straight as a statue, her entire posture screaming "worried" but her eyes hold a glint that wasn't there on the train. And Brett, well Brett is being Brett. Her hands are on her hips and she's glaring at me when I come out of the room. She looks like she's sneering but that could just be how she looks all the time. I smile. Brett has bitchy resting face.
"You look like a Christmas present," she announces.
"I'm Poseidon," I say proudly, jutting my chin out at her. She rolls her eyes at me but doesn't answer. She's a hypocrite, really, for she's wearing the same net as a cape and over her eyes. The only difference is that she's wearing a long, see-through dress and a blue leotard underneath. Her thick hair is piled up on top of her head in the shape of a seashell. Her scar is adorned with glitter. She looks beautiful despite the scowl on her face.
With a nod of approval from File, we head down to the elevator that will deposit us at the tribute parade. Brett stands next to me in the elevator but intentionally averts her eyes and pretends like I don't exist.
"What kind of a name is Brett, anyway?" I ask just to tease her. "Isn't that sort of male-oriented?" She whips her head around and shoots daggers at me with her eyes.
"You shouldn't be talking, tree boy," she says sharply. I chuckle as she lets out a huff of breath and turns her attention back on the doors of the elevator.
"Some tension between you two?" Red asks, his voice alive with laughter. "Some..." he wiggles his eyebrows, "special tension?"
Sea groans and smacks her husband on the arm.
"Not everything is sexual, Red."
He grins and kisses her on the forehead.
"But most things are."
So we enter the room full of tributes in their outrageous outfits and deadly expressions and we find the district four chariot. My eyes fall on the tributes from one. The girl is in heels too high for her own good and the boy is in a brilliant gold robe. Just from looking at them, I can tell they'd rather be killing something than flashing their looks for the Capitol.
The other pair that grabs my attention is from District 12. I know they're next to nothing in these games. They're filler, pawns, and obstacles for the careers. They've never had a victor. The girl has long dark hair and pale skin. Her arms are dotted with thousands of freckles and her eyes are large and grayish blue. She's wearing nothing but a black piece of fabric that looks a bit too much like lingerie. The boy is wearing a dark suit and looks five hundred times more comfortable than his partner.
File gives me a pat on the back, turning my attention back to my chariot and making glitter fly everywhere, and wishes me luck. Brett climbs in next to me. We're one odd team. The girl who seems to be constantly PMSing, the couple who's scared of their past, the stylist who loves stories a little too much, and the boy who has to find a way to banish love from his heart.