I start the day with a six O'clock wakeup, which is a change from the sleep-ins I have been allowed recently. I stand in the middle of my room while my prep team Cecilia, Poppy and Tiffany fuss over my hairy legs, ripping out the hair from the roots using pink sticky wax and a piece of material. Cecilia nearly faints at the site of my nails, or where nails should be. I bit them all off in anticipation of the reaping. Poppy then applies fake nails to my fingers, leaving them a neutral colour. More of the wax is applied around my eyebrows, and then Tiffany gets to work on my hair. She slathers it in goo, and when it is washed out, it is left silky and shiny, with bits of a lighter brown showing through. My makeup is done, and once I am pronounced camera-worthy, they lead me to a huge glass window to see the Capitol.
I see Alistair sitting in a padded chair, who looks as though he has also been attacked by his prep team. The view is astonishing. Marc pulls up a chair next to us and sits down to admire the view for possibly the thirtieth time. The train rolls into the Capitol streets. People stop what they're doing to watch the train go past, some waving.
The train stops shortly after we pass a towering building called the training centre. The prep team puts me into a yellow dress, similar to the one I wore to the reaping, and a bunch of peacekeepers form a ring around me to escort me to the building where the Tribute quarters are. I go over in my head what Marc told me to do. Act sweet, innocent and try to be nice to the Capitol people. So before the door of the train opens I put a big smile on my face.
But nothing can prepare me for the cameras.
The moment I step out of the carriage, my eyes fill with lights and for a moment I am stunned. Reporters for the Capitol yell at me, begging for a few words. There are people everywhere, trying to get a look at the district eleven tributes. I panic, frightened. Marc's words roll through my head. Sweet, innocent. That is what I am. I turn around, looking for Alistair. He is behind me, trying to see where the entrance is, but there are too many people around to see a thing. I act confused, scared. Put a hand to my forehead. People are starting to notice.
"Is she alright?" I hear a Capitol women squeak. More cameras buzz around me, eating up my act. This is what I want. I put the most distressed look on my face possible. and make sure Alistair is behind me, I pretend to faint.
Luckily, he catches me. My limp body curved gracefully in his arms. People shriek, I can feel the cameras centimetres from my face. I can hear Angela screaming for help, her heels clattering over the tiles towards me. Alistair carries me inside. I open my eyes slowly and groan. We are in a lift. His concerned face looks down at me, and everybody sighs with relief. I decide not to tell them that I was faking.
Alistair carries me to my room, orders hot chocolate, and sits on my bed while I drink it.
"I'm telling you, I'm fine." I mumble, closing my eyes.
"Well we don't want you keeling over in the Arena, do we?" he says. "Sleep for the rest of the day and I will wake you up before dinner." He smiles, taking the empty cup from my hand and patting my head with the other. I wriggle under the covers further and push his hand away. My eyes close before he leaves.
"Your all over TV", Alistair tells me at dinner, stuffing his face with buttery potato.
"The star of the show, actually", Angela tells me, taking a mini bottle of perfume out of her pink purse and making a scene of squirting it around the room. "It's so stuffy in here", she says, nose wrinkled. "I was worried for a minute-"
"That she wouldn't get any sponsors?" Marc says inaudibly, with a full mouth.
"Well, yes", Angela says doubtfully. My heart sinks. Sponsors can really turn your odds around in the Hunger Games, and I had just ruined my chances of getting any. I had put myself across as weak by pretending to faint, and no one wants to waste their money sponsoring someone who will just die in the initial bloodbath.
"As far as I know, the people seem to like her." My mood lifts when he says this, but my odds won't improve any more than what they are at the moment. The Tributes from one and two have been training their whole lives for the Hunger Games, and are probably crafty and familiar with a number of weapons that would make a slow, horrible death for whoever steps in their way to becoming the Victor. I on the other hand, have never had the chance to learn how to wield any type of weapon. Although you aren't meant to, the Careers start to train years before the reaping. Security is much tighter in eleven. If anybody was found with a weapon, it would result in a public execution. The only time I have to train is the few days we get in the training centre.
I am introduced to my stylist, Blue. I have never thought of using colours for names but it suits her blue hair quite well. Unlike my Prep team, she has very pale skin, and has applied heavy eye makeup. They are also unnaturally blue.
"They're contact lenses." She tells me. I still have no idea what they are but we are excused from dinner to talk.
Blue explains the days ahead. Tomorrow night is the chariot ride throughout the Capitol, which means I am left most of tomorrow to myself to figure out my plan for the Arena.