Chapter Four

My fingers stumble again, and the piece of rope falls to the ground, followed quickly by a sigh from the mouth of the Capitol instructor at the station. I make my hands tremble, and then bend back down to pick it up. I'm certain that I hear a faint laugh from one of the tributes behind me, and I grit my teeth in annoyance before I remember that it's a good thing that they see me as incompetent.

"Now Johanna, let's try again, and this time please take it more slowly," the instructor says impatiently as I raise my head. I glance at his curly green hair for a moment, working hard to hide the disgust I feel from my expression. Then I duck my head and attempt the knot again.

As my fingers struggle to replicate the complex structure that he had demonstrated to me almost an hour ago now – and this is something I don't have to fake, because subtlety has never been my strong point; weapons appeal far more to me than traps ever have – I think back on my performance during this morning's training. I'm fairly certain that everyone who has even just glanced at me is now convinced that I will be no threat in the arena. I let an arrow simply drop out of my bow rather than even attempting to shoot it at the target, I almost dropped a mace on the toes of the mousy haired female tribute from District 11, I knocked over the camouflage stand and I've tripped over my own feet numerous times since I left the elevator this morning.

In fact, I think I'm probably drawing a bit too much attention to myself, and decide that I need to sink into the background a little more from now on. After all, it's clear now that I'm useless, so I just need to demonstrate the fact that I'm pathetic and hopefully that will be enough. I suspect that Silas is helping on this front – he seems to have joined a group of two other boys; one of who I'm fairly sure is from District 5, but I have no idea about the other one – and they keep looking over in my direction with smirks on their faces. Well, thanks for that one Silas, you're making my job a hell of a lot easier.

Still, I can't help the familiar prickle of frustration every time I catch the scornful glances of the others, because if I had it my way then I would be trying to demonstrate my strength to others, trying to intimidate them and make them fear me in the arena. Of course, that wouldn't work, because I'm not big enough to be scary, but it would be enough to mark me out as competition, someone that the others would need to take down quickly in order to win.

Finally the bell for lunch rings and I keep my head hanging down low as I stumble into the canteen behind the exuberant wave of the other tributes. I join the queue behind a pair of tributes, who's pale skin and spindly limbs leads me to believe that they're from District 3, because it's a well known fact that they don't see the sunshine much there. They both glance over at me, and then the dark haired boy leans across and whispers something in the ear of the girl. She bites down hard on her lips, but fails to stop a splutter of laughter erupting from her mouth. "Don't, Elmo, she hisses, slapping at his arm.

I glance down to find that my hands have curled into fists of their own accord; the fact that even these pathetic tributes are making fun of my weakness sets my blood boiling with fury. Thankfully I don't think that they notice my reaction, and continue speaking in low voices, this time gesturing towards one of the other tributes. I roll my eyes at them and grab a tray, piling food onto the top of it. I hope acting pathetic doesn't mean that I'm not allowed to eat, because the food here is just about the only good thing about the Capitol, and I want to try as much of it as I possibly can before they throw me into the arena.

I dart off to a table by myself, and eat slowly, scanning the room as I do so to make sure that no one is watching me. I feel as though I constantly have to be on my guard here, so that no one can work out the lie than I'm telling, or showing. "Do you mind if I sit here?" a wavering voice suddenly asks beside my shoulder, and I raise my head to see a girl standing there. She's smaller than me, with dark frizzy hair and wide frightened eyes. Great, why did she have to choose my table? I glance around, noticing that there are plenty of other free ones.

"Sure," I mumble, gesturing at my empty table and she sits awkwardly opposite me. I drop my gaze to my food and attempt to ignore her. I've never socialised much with other people – even at lunchtime at school I preferred to take my lunch outside and sit by myself rather than join in with their stupid banter. Will always said that I must have been lonely, but I've always preferred my own company – in my experience, other people tend to just be annoying and ask stupid questions that you'd rather not answer. I just never understand why other people feel they have the right to need to find out everything about you. Are people not allowed to have secrets? Yes, people get on my nerves, and I'm fairly sure that I annoy them back, so everyone wins when I keep out of their way.

For a few moments I stop worrying about having to make conversation with this girl, because she doesn't even raise her head to look at me, let alone talk to me. So I simply continue shovelling food into my mouth and glancing around at the other tributes. Interestingly, quite a few of them seem to be sitting in groups of about two or three people, and while the Career alliance remains the largest in the room, I notice that others are clearly already forming bonds. Perhaps this is why this girl chose to sit next to me; the few tributes that sit alone in the room look isolated and edgy. I just feel jealous of the fact that they don't have to be constantly alert that some stranger is going to attempt to make conversation with them.

I stiffen slightly as the girl raises her head, "I'm Iona, by the way. District 8."

Ugh, and now I have to make conversation with you, I think with annoyance. If I was being myself then I'm sure my glare would have kept her away but, of course, poor weak little Johanna would never glare at anyone. Oh no; she would be grateful that someone was actually being friendly to her. Stupid wimpy character. "Johanna, " I mutter in response, "from seven."

"The Careers look strong this year," she says thoughtfully, her eyes straying over to their raucous table. I have no idea how they can sit there and pretend to get along like that; that alliance has always bothered me the most in previous games. They all help each other out and hunt down the other tributes together, but there's this awful unspoken knowledge that the alliance has to end, and then it's every tribute for themselves.

I shrug, hoping that she'll soon get bored and leave me alone. After all, it's hardly as though I'm being the greatest conversationalist in the world. I glance up and find her watching me with raised eyebrows. I recoil slightly, feeling distinctly uncomfortable under her scrutinising gaze, but I hold her gaze back, because I've always hated it when people stare at me like that. For others, it probably irks them because they're made to feel self-conscious and wonder if there's something wrong with their appearance, but it bothers me because it seems to show a lack of respect or an attempt at intimidation.

Suddenly I realise that I've been watching her for too long and it seems too much of a challenge for my character. I drop my gaze, concentrating solely on my food and hoping that I didn't reveal too much about myself by staring back at her.

Over the next couple of days, I stick to making myself invisible during training. I stumble at several stations, making it clear that I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing and I definitely don't look anyone else in the eyes, instead keeping my gaze trained on the floor. Fortunately Iona doesn't choose to come and sit with me again at lunchtime, so I'm spared that particular piece of discomfort, but sometimes I see her watching me out of the corner of her eye. I'm probably just paranoid, but I swear that she looks almost suspicious.

Idiot, I tell myself as tap my fingers anxiously against the table in front of me. It's the last afternoon of training, which means that we have to demonstrate our skills in front of the Gamemakers in order to receive a score which will then be broadcast to the whole of Panem, and will likely affect our sponsors. Not that I'll have any sponsors anyway; that would ruin the plan. If I'm good enough to get even a single sponsor, then I've pretty much failed. Might as well aim high – for a zero, if that's even possible. I feel as though my strategy will probably be successful – trip over my own feet, knock into several stations and possibly cry if I can bring myself to do it. I've cried more in this past week than I have for the past seventeen years of my life.

"Silas Haywood," woman announces in a sing-song voice, and he swaggers past me into the private room. I try to imagine him making a complete fool of himself in there, and it makes me feel somewhat better. Even though I'm sure that he's too slick to embarrass himself like that. No doubt he's swinging an axe around and grinning away like the cocky idiot he is.

Please trip up, please. Perhaps if I listen closely then I'll even be able to hear the clatter as he falls down.

Silence.

Well, it was hardly like I was asking for a fucking miracle; it would have made my life a little more pleasant if he had even taken a little stumble. Plus, he's a lot taller than I am, so he'd have a lot farther to fall than I will when I'll have to force myself to trip up in there.

"Johanna Mason," the woman pokes her head back around the door, and I stumble to my feet. She gives me what I assume is supposed to be a reassuring smile, but actually just looks ridiculous with lips that have been surgically altered to practically not exist anymore. "Now, just relax, and show them what she can do." She disappears from my shoulder, and I'm left facing a room full of disinterested men and women.

"You may begin," one of them informs me, with a sweep of his hand. Oh, well how generous of you. Conceited, stuck-up-

I realise they're all watching me in confusion – right; I'm supposed to actually be demonstrating something. Yes, I need to demonstrate my incompetence.

I stumble across to the knife stand, scuffing my feet against the ground as I walk. As I reach the display set out in front of me, I pick up one of heaviest looking weapons, just to make it look more realistic. As I examine it for a moment, I realise it actually looks quite similar to the knives I use back home sometimes to chop the vines from the trees before they get chopped down. Perhaps I should try and get my hands on one of these if I can't get hold of an axe in the arena.

Shit; I realise that they're still watching me. Well, perhaps it will look better if I'm more hesitant, act as though I don't have a clue what I'm doing. I attempt to chuck the knife at the target against the wall, but deliberately throw it too short and it sticks in the ground about half way between me and the target. I bite my lip, and turn quickly away from that stand, heading towards the knot station instead. I don't have to pretend anything here; I attempt several knots, drop them onto the ground when it becomes clear that I've completely failed and then stumble over them as I leave the station. I hear one of the Gamemakers clear their throat as silence fills the room. I walk slowly over to the axe station; it's the first time that I've gone anywhere near them during the training, and I ease one out of the stand, clutching it loosely between my palms. There are several blocks of wood dotted around and I attempt to swing the axe towards one of them. I'm not holding it properly though, so I lose my grip on the handle and it slips out of my grasp. I make a weak effort to grab it back, but I knock it with my fingers at the same time so it goes skidding across the floor.

"Ok, I think we've seen enough, Miss Mason," a male voice says from the other side of the room, and I duck my head as though trying to hide my embarrassment before I scurry from the room without looking back at them. My cheeks flush naturally, because I'm so ashamed at the awful display which I just put on, but at least it's done with now, and that was the part of the preparation that I had been dreading the most ever since I formulated my plan for it in my mind.

Well, I doubt anyone will have done worse than me.

I perch awkwardly on the sofa beside Dara, who doesn't seem to have much clue what's going on, waiting for them to announce the scores. I spent the rest of the afternoon locked away in my room, too ashamed of myself to face the others. Even though I know my performance isn't real, that I could have done much better had I actually been trying, it's still humiliating for them to see me like that.

I saw in their expressions that I had them completely convinced, which means that they don't doubt my front for a single moment, so I should be happy about that. But, oddly enough, I despise the impression of me that they now have. My only hope is that I survive in the arena long enough to be able to reveal my true self to the audience, and then they'll understand that I'm not actually as useless as I was making out to be.

"And now, it's time for the moment everyone has been waiting in anticipation for all day," a gaudy presenter suddenly announces on the screen in front of us.

"Well, some of us have been waiting in fear, haven't we Johanna?" Silas gripes from the other side of the room. I squeak slightly in response, which makes him snort.

"That's enough, Silas," Blight mutters testily from Dara's other side.

"What's going on?" Dara asks loudly, turning to me with an expression of bemusement on her face. If you're not going to be any help to me, then you can stop bothering me. I just shrug and shift my gaze back towards the television screen, where a headshot of the blonde haired boy from District 1 has just popped up. His name, "Dare Edris," flashes up under the screen, quickly followed by the number "9".

"No surprises there then," Blight murmurs, writing something down in a little notebook resting on his lap. I notice that Dara holds no such notebook in her hands – perhaps I should be taking by own notes, but I can't help but feel that would look a little suspicious. I'm useless, and I'm definitely going to die in the bloodbath, but I still need to know exactly who my opponents are. Perhaps not...

The girl from District 1 is next to appear on the screen, "Eden Azura," receives an "8" which sets Blight scribbling away again.

After this, I concentrate on making myself look as nervous as possible; I keep ducking my eyes and biting my nails to show my discomfort and fear. I only notice that the boy from District 4, "Ronan Scomber," receives the highest score out of the Careers with a "10." The rest of them get eights and nines. As Blight said, it's hardly a surprise that they've gotten high marks; no other tribute is likely to score above these numbers.

Finally Silas' picture appears on the television, and I see him puff out his chest slightly out of the corner of my eye. "7" flashes up underneath his name, and I have to grit my teeth in annoyance. That's a frustratingly high score for a non-career tribute, and this will only serve to inflate his ego even further. I don't think anyone would argue that he needs anymore help doing that/

Then I raise my head to watch my own scare. I breathe in deeply as my picture comes into view and my name appears underneath it.

"2." I hear a collective sigh travel through the room, and Phineas throws a disheartened glance in my direction. I'm disappointed too, but because I had hoped for something even lower. Still, there hasn't been anyone lower than a two so far, so my title as the worst tribute remains unchallenged. Dara pats me on my knee, but she doesn't seem too concerned; probably because she knows that it's less work for her if I die in the bloodbath.

Not that I'll ever rely on her help once I get into that arena, even once I allow myself to reveal the lie. I've never relied on anyone for anything in my life, and I certainly don't plan on starting now.

I do not own The Hunger Games, otherwise Johanna probably would have played a much bigger role.

Thanks to Daydreaming Viking Girl and Delta Omega for reviewing the last chapter :) This is currently unedited, which I'm planning to do when I have more time tomorrow. But, on the upside, there's only one more chapter before we get into the arena!