Yay! more updates by me molly.

More chariots! This is from a tributes point of view.

Do you know how hard it is to bite with a retainer in? It's hard! And it gives you a permanent lisp.

Quote:

"If only you could frost someone to death."
Katniss, Hunger Games

*I LOVE AND HATE MY STUPID RETAINERS!*

Day 3, Shay

That night, I screamed into my pillow. How come it was so hard? I also tried hard to not think of home, and Britta. My sister. I wonder how she was, and if I was gone wherever she was. If I was still there.

What would happen when I died, back there with Britta?

The consequence of staying up late to take out frustrations by beating up inanimate objects was getting up late. I barely had time to scarf down a roll and some bacon (which is meat candy, just so you know) before my very own prep team descended on me like a pack of wolves.

"Such lovely skin!" a flower girl child gushed. She didn't look much older then I was, maybe eighteen at the most. I made a mental note to fake becoming her friend. Give someone in the Capitol some pain when I die.

"Yes, it is," murmured Reska. This woman had no mercy, scrubbing away every layer of my skin with no promise of a lollypop. And before you ask, the flower girl child did offer me one.

These two were the only members of my prep team. The third, who was a guy from what I could gather, was promoted to District 4, and my stylist was too lazy to get another person to take over. Pity that I couldn't meet another human before my murder. (Catch my sarcasm there.)

"I think that's enough, ladies," a boisterous voice sung out from behind me. I turned around and saw the woman behind me.

Oh, please no. Whatever force controlled the universe, it wanted me dead. That creature was pink. Pink! From head to toe, the pale color was coating the woman. And she was in charge of my wardrobe.

Help. Me.

She waltzed around me, her hungry, pink eyes taking in every inch of my exposed body like a piece of meat. Her tongue made impatient clicking noises, like she didn't like what she got.

"Cheese me," she snapped. Flower girl-child (yes, I didn't know her name yet) hopped up and handed her a toothpick with a square of cheese on it. Pink woman's attention was averted souly to the cheese for the few measly moments it was in this world. Can you say pig? 'Cause I can, really easily. Just not to this woman's face. That would most likely end up with me royally skewered during the bloodbath because she failed to make me look good.

"So," she said, smacking her lips. "We need something new. Should we waste the weapon on this girl?" She turned to my prepers.

Reska looked at the floor, and flower girl bit her lip. "The boy is pretty willing..." trailed the flower girl.

"Yes, Lisa, that's true," noted my stylist. "Get me the jumper."

"Yes!" squealed Lisa, running across the room to a closet. She pulled out a dress bag and tossed it at Reska, who caught it and zipped it open. My stylist pulled out a reddish brown jumpsuit.

Are you kidding? I wanted to scream. It looked like those scuba diving suits, and had nothing to do with plants, or fruits. This woman would be the death of me.

"Put it on, girl," snapped the woman. All I was to her was meat on a platter. I snatched the stupid thing away and pulled it on.

"Sit," the woman commanded. The next half an hour was spent on this woman 'improving' my looks in every way possible. There are a lot of ways, let me tell you. Painful, painful ways.

Reska got up and left the room about halfway through my torture on order from my stylist, who's name turned out to be Yeta or something. She came back with an unassuming glass ball.

"Follow me," commanded Yeta. We all paraded out the doors and into an elevator that sped down to the main level. Once there, I was overwhelmed with sound.

Attendants rushed to and fro, franticly trying to get horses satled up and attached to the chariots. Stylists were either putting the finishing touches on their tributes or ganging in jealousy at others work. Yeta lead me to 11's chariot.

"Now, be happy," she told me. Not big on words, this one. She passed me the glass ball. "Don't let go." With that, she spun out of sight.

I turned to Taylor. "Looking good," I teased. He was in the same suit that I was in.

He grimaced. "They don't really go for comfort," he said, scratching his shoulder. "I don't really get it. Why do we have to get all dressed up, anyway?"

I gripped the glass ball in my hands tighter. "It's to get us possible sponsors. People who can send us gifts and stuff."

"For what?"

Naive Taylor. "For the Games, duh." I didn't really want to tell him.

"Ah." Our chariots started moving, and I reached out and grabbed Taylor's hand for support. If I hadn't, I would have fallen over for sure.

"Hey, say something funny," I asked Taylor, feeling queasy.

"Uh, like what?"

"Something about your cousins. Anything." We needed to appear carefree.

"Okay." He launched into a tale of how they had played hide and seek once, and his cousin got stuck on the roof. It was pretty good retelling with facial expressions and everything, and I was cracking up so much that I didn't even notice the fact that we were out in the open. With a whole country watching.

I think I turned green.

The glass ball in my hand suddenly got really, really hot. Nearly burning. I felt something crawling up my arm, and tried to supress my urge to scream with a laugh.

Taylor had no such restraint. Her screamed when the vines that has popped out of the ball started growing up him. This turned my fake laughter into real laughter.

"Taylor," I choked out, "stop. It's safe. Promise." The look he gave me was so odd that I burst out into more laughter.

By this point the vines from the ball were everywhere. They weaved themselves into almost a prom dress for me, intricate designs covering my arms. I felt my face as the growth made it's way up to my hair, entangling itself there. A few strands worked their way onto my face.

Taylor's vines just grew all over him. Like me, some was in his hair and on his face. He flashed his crooked smile, then spit as a vine grew into his mouth, causing him to frown.

We rode the rest of the way trying not to burst into laughter. Even during the speech and anthem I would giggle. Taylor laughed at my laugh, and it all spiraled from there.

The horses went around the circle one more time before leading us into our new home. As soon as they stopped, I hopped off the chariot.

Bad idea.

You see, the vines were still tangled together, linking me and Taylor. When I jumped, he was yanked after me, right off our ride. Right on top of me, actually. All the air rushed out of my lungs in one big omph.

"Ow," hissed Taylor. He rolled off of me and attempted to use the cart to stand. Me being on the floor just pulled him right back down. Unable to resist, I laughed.

"I thought you had a boyfriend, Renolds!" came a call from across the room. I recognized the voice.

"You would know, Conway," I called right back. The voice belonged to Kara, a extremely hyper freshmen who sat at my lunch table. She was pretty good friends with Mikayla. "But apparently he decided not to show."

"Shouldn't that be a good thing?" she shot back. Why, yes, it was. "Get a room if you want to use your ho!"

"Do you just not like me, Conway?" teased Taylor. He sat up and looked over in Kara's general direction.

"What-"

"I think the title ho fits with Tyler better," came a new voice, cutting off Kara. I rolled my eyes, still on the floor. Only Sierra...

"And who are you?" Kara asked, in a slightly mocking voice.

"A friend," Sierra dodged.

I sat up and looked around. Most of the kids I knew from home were laughing or smiling. The tributes who I didn't know stood over by the elevators, looking really confused.

I bit my lip. "Isn't somebody gonna get me out of this thing?" I hollered.

I heard the clicking of her heels before I saw Reska. She had a little spritz bottle in hand, and she used it to dissolve the plants attached to me. Taylor popped up, and then yanked me off the ground, nearly pulling my arm off in the process. From what I could see, the Capitol people were ushering everyone over to the elevators.

Reska roughly grabbed my arm and dragged me in the same direction. Somehow she managed to snag an elevator without anyone else in it. The ride up was silent.

When the doors opened, I found everyone waiting for us. Tilip, and Edan stood off to one side, with Yeta and the guy who must've been Taylor's stylist on the other. Tellree stood in between them, as if she wasn't sure who's side she was on.

Okay, admittedly Yeta was weird. She also only viewed me as a canvas to do as she pleased. But I had to give her credit for my amazing costume. According to the screams of my name during the opening ceremonies, we had made a splash. So as soon as I saw her, I launched myself at her.

"Thank you so much!" I gushed. Who am I kidding. I was just trying to get her to care, so when I died she might feel some sense of remorse, of a need to change.

She pried my arms off herself. "Your welcome," she answers me stifly. I could tell she didn't like my affection.

Huge arms grabbed me from behind and lifted me off the ground. I clawed at them, but my hands had no effect.

"You didn't give me a hug," boomed a voice.

"Can't...breath..." I gasped. The arms set me down. I turned around and saw that it was Taylor's stylist who had put me in the headlock.

"Uh, thanks," I blushed. Aw-k-ward.

"Food," groaned Taylor. "I went through the physical torture of makeup being put on me, and then being paraded in front of a huge crowd. I want food."

"This way," said Edan in a gruff voice. He lead us down the hallway to a table. Avoxs' lined the walls. We all took a seat, and the feast was brought out.

I don't really remember much of the feast, just a bit here and there. I had a lot on my mind. Throughout the day I had been skirting around my worst conflict, but now it was taking root.

What was worse? Winning the Hunger Games and possibly having to kill your friends, or helping them win, dying in the process?

If I won, I could try to figure out a way back. But I would have to live knowing that in my survival, someone had to die for me. Well, even if I lost, someone still might have died for me, but still.

I could win, or I could die.

Halfway through this internal debate, I went to bed. But once in my room I couldn't sleep. Did I even want to win?

Listen, the voice in my head said. You could win. Or you could help Taylor win, or Sierra. Don't they deserve it?

They did. And suddenly I knew what I was going to do.

I would do the ultimate protest against the Hunger Games. I would go in, and intend to never come out.

I was going to help Taylor win.

*READ THE LOOKING GLASS WARS. IT'S ALYSS, NOT ALICE, DUMMY.*

The mentors don't know about the thing that happened at the end of the chariots. Yet. Just wait.

My high school pawns all others. We said goodbye to seniors, and then had a huge party that involved a giant inflatable dragon obstacle course, giant inflatable slide (at least 60 feet high), and an inflatable wrestling thing where you whack a friend with a giant stick. They had live bands and had restraunts coming in and selling food.

It ROCKED.

We also have this huge ceremony where they move your class up a whole seating place in the gym. There is a seating place for every class (freshmen, sophmore, junior, senior) and you have to sit there. At the end of the year they do a moving up assembly and move everyone.

According to that, I am officially a sophomore. Woooo! (Vera, you still don't know how old I am. Just my grade now.)

Wanna know what would be creepy? If someone from my school read this and was like, "That's my high school!" and they didn't know me. Then they tried to stalk me.

You know what? If that sounds like your school, review and tell me. I want to know who you are.

That doesn't count for those of you who are my friends and I -koffkoff- forced you -koffkoff- to read this. Which, for this story, is, um, one. Or two, if you count Molly's brother, but I don't. (Hi, B!)