Author's Note: So sorry that there's been a delay in updating! I had an unexpected trip out of state, and then a combination of work, college preparation, and baseball prevented me from getting caught up until today. ;) Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this next chapter! Please be sure to leave some feedback!

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Thresh and I stand together on our chariot, waiting for the horses to draw us into the tribute parade. I briefly glance at my district partner, again aware of his massive size as he stands so close to me. We are both dressed like farmers, meaning that he looks fairly natural and I look like an idiot. But I am glad for Thresh; the costume suites him, and previously I heard him express some concern to Chaff about what "getup" he would be forced to wear in this parade.

Thresh hasn't spoken one word to me at any point since we were reaped, though I don't think it I should take it as an insult. He is simply quiet, and he knows that we are going to be pitted against each other in only a few days. I have tried to be friendly as much as possible, and I think that deep down, he appreciates it, though on the surface he ignores me. Now he looks into the distance, not mindful of anything except the roar of the crowd that eagerly awaits us.

"You look nice," I say, not making eye contact, but hoping to lighten his spirits a little.

Because Thresh has spent much of his time today with Chaff, who I have discovered to be good at heart but pretty rough around the edges, I want to give put my fellow tribute at ease. As predicted, he only nods, but I think his eyes are less solemn than before, so I consider my attempt a victory.

Finally, the chariot jolts forward and we are drawn onto a long road between two massive slopes, each lined to the top with Capitol citizens. The air is full of their cheering, and I see that cameras are filming the chariots and sending the feed to several screens. Thresh and I appear on the screen for a moment, but then suddenly all attention is deviated elsewhere.

The tributes from District 12 look absolutely stunning. Somehow they are on fire but not burning up. I have no idea how this is possible, but at the moment I don't care. All I can do is look over my shoulder and gape at how gorgeous their fiery complexion is. They hold hands, something that seems to me like a subtle slap in the Capitol's face.

Then I remember who the girl is, and I feel even more excitement. Katniss. That's what the crowd is chanting right now, and that is the name of the girl from District 12 who volunteered for her little sister. I hope that I didn't steal any of her thunder; her sacrifice is just as brave as mine. Ever since I saw the replays of the Reapings, I have wanted to meet Katniss. Now this desire is shared by almost everyone in the Capitol thanks to whoever the brilliant stylist of District 12 is.

When at last the parade is over, Thresh and I are taken to the massive apartment where we will be staying, and after another large meal, I go to bed immediately. I have a sound slumber—something I'd bet a year's wages is rare around here—and get up for breakfast which, as predicted, is huge and wonderful. Then Thresh and I are given some last minute advice and directed to the Training Center.

When the elevator doors open, I take in the environment as I step into the room. Most of the other tributes are already here, gathered around various stations. There are many different weapons available to practice with, and the Careers are mostly on that side of the room. There are also stations that teach about plants, traps, fish hooks, campfires, and every other imaginable survival skill. This is where many of the tributes from the poorer districts are, and I decided to wander to this side of the room. I catch Thresh in the corner of my eye as he goes to toy with some massive weights, but I don't change my course.

I end up beside a table of paints used to practice camouflage, which is right beside the knot-tying station. Katniss, her brown hair in a simple braid that I quickly decide I like, and the blonde boy tribute from her district have begun to tie knots beside me. They are both dressed alike, and I wonder if that and the holding hands in the parade are connected in some way. They don't talk much as they go about their work, but I pick up that the boy's name is Peeta.

After about fifteen minutes, the duo heads over to my station. Peeta is eyeing the paint eagerly, and I wonder if he has experience with some kind of art. I flash the tributes a friendly grim and scoot aside to give them room to work beside me.

"I hope we aren't intruding," Peeta says pleasantly.

"Nope; I am actually honored to be so near the Flames of 12!" I declare with a smile.

"Is that what they're calling us now?" Katniss asks. Her tone is slightly irritated, and I wonder how well she slept last night.

"No. I just made it up," I reply as cheerily as I can. "I really did think your costumes were fantastic, though. And I really admire what you did at the Reaping, Katniss."

At first, Katniss looks glad to have been praised, but then she shrugs it off. "Doesn't mean much coming from you. Unless you're hoping to compliment yourself, that is."

Peeta gives me an apologetic glance, but I don't let the comment faze me. I know that Katniss, like any sensible person in this circumstance, does not want to make friends with anyone. In the Arena, friendships can be deadly to those who hold them.

"I only hope to compliment you," I answer, "though I suppose I don't need to. Everyone else agrees with me, I am sure."

Katniss goes about her work with no further discussion, but Peeta seems more social. While we paint, he ventures to ask me a question without any malice in his voice.

"How did you know the little girl you volunteered for?"

"I didn't," I tell him, awkwardly swirling the brown mess that I've made on my arm.

"What?" Peeta wonders aloud. He actually stops his work and looks at me. "So are you like a Career, then?"

I chuckle and shake my head. "I just couldn't stand it. I couldn't watch that little girl get dragged off to die. I didn't walk out my door that morning with a charitable heart, ready to die for a complete stranger; it's just that in the moment when the girl got reaped, I suddenly knew that volunteering was what I should do. I couldn't even believe I'd done it when I got on stage. Maybe it was a mistake, and maybe I'll die for it, but it's better I die than the little girl."

It's quiet for several minutes after that, all three of working hard on our camouflage. Mine has not improved, and it looks rather like a big mess than something I have actually spent time on. I think to myself that maybe my globs of paint could blend with mud, but that's where the possibilities end. I absentminded glance in Peeta's direction and am shocked to find that his arm is perfected painted to look like a tree trunk. It even has the light and shadows taken into account. I blink a few times to see if my eyes are deceiving me, but the realistic picture remains.

"How did you do that?" I ask in disbelief. Katniss seems surprised, too. And who wouldn't be? It really appears that his arm is growing a layer of bark.

"I used to ice the cakes at the bakery," Peeta explains. "This isn't too different from the icing we used."

"If only you could frost someone to death," Katniss says blandly.

"That would be a good way to go," I remark with a laugh. "Might as well die in pure happiness, right?"

This earns a smile even from Katniss. That makes me even happier; I have finally penetrated the barriers she has set up. I know that she will never allow me to be her friend, but when I'm stuck in the Hunger Games, a tolerable acquaintance is more than would have been expected.

I hope I don't have to watch the duo from District 12 die.

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