Chapter 5

My stylist is called Had. I do not like him at all.

When my lifeless stylists summoned him, he strode in, saw me standing naked by the mirror and burst out laughing. He pointed at me and said something I chose to ignore at him. I scowled at him. Luckily, my prep team did too. He stopped, but looked at me with a sarcastic sympathised face. I returned it, mockingly.

I wait for my prep team to leave the room. Had tells me to follow him into the hall where he will tell me about the costume I will be wearing. I ask if I can put on my dress.

'No, you must be proud of your new body, so why not show it off?' he asks me. I feel myself turn red and clasp my hands across my chest. He snickers. I remind myself that the Different Rue is actually me. He is still staring at my body. I do not want to follow him anywhere.

'Come on,' he tells me, opening the door. I shake my head, forgetting that I swore to myself that I would not get into any more trouble. I look at him, observing him for the first time. He is big, even bigger than Thresh, and looks very muscly. It is hard to tell what colour he has dyed his skin under all his tattoos and piercings' which cover his whole body. It looks green, I think. He has an earring in one ear and jet black hair which has been shaved into an odd pattern. His teeth look like they are made of gold. He's wearing leather. Some of us use leather bags in District 11, but we never wear it. He has a black leather jacket, trousers and boots. His jacket is open revealing more tattoos and a scary amount of muscles. I realise how powerful he must feel, standing there like a giant, invincible, wearing tough, shiny clothes, towering over a tiny, twelve year old girl, completely naked, extremely skinny, no fighting skills whatsoever…(that he knows of)

Then I see how powerful he is. I find that I am very scared of him. He could easily break my neck with one fist. I wonder what costume he could possibly have in mind for me. Maybe he's going to send me out like this, just to show everybody what a weakling I am. The thought makes me shudder.

The next thing I know, he has slung me over his shoulder and is carrying me through the train corridor, towards the hall. I bang my fists on his back, but I doubt he even feels them. A few people pass him and laugh when they see me on his back. He bursts into the hall and thrusts me into a chair. I sit, trembling, trying to hold my gaze. I draw my legs up to my chest to cover myself out he pulls them down and places his boot on my foot. I feel my toes crush under the weight. He must like his power.

'Right,' he growls, 'Let's talk about your costume for the parade. Agriculture. Not exactly interesting?'

It is cold in the hall and Goosebumps rise on my skin. I wonder if it's from cold or fear. I shiver again. He carries on:

'To me, you look like a little girl. Which is what you are. I've had a chat with your mentor and we've both agreed that your best strategy will be to play the little one. Convince every one that you are a small, frightened little girl. You look like a weakling to me, anyway, so it shouldn't be too hard. Your mentor would like a talk with you afterwards, by the way. I suppose he wants to tell you more about your strategies, but that's all he told me. And that's all I need to know. I need to make you look like exactly what you are: a weakling. A girl. Whatever; they're both the same thing.

'They are not!' I protest. He ignores me.

'But,' he continues, 'I have to include Agriculture in your costume. Which means I can't send you out like that. Which is a pity. I thought District12 played that very well a few years ago, don't you? And it would be perfect for you. I could just send you out and everyone will see how vulnerable you were straight off. Look at you now, trembling. Shivering, embarrassed. That's exactly how I want to portray you. I wanted to see it now.'

So, that's why, I think, trying to stop myself shaking to prove him wrong. I don't want to go out looking like a weakling. I tell him. He laughs scornfully.

'Tough,' he tells me. We're both silent for a few minutes before he continues. 'So,' he says, 'You're going to play the part of the little farmer's girl. Very sweet, very small, traditional outfit. Thresh will be going out as a strong, unbeatable worker, to show everybody he's tough. You, next to him, will be the perfect contrast.' He places a black bag on my lap and I wonder how I never noticed him carrying it. 'Put it on,' he tells me.

Eager to feel something against my skin once again, I rip open the bag and take out the costume. It's dull, very. And over-the-top. One look at it and I know I'll look ridiculous. It's made up from layers and layers off thick, ugly fabric with patches. The patches are colourful, which makes no sense. When we patch our clothes, we use similar fabric, not polka dot yellow or zebra-print.

It's a dress. Or many dresses. Had shows me the order they go on. First is a short, white one, it's thin and flimsy like the yellow dress. He tells me it's a petticoat. Next is a pale-brown blouse made to look old and dirty, with holes in it. It has no sleeves and looks odd on top of the white dress, especially as that is so clean. Then, Had pulls on a skirt which comes down to my knees. It's dark brown, mostly, and seems to be made from scraps of different fabrics. It's very dense and quite heavy. It falls about me like a bundle of rags. I feel like a beggar, yet it has an elastic waist and fits perfectly. The scraps fly out when I turn, as Had instructs. He says the prep team have chosen good colours for my eyes and lips. I wonder what that has to do with it. He tells me they match, which is odd because they are not the same colours.

Finally, he gives me a dark green corset which he threads tightly around the blouse. He ties a dirty white apron around the skirt and puts my hair into two ribbons. I feel ridiculous. I don't look anything like a 'farmer's girl.' We have farmers at home of course– we're all farmers. And we girls wear tunics and trousers, or occasionally brown dresses. But not aprons and corsets and ribbons and petticoats. I feel myself go red and I half wish I was standing in front of him naked again. The only good point to be said about the costume is that he leaves my feet bare. I like that; I never wear shoes at home.

Then Had does something which seems rather pointless to me. It makes tears come into my eyes for reasons I cannot explain. He takes out the green ribbons in my hair and throws them at the floor. Then, he takes out a knife and begins cutting my hair off. My hair has never been cut before. I don't like seeing it fall to the floor in heaps. Even a long, silky river is fine by me. I like my hair, especially matted and long like it was before. I don't like seeing it tumble to the floor. When he stops, it is not even down to my elbows. Then, he ties it back up in the ribbons. I look down at the floor sadly.

But then, the most ridiculous part of all comes. Had takes out a small box from the black back and opens it. It is filled with dirt. And, after the prep team have spent hours scraping grime from my skin, he thrusts up my chin and smears the dirt on my face. He licks his finger and rubs off the tiger eyes they gave me, but he leaves my gold lips and eyes. He smears dirt on my hands, legs and feet. I feel as if I am in District 11 again. Unwillingly, I like it. He even sprinkles some in my hair. Then, he leads me back to the white room and I stare at myself in the mirror.

The costume is silly. I look to girly and vulnerable, but that's what he wanted. It's unrealistic and theatrical, but it does look ragged, like the clothes we usually wear at home. And I like the dirt. Love it. Even my hair, which I do not like short and tied up, looks more normal. As I stare at the grimy face in the mirror, and the bare feet, the beggar clothes that look so exaggerated, I can't help realising that I really do look more like myself. I hate the costume and the way they're showing me up to be a poor weakling, but it's a relief to see Rue in the mirror again. I smile at the Poor Rue.

She smiles back. Nicely.