I awoke early the next morning. My very first thought, accompanied by a rush of embarrassment, was of my outburst the previous night. I had let myself look weak and distracted, and I could never again afford to let that happen while in the presence of my competition. From now on, I was going to remain cool and focused on the task at hand, and right now that task was to be the most memorable in interviews tonight.

I exited my room and almost ran right smack into Marvel, who happened to be walking by. He muttered a reluctant "good morning" then strode off down the hall, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. I snickered; the poor baby was still upset that I had taken advantage of him and pretended to be feeble and helpless. Didn't he see that all was fair in love, war, and the Hunger Games?

I made my way into the dining room, as always admiring how the sunlight reflected off the expensive silver plates and cutlery. Everyone else was already sitting, bleary-eyed, around the table. While we ate, there was no noise but the clinking of forks. Finally I spoke up. "So what's the plan for today?"

"Cashmere will handle the presentation aspect of interviews and I'll handle the content," Gloss explained. "We start as soon as breakfast is finished."

My part with Cashmere turned out to be a breeze. She had me put on a dress and heels to practice walking, but soon realized that I didn't need coaching on that. Next, we looked in a mirror and practiced what expressions to pair with different words, which angle of my face should face towards the cameras, where the light caught me best. "Basically every aspect of your face is pleasurable to look at, so I don't think you need to worry about that part too much," she told me, grinning. I beamed back, loving all the compliments that my mentors bestowed upon me.

For the last part, she asked me a few basic questions and had me practice which facial expressions I would use while saying them, then told me I was ready to go. "I'm supposed to have another hour with you, but maybe we can switch early," she mused, checking her diamond-studded watch. "We're done here, and besides, I'm sure Marvel could use all the help he can get."

As it turned out, Gloss was ready to switch as well. "I wanted more time with you," he told me once Marvel and I had switched rooms and he was no longer within earshot. "I'm fairly sure that you don't need any help with content, so we're going to work on your actual training for the Games. What is your best skill?"

"The knife," I said without hesitation.

"Me too," he grinned, pulling two throwing knives out of his pocket.

We fooled around with knives for a while, seeing who could hit the bull's eye more often, who could better throw a knife while doing a backflip and have it stick between panels in the wood. We also practiced fighting each other with the knives. Although I was faster, he was stronger, and eventually he had me pinned to the ground.

For a moment we laid there, breathing heavily, our noses less than an inch from each other. After a second, he seemed to come back to his senses and jumped up quickly, clearing his throat. I smiled inwardly as he helped me to my feet; it was always enjoyable to watch the effect I could have on men, even older ones solely focused on their jobs.

"So," he said, sitting back down, already back to business. "I get the feeling that you're good at reading people. Is that true?"

I nodded. "It's my number one talent."

"Alright then." He leaned forward animatedly. "Read me."

I took a deep breath and focused, taking in everything about him, thinking back to what I had noticed in the past few days. "You volunteered for the Hunger Games solely because you like challenges, not for the fortune or fame. But you were worried sick when your little sister volunteered the very next year, because you're fiercely protective of her, even though she doesn't realize it. However, you didn't realize what a burden it would be to mentor tributes and watch them die every single year. That's why you try to stay emotionally detached and play the tough guy. You can't stand to get close to them and then have them taken away from you. It gives you a tough exterior, but sometimes when you're alone you break down and-"

Gloss was very still, and for a moment I was worried that I had gone too far. But he smiled after a second. "Wow. That was incredible. Where did you learn to do that?"

I shrugged. The talent had been a part of me for as long as I could remember. That, combined with my beauty, was how I had always gotten everything I ever wanted.

Gloss looked at me long and hard. "Glimmer, why did you want to be selected for the Games?"

"I want a home in the Capitol, and the Hunger Games will get me that." I braced myself for him to snicker, to wonder in disbelief why I would bet my life for that. But it was all I had ever wanted, and to make it happen I would fight to the death...literally.

Instead, he shrugged. "Understandable. Alright, you may go."

I rose, slightly taken aback at the sudden dismissal.

A few hours later, Marvel and I were in the elevator heading down to the stage where the interviews would be conducted. Cressida, my stylist, had gone all out: my shiny blonde hair spilled over my shoulders in elegant curls, my eyes looked wide and huge thanks to expertly applied makeup, and I was dressed in a short, somewhat see-through gold dress that clung to every inch of skin. I did not even look like a tribute; I looked like a model for one of the Capitol's main fashion lines.

While admiring myself in the elevator door's reflection, I could see Marvel trying and failing to keep his eyes off of me. Eventually, blushing like a tomato, he stammered out, "Y-you look beautiful, by the way."

I nearly burst out laughing. It seemed like Marvel had gotten over his anger at me fairly quickly. "Thanks," I said, not really meaning it.

The doors of the elevator opened, and we were ushered into the room just off the stage where the interviews would take place. I wasn't nervous, just excited. This was my debut in the Capitol, the first time that people would get to know me, not my fighting skills. This was my first impression on people I would be with for the rest of my life, once I won the Games and made my home here. I was ready.

I was also eager to finally outshine Blueberry. She might have a good stylist and be alright with a bow, but she was closed off, guarded. I had only noticed because of my excellent reading skills, but now, after the interviews, the rest of the world would too. That would be the end of Blueberry's short time in the spotlight.

I excused myself to go to the bathroom, anxious to check that my hair and makeup still looked flawless before going onstage in front of millions of viewers. On my way back, I passed Cato in the hall.

He did a double-take when he saw me. "Glimmer! You look…amazing. Wow."

"Thank you, Cato," I responded, shocked that my thanks were, once again, genuine. I actually appreciated his compliment, and couldn't be more surprised by that. "So what angle are you playing tonight?"

He spread his arms wide. "You know me. Ferocious and bloodthirsty. I barely even have to act," he said with a grin. "What about you?"

I looked down at my see-through dress with a smirk. "Is it not obvious?"

"Oh. Uh," he laughed, running a hand through his short blond hair. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is." To my surprise, he was not staring directly at my tits like most men, but instead seemed to be pointedly looking anywhere else. How surprisingly genteel.

"Well, I'd better be getting back. I do have to go on first, after all," I said, giving myself an excuse to get away from this strangely polite Cato. It had to be an act, but I wasn't sure why he would be acting with no one around to see.

He nodded and I began to walk away, but as I was leaving he grabbed my arm. "Just…good luck out there," he muttered, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. He strode away quickly, leaving me to stare in bewilderment at his retreating figure.

Marvel and I took our places at the front of the line, since we were from District 1. We passed frantic backstage people, stylists dabbing on last minute makeup, mentors shouting instructions for interviews. All of the tributes were standing silently, some looking ready, some looking as if they needed to hurl.

"We're on in five!" someone shouted as Cato took his place in line behind Marvel and me.

"Go win some sponsors with your hotness, alright?" Cato grinned, once again the cocky tough guy.

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that. I've got them wrapped around my finger," I responded, giving him a coy smirk.

Although I kept a winning smile plastered on my face as I turned back towards the front, I was a little shaken up at what had happened in the hallway. I shook my head to clear it. His sweetness had simply been acting, as had mine. I didn't care what Cato thought of me. I didn't. Our flirtiness was purely for the audience, and we both knew it. Definitely. "For the audience, Glimmer," I repeated to myself out loud, earning a weird look from Marvel.

Suddenly, the lights grew bright, and the curtain parted in front of me. I kept a huge smile on my face as the tributes took the stage.

Showtime.