Chapter Three: New Home, Please

I've made a decision: I love the Capitol.

More importantly, they love me. Well, I'm a tribute – of course they do. But being a Career tribute, I'm even better than the rest of them, so naturally I'm more popular with the audience. Oh, I can't wait to try out the knives in the training center. On the train, Enobaria decided that intimidation is the best approach for me.

"You made it obvious at the reaping that you've been looking forward to this your whole life," she said when Cato left to talk strategy with Yoh, his mentor. "There's no way you could pull off any sniveling little girl act. You're the best – act like it."

Excellent. I won't have to hold anything back.

I'm snapped back to the present when my prep team finishes drying my hair. "Oh, Clove, you look fabulous!" squeals Loionia. "You'll be able to win the Games with your looks alone!"

"I can't wait to see what you look like when Maio dresses you up for the opening ceremonies," gushes Quen.

"Yes, he'll be able to make your hair especially look amazing," says the last member of the team, Amako. "You'll win the crowd over with no effort!"

I barely stop myself from rolling my eyes. As great as my prep team is – and really, the only reason they're great is that they're complimenting me and making me look amazing – they're three of the strangest human beings I've ever seen. Loionia has bright pink hair and burnt orange skin, and her eyes look like they've been surgically enlarged. It's disturbing. Quen is tiny, and her entire body is an abnormal shade of violet. Amako might be the weirdest of them all, though. His hair has been ripped out and replaced with flowers of every color, which stick straight up. The rest of his body, clothes included, is a light brown shade that resembles dirt. The strangest part, though, is the watering can that is attached to his back. It's constantly watering the flowers and pouring mud down his back.

"Let's call Maio," says Quen excitedly. "I can't wait any longer to see what Clove looks like for the ceremonies!"

Ten minutes later, my stylist enters the room. He's not quite as odd as my prep team – white hair, bright blue skin, and cat whiskers – but he's old, which is definitely weird.

"So, Clove," he begins. "District Two's job is designing clothing, correct?"

"Yes," I confirm.

"Fabulous. Your costume for the opening ceremonies is not going to be overly complicated. Because Two designs clothes, you and Cato are simply going to be dressed in outfits that compliment you – figure, hair color, eyes, you get the idea."

I nod. I may have spent nearly every waking moment of my life so far training with Brutus, but I also live in District Two. I know about fashion. Maio's idea is actually pretty smart; sometimes tribute costumes are overdone, which looks ridiculous.

"Excellent," Maio says happily. "Let's get started, then."

An hour later, I'm perfect.

The more I wear pink and green, the more I like the way it looks on me. Maio has dressed me in a simple, light green dress with spaghetti straps. My hair is curled in a way similar to the way it was at the reaping, but this time half of it is piled elegantly on top of my head. There is also a crown of pink flowers that circles my hair, and high heels the same color as the flowers.

"Finished!" Maio cries excitedly. I stare into the mirror, delighted. Maio may be strange, but he's made me look amazing. "Oh!" he exclaims. "I almost forgot!" The stylist produces a pretty gold necklace that has a simple charm – a four-leaf clover (I love Maio more every second). Then he hands me two earrings – gold, with a diamond in the center – and I put them on immediately.

I grin at my reflection. I thought I looked great at the reaping, but honestly, that was nothing compared to what Maio has transformed me into. And right now, I decide that when I win the Games, I want Maio to teach me to design clothes like these. Maybe someday, I'll even be a stylist for the Games – the first ever from a district…

I turn to Maio. "Thank you!" I say, ecstatic. "I look amazing! I'll have so many sponsors, I owe you big time…"

Maio smiles at me. "Anytime, Clove," he says. "If you like this, you'll absolutely love your outfit for your interview!"

I start to ask what it is, but then I think that maybe I'll like being surprised.

Instead, I ask the question that I've been thinking about ever since our train pulled into the station here. "Maio… do the victors get a choice… on where they live… after?" I'm not usually so hesitant, but if the answer is no, I think I'd rather hear it later rather than sooner.

To my surprise, Maio laughs. "Of course they do. Clove, when you're a victor, there are no restrictions. You can have everything you want – whenever, wherever. Hell, if you wanted to live in District Twelve, you could even do that – not," he shuddered, "that I'd recommend it. But really," he says kindly, "you'd probably want to stay in District Two."

"No!" I exclaim! I'm still processing the fact that I really could spend the rest of my life in the Capitol. "I mean, no, I love the Capitol! If I really could stay here forever, I would. It's amazing, you're so lucky you get to live here!"

Maio smiles at me. "Well, Clove, there is no doubt in my mind that you can win these Games. Did you watch the recap of the reapings last night?"

I shake my head. Enobaria had watched them while I got a good night's sleep – taking Dad's advice – and she had said that there was no one worth worrying about.

My stylist grins at me. "Well, come on, then," he insists. "I think you should. Then you'll see how truly easy this is going to be for you, and when you beat them, you can stay here – or anywhere – for as long as you like."

Maio takes me to a large room with a television and a large sofa, and we sit down. "They replay the reapings in the Capitol a few times the day after them every year," he tells me. "It should start in just a few minutes."

I'm surprised by the fact that I actually feel a bit… nervous. The feeling is so new to me, it takes a moment before I can even identify it. And when I do, I'm absolutely horrified. No! I think hurriedly. Of course I'm not nervous! It's just… excitement, seeing all these puny little wimps that I'm going to have the pleasure of killing soon. I'm not nervous in the least. Nothing to be nervous about. I'm going to win, I'll be fine.

I breathe out a sigh of relief. Of course, I'm not nervous. I don't know where that even came from. I've never been good at identifying emotions, I reason with myself. That's all. I was just excited, and I didn't realize it at first.

The reapings come on, and my thoughts are interrupted. A strange-looking woman with light pink skin and bright yellow, very spiky hair appears on the screen. "Good afternoon, Panem! I'm Johi Tol, here to show you our last recap of the reapings for the seventy-fourth Hunger Games! We'll begin with District One."

And that's when I start to learn about the competition. I make myself notice every possible detail about each tribute. The girl from One – Glimmer – is too pretty to possibly be smart. Her boy counterpart – Marvel – volunteers quickly, but it looks like there's fear in his eyes. But I'm distracted when District Two is on screen, because I look amazing: proud, strong, confident, and of course, beautiful. Cato, I notice, looks slightly mad.

The tributes all start to blur together after the first few districts, despite my best efforts. Some stand out. The boy from Three looks scared, but like he might be quite brainy. The girl from Five looks sly, but I can sense fear radiating from her. The girl from Eight looks like even more of an idiot than that Glimmer, and the boy from Ten has a limp.

None of these worry me. They all look scared, vulnerable, and unwilling to compete. It almost makes me mad, that they've received such an honor and don't want to participate! It's so frustrating.

Finally, only Eleven and Twelve are left. The girl from Eleven is tiny, and when she steps onto the stage I shake my head. As much as I love the Games, it almost seems sad. Someone older could have had this honor, and no one bothered to volunteer.

Frankly, the boy from Eleven is a bit scary. He's unbelievably huge, although he looks like he can't string two words together. Still, that doesn't mean he's not dangerous.

Finally, the only district left is Twelve. When a tiny twelve-year-old is called, I roll my eyes. "What's the bet she allies with Little Eleven?" I ask Maio scornfully. But before the stylist can respond, an older girl pushes through the crowd.

"Prim!" she yells. "Prim!"

And then the new girl does something that is virtually unheard of in District Twelve.

She volunteers.

I raise my eyebrows. A volunteer from Twelve? How strange. I try to figure out why this could have happened – usually the tributes from this pathetic district break down and cry when their names are called, at the very least. The two girls look nothing alike, so I doubt they're related. Not that that ever means anything when it comes to the Hunger Games.

But the girl – Prim – is trying to keep the older girl from getting on the stage. She's yelling her name now, it sounds like Katniss – what a strange name – and Katniss is forcing her away.

Then an older boy – who does look like he could be related to the new tribute – walks up to the two girls and holds Prim back. Then he says something to Katniss that the cameras don't pick up, and she gets on the stage.

The escort looks thrilled. Well, I guess this is as exciting as Twelve's reapings ever get. The escort – wow, she looks even stranger than Sparkle Trix – speaks into the microphone. "What's your name?"

"Katniss Everdeen," the girl says, sounding as if she's very scared but trying not to show it. I try to remember Prim's last name, but I wasn't really paying attention because names are hardly relevant in the Games.

But when Katniss and the escort confirm that Prim is her sister, I'm shocked. Since when does anyone – let alone someone from Twelve, of all places – volunteer for a family member? The escort mentions something about Katniss not wanting Prim to steal all the glory – maybe that's it? The whole situation is very strange.

I don't understand what happens next at all. Everyone in the square touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holds it out to Katniss. She looks like she's going to cry.

I'm too busy thinking about this to notice what else is said and done for a few moments. I do spare the boy chosen from Twelve a glance when his name – which I don't register – is called. This one looks like he could be related to Prim; they have the same blonde hair and blue eyes. The fear in the boy's eyes is obvious, though, and despite the fact that he looks strong, I immediately mark him as an easy kill.

Maio flips off the TV. "See?" he says. "Nothing to worry about. You'll be perfectly fine."

I nod to show that I agree. Really, I hadn't noticed anyone that looked like much of a threat. Actually, it looks like the person who will be the biggest threat to me will be none other than Cato himself.

Maio interrupts my thoughts. "Come on," he says, pulling me to my feet. "We need to get you and Cato to the City Circle."

Another hour later, I'm standing on my chariot next to Cato. I don't even look at him – he's worthless. This is all about me.

The opening ceremonies finally begin, and the District One tributes enter the Circle. I have to admit that they look pretty nice, but of course, they're nothing compared to me.

Suddenly, the shock of what's going on hits me. I'm going to be in the Hunger Games, a voice in my head says, stunned. Then the more natural reaction: This is amazing!

At some silent cue, our horses – which are light gray – pull us into the Circle. Immediately, all eyes are on us. I smile and wave and occasionally wink at the audience, very enthusiastically. It's clear that they love us – well, probably not Cato so much. But he doesn't matter. All that matters is that I look fantastic and that all eyes are on me.

I lazily brush away a lock of hair that has fallen into my eyes. Really, I think, this is too easy. And then the District Twelve chariot enters the Circle.

My first thought: Oh, good – someone finally set them on fire!

My second thought: Shit!

I bite my lip, trying to stop a stream of profanities – which by no means ended with shit – from escaping me. Because the tributes from Twelve look… amazing. More than amazing. The audience is going crazy, screaming their names. Katniss and the boy – whose name I still don't know – look exactly as the perfect tributes would.

And I hate them for it.

Then, I notice. They're holding hands. Is there something going on between them? I look at Katniss – though her hand is still grasping the boy's, she's barely sparing him a glance. Is this an act, then? I look at the boy, and I immediately retract that though. Because he's looking at her as though she's the most amazing thing in the world.

?

The rest of the opening ceremonies go by in a blur. I will the time to speed up, wanting desperately to talk to Enobaria. She'll know what this means, and what to do. She's been mentoring the tributes from Two for ten years – she insists on taking the job every time, wanting the glory of mentoring a victor – and watched the Games for her whole life before that. Enobaria, surely, will know the best thing for me to do.

It's such a relief to finally step onto the elevator. It's a short ride up to the second floor, and I turn, preparing to go find my mentor. But someone stops me.

"Cato?" I hiss. "What do you want?"

Cato glares at me. "God, Clove, you're impossible. I need to talk to you."

I stare at him in disbelief. "About what?"

"Twelve," he says shortly, and I understand.

"Oh. Yeah," I agree. "They could be a problem."

"Exactly," Cato scowls. "Listen, Clove. Like it or not, we're going to be allies in the arena. It's tradition. In addition to that, one of us is going to win these Games. And since we're going to be allies anyway, we might as well figure out a game plan as soon as possible."

I look at Cato, seeing reason in his words. What the hell? This is Cato. There's never any reason. But I suppose he's prepared for this, so maybe the best thing to do is just to trust him, for now…

No. Not trust. If there is one thing that is nonexistent in the Hunger Games, it's trust.

Finally, I nod. "Fine. Did you notice how they were holding hands?"

Cato narrows his eyes, clearly disgusted. "Yeah. What do you think?"

"Well," I say slowly, "at first I thought it was an act. She barely even looked at him. But then I looked at his face, and no one can act that well. It's for real."

Cato frowns. "I don't like them. Either one of them. She's too fake and he's too real. There's obviously something going on, but I can't figure it out."

I look at Cato again, critically this time. He looks like he's concentrating very hard; it's kind of funny, actually. "Maybe it's a trick? Maybe she's just a really bad actor, and he's a good one," I say.

He shrugs. "I don't know. We have training tomorrow, though. We'll keep an eye on them, see what they act like away from the audience."

"We could try spying," I suggest. "Try to hear what they're saying…"

Cato nods, agreeing. "Good idea. I'm not going to have some puny tribute from Twelve be a threat to me," he scoffs. "That would be shameful."

I remember my dad, almost losing his Games to that little girl from Ten. That won't happen to me, I swear silently to myself. I'm going to make them proud – Dad, Mother, Enobaria, Brutus. How am I going to do that if I even give the slightest hint that the tributes from Twelve pose a threat to me – worry me, even? It would be a complete disgrace to my entire district.

Then I consider how wise it would be of me to ally with Cato. Truthfully, I know I don't really have a choice. Because besides him, I'll be with that idiot, Glimmer, the scared boy, Marvel, and the tributes from Four… sadly, I failed to pay attention to them while watching the recap of the reapings with Maio.

He's probably my best shot, I think regretfully. Since he's the biggest potential threat to me, the smart thing to do would be to make myself his ally, not his enemy… as far as he knows. I remember an old saying from before the war, one that Dad taught me. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

"I agree," I say quietly. "So, allies?" I hold out my hand, an offer.

He shakes it, and the alliance is sealed.

For now.

Review, please! :)

~What the Quell