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I do not own the Hunger Games.
"W-w-what do you mean, Greyson?" I stutter, my voice low. "How could Trey possibly be here?"
"Look Seyrin, don't say I never did anything for you," he responds, and pulls me into his room on the train. "We don't have very long, so we have to make this quick."
As he pulled me into the room, I realized that I had really been missing the good parts of the train. First the TV room, and now this room was lovely. It wasn't spectacular, just a comfortable-looking bed, big windows, and other furniture made of cherry-stained wood, but it was comforting. I wish I had explored before plopping myself down to sulk earlier. Maybe Greyson had the right idea, being in here.
"There are no cameras or recording devices in here, Seyrin, because they want us to have some privacy. Plus, no one cares about what we do in here," Greyson continues, leading me to his closet. He thrusts open the door, and lo and behold, my best friend is sitting on the floor.
"Well, if it isn't Seyrin Schmitt. I thought I had lost you forever, you know," Trey says with a wink, and I smile in return. I go and sit next to him on the floor, and he wraps an arm around my shoulder. "I see my old friend Greyson Chelah has led you to me, and you probably have a billion questions. But I just want to tell you one thing first: I'm not here because I snuck onto the train."
"Okay." I take a deep breath and pinch myself, just to make sure I'm not dreaming. "Then why didn't you tell me you were coming? And why are you sitting on the floor of a closet? Also, why haven't I seen or heard of you until just now?"
"Well, dear Seyrin, I'm actually here because as the Peacekeeper led me out of your room after our goodbye, he told me that one of the kitchen crew members had gone missing. I guess it was a younger boy, and he had run into the district to hide." Trey looked at me, then at Greyson, and found that our expressions were shockingly similar. I guess he hadn't told Greyson the story yet. "He asked me to join the crew. There are a lot of rules, let me tell you, and I'm surrounded by Avoxes, but I was just happy to come."
My jaw should hurt from falling through the floor so many times. Everything today is a complete shock. Greyson speaks up. "Then why did you ask me to hide in my closet?"
"I kind of... ran away. I was so sick of making food that I couldn't eat, and I wanted to see you guys," Trey says, as if this was obvious.
We all just sit there for a few minutes, no one saying anything. Greyson and I are busy letting the information soak in, and Trey is deciphering our expressions. Finally, I decide to break the silence. "So, are you going back to the kitchen, or hanging around in here until we get to the Capitol? I hope you realize we can't feed you if you sit in here."
"I know," he says, "And I think I will go back. But how will I explain the hour of absence?"
"Oh, that's easy," I respond. "Just say that we told you to help us out, maybe with cleaning Greyson's room, and since you have to cater to our every need, you complied."
"But only tell them if they ask. Slip in at dinner when we go," Greyson adds. He checks the clock on the wall, and says, "Which is in five minutes, by the way. Go get ready, Seyrin."
Without another word, the closet gets closed with Trey concealed inside, and I head off down the hall the way I came to get to my room. I'm shocked when I open the door to find that it is almost an exact replica of Greyson's room, other than the different coloured bedspread and walls. His are blue, while mine are a soft yellow. I guess they want us to be able to distinguish them somehow. I open the drawer to find my selection of clothing. Never have I ever seen so much clothing crammed into such a small space. It just makes me more depressed, but this time for the hands in another district that are forced to make these. I decide that it certainly is best that I wear as many as possible, to make their work worthwhile.
The experience touches me in a way that I never thought clothes could. I've never been one of those people who obsess over what they wear. But somehow, just seeing that drawer full of things to wear, a luxury I've never had, makes me think that all of this is wrong. Why do they do this if we're all going to die anyway? And why do we have to die in the first place? The people who are forced to make our life wonderful for the next week must be crushed every year when we all die. And then there's our friends and family. The thought almost makes me regret choosing this fate for myself. Before I can succumb to the regret, I throw on some clothes – which end up being a blue t-shirt and shorts – and head to the dining hall.
Greyson and Trey are standing outside the heavy wooden closed doors, waiting for me so that we can slip Trey in unnoticed. For the first time, I notice that Greyson has a limp. I can't believe I didn't see that at the Reaping, or at all today.
The two of them are whispering angrily to each other, probably about how to do this, when suddenly, Trey takes my hand in his, and Greyson follows suit. I think about shoving them off, but I assume it's part of the plan. Plus, I'm already depressed, no need making them upset too.
Greyson pulls back one of the two doors, and walks in, still holding my hand. Trey follows closely behind us. When we walk towards the gleaming kitchen door, he slips inside. His fingers trail across mine as he releases my hand, and the simple action sends shivers up my spine. No, I tell myself, you can't feel this way. It will break his heart when he watches the District 12 kids kill you.
Somehow, Greyson is still gripping my fingers as tightly as he can without hurting me, and we sit down, side by side.
The kitchen door shoots open, and purple fingers emerge, followed by the rest of Besia. She's holding yet another mug of hot chocolate. Big surprise there.
Eventually Chelah and Peten join us at the table, and before anyone can say much, food is being poured out around us. And I get that same twinge in my stomach as when I saw the clothes; this is wrong. I push it away, and focus on the strategy and food laid out in front of me. If this is my last week, might as well enjoy it. If that's possible in such a horrifying world.
"So I was thinking, for both of you, your approach could be innocent. Underdogs, so to speak. Nothing at your reaping was out of the ordinary, so I want you to blend in until you get your chance to shine," Chelah says, pointing her soup spoon at Greyson and me, drawing an invisible line connecting us.
Of course, Peten immediately objects. "No, Chelah. That never works. I want them in with the Careers. Got that, you two? Train hard, hang around them, and act tough. Be strong. It's the best way to survive."
"Peten, what would you know? You won your Games by hiding everywhere: rocks, caves, mountainsides. And then you killed one person, at the very end."
"At least, then, you two should learn some survival skills."
Greyson and I were just sipping our carrot and lemon (odd combination, but delicious) soup, trying to listen but too busy gorging ourselves. It was clear, here, that we would have to speak up. So I pipe in, "Like what, fire-building and climbing trees?"
Peten is first to respond. "There won't be a tree station. I was thinking edible plants, knot-tying, that kind of thing."
"I'm not good at anything, really," Greyson says, dropping his eyes to the floor. "At least Seyrin knows how to hide."
It's true. I've spent the majority of my life in hiding. At the community home, I would hide to skip meals if I didn't feel well so that I wouldn't have to go to the nurse, from my friends if I wasn't in the mood to talk to them, or from Peacekeepers if I'd been foolish. Also, District 10 never really liked me; I was always in a grumpy mood (for good reason) and stomped around a lot. When I was younger, I would try to steal candy from shops. I was not a celebrity.
"But that's only because you have a limp, Greyson. I'm sure that there are things you can do," I say, looking sympathetically into his azure eyes. His eyes draw you in; make you want to stare at them forever. I gaze into them, unblinking. Greyson is sweet, kind, and his eyes are magical...
Peten's voice brings me back to our situation. "It's true, Greyson. Perhaps some of the tributes will take pity on you. Not the Careers, of course."
"So that's why you want them in with the Careers!" Besia squeaks. Everyone looks at her, because it's the first time she's spoken during the meal. She looks back down at her empty bowl of soup, probably feeling dumb. I'm glad; she's annoying. Everyone is annoying. Except Greyson and Trey...
Chelah smiles and shakes her head slightly. There must be something that they aren't telling us. This is why I don't like people. They keep secrets, manipulate you, and kill you. Mix that all together, and you get the Hunger Games. No wonder I hate this world.
The Avoxes (and Trey) come in and change the courses on the table. An Avox with beautiful brown hair sets down a bowl of lamb stew in front of me. I've never been a fan of lamb, but this is delicious. I tune out of the conversation, and eat everything that's set in front of me. People are carrying around different trays of food, and I eat some of each. Pastas with rich and creamy sauce, fish with spices, roast pork in maple syrup. Some of these things I would eat at home if I were rich. I try to identify where each item came from. Most of the meats, obviously, are from our district. District 11, agriculture, supplies most of the rest of the dishes, as well as Four, which is all the seafood.
More and more plates of rich food come in, and suddenly, I can't eat any more. My stomach is just not going to hold it. I want more of that chocolaty dessert though.
I'm so caught up in my world of food that I don't notice that Greyson has been poking me with his fork, trying to talk to me. I zone back in. "Earth to Seyrin? What's your opinion?"
I pinch my eyebrows together, trying to think of what they're asking me. "Uhh." I give up and decide to ask. "Opinion on what, exactly?"
Besia, who apparently got over her moment of stupidity, pipes in, "On what colour the sky will be when we arrive in the Capitol! I know it's your first time going there, so we're making you guess!"
"Well, what time will it be there?"
"Approximately eight in the morning, darling." I make a face at her, and hope that she notices. Ugh, please don't call me darling, I mentally say to Besia.
"Then I'm going to go with blue. Like normal." I think that was a no brainer.
"Well, I guess you'll see in the morning. Tomorrow, as I'm sure you know, you'll have to up fairly early to eat here. Then, you're going to be all made up for the chariot ride," Peten says.
"Don't fight over your costumes; they'll be just fine. I'm not saying you'll look good for sure, but get over it," Chelah warns us. "Now go to bed, we're done here."
Greyson decides he can hold my hand again, and we walk together out the doors of the dining room. As I turn around to shut the door behind me, I see Trey peeking out from the kitchen, glaring at the hand that's intertwined with Greyson's.
Is he jealous? Part of me hopes so. I've never had a boyfriend before. But most of me is hoping he isn't, because I don't want him to be hurt when I die.
Neither of us have much to say when we get back to our rooms. Since my room isn't as far down the hall as his is, he stops at my door. "Look Chelah, I know you aren't looking forward to this. But your best friend is here, and he and I will support you no matter what." I try not to notice that he puts emphasis on the words 'best friend' as if it will never be anything more.
"Are you kidding me? I've been waiting my whole life for this," I respond, shocked that he didn't clue in.
"You want to win, or you want to die? I have a feeling it's the latter."
"Look, I don't want to talk about it. Goodnight," I say, opening my door. I'm avoiding his gaze, because I know that if I look into his eyes, I'll be trapped.
He doesn't let go of my hand though. Instead, he runs his free hand run the side of my face, and delicately makes me to look up at him. I'm instantly at his mercy once my hazel eyes meet his, blue as the sea. They remind me of Trey's. But Greyson's seem more magnetic. "Seyrin, I will do everything I possibly can do protect you, even if you want to die." He kisses the top of my head, and disappears down the hall, limping as usual.
I step into my room in a daze. Is it possible that Greyson cares about me? Doesn't he want to win? I'm sure I'm a close second if he had the choice. But something about the whole situation is wrong. If anything, I should like Trey.
I stumble into my bed, which is as comfortable as I had imagined. It must be made of feathers. Great, now I feel bad for the people who made the bed. This world is sick and twisted. I flick the light off.
As I lie awake for what feels like hours, my mind is at war. Does Greyson like me? Does Trey like me? Do I like either of them? I'm so confused, because yesterday no one loved me. But at least one of us, possibly two, will be dead by the end of the week, and it won't be Trey. So I try to suppress the thoughts, and concentrate instead on my new mantra: Life sucks, and then you die. It really does suit my situation perfectly.
Somewhere along the lines, I fall asleep. I dream of nothing other than two boys' faces, and the week to come that will rid me of those faces – and everyone else's – forever.
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