Ok, I was supposed to post this yesterday but, once again, internet was down. IDK we have a sort of love-hate relationship. Anyway this chapter is by TrackerJackson! Seriously, check her out, she has the most amazing stories.

Rye and I are led through the train door, and away from the flashing cameras, I hardly notice the interior of the train; I was too busy hanging on to Rye. I did see a big plushy couch sitting by a huge silver television, much better than the kind I have at home. That one is so small, and, at times, the screen turns black and the audio cuts out.

I remember, last year, we missed the entire bloodbath of the Hunger Games, and the Peacekeeps monitoring the televisions to make sure people were watching caught us. While we were happy to miss the carnage, and it wasn't our fault, my family and I were still put in the District Prison for a night. It was cold, wet, and damp, and not at all pleasant.

Hestia's voice snaps me back to the present. "You and Rye need to go and get ready for dinner. Try the shower, and change clothes, and meet back in the dining cart. Your rooms are just down that hallway." She points to two doors, one for me, and one for Rye.

I thank her, and Rye and I walk down the hallway together. I know Hestia must have meant for us to go to our separate rooms, but, without talking about it, Rye and I both ended up in my room. I realize that this is the first time we have had time to talk—really talk—since we were both reaped.

Rye flopped onto my bed, and I sank into the plush armchair adjacent to the bed. I've come to terms with my death, and I have decided to try and enjoy what little time I have left with Rye. We look at each other for a while, unsure about what to say. He breaks the silence first.

"At the train station we agreed to be allies. I know I would never betray that, and I know that you wouldn't either. I think we just have to decide if we're going to have any other allies."

I think back to when I first saw the train, and I remember the television. "If we eat dinner, we could watch the other people's reapings on the television. Then, we can use that information to decide who else could be our allies."

Rye nods. "That sounds like a good plan. I'm going to go shower. Autumn told me that the pest part of the stay in the Capital is the showers, and I want to know what the big deal is."

I glance around the room, and I see a sliding door on the far wall. I assume that it leads into the bathroom. "Okay, but be careful. With some of the movements of the train, it could be really easy to slip and fall. Going into the Games with a concussion might lesson our odds just a little bit."

Rye laughs, and gets up to leave. I have a sudden urge to tell him how much I like him. I open and close my mouth a few rimes before I work up enough courage to tell him how I feel. Slam! The door shuts behind him, and I'm left whispering I love you to the cold, wooden door.

I sit on the bed for a while, admiring my room. The walls are a light blue, with white wicker chairs. The whole room is lit up with a soft glowing light emitting from slowly swinging chandelier on the ceiling.

After a few minutes, I decide to try the shower. I've taken plenty of showers back at home, and there's nothing fun about them. The cold water barely trickles out from the showerhead, and everyone tries to finish their shower as fast as possible.

Looking through the closet, I select some loose black pants, and an oversized pink shirt, and carry them into the bathroom.

Without even stepping into the shower, I can already tell that Rye is right: This shower is fabulous.

The outside is made of solid glass, and I don't know how I would get in, until I touch the side. My hand easily passes through it like air, and I jump back, startled. Testing it again, I pick up a washcloth from the side of the sink, and throw that at the shower. It hits the glass with a shunk, and falls to the ground.

I take off my reaping dress, inhale the fading scent of oranges, and step into the shower. My body once again passes through the glass with ease. I turn around, and face the rest of the shower.

My mouth drops open. I had been so distracted with the disappearing glass that I had failed to notice the hundreds of buttons, faucets and microphones attached to the side of the shower.

"Wow!" I whisper. The microphone nearest to me slides into the wall, and it is replaced by a speaker. A cold, computerized voice emits from it, and echoes around the shower.

"You have selected W.O.W; Washover Watermelon."

The tiles above my head slide away, and a mist floats down from the grate above. It moves on its own, and it wraps itself around my body, almost suffocating me with its watermelon scent.

I choke out into the microphone, "Stop!"
The mist dissolves, and I breathe heavily for a few moments, relishing the clean air. Then, I turn a dial to the right, and warm water falls from the showerhead behind me. I lean into it, savoring the feeling against my shoulders.

It reminds me of the days in the orchard, when I would help my dad pick the oranges. Sometimes, light spring rain would fall, dusting dad, the oranges, and I. We would tilt our heads up to the sky, and watch as the sunlight refracted through the drops of water.

The mist slowly falling towards me reminds me of those afternoons. I let myself relax in the shower for a while, watching the water run off my body, erasing the painful memories of the day. Still unsure how to use the shower, I slowly lean forward and timidly whisper "oranges" into the microphone. A tray slid out from the wall, with a sudsy sponge that smelled of oranges inside of it.

I took my time washing myself, being careful not to let the sponge snag the guava necklace from Maize. After I finish the shower, and turn off the water, I step out, cringing against the sudden breeze of cold air.

I reach across to the towel rack, where a fluffy purple towel hangs. I pick it up, wrap it around my body, and am surprised to find out that it is heated. I let the warm fluffiness embrace me, as I make my way over to the other corner of the huge bathroom. By the counter, there it a metal sphere, and, if I place my hands flat on it, it will dry and untangle my hair for me. I admire my long brown hair flat on my back in the mirror, and wrap it around my finger. I will miss certain things about being alive.

I'll miss the way Maize and I would meet up on the way to school. I'll miss the way the sun shines through the branches of the fruit trees, and the smell of oranges in the air. I'll miss Rye's crooked smile when I say something stupid. I'll miss the bedtime stories my parents would still read to me, even as I got older.

Suddenly I realize something: I don't want to die. I'm not quite ready to give up yet.

Slipping on my shirt and pants, I pad barefoot to the dining cart to find Rye already sitting at the table, hungrily eyeing the plates of food. I know why: We both belong to the poorer area of District Eleven—the part that has to worry about where their next meal will come from. I take a moment to just watch him.

His shaggy brown hair needs a cut; it keeps falling into his brown eyes, but his chin is strong and well-defined. I take a step forward, and my foot makes a schloop noise when it comes off from the metal floor.

Rye turns when he hears me.

"Hey there! I see you took a shower. I was right, wasn't I? Isn't it very relaxing?

I playfully shove him. "Don't be a know-it-all! Autumn was the one who told you it was fun!" I laugh, to make sure he knows I'm only joking.

He smiles, and as if on cue, Autumn and Sage walk in. Autumn sees Rye and I smiling, and smiles. "Judging by your cheerful faces and dry and straight hair, I'm assuming you both took a shower? They were always the best part about my visits to the Capital."

Autumn has long red hair kept in a low ponytail, and green eyes, a trait almost never seen in District Eleven. Those characteristics are seen more in District Seven. Sage, however, had the traditional District Eleven brown eyes, brown hair, and tan skin.

Rye answers Autumn. "Yes, we did, and you were right! I didn't know how to work it, so I think I smell like a combination of lemon and bubblegum."

Everyone likes, and we take turns sniffing. He's right—he does smell weird. Proud that I figured it out, I turn to him. "All you had to do is say the scent you wanted into the microphone."

Rye smells me, and grins. "Who's the know-it-all know? I assume the oranges are because of the grove by your house?"

Rye knows me so well. I grin, and nod. Just then, Hestia arrives, and claps her hands. "Good, you are already here. The Avoxes will be here shortly, and then we can begin eating. First, I want to talk to you all about the schedule.

Tonight we will eat, watch the recaps, and will reach the Capital at around eleven o'clock tonight. Then, tomorrow, you will be woken up early, go to your stylist for the day, and then have the chariot rides at night. Does anyone have any questions?"

Rye and I look at each other, and I am the one to answer Hestia. "No. No, I think we're okay."

Hestia looks pleased. She snaps her fingers and several Avoxes march into the room. They march over to the table, and carry the platters of food to us.

The first course is chicken, served with lemon, and cooked in a creamy butter sauce. I nudge Rye. "Smells like you," I joke, and he laughs, his mouth too stuffed with food to respond. I follow his lead, and stuff my face with the wonderful chicken.

Soon—too soon—the chicken is replaced with a hearty broth with beans, beef, and carrots cooked to the perfect consistency.

I make the mistake of taking a spoonful tight away, burning my tongue on the scalding hot liquid. My mouth hurts so much; I can hardly taste the next course: small fruit-shaped jellies on top of toasted bread. Thankfully, by the time dessert comes, I can taste again.

I am served a small plate, with five chocolates on them. I've only ever had chocolate once: they year Autumn won the Hunger Games. The Capital came, and threw sweets out into the street, and I was able to grab a chocolate bar amidst the hordes of adults screaming with delight. I can still remember the creamy and sweet feel of it melting in my mouth.

These chocolates, however, don't look like the chocolate bar from so many years ago. I tentatively bite one of them in half, and almost giggle with happiness. I don't know how the Capital did it, but there are small peppermint flavored chocolate fruits nestled inside each chocolate.

Autumn sees me looking at them in wonder. "They do it because you're from District Eleven. They think it will make you feel more 'at home'."

I laugh with her, not wanting to admit that it does make me feel closer to home. I take my time slowly eating each chocolate, savoring the taste of the fruits from back home. I save the orange one for last, feeling free as I pierce the orange flavored chocolate.

I spend the rest of the dinner in a coma, stuffed and tired from the bounty of delicious food. After everyone else is finished with their meal, Hestia excuses Rye and I to our rooms, making sure we know to "be back in the television room in less than an hour for the reaping recaps."

Rye and I pass the time lying on his bed, groaning about our full stomachs, and the rich food. We both know, though, that we will never turn down a plate of hearty food, no matter how full we are.

Rye and I start talking after about half an hour. He rolls his head so he is facing me, and smiles. I curiously ask him, "What are you thinking about?"

He looks at me a moment longer, and responds, "The day I first met you. I remember it very clearly. We both started working at the packing plant the same day as each other, and I was nervous. I remember being furious I was paired up with a girl! There was no greater injustice in my small mind. You were very talkative, and kept me from messing up several times that day. I went home, and told my mom that "there was a girl, but she wasn't stupid like a girl. She was a boy-girl."'

I laugh harder than I have ever laughed. "You told your mother I was a boy-girl!"

He smiles bashfully. "It sound stupid in retrospect, but I assure you, it was the highest of compliments. Remember, I hated girls back then."

Still laughing, I turn to him. "Am I still a boy-girl?"

Rye grins. "I don't know. Do you like being a boy-girl?"

I playfully punch him in the arm. "I guess. All I've ever wanted if for someone to think of me as a boy-girl."

When Rye tilts his head back to laugh, he notices the clock on the wall. "It's already ben an hour! We better get to the television room or else Hestia will be mad at us."

We walk down the hallway together, and reach the television room just as Hestia walks in. "I'm glad you two were on time. I brought a notepad and a pencil, so you guys can take notes on the other tributes."

Rye and I gratefully accept the pencil, the pad of paper, and we turn to the television. Suddenly, we hear Hestia shout in distress. "Oh no! I got the time mixed up! The show started half an hour ago! Quick, turn it on!"

Rye, who is closest to the remote, flicks the television on. The words 'District Six' flickers across the screen in black letters. I turn to Hestia. "We've missed half of the reapings! What should we do?"

"Don't worry guys. After we finish watching the reapings, we can look up the other tributes, of the other recap channels."

While it's not an ideal solution, Rye and I agree.

We watch the escort prance onto the stage, and select two names from the bowls. "Your District Six tributes are…Kiva Cooper and Aston Byke!"

I look at Rye. "Both of them look like bloodbath tributes."

Both of the tributes are crying and shaking on the stage. Rye agrees, and we watch District Seven appear on screen.

A strong boy, Grover, and a girl, Ava, are reaped. Ava is most likely a bloodbath tributes, but Grover look strong. I pencil a star next to his name, marking him as a potential ally. I look over to see Rye doing the same thing.

In District Eight, Lacey and Flax were reaped. Once again, I mark a star down, but this time, next to Lacey's name. Flax also looks strong, but he looks like the kind of person who would stab you in the back at a seconds notice.

Rye looks at my paper. "I put down Flax as an ally. Did you?"

"I didn't. He looks a little shifty. He might be a good ally, but I would hate to risk everything for him."

Rye erases Flax's name from his sheet. "You're right. But I do think Lacey will be a good ally."

So far Rye and I have found two potential allies, but something is bothering me. "You know Rye; we really should see how they do it training. They could be the nicest tributes in the Capital, but we don't want any allies who can't fight."

Rye sighs. "You're right. I feel bad for the other tributes, but that doesn't mean we should sacrifice each other for it."

We watch District Nine, where neither Gwyneth nor Barric look like they will survive the bloodbath, much less make it on the ally list. However, in District Ten, there is a strong boy, Jonas, and a girl, Eve who looks fairly strong. Rye and I decide that we won't ally with her, because she looks like she might not make it past the Bloodbath, and we won't ally with him, because he looks too dangerous.

For me, watching my reapings is torture. I look like a pathetic little girl when I run to Rye. I'm guessing that every other tribute watching this has me pegged as a bloodbath death.

Rye, on the other hand, looks strong, confident, and ready to fight. I remind myself what I told myself while in the shower: I am going to fight to end of either the Games, or my life. The people who call me a bloodbath tribute better watch out, because they won't be expecting it when I kill them.

District Twelve yields one potential ally: A boy named Ash, and one potential bloodbath tribute: Brooke.

Rye turns off the television, and we sit in silence. We can't say for sure, but the last half of the tributes didn't look like that much of a threat. We also have three potential allies: Grover, Lacey, and Ash. Rye turns and looks at me. "I guess all that's left is to see what the other tributes are like."

We start to change the channel, but a light from outside the window stops us. "Look!" I cry to Rye. "We're at the Capital!"
We rush to the window and stare outside, but once the original wonder wears off, we know what we have to do. Rye's smile fades, and he looks at me. "Time to play the game, Willow."

I wave, and blow kisses out the window to the countless of Capitolites standing there. They respond with cheers and chants of my name, "Willow! Willow!"

Once we pull into the station, Hestia leads us out of the train, and we descend into the thousands of alien faces below.

Be calm. I tell myself. They love you. I step onto the carpet, and begin the long walk to the house.

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