Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Gamesand nor do I own anything by Warren DeMike

Review Reply to Enna Moon: Sorry, I literally have no time to reply properly. Just wanted to say, thanks for the review and I hope you continue to enjoy the fic!

A/n: Sorry about the long update time. Exams have taken over my life. I've even started dreaming about them. And now I'm off to bed. Goodnight.

6) Plan Out Your Life on Paper But Live Your Life By Your Heart

"What angle do you think you should have, Anfisa?"

I stare blankly at Oleander, as though he's just spoken in a different language. I don't know what "angle" I should have: I don't act. After all, I can't really be anyone apart from myself. But I guess "myself" must be pretty unappealing to a group of bloodthirsty, rich human beings. More's the pity.

After a few seconds of gaping, I shrug. Oleander doesn't seem surprised which makes me wonder whether he was expecting an answer at all. Maybe he's gotten my measure by now.

"You're smart," he says calmly. "Try sly."

I don't think the two go together but I don't want to say this in case I'm wrong. Besides, who knows? Maybe I have a career as an actress just waiting for me. Until I die in (potentially) two days anyway.

On the other side of the room, I can hear Mattis stuttering away with Apa. We're a true team alright. We're as bad as each other.

"Anfisa, what do you think of this year's competition?" Oleander asks, interrupting my staring.

I try to imagine I'm sly. What does a sly person think like? "I think ... I think ..."

"Anfisa, if I wanted stuttering, I would have called Mattis over here."

"Well, that's not very friendly, is it?"

He rolls his eyes and orders me to try again. I get to "I think that" before I have to give up. I can't be sly because I'm not sly. Smart, yes. Rational, yes. Sly, no. He asks me to put some effort into this so I explain that I can't act. This leads him to make the obvious point that I'm not particularly appealing as I am. I tell him not to be so rude and he begins to rant. I'm debating whether to tell him that I can't be bothered to do the interview properly anyway since I have no chance of getting sponsors when Apa intervenes.

She suggests that I be blunt and rational AKA more like myself. She tells me to curb my rude tongue but otherwise answer everything as bluntly as possible. This will give me a practical look and will make me seem smarter than I am. I'm so grateful for the suggestion that I don't take offence at her insult.

Oleander sighs but agrees to try it. "Anfisa, what do you think of this year's competition?"

"They're nothing special."

"Why?"

"They're just teenagers. Some of them can swing a weapon around. If you give me a stick, I can swing that around too. And none of them are especially talented or have super powers. I'm not impressed."

Oleander nods in approval. "OK. Anfisa, tell me about your family."

"I'm the middle child. I have a younger brother and an older sister. And my parents. I love all of them and I hope they're enjoying the show." I try not to sound ironic but I can't help it.

After a few more questions, Oleander deems me passable. He reminds me to be as polite as possible and not to let any hatred of anyone affect me too much. But, for the first time, he doesn't think I'm going to be a complete failure. He tells me some of the questions which are likely to come up and we think of answers for them for the next hour.

Finally, he turns his attention to Mattis and Apa. I watch as well.

The problem is Mattis' nervous way of speaking. It doesn't matter what angle he goes for, he keeps ering and stuttering. And the more frustrated Apa gets (admittedly, it's hard to tell, but by this point, she is annoyed), the more nervous he becomes.

Oleander suggests speaking as little as possible. This works in terms of the stutter but he's just not menacing enough to pull it off. I suggest likeable but it turns out they've already tried this: he couldn't get past the third word.

For the next hour, I watch silently as he stammers his way through smart, joking, arrogant, vicious, humble, sly, blunt and sarcastic. We don't find out if he's any good at them because none of us can bear to listen to him for more than a few lines.

Eventually, Apa asks him what he likes to do. He looks at her with the expression of a fish so I tell her that he likes to gamble. Apa suggests suave. He still stutters. Oleander then says that he may as well just say everything as quickly as he humanly can for all the good it will do.

"Youmeanlikethis?" Mattis asks.

"What did you say?" I ask.

"Y-you, uh, you m-mean like this?"

Oleander rolls his eyes and tells him yes, but slightly slower.

"How isthis?" he says quickly. I just about catch it. Oleander nods and then tells him to pretend he's calling out for bets. It turns out that Mattis has never been to any of the gambling dens in District 5 – he just likes to bet with his friends. Without comment, Oleander imitates the men at the betting holes which makes me laugh. Once Apa and Oleander have given me looks telling me to be quiet, Mattis gives it a try. He doesn't sound too confident but at least he's stopped stuttering. The downside is that the effort makes him speak louder.

After a few more practice questions, Oleander works out a routine with him. Meanwhile, Apa brings Aculeo in and the pair of them begin to teach me presentation. I suppose that for interviews, looks are everything. For a three minute interview, no one is going to find out about the real me. So I try to pay attention but it's difficult. A lot harder than I ever realised actually. Apparently my strides are too wide and not high enough. I look at people too directly. Occasionally, a sneer crosses my face.

It takes an hour for all of these 'problems' to be sorted. By this time, Mattis is also taking lessons off Oleander and Aculeo is flitting between the pair of us. Apa drops a dress (about three sizes too big for me) on my body and puts me in a pair of heels, telling me to try walking. I immediately stand on the hem of the dress and topple forward.

Scowling, I stand up but Apa doesn't appear worried. I guess she must have seen most of the District 5 girls make friends with the carpet. She calmly shows me how to hold them hem up and, more importantly, how to balance. After a few more crashes, I get the hang of it.

Before I have the chance to celebrate, she makes me practice sitting with the correct posture and facial expressions. By the time I'm done, it's late afternoon. Apa tells me I can go. As I do, I see Mattis shoot me an envious look. I can't help grinning smugly at him before heading back to my own room.

By dinner, he's sorted as well. I still don't think it was worth any of this effort. The most impressive tributes will have been just before us. The audience will listen to us for a bit but they'll be thinking about the ones they just saw. By the end of our interviews, we could probably say anything and achieve the same result. I suppose, since I'm going first, as long as the beginning of my interview is good, I have a chance. And isn't that what this is all about? Using my chance?

I close my eyes and open them again before joining in the dinnertime conversation. I need to stop thinking about this. It's just depressing me. And that'll do no one any good at all.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I dream that night. Mostly, I've been forgetting whatever dreams or nightmares I've been having. Not this night.

In my dream, I'm in a forest – the Hunger Games arena. I hear cheering. And footsteps. So I run away but no matter which direction I run towards, the footsteps come towards me and I have to turn around. Eventually, I see my brother and sister in front of me but when I run towards them they shake their heads and point behind me. I just have time to turn around before an arrow pierces my heart.

I wake up when I realise I've stopped breathing. I don't dare to close my eyes for more than a few seconds after that.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Gallus, Vita and Terentius aren't happy when they see the shadows under my eyes. I want to explain the dream to them but I know they won't understand so I simply apologise and let them maul me in the name of beauty.

Now that I have the time to think about it, I wonder why I didn't dare to close my eyes last night. Dreams have no meaning in reality. They're based on our thoughts but nothing else. If I'd gone back to sleep, I probably would have dreamt of nothing. But I think it's because I could remember it and that distressed me. Distress stops me from thinking straight.

Terentius comments that I seem to be out of it. I apologise and ask him what he thinks of the Games. This guarantees me a few minutes of pointless talk about how great the ceremony is. I know I should hate him but I can't. I can't hate people for acting the way they were raised to act. It'd be a bit like hating a dog for being a dog. But I want to hate him and that really irritates me.

"Do you prefer watching the Games or being in them?" he asks at the end of his ramble.

"Watching, I'd guess," Vita says before I can answer. Her voice is curiously neutral.

"Why d'you think that?" Gallus asks. I notice I've been demoted to a watcher of this conversation.

"She's with her family then. Am I right?"

For a moment, I'm stunned. I've definitely underestimated Vita. Whatever her usual speech says, she understands better than she lets on. Something in her voice tells me that she knows no one apart from the volunteers ever want to be in the Games, that we think it's awful. I knew she was intelligent but I didn't think she could ever come to this realisation.

"Er ... yeah," I say. "I miss my family."

"But you can go back to them," Terentius says. I begin to wonder whether it's possible for anyone to be this stupid. Maybe he's just putting this on. After all, I was wrong about Vita.

"Not if I die," I say.

"Oh." Apparently, he wasn't putting it on.

That effectively ends the conversation. For the rest of the makeover. Sometimes, not knowing what's polite to say in conversation is a blessing.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Iunia bounds in and chirpily asks me how I'm feeling. Before I can answer, she tells me excitedly about my costume. I'm not holding my breath for this. I suppose I can have the smug satisfaction of knowing I can dress myself better than someone who's paid to do it in the Capitol. The problem with being smug, of course, is that either everyone else will hate you or you'll be brought down to earth soon enough anyway. But I can enjoy it for the time being.

By the time she's finished describing my outfit, I still don't know what it looks like. All she's been saying is that I just need to give a little more energy to the crowd and that it will really help people connect with me. That could be anything. I mentally try to think of possible designs. Inwardly, I cringe. Why couldn't I come from District 1? There are amazing ways to deal with the costume there!

(That being said, I must always be grateful that Iunia did not do as District 12's stylists did and make me go naked).

(Although, I still don't know what the outfit looks like. Maybe I am going naked.)

"Here you go. Try it on!" Iunia squeals. I take the dress I'm being offered and put it on before looking in the mirror. It's brown with strange stitching. The cloth sticks out in a certain way and I realise she's taken the windmill idea to a whole new level.

I don't know how to reply politely – I'm still trying to keep her on my side for reasons which are becoming less and less clear– so I simply grin. She asks me what I think. I nod because that's a safe response.

"Turn around and look at your back in the mirror," she orders excitedly. I obey her command. My back is covered in a chimney design with waves crashing around it. I just nod again. I could look more stupid ... but probably not by much.

Once we're done, she takes me down to where the studio is. The only good looking part of me is the make-up which she's done amazingly. Some tributes are already there, including Mattis, who's dressed in a similar way to me except he has a suit on. He catches my eye and grins before turning away again. I'm told to stand in front of him as we're going in district order, girl-boy.

We're not really given any warning that we're about to go in. The doors simply open and I discover that the boy from District 4 is walking away. I hurry after him, trying not to trip in these heels. If I fall over, I'd be memorable – but no one would sponsor me for it and it'd just hurt.

I sit down nervously and watch as Caesar Flickerman bounces onto the stage, coloured pink. Bright pink. It actually hurts my eyes to look at. I can't help wondering how I'm going to last three minutes facing him.

I don't listen to any of his opening banter although I vaguely recognise that the audience are laughing. The audience laugh at anything. I wonder if they cry as easily as they laugh. I'd think so but they have more to laugh about than cry about. Maybe they overreact because they don't really have a life past their items and their fashions. Maybe their emotions are just as manufactured as everything else in the Capitol.

It would probably be best if I don't ask that in my interview. Or say it out loud. Ever.

"Gloss Ludovik!"

My attention snaps to the stage as Gloss swaggers on. He's smiling slightly, dressed in a colourful suit which emphasises his tight build. He doesn't look like a tribute. He looks like he belongs there.

"So, Gloss," Caesar says, "How are you feeling?"

Gloss smirks. "Excellent."

"Why's that?"

Gloss looks around as though he can't believe he's being asked. "I'm in the most beautiful place in the world and I'm about to win the Games. How can I not feel excellent?"

This pretty much sets the tone of his interview. His style seems to be confident. Not charming. I don't think he's ever been charming in his life. Instead, he emphasises his way of just saying strange things but makes it sound like gospel truth. The audience are hanging on his every word.

Caesar asks the one question everyone knew he would. "Now your older sister is the lovely Cashmere Ludovik, our newest victor," he says. "Why did you decide to follow her?"

"I don't believe in being second-best," Gloss answers and I can tell he's practiced this.

"And what does she think about this?"

He grins. "She's mad but you can't deny which one of us is the better sibling. And we love each other."

The audience are captivated. I consider him. He's not as good an actor as he likes to think, although he's pretty good. If I hadn't spoken to him over the last few days, I'd have been fooled. But I think I've gotten his measure by now. He's definitely not telling the truth. But then, would the truth be what he told me on the third day of training? Why would he tell me that?

Maybe I don't know him after all. Which is fairly obvious because I barely know him at all. Three days isn't enough to forge a friendship. Not really.

The buzzer sounds and the audience cheer wildly as he swaggers back to his seat (and it strikes me that his swagger makes him look like an idiot. If I ever speak to him again and we're not trying to kill each other, I'll have to tell him that). Then Quartz Cichanda goes up on stage. Her angle seems to be devious. Oleander's probably watching and wishing I was her. I don't care much – he's stuck with me so he should get on with it.

The tributes from District 2, pulling off homicidal maniacs as they always do. District 3 – not quite sure what they're doing. The boy from 4 is likeable. The girl barely says anything. This is going too quickly...

"Anfisa Lensfield!"

I stand up and walk over to the stage as calmly as possible. Blunt. Smart. Not rude. Just remember that.

He shakes my hand and I sit down.

"Well, Anfisa, it's been an exciting week for you, hasn't it?"

"I don't know, I had some pretty exciting times at home," I say.

"Really? Like what?"

"Oh, it's all excitement in the factories," I say and order myself to be less sarcastic. "I'm always busy at home." I refuse to kill this conversation already so I think of something I can say. Something positive. "But it's definitely a new experience here."

"And what's been your favourite part so far?"

"The people," I say which is, strictly speaking, true. I hated the Opening Ceremonies. I hated the sights of the Capitol. I hated training. But I liked meeting Mattis and Gloss.

He laughs. "Oh, Anfisa, I didn't know you liked me so much," he says and bats his eyelids in an exaggerated way. The audience laughs. I smile. Slightly.

"Well, you're all so interesting," I say. "You're different from the people I know at home."

"And what are the people at home like?" he asks. "Who's waiting for you?"

"My parents, my brother, my sister," I say casually. "A few friends."

"A boy, perhaps?"

"No," I say firmly.

"No?" he asks, sounding surprised. "I'd have thought a stunning young girl like you would have someone."

Every time he asks about a district sweetheart, he always asks for the opposite gender. I'm struck by the sudden urge to say that, actually, I have a girl waiting for me at home. However, while the reaction would be pretty funny, this is the sort of tactic that's bound to go wrong (especially as it can't really be defined as a tactic).

"No one yet," I answer instead.

He can see this conversation is drying up so he changes tack. "And how are you feeling about the arena?"

"Alright."

"Not nervous?"

"What's to be nervous about?" I ask. "I go in, I stay alive, I come home. It's not exactly a formula for geniuses."

There isn't really much reaction from the audience. Maybe I should have been funnier.

"Very true," he says. "What do you have planned for us then?"

I smile slightly. "Ah, now, that would be telling, Caesar," I say teasingly. "All you need to know is: I plan to live."

"A girl with spirit! I like that!" he exclaims. I smile awkwardly. A few people in the audience cheer. I'm not exactly a show-stopper. "I'm sure whatever you have planned is extraordinary. But what about your opponents? What do you think of them?"

I remember practicing with Oleander. I grin. "Them? They're nothing special. Any idiot can grab a weapon and swing it around. Unfortunately, they're also lacking a bit in brains and that's where they've lost their advantage."

A general chuckle from the audience. One good answer. Not enough for me to be remembered. But at least it won't mean I've created a bad impression.

The rest of the interview passes in a blur. He asks me random questions, coaxing responses out of me when I don't want to say anything and soon enough, it's time for me to sit down. The audience cheer and clap but not as enthusiastically as they did for most of the people before me. I was average. But I wasn't poor.

Mattis' interview is awful. He tries to speak quickly but it's clear that nerves have gotten to him and no one can actually work out what he's saying. He does have one good moment though, when he calms down enough to answer. Caesar asks him about his love-life (clearly, he thinks a lot of District 5 tributes and their ability to pull) and he pauses before smiling and softly describing his girlfriend. The audience are drawn in. So am I. It only occurs to me when he sits down that this is the first time I have heard him talk about her more than her name. I was under the impression they weren't that close but it seems they were childhood friends and if nothing else, it's obvious that he loves her.

Once he's sat down, I try to pay attention to the other interviews but they're nothing special. The guy from Six is very nervous and the girl from Eight is very loud. I forget most of the others. The one thing this has taught me is that the Career tributes are still the deadliest threat and it's a good thing for most of us that our public speaking skills aren't needed in the arena.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The interviews end and we are taken back to our floor where Iunia promptly undresses me and scrubs all of the cosmetics off my body. Caesar asked me about her costumes. I can't remember what I said but I think it was something about me being unique. I hope so. All the possible answers just seem worse...

At dinner, I realise it's the last time all of us will eat together. I won't miss it. I never liked Aculeo, Oleander or Apa so I'm not exactly sad to leave them. But this may be the last time I ever eat without being in mortal danger which is enough to make me look like I'll miss them.

No one comments on our interviews. Instead, Apa and Oleander give us last minute advice and, eventually, tell us to go to bed. We face each other awkwardly. Oleander coughs and sticks out a hand. Mattis shakes it. I do the same.

"Good luck, Mattis, Anfisa," he says.

"Thank you," I reply.

Aculeo barks that it's been a pleasure to be our escort and he'll do his best by us. Neither of us knows how to respond to that. After a few seconds of awkward silence I tell him he's been a great escort with the air of someone delivering a funeral speech. But he's definitely gotten us to places on time so I'm not lying, regardless of my own feelings for the man.

Apa simply nods at us. This could mean anything so I just thank her again. Mattis does the same. She walks away without another word. I can't tell if we've offended her or not.

This leaves me and Mattis. We walk into the corridor.

"So," he says. "Tomorrow. Me and you."

"Yeah."

We look at each other. "What do we do if one of us is in mortal danger?" he asks.

And it is at that moment that I realise, despite our friendship and decision to be a team, neither of us completely trusts the other. Not with our lives. It even makes sense. We barely know each other. I wouldn't speak to him when I argued with Oleander. I won't tell him about Gloss. And I'm sure there are things he isn't telling me. Why would we tell each other these things? Even though we're a team, we're still against each other.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," I say. "Let's just try to stay alive for the first few days."

He nods. "Alright. In that case ... bed." He turns to his door. "See you in the arena, Anfisa. Good luck!"

"Same to you," I say to him. He enters his room. I watch as the door closes, trying to sort out my thoughts. We are a team. Of course one of us will betray the other – we've got a bet going on this, if nothing else. But not straight away. Hopefully.

No. No hope. Rational thoughts only. Knowledge. I know he won't betray me straight away. He needs me. Like I need him.

Once I've thought this through, I realise that I should also go to bed. I turn around and instantly walk into something.

"Watch where you're going."

"Don't be so fricking rude," I retort without thinking. I look at Gloss and can't help laughing. He does the same. Then I look around, in case Mattis comes out to see what the noise is. Or in case Aculeo or our mentors come out. But no one comes.

I grab his arm and tug him into my room, just to be safe. Once the door's closed, I ask him what he's doing here because, frankly, I can't think of any reason for him to be in that corridor. Except to speak to me. But I don't know why.

"I can be here if I want," he says, trying his 'arrogant' look. I roll my eyes. He's in an awkward mood.

"Why are you here, Gloss?" I repeat.

To my surprise, he shrugs. "I don't know," he says. "To say goodbye, I think."

I'm actually quite touched but whatever our friendship is, it doesn't include us being very nice to each other so I grin and say, "Not tempted to ally with me then?"

He looks away and I instantly know his answer. "I have to go home," he says softly. "And my mentor would kill me if I didn't stick to the plan."

I shrug, as though it doesn't matter to me. It was a joke, after all.

It was meant to be, anyway.

It wasn't a joke.

"And would you kill me, Gloss?" I ask, trying to get my mind off these uncomfortable thoughts.

He looks away again but I catch a glimpse of his expression and that's enough to cheer me up again. "I don't ... I ... maybe?" He looks back at me, his blue eyes locking with mine. "Not if I don't have to," he says seriously. "Keep away from us, Anfisa. Teo's a decent guy but the others are sadistic. You won't stand a chance."

He's worried. It's both surprising and sweet. On impulse, I lean forward and kiss him. He steps back, looking startled.

Crap.

"That's not a reply," I say as teasingly as I can. Because I don't know what else to do, apart from pretend. "That was rude."

He blushes. It looks quite cute on him because he's the last person I'd think would blush. But it also reminds me of what an idiot I am. "I ... I ... I don't think it's a good idea!" he blurts out. "One of us, at least, is going to have to die." He locks eyes with me again. "I think I should go," he says softly and I know I've messed it up. Whatever 'it' was.

I'm always so rational. Why did I pick this to be my act of impulse?

"I just ... wanted to do that," I say quietly, giving up on whatever facade I was trying. "Before I die."

He nods and moves towards the door. He won't even look at me. I want to cry.

"Goodbye, Anfisa."

"Bye, Gloss." I lick my lips and decide to ask one more thing. If I've messed up, it won't matter anyway. And I don't want to die, not knowing the answer. "If these weren't the Hunger Games – would you have kissed me back?"

He stops. There's a second-long silence which seems to last for years.

"Yes." He doesn't look back but his fist clenches the door handle for a moment. I close my eyes.

"Bye," he whispers. The door opens and closes. When I look again, he's gone. I groan.

He would have kissed me back. If these weren't the Games. But then, if we weren't in the Games, we never would have met.

But he would have kissed me back.

Not that it matters anymore. I lost Gloss by acting on impulse. Maybe we would have parted as friends if I hadn't done that. If I hadn't kissed him.

Who was it who said that we should plan our lives on paper and live them by our hearts? Whoever it was, they were a complete idiot. If you don't think about everything you just get awkward moments like these. You lose the people you like.

I was going to lose him tonight anyway. When we parted for the Games. I just did one of the things I've wanted to do since I arrived. There's no harm in that, right?

At least he would have kissed me back.