Chapter Two

No. No it can't be me. I try to swallow but my throat has run dry, my breathing sped up. I frantically search the crowd, hoping someone else will come forward but all eyes are on me.

"Annie," Shelley says gently, "Time to go up on stage." She grabs my arm and softly pushes me forward.

Trying to steady my breathing, I walk up to the stage. It seems to take ages, each step more agonizing than the last, but once I'm there, it's come all too soon. A guard dressed in white grabs my arm and pulls me toward Yardley. "Stand here," he says in a voice that sounds surprisingly young for his large build.

I look out into the crowd. A sea of people, all looking at me. Some have looks of relief on their faces, others, pity. Their faces blur before me as I lose focus, my mind wanting to retreat back to my safe waterfall, but I force myself to stay present. I need to appear strong. Clenching my jaw, I wonder what my father is thinking. If he's proud I've finally been chosen. I pick a spot on the horizon where I can just see the outline of the ocean to focus my gaze on.

"And now, onto the boys," Yardley says and she walks over to the other bowl. Her hand fishes around and finally she pulls out a small slip of paper. "Miguel Vargas."

The boy that walks forward is possibly 14 years old with a slight frame. He's got dark hair and dark eyes, and his jaw is set with determination. He stands on the opposite side of Yardley as we wait briefly for volunteers, but there's only silence. The odds are not in our favor today.

"And here we have it, District Four's tributes: Annie Cresta, and Miguel Vargas! It's bound to be a great Hunger Games! Now tributes, shake hands."

I turn to Miguel as he steps towards me. He's about a foot shorter than me. As he reaches his hand out to mine, I think I see the hint of a smile. But that doesn't make sense, why would he be smiling? He doesn't seem to be a career; he doesn't have the usual muscle tone that careers do. I shake his hand, feeling slightly embarrassed my own is cold and clammy. But he doesn't seem to mind.

We're escorted off stage and ushered into small rooms toward the back of the justice building. I know what comes next—the last goodbyes. I try to take deep breaths to calm myself down and settle my stomach. I can't let myself throw up in here. I look around the room. It's painted a light robin's egg blue. There's a painting of the sea on one wall, and a mirror on the one opposite. No windows. I guess they don't want to risk anyone trying to escape. I walk across the plush carpet to sit on the velvet couch that's in the center. A couch, a table, that's all there is in this room. I rub my hands on my legs, trying to dry out the sweat when the door opens and my father walks in. I stand immediately, not sure what to expect.

He gives me a strange look. "Your mother would be proud," he says, his voice slightly strained. I'm puzzled. He rarely talks about my mother, and mostly only brings her up to remind me that I killed her. Any hope I have of hearing him say more is crushed immediately. "Don't let us down."

He drops his gaze to the carpet, his jaw clenched.

"Listen. I know we haven't always gotten along," he says, eyes lifting to my face so he can look me in the eye, "but I know you can make me proud, too."

I'm speechless. That was almost an apology. This is the most affection my father has shown me in as long as I can remember. Of course it only happened when my life was on the line. "Thank you, father,"

He reaches out to put his hand on my shoulder, and then the guard has opened the door and he's ushered out.

I'm confused about this interaction, and can't help wondering what life would have been like if he had shown me more of this side of his. I know from people in town that my father is fairly well-liked, and my mother was popular too. She trained to be a tribute, but never got the chance—I guess there were too many volunteers when she was growing up. I know that my father loved my mother a lot, and I wonder what that must be like. To love someone that much. But I know that if I were to lose the person I loved, I wouldn't let it get to me the way he did. Having that kind of love, even for a short time, would be enough. And I know I'd see them again in the next life. That would be enough to get me through, I think.

Before I have a chance to try to sort out how that conversation with my father has made me feel, the door is open again and Shelley is rushing through.

"Oh, Annie! Such bad odds. I can't believe this is happening! I'm too old to lose a friend to the Hunger Games!" She envelopes me in a hug, and I smell her freesia shampoo. The sweetness of it mixed with my nerves makes me want to gag, but I hold it back. "Listen," she says, pulling away from me to look in my eyes. Her blue eyes are serious as I've ever seen them. "Don't even think about who people are betting on. Focus on keeping yourself alive for as long as you can."

"Thank you. I will." I say, noticing that by her words, she doesn't expect me to make this out of it.

"You're not the type of person to kill, I know that, so just focus on appearing as your best self. Who knows? It could work. I'll be rooting for you. You've been such a good friend to me."

Goodbyes are hard. I'm relieved when the door opens for her to leave. She gives my hand one last squeeze before she's ushered out and I'm left alone.

I don't know if I expected others would come, but they don't. I'm quiet and not well-known in the district. My father has no siblings and my grandparents died a few years ago. So I sit in silence, not knowing how much time is passing, trying to clear my head and focus only on my breath. It helps. Kind of.

Eventually, the doors open once more. "Miss Cresta, follow me." A guard says, but doesn't give me a choice as she grabs my arm and pulls me down the hall and out the door. Outside is the large bullet train that travels to and from the Capitol. I've never been this close to it—I've never had a reason to. It's polished silver with large rounded windows. I gasp as a door appears out of what I thought was solid wall. Steps slowly fold out of the door, and I'm pushed up and inside the train.

If the outside of the train was impressive, the inside is even more so. Decadent furnishings, complete with gold trimming, lush fabrics, rich wood, and jeweled chandeliers. It would be beautiful if it weren't so gaudy. It just seems so extreme. I don't see anyone else in the car, so I take a seat on a plush chair, feeling the smooth fabric of the arm beneath my fingers.

The door opens again and Miguel climbs the stairs. He takes a seat next to me, and mutters a small, "Hi." I can feel him trembling in the chair beside me.

"Hello." I say back. It seems that neither of us feels much like talking.

I try to think of something else to say. Something that might calm our nerves and take our mind off things. My thoughts are interrupted by the door opening once again, and four more people walk in. A short old woman with long, wavy, white hair comes in first. Mags Flanagan. She must be who they've chosen to be mentor this year. We currently have five victors in our District, Mags being the oldest, and only woman among them. Behind her follows a middle-aged man who I recognize as Felix McArthur, another victor and the second mentor for Miguel and I. He has deep brown skin, greying hair, and permanent worry lines between his eyes. He looks like he hasn't slept in days. Yardley, her fluffy yellow dress barely fitting through the door frame, follows Felix. And behind Yardley, Finnick Odair. I'm surprised. We only need two mentors, so why is Finnick here too? Maybe he just likes tagging along to the Capitol. He does seem to have a good time there. Every time he appears on screen, he's on the arm of a different Capitol citizen. Men, women, nonbinary, he doesn't have a preference.

I've never seen Finnick Odair this close before. He's known for being handsome, I know this, but he nearly takes my breath away with how beautiful he is. His chiseled tan face, sea green eyes, bronze hair, and strong arms. He's wearing a plain outfit: a simple white shirt and soft blue pants, but on him, they look dressy. He looks at me and smiles, showing off his dazzling white teeth. I'm so taken in by his beauty that I forget my circumstances and smile back.

Finnick laughs when he sees some fish-shaped cookies on a serving tray in the train car. He picks one up and sucks in his cheeks to look like a fish pout. If I were anywhere else, I would have laughed at the ridiculousness of seeing this, but the pit in my stomach prohibits any sense of humor from touching me. My smile fades as I remember I shouldn't trust this man. Anyone who can enjoy the Capitol is someone I don't want to be around. Finnick grabs Mags's hand and gives it a kiss. "I'm going to go take a nap; I had a late night and will have another one when we get there. I'll see you when we arrive." And with that, he leaves the train car and we're left with Yardley, Felix, and Mags.

"Miguel, Annie," Mags says as she sits on the couch opposite us, Yardley following to sit beside her, "I'm Mags, and this is Felix. We'll be your mentors for the games. And I'm sure you know Yardley. She's here to help us with all the Capitol side of things. For today, we won't discuss much. I'm sure you both need time to process what's happened. But if you have any questions you can ask them now, and I'll do my best to answer them."

"What's Finnick doing here?" Miguel asks, and I'm glad he does. I'm wondering the same thing.

Mags presses her lips together. "Finnick has been summoned to the Capitol, so he'll be travelling there with us, but he will be busy while he's there, so I wouldn't count on him for advice or mentorship."

Yardley laughs and adds, "Finnick is very popular in the Capitol, as you may know. You're so lucky to be from his same District! Most people don't even get the chance to be in the same room as him."

Unsmilingly, Mags glances at Yardley before turning her attention back to us. "Do you have any other questions? "

I know I should have some, but my head is so full of dread and anxiety that I can't think past this moment. I fear I might be sick if I open my mouth, so I just shake my head 'no.' Miguel does the same.

"Well, there will be plenty of time for questions later. For now, let me show you to your rooms. The trip there will be 10 hours, so you'll have time to sleep if you want. There's a dining car on the train too that I'll point out on our way there."

I'm able to get a few hours of sleep, I think, being so exhausted from the stress of the day. When I wake up, I feel groggy and sick. My dress sticks to me with sweat and I wish I had changed before falling asleep. I take a shower to try to help myself feel better, but there are so many knobs and buttons that it only adds more stress. Once I'm toweled off, I dress in some of the clothes they're provided. A soft skirt a loose-fitting top, and a pair of leathery flats.

I make my way toward the dining car, and find that Miguel is there, sipping on something from a mug.

I force myself to give him a smile that I don't feel, already feeling protective over him. Even if I don't feel comfortable, I want to do what I can to make him feel more comfortable. "Did you get any sleep?"

"A little. I've never slept in a bed so big before; it felt like I was drowning in it."

I chuckle, "Me too. But it was so soft." I sigh. Miguel and I talk about the differences between this train and how things are in our District, and wonder what the Capitol will be like. Miguel is earnest and kind, and doesn't seem to mind any awkward silences that come up.

All too soon, we're arriving at the Capitol. It's early morning and still dark out, but we can see thousands of lights outside the window. It's as if they've taken the night sky and brought it to the ground. There are buildings taller than I've ever seen, for as far out as I can see. The Capitol is so much larger than I ever imagined.

Straight away we're taken to the training center. This will be our home until the games start. It really is more extravagant than the train. Tall ceilings, sleek and elegant furniture, and large rooms. We have some time to rest before we're needed for our prep team to make us over—something Mags warned us we will not enjoy, but will have to endure. It's for our own good, apparently, to help us get sponsors.

I pace my room, trying to relax. But everything here feels wrong. The too-fancy furniture. The window that doesn't even give a view of the outside. It's some sort of screen you can press to show different scenes based on your preferences. Even the air feels off. I never realized how much I loved humidity until it was gone from the air.

Eventually, there's a knock on the door and Mags peeks her head through. "It's time to meet your prep team."

She walks Miguel and I to the elevator in silence, presses a button, and then tells us that's as far as she's allowed. Apparently, mentors aren't allowed to be present during the makeovers—there have been some fights between mentors and stylists in the past and they want to avoid that as much as possible. Not good for publicity.

I'm shocked by how colorful my prep team is, both literally and metaphorically. They're dressed in clashing colors, wear brightly colored wigs, and speak in their strange Capitol accents about things people back home would be embarrassed to talk about. I find that I'm grateful for their strangeness because it takes my mind off of what they're doing. Waxing every bit of body hair off of me, rubbing my skin with strange goo, dying my auburn hair a brighter red, shoving devices into my mouth to whiten my teeth.

I think about the ocean. How the waves feel lapping against me as I dive and dig for shells. About my fictional waterfall that's safe and clear. How I would rather be anywhere but here.

The man in the prep team who I think they called Camry gives my hair one last fluff and then says, "Okay honey, our job here is done. Now we just have to wait for Albina to come finish you off."

"Albina?" I ask.

"Your stylist, of course. You're gonna love her. She's an up and coming star here at the Capitol. You're lucky to have her." Camry gives a too-wide smile and I wonder if he's had his mouth altered to show off more of his teeth.

"I'm lucky to be here," replies a velvety-smooth voice. I turn my head, the paper gown I'm wearing crinkling with the gesture, and get a full view of the stylist I've been assigned. She's tall, over six feet, and wears a wig that adds another foot of icy blue swirls on top of her head. She's wearing a sleek, shiny gold dress that drapes artfully over her body, and has purple nails that are a couple of inches long ending in points. "Oh, just look at you. You're precious."

"Thank you," I say, not knowing how else to respond.

"Yes, I think you'll fit my vision just perfectly. But first things first, let me see that body of yours."

My muscles tighten as I brace myself for what Mags warned me would come next. Although my prep team has now seen my full naked body, it was always in small sections at a time, with most of the rest of my body covered. But now I'll have to let them see the full picture. I stand up, and slowly remove the paper gown from my body, feeling the cold air on my bare skin. Albina gestures for me to come forward, and I take a few steps until I'm in her clear view. She slowly walks around me, taking notes and ordering the prep team to take measurements of me before she says she's finished and I'm allowed to put the gown back on.

"Wonderful," Albina says. "So Annie, your District is the Fishing District. The past few years your tributes have dressed as fish or as fishing tackles. I want to do something a little more elegant than that. Our inspiration for you is the fishing boats your people use to do the fishing."

I think about the fishing boats in District Four, confused about how she's going to draw inspiration from them. They're small, white, and fairly plain, though sometimes will sport a stripe of blue or orange or green on the side. But when Albina pulls out the gown I'm to wear, I realize that the kind of boat she's taking inspiration from are actually sail boats—made of wood and using big white sails to propel them forward.

The floor-length gown is made of a white canvas fabric, swathed and bunched around me and fastened with wooden buckles. Once the gown is adjusted to fit my measurements and my makeup and hair are touched up, I'm allowed to look at myself in the mirror. The red of my new hair shocks me, but once I adjust to it, I can see that it falls down my shoulders in loose waves, the top of my head adorned with a bit of net to make a sort of veil down my back. I've never seen my skin look so clear, it's almost like porcelain. My lips are painted a deep ocean blue. The ruching of the dress highlights my natural curves.

"What do you think?" Albina asks.

"It's beautiful." It's a strange kind of beautiful, but it's true. Seeing myself this way gives me a kind of confidence I've never had. The kind that says that people will look at me, actually look at me, and not just past me. And that I'm deserving of that attention.

Albina smiles at me. "Good. Now, go out there and shine, my little starfish." She gives my cheek a small pinch and then walks away, her job now finished.

When I meet up with Miguel at the chariots, I can see that his stylist had a similar approach. He too sports deep blue lips, and he has a canvas sail draped around his body, though his is much shorter than mine and ends at his knees.

"That was not pleasant." He says, his look of disdain looking slightly clownish with his Capitol makeup. "I never knew there were so many surfaces on my body until my prep team was sanding them all down. What do you think, do you think these looks will get us sponsors?"

"I'm sure there are people out there who will like us. At least, I hope so." I try to hold onto this thought, but suddenly my father's voice creeps into my head. You'll never be good enough.

Mags and Felix arrive, taking in our looks. They're both dressed in grey suits, something I've noticed other mentors are dressed in as well. I'm surprised when Finnick pops out behind them, dressed in all black.

"You guys are looking fantastic," Finnick says, and I'm a bit annoyed that he showed up just to judge our looks. "Listen, I need to head out soon, but I wanted to give you my best pro-tip: they leave these sugar cubes out for the horses," he holds out his hand revealing a pile of white cubes, "and no one cares if you just take them and eat them. They're delicious, and I'm sure you need a bit of a pick-me-up after all of that grooming." He dumps a few in my and Miguel's hands before shoving some in his own mouth and sauntering off.

I put one in my mouth and feel it dissolve, the sweetness coating my tongue.

Mags chuckles and then asks us to twirl for her so she can see our whole outfits.

"Your stylists have done quite a good job. We can work with that." Felix says before putting his arm around Miguel and taking him for a private chat.

Mags pats my face, her eyes radiating such a warmth that I forget for a moment where I am. "This is going to be your real introduction to potential sponsors. Do your best to appear friendly and happy to be here—no matter what you're actually feeling. Make sure the cameras can see your face. We want people to be able to recognize you."

"Got it," I say. I feel an awkward silence coming, and I look over at the chariot. They look so much bigger in person than I thought they would be. "Mags, what if I fall off? Has that happened to anyone before?"

Mags chuckles. "Just hold onto the railing and you'll be just fine."

Felix and Miguel make their way back over to us just as a loud voice instructs the tributes to mount their chariots. I climb onto the chariot, and it's slightly sloped down. Really, how does anyone avoid falling off this thing? I try to adjust my footing, but the heels I'm wearing don't provide much traction. I look over at Miguel, and though he's not wearing heels, I can tell he's having a hard time gaining traction too.

"I'll grab you when you fall if you do the same for me," he says with a smile.

"Deal," I say, and let out a nervous laugh. "Maybe the between the two of us, we can make sure we don't get trampled by these horses."

The anthem begins playing and I feel a jerk as the horses start moving and pull our chariot forward. My legs are trembling a bit, but I make sure to smile and keep my face forward. Cheers erupt as we move forward, and I catch a few people chanting my name. I try to turn to them and give them a smile, to make sure they know I heard them. The president gives his speech, but I'm so uncomfortable at that point that I can hardly pay attention. By the time the parade is over, I'm ready to rip these shoes off of my feet.

Mags and Felix assure us that we did well as they escort us back to our rooms.

"Try to get some rest," Mags says. "Tomorrow you'll start training. You'll need your energy for it."

All of this today has been just for show, but I know that tomorrow it will be hard to forget what we're here for. The games will feel like they've really begun.