Chapter 1: The Best of the Worst

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.

Helvius Glitz was walking a thin line between having the best day of his life and the worst.

On the upside, his devious plan to volunteer at the Reaping in place of Charming Castille, this year's chosen boy, had gone off without a hitch. And he'd gotten to tell his uppity, greedy, lousy excuses for parents that, once he'd won the Eighty-Third Hunger Games, he would cut them out of his life entirely and spread the rumor far and wide that they were unspeakable perverts.

They weren't perverts, so far as he knew, but they were nasty enough in other ways to deserve the public shaming. In Helvius's not-so-humble opinion.

Screwing them over a thousand times wouldn't be enough. They'd do and have done the same to me.

On the downside, he was going to show up in the Capitol with black eye. Gloss Beaumont had punched him in the face as soon as the train had left District One's station.

The Victor of the Sixty-Third Games had taken over as the headmaster of One's Tribute Training Academy a few years back, and he was known for occasional outbursts of temper. This wasn't the first time Helvius had been the target of said temper, but this was the first time he'd gotten injured because of it.

It hadn't helped that several other Victors had been looking on, judging, while the female volunteer-of-the-year, Gossamer Avalon, threw a tantrum about having to go into the Games alongside a "scrawny bastard" from the Academy class below hers.

Stuck-up nitwit.

Now, at dinnertime, alone in his lavish train suite, Helvius cursed his grumbling stomach while sprawled on the bed. Going to the dining car is going to get me another black eye. Or maybe a broken finger or two.

He needed to be as fit as possible if he was going to win the Games. Which was a plan, after all.

Just because Gloss was set on mentoring that other peacock, doesn't mean he should be damaging One's chances at a Victor.

Then again, given that he'd literally sneaked into the wrong age section and kicked Charming in the privates in order to prevent the older boy from volunteering before he could, every Victor with any sense of decorum and "honor" would probably throw all of their support to Gossamer and prefer no victory at all over Helvius.

So no help on that front. Good thing I didn't want their help, anyway.

With all that in mind, the knock on his door a while later came as a complete surprise.

"Who's there?" The clownish escort, maybe? I can scare her off…

"The only person who was willing to mentor you. Unlock the door or I'll get a guard to do it for me."

What the actual hell.

Confused, Helvius got up and did so. The door slid open to reveal the late-thirty-something but still gorgeous Cashmere Beaumont, Victor of the Sixty-Fourth and Gloss's twin sister, standing in the hall with a tray of food. "You missed dinner and the Reaping recap," she said, shoving the tray into his hands as she brushed past him.

All right, then. "Anything exciting happen?"

"A couple strong outliers this year. Otherwise, nothing of note. Except for you, apparently."

She took the only actual chair in the bedroom, leaving him to sit cross-legged on the bed while he wolfed down his dinner. "Why the hell would you want to mentor me?" he demanded between bites of steak. "Your brother wants to kill me himself."

Cashmere sighed and ran her hand through the golden waves of her hair. "Gloss overreacted. I understand the yelling. Hitting you...that was overkill."

"Not that I care what he thinks, but...Is he, though? Overreacting? I kind of cheated to get here."

"There are no explicit rules against what you did. Even the unspoken rule about separating Reaping-eligible by age isn't written down anywhere...although it might be after this year. I wouldn't worry about it. If you'd done something to prevent Charming from going to the Reaping at all, that would be a different story." Resting her elbows on her knees, she leaned forward, emerald-green eyes narrowed. "However, I am curious. About why you did it. And why you did it now, when you're only seventeen. If you wanted to get into the Games so badly and didn't think you'd be chosen by the Academy...now that I expect I'll understand...why not next year? You'd be older, have even more training…"

Cashmere isn't involved in the Academy like her brother is. Helvius swallowed a mouthful of buttery potatoes and said, "I was going to get kicked out by next year, even if I started behaving myself. Not that I wanted to try."

"Kicked out for what?"

He shrugged. I'm sure she'll hear it anyway. "Picking fights, being disrespectful, specializing in unpopular weapons, throwing snowballs with rocks in them at trainers…"

He trailed off as Cashmere's eyebrows threatened to disappear into her bangs. "I get the idea. Still doesn't answer my first question. Why did you want to volunteer in the first place? As you obviously have no respect for the process of the Academy."

The words slipped out before he could think better of it. "To make my parents regret ever having me."

Shit. I should not have said that.

"That's...interesting." Cashmere tilted her head. "So, what? Are they anti-Games? Disappointed that you entered the Academy? Or, perhaps...the opposite of that?"

Looking down at his half-eaten dinner, Helvius went ahead and told her the truth.Anything that makes them look bad. Not that they need help with that. "All that matters to them is wealth and status. They only had me so they could maybe have a Victor in the family someday. Although they've been telling me for years that they regret taking the chance. Academy instructors have been calling me hopeless for ages. And I didn't bulk up the way they wanted me to." He had a build closer to that of a runner than a wrestler or the like.

Her response was very matter-of-fact. "So you plan to go into the Games and...What? Fulfill their dream?"

He met her gaze. "I'm going to win and make sure they don't get any benefits from my victory." And I'll spread those salacious rumors for good measure.

Cashmere's eyebrows went up again. "All right, then. I know what I'm working with here."

"Someone who's district partner will stab them in the back the first chance she gets in the Arena?"

"Oh, I have a feeling Gossamer's going to start undermining you long before that. She might not even let you into her alliance."

"Good. I didn't really want to be in it, anyway."

Rolling her eyes and standing up, Cashmere said, "Fortunately, getting sponsors for you shouldn't be too difficult. You're good-looking enough and should already have some fans, if the Reaping recap was anything to go by."

I wasn't expecting that. "Why?"

"The cameras caught your little stunt with Charming. The Capitolites find that kind of thing hilarious...in moderation. Now finish your dinner and get some sleep."

She was in the doorway when he thought to ask, "You didn't answer one of my questions. Why did you agree to mentor me?"

With a snort, she replied, "Because I was bored." Then the door slid shut, leaving him alone again.

Huh. She's weird.

But he supposed a semi-invested mentor would make it easier to win.

That's still the plan.

Because District One was so close to the Capitol, the tribute train stopped for several hours during the night, while everyone was supposed to be asleep. That way, they could roll into the city around the same time as the trains from the furthest districts, like Three, Six, and Twelve.

Helvius rarely slept through any night, and this one was no different. After being informed by the giggly escort that breakfast was ready, he took a quick shower but after chose to put on the same rumpled gray t-shirt and black pants he'd worn to the Reaping.

Academy tributes tended to dress up for the Reaping even more than normal people. Especially when they were slated to volunteer.

This will piss everyone off even more.

Apparently most of One's Victors on the train were going to wait until arriving in the Capitol to have breakfast, as only Gloss, Cashmere, and Gossamer were in the dining car when Helvius arrived. Gloss and Gossamer, seated next to each other across the table from Cashmere, stopped speaking as soon as he walked in.

And she's dressed up even more than she was yesterday. Of course.

He ignored their baleful gazes and flopped down into the chair Cashmere pulled out for him. "Good morning," he said, very deliberately looking only at his mentor.

"You're late." She shoved a platter of scrambled eggs at him. "Eat."

As he served himself, Gloss leaned across the table. "Cashmere, you can still change your mind. One of our younger Victors can…"

"I'm not changing my mind, Gloss. I'll stick with this idiot. At least it'll be entertaining."

Sitting back, Gloss shot Helvius another dirty look. Abruptly, he shoved his chair back and stood. "Come along, Gossamer. We'll be arriving soon, and the rear car has the best view."

They both left, Gossamer sending one last glare before she followed her mentor out.

Helvius scoffed. Sore losers already.

When he turned to Cashmere, however, she just pushed a tureen of potatoes in his direction as she had with the eggs. "Shut up and eat at as much as you can for as long as you can. You're probably going to get kicked out of the pack, and that means you'll probably be going hungry at some point."

"Fine. Whatever."

But he complied. Because I'm hungry, anyway.

Helvius could sum up the Remake Center in three words: It was shit.

But it was over relatively quick, and his stylist Portia was tolerable. Far more so than the neon-colored, constantly-squealing prep team.

That evening, dressed in a skintight silver bodysuit draped with hundreds of delicate gold chains, he took the time during which he and Portia were waiting for Gossamer and her stylist to join them to sneak looks at all the other tributes as they arrived. I missed the recap; better size up my competition as soon as possible.

District Two had its usual pair of trained killers. Three had a couple little kids that couldn't be older than thirteen. Four had another pair of eighteen-year-old volunteers. Five and Six had tributes as young or not much older than Three's; the Six girl looked particularly shaky.

Effects of morphling addiction, no doubt. Typical.

The pair from Seven weren't big but they looked tough. Eight and Nine had a couple pairs of nondescript mid-teens. The Tens were interesting; the boy was very tall and skinny, while the girl was small in stature but looked distinctly fierce, even from a distance. The pair from Eleven were both tall and looked powerful.

So that's what Cashmere meant by " a couple strong outliers." More than a couple, I think.

The Twelves weren't as interesting; the boy was older and blond, the girl tiny and black-haired. Like everyone but the Careers, they looked tense.

I'm not going to let myself be tense.

When Gossamer arrived with her oddly normal-looking stylist, she ignored Helvius entirely.

Two can play that game.

He only waved and smiled like she did because he knew sponsors had to be in the crowd. If I do get kicked out of the pack, I'll need them. Hope Cashmere is right about me getting some fans from my Reaping stunt.

The single interesting thing about the presidential speech was the fact that Coriolanus Snow had to pause to cough multiple times. Huh. Wonder if he'll die soon.

"The people who run this country are cruel and selfish, child. Beware of them. They don't care about any of us."

He pushed that distant memory away as the chariots entered the Training Center. Focus on the Games, Helvius. That's the plan.

He did just that over the next three days, after Gossamer told him the first morning that he wasn't welcome among the other Careers. He kept to himself, ate alone at lunches, visited as many stations as he could, avoided his favorite weapons. He let himself look even more mediocre with swords and spears than he was, suppressing his own grin when he saw his district partner, the Twos, and the Fours laughing at him. If Gossamer ever paid attention to anyone in the class below hers, she'd know what skills I'm hiding now.

Arrogance could be a real bitch.

When the time for private training session arrived, Helvius went first. He walked in and straight to the display holding several of his very favorite weapon, knowing he had the undivided attention of the Gamemakers.

As he chose one from the rack, he thought, Showing off with this is either going to go very well or backfire, given how some past Games have gone. Either way, the result would be at least somewhat intriguing to everyone outside of the gymnasium.

His stinging fingers and aching shoulders were worth it later, if just for the scream of rage Gossamer let out when the number eleven flashed under his portrait. She and her allies only managed tens.

"How the hell could this happen?!" Gloss shouted.

His mentor didn't say anything until she had him alone, cornered in the hallway. "Out with it."

"Going by scores, the girl from Ten, the pair from Eleven, and the boy from Twelve are the outliers to watch." The Twelve boy had gotten an unexpected eight.

Eyes rolling so dramatically it looked like they'd get stuck, Cashmere snarled, "Stop messing around, kid. What did you do ? And eleven either means they love you or they want you dead, and as your mentor I need to know which it is."

He couldn't stop himself from smirking. "Guess they liked my shooting. I went for my favorite weapon. Bow and arrows."

"Oh. So that's what 'specializing in unpopular weapons' meant. Should've done some research myself." She covered her face with her hands. "Please, for the love of any deity that might or might not exist, tell me you did not shoot at them."

Was that a concern? "Why would I? Anyway, there's a force field around their balcony. Overheard the Three kids talking about it."

"Oh, good." She uncovered her face. "Maybe they don't want to kill you. Did you do anything else but shoot at things that were anything but Gamemakers?"

"No."

"Good. Now go to bed; I'll see you tomorrow."

Helvius went to bed feeling rather pleased with himself, and actually fell asleep without much fuss for once.

The good feeling didn't last when fragmented memories soon started weaving their way into his muddled dreams.

"The Games are evil, like those who enjoy them, who send their children with smiles on their faces...Don't let them win, boy. Don't let it happen."

Helvius didn't cry, not anymore. But he woke up shaking.

Stick to the plan, he reminded himself.

He didn't get any more sleep that night.