Placement

After leaving my parents, I decided to stop by Portia's and tell her about my plans. Halfway there, however, she bolted out of her room and dragged me through a hallway.

"Portia, slow down. Where are we going?" I asked as she tugged my arm.

"They put up the results!" she flustered, knocking a disappointed boy out of her way.

"Stop," I tried to break away, "Why is this so important?"

"Why is it so important?" she repeated, "It only determines where you go and when you start doing whatever it is you are meant to do."

She continued to drag me until the results came into view. The scores were posted on large boards next to the door leading into the tribute gym. A large crowd had already built up around the boards, some yelling encouraging messages and others just yelling. Portia practically shoved us inside the mob, batting students away with a twist of her hand.

"Find yourself," she demanded.

I cast one eye up onto the board, expecting to find my name crammed into the bottom of the escort section. There were only twelve spots. Scanning quickly, I could not find my name.

"What happens if your name is not on the list?" I asked curiously.

"You aren't on the list?" Portia frowned.

"I…I don't think so," I confirmed.

"That's strange. We studied so hard. Usually, they send you a letter explaining why they did not select you. You might need to talk to Seneca Crane. I think he is in charge of all the non-placers," she explained.

"Do not call me that," I demanded, "Are you on the list?"

"Maybe. There are more names on the stylist list," she answered.

The stylist list had twenty-four spots, one for each individual tribute. The pair of tributes from each district only needed one escort. I helped Portia scan the sheet, but we were unable to find her name. She turned away disappointed.

"Hey, do not be upset. You will be just fine. I did not get in either," I tried consoling her.

"I just…I tried so hard, you know? I really wanted to make a difference," she murmured.

I guided her away from the boards, hoping that maybe some recreation would cheer her up. I just did not understand; Portia and I were the perfect students. We had studied hours for the exam, and to find out we did not place was simply heartbreaking.

We returned to Portia's room and sat on her bed. I suggested that we play a game and she agreed solemnly. I turned to pull out one of Portia's designing games. Suddenly, her room phone began to ring.

"Hold on, Effie," she instructed as she made to grab it, "Hello? Oh, hi dear. Yes, I saw the board."

I grimaced at the mention of the stupid board again.

"You did? Oh, that is fantastic. You are going to be a great Peacekeeper. I had my suspicions, you know. No. No, I did not make it."

I had no clue that you could test to become a Peacekeeper. I always thought they had to come from a district. They were not too common in the Capitol. Occasionally, they came through with troublesome tributes or for presidential purposes.

"What? The intern board?" Portia became high-pitched, "I didn't even see that. I'll call you back."

"What?" I asked as soon as she hung up.

"That was my friend from upstairs. He just became a Peacekeeper," Portia explained.

"Fantastic. What was that about an intern board?" I reminded her.

"Right, well apparently, there is another board with prospective students who may intern this semester. What do you say we check it out?" she mused.

I nodded firmly and followed her out. Secretly, I hoped that she found her name. I did not want to have to comfort her again. It was too nerve-wracking, especially because I had no expectations to find my name there.

"Look! You are the first name on the list!" Portia squealed as she pointed to my name.

"And you are right here," I pointed her out a few spots below.

"We made it!" she squealed, jumping around.

A few disappointed students shot ugly glances at us. I looked harder at the list, finding a bold addendum at the bottom. It read:

All prospective interns are to meet with Seneca Crane immediately.

I sighed deeply and felt myself shake a bit. I had done my best to avoid him. Now, I was forced to meet with him to decide the fate of my career.

"It says here that we have to meet with Seneca Crane," I filled Portia in.

"Lovely," she winked, "When?"

"It just reads immediately. Should we head to his office?" I asked.

"Why not? We are interns!" she cackled wildly, leading the way.

Seneca's office was located in the main part of the Training Center. To reach it, we had to go through the door to the tributes gym, and into the golden elevator that brought the tributes to their rooms. Portia selected the ground floor, located below the first, and guided me through the lobby to Seneca's grand office. There were three students waiting outside, clenching packets and chatting loudly.

"Is this the line to meet Seneca Crane?" Portia crowed.

"We have met with him. He gave us these packets and answered questions. We are just waiting for my roommate to finish meeting with him," one of the students explained.

"Let's sit down," I encouraged Portia.

We took two seats and waited. I crossed my legs at the knee and attempted to straighten out my blouse. I was in no mood to see Seneca Crane, and I wanted our encounter to be as painless as possible. Portia was a regular chatterbox, questioning the other students on their essay responses. Finally, the door to the office opened.

"Thank you, Mr. Crane," spoke a flush-faced student, gripping a bright packet.

"Go ahead," I urged Portia who was bursting with excitement.

She flung herself up from the seat and I wished her luck. She entered the office and the magnificent door closed. I preoccupied myself with looking over my nails for inconsistencies.

"Hello," spoke a male student.

I recognized him as the one who had just exited Seneca's office.

"Hello," I responded coyly.

"I am Orion. Who might you be?" he glanced me over.

"I am uninterested," I spoke back quickly, annoyed at his glancing.

"Oh no, I'm not coming on to you, sorry. I was just trying to be friendly," he corrected.

"I see. In that case, I am Effie Trinket, but you may call me Effie," I smiled.

"Effie Trinket, that is bold," he grinned in response.

At that moment, Portia came waltzing out of Seneca's office, shouting praise over her shoulder. I laughed at her actions and she shot me a look of confusion. I stood up and she took my spot.

"Later," I said to Orion.

I walked cautiously into Seneca's office, angered at being temporarily distracted from my uneasiness. His room smelled pleasant and had a beautiful amount of natural sunlight streaming in. He sat behind his desk, rifling through some papers. When I shut the door, his eyes lit up.

"Why hello, Effie," he called, "Please have a seat."

"Seneca," I greeted him stiffly.

"I reviewed your exam and I have a few questions," he stated, pulling out my exam, "The multiple choice answers were standard, a little better than most. The essay, however, is questionable."

He pointed to my neatly written script that infected the rather official document. I felt the bile rise in my throat. What was I thinking, writing that sassy essay?

"What about it?" I spoke stiffly, deciding to defend my work.

"You realize that this could be considered treasonous?" Seneca asked.

I frowned a bit at his words. His tone sounded so harsh. It was almost as if he hated my essay. I panicked more, starting to wring my hands under his desk.

"Well, maybe. If it is interpreted that way," I choked out.

"Explain, please," he sat back and placed his hand on his chin, crossing his legs.

"I just believe that we should get back to our roots. We started the Hunger Games as a defiant act, not a source of entertainment. If we are going to make a statement, let us be sure that we are making the correct one," I spat out.

He remained quiet for a moment, and then smiled. He even let out a triumphant laugh.

"I knew it. You are getting your memories back," he whispered.

"Only a little bit," I reassured him.

I was so relieved to see him smile instead of casting me out. Our eyes met then, a cataclysm of unsaid words flowing out. I grew hot, yet comfortable, almost flirty in a sense.

"So, Seneca, what are you going to do with me?" I leaned closer.

He was clearly taken aback, "Excuse me?"

"You placed me on the intern list. What does that mean?" I simplified my question.

"Oh, right," he loosened his tie, "Well, it means that you made the cut, but you will not be deployed this Hunger Games. You will, however, accompany one of the escorts to the district and remain present for the Reaping."

"Do I get to choose the district?" I asked.

"That is to be decided. Here is a packet with all the information you need to succeed," he answered, handing over a pink packet.

"Thank you," I leaned over his desk to receive the packet.

On my way across the desk, our sleeves brushed. He stiffened at the impact. I got the impulse to push harder, as if to fall across the desk. In a second, I ended up directly across from him, our faces inches apart. He looked at my eyes then my lips.

"I…" I tried.

We moved closer.

"I…I need to go," I stood up briskly and walked out of the office.