"And now, from District 7," the announcer says into the microphone. "Seffie Zefrine!"
I hear cheers as I wobbly walk onto the stage. I stumble in my heels but catch myself and quickly walk over to the announcer. He takes my hand and helps me sit down.
"Well!" he says after the crowd stops cheering. "That is quite an outfit you have on!"
"Thank you," I say, trying my best to look happy. Tomorrow I'm going to kill people; why is he talking about my dress? Still, I look down at my dress and smile, as if I'm just now noticing how beautiful it is. But I don't see how beautiful it is; I don't see any beauty in me at all.
My dress is dark brown that goes down to my knees. It has one strap going up my right shoulder and a belt going around the middle of it. My hair is curled and I have slight makeup on.
"So, tell me, Seffie," the announcer said, leaning back in his chair. "Do you have any siblings?"
"Yeah," I say. "I have a sister; Beth. She just turned twelve..."
"Ah, so she was eligible for the Reaping?" the announcer asked.
"Yeah," I say.
"But she didn't volunteer for you?" he asks, as if appalled.
"Of course not!" I say defensively. You can insult me, but not my family. "She's twelve! Why would you volunteer to die?!"
Silence. I immediately know that I've taken it too far.
"Sorry," I mumble, though I'm really not. The Capitol disgusts me, the way they think these games are not a big deal. The President disgusts me. This announcer disgusts me.
"It's fine," the announcer says, composing himself. "I understand this must be very stressful for you."
"Yeah," I say, though what I really want to say is, "duh!". How can it not be stressful for me? My stomach is already churning at the thought of tomorrow. Then I remember what Oliver told me; sponsors. I have to be likeable to get things from them. So I become likeable.
"I'm sorry about my outburst," I say. "I'm just really stressed about tomorrow. After all, I'm just a kid with a weird name from District 7."
"Your name isn't weird," the announcer says. The audience shout that my name isn't weird in the least.
"Thanks," I say, smiling. I know that they all think my name is weird, but at least they're trying to make me feel better. "I can't believe I'm sitting here in front of all you lovely people!"
The crowd cheers. "You people are not lovely; you're creepy and weird and cruel," is what I really want to say.
"I don't think I'll be able to win the Games, though," I say. The crowd goes silent.
"And why not?" the announcer asks.
"Well, I'm not strong at all," I say, lying. "I can barely throw a knife."
Lies, lies, lies. But lies are what will get me sponsors.
"Oh, I'm sure you'll do fine," the announcer says. The buzzer sounds, signalling that my time is up.
"Thank you," I say, nodding and smiling.
"Seffie Zefrine," the announcer starts to say, smiling back at me. "May the odds be ever in your favor!"
There it is again. That weird saying that I don't ever understand. The announcer shakes my hand and I walk off the stage to where Oliver and the Capitol woman are staying.
"You did wonderful!" the Capitol woman exclaims.
"Thanks," I say, looking up at the screen as Mike walks on.
"Welcome, Mike Rolint," the announcer says as Mike takes a seat. "So, tell me, what went through your mind at the Reaping?"
"Panic, mostly," Mike says, gaining a few laughs from the crowd. "I just couldn't believe that Seffie was picked."
"And why is that?" the announcer asks.
"Well, I've practically grown up with her," Mike says. "We grew up together and went to school together. We both survived the apocalypse together."
"So, are you friends... or are you a little bit more than that?" the announcer ask.
"Oh, I don't even think we're friends," Mike says, laughing slightly.
"I don't believe that at all," the announcer says. "I mean, you said yourself you grew up together. Why wouldn't you be friends?"
"Well... she never really noticed me," Mike says. "I saw her all the time, but I don't think she ever paid any attention to me."
The crowd sighs sadly. I stare at the screen. I don't remember Mike at all; the first time I ever saw him was at the Reaping. Anger boils inside me, though I don't know why.
"Well, that's too bad," the announcer says. "Now I'm sure she notices you, though."
"Yeah, but she's probably angry now," Mike says, rolling his eyes. I blush as the anger subsides. The buzzer sounds, and Mike and the announcer shake hands.
"Thank you for your time," the announcer says, smiling.
"Thank you," Mike says, smiling back as he heads off stage.
I slowly walk down the hallway. Mike is sitting at the table, staring at the wall. I sit down in a seat next to him.
"Hi," I say.
"Hey," he replies.
"What're you doing up so late?" I ask.
"I could ask the same thing about you," he says, smiling slightly.
"I heard you get up," I say.
"I couldn't sleep," he says.
"I understand," I say. I couldn't sleep either. "How can we sleep when we have to kill children tomorrow?"
"We don't have to," Mike says.
"If we don't we'll be killed," I say.
"What if nobody does it?" Mike asks, looking at me. "The other tributes who were interviewed didn't look very happy that they were going to the Games. They didn't look like they wanted to kill us."
"What do killers look like, though?" I ask. "The real killers don't look obvious like in movies; they look like normal people. Normal kids."
Silence. What could he say, anyway?
"I'm scared," I whisper.
"Me too," Mike says. "But we're allies, right? Maybe that will double our chances of surviving."
"Mike, only one comes out," I say, looking him in the eyes. "That means either you or me will die."
"Or both of us," Mike says.
Only one winner. Only one of us can win. I want it to be me, but Mike needs to win too...
"Maybe somehow we can both win," I say.
"How, Seffie? How on earth can we both win?" Mike asks.
"I don't know," I say. "Maybe they'll change the rules or something. Or maybe when they said that there will only be one winner, they meant that there will only be one District who wins; meaning maybe if both of us are left we both win."
"I doubt it," Mike says. "But I guess it could happen."
It could definitely happen, but it probably wouldn't. I sigh and lean back against my chair. I feel like I'll throw up at any minute. I don't want to kill anyone. I don't want to die.