Chapter 7
An eager Miranda wakes me up too early.
"Get up, get up!" She shrieks in that thick accent of hers.
But I don't want to.
After several more 'get up's, I sit up in my bed and Miranda slowly leaves the room, keeping a careful eye on me to make sure I am actually getting up. Once the door shuts I stand up and make my bed. On the chair that kept my dress from the interview is now a strictly folded set of clothes for the arena. There's a light gray shirt, simple fitted black tawny trousers with tons of pockets, a sturdy leather belt, black leather boots, and skin-tight socks. I simply stare at the clothes and swallow hard. I will die in those clothes; they're the last things I'll wear.
I wash my knotted hair and scrub my body down with soap. The heat and steam from the shower make it even more difficult to stay awake, so I get out immediately after all of the soap is down the drain. As I dry my body and hair, I wonder what time it is but when I look for the clock on my bedside table, it isn't there. Do they not want me to know what time it is? Is it really that important? I contemplate the reason behind taking my clock away while I blow dry and brush my hair but I come up with no answers. Finally, I strip of my robe and put on my tribute outfit. It fits perfectly, but the tight socks bother me. I take them off again and try to stretch them out until Miranda knocks on my door and tells me politely yet impatiently to hurry up. After pulling my socks on again I find that they haven't stretched at all. Quickly, I try and recreate the fishtail braid Siarrah made for me last night but I come up with another knot that looks nothing like a fishtail braid. I give up and leave my room.
Set out on the table is food that you can tell was made specifically so it would stay down while in the arena. Things like toast, dry scrambled eggs, fruit, and muffins decorate the middle of the table. Miranda, Charlie, Rootina, and Billee are already eating quickly, trying to be ready for when they call us to go to the hovercrafts to get to the arena. Miranda frowns at my hair and Rootina nearly chokes on her eggs laughing at the braid. I strut over to the table as if nothing's wrong and eat plain toast, washing it down with ice-cold water.
While everyone else continues to gobble down food, we hear an announcement for all tributes to go to the roof and board the hovercraft. Billee and I say goodbye to our mentors and stand side by side in the elevator. I don't say a word to him and he doesn't say a word to me. When the elevator reaches the roof, we keep a solid stride to the hovercraft and sit in our assigned seats that have a lit-up number five above them. The rest of the tributes sit in order around us, and an attendant goes up to each tribute and injects a tracker in their arm so the Gamemakers know where we are at all times in the arena. When the attendant injects me with the tracker, it gives an excruciating pain. I sit there, gritting my teeth while everyone has managed to keep a calm composure. The tracker resting in my forearm beeps twice and then goes dark, blending in with the rest of my flesh. Then, the windows go black and the hovercraft begins flight. In no time, we reach the arena and are led underground, where we are each brought to a separate room with a tube inside that will carry us up into the arena. I wait patiently in the little room until Garry walks in. Until then, I hadn't realized Garry and Siarrah weren't at breakfast this morning.
Today Garry wears a white sleeveless shirt with a black Capitol symbol on it. He has grey shorts and yellow flip-flops that clap with every step he takes towards me.
The room is small. There's a table with one chair and one light in the middle of the ceiling. On the right of the room is a circular podium, cold and metallic.
Garry and I stand in front of each other and he says nothing to me but holds a plum red nylon jacket in his hands.
"Put this on." He says quietly as he drops the jacket in my hands. He swallows hard. I put the jacket on over my light gray shirt and notice a big, silver number five sewn onto the right and left sleeves. If you don't know whom you kill, at least you'll know their district.
For another minute, Garry and I stare at each other until suddenly he grabs my shoulders and pulls me into his arms for a hug. I stay there in his embrace, shocked that he's actually hugging me. I remember thinking how coldhearted Garry seemed to be but he is surprisingly warm and delicate right now. He breathes out shakily and sighs as he pulls away from me. Still holding my shoulders, he stares right into my eyes. His gray eyes are red and wet with tears. Why is he crying?
He sniffles before speaking. "Atala," he says to me "uh, try and make allies. Find food, then—no, wait, find water first, then food, and then shelter, in that order. Okay?"
I stare at his red nose and eyes and nod my head yes.
He pulls me in for another hug and this time I respond to it, hugging him back strongly. But why is he so upset? He showed no affection towards me before this moment, so why now. But when he pulls away from the hug again, he answers my question.
"I mistreated you, Atala. This whole time I'd been ignoring you and you didn't deserve it."
I just stare at him. He's right but I don't know what to say.
"Is there any way you can forgive me?"
I can but what's the point? I decide for his sake it's best to tell him what he wants to hear.
"Of course I can forgive you." Once more I get a big hug, one tighter than all the rest. He holds me for so long and then its time for me to stand on the podium. My boots clunk against the smooth metal as I step up on the podium. Garry holds my hand while I stand up so I keep my balance. I have to be at least an extra foot taller with the podium underneath me. Garry holds my right hand with his left. Its warm but the air around me is cold and frigid. We are both silent. The only noise is a small humming that I can hear coming from above my head. I look up nervously to find a dark hole that leads upwards and seems to have no end. While my head is still up, Garry releases my hand quickly and by the time I look back at him, a glass cylinder has trapped me within the podium. Garry places his hand on the glass and I place mine right over his. I can feel the warmth of his hand through the thin glass. He sniffles and wipes his nose with his left hand, keeping his eyes on mine the whole time. Then, the floor below me begins to rise slowly. I take my hand off the glass and he does the same. His clammy hand left a circle of fog on glass barrier. At last, the floor raises me above the glass wall and I am submerged in a darkness and silence. Then, the ceiling above me opens up and I rise through to smell what I think is wet leaves and cold air.