Aside from my brief moment of purpose while helping Jack in the morning, I am basically useless that day.
Shy shows me where I can go to secretly watch the tributes train (unlike the Gamemakers, our place isn't visible to them, but set behind a one-way pane of glass) and I take advantage of it for a while, but maybe "advantage" isn't the right word to use here, because I'm not sure my watching Shaya jump rope doubled up style with the District 8 girl (and they manage to keep going for what I'd consider a pretty impressive amount of time) is going to help anyone. That's who Shaya said she'd talk to though. Will they be allies?
Salvador seems to be leading a group of the smaller boys in an impromptu dart-throwing competition that he seems to be winning based on what Aulie taught him the other day and the fact that most of his competition is too weak to get as many of their throws both far and enough and powerful enough to stick into the dartboard. I can't say this is really a promising scenario either. I don't relish the idea of being pleased by weak competitors. It's not like I want to watch Shaya or Salvador kill anyone any more than I want to see them be killed.
And I was a weak tribute. Emmy and Pal and Shy and Beto and Sunny all began ranked as physically weak tributes. It doesn't do to underestimate anybody. There's no knowing what the arena may hold.
Maybe they visited earlier and then left (like when I passed by Emmy outside earlier?), but I'm not impressed with the turnout of other victors watching this stuff either. That might mean that it has little to no bearing on how the Games play out (or…no one has realized the potential of watching much of this? hard to say). While Shy is there I think she spends more time chatting with me than observing her tributes. Teejay is present as well, but he's asleep, snoring softly with his head pillowed on his arm. Beto is the only one giving the training what looks like his full attention. He has some high-tech-looking listening pieces in his ears. For something recreational? Or is he somehow listening in to the training? I don't know. There's that pattern again. How I know nothing about anything.
Salvador gets his foot caught in a rope someone dropped a little ways from the knot-tying station and falls to his knees. Get that out of your system now, I think at him. All the little mishaps that don't mean much- nothing, maybe- here. That could be death in the arena.
Shaya and the 8 girl split apart to other activities. The 8 girl is worn out and sits down to look at sample traps and snares. The boy from her district comes to join her. He says something and they laugh.
I put my feet up on the seat and wrap my arms around my knees and go back to eying my own tributes.
It felt wrong this morning to be happy and it feels wrong all over again as I get bored. I am a terrible mentor. Although we didn't connect well back in District 3, Beto seemed a bit more reachable at the Spa Center yesterday so I decide to address him and see what happens. "How's it going with your project back home? Being, um-" what was that name? "Doctor, um-"
He understands. I should've known that much. "Dr. Frankenstein. It's proceeding poorly. However, thank you for asking."
"You're welcome."
He doesn't say anything else. As that's better than before, I don't push my luck.
It would be nice if someone would stay longer who would talk with me, but that's asking for too much. What do the others do, I wonder? What are they thinking? What are they planning? What are victors meant to do in this midst of this limbo? I am a mess of mixed up thinking.
I think about Jack and his smile and rub my hands over my face.
"The medics have some strong stuff for headaches if you need it," Beto responds to my gesture with a kind of sympathy.
"Thanks. I think I'll manage." I don't feel right telling him the real details. It would…kind of embarrassing? Isn't public embarrassment a big enough component of my life now as it is?
Beto adjusts his glasses. He shares a tight-lipped smile with me and goes back to his watching and listening.
I manage to last like this long enough that Apple comes to find me. "How about lunch?" she asks.
I invite Beto along. It seems only polite, but he turns me down. I can't say I'm not a bit relieved. I don't think Apple and Beto would be make the best combination for lunch companionship.
The training days seem to go infinitely more slowly than they did when I was training. On the second day, Pal watches the tributes for a while along with me, hand-stitching purple and gold sequins onto some kind of small, purple cape the entire time. "Umm," he speaks up, "I don't want to set anyone up for any misconceptions, so I thought maybe I should tell you that as much as Silk- that's my girl- likes your Shaya, the way I'm advising her is to go it alone."
"O-oh. That's fine," I answer, "I don't think Shaya had any expectations of her. I think Shaya will be going all out for herself as well anyway."
"I," Pal looks down and I lean over, prying, and see that his face is flushed with embarrassment, "I know she's tiny and could benefit from an ally or allies, but I'm afraid that for those very same reasons she'd end up turned on before the end… I guess what I mean is," he laughs nervously, "I don't want her to be you, but without the luck."
It's uncomfortable, but I get it. "N-no, it's okay. I understand. I, uh, good luck."
"Same to yours." His dark eyes are red-rimmed and underneath those edges are dark circles.
"…It's kind of hard to get a good night's sleep like this, huh?" I say, aiming for sympathy in my tone, because I don't think I look quite like that, but I've felt plenty troubled myself. This is only a step up or so from worrying about going into the Games yourself.
"That's right. And I've had my hands full with commissions."
"You're sewing for people?" It hadn't occurred to me to consider whether or not he did this sort of thing. Of course, with sewing as his talent (and there were plenty who thought it was kind of boring that Pal would chose a talent that he would've been able to pursue, albeit in a more constrained manner, anyway in his district) and the things he made on display, maybe that makes sense. I love the dress he made me after all.
"I don't usually take very many- Victor Affairs does allow me to turn down clients aside from a few of the ultra-elite- and especially not at Games time, but…" he shrugs, never pausing his work as he talks.
"Why'd you change then?" I get the feeling he expected me to be able to read the reason out of his words, but I don't follow.
"It occurred to me that there might be worthwhile tradeoff for selling more of myself- and Eight, in a way- to the Capitol." He sounds amused by the idea, but also sad. He's regretful already of what it is he's doing. Of what he's done.
I feel a twinge of solidarity with his pain. "Pal," I press the subject, "Don't force yourself. If it hurts you that much it might not be worth it."
"Thanks so much for caring," he says at barely above a whisper, "I guess," his voice raises gradually back toward a normal volume, "I'm of two minds of it. You know what they say?" he paused, reconsidering whether of not his remark was going to be too district-specific, "Sometimes the cure is worse than the disease? …But then again, if there's a potential cure, right?"
He's as tangled up in the net of 'what's a mentor to do?' as I am, I think. At least for someone as kind as Pal, the years haven't lessened this burden. "Then I hope you make the right decision for you."
"Thanks. And, um, what's on your mind?" He forces a smile. "There's a duel going on within you two, or am I wrong?"
Even in the midst of his own agonies (and whatever situation with his tributes that helps fuel them), he's observant enough to see that I'm also all torn up. It could just be that Pal knows every mentor is going through some variation on this during this time when we're supposed to be helpful and are only reminded of how helpless we are, but I think it's more than that. That he understands something of what's troubling me personally. We're simpatico. Pal saw me as a friend from early on and I don't feel wrong responding in kind. "You're right," I admit.
"If you want to talk about it, I can listen. I don't mind."
Do I want to say or not? I know Pal will be understanding, but I'm not sure I want to acknowledge the other bit of emotional turbulence stirring me up along with the hurricane of nerves and unhappiness the Games bring. I skirt around it honestly. "I'm not sure I want to talk about it. The thing other than the Games, that is. It's bad to be distracted now, isn't it?"
"I guess the thing about being distracted is, it can just happen?" he scratches his head. He doesn't seem too sure of his own assessment. "I mean, you weren't trying to do it on purpose."
"No." That part I'm sure of.
"We, uh," his smile wobbles, but the more crooked it grows, the more sincerity I feel from it, "As bad as this gets, it can only go on uninterrupted so long. When these Games are over, you and I can still talk about it."
"Thanks, Pal." Maybe by then I'll have a better handle on this. On balancing my duties with my personal feelings. On…well, what might just be a stupid crush. Maybe I will be back in control of my silly feelings before then.
"You're welcome," he throws himself into his work with redoubled effort.
Down in the training room, Shaya slips as she tries to climb the mock rock wall. Pal's boy snaps his hand with the string of a bow, then drops the bow and clutches his hand in pain. Salvador is struggling to wriggle from a hold being demonstrated by a training. Pal's girl is tying her shoelaces. I couldn't have looked like anymore of a winner during my training days, but none of their prospects strike me as especially good. How can this end, for me or Pal or any of them, without an excess of pain?
I keep hoping, as I watch and wander the Training Center, and manage nothing of any importance, that I will think of something. That's what Shaya and Salvador are hoping for after all. Something to help them. Or at least to give them confidence.
I think Aulie was a better mentor than I am. I think I am here to be gawked at and show the people of my district how useless a victor is in the long run more than anything else. Of course, unless Shaya or Salvador wins, no one but them is going to be aware of the full extent of my inabilities.
I ask my tributes if they've come up with any ideas about how they plan to tackle the arena. "Stay the hell away from anyone traveling with a group," Salvador immediately volunteers.
"Get away from your mom for, what, three days and here comes the language?" Shaya rolls her eyes.
"Also, stay away from the Twos because I think either of them could snap me like a twig."
This Shaya can agree to. "Mica's okay. I mean, she's really strong, but she's just some unlucky person like the two of us. The guy's weird. A showoff or something. I mean, he's a weirder volunteer than you, Mags."
I can't say exactly what she means by that, but I will try and take it in the best way possible. "Well, if you think he's weird, trust your instincts there." Ada, from 3, comes to mind out of my Games, though I hadn't guessed at any weirdness from her before actually running into her in the arena. I tend to think she was basically a normal girl who was unhinged by the situation. She didn't get the chance to pull herself back together again.
"There are some kids I kind of like," Salvador continues, "But most of them are more likely to be a liability than anything else, I think. …And, even if they're not, well, after your Games, it's hard to think of picking an ally. That girl from Six…we really thought she'd got you- I mean, even when you finished her, you were all over the place and a lot of us figured you'd run into someone else while you were in that rage and they'd do it."
"The district collectively blew a lot of its good luck in crossing its fingers for you," Shaya adds a bit wryly, "And that did include me."
"Luck isn't something you just run out of, you know," Aulie speaks up.
"Well, when you die!" Shaya replies.
She has a point. There's nothing to say to that. Not that I can think of at least. "Well," I move obliquely to another, related, subject, "Even if you want allies, which I will leave entirely up to you, you'll have to be able to do something on your own. …Something to show the Gamemakers." And, it's understood, if you want to win. No one, however reliant they may have been on the actions of another tribute (either chosen ally or inadvertent helper- there have been many more of those), can win without some offensive action of their own. A victor must kill at least one person.
I am never sure how many they count for me. I may never be able to ask.
But burned into my memory- from one for Sunny (the rare -singular- victor handed her spot without a final two showdown when the the last two also-rans finished one another while she was sleeping in a rotted tree trunk and Mr. Bronze had to yell at her: "Victor Sunny Lightfoot, wake up!") to five for Jack (and Gerik, sharing the tie)- the official totals remain, indicating the variety of acceptable head counts (and manners of killing…).
"What did you do for your score?" Shaya runs her fingers through her hair.
"I made some hooks and…" it sounds so small and pathetic when I say it out loud, "…Used them to fish for some items…"
"Oh." My tacky answer actually seems to cheer her. "So you can still get a workable score from something as small as that."
"Did you ever find out if there's some kind of curve worked into the scoring?" I quiz Aulie.
"Not officially, but I talked around and got a junior Gamemaker to admit that they always want to award at least one ten these days to pique the viewers' interest since less people watched the year the second year, when the highest score they gave was a seven."
Shaya blinks, taking this in with an ounce of surprise, "Huh. …And so that's what you're useful for."
"He does know a lot of people," Apple remarks.
"They're not going to give out an undeserved eleven or twelve though, and they've only obligated themselves to a single ten for viewership purposes, so you'd better watch out for that," he presses the point because it's hardly going to do Shaya any favors to start underestimating her competition (and, understandably, he doesn't appreciate that she seems to lean toward treating him like a useless tagalong of sorts or a joke).
"Sunny Lightfoot scored a one," I tell my tributes, "But because she did, no one with any amount of strategy on their mind is going to leave a one-scorer for last again just because they think that person will be easy to finish off. …I mean, I'm sure there's some way for a one to win again, but don't pull any punches. You want the best score you can get."
"Yes, Mags," Salvador vows earnestly.
Shaya rolls her eyes at him, but nods obediently to me.
Salvador wakes me up that night at some interchangeably pitch-black and groggy hour. His cheeks shine in what little ambient light remains to keep me from tripping over something and falling on my face if I have to go walk to the bathroom in the dark. He's been crying. "Can I, um," he starts, "I mean," he backtracks, "I know this is kind of weird and it's okay if you say no, but, can I sleep in your room, Mags?"
"Salvador," I hop up, hurried toward wakefulness by his obvious distress, "Of course you can!"
I throw my arms around him and he drops his head down, burying his eyes on my shoulder in the sleeve of my nightgown.
We don't say much to one another, but I get him back to sleep in my bed.
I doze off eventually in a chair.
I despair that I care so much and yet I'm still bound to fail him (and even if I don't, then there's Shaya).
In the morning, Salvador isn't much the worse for the wear visibly for his sleep disturbances. I cannot say the same for myself. "You look tired," is the endless refrain, from (in order) Apple, Shaya, Aulie, Sunny, and finally Pal.
"You still look tired," I tell him.
"I know," he says. He invites me up to the eighth floor since we can't watch our tributes as they go before the Gamemakers. A red-haired, neatly bearded Avox makes us some fancy shakes of ground-up fruit which we share while Pal keeps on sewing.
"Sit with us a little, Brendan," Pal invites the Avox.
Brendan accepts the offer, though he doesn't look entirely comfortable. I would posit that he's not really supposed to sit down and relax with us, but he's never gotten in trouble for it before, so…
Pal snips off the end of a thread, puts his scissors down, and makes a series of hand gestures to Brendan, which provoke a funny, repetitive sound from the bearded man. It's a laugh. He verbalizes one small noise, but his real response to Pal's unspoken comment in made through his hands.
"Brendan's from Five," Pal informs me. "We get on pretty good, huh?" he asks for confirmation from the man in question.
Brendan smiles; nods.
"That's how Avoxes communicate," I realize stupidly, "Other than writing."
"Well, anyone can communicate this way if they like," Pal shrugs, "Though it's not particularly convenient when you're one some tight sewing deadlines like I am," he picks up his tools and runs a new piece of thread through the eye of the needle. "I'm not very good, but there are older people in town who are deaf from working around some of the larger machinery for so many years."
"Do you know most of the other Avoxes who work at the Center?" I ask Brendan.
"Mostly, yes," Pal interprets his gesture.
"What about the pretty woman who works with us with the long blond hair?"
He knows her. I can understand that much.
"From One," Pal explains what Brendan indicates. "Her name is…"
The phone on the wall rings and interrupts us. Pal hurries to pick it up, dropping his pin cushion and several other small sewing supplies onto the floor. "Hello? Oh, yes. She's here. I'll tell her. Thank you, Apple."
At that point I know what it's about before Pal even says it, but I hold my tongue as he delivers the expected information. "Your girl's turn is up before the Gamemakers. Miss Apple thought you'd want to know so you can come down with her to meet each of them afterward."
"Oh. Okay. Well." I get up. "Thanks for spending time with me, Pal. You too, Brendan."
"It's no hardship. I appreciate the company."
I leave the warmness of Pal's friendship to find Apple waiting for me. It's not as if there aren't good feelings between us too, but I'm noticing the various gradations in my relationships more strongly lately. This isn't to say my relationship with Pal is better or more important than my relationship with Apple or Aulie, but it is different. It's the same when comparing my relationship with Jack or Shy to what I have with 'Lito or Faline.
It's all meaningful companionship, but…
"Hey," I greet Shaya as she's ushered out of scoring, "How're you feeling about that?"
"Okay," she murmurs.
"I had the same answer," I reflect.
"Okay sounds better now." I take Apple and Shaya back up to the fourth floor, then return with Aulie for Salvador, who is flushed with embarrassment from the moment we meet him.
"What happened, Sal?" Aulie asks sympathetically, holding his hands out, one of which Salvador hesitantly reaches out to grasp (his hand looks about half the size of Aulie's).
"I screwed that up, so totally and completely," he sighs. "Also," he looks back over his shoulder and I turn my gaze to try and figure out what it is he's looking at, "I managed to rip my pants. …which is part of it."
"Oh, don't worry about that part," Aulie says without a hint of anything that could be construed as sarcasm or malice, "Around here, if anyone sees you they're more likely to think you're trying to start some unique new fashion trend than anything else. …And woe betide anyone- even Shaya- who tries to give you a hard time while you're with me! I look out one hundred percent for all my students."
Salvador looks up into Aulie's kohl-lined eyes and at that moment, Aulie is the only other person in his world. So much for me, the mentor. It's obvious who matters more in the scheme of things for Salvador- at least in this moment. I shouldn't be jealous. In a way, this is some of the pressure off of me. That's what Aulie's continuing to assist our district in the Games is meant to be. I am happy that they like each other this much.
"When I think back and try to remember my dad," Salvador tells him, and I begin to feel that I am intruding on much too private a moment between the two of them, "Now, see, he died in the war, so I don't remember too much about him. Well, I like to imagine that he's someone kind of like you, Aulie."
"Oh," Aulie replies. I'm not sure what one says in a situation like that either (I don't imagine I ever will be though). "Thank you, Salvador."
"Not as pretty as you though," Salvador laughs, "There are pictures of him so I know that he had the most humongous black beard! People always say he looked like a bear!"
"That sounds like a pretty exciting look in and of itself," Aulie responds. "Come on, let's go back up and get you changed."
"That's right," Salvador's mind comes back fully to the present. "I tried to do a whole bunch of things and I think I messed up all of them, Mags."
"Better to make the mistakes here than there," I suggest. It's the best I can come up with off the top of my head.
We go back up and Salvador changes clothes. No one heckles him. I don't think Apple even notices his clothing issue.
We all sit around in front of the television together and watch a program about the vineyards of District 1. "Oh!" I'm sort of pleasantly surprised, "Sophie Varen!"
"You went around with her on your Tour," Salvador remembers.
"She's so pretty," Shaya sighs.
"She was really nice," I add.
We eat dinner in front of the TV and then the scores are aired. Shaya and Salvador receive the same score. 4. "Okay is as okay does," Shaya dubs it.
There are, however, two 10s given to the girl from One and the boy from Two. Two 10s imply that there was no pity or otherwise curved scoring.
"May I sleep in your room again tonight?" Salvador whispers to me.
"Sleep in yours, but I'll stay up with you," Aulie butts in.
"O-okay."
To prepare for the interviews, I decide to have my tributes watch some tapes of them and talk about them. "Because I based a lot of my performance off the performance of a previous victor," I explain.
"Jack Umber," Shaya says.
"Err, yes," I confirm it, despite not really wanting to say it right out again (I'm sure I've said it publicly somewhere before).
"It doesn't really change things what we say, does it?" Shaya wonders, "I mean, maybe it changes our state of mind or that of the other tributes, but it doesn't do anything for the people watching in the Capitol. So I should just try not to be nervous, right?"
"Does that mean I can just copy you?" Salvador catches onto a similar current of thought.
"There's…no reason you can't, I suppose, but I think it's better to do something that feels sort of 'you.'"
"…and she really is as corny as that guy all on her own, Salvador," Shaya tells her counterpart, "You should be glad that you're not as Capitol-loving a goofball as all that."
"I kind of admire Mags, you know, Shaya," he speaks up to defend me, "That's why I went to listen to her stories and learn basket weaving and stuff from her. Just because she smiles and laughs a lot doesn't make her any less heroic, okay?"
"Fine," she snips back at him, "You be like your hero then. But don't think I'm going to be your Jean Paul. I'll handle the arena, the interview- everything- my way and you can handle it yours." She takes a deep breath, "So, is there anything else you'd like to tell me, Mags? Because if that's it, I'd rather think about these things alone."
That…is pretty much it. "That's it until Erinne and her team get her."
"Thank you," she maintains at least that level of courtesy as she walks away to her room.
"…I'm still going to try and take it a little like you," Salvador tells me, undaunted.
"Let's practice interviews together!" Aulie throws himself back into the situation. He gets Apple in on it too. They take turns speaking into a hairbrush, pretending it's one of those big stage microphones that no program really needs these days, but are sometimes used for show. They don't actually use one for the tribute interviews, but Aulie insists that it makes things more fun. Aulie and Apple take turns playing the part of Jeff Zimmer with a bit of friendly bickering about which of them is better at it.
Jack doesn't interview tributes, but I'm coaxed into doing my impression of him, which is dubbed superior to either of my allies' versions of Mr. Zimmer. I think it speaks, in part, to how Jack can be something of a parody of himself at times.
"The thumbs up really sells that," Apple sighs, shaking her head, finding my performance roughly equal parts charming and insufferable. It's not me, it's Jack. I sort of appreciate how her stance on him never really changes.
Shaya seems happy to see the style team when they arrive. I'm glad she'll respond positively to someone. There are fancy see-through high heeled sandals with a pattern like silver nets dotted with tiny orange fish that don't hide her toenails, so Spring paints them with tiny seastars in various shades of orange and gold.
There's a sort of more daring suit for Salvador than Beanpole sported last year and Shaya's dress is more revealing than mine was (of course, it does suit her- and Shaya has a bit more to fill out such a garment attractively than I would).
Shaya even speaks up at one point near the end to give the stylists a tip regarding Salvador's hair- which they take and to good effect.
I am decidedly the least stylish one as we head off to the interview site. Still, I must not be a complete wash-up. "I like the way you roll up the ends of your pants," Irish says.
"Oh," I look down. They're only rolled up a little right now, above my ankles. Often at home I keep them up higher. "It's, um, usually because I don't want the edges to get wet," I admit. Style never entered into it.
"It's a working person's fashion then!" Irish hits her fist into her palm, "Oh, that's good! I think fashion should be for everyone, you know?"
I offer a vague agreement since I don't really understand.
When we arrive our group splits apart. Erinne, Irish, and Spring have their own seats in a particular section, maybe with other equivalent people. The rest of us head to the back, sign the tributes in, and get them situated in their proper seats, and listen to a production assistant go over the drill of how things will proceed one more time. "Good luck," I wish my tributes before leaving it in their hands. I see Pal lingering over his tributes and having to be urged out by a member of the production staff.
I sit in the audience during the interviews, sandwiched between Apple and Aulie, with all the other victors and coaches. There's nothing I can do here aside from watch Shaya and Salvador do what they've chosen to do. I look over past my entourage for a glimpse at how Beto, to my right, and Shy, to my left, are waiting until we go live. Shy is casually smiling toward her tributes, hoping to put them at ease, I suppose. Beto is drawing a diagram on a notepad. I have no idea whether it has anything to do with the Games or not and with Beto it's hard to guess.
The last late arrivals to the audience are seated. I think about how I saw Jack trip on a wire here last time. If there are any equivalent missteps, they don't occur in my presence. There's a countdown. With the playing of the anthem, we go live.
Mr. Zimmer is as energetic as ever and the tributes are familiar in their variety. The 1s seem similar to last year's in that they both run confident. I wonder what it is they tell them (Jack tells them?) to make them act like that. When I think back, I can't recall an obviously upset 1 for a long time. In Shy's year, I think. Yes, I think so. The girl from 1 was a crier. Of course, the only one I paid much attention to was Aoko. Looking back on it, I know now how brave she was. You can't understand completely until you've been through it yourself. She only cried a little and she wasn't so paralyzed by fear that she couldn't do or say anything. She told Mr. Zimmer about her brothers. How the best thing she had eaten in the Capitol was a slice of apple pie.
Suddenly I wonder if Apple remembers Aoko. She was already our escort then. Was Aulie already coaching? The coaches don't receive much press if they're not attached to victors.
The girl from 2 is gawky, but tough-looking. The things she says make me think Hector and Gerik would get along well with her if she came back home with them. Then the boy from 2, the volunteer, is very well-spoken. You never can know, the way things fall out considering luck and all, but I think he's a serious contender. If the 2s work together (and it seems none are likelier to work together than 2s), they'll be a formidable team.
The 3s don't impress physically, but both of their discussions with Mr. Zimmer verge onto topics I can't say I understand very well, so they register on me as smart. Maybe not specially smart for 3s, but they clearly have a very different education from the majority of us (I wonder if anyone else compares and my best guess must be 5 based on the inside of the plant that I saw there). I look over at Beto to gauge his reaction to his tributes, but I suppose it can't be all that interesting, since none of the large screens are broadcasting it like they have for Jack's big smile or the proud-looking Hector and Gerik.
Beto doesn't have the most expressive of faces. He watches the girl, but barely spares a glance for the boy. He was focused on Ada last year over Petey. Does he have some kind of preference for female tributes? It's strange to imagine Beto being girl-crazy (though he's not necessarily too old for these girls) even without the Games context framing this, but there is the matter of Dasha almost-Merritt whose death seems to have marred his victory in at least some circles back in 3.
"Shaya Current," Mr. Zimmer announces. My attention focuses.
Shaya sways up to the platform in her very high shoes (I doubt I could manage them as well as her) and takes the interviewee seat. Her voice is steady- the nervous echoing of it is only a product of my ridiculous mind. She doesn't think there will be any advantage here to being the daughter of the mayor. There might something to be said for being a volunteer lifeguard though. "Not for fighting, but for surviving."
He asks her about me- about knowing me, because we're the same age, which she didn't that well until this week; about being mentored by me, which she tries to be polite about how she hasn't been all that impressed by me. "Ask Salvador about that," she suggests, throwing him a potential lifeline for all that she claimed she was leaving him on his own.
Perhaps going it alone is not as easy as she presumed in the heat of the moment. The Games divide us, but they also connect us in a way. No one lives or dies not a part of a web of people and allegiances. It's not up to any individual. The world is just too complex to be pared down to one person entirely on their own.
Shaya and Mr. Zimmer exchange compliments about one another's hair.
They finish up.
She did a good job. She was calm and cool and attractive. I look forward to being able to tell her so. That much, at least, I can give her.
"Also from Four, Salvador Chavez," Mr. Zimmer seems to enjoy putting a bit of a mock-Four accent onto Salvador's name.
Salvador takes this as an invitation to break out some local dialect, practically shouting "Hola, Señor!" as he bounds onto the stage, "That means 'Hello, Mister,'" he shakes Mr. Zimmer's hand enthusiastically.
"Now there's a greeting!" Even on Mr. Zimmer's stage, it strikes me as a bit much, straining Mr. Zimmer's smile a bit further than usual. Of course, Mr. Zimmer rolls with it, as I've always seen him do. "Now Shaya's given me the impression that your relationship with Mags is much different than hers is. How about you tell me about that?"
"Well," he fidgets nervously as he takes in the the crowd, feeling the combined weight of all their eyes on him, "I'm part of her kind of class, you know? It was on TV at the beginning of her Tour. It's 'cuz I really admire her. She's kind of smart and she's nice to be around."
"And what kind of things did she teach your class?"
"Uh," his smile adjusts itself into a more pleasantly sincere configuration, "Fishing tips."
A gentle murmur of laughter issues from an assortment of spots in the crowd. It's exactly what they expect to hear about me. If the popularity of any given mentor could help their tribute, Salvador would have hit upon a very smart way to draw upon what people like about me without having to be any more like me than he already is. There's a complementariness to us.
"We also make baskets and stuff with her, weaving reeds and all."
"That's her talent, isn't it?"
Salvador pitches his voice low like he's sharing a secret, but his eyes pass over me and he blushes as he replies, "Yes, but she's much better with fishing tips."
Salvador comments on his poor score and how he's hoping that means he's worked all the bad luck out of his system and can now go on to do well, he compliments Aulie on his training tips (Mr. Zimmer has to ask for clarification as to who "Aulie" is), and vows to try as hard as he can- "I want to meet you here again someday soon."
"I'll be here waiting," Mr. Zimmer answers. Though when he comments he seems to have his favorites, here he does a convincing job of neutrality. I don't know. Maybe he does like Salvador specially.
I'd say both of my tributes outperformed their training scores onstage. Salvador returns to his seat and seems to melt into it, completely drained of energy by the effort he put forth conversing with Mr. Zimmer.
The interviews go on and I take a breath of relief.
The girl from 5 wears glasses. The boy, Coy (are characteristic names common in 5?), tells about how he works at the town general store, which belongs to his family. He likes painting. He makes signs for the place. I'm pretty sure I saw it and the many signs there figured large in my noticing.
The girl from 6 is very skinny, but tall. The boy has an unhealthy pallor. He doesn't seem to have much faith in his ability to do accomplish anything much in the arena but Mr. Zimmer is doing his best to convince him otherwise. Is this a strategy or does he really feel this helpless? It isn't as if this is an unrealistic way of thinking. There are many tributes who don't accomplish much, but most of them don't outright say so beforehand (and some, of course, actually say the opposite, because it's hard to know what you're actually going to be able to do in such a situation).
There is a strategic advantage to knowing your enemy. You learn their strengths and weaknesses. You may be able to guess their plans. There is also a sort of advantage in not knowing your enemy though, in the Games at least. The more I knew my opponents, the harder it became to think of killing them. I was fortunate in that regard that in the end I went head to head with someone I hadn't connected with (and I managed poorly enough even in that situation, too timid to fight to the fullest extent of even my questionable abilities).
My indecision toward what approach will help me best help my tributes results in my attention regarding the interviews being somewhat mixed. I mean, I won't have to be the one doing the killing, but even watching will be painful, and yet I… There are just too many considerations to juggle.
There are more young tributes than last year. The 7s are both young. The girl from 8 is a precious thing in a shiny green dress. Her name is Silk. "Like the fabric." She's an orphan. Her hobby is sewing dolls for the younger kids at the Community Home. I can't help but feel drawn to her. I console myself with the questionable positive that at least she's not mine to lose (but every sort of tribute will come around sooner or later, won't they? There will be a girl like that from 4 someday and it will kill me to lose her. I think of his seven sisters and how he's been sewing clothes, maybe even these ones, specially for his tributes, and I worry for Pal's gentle heart).
Neither of the 9s have any connection to Luna Vetiver. They aren't kids I remember meeting during my visit there either. They're older sorts and relatively tough-looking. The boy voices his wish that there would be a scythe available at the Cornucopia as, "I know more about it than any other potential weapon."
The 10s, 11s, and 12s are all rather unassuming. The program slows toward a close.
That's one Mr. Zimmer springs one last twist on us. The words seem to echo through a fog to me from somewhere far away. "For the first time ever, our dedicated viewers at home can play a hand in adjusting the stakes in the Games!"
Sponsorships. Just like the all the talk. For the first time ever. And this is all of the headstart we're given. A few among the victors may be ahead of the curve (Jack and his t-shirts), but most of us will just have to start floundering. Mr. Zimmer goes on explaining how fans can participate- what the authorized phone numbers and web site are. Only official mentors can decide how to use the sponsor money, but at least Apple and Aulie can help to drum up interest. Assuming we can get any. The novelty of the whole procedure will inevitably secure funds, but how will they break down between districts?
"Well, shoot," Shy grumbles, as taken aback as I am. She may have had her suspicions before, but at this late point in the pre-Games procedure, who would have expected such a change?
The tributes head back behind the stage and soon we rise to go meet them. I might be a bit slower to go than I would've been before the sponsorship announcement. This is it. Our last night together. "So, Ms. Big Shot Mentor," I think at myself, "Any last words?"
"This is really real," Salvador says to me when we meet back up.
"Yeah," I respond. I think I know what he means. "There's definitely some point at which it just hits you."
"Mags, I'm scared of dying." There's a wildness in his dark green eyes. When you panic, you're lost. …Well, maybe it doesn't strictly lead to your death, but I don't think either Sunny or Emmy could present a good case for the aftereffects of panic in the arena.
I can't let him panic. Not now. Not before the arena. At least inside, wild behavior might have allow him to do something he would ordinarily shy away from. "Salvador," I try to keep my voice as strong and adult-sounding as possible, "Look at me. Take a deep breath."
He does as I say. I notice Shaya giving me a more interested look than she has at any prior moment in our limited interaction. "Just about everyone is scared of dying. There's nothing strange about that. But the more you focus on it, the worse the feeling's going to get. It's not easy, but you've got to relax as much as you can so you're able to give it the best you've got tomorrow."
The backstage area is gradually clearing out. More than half the tributes, mentors, and associates are already gone. The boy from 3 is crying and the escort is attempting to comfort him while Beto shifts back and forth, looking stiff and unhappy himself. The girl is balancing on one foot as she undoes the straps of heels one at a time.
"I don't want to lie to you, but you know I didn't think I was going to win when I was standing here. It could be you, Salvador. It could be either of you."
"Okay," Salvador agrees, "Okay." He's not quite at peace, but it's enough to head back to our quarters. My compliments on both their good stage performances soothe him further.
I play my next card in the car. I didn't want to say it backstage where someone I don't trust could hear. "I remember your grandfather, Salvador, and your baby sister, and you know, I think dying is really scary too, but there are people like your mom and grandmother and me watching over you here and there are people who love you on the other side too."
He swallows hard. I can see it. "I don't want to die," he says.
"I don't want either of you to die. I'm going to do everything I can manage to try and get sponsorships to turn things in your favor."
"This is all very depressing," Apple sighs. But it is. What can I do about it?
Shaya turns to look very sharply at Apple. "You like Mags, right?" she asks, "You wouldn't do anything to get her trouble, right?"
"Of course I wouldn't, dear. She's very important to me," Apple says in a nervous little voice. I don't think either Apple or Shaya feels very comfortable with the other.
"Good," she says, then turns back to me, "Tell us something about God, Mags. To make us feel better about how we're both going to end up dead."
"Shaya, do you have to?" Salvador grimaces. Be so sure they're going to wind up dead, I think he means.
"Everybody knows about your dad, Mags," Shaya presses me, "I know you know."
I don't know what she thinks I know, but I doubt I know as much as she thinks I do. Papa always told me things, but cautiously. He's of two minds of it- that it's important to know, but that safety is important. Everyone who knows can't just go dying for it. I don't know what's right to say at a time like this. I hesitate, but then I speak. They say it at funerals. "I am the resurrection and the life." I go on. They understand.
Shaya folds her hands nervously. Apple looks confused, but curious. Salvador closes his eyes.
"Thanks," Shaya says when I've finished, even though it feels like I've said nothing worthwhile at all. It went by fast and I don't feel better. But if Shaya and Salvador do, I can hardly complain.
Back in our quarters, they don't want to watch the recap of the interviews and I don't make them. Apple seems disappointed. We eat together and play a table game that involves flicking around a folded up piece of paper that Salvador says the fishermen always play out on Dan Armain's boat. Aulie talks on the phone to some people he knows (Apple informs me that he's much wealthier than her and, as such, has much wealthier friends he can appeal to).
I wonder if I should be doing something to try and actively pull in potential sponsors as well, but Apple tells me she's received a message from Nar stating that the official sponsorship system information will be waiting for every mentor at their viewing station tomorrow and I figure I'm bound to mess something up without it. I don't think I really know anyone in the Capitol outside of our sort of team enough to contact them directly about this anyway. The information from the Gamemakers might have suggestions? And if I'm not going to be able to accomplish anything, I think it might be more important to be doing the few small things I can do for the mental health of my tributes.
Everyone does a good job of keeping it together, at least until we're apart. Whatever further agonies we suffer that night, we suffer them separately.
It isn't until nearly three in the morning that I finally fall asleep. While I'm up, I wish I could talk to Pal or Jack or someone else who would understand, but I don't feel right bothering them. We all need our sleep.
…though it feels like I barely got any at all when I'm awoken in the morning. The pretty blonde Avox from last year is standing over me holding a clock and pointing at its face. "Oh," I yawn. "Oh, good morning. Thank you."
She nods, puts down the clock, and leaves. I get dressed in a hurry and rush out to take my tributes to the roof and the hovercraft without putting up my hair. Salvador comments on it. "…Is that the first you've ever been in the Capitol without your trademark look?"
"My hair was just tied back afterward in the hospital," I inform him. But I suppose it was always up in buns while I was on camera.
Shaya rubs her eyes. "At least for the moment, I'm too tired to be scared," she says.
I take a deep breath. "Both of you, do your best. I'll do my best as well."
"Yeah, I know," Salvador answers. Shaya doesn't engage with this remark. I'm not sure she believes I'll be doing my best for her. But, really, there won't be anything I can do for either of them immediately and it would be ridiculous- plain wrong- to write off either of them from the get-go. They're both capable to some degree. Even if they weren't, by my accounting, it would still be wrong (though not impossible to understand).
Aulie pats Salvador on the back, but only shakes Shaya's hand, which is probably how she prefers it.
They will never see me again, will they?
…But I will see them. I will watch them as they struggle through the Games. I will see them again in person when they're dead. I know this as much as I try to deny it. The odds are not in anyone's favor. There are twenty-four losers in every Games and only one of them will not also be dead.
"Goodbye," I whisper, my voice carried away by the noise of the hovercrafts.
Salvador holds his hand up against a window in the back of the hovercraft and waves to me and Aulie. I slump a bit as they slip out of view and Aulie holds me up with one strong arm. "Let's get you together and down to the re-outfitted mentor room," Aulie says.
I don't know how I'm going to do this, but somehow I have to. The possibility of sponsorships provides an active part I can play in these Games. Shaya and Salvador are even more now mine to lose.