I am getting tired of people staring at me.
I stand in front of a golden, full-length mirror in the depths of the Remake Center, surrounded by colorful, bird-like inhabitants also known as my prep team. For hours they have been doing my hair and makeup, and getting me dressed. In fact, we have missed the broadcasting of the Reaping and will have to catch it after the ceremony. I am shaking with anticipation to see the others.
The hours spent here certainly have not gone to waste. I knew that we always represent what our district is known for, other than being lethal killers, which happens to be luxury goods for the Capitol. Krates take on it is actually quite pretty. My body has been contoured with a dusting of silver, shimmery spray paint. On top I wear a chiffon shape-fitting white dress and white tights adorned with lots of jewels and such. My hair even has the paint in it, still very blond and curled into waves, but it shimmers. I would never wear this in public, but then again I am not supposed to be the Glimmer I was back home. I am supposed to be much, much more enthusiastic about anything Games related.
Anneless, Aquila, Krates, Lucretia, and much to my dismay, even Priscus, gawk at me as I fasten diamonds into my ears.
"Bless your heart, Krates, she is gorgeous! Gorgeous!" Aquila shrieks. An automatic sliding glass doors opens up and Marvel strides in confidently. "Marvel; thank goodness you're here! Look at Glimmer! Isn't she gorgeous? Tell her she is beautiful, Marvel!"
Marvel narrows his eyes, looking masculine as ever, and says coolly, "You look gorgeous, Glimmer." Somewhat mocking the way my prep team said it. This is the first time he has actually addressed me.
Krates just about looses it and dances around me, touching up my makeup and pulling one side of my curled hair back with a silvery clip.
Soon we're whisked away to the bottom level for the ceremony to start. It is a chaotic sight, Capitolites scurrying outside to their seats, stylists and tributes hurrying to take their chariots. Among the bustle, Johanna Mason and Finnick Odair pass us and they're leaning into each other, talking with hushed voices.
"It's her, Jo-"
"Oh, shut up, she's just-"
That's all I hear from the nonsensical conversation before we separate walking paths. I look over my shoulder in awe. I remember their games very well; they were not that long ago. Yet they look even older in person.
"Could you at least watch where you're going?" Gloss says sharply, pushing the area between my shoulder blades. The sheer force sends me up to Marvel.
My prep team, and Marvel's, boisterously usher us to the front of the line where our snow white horses are waiting to pull us into the cheers and bets of the Capitol. Despite getting ready so early that we missed the televised Reaping, we are one of the last districts to arrive. Most of the others are busy fidgeting with their outfits or being lifted onto their horses, but almost of them look up when we enter. Aquila is talking almost obnoxiously loud. The boy from District 2, an obvious volunteer, nods at Marvel and I. Just his gaze makes me feel like a wounded animal. The alliances are already forming.
The boy from District 4 stares at us too, until his partner nudges him in the ribs and whispers something in an urgent, yet annoyed, demeanor. So it goes until District 7's girl and boy literally hold the costumed leaves back from their faces with two hands and perch over their horses to look at us.
"Not very subtle, huh?" I say to Marvel as he turns around and sees them.
"Oh, my God, you are so obnoxious." He sighs and rolls his eyes, setting them forward.
"Wh- Why would you say that?" I ask; sounding a little more hurt than I meant.
He doesn't say anything, doesn't even lean in my direction, as I ask.
"What do you mean?" I ask again, placing my hand on his sleeve. His stylist made it look like shiny armor.
He grabs my wrist away from his arm and pins it to my side, then puts his face close to mine.
"It's embarrassing enough to hide in the background while everyone stares at you. You didn't even train for this! I did! I have been at the Academy since I was ten years old waiting for this day, and now I'm in the shadows because my district partner is some—"
Scared, and shivering, I don't wait for what he is going to say.
"They aren't looking at me." I interrupt, looking out of the corner of my eye to the tributes of District 2.
Marvel sighs deeply, unconvinced, and stands back up. He doesn't release my wrist though, so I'm stuck standing there like a three year old who is about to dart off into the street.
"Marvel," I whisper after a moment so he won't be embarrassed and nod down to my hand. He scoffs and releases it like some kind of burning hot surface.
The music begins, and the massive doors un-scroll and reveal streets lined with adoring fans. There is a roar from the crowd and I can't quite tell if it is because the Opening Ceremony is starting or because we're always the favorites.
"Glimmer! Glimmer! Over here, Glimmer!" Hundreds of voices seem to chant, and I resist the strong urge to shush them. I feel pity for Marvel now; he really does deserve more spotlight. But, I realize, he does not have two starving little sisters to provide for at home. I fall into character then, smiling and throwing extra diamond-encrusted hairpins at the loudest fans. A wave of hands reaches up together to catch it.
"Do you hear them?" Marvel still has a plastered smile, but growls into my ear. At first I panic, thinking that he is referring to all the "Glimmers!" but then I hear it too. A strange name echoes through the crowd, lots of consonants and hard sounds.
"They're saying 'Katniss' I think…" I say between my smile and waves. I look up onto the screen and where it was previously screening the three Career districts, it does a sharp cut to the last chariot. Even Marvel looses character for a second.
It's District 12. The poor coal-miners. The starving children. The gray-eyed. They are always ignored, always killed first, always forgotten. They live in a vast territory, next to the annihilated District 13. Now, however, they are stealing the show and no one is looking at the Capitol favorites anymore, but instead craning their necks down the aisle to the end. I can't decide whether Katniss is the boy or the girl, but either way, they are in identical black unitards with actual and literal fire billowing off of the capes and the girl's headpiece.
"Katniss!" A grown man shrieks and tosses a rose towards the chariot. The girl catches it and smells it, then blows a kiss. Almost instantly, all the screens are on District 12. I feel a rock on the bottom of my stomach, even though I am not supposed to like basking in the spotlight. Isn't this what I wanted? People to stop staring at me? But I feel… envious of Katniss and her partner. The underdogs. I want to be back on top of the caste system of the Hunger Games.
Alas, the thought cooled my sudden anger. It's all games, nothing but child's play. I am above that. All that really matters is that I win this little competition and see my family again.
At the end of the twenty minute chariot ride, we arrive in the City Circle and are greeted by President Snow, standing over us in a balcony He is a frail, thin old man with white facial hair. His smile is fairly snake-like, as are his eyes. I clench my jaw as he speaks, remembering all the years at school functions and Reapings when I had to bow to him. I flick my eyes up to the screens and there they are, the tributes of District 12 glowing in the twilight streets. After the president's speech is over, which I realize I didn't catch a word of, we circle around and head to the Training Center, our home until the Games begin.
Our prep team plucks us off the horses, smiling and babbling about how stunning we look, but my stylist hangs back in a tight huddle with a couple other stylists that look like they belong to Districts 2 and 4. As I look around, everyone is staring daggers at the little District 12 girl and her partner. I decide from the outside looking in, it would not look suspicious for the girl from District 1 to be staring at the new star, so I, unwillingly, join in.