Callie

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.

Many, many times, in their dirty, leaky shack, her grandmother had told her that marrying a townie would be her way out of the Seam.

In the small, dusty Justice Building room after the Reaping, her grandmother told her that winning the Hunger Games would be her way out instead.

"Honestly, your ability to slither your way out of sticky situations is probably your only talent."

She wasn't wrong. Callie was a good thief, and a better liar.

District Twelve's newest and only living Victor, Haymitch Abernathy, had won two years earlier. He clearly wanted to help between swigs of alcohol. But all of his energy seemed to go to Asher, because he was eighteen and stronger and bulkier and friendlier.

Callie couldn't blame Haymitch for that. She was a bit taller than her district partner, but only fifteen, as thin as a reed, and awkward in social situations.

Unless she was lying, and she sensed that Haymitch would be one of those people that saw right through it.

She knew lying was supposed to be wrong. But it was the only way for her to ever get anywhere in life.

"Honesty will get you nowhere, Callie, not in this rotten world. No one's gonna just hand you anything good."

Stealing had been very easy when she was younger. She was cute with an innocent face. Then she'd grown up, and her lying had to get better to keep pace with her growth. The sweet, helpful, hopeful front she put up kept most at ease with her. Those more skeptical, she avoided.

"Some people swallow lies more easily than others. You'll learn to find them."

When food or even trinkets went missing, people blamed the rowdy boys down the street who were known to break people's windows, or the crippled man a few streets over, or even the hollow-cheeked, dead-eyed twins across the alley who later starved to death by the age of twelve. People didn't suspect Callie. Never Callie.

Hide in plain sight.

With a smile, Callie offered her help to anyone and everyone who asked. She carried firewood for injured neighbors and watched other people's young children. She helped classmates at school, though she wouldn't call any of them her friends. She was slightly better off than others in the Seam, as her grandmother had carefully-managed money put by from her hardworking husband who'd died about seventeen years before the 52nd Hunger Games.

Callie knew that money had long ago gone towards alcohol to fuel the habit her grandmother hid so well, but no one else had to know that. Her helpful nature sometimes earned her small tokens of gratitude, but even when it didn't because no one could spare much, everyone still trusted her. No one questioned her when a loaf of bread or a handful of dried berries or a tiny silver heirloom chain went missing. Especially not the people who lied and stole as much as her.

"Listen to everyone, but keep most of your thoughts to yourself. That way, you won't be tempted to say something stupid."

Once she tried to learn how to do something else, mostly to get rid of the weird feeling in the pit of her stomach after she told the half-blind lady who sold dried meat at the Hob that she had no idea where that squirrel had gone. At age thirteen, she'd traded a month's worth of tesserae grain for trapping and gathering lessons outside the fence from the nice Everdeen boy who was around her age. His dad had taught had taught him how to actually hunt, too, but her grandmother had put an end to their lessons before she had a chance to try out his bow.

"Going out in the woods? Are you crazy? Do you want to get reported to the Peacekeepers and thrown in jail? What do you think would happen to me?!"

Still, she did learn some things about traps and edible plants, and she was grateful for that. It did help in the Arena.

But she'd grown up lying; she couldn't stop. It was the only way she knew how to survive.

She lied nonstop during her interview, wearing that beautiful purple dress with the fluttery sleeves and the delicate lacy gloves. She even managed the matching high heels; Twelve's escort Maevellia had been so pleased at how easily she learned "grace and decorum." She probably wouldn't have been so pleased if she knew how much Callie twisted and made up response to Caesar's question, but then again, maybe not. The Capitolites as a whole seemed to have as strange relationship to the truth.

"I miss my grandfather, he was so kind...Grandma has always taken such good care of me...She begged me to try my best, and I will...My friends are so great! Sometimes life can be a bit rough in Twelve, but me and my friends still have so much fun...We love to go to town, it's always so busy and exciting…"

She imagined her grandmother sitting at home and nodding along.

"Lie like you mean it. Otherwise you'll get caught."

She had a lifetime of practice making herself likable.

Hide yourself even when you're not actually hidden.

She and Asher were better received that most District Twelve tributes, and that solidified her first-choice plan for the Games.

That plan didn't include Asher. He was too much of a target for the Careers. And he could see right through her. One conversation had told her that.

She was relieved when he died during the Bloodbath. She wouldn't have to face him.

The boy from Eight was far more trusting, and really nice to her, excited to have another "underdog" as an ally. He even offered to take first watch that night, giving her the best chance of some sleep.

That played right into her making a smoky fire before dawn to draw the Careers. When she heard them coming, she picked up the rock and dropped it on Brian's leg before she could think twice about it. She didn't even look at him again.

Her resourcefulness and brutality bought her a place among the pack.

She figured Careers wouldn't care much about lies. They had no desire to be her friends. Unlike others might. Had.

Staying in a pack was more secure for a while, until the wolf mutts ripped off Markus's legs. Sasha, screaming, sobbing, put him out of his misery, then turned on the nearest person, who happened to be Alana. The beautiful but mostly untrained girl from Four who Callie knew cried every night didn't stand a chance. Only the psycho Eight girl didn't seem bothered at all.

Day Seven and the alliance was already breaking. That night, Callie took the first chance she got and sneaked away, taking little more than a knife and a hatchet.

Unlike the spoiled Careers, she knew how to survive on her own.

Hide from everyone. You can only depend on yourself.

"And me," her grandmother had told her, but as she got older, Callie had started to doubt that.

Then, after a few more days of snow and struggle, there were six tributes left, and even she was having trouble finding enough food to stave off the cold.

Her best hope was sponsors, and against the two remaining Careers and the charming singer from Seven, Callie and the other two remaining tributes didn't have much of interest to offer to Capitol viewers.

Unless they did something interesting.

So when she found the mute Six girl unconscious and alone in a rocky cave, she did what at least some Careers would do. What a survivor would do.

The younger girl barely woke up or struggled as she suffocated.

In that moment, Callie wasn't sure if she meant the weak sorry she offered. She was one step closer to getting sponsors, to going home, to getting out of the filthy Seam once and for all.

She did get a small basket of food for her trouble. Even before she ate any of it, she felt sick. As a day and night went by and she stayed in a cave near where she'd found the Six girl, she slowly realized why.

She'd done something unforgivable now, at least in the eyes of people who didn't live for the Hunger Games. Stealing could be forgiven. Lying could be forgiven. Not murder. Not like that. Not when the victim was a child who couldn't fight back.

Suddenly getting away from the Seam didn't seem worth it anymore. None of... this... would ever go away.

Two cannons had gone off, one the same day as she crossed that line and one the day after, when she heard the wolf mutts nearby, growling and howling .

Maybe they would sniff her out; they were getting closer by the minute. Maybe they would pass her by. She could sneak in the opposite direction, take her chances and run.

She could almost hear her grandmother's voice. " You did what you had to. Anyone would. You deserve to win."

But no one did, did they?

Especially not a liar like her.

She'd never even met her grandfather. Her grandmother didn't love her, only used her. She had no friends. District Twelve was a sluggish, coal-coated hell.

Screw it. I'm done.

She grabbed her hatchet and stepped out in front of the pack of slavering mutts. " Hey! Come and get me!"