"I'm not prepared for that, I'm scared of breaking open

But still I can't help from hoping

To find someone to talk to

Who likes the way I am."

Caldwell Kingsen, 17, District Four Male

When Caldwell first walks into the Training Center on the second day, he sees a boy who looks more like a shadow, standing alone at a station.

Caldwell spent the entirety of the previous day trying to find allies. Naya's acquired her own little pack of followers, but that doesn't mean he can't find some allies of his own. And even if he has been unsuccessful so far, with many of the Tributes seeming perplexed or uncomfortable or even annoyed by his perfect friendliness, he's still got time to find someone. After all, it would be nice not to enter the Arena alone. Whenever he gets to the point where he talks about being the best sandcastle sculptor in his District, the other Tributes will smirk, or stare at him as though he's insane, which has certainly gotten under his skin. What right have they to scoff at him when his artistic skills are so very unmatched by anyone he's met?

But he isn't giving up now. There are still a few Tributes left to go.

Caldwell recognizes the gloomy boy as he walks closer; he saw him at the Orientation Dinner, looking sulky and unfazed at the news which had just changed everyone's lives. The boy looks to Caldwell like a mystery begging to be solved, and his closed-off air only draws Caldwell in even more.

"It seems we meet again," says Caldwell as he reaches the station.

The boy turns, his eyes stormy grey, and his hair a jet black. His expression is inscrutable. He doesn't say anything.

Caldwell extends a hand, utterly nonplussed. "Caldwell Kingsen, at your service. You're alone, I'm alone. Perhaps we could be allies."

The boy does not take Caldwell's hand, which he can't help but be a little offended by. Caldwell always has been a friendly person; he'd even go so far as to call himself approachable and amiable. That, combined with his undeniable notoriety and godlike artistic skills... well, how could anyone not like him? He isn't getting distaste from this boy in particular though. He almost looks... mystified. Hesitant. As though he's shocked that someone so powerful and untouchable as Caldwell would speak to him.

"What shall I call you, then?" Caldwell prompts, a last-ditch effort.

The boy's lips twitch, the beginnings of a smile... but then they flatten just as quickly, as though Caldwell simply imagined it.

"Alessio." His voice is gravely and soft, but he nods to Caldwell, at least.

"Alessio," Caldwell practically sings the name, as if it's a poem. "Enchanted to meet you."

Alessio stares at his shoes. "What do you want?" he says.

Caldwell holds up his hands in surrender. "You looked lonely. It seemed as though you could benefit from my presence."

Alessio studies him. "I meant... why would you want me as an ally? You're-"

"A sandcastle artist of unrivaled talent? A visionary beyond anything Panem has ever seen?" he suggests.

Alessio almost smiles again. "Sandcastle... artist?"

Caldwell pouts. "You haven't heard of me?"

Alessio shakes his head. "I'm a bit out of touch."

Much as Caldwell wants to rattle off his achievements and build a sample in any sand he can track down, he knows that there's work to be done.

"Don't fret," says Caldwell. "You should only know that I am an artist of great renown. I have seen the Gods and they have blessed me with their divine inspiration."

Alessio's eyes soften momentarily, his cool exterior melting, but then his expression freezes over again. "I don't think..." He almost looks distracted, though Alessio isn't sure why. Probably his presence is just too powerful for the boy to focus on one single thing. "I don't think you'd want to ally with me."

"Don't be preposterous," says Caldwell. "Why wouldn't I? You must have some skills to speak of."

Alessio falters. "I-"

"Something?" says Caldwell. "Anything?"

Alessio's expression is still blank, but his next words feel rare. "I'm a thief," he mutters. "And I live in a mine."

"You didn't strike me as the type," says Caldwell, surprised. Something about Alessio seems aimless, and wistful, as though he is searching for something dear to him, something he's misplaced.

Alessio's eyes widen marginally. "Thank you...?"

Caldwell isn't sure what exactly is making him want to befriend this quiet boy from District Twelve, but there's just something so appealing about him, something that makes him want to create art again. He hasn't made art for himself in such a very long time. Caldwell would never admit to needed such a thing, but Alessio could almost be his muse.

"Um." Alessio's tone is uncertain, his voice soft.

But no. He's a fool. He cannot get burned out, or feel pressure, because those are human emotions. Beneath him. He can almost hear his parents now. "How dare you let your family down, Caldwell? Your art is what keeps us afloat. You wouldn't want us to be poor, would you?"

If he didn't make enough art back in Four, then he didn't get paid; and if he didn't get paid, his parents would hate him and revile him and tell him his art is worthless. But he lives for their approval. For anyone's approval. It's the insatiable hunger that he can never ignore.

"You look intelligent," Caldwell manages. "If you were adept at weapons, you could certainly collaborate with the Careers. They're right over there."

Never, under any circumstance, could Caldwell imagine teaming this potential ally up with Naya Illumina. But Alessio scares him. Caldwell can't afford to be anything but perfect; but at the same time, if he wasn't, if he fell to this Arena, he wouldn't want to bring Alessio down with him.

Alessio's expression is stone once more, an impregnable fortress. Somehow he doesn't seem hurt, even though Caldwell basically just rejected him. It's almost as if a silent agreement has passed between them.

Maybe some small part of Caldwell hates Alessio, for making him feel this way, because Caldwell doesn't like being uncertain, or afraid, even if it's somehow in the best way. Gods are not uncertain. So he just smiles at Alessio, a bittersweet goodbye.

"Go on. I'll see you in the Arena. Maybe..."

Alessio pauses. "Maybe..." he echoes.

But Caldwell waves him away. And Alessio leaves, without looking back.

And somehow Caldwell knows he's made a mistake, in trying to avoid one.

...

Asa Trevino, 15, District Nine Male (TW: Mentions of physical abuse)

It started with a broken window.

He remembers the long days and nights of childhood when he had nobody to play with him, nobody to talk to. How desperately he wanted to be seen. It was just him and the looming shadow of his father in their quiet house, and Asa really can't recall a time when his father was kind.

Yet still, Asa wanted attention. And the only way he knew how to get it was through making messes, doing things that he'd been told expressly not to, because that always got his father to look at him. Even if what followed was rage, and pain. Asa never really thought that far.

This day was one of those occasions, so frequent that it was almost rehearsed. Asa and his father knew all the steps. But Asa knows now that even the most ordinary situations can lead to the most extraordinary people.

It went like this: Asa broke the window (a complete accident, really), the beast—his father—was awoken, and Asa was running. But Luz was in his path.

They collided. And Luz looked at him, met his eyes and connected, instead of staring right through him or glancing away from him quickly.

Luz, whose name could sound like a song or a prayer on his tongue; the low lilt of the l, the soft swoop of the u, and the subtle buzz of the z. Asa loved her, the first time he saw her. Her gentle hands as she patched him up. The fire that glinted in her eyes as she stood up to Aaron Trevino as Asa never could. The way her laugh was so rare, and yet so perfect and real when it did come.

Asa loves Luz with every fiber of his soul. And perhaps he can admit that years spent in virtual solitude have made him a bit inexperienced with relationships, and so he spends much of his time fantasizing. But instead of those fantasies being faceless, they now have a name. Luz Contreras.

Asa's never had something like this before. Maybe that makes him naive, or hopelessly him, but he doesn't mind. Because he knows, instinctively, that Asa will live out the rest of his life with Luz by his side.

Even if that life is much shorter than originally expected.

When the news was first broken, the casual description of the death match he'd soon be thrown into falling easily from the Gamemaker's lips, Asa felt stranded and surrounded at that dinner table. The thought of murder scared him so deeply. Asa was always a peaceful person; when his father was on one of his tirades, Asa never fought back. He either sat and took it, or ran away. But now he'd be thrown into this nightmare against his will, and Asa almost couldn't breathe through the panic.

But Luz was there, to keep him from running away. Luz was worth more than all the stars in the sky. She'd be missed so deeply by her loving (unbroken) family, by the customers at the apothecary who asked for her by name, by the world.

But there would be no one to mourn for Asa Trevino. And this is how he justifies his decision to lie to Luz Contreras.

Now they're at a station where there are targets set up and knives hanging on racks, and Asa still feels a little shaky, a little aimless, like a restless ship unmoored.

"What is it?" says Luz, her voice like a balm.

"I'm scared," Asa says softly. "I'm so scared."

Luz slowly picks up a knife from where it hangs on the rack and places it in Asa's hand. He looks at her quizzically. "I thought you were trying to stab me for a second," he murmurs, but she just shakes her head, smiling.

"Just try to hit the target. It'll give you something to do."

She knows that Asa doesn't really stay still, for if he does, everything will catch up to him and then he won't know what to do. She guides his arm carefully into the correct position.

"I didn't realize you were the expert on knife-throwing," he says.

"I'm not, I just listened to the instructor," says Luz. "Okay, now throw."

He misses the target entirely, which makes him laugh, which makes Luz chuckle. Asa's shoulders relax and his restlessness subsides. Everything feels lighter, when he can be the reason Luz is happy. It makes him feel like he has a purpose.

He feels guilty about not telling her of his plan to sacrifice himself so that she might live, but he knows that Luz wouldn't approve. But he also knows that what he's doing is the best thing he can do, so he has to lie to her just this once.

Asa knows Luz better than anything else, and he knows that she hates being lied to, and that a lie could never pass her lips. He just hopes that when (yes, when) she finds out, he'll have already done all he can to make sure that she's okay. Alive.

Because now he knows that there will only be one person to emerge from the Arena. And he knows that he could never forgive himself if it was him and not Luz.

"I love you," he says to Luz, quickly so she won't forget.

"I love you, Asa," says Luz, gently wrapping an arm around him.

She always says it back.

Luz; his refuge, his anchor, his everything. He doesn't want to lose her.

So he holds on tighter, banishing all the worries for now, because now he knows that moments like this are in limited supply.

...

Wren Camphor, 15, District Seven Female

Having been rejected by the Careers (they really don't know what they're missing), Wren has spent her day searching out allies and showing off her skills. She feels no need for subtlety, and she's asked a few Tributes to spar, but has been declined at every turn. But Wren refuses to go into the Arena alone; even with her limited knowledge of the Games, she knows it would be a bad idea to be without a companion to watch her back. And she isn't giving up either. So continue to search she does, and with as much vigor as she can muster.

She skates along an obstacle course with as much agility as she can, adding little flourishes with her arms and doing a happy dance once she's done. Wren has always known that life is practically meaningless without a little fun, and even if she is going into an arena in a few days, it doesn't negate that philosophy. In fact, it might be even more important to enjoy this while she can, because these next few weeks fighting for her life... they won't be a picnic. Wren knows she can do it, that she can win if she just plays her cards right. Still, it'll be a challenge.

But Wren Camphor has never been one to back down from a fight. She won't be shying away from this one... though really, it's maybe twenty or so fights, all to the death. That isn't really relevant though.

As Wren is finishing up with the obstacle course, she spots a lone girl among the stations. A skinny little thing, the girl looks to be just a bit older than Wren, with pale skin and blonde hair. As if sensing her gaze, the girl turns around, laying down her sword from where it had been poised at a practice dummy, and Wren recognizes her as the girl from Three. Cady, maybe?

"Hey!" she yells from across the room, racing over and waving at the girl. "I'm Wren!"

She looks intimidated at first, shying away from Wren as she pulls to a stop beside her. "Um, I'm Cady."

"I knew it!" Wren grins. "You wanna be allies?"

"I-" Cady pauses. "I guess so?"

Wren puts a hand on her hip. "I've been rejected at least four times and it's not happening again, so if you have a problem with me, maybe we should just fight-"

"Oh no, n-no," says Cady quickly. "That's not what I meant, I just... I don't really know you."

Wren smiles, still feeling a bit touchy but soothed partially by Cady's words. "Well now you do. I'm Wren, I'm from Seven, and I like playing pranks with my friends. Now, why don't you tell me about yourself?"

A hesitant smile crosses Cady's face. "I like hanging out with my friends, too. We usually chill at this arcade, where we play games. I'm pretty good."

"What?! That's so cool!" says Wren. "I've always wanted to visit an arcade!"

"It's really fun, actually." Cady seems to grow more animated. "I usually win."

"Sick! You seem like a great person. Let's be friends."

Wren extends a hand jovially, and Cady firmly shakes it. "Friends."

Wren can't help but be a little relieved. She's always been a people person, and it worried her somewhat that she couldn't find someone who'd want to be with her. Her temper was just on the verge of breaking loose, but now she's got Cady, at least.

And she likes her. She listens in awe as Cady tells her of her parents' death when she was just a baby, how she ran away with her best friend when she was twelve, how they found home in an old and broken-down arcade, and how they pilfered the money from the machines to survive. And if they didn't have enough money, they'd kill pigeons and live off them. Soon, Cady became legendary in the gang as the best arcade player alive. (Perhaps Wren's exaggerating just a bit there, but she can't help but be impressed.)

"I miss them," Cady confesses. "I'm... I'm worried I won't ever be able to see them again."

Wren can't promise her anything. She's winning, which now means that she'll be all that's left by the time the Games have run their course. If she wins, when she wins, Cady will be dead. The Careers will be dead. The little boy from Eight will be dead.

But best not to think about that. Wren still feels herself not fully coming to terms with the idea of murder. It's just so alien to her, it floats far beyond her dominion. Before this week, Wren's world hadn't been any bigger than Seven. But now those restrictions are gone, and she's with Cady, and she'll figure this out. They'll figure this out.

Wren exhales with a decisive puff of air. "Don't be afraid," she commands. "We'll show the Capitol, and the Districts, that we're more than just a few puny District girls. We'll fight for our right to live! We'll conquer every foe, go on any adventure, and nobody will know what hit them."

Cady laughs. "Nobody?"

"Well. They'll all have to know our names so we can get fame and fortune, but they'll be surprised. And soon everyone will be chanting our names!"

Something about the words just doesn't feel quite true. But Cady smiles anyway. "Yeah. We'll take on the world."

After that, they talk about meaningless, safe, beautiful things, and neither of them brings up the Games for a very long time.

Instead they keep moving, and keep planning, as though somehow, in another life, they'd both make it out alive.

Wren forces herself to believe it. There's no use dwelling on the future, or wallowing in the past. No, Wren lives in moments. And she dominates them, too.

...

Felicia Simmons, 16, District Eight Female

Felicia has always been good for one and only one thing: looking pretty.

It's been proven time and again throughout her life. At the factory, she's terrible at what she does, and she's beginning to suspect that the boss only keeps her around for her looks. People have told her as such for so long that she started believing it too. She started becoming it: just a single frame, a faux smile, a flirtatious giggle. Nothing more.

Then again, she hasn't gotten any boys who stay very long. Even when she's dreamt of an ending so many times she knows the script front-to-back, nobody has ever really liked her for her. So this facade is starting to crumble around her as she realizes that the belief she's lived by her entire life might be fractured and flawed.

But she can't think like that. Because she's at the Capitol! With its lovely food, its fanciful people, its extravagant designs. Felicia could never afford the true fashionable attire she so longed to be seen in, yet here she's paraded around in layers of glamour as though it were commonplace.

And she loves it.

What she does not love is the fact that she's yet to find any allies.

She's been scoping out her options for the past few days, even venturing to strike up a conversation with a few. One boy she spoke to even went so far as to laugh at her as if she were nothing but a joke. Still, not one to be easily brushed aside, she's got her eye on one particular dreamboat, and that's the boy from District Ten.

Buck Taurean. With his toned muscles, his alluring eyes, each of a different color. His dark hair. He has such an easy, loose air about him, as though he hadn't a care in the world, and his smile is cool and charismatic. Something about him just pulls Felicia in, as though she were a star sucked into his atmosphere.

She drifts languidly over, resisting the natural urge to smile and wave and show off all the things she's memorized so far. But no; that's not how you find a catch. She knows this well by now. So she hides behind her lashes, brushes her long black hair in front of her face and fumbles the weight she's holding at just the right moment.

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!" She breathes, willing her cheeks to flush. It's not very hard, seeing as the weight clatters with an ear-splitting clang onto the cement. Buck dodges it easily, but she was hoping that maybe he'd catch it one-handed and hand it back to her as though it weighed nothing at all.

Some small part of her brain knows that gravity would cause the weight to fall much too fast for anyone to just pluck it out of the air that easily, especially since she dropped it so quickly. But that doesn't matter.

"Whoa there," he says, his baritone voice smooth as honey. "You alright?"

"I'm fine, gosh, sorry, I'm such a klutz!" She giggles. "I'm Felicia, and you must be..."

"Buck Taurean." The guy looks hesitant, at best, but it's easy for Felicia to twist it around in her head and see it as flirtation.

"Awww, that's a lovely name!" she croons. "You are so strong, has anyone told you that?"

He looks at her sideways, but at least he answers. "Yeah, I do a lot of work back in Ten."

Felicia practically swoons. Something about this feels all wrong, like a bouquet of flowers gone wilted and sickly-sweet. "How charming! Well, I could certainly use someone like that on my side..." She winks at him.

"Oh, um-"

"Someone strong, and kind, and handsome."

Once again, he looks at her strangely but eventually smiles. It looks forcibly lazy, as though he's pretending this is all natural. "Yeah. Of course. I'd be happy to tag along."

Felicia is halfway through formulating a disappointed but respectful response to his inevitable rejection before his words sink in.

"Really?" Her eyes go wide.

He hesitates again. "Um. Yeah, really."

"Oh, that's wonderful! We'll make the best team, the Capitol will just adore us."

And Felicia hopes that he will come to adore her, in time. Because that's the single-most important thing about this whole ordeal. Right?

He smiles again. It looks patronizing when a certain light hits it, as though he's merely humoring her.

But that's alright. Because true love can blossom anywhere. And that's all Felicia needs, this love that can fill the gaping whole she's been trying to forget all her life.

The only answer to the wrongness that's been following her around every corner of this half-lived life, this stage play in which she is the ingenue, is for her to find a man. Then maybe she'll be happy.

But even thinking that strikes some kind of dissonant chord inside her heart. That doesn't really matter though.

"So what were you thinking for strategy?" asks Felicia brightly.

His expression smooths over as if at his will, and he shrugs. "A little here, a little there. You?"

Really, she's got quite a few thoughts on the matter. These hours of solitude in Training and her chatting with the Capitolites has given her lots of time and info to work with.

But she can't tell him about that. Because the only thing she's good for are her looks. And anything else will only leave her crying in the rain, all alone.

Though she's spent quite a few nights doing so anyway, after dates went awry.

Nevertheless, she cannot let a little doubt impede her efforts or get in the way of her happily-ever-after. Now is the time to put on a show, live forever up in the starry Capitol halls of fame. Never mind that the Games consist of murder and fear. That's a problem for later. Right now, she has a man to catch and a country to woo.

...

So that was a chapter! Things certainly happened, now didn't they? This chapter is all about relationships, whether platonic or romantic, angsty, sweet or a little of both, or maybe a bit one-sided? That's all up to your interpretation. What did you think?

The poll has been closed! We had a tie for first place, with Caldwell Kingsen and Jacqueline Baylor. Congrats Para and Sakura, you now get to give your kids a Sponsor gift once games kick off! :) I did quote Waitress this chapter, the song being "When He Sees Me." Next chapter we're ending with Training Day Three! We'll be wrapping up alliances and hopefully every kid will get to be seen throughout training. I've been trying to keep a good balance. Now, I think that's all I have to say, so happy Memorial Day to those who celebrate, and I'll see you all next week!

Much Love,

Miri