INTERVAL: THE 401st HUNGER GAMES
Ria Sounder met her own eyes in the bathroom mirror as her older sister zipped her into her Reaping dress. The Sounders made do, but they couldn't afford blue damask, even when Giovannia's ship was in use every day. Fortunately, as it had always been with Ria, the Academy provided.
Well, not always. Her twin brother Rio had excelled at school, which wasn't necessarily the safest thing for a poor student in a rural small town in the north of District Four. Combined with Giovannia's Peacekeeper benefactor, a particularly fine catch from her government transports, it painted a picture of an elitist family, one that thought itself too good for its little fishing village. The village children never bothered Ria, who was enthusiastic enough to defend herself, but when they set their sights on Rio, she'd had enough. Ria was strong, Rio was smart. It was the way things worked. After a particularly nasty fight, she'd brought up the idea of Academy training. She needed an outlet, something to occupy herself with besides her brother's bullies.
Her mother had required some convincing. She was in the process of adopting a fourth child from the community home, a five-year-old named Coraline, and there would already be an extra mouth to feed. They would have to move south, which presented problems. There would be no need for the Peacekeepers to hire Gio's boat where the waters were so calm and familiar, and besides, the cost of living was much higher in the rich epicenter of the district, even if the Academy itself didn't charge tuition. There were weeks of debate before an arrangement was reached, and then Ria saved up her allowance for six months to hold up her end of the deal. When the Hunger Games rolled around and the new term started, at the age of thirteen, she stepped onto the dock with a suitcase in one hand and her apartment key in the other.
There was a time when training began at age eight, but those days disappeared on the orders of the new Academy director, who started a year before Ria did. Free from the burdens of real school, she poured all of her energy into training. She caught up to the other tributes quickly, already well-conditioned from her schoolyard bouts. The director encouraged arrogance and brutality, neither of which particularly interested Ria, but she kept her head down and focused on getting stronger. She had made the association when Gio first started getting friendly with her passengers. The Peacekeepers represented power and security, which were awarded to them by the Capitol, and there was only one way average girls from the districts ended up in the Capitol.
When she was seventeen, she'd been jealous of the invited Volunteer for the Quarter Quell. Lyra-Rose Ripley, underclassman brat that she was, beat her to it. Ria had felt offended on behalf of the chosen Volunteer, an eighteen-year-old with no eligible years remaining, whose dreams had been dashed to the ground.
Then Ria had watched Lyra-Rose get eaten by a cougar mutt on the second day of the Games and her righteous indignation subsided, although the quiet fear of being replaced still remained. What if she had spent all this money and time for nothing?
It turned out to be worth the wait. Gio had sailed the rest of the family down the coast for the occasion, and Ria's mother and all three of her siblings were crammed into her flat. In the tiny bathroom, she considered her appearance with an eye towards marketability. Her hair was down, easy for her prep team to style as they saw fit. Her dress was drawn tightly across her body, concealing the muscles that would be of so much use in the arena. Behind her, Gio looked on, smiling into the mirror. "Ready?"
"Yeah." Last year, after she watched the female Volunteer be robbed of her glory, she'd felt anxious. She had expected she would feel the same now in the constricting dress, its narrow skirt trapping her legs together, but its snugness reminded her of armor. The outfit was designed to enhance her abilities, not inhibit them. Even so, she still couldn't bend down to put on her shoes. Gia slid the wedge heels onto her feet one at a time, then took a step back to study her work. She decided another dab of rouge was necessary, and then fastened the green shell bracelet around Gia's wrist.
"Let's get Mom." The family made the pilgrimage to the Reaping annually, always chauffeured by Gia, but it was different when Ria was preparing her to take her place as a tribute. This year, once they checked in, Rio stuck close to her shoulder.
"Who's your district partner?" he asked.
"I don't know." The director had made it clear to the female trainees that Ria was entitled to claiming her spot in her final year of eligibility, but she hadn't heard which male tribute would be chosen. The genders trained in strict separation, based on the directors' claims that seeing the strength of the boys would frighten the girls. Ria personally thought that was ludicrous, since Four's newer Victors were all female, but she kept it to herself. Now she realized that it was dangerous as well as silly: if the other Career pairs knew each other, she would be at a disadvantage. There were a few names floating around, mostly about someone named Hyperion Font. She knew very little about him, just that he was wealthy and had a good reputation. She assumed he would be agreeable enough.
The clock struck ten and the escort, a stick-thin woman named Glacé, took the stage and introduced each of the seated Victors to the crowd, as though District Four had forgotten its shining stars. Ria paid special attention to Bethany and Kip, who occupied the chairs reserved for mentors. She had never met either one, but she remembered watching Bethany's Games when she was fifteen, during a rare visit home, and boasting that she'd actually met her. Ria knew that Bethany wouldn't remember her out of the sea of other girls, but it was still exciting to be staring her future in the face.
The video reel played, the noise of the explosions ringing across the otherwise silent plaza. Ria caught a glance from her brother across the aisle. He still very much feared the Reaping, and the Quarter Quell had not assuaged him. There were plenty of eligible boys eager to enter the Games, but after the Lyra-Rose upset, the chosen male tribute got cold feet and didn't Volunteer as planned. District Four sent a Reaped tribute into the Games, and there was, for the first time since the Academy's inception, a fear among the younger children that there would be no one to take their places.
Glacé's speech was brief, the usual words about honor and sacrifice, and then she turned her lime-green gaze to the Reaping bowls. "Ladies first," she said brightly. Her hand plunged into the paper sea and withdrew a slip. She sliced through the adhesive seal with an acrylic nail. "Madrine Scavo!"
Ria Volunteered. As she mounted the podium stairs and took her place on the stage, Glacé whisked her forward to the microphone to state her name, and then backward to wait for the male tribute to be selected. "Let's have a hand for Miss Ria Sounder! Shall we find out which young man will be her district partner?" Glacé chose a slip from the second Reaping bowl. "Lo—"
"I Volunteer as tribute!" The boy walking down the aisle was tall and lean, save for his shoulders, which looked overly bulky compared to the rest of him. He clearly hadn't been balancing his muscle groups, Ria thought, or he wouldn't have such an awkward build. Still, if he was the other Volunteer, he certainly possessed combat skills on par with her own, so she didn't discount him. He introduced himself as Hyperion, and she relaxed. Things were going according to plan. Glacé directed the tributes to shake hands, and once the applause died down, Ria found herself being guided through the double doors and into the Justice Building.
An hour later, a black convertible slid out from the rear access road, heading for the train station. The Goodbyes had taken less time than the Capitol anticipated. Ria had ample time to prepare for her absence, and she and her family had, in a way, already said farewell. Corrie, her best friend, had made her sentiments clear when she had thrown Ria a celebratory dinner the previous night. The short meeting in the visitation chamber had been a formality. Her relatives had expressed their support, she'd had her final hugs, and they'd departed before she had time to get teary and sentimental. Hyperion had already been finished when, after a mere ten minutes, the Sounder clan made its departure.
Bethany actually did remember Ria, which gave her an extra boost of confidence. Kip had won before Hyperion began training, which was also a positive. They lacked the personal relationship that she and Bethany shared. Despite being allies, Ria wasn't about to lose sight of the endgame. They were competitors. One of them would be winning, and it would be her.
During the ride, the mentors laid down the law about the Career Pack. District Four would not be leading, which irked her, but she understood. Four's string of recent Victors had mostly won despite their training, not because of it. Four was demonstrably the weakest Career district at present, and that meant that if its tributes placed themselves at the head of the Pack, it would be insulting to the Ones and Twos.
District relations didn't trump good sense in the arena. The previous year, Ria had witnessed the Pack leader send the Two girl plummeting to the bottom of a canyon after she'd undermined the alliance, even though it ruffled some feathers, and Ria had understood the rationale. However, knowingly snubbing an entire district wouldn't allow for such a smooth recovery. Besides, with the system as fragmented as it was, Ria knew that it wasn't worth taking risks to protect her pride. Arrogance had been drilled into her, but she wasn't entirely unaware of her history. Vanity was an unfavorable trait for a Career to possess, and one that tended to become a fatal flaw when it conflicted with the proper course of action.
Ria knew better.
Ria was in the principal's office again. Mr. Allard patted at his forehead with the sleeve of his brown suit jacket, sweating in the beachy heat but too self-important to be seen in a mere button-down and tie. Ria solidly hated him, both for his inaction when it came to matters such as the bullying Rio faced and for his excessive action when Ria had no choice but to defend her brother. Mrs. Sounder stormed in, feeling embarrassed and angry on Ria's behalf. Mr Allard's derisive gaze looked her all the way down, and then all the way up again. Ria had heard the family routine many times before, no shame in wearing your clothes until they fall apart, but in this moment, she knew her mother did feel ashamed of her shabby appearance. Her dress neared threadbare status and had been worn every Monday in Ria's living memory. Mondays were reserved for household tasks—cooking, cleaning, and budget-balancing. Mrs. Sounder put on newer clothes ahead of time when she planned to be seen in public, but she had been abruptly summoned for yet another on-the-spot disciplinary meeting.
"Your daughter continues to cause problems." Mr. Allard's tone was accusatory, the mark of a man who sought to dichotomize at all costs in an effort to reduce the amount of energy he expended. He seemed to consider things like truth and safety as nothing more than inconveniences designed to waste his time, which was a poor attitude for any school administrator, but particularly one with a hostile student body to manage.
"If I may, Mr. Allard, this is not Ria's fault. She would have no need to defend her brother from physical harm if you cared to prevent such physical harm in the first place."
"She broke Seth Bardin's jaw."
"It wasn't on purpose," Ria argued, in as polite a tone as possible. "He brought a fish-gutting knife to school and used it to threaten my brother. If you say you're going to hurt someone I love with a deadly weapon, and then actually try to do it, I think it's reasonable for me to fight back."
"She still broke his jaw," Mr. Allard replied, ignoring Ria completely and addressing her mother.
"I hit him once."
"Still. You hurt him."
"That's true. He thought it would be funny to try to kill Rio for a laugh. And I hurt him—by accident—protecting my brother."
"You never seem to know your own strength. You're always aggressive. You insert yourself into all these situations with your brother. Why can't he defend himself?"
"It's not in his nature," Ria said. She didn't know how to explain to Mr. Allard that her brother had always avoided getting in trouble, even when it put him in serious jeopardy. She had tried to teach Rio to fight, but it had never worked. He seemed incapable of throwing a punch. When she'd shown him how to curl his fingers down and lay his thumb on top, he'd been weak and uncertain, like a baby learning to grip his bottle for the first time. Except unlike the baby, he'd never quite figured it out.
"You're making this dangerous, young lady. You're becoming a hazard to your classmates. They feel afraid when they see you. Nobody here likes you in our institution. Nobody here wants you in our institution. Do you understand? If I were you, Mrs. Sounder, I would send her to a reformatory until she can learn to behave herself. We don't want bullies in this school." Mr. Allard looked entirely too pleased with himself for proposing the idea. Not that Ria thought her mother would exile her, and not that but it sounded all too similar to the thought of training. Maybe she could kill two birds with one stone, appease Mr. Allard and convince her mother to start thinking about letting her attend the Academy at the other end of the district.
"My daughter is not a bully. If you truly cared about scholastic violence, then you would apply the rules equally. Is Seth going to get in any trouble for attempting to murder Rio?"
"Seth is badly injured."
"That does not relate to my question."
"If this behavior persists, I will have no choice but to expel Ria." Ria knew this was a lie. Mr. Allard didn't have the ability to expel any students. If he had a problem, he could take it to the Peacekeepers, who although unlikely to arrest Seth Bardin, were even less likely to arrest Ria. As far as Ria herself was concerned, the broken jaw was punishment enough. More than enough—she'd really never intended to do anything but keep Rio safe.
"Do what you must. This is not Ria's fault." Mrs. Sounder smoothed her skirts, standing up.
"Ma'am, you need to—"
"I don't need to do anything except see to my son's wounds. Good day, Mr. Allard. I do hope you will see sense soon." Even though Ria knew she wasn't to blame, and her mother agreed, she still felt terrible.
She had to get out of this town.
Ria had never tasted alcohol before. Her mother didn't keep it in the house, and she'd chosen to abstain when she'd occasionally attended a party with her Academy friends. There were too many stories about Volunteer poisonings, and frankly, she'd never been particularly interested in warm beer. The pink cocktail the Avox on the train handed to her, however, was more intriguing. She licked the end of the straw, evaluating the taste. It was pleasantly tart, but not without a dose of sweetness for balance. After watching Hyperion down his in one long gulp and immediately request another, she figured having a drink with lunch would be fine.
The meal began with braised mussels in garlic broth and ended with a porterhouse steak drenched in herb butter. Ria sipped her cocktail slowly throughout the meal, hoping that the richness of the food wouldn't cause it all to come back up. Hyperion seemed to have no such concerns and dug in eagerly, knocking back a few more refills as he went. Ria wondered if there was a reason for his indiscretion, then wondered if she would be propping him upright by the Tribute Parade. Kip suggested a glass of water. Another drink later, more firmly, he told Hyperion to have something besides alcohol. His warnings were ignored, and, shocked, Ria looked on as Hyperion sniped at Kip for snagging the next refill off of the Avox's banquet tray.
"Give it here!"
"That's enough," Kip snapped, and Ria made eye contact with Bethany across the table.
"You're not my father; you have no right to tell me what I can and can't do." Hyperion made a grab for the drink and Kip upended it over his empty plate.
"My tribute won't be making a drunken fool of himself. If you can't be trusted to eat with the adults, I'll send you to your room with no dessert, you see if I don't."
"The fuck you'll send me to my room. Who gave you permission to—" Kip took him by the arm, yanking him up from his chair. "Let me go!" protested Hyperion, but Kip steered him down the train corridor, hustling him off to follow through on his threat. Suddenly, Ria was feeling a lot less confident about the Career Pack. Her gaze flickered to Glacé, who, unfazed, instructed the Avox to bring out a basket of sweet pastries dusted with powdered sugar, which were served alongside a dish of lemon curd for drizzling.
"Is that normal?" she asked Bethany.
"He probably just didn't know his limits. I wouldn't be worried unless it happens again at dinner." Bethany was more casual than Ria had expected, but that suited her fine. "We ought to watch the Recaps. Bring your plate." Ria followed her to a large sitting area, where a horseshoe of comfortable furnishings surrounded a large wall-mounted television.
"Without Hyperion?"
"He'll be watching from his room. We can discuss things as a team later tonight." Glacé retrieved a remote control and switched the television on. District One's marble plaza filled the screen. Ria watched as an athletic boy in a taupe waistcoat Volunteered, and then as a pretty girl Volunteered alongside him with a maroon-lipped smile. District Two produced two equally promising tributes, also both Volunteers. The girl was a little on the short side, with an intense gaze and a low ponytail. The boy had a silver nose ring and was the least visibly muscular tribute so far, but Ria wasn't going to discount any of the other Careers. As she ran through them, she realized that she'd only caught one name: Bellona, the pretty girl.
District Three's tributes both looked uncharacteristically strong. Then it was Ria's turn to watch her own Reaping. It had been a successful performance, both from her and Hyperion. Districts Five, Six, and Seven seemed unremarkable. The Eight girl looked scrappy enough to pique Ria's interest. Nothing else was worth noting until District Twelve, which had a sturdy male tribute with looks good enough to pull a few sponsors right off the bat. Overall, she was unconcerned. There might be a surprise, but she didn't think it would be a very difficult pool of tributes to wipe out, especially with all six tributes from the Career districts in suitable shape to join the Pack.
She popped another pastry into her mouth and decided to explore her own bedroom. There was little else to do until she reached the Capitol, after all. The room featured a large window, a medium-sized television set, and a small radio that played a selection of music from the Capitol. She turned up the volume and a DJ started talking at her. "Nero Dapper's smash summer hit Playgirl. Lead singer Tiffy Iuventiūs has confirmed that she wrote it about her girlfriend. She and Drusilla Claudia Payne of District Two were confirmed to be dating as of this February. Playgirl is charting at #4, having risen three more places since last week. Could the odds of Drusilla's mentee have impacted the song's performance? We're sure to—" The opening notes streamed through the radio speakers, immersing Ria in a Capitol pop anthem she'd never heard before.
Cover of Icon Magazine, girlie's got a good thing going
Suede bikini just to sit poolside, the suntan makes her freckles pop
Goddamned goddess-gorgeous queen, keeps cheap talk and champagne flowing
She never lets the city sleep, an it-girl's party never stops
Midnight dancing gets her high (la la la)
Sequined dresses and lemon drops (la la la la)
Cinderella stumbles home, one shoe poorer, every single day
But a boyfriend richer, 'cause we all know what things tabloids like to say
A playgirl
La la la
Playgirl
La la la la
Victor money, Victor vices, hardened with her heart dead
But gossip columns don't mean shit when Playgirl's in my bed
One more ritzy party and her dancing feet will fall right off
But when she's waking up with me, both heart and lips are always soft . . .
The song continued, but Ria's mind had already drifted far, far away to the pretty One girl. What would Bellona have been thinking when she saw Ria onscreen? Did she notice her makeup too? (The song itched at the inside of her head. The image of Bellona's plump lips wouldn't dissipate for quite some time.)
She shut the radio off and wandered to the bathroom, where among the piles of makeup on the dressing table, she found another compact of crème rouge. She applied a little more to the incline of her cheekbones, then decided it was too much. She wiped away the excess with a single-use facial tissue, then watched its floaty descent into the wastebasket. The Capitol itself dripped with abundance. Hundreds, if not thousands, of perfectly good tissues would flutter into the landfill every day, with nothing but a smudge of makeup on one corner, and still, there would never be a shortage.
It was an intoxicating new power, one that compelled her to fling open the walk-in closet and take in the racks of dresses suspended from bone-white hangers. It was more choice that she had ever been exposed to, and it reaffirmed her commitment to her impending Victory. Someday, she would bring this choice home with her, and Rio and Coraline wouldn't have to make do with hand-me-downs and Gia and their mother could have something new to wear. She considered changing, but she knew she'd only have to undress again when she arrived at the Remake Center. Still, she wanted to make some concession to her new freedom, so she kicked off her high heels. She crouched down as best she could, knees still stiffly bound together by the tight damask, and retrieved them before selecting a pair of flat slippers from a shoe rack.
She padded back into the bedroom, and then, after a pause to consider her choices, the hallway. There wasn't much else to do. She would have taken time to luxuriate in the amenities, but she was antsy and besides, she was operating on the Capitol's schedule. It was a tricky amount of time, and she was skittering around on standby, incapable of relaxation. Maybe some more lemon curd would help.
To her surprise, she found that Hyperion had already claimed the serving dish. She looked around for Kip, unsure if she would incur some penalty by associating with an illicit pastry eater, and found him eight feet away in an armchair, immersed in a phone conversation. He gave her a wave as she entered, covered the phone receiver, and mouthed it's fine. Hyperion grinned at her, chin sprinkled in powdered sugar fallout.
"So you're Ria, huh?" She realized it was the first time he'd spoken directly to her.
"Yeah. Did you see the Reaping Recap?"
"Sure did. I liked the look of that Four girl," he joked. "No, but really, One looks solid this year. Two's not half bad, we'll see about the guy, but Ponytail Chick seems like she'll be good."
"Bellona seems promising too," Ria said.
"Who?"
"The One girl. Black dress, dark lipstick."
"Mmh. Her district partner's handsome, don't you think?" Ria wavered, trying to judge his intentions.
"He's not my type." It seemed like the easiest choice.
"I didn't mean for you. I meant for me." Oh. That changed things.
"Yeah, he looks good enough, I suppose."
"Bellona's more your style?"
"I haven't really thought about her like that," she lied, hoping it wasn't too obvious. It was best to stay focused on her goals, especially since any new romance at this crucial junction had, at maximum, a three week shelf life.
"You remembered her awfully well."
"Fine. I like Bellona, and I'm swearing you to secrecy about it." Hyperion shot her a cheeky smile, and she felt better. He seemed to have mellowed out since the altercation at lunch. If this was him drunk, well, she could live with that. It occurred to her that maybe it had truly been nothing more than a genuine lapse in judgement. Maybe not the best first impression, and it tempted her to make assumptions, but she liked to think she was better than that. After all, he'd been perfectly nice so far.
"If it's any consolation, I do plan to go after Iolite."
"That's the boy?"
"Yeah. I've got a thing for blondes."
"That hair was clearly light brown."
"Blonde."
"Brown."
"He's my love interest, so I get to decide."
"I suppose that's fair. Who do you think will lead this year?"
"Well, ideally, I would say me or you. But since that's off the table, I'll go with my new crush."
"Huh."
"Smart, I know. Kidding, of course, my money's on the Two girl."
"She did come off pretty intimidating."
"We'll be scaring away the outliers in droves. I'm curious, though, about her district partner. He didn't look too tough."
"I don't look too tough," Ria pointed out.
"Your reputation precedes you. I know you're utterly deadly, even if the others don't."
"They'll know tonight." The Career stylists tended to go revealing for the Tribute Parades, and Ria had washboard abs. They'd want to show her off. "My point still stands. I don't know what you're like under the dress shirt. You might be strong, and you might not be. Either way, they chose you for a reason."
"That's true," he admitted.
"So why are you here?"
"What?"
"Why did you choose to Volunteer? Nobody forced you, surely, when so many boys would have been glad to take your place."
"Oh. My older brother wanted it, ended up not getting it. My father wants a Victor for a son. It was expected of me." Ria searched for bitterness in the answer. She wasn't confident in her assessment.
"Huh."
"It feels good. Being here, I mean. Like I'm part of something that matters."
"District pride."
"If that's what you call it."
"You don't like Four?"
"I get the feeling that I'd be happier somewhere else."
"You like sightseeing, then?"
"Hate it. My father's always hosting Capitolites. He's got these mansions on the bay, and he rents them out so these rich, richer, people can go vacationing and look at us like we're a tourist attraction. Destination weddings and so on."
"My family's not like that."
"Poor? No father?"
"Poor and no father, but that's not quite it. More that I can't imagine my mother selling out like that. I mean my sister takes the Peacekeepers on her boat when they need to travel in rough waters, but she's not leasing the idea of a collective people or a district stereotype."
"No, I get it. Providing services is one thing, Providing a bunch of social-climbing snobs the feeling of unearned self importance is another. Are the Capitol beaches not so beautiful?"
"I think no beaches could ever be more beautiful than District Four's."
"None of the guests ever have a positive impression of District Eleven's beaches, even though my father says they're the prettiest he's ever seen. The Capitolites built a luxury resort and shut off part of the coast for the district, so they could keep it all to themselves, and yet none of them ever return, whereas our visitors come again and again. It's because they can't stand actually seeing District Eleven. My father, when he visited, adored it. There's greenery everywhere, but also poverty, and the Capitolites don't want to be reminded of the unfairness. Self-reflection puts them off of their food. So they return to the Capitol, but they still aren't satisfied with their own beaches. They need someone to look down upon, but they want to be reassured of their goodness. They come here so they can nod with satisfaction when they see training let out in the afternoons, and if anyone complains, they'll just point to us. We're so well fed. We couldn't possibly be facing mistreatment."
"I see."
"My father says the Capitolites don't vacation in One or Two. I think maybe I'd prefer that."
"You'd be giving up the beaches altogether. Wouldn't you miss them?"
"Of course, but I'd experience some other type of magic."
"Did your hotelier father tell you about that too?" She said it lightly, but it garnered a more serious response than she'd expected.
"No. He doesn't travel because he enjoys it, he travels to drum up business for himself. He never tells me about anything except my failures."
"I'm sorry." It seemed like the right thing to say.
"Your mother sounds nice."
"She is."
"My stepmom is too, it's just, she's twenty-one. She tries, but it's different. My brother's twenty-two. When you're going at it with someone younger than your kid, it's weird."
"Yeah, that can't be comfortable for your brother. Or you, but—"
"But at least she's still older than me."
"What's your brother like?"
"He's good to me. Tries to keep me away from my father and his temper. My stepmom does the same. They've got this strange sort of friendship. You got any siblings?"
"Three. A much older sister, a twin brother, and a younger sister. They're wonderful."
"I'll bet. How are you finding the train? I was worried I would get motion sickness, but I don't think my body understands that it's moving at all."
"It's been good. I can't wait to get out of this dress, though. What do you think the stylists have in mind for us?"
"No clue. How's your mentor?"
"She seems good, but I guess they're all good. If they're Careers. How's yours?"
"Kip cares. It makes him easy to respect, but he doesn't think I should go after Iolite."
"Why?"
"Jealousy. Look at Livi and her district partner last year. And look at the Victor. Some kid from Six that killed her in the final two, and she got a twelve in training. Romance leads to problems, et cetera, but I can't count on coming back alive in the first place. If I'm going out, I'd rather have someone I care about with me."
Ria had never considered that, because she wasn't planning on going out at all.
It was Ria's first day at the Academy. The Academy turned out to be a squat stucco building three stories high, which looked very out of place in the sea of sleek mansions and faux-rustic beach condos. The large ground floor and expansive exterior yard were set aside for the male trainees. The middle tier was reserved for group seminars, where the Academy head would monologue at length about the problems pervading District Four. The lectures always turned into hours-long rants riddled with sexism, outdated platitudes, and complaints about the decline in the quality of Career trainees at large, especially compared to their predecessors from even as little as ten years ago.
The girls were relegated to the third story. The building was long and wide, but with low ceilings and poor lighting. The boys and the lecture hall got brand-new dynamic LED setups. The girls made do with cold fluorescents. After being given a brief tour of the lower levels, Ria was brought to the girls' training gym and was hard-pressed to find friendly faces in the sea of competitors. Ria understood why the girls bristled at her appearance. Only one could become a tribute each year, and she was just another person to beat.
She never did end up making any close friends at the Academy. Ria had once heard that no man is an island, but the Academy preached that every man was an island. Having seen some of the small rocky islands just off the coast get torn apart in hurricanes, she doubted the efficacy of this philosophy. She always tried to maintain an appreciation for teamwork, but just like the material landforms, her island began to erode. It was too small and vulnerable to survive the crashing waves that beat down on it day after day. Ria tried to parrot the trainers' talking points without internalizing them, but slowly, the arrogance began to consume her. Rising sea levels began to obscure the island and chew at its edges, and Ria sometimes thought to herself as she was drifting off to sleep that she was losing sight of who she was.
She had always been a talented enough swimmer to navigate the social and systematic tides that undulated in and out around her. She wasn't ready for the rip current when it hit her, and she grappled with her conscience when it swept her out to the great unknown. Her core identity as a loving daughter and an upstanding sister had been washed away almost entirely, and she was spat into a great void. She grew haggard inside herself, wondering what, now that she had discarded her values, separated her from the people who she so resented for the hostility that lived plainly in them. She was reminded of a conversation she once had with Rio, after she'd smushed a fly. "How will the fly's family feel?" Rio wanted to know.
"Didn't you tell me flies live, what, a month? If they're sad, it won't last too long."
"Would you do that to a person?"
"What?"
"Kill them for annoying you."
"Of course not. That's different."
"Would you do it to a dog, then?"
"No."
"Then why is it okay with a fly?" Rio often involved himself in these seemingly pointless debates. He wasn't beside himself with grief about the fly, but Ria had been forced to concede that yes, there was a line separating humans from animals, and maybe it was the wherewithal for mercy. She forgot all about the conversation until at some point during training, she remembered that she was, in fact, preparing to murder other people, and she asked herself what separated her from the beasts.
Or the Careers from the beasts. Their Capitol benefactors from the beasts.
But that was treason, so she did her best not to think about it and trained hard and hoped that if she exhausted herself every day, she would fall asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow and not have to ask herself the hard questions that lurked around corners and behind closet doors and inside the shadows of Ria's apartment furniture. And for the most part, it worked.
But not quite.
The stylist pressed a hand on the back of Ria's costume, where netting hung from an aquatic resin cast. "Go," he ordered, and Ria stepped into the elevator. For a few precious minutes, she had total privacy, a gift in the Capitol. She savored the silence as the elevator dropped her into a subterranean garage. A very nice garage, with marble instead of concrete, and the Peacekeeper that received her referred to it as the chariot depot, but it was still a garage. Hyperion met her in a matching toga. The tributes had been deposited in a ring around the main space. So far, none had breached the perimeter, but the elevators began dinging as the beauticians began to wheel out carts of cosmetic equipment. They hurried towards the center, buzzing around newly arrived mentors in evening gowns and neckties.
Tributes started ducking out behind their teams, ready to catch their first glimpses of the competition. A doe-eyed boy dressed in dungarees and red flannel peeked at Ria from under the wide brim of a straw hat. District Ten, almost certainly, but no, there was a middle-aged blond man by his side. Ria recognized him as one of the District Nine mentors. Fulton Bethesda, the quite-a-bit-younger District Ten male mentor, was across the room with a short, stocky boy in leather chaps, jeans, and a paisley print button-down shirt.
Ria's hand found Hyperion's shoulder and she led him to a pocket in the crowd from which she could search for the other Careers. She spotted the usual gemstone outfits of District One first, with the District Two tributes nearby in rock armor. Flakes of shale had been laced with wire and woven together in an artful mosaic pattern that flattered their bodies. As they approached, Ria realized with relief that the Two boy had more muscle than she'd initially thought. He was tall and lean, but there was sinew wound in his arms like steel cords. Behind him, engaged in conversation with the Two girl, Bellona shimmered in an iridescent white unitard. The Fours walked up and introduced themselves.
"I'm Ria Sounder."
"Hyperion."
"Bellona Levasseur. Pleasure to meet you, Ria." She flushed pink under her brown foundation.
"Iolite."
"Sycorax. This one here is Caligula. Careful, they bite." The Two girl came equipped with a wicked smirk, which she directed at her district partner. They smiled back at her. Ria caught the way Sycorax's hand had casually settled on their hip, staking her claim. The Two tributes had history. Maybe not romantic history, but they knew one another on a personal level.
"I do not bite," Caligula corrected.
"What about—"
"He was fucking asking for it." For some reason, this made Sycorax giggle.
"It's a long story," she said. "We'll get around to it after we've handled the serious stuff. Arena bonfire story, mayhaps?"
"Objection: life is short; eat dessert first."
"Thank you for that spectacular contribution, Caligula." Sycorax swatted their arm gently, then worked her face back into its prim default setting. "Weapons?"
"Mace," said Ria.
"Bow and arrow" added Hyperion.
"Machete"
"Khopesh."
"Axe."
"And I use a falchion," said Sycorax. "I'll be leading the Pack, of course, unless anyone has an alternate proposal." None were forthcoming. "In that case, I'll require a nine or better in training. Be on time tomorrow morning." These seemed like reasonable expectations, so Ria nodded, slightly jealous that it wasn't her who was calling the shots. District Four was too weak for her to do that, but the envy remained.
"Ria?" Bellona had wandered over. "Your costume looks great."
"Oh, thank you. Yours too." There was a pause of middling length. "I liked your lipstick at the Reaping."
"I liked your rouge."
"You noticed?"
"Of course I noticed." Bellona blushed hard, no rouge necessary. "I mean, I have an eye for makeup. Oh god, that sounds even dumber, I mean—"
"No, no, it's not weird. I noticed yours, didn't I?"
"I guess so." Bellona quirked her mouth up. "Well, it's nice meeting someone else pretty."
"Thanks!" Ria wondered if this was a romantic advance. Probably just girl talk, right? But if it was just girl talk, why did Bellona seem so shy about it? Maybe she felt uncomfortable in her Parade outfit. Yes, that was probably it, Ria decided. It was too much of a coincidence for the Twos to have something going on, and Hyperion to be chatting up Iolite, and Bellona to like Ria in the same way Ria liked her. They didn't even know each other. It was ridiculous to even suggest that there was a possibility of a relationship. They probably had nothing in common except their taste in makeup, and that was quite alright with Ria.
Her stylist materialized out of thin air. "Come. We still have a lot to fix before you go live." He pulled her away from the other Careers and towards a trolley where one of the people on the prep team was nursing a burned finger.
"Glue gun," she explained. Ivory relics of sea life littered the surface of the trolley. Set in the middle was a conch shell, expertly cut to decorate the frame of a large claw clip. The stylist picked up a dish of U-shaped hairpins and began to arrange a few tight coils in a semblance of curtain bangs, intending to frame her face. Then he drew the bulk of her hair into a tail, tucked it into a loose twist, and secured it with the clip. The curls escaped their bunch below the clip, tumbling around Ria's shoulders. The prep team pierced tiny holes in pearls and small sand dollars, then threaded them with silken wire and affixed them to the curls' roots, suspending the baubles in place. She looked nice, she decided, but not much like herself.
Shells had been deemed to feminine for Hyperion. At risk of emasculating a Career (oh, the horror!) his stylist had combed dazzling wax dye through his hair, streaking it blue. He did get a lone shell brooch, framed by gold filigree, to pin his toga in place, but his costume was decidedly plainer than hers. All the better, thought Ria. She didn't consider herself a mean person, but she wanted the kind of district partner that she could push around. It would make things easier in the long run. Overshadowing him so thoroughly during the opening ceremony would work to her advantage when the usual District Four sponsors were deciding how to divide their money. Hyperion may have been friendly on the train, but Ria wasn't so stupid as to think it would remain like that forever. One of them was going to die, and it couldn't be her.
She found herself remembering Hyperion's description of his family. A nasty, workaholic father with a wife his children's age, and two minimally stable young adults who did their best to dilute his waves of rage before the most vulnerable member of the group was swept away. He hadn't mentioned a mother. Was she divorced? Dead? Did she ditch him when he was young? Perhaps he'd been the product of a one-night stand, a child conceived on a godawful business trip in another district. What would it be like to raise someone who reminded you of your most foolish lapses in judgement? What would it be like to have parents who only saw you as an expensive mistake? Ria was glad she didn't know the answers.
She realized that it was mean, speculating about the private life of someone she'd only just met, but she couldn't quite bring herself to stop. Salacious rumors were always in abundant supply at the Academy, and just like all the other girls, Ria partook. It was a comfort, knowing that there were others who were easier targets, knowing there were layers of safety before one might end up the subject of conversation.
Suddenly, there was an announcement over the public address system: "Begin loading chariots." The District Four tributes were directed to a carriage harnessed to two beige horses. The side gate was locked, trapping them in the chariot. Hyperion gripped the grab bar tightly.
"Are you okay?" Ria asked.
"Claustrophobic, but yeah. We'll be outside soon anyways, right?"
"Of course." Despite her moral objections, it seemed good that Hyperion was looking to her for accord. Whatever fears existed inside of him could become vital pieces of her strategy once in the arena, but she didn't want to think about how they had germinated. She was a Career. It was her sworn duty to get the job done. The rules of the Games were different from the rules of regular life, but still, it wasn't like she felt great about it. Those pesky feelings of guilt would probably disappear soon anyway, and then she would be ethically in the clear. Right?
"Roll District One." From her position, Ria saw the first chariot begin to move. A hundred yards behind it, the Two chariot followed, and then District Three began. "Roll District Four," the speakers announced, and an attendant made a clicking noise at the horses. They started to lumber forward a few steps and picked up, trotting out of the garage and onto the marble causeway. The ceiling fell away to reveal a nighttime sky glittering with millions of lights. Although it was out of view, Ria had pored over her geography textbook enough during her truncated education to know that just beyond the city center, there lay a majestic beach. The Capitol did not border the ocean, but although somewhat lacking in tides, its lake was almost as large as the whole of District Twelve. Hyperion's father had set foot on that beach, but Hyperion himself never would, not unless she died and he won the Games. For some reason, that fact bothered her.
The crowd was very welcome. Ria had been a natural social butterfly her entire life, but she had few opportunities to stretch her wings. From the hostile school environment to the individualistic approach the Academy took, it was hard to find connection in such a compartmentalized world. The people of the Capitol were falling over themselves as they competed for her attention. She turned her face towards the right, and the watchers in the stands shouted their triumph to those on the opposite side of the causeway. Ria turned left and the jeers and squeals changed to follow her. She smiled, and a frenzy broke out in the stands. One woman in an aqua bouffant tried to clamber over her neighbors to throw a bouquet onto the causeway. Ria looked at her, and accidentally making eye contact, noted the dazzling halo of obsession reflected in the mirror of the woman's irises. It was too loud to make out any individual words, but Ria could see the woman mouthing her name at top volume. To Ria's surprise, the people around the woman had also taken notice of the attention Ria had paid her and made room for her to rush to the front, right against the barricade. Shrieking as the chariot passed her only a few yards away, she tore the diamond pendant from her neck and launched it at the chariot. Ria stuck out her hand and caught it, holding it high above her head like a trophy.
They loved her. She chose her favored few mostly by mistake, lingering on particularly outrageous outfits just slightly too long and getting caught staring, not that it mattered, since it seemed to provoke an instant elevation in status. Holding the railing with one hand, she held the necklace to her throat and did a slow full turn, spinning to showcase her outfit to the max. People screamed. Next to her, Hyperion cradled a bushel of flowers and personal effects, including gloves, more jewelry, and a rather out-of-place leather brogue. As they rolled closer to the most expensive seats, the balcony scaffolding and special viewing boxes built in and suspended over the track itself, they were treated to a rose petal shower from above. Someone tossed his hat down towards them. Another threw a whole handbag, but tragically missed. The handbag burst open when the wheels ran over it, and the effort was wasted.
Finally, the most coveted seats passed. Just a bit above them, there was a commentary booth built into an archway, where the tributes traveled just below Jack Cannon, the Master of Ceremonies, and Iris Whottenberg, the lead Hunger Games announcer as they broadcasted commentary live to the entire nation. Then the chariot slid into position at the foot of the Presidential Mansion, where President Mikhail stood in a crisp navy suit on the terrace. Ria watched on the jumbotrons as the other tributes made their grand entrance behind her. Once the final set, a pair dressed as coal miners, was ready, the speech began. It was much shorter than it had always felt when Ria had watched the televised festivities in past years.
Then the chariots slid away into the bowels of another elaborate transport loop used exclusively for the tributes. It felt like it took a long time to return to the original site of departure, but realistically, it was no worse than the original trip down the causeway. In hindsight, Ria knew that it had just felt quick, but now, ostensibly alone save for Hyperion, she was ready to untense.
"Fun, right?" Hyperion asked.
"It was amazing." Ria didn't have to pretend to be enamored by the Capitol. Its luxury had already softened her to her future as a Victor, and the idea of returning here for a month or two every year for the annual Games didn't seem so daunting.
"These people throw away everything. Do you think that was the lady's real purse?" Ria shrugged. How was she to know if Capitolites purchased special bags just to discard them to the ends of getting a favorite tribute's attention for a split second? It did seem like the sort of thing that might be commonplace in the Capitol, but who knew? Certainly not her.
"Maybe."
"Let's make a wager. How many courses are they gonna serve at dinner tonight?"
"What are we wagering?"
"Nothing. Just guessing for fun."
"Then what makes it a wager?"
"It just sounds better." It did, so Ria agreed. She had to admire that Hyperion was trying to be friends with her, even when she hadn't been totally receptive. Maybe the Academy conditioning ran deeper than she thought. There was really no reason to distrust him.
"I think eight."
"That many? I was gonna say six."
They turned out to both be wrong. After shedding their costumes and changing into loungewear, Glacé called them for dinner, where they were served twelve elaborate dishes. It wasn't long before Ria was conked out in a king size bed, head filled with dreams of training scores and lemon curd and girls named Bellona.
The first few days of the term were hard for Ria. Then she bumped into Corrie Vale, and things started looking up. Years ago, she had been an emergency foster. When a particularly vicious storm swept inland and left wreckage in its wake, a young Corrie was pulled from the rubble and spent three long weeks in the Sounder home until her parents were discovered alive. Corrie was a peppy blonde two years younger than Ria, from a well-off family further down the coast. They'd kept in touch ever since.
The Academy kept the age groups on different schedules, but after encountering her old friend by chance in the restroom, things began to improve for Ria. Corrie had begun training at the usual age, and had a good enough reputation to insulate Ria from the coldest of her classmates. Just as she'd learned when dealing with the Peacekeepers, connections were everything, and Corrie was a good person to be connected with. She was a popular and skilled trainee, and went to bat for Ria more than once. Slowly, Ria's social circle began to expand. Nobody wanted to be friends on a personal level, as was the Academy way, but it was preferable to eating lunch alone. In Ria's third year, when she was sixteen, she had gotten so good that her name started popping up in the Academy head's rambles. The truly talented trainees were unofficially designated seats in the first row during the classroom portion of training. There was no known process, but at some point, when someone broke into the elite few, a seat would magically vacate.
When Ria walked into the awful second story lecture hall to discover a coveted first row desk with an empty chair behind it, she searched the faces of the top performers next to it for a sign. One of the eighteen-year-old girls, who would eventually end up on the receiving end of an unnamed outlier's blade in the 399th Hunger Games, spoke Ria's name. She wasn't aware that this Academy idol so much as knew of her existence, but she understood. She took her seat, and the girl slipped her a note: Spar with us tomorrow! xoxo Jo 3
Ria had finally cracked the code. The next day, she was greeted by a cluster of popular older girls who welcomed her into the ranks of the elite. Two more years after that, Ria took her place as the popular older girl. Still widely distrusted, still sometimes despised, she had become the queen bee.
Now she had to learn how to socialize all over again, because the Games were different. In District Four, the trainees were hesitant to trust because the consequence for being wrong was death. In the Capitol, the tributes threw themselves into each other's arms because they were going to die either way.
Keep a stiff upper lip, and it might even be swift.
The Training Center was a massive room bathed in natural light. Bright sunshine streamed in through skylights and plate glass windows. The Head Trainer was a small woman named Hortensia who made it very clear that she expected absolute compliance with the rules, and that was fine by Ria. After listening to a short speech about the rules, the tributes were left to their own devices.
The Career Pack gathered briefly to discuss a group strategy, then dispersed as each member took up his weapon of choice and began to fall into the familiar motions of combat. They worked much and socialized little. Training at the Academy could be fun, but here, it was more performance than practice. A high training score could sway sponsors in Ria's favor, but a poor showing could turn them off entirely or get her ejected from the Career Pack. She spent some time at the hand to hand combat station, since her mace had a very short range, and also because hand to hand combat had been the foundation of her weapon technique. She was in excellent physical condition. Endurance training had prepared her for long days of hunting tributes, and she maintained her body to the highest standards so she could fight her way out of as many situations as possible. She wasn't a fast sprinter, but she was agile. Three days of training, good food, and review sessions with Bethany passed quickly and with little incident.
Then it was time for the private sessions. Ria had thought about what to do during hers. Ultimately, she settled on using her mace in a few different combat styles, demonstrating offensive and defensive moves, and sparing hand to hand with a trainer. The Head Gamemaker had an expert poker face, but Ria walked away feeling confident that she was going to score well.
That evening, gathered around the television in the District Four Suite, it was announced that Ria had received a ten, and Hyperion a nine. There were no surprises regarding the other tributes' scores, unlike the previous year, so Ria accepted congratulations without any anxiety. Things were borderline ho-hum, they were working out so smoothly.
She didn't prepare for her interview, fearing that a rehearsed performance would come across as fake and showy. Bethany shrugged her shoulders and okayed it, although Ria's stylist was ahborred. "We'll see how badly you screw up tonight," he said. "If only I hadn't wasted my best parade costume on you."
Fortunately, Ria did not screw up. She was bubbly to the point of ditziness, blithely recounting her experience at the Tribute Parade, describing her life back home, and being loudly enthused by everything new, shiny, and Capitolite. Jack Cannon gave her softball questions and played off of her answers beautifully, and the casual viewer came away even more impressed by Ria, who didn't require an arrogant, showy angle to capture attention. Her talent spoke for Pre-Games had come and gone in a flash, and Ria was eager to get in the arena. She got herself to bed early, sang in the shower, and told herself that tomorrow would be the first day of her new life.
It was, but not in the way she had hoped.
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