Our train arrives in the Capitol to much fanfare. The train station is packed with spectators as we step out for the first time, and the streets are flooded with people as a luxurious horse-drawn taxi leads us through the city. I'm shocked at how excited these people are to see us; we're all just ordinary kids from the poorest stretches of Panem, and now we're suddenly celebrities. All because we were unlucky enough to have our names pulled at the Reapings.
Not all of us are ordinary kids, though. I have to remind myself of that already. The girls from Two are celebrities in their own right just from their relation to last year's Victor, Camilla Russo.
When we arrive at the Training Center, we barely have time to breathe before we're whisked off by Capitol attendants. I'm brought to a long, dimly lit room, and what I endure for the next hour can only be described as pure hell.
I've never felt so vulnerable in my life. Never have I been so aggressively, poked, prodded, and plucked; I feel naked, not just physically but mentally. If this is bad, though, I can only imagine how bad the actual Games are going to be.
Now, I'm seated with my own stylist. Lavinia, she said her name was; she's a lively woman, and although she has three assistants, she's so overbearing that they barely do any of the work. To my relief, Lavinia's allowed me to wear a bathrobe while she continues to 'perfect my look'.
I stare into the mirror as the three brightly dressed men work around me. I've always been too busy in my life to worry about my own appearance, but I've suddenly become painfully aware of it, and a pit has started to form in my stomach. Do I look as pretty as the other girls? Will I stand out from the others, or am I just another generic face in the crowd?
"Just a trim down to the shoulders," Lavinia orders one of her assistants. "Let me take a good look at this outfit…"
The man pulls at my hair gently before grabbing a pair of sharp scissors. I bite my lip - my hair has always been something that I've been proud of, and it has always been hard for me to let it be cut like this - but I don't say anything. I stay silent, because Lavinia knows best. If there's one thing I'm sure of right now, it's that these people know what they're doing. If I can't trust Lavinia - or Simon, for that matter - I won't stand a chance. I don't know how these people want me to look, but whatever it is that I need to do, I will do it. If I need to shave my head, I will.
Lavinia's assistant snips carefully at my hair, his eyes narrowing with focus. His eyelashes are dyed pink just like his hair; both match his carefully tailored clothes. Next to him, another man dressed in all blue helps by holding some of my hair out of the way.
The man in pink finishes his job, brushing my shoulders clean. I don't like what I see - he's cut my hair into a short bob, and it makes me look like a child - but I keep my mouth shut.
"Alright, this should do," Lavinia says, returning with a sparkly heeled shoe. "Oh, Marco!"
Lavinia shoves the shoes into the blue man's hands, reaching for my hair and running her hair through it. "I said down to the shoulders," she says, frustrated. "This is far too short!"
Marco mumbles an apology, and Lavinia just shakes her head. "It's fine," she huffs. "Doesn't matter anyway. Come on, dear, let's get you into your outfit."
I'm so taken aback by Lavinia's comment that it takes me a few seconds to stand. Doesn't matter anyway. I can tell what she really means - it doesn't matter that Marco's cut my hair too short, because nobody will care anyway. If I don't look perfect, it won't matter, because I'm just the girl from Five. Nobody will notice.
Lavinia slips me into my outfit - it's a silvery jumpsuit with lightning bolts running down the sides. Yellow streamers flow down the back; I think they're supposed to be lightning bolts, but honestly, I'm not sure. The designers for Five have stuck with a lightning theme for the last few years, but I'm not sure why. I wouldn't be surprised if they genuinely thought that District Five provided the Capitol with power from lightning. I choose not to tell Lavinia the truth.
Lavinia sends me on my way, and one of her assistants brings me down a long hallway to the chariots. Already, some of the other tributes have arrived, and I can't help but examine them as I pass. This is the first time that I realize that there are so many other competitors - I didn't watch the Reapings, after all. Now I'm starting to regret that decision.
The two boys from One are already in their chariot, decorated in glittering suits that appear to be made of crystals. I remember their names from the Reaping - Trent and Midas. I don't know which of them is older - Midas is much taller and brawnier than Trent, but Trent has a more mature demeanor about him that makes me feel like he's the older brother.
Behind them, the District Two chariot is still empty. Their stylists must be agonizing over every detail to ensure that they look perfect. I sigh as I follow Lavinia's assistant down the line of chariots.
Finally, we reach our chariot. We're in the middle of the procession, the perfect place to blend in and be forgotten.
Damien is already in the chariot, and he glances down at me as I climb onto the platform. He's dressed in a matching outfit; it looks like an exact replica. I can't believe that the stylists didn't even bother to change our outfits a little bit to make them unique.
"How was everything?" Damien asks, turning to face me; all the anger from the last twenty-four hours is completely gone from his voice. I stare at him, trying to process if he's genuinely speaking to me or not, but his eyes flicker to the chariot ahead of us.
I follow his gaze to see the two District Four tributes. A small boy, still practically a child, is watching us, but after we make eye contact, he quickly turns back around. The girl next to him looks like she could viably be his mother; she must be eighteen, and there's no way that the boy is any older than twelve.
Suddenly, everything makes sense. Damien's only talking to me because of what Simon told us. We have to convince the other tributes that we're close, or we'll be at a serious disadvantage. Part of me is hurt that it took Simon's advice to force Damien to talk to me, but I'm just glad to have made some progress.
"It was good," I say with a forced smile. "I hate these outfits, though."
Damien glances around before turning back to me. Ahead of us, the District Two girls have finally arrived, and they struggle to climb onto the chariot in their ornate outfits.
"We need to do something to get their attention," Damien says with a gleam in his eye that I haven't seen in two years. "Nobody's going to be looking at us, especially not dressed like this. We need to do something that'll get everyone talking."
Even though I agree with Damien, my heart sinks, because I know where this is going. The look on Damien's face is familiar, and I know why - Damien always used to get himself in trouble when we were kids, and it was always because of things like this.
"We need to do what Simon told us to do," I beg him. Simon told us to smile and wave, and that's what we're going to do. At least it will make us look charismatic and approachable to the audience. If we want to capture anyone's attention, we can try to do that at the interviews. "We can't piss the Gamemakers off, Damien," I say. "That's the last thing we need right now."
"We're going to die anyway, Luna," Damien says hotly. "We might as well take advantage of the opportunities we have while we're still here. I'm not breaking any rules, all I'm going to do is–"
"Don't tell me," I interrupt. "I don't want to know, Damien. Don't involve me in this."
Damien looks at me for a second, but he shrugs, turning his gaze to the chariots ahead of us. Finally, the Panem anthem begins to play, and chariots begin to move.
Ahead of us, the girl from Four reaches down and squeezes her brother's hand. He's shaking - I would be, too, if I had to go through all of this as a twelve-year-old. I'm only sixteen, but those four years make a big difference.
The first chariots pass under the main archway and into view of the audience, and the crowd roars. District One turns out of sight, followed by District Two.
I hear a noise next to me, and I turn to look at Damien. Well, I expect to see Damien, but all I see is empty space. Damien is gone.
My heart plunges into my stomach. I look down at my feet, and I could scream.
"Damien!" I hiss. "What are you doing!"
Damien is crouched on the ground next to me. All he does is grin. "Smile and wave," he says, and then we're under the archway.
I can barely throw on my smile in time for the audience. I try my best to act like nothing is wrong, but my mind is in crisis mode. Damien is going to get us killed for this.
Damien's plan is stupid, but it works; I can see that the crowd is watching us. Many of them look confused, pointing at me and talking amongst themselves.
"Where is the boy," they're probably asking each other. I'm the only one in the parade without a partner. Part of me is relieved that it's working - I just smile and pretend that nothing is out of the ordinary.
Finally, we reach the end of the runway. President Snow is watching the chariots as they approach him, but I can tell that his eyes are on us, and he doesn't look happy.
"Get up!" I hiss at Damien, and he quickly stands as our chariot comes to a stop below Snow; at Damien's sudden appearance, the crowd reaches a roar. The other chariots come to a stop behind us as the last notes of the Panem anthem play.
Snow approaches his microphone, and the audience obediently quiets to a murmur.
"Welcome," he says, his voice echoing around the chamber. "These Opening Ceremonies mark the beginning of the 117th Annual Hunger Games."
Still, Snow's eyes are trained on Damien. Is he trying to send him a message? If so, it's the same message I'm trying to send - if Damien doesn't calm down, he's going to get us both killed.
"This year's Games are no ordinary Games," Snow reminds us. "Among our tributes are twelve pairs of siblings. These siblings arrive today as symbols of love, compassion, and camaraderie that we should all strive to be. Tributes, we welcome you all to the Capitol, and we thank you for your sacrifice."
The crowd goes wild; from the outside, I can tell why they would be so excited to see this twist play out in the Games. As a tribute, however, no words can describe how horrible this situation is. I'm sure we won't all be symbols of love and compassion when we have to kill each other.
Finally, Snow looks away from Damien and me, stepping away from the microphone to return to his seat. The Panem anthem resumes, and our chariot begins to move again as we follow the others out.