Thinking back to the days I used to outline my fics with a chapter name and nothing else, just hoping I would remember what that name meant when I got to it. I have grown a tiny bit since then.

Also, friendly reminder. This fic has been finished since May and I am just uploading it now. I'm editing for grammar and clarity but NOT changing anything structural. Just an FYI.

Katniss

Snarling at Gale doesn't really make me feel any better. Will I ever learn? I slink into bed- Storm is nowhere to be seen, but that's not my problem- and try to sleep. My mind is wide awake, but my long day and skipped meals are catching up to me. After a few minutes of tossing and turning, I drift into sleep. The last thing I remember thinking is how strange it is to not be keeping watch anymore.

I wake up to the blaring of an alarm- an alarm clock, to be specific, a luxury I never could have afforded in District Twelve. It doesn't feel like a luxury now. It feels like a punishment.

"Fuuuuuuuuck," Storm groans, covering her head with her pillow. I doubt it does much good- the pillows in District Thirteen have about as much substance as tissue paper.

I blink the sleep from my eyes and sit up in bed. How strange- and arguably unpleasant it is- to wake up and not be able to see the sun. I'm disoriented without it. The clock states that it is six in the morning- I slept for almost ten hours. My body seems unaware of that, still heavy and wracked with exhaustion.

I think the incessant beeping will drive me mad before tiredness does. I leave my bed, feeling my every bone and muscle protest even the mildest exertion, and press buttons on the wall clock until it goes silent. "I didn't realize we'd have a wake-up call."

"Turquoise warned me about that," Storm admits grudgingly. She still has the pillow over her head. "They're pretty strict here. Obviously. Everyone has to be an early riser."

I am naturally an early riser. On a different day, the alarm wouldn't have bothered me, but today, I feel battered and bruised from the past few days' events. A day off would have been deserved.

A day off from what, exactly, I do not know. I've made very little effort to understand my surroundings (I do not intend to start now) and I really don't know what's expected of me while I'm here.

"When did you talk to Turquoise?" I ask.

Storm looks smug. "I found her after the announcement last night. I assume you took off like a frightened rabbit."

I ignore the jab. I know Storm will say and do whatever she can to get a rise out of me, and there's no reason to fuel her fire. "I went to bed early. Were the others there too?"

"Nolan was. And H," Storm adds, with visible distaste. "Your lover boy was nowhere to be seen. I doubt he's having any more fun than you are."

I duck my head, not really of embarrassment, but of guilt. Peeta. I've hardly thought of him since we got to District Thirteen, and he is even more alone here than I am. Our "star-crossed lovers" image might be a ruse, but our friendship is not. I hope he's doing better than he was when I last saw him.

"We should get going," says Storm, finally getting up and stretching. "I don't want to miss breakfast."

My instinct is to disagree with her, but the rumbling in my stomach is undeniable. I can't remember how long it's been since I've eaten. District Thirteen's food might not seem very appealing, but calories are calories.

I splash some water on my face and re-braid my hair. I still look far from put together, but it at least makes me feel a little cleaner. By that time, Storm is banging on the door and yelling at me to let her have a turn in the bathroom, so I figure I'll deal with the rest of my appearance later.

As much as I think we'd both prefer to act like we don't know each other, Storm and I walk to the cafeteria together. Before they allow us in to eat, we must each place an arm under a laser that imprints us both with a daily schedule in some special kind of ink. The whole thing is kind of horrifying to me. Storm would never admit to something bothering her, lest she be perceived as weak, but I assume it bothers her all the same.

The portions are meager and the food unimpressive- but like I said, calories are calories. We take our trays and look around the room, which suddenly seems very unwelcoming. For a moment, I am back in District Twelve, and it's the first day of school, and I have no one to sit with at lunch.

Fortunately, that feeling of despair doesn't last long. I spot Turquoise across the room, waving madly with a big grin on her face. I can't share her joy, but I'm glad to see her all the same. As we cross the room to meet her, I realize it's not just her- Peeta is there, and Nolan and Thunder and all of them.

I'm not really sure how to act around them anymore. Our dynamic has changed drastically- or at least, I assume it has. The last time I saw them, back when we were all in the arena, we had been allies, but a tentative sort of allies. We knew we would eventually turn on each other, and we weren't far from that point when Turquoise made her move. I don't really know how to treat someone you had once planned on fighting to the death. Eventually I decide you probably just don't talk about it.

"I'm glad you guys made it!" Turquoise says when Storm and I sit down at the bleak cafeteria tables. I wait for her to follow that with something weird, but it never comes. "It's just like old times- but, you know, better."

"The food isn't way better," Thunder grumbles quietly, picking at his meal with a fork. I have yet to take a bite, but I'm still inclined to agree with him. The eggs, toasted bread, and thin strips of dried meat on our trays just look sad. I'd take roasted fish and apples over this any day of the week.

"It's not good, but I'd advise you to finish it all the same," H tells us. Proving she takes her own advice, her breakfast is already almost gone. "Wasting food is highly frowned upon here. And if you decide you're hungry later…"

"You're shit outta luck," Nolan finishes for her.

Well, that settles it then. I'm eating this. Somewhat hesitantly, as if it might bite me back, I try the toast. It's bland, but not actually off-putting. The whole sensation is strange to me. The only problem I've had with food before is that we never had enough of it, not that it was bad. Good thing I'm not a picky eater.

Peeta doesn't complain either; I know his meals at home mostly consisted of either goods that didn't turn out well enough to sell in the bakery or bread that had gone stale. He has no cause to be picky, either, even though I'm sure he could make much better toast if he was the one in the kitchen. Storm, though. Storm lets us know that this is not up to her standards.

"What do you have next?" Turquoise asks me, once she's finished her meal. Again, I wait for the other shoe to drop- it always does eventually, with her- but it never comes.

"Huh? Like my schedule?" In truth, I haven't looked at it since it was printed onto me. I turn my arm over and read the black script. "It says…homeroom? What's that mean?"

"Hey, I have that too!" says Peeta.

"Me too," says Storm. She doesn't sound thrilled about that prospect. She turns to Turquoise. "What do you have?"

Turquoise consults her arm. "Hmm…I have firearms training, followed by a meeting in Command and search and rescue drills. Nolan?"

He says more or less the same. I'm not listening; I'm scanning my arm and being horrified by the contents. "Intermediate Mathematics? English Grammar? We have to go to school?"

Storm sounds equally horrified, and this time, I don't think it's just because we are assigned to do things together. "No way. Absolutely not. I've put up with a lot of bullshit, but I draw the line at going back to school."

"That's where you draw the line?" Nolan asks, somewhat disbelievingly.

"I can't believe you guys are in soldier training and we have to learn math!" I exclaim. I know I sound like a child; I can't help it. Do I want to further my education? Yes. Do I want to do it right now? No. We're here as rebels; we're supposed to be rebelling, not going about mundane tasks like this is just going to be our life from now on.

"Well, how old are you?" asks H.

"Seventeen," I reply.

Peeta nods along with me and Storm mutters, "sixteen" like it's some kind of dirty secret.

"Well, I'm eighteen," says H. Nolan, Thunder, and Turquoise all are too. "You must be considered too young for military training."

My scowl deepens. "Too young to actually be part of the rebellion, but old enough to be thrown into a fight to the death?"

"I didn't say it was fair," H huffs, in a way I find a little bit condescending. "You'd really think they'd make an exception, actually."

"Well, obviously they didn't," I snap.

"C'mon, Katniss, it won't be all bad," Peeta tries. "Just think of how nice it'll be to learn about something other than coal!"

Ordinarily I find Peeta's unfailing optimism endearing, but I'm really not seeing the bright side on this one.

"I'd rather learn about coal than grammar," Storm sneers. "It's not fair! We've been through just as much as you have! We have every right to train and fight with you!"

Nolan just gives her a look. He's different outside of the arena. "What happened to "I'm not a rebel", Storm?"

"I'm still not a rebel," she declares, shoving her breakfast tray across the table. A strange form of protest that will do her little good. "But, come on, really? School? I haven't done anything as dull as school in years, and I'm not going!"

"You're what?" I repeat, alarmed. She sounds really serious. I don't want to go back to school, either, but I hadn't yet considered not going. What happens to those who rebel against the rebels?

"I'm not going!" Storm repeats, sounding proud of it now. "I mean, they can't make me. What are they gonna do- kick me out? Honestly, I'd take it!"

"I think it's more likely you'll get kitchen duty," Turquoise says with a shrug. "But it's your call."

I can tell Storm's already made up her mind. She has that smirk on her face that typically comes with defiance.

Honestly, I'm considering it as well. School seems pointless and consequences seem minimal. I don't know what I would do instead, but the idea of simply not doing school is so appealing…

I think Peeta can tell I'm wavering. He nudges me with his elbow. "C'mon, Katniss. You should at least give it a try. Maybe it'll be better than you think."

I heave a great sigh. In truth, I can't say no to Peeta, and like Storm, I haven't decided if I'm a rebel or not yet. District Thirteen's military is probably not the right place for me anyway. "Oh, alright. I'll go- but just for a little while!"

That answer seems to satisfy Peeta. He gives me a big, genuine smile before going back to his dismal meal. Nolan starts talking about something else, and we eat the rest of our meals in peace.

A buzzer goes off at seven o'clock sharp, indicating that our mealtime is up. The older four head to the training grounds- Turquoise seems to know exactly where everything is- and Storm storms back to our room. I hope it's not completely trashed whenever I get back there. I can just see her tossing all the clothes out of the dressers and ripping the clock out of the wall.

That leaves Peeta and I on our own, with the goal of finding "homeroom". He has no idea where to start. I have a dim memory from yesterday of Effie pointing out the corridor that housed most of the schoolrooms, but that's not much to go on, especially when every hallway and every floor of this place looks the same. I am reminded of how much I hate being underground.

"Well, let's go this way," I say eventually, although I'm really pulling these directions out of my ass. I don't want to ask somebody for directions. I'm sure we'd be looked down on for that, and I'm not wired for it anyway. I'd rather we find our own way, however long it might take.

The hallway I lead us down is empty, which probably indicates that we are not going the right way. I keep following it anyway. Eventually we'll have to stumble across something that makes sense, and it's nice to have a moment- regardless of circumstances- to be alone with Peeta. My closest friend, my truest ally. The only person who might understand.

Oddly enough, I can't think of what to say to him, aside from "turn right" or "next left". Things were just starting to make sense between us, and now they've gone off the rails again. I was getting used to our ruse of a love story, to the way life worked in the arena, and now we're in uncharted territory again. I can't bring myself to miss those things- the love story or the arena- but there is something to be said for familiarity.

Peeta is the first to attempt making conversation. "You're rooming with Storm?"

Involuntarily, I think I make a face. "Yeah. Not my idea. Who are you with?"

"No one." Peeta actually looks a little sad about this. "Thunder and Nolan are bunking together, but I guess they didn't have anybody for me."

"Trust me, you got lucky. You could've ended up with Haymitch."

Now Peeta's the one making faces. He shudders at the very thought of sharing a room with our mentor. "Well…I guess I'm glad it didn't come to that. He might be more pleasant when he's sober, though."

I've never seen Haymitch sober before, but I don't share Peeta's optimism. I bet he's worse.

I open and shut my mouth a couple times before I decide not to reply. I pretend I'm just distracted by the maze that is District Thirteen, but reality is much more complicated.

It's Peeta. We're not supposed to make small talk about the town drunk and housing arrangements. I long for the natural closeness we once shared, although really that was more than a year ago now. I might be a stranger in a strange land right now but Peeta and I should not be strangers. That's not how it's supposed to work.

Unable to help myself, I sneak a glance at him while he's busy reading the labels on one of the many doors we've passed. In some ways, he still looks exactly like the boy I grew up with, but he's different, too. Life has changed him, hardened his boyish features and drained some of the light behind his eyes.

The mop of wheat-colored hair, that's the same. He's thinner than he was before the Games, but that's to be expected. Even though we only spent a few days in the arena, it took a toll on both of us.

I suddenly have another reason to hate District Thirteen's cold gray uniforms. They make the sunniest person I know look drab and dull. There's something truly wrong with that.

Impulsively, I bridge the gap between us and ruffle Peeta's golden-blonde curls. He looks back at me, startled- I think he's gotten used to being on his guard, too. "What's that for?"

I shrug. In truth, I don't know. "For old time's sake, I guess?"

"In that case…" As tradition dictates, he tugs on the end of my black braid, seemingly a little half-hearted. I chew on my lip, wondering why even the most ordinary of things feel wrong lately.

I realize I'm just staring at him. He's staring at me, too, and I wonder if that makes it okay but then I decide that it doesn't. I look away, avoiding those way-too-blue eyes, and come up with a distraction. "Oh! I think it's that way!"

It takes a while, and some trial and error, but I eventually get us to homeroom. We are late, another thing that's apparently highly frowned upon in District Thirteen. We are greeted by a harsh teacher with pursed lips and a death glare that could rival Storm's.

Storm, who I finally understand- this is exactly why she didn't want to attend classes. Peeta and I are treated exactly like everyone else, shuffled into a classroom with all eyes on us, judging silently. In some ways, I know, that's fairness. But Peeta and I aren't like everybody else- not in District Thirteen, at least. We've lived through horrors these cave-dwellers could never understand.

Despite that- despite them knowing that- they are treating us like children. We have seen death and battle, and now we are being lectured on being late for class. It all seems ridiculously trivial to me, although Peeta is more upstanding about it than I.

It doesn't help that there are only a handful of other students in the class. They're all visibly younger than us, too, a small group of teenagers as quiet and mousy as their district. They regard Peeta and I with wary looks, as if at any moment we might turn on them as well.

I decide early on that I will not be going back to school.

I'm above walking out in the middle of class, but as soon as we're done with the torture known as "homeroom", I inform Peeta of my decision. He looks disappointed, but not surprised. "Are you sure, Katniss? What else do you even have to do?"

"I'm sure. And I have my books now." I gesture to the battered textbooks assigned to me. "Maybe I'll just read in my room for a while."

The disappointed look does not go away, not that I expected it to. "Alright, Katniss. I'll see you later, then?"

"Of course you will." I promise. Then I wrinkle my nose. "Good luck with math."

"Hey, I like math," he jokes, right before sobering up again. For a moment, I feel guilty for "abandoning" him, but the truth is, he made his choice just like I made mine.

Despite my earlier implication, I do not aim to read in my room for a while. I'm restless; those tiny dormitories are just as bad as a classroom. Wandering around sounds much better to me, whether I eventually end up with a destination or not.

I tuck my books under my arm and set off. People continue to look at me strangely- perhaps because I am going the wrong way, or perhaps because they recognize me from the Games- but a short glare is all it takes to get them off my back. These District Thirteen kids seem to have little to no backbone. They're no match for me, when I've dealt with so much worse.

My aimless wandering eventually leads me to the most pleasant part of District Thirteen I've seen so far: a small library on one of the upper floors, light and airy enough you could almost imagine it's aboveground. There aren't many books there- apparently most of District Thirteen's media is composed of digital files, which would have been an obscene luxury in my homeland- but there are a few, some even older and more battered than my textbooks. Most importantly, there are no people, besides the one woman manning the front desk.

I peruse the books for a while but don't find anything that interests me, aside from a tome on the history of Panem. I'd be curious to read it, but it's so close to falling apart that I don't dare take it off the shelf. I don't want to accidentally destroy something on my first day here. Skipping my classes is rebellion enough.

Instead, I take a seat on one of the austere wooden chairs- almost everything here is made of metal; it's rare to see wood- and flip through my textbooks. They're nothing like the schoolbooks we had at home, which seemed to only cover two topics: coal and the glory of the Capitol. We were given a basic understanding of math and reading, but we were never allotted books specific to the subjects. I marvel at them now, turning the worn pages with more care than I'd give most anything else.

Any sound in the otherwise-silent library goes off like a gunshot. I'm even self-conscious of my quiet page-turning, so of course I notice when somebody opens the tall door at the front of the room. At first, I'm just surprised someone else has decided to take refuge in this secluded place, and then I'm surprised that it's someone I know. Turquoise, in all her skinny, blonde glory, followed by another girl who's even blonder and skinnier.

Turquoise spots me right away and rushes to sit down next to me. The smaller girl comes too. "What are you doing here?" I can't help but ask, shutting my textbook as if I'm embarrassed by its contents. "Are you skipping out too?"

"No, our meeting ended early." She shakes her head, amused. "I have time before search and rescue. We thought we'd take a break here. This is my sister, by the way."

They certainly look alike. Same yellow-blonde hair (Turquoise has dyed blue streaks in hers) and cornflower-colored eyes, even the exact same nose. The younger girl- she can't hardly be older than Prim- wears glasses, and Turquoise has a number of scars (along with a tattoo) that make her uniquely her, but aside from that, they really could be identical. Especially since we're all wearing the same stupid outfit.

"Daphne Morningstar," the girl says, reaching across the table to shake my hand.

I refuse the handshake. Effie would kill me for the lack of manners, but I'm angry. "Your sister? Why aren't you trapped in the Capitol with the rest of the tribute families?"

"I never went to the Capitol," Daphne answers, not shriveling even a little bit under my withering glare. "I left home as soon as Turquoise was reaped- well, you know, reaped." She does finger quotes here. "I walked for a long time, and they picked me up in a hovercraft. I've been in District Thirteen since before the Games started."

"Oh." I hadn't expected there to be a reasonable explanation. Now I can accept the handshake. "Katniss Everdeen."

"Don't worry, I know who you are," she says mirthfully. "I think everyone in the world knows who you are."

"I was hoping you two would get along," Turquoise sighs, although I'm not exactly sure that's what's happening right now.

"I was hoping you would answer some questions," I say, turning it back on her.

She shrugs. "I'm an open book. Ask me anything."

I pause. "...it's not, like, classified or anything?"

"No, really, I can tell you whatever you want to know."

I just didn't think I'd get a "yes" that easily. I figure I'll just start at the beginning. "Is your name actually Turquoise?"

She stifles a laugh. "Yes, it really is. And my pet lizard's name is really James. But you'll find that the Turquoise you knew in the arena, and in the Capitol, is drastically different from the real thing."

I had figured as much. The sudden transition from human form of an intrusive thought to an important figure in the rebellion indicated that one of the personalities was most likely an act. "Why, though?"

Turquoise shrugs. "To keep suspicion off me. No one would expect that weird girl from District One to be a rebel insurgent, right?"

I pause. "...well, itworked on me. Why you?"

"Why not me?" she retorts, sounding like her former, wilder self for a moment. "No, there's a reason- I have the most experience, at least among people of reaping age. Daph and I grew up in the rebellion. Even once our parents were killed- by the Capitol, of course- we were devoted to the cause."

I vaguely remember her telling me her parents were dead before, but that was in the arena, and everything that happened there has to be taken with a grain of salt. Unless I ask, I can't be sure any given thing wasn't part of the rebels' storyline.

I can't blame them, though. I was acting too. I just had no idea about the bigger picture, what was really going on.

"And H and Nolan?"

"Rebels," Turquoise confirms. "Not as deep in it as me, but rebels. They could tell you their own story, I'm sure. I met them a few times before we were all reaped. They knew to follow my lead."

I flash back to the arena, even to our days of training. H had always gotten along with Turquoise unusually well. Nolan had been strangely willing to go along with her ideas. The dynamics of when we all argued and when we all agreed make much more sense now.

"And the reaping was rigged?" I ask, even though I've already been told that it was.

Turquoise nods, confirming it. "Yes…but not completely. Some of us- you, me, H, Nolan- were chosen for a reason. But the others? They were there by chance. Random names drawn, to prevent anyone from becoming suspicious."

"To be cannon fodder," I add flatly.

She winces, but then nods. "You know, we didn't want anyone to die. We did what we could to prevent it. You might not have noticed, but Nolan missed every shot he could get away with during the bloodbath. I kept Storm from going after the boy from Nine, when we got my spear. It seems awful, I know, but we genuinely made it into the least-deadly Hunger Games ever."

For once, I think before I speak. I count the dead tributes off on my fingers. Five in the bloodbath- when was the last time the bloodbath took less than ten tributes? One for taking Turquoise's electric spear, two by Storm's hand. Two more dead in the blizzard, and one by the mutated white wolves.

"I still feel bad, about the two from Five," Turquoise says in a low voice, before I can respond. "Storm didn't know…she thought she had to fight for her life. All of you did. But if we'd just tried harder to keep her in camp…if somebody had gone with her…I think about that all the time."

She straightens up a moment later. "But we knew there would be casualties. There was no way to avoid it completely. I only hope that our work with District Thirteen pays off, and we can honor their memories in the best possible way: by ending the Hunger Games entirely."

Her little speech does nothing to make me feel better, although it's not the deaths in the arena that are weighing on my mind. "Easy for you to say. Your life was never on the line. And your family is here, safe."

"My life was absolutely on the line." Turquoise could never be haughty, but she is close right now. "Anyone except H and Nolan had cause to kill me. You thought about it, didn't you?"

"I did," I reply flatly. There's no shame in the truth, and killing Turquoise crossed my mind more than once in the arena. It was what I thought I had to do to survive.

"And don't forget, I've lost two parents to the Capitol. Nolan lost a brother. Just because my sister is here with us doesn't mean my home life has been fine and dandy!"

I flinch at her tone, one I haven't heard her use before. Daphne looks uncomfortable as well, and she takes the liberty of changing the subject. Not to imply that she chooses a good one- she doesn't. "Katniss, aren't you supposed to be in school?"

I scoff, looking her tiny frame up and down. "Aren't you?"

Turquoise jumps in again, chest puffed out with pride. "She tested out of all of District Thirteen's classes. She's classified as an adult here, even though she's only fourteen!"

My eyes widen and I scowl. This pipsqueak is an adult and I am still a child. That seems wrong on every level, and I decide right then and there that I do not like Daphne, even though she's actually been perfectly nice to me so far.

Daphne looks a little embarrassed at being bragged on, but her tone comes out perfectly level. "I was top of my class back home. It's both an honor and a burden."

Yep, definitely don't like her.

At least I probably know more about coal than she does, I guess.

Three more Katniss chapters and then we get our other storyteller…I honestly got really comfortable writing Katniss, so it was weird to write for somebody else. If you hadn't noticed, I am not the most adaptable person in the world.