Thump. Thump. Thump.

My feet pounded furiously against the treadmill as I ran. My legs ached but I refused to stop or change the setting. I would run until I couldn't run anymore.

"Delia!" someone called from across the room. I didn't bother responding. I was so absorbed in my workout that the voice barely registered, and I didn't feel like having a conversation. I was so socially worn out I didn't think I could manage a proper greeting.

But they called my name again and someone's hand came down on the treadmill's settings, slowing my speed. I hopped off and bounced on the balls of my feet, glaring at my coach.

"Alright, out with it," Coach Jensen snapped. "What's bothering you?"

"Nothing," I lied, looking everywhere but at her. "I'm fine. I just… I don't want to talk right now."

"Well, being fine isn't an excuse to run my equipment at a million miles per hour and wear it out. So tell me what's wrong or you have to leave early."

I grit my teeth. Leaving early meant getting home early and being alone with my dad and making small talk with him and having to tell him about school and not being alone until my mom got home… and I really didn't want to do any of that.

"Someone called me the r-word today," I said quietly. I kept my gaze on the treadmill, refusing to make eye contact with Coach Jensen.

"Who?" she demanded. My fists clenched and I fought the urge to scream.

"Nikki."

Then we were both quiet. I finally worked up the nerve to meet her eyes and I was shocked to see how angry she looked. Coach Jensen was hard to read. She was stoic and strict and almost never smiled. I was used to her apathy by now and it didn't bother me anymore. This expression of anger was new.

"Thank you for telling me," she said. "I will report this incident to the school."

"No!' I gasped. "Don't!" Coach Jensen gave me an incredulous look.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want it to be a big deal," I mumbled.

"Bullying is a big deal," my coach insisted. "And I won't allow it. Not at my gym, and not on my team."

"Nikki will be so mad," I whispered, barely holding back the panic in my voice.

"Yes, she probably will be," Coach Jensen agreed. Then she sighed.

"Delia, look at me." Slowly, I did. I winced when our eyes met but didn't break contact. "You need to start caring a lot less about what other people think of you. You're you, for worse or for better. Own it."

"I'm trying," I protested. "But nobody likes me when I'm me. I have to mask and play pretend and it doesn't even help that much."

"I like you," my coach said. "You're one of my star athletes and I enjoy your company. Don't let assholes like Nikki stop you from being yourself. Because that's one of the most powerful things you can be."

She gave me a firm nod before gesturing to the treadmill.

"You still have ten minutes left. Lower the setting though, or you're buying the replacement."

"Yes, coach," I said quietly.

By the time I made it home, my head was throbbing with conflicting emotions. The sweat on my skin was itching and I knew I had to shower, but the thought of the droplets of water pounding on my skin made me want to scream.

I put my bike in the garage and went inside, listening for the sound of my parents. I could hear someone in the kitchen so I slowed my steps, moving as quietly as I could. Somehow, I made it upstairs without alerting them to my presence.

I was almost to my room when my dad's office door swung open. I froze in place, hand still reaching for my doorknob.

"Hello Delia," he said when he saw me. "How was school?"

"Fine," I mumbled.

"Did you get your test back?"

"No, not yet," I lied. "I need to take a shower."

"Yes, fine," he agreed. "But I want to talk about your academic performance tonight."

"Sounds like a great way to ruin dinner," I snapped before darting into my room to cut off his reply.

I showered as quickly as I could before changing into comfortable leggings and a hoodie. At school we had to wear uniforms and I absolutely despised the way the skirt felt against my thighs. Even shorts tended to bother me. Leggings were my safe clothes.

I could hear my parents having a heated discussion downstairs and I frowned. I would absorb their frustration whether I wanted to or not, which meant tonight would be a tense one. And that was the last thing I wanted.

But I put on the bravest face I could and went downstairs to face them. Three bowls of soup were on the table and my parents were sitting across from each other. I took my seat and picked up my spoon.

"How was work?" I asked my mom, hoping to divert the conversation I was dreading.

"Busy," she said. "We're training a new employee and he's not catching on as quickly as I'd hoped."

"He'll get it, I'm sure," my dad said. "Now Delia, I wanted to ask about your math class. Your last report card was… underwhelming, to say the least. I don't want your grades to keep slipping."

I forcefully set down my spoon.

"My grades are not slipping and I would prefer to talk about something else."

"Honey, you know how Delia feels about this topic…" my mom said gently, reaching for my dad's hand. He scoffed.

"Maggie, we can't let her avoid every hard conversation! She'll never learn!"

"There's a difference between an interrogation and a conversation," my mom replied evenly. "Give her some breathing room. You know school is hard for her."

"Only because she doesn't apply herself."

"You think I don't apply myself?" I snapped. My dad sighed.

"Delia, you have the poorest grades I have ever seen as a teacher."

"Dad, you have the smallest amount of parental compassion I have ever seen as a daughter."

My dad's cheek twitched; a sign that he was really angry. But before he could start yelling, my mom jumped in.

"David, she's autistic. She processes differently. We're looking into getting her a tutor, but grades aren't the only thing that matters."

"She'll never get a good job if she can't do basic math," he growled.

"Oh, I can do basic math," I yelled. "In fact, I'm going to subtract myself from this equation right now."

I shoved my bowl away and stood up.

"Goodnight," I said firmly. "If you come into my room, I will ignore you." Then I turned and fled up the stairs, no longer able to keep my tears at bay.

Hi all! Welcome to Beyond Our Differences, my version of the 74th Hunger Games. I haven't reached this point in my universe, but I'm excited to share Delia's story. This story is spoiler-free for LMTR and EE, and will only reference characters from completed stories. And it's a partial SYOT! I'm accepting tributes for every district except for 3, but they will not have POVs. Delia will see and interact with them though. The limit is three tributes per person and the details can all be found on my profile. Thank you for reading, thank you for submitting, and please leave a review! Delia is a character that is very near and dear to my heart, and I hope you all will come to love her as much as I do.

Have a nice day, be kind to each other, and never stop reading!

- Fiona