Johnny appears at breakfast, his hair sticking out in all directions. He's put too much gel in it. My fingers long to fix it for him, but he looks angry. I don't blame him.
Today Fabiana's colors are plum, a dark blue-green, and a deep mustard yellow. Perhaps she chose somber colors because of our impending deaths?
The Capitol is big and colorful and shiny. So are the people. I don't know how to describe them. They cheer and wave when they see us at the windows. It's like they don't know that we're going to kill each other.
We're escorted to our suite and get about ten minutes to ourselves. Overwhelmed, I go into my bathroom and just sit. All I can hear is the sound of my breathing. Then Fabiana ushers us off to get prepared by a team of stylists.
My "beauty team" tsks over my blunt hairstyle and make it wavy. They shave and bathe me and apply make-up. Then I'm put into a tribute uniform and guided into a studio. They take promotional photos and video of me. I try to look confident and dignified, my family will be seeing this media.
After all that, I get to meet my stylist, whom I've seen on TV. Battus is very tall and thin, she always wears flowing black robes. She purses her mouth in a way that suggests she's never been happy. I'm a little scared of her, yet I resist when she wants me to open my robe and show her my nude body.
Battus turns to the team. "Go find underwear that matches her skin tone. Bra and panties."
My shoulders relax. Last year's District 8 Tributes wore ribbons in the parade, leaving very little to the imagination. The boy was one of Georgette's crushes, and she hooted at the sight of him wearing so little. I don't want all of Panem seeing my private parts. Watching me be killed is bad enough.
A few hours later, I am wearing a shimmering toga encrusted with fake jewels, including some lighted gems that literally sparkle. My tiara also sparkles. My team has applied long glittery eyelashes that are very uncomfortable, with fake nails to match. I even have sparkling slippers. I try to be gracious to Battus, she's just doing her job. And she made sure I'm wearing underwear.
I examine the fabric of the toga. It probably came from Factory Four, they do many of the custom orders for the Capitol. It's woven from a very shiny thread. I really like it.
At the staging area, four Peacekeepers deliver an angry Johnny to Woof. He's wearing a shimmering tunic and crown to match mine. I observe that he's wearing handcuffs and is barefoot.
The stylists gather round us. One of the team tries to apply foundation to Johnny's face and he won't cooperate. A Peacekeeper holds his head firmly, so he can be prepared. It makes me sick.
The Peacekeepers next shackle Johnny to our chariot. I step up to his right.
"Oh dear," Battus sighs. "I've put so much work into making you pretty, and the cameras won't even be on you, because of him." She nods at Johnny, who scowls at her.
"I don't blame him," I say. "He's thirteen555555 years old. We're being sacrificed, here."
Johnny glances at me, surprised that anyone is showing him grace.
"Well, he won't get any sponsors with that attitude," Battus mutters, before swanning off.
Woof approaches Johnny. "Hey," he says gently. "I know it's not fair that you're here."
"It sure isn't," Johnny agrees.
"If you don't want to cooperate, that's your choice," Woof continues. "But this pretty young lady deserves to be seen by potential sponsors." He gestures towards me.
I smile at Johnny and squeeze one of his shoulders. "Johnny, you do what you want to do."
He looks down at his shackled hands. Woof sighs.
"Five minutes until the parade," a voice announces over the loudspeakers.
I look around the staging area. The District 7 tributes are dressed as trees, no surprise. Behind us, the District 9 tributes are wearing silver hoops to represent silos, with giant fake sheafs of golden wheat as their headdresses.
"Are you going to try?" Johnny asks me, in a low voice. "To win?"
"Yes," I reply. "I have to. My family needs me. I want to live."
"You don't look strong," he says.
"I can throw knives," I tell him. "And I can wiggle around the machines in the factory and fix them."
A pair of Tributes walk by us. They must be District 12 because they're covered in black glitter, head to toe. It's even caked in their hair. I spot small pieces of black cloth covering their genitals. The girl is ruining her makeup with her tears, as she covers her breasts with her hands. I hope she's wearing some kind of pasties, at least.
"Free one of my hands," Johnny says to Woof. "So I can wave."
"No," one of the Peacekeepers says.
"He can't escape with one hand free," Woof tells the man.
"He throws a mean punch," the Peacekeeper snaps back. "And he knows some rude gestures."
I laugh without thinking. "Sorry," I say.
"District 8 doesn't have a female Victor," Woof says. "Maybe Cynthia could be the first. She needs sponsors."
"It's Cecelia." I try to smile prettily at the Peacekeepers. I do need sponsors so I must be on camera.
"I'll pinch Johnny if he's inappropriate," I add.
"Her brother don't beat me up like the others do," Johnny adds. "I guess I owe him one, I'll wave so she can get on TV. But I ain't gonna smile."
Another of the Peacekeepers steps forward. "I'm from District 8." He nods at me. "You'd better win, Cecelia." He unshackles Johnny's left hand.
"Thank you sir," I say. "And thank you, Johnny."
Johnny shakes his hand to get the circulation moving, then he waves at the Peacekeepers, all five fingers being inoffensive.
"One minute until Parade," the loudspeaker squawks.
The horse handlers step forward, as everyone else steps back.
We hear the far off anthem of Panem playing. I brace myself, putting both hands on the railing in front. Johnny places his left hand on it.
"Good luck!" Battus trills from the side.
Now I can hear a distant roar, as the first chariot moves out into the open. I grip the rail tighter. I don't want to be on display. I don't want to be here. I really want to go home. So I'm going to put up with all this bullshit and kill everyone and go home.
The handlers tug on the harnesses, and our horses start to move forward. Be nice. Get sponsors, I tell myself. Grandmother would want me to win.
When we burst out into the cool evening air, the crowd roars. I try to smile as I wave. The horses are moving fast and I feel unsteady. I glance at Johnny and he is waving. He isn't smiling, but he isn't being rude.
"Cecelia!"
I turn my head to the right, trying to see who yelled out my name. There are so many people! So many colors and feathers and hats and hairstyles! The people are waving at me, calling out my name, and it's overwhelming. I smile and call out, "Thank you!" I wave wildly to the people on both sides of the parade. Johnny looks carried away. He's smiling and waving now.
The horses are well-trained and stop when commanded, by a handler off to the side. President Snow appears and makes his usual speech about how we're going to be murdered for the Capitol's enjoyment - I mean, how noble and courageous we are, before we're murdered for the Capitol's enjoyment. Welcome to the 60th Hunger Games!
The crowd cheers as the horses move forward into another staging area. Here, I disembark.
I look around at the other tributes. The poor girl from 12 still has her arms crossed in front of her chest. The boy from 12 says something to her, and she stands directly behind him, clutching his forearms, so that nobody can see her breasts.
A group of Peacekeepers approach our chariot, joined by Woof. He goes to Johnny.
"Can we unshackle you with the expectation that you won't fight someone or escape?" Woof asks, genially.
"I'm hungry," Johnny replies. "Point me at the food and I'll eat."
Woof turns to the Peacekeepers. The one from District 8 steps forward and unshackles Johnny's right arm and his feet.
Woof lets Johnny shake out his limbs, then drapes a friendly but firm arm around the boy's shoulders. "Let's go to our suite, Jerry."
"My name's Johnny."
"Right."
The Training Center is grand. There's so much to see, as Woof guides us to the elevators and the eighth floor. Fabiana and our teams are waiting in our suite, with a fully laden table in front of us. Johnny and I both lunge at the food.
Woof chuckles and pulls up a seat. Fabiana shrugs and sits down with the others.
"Sweet girl, you were perfection in the Parade," she tells me. "You have such a pretty smile!"
I shrug as I reach for a platter of chicken with cheese melted on top. "Gotta get the sponsors."
Fabiana then looks at Johnny. "Thank you for waving."
He grunts and continues shoving bread into his mouth.
"I want to talk to you about tomorrow," Woof says. "You should each learn a new weapon. You don't know what will be available in the Arena."
I nod, pausing to peel off my eyelashes. They're so long that they're touching my food.
"What survival skills do you have?"
I pause. "What do you mean?"
Woof looks serious. "If you were dropped in the wilderness tomorrow, without any tools or gear, how long would you survive?"
"I can run fast," I said, between bites. "I can climb."
"I can punch," Johnny mumbles.