7.

After lunch on the third day, everyone lined up to be observed by the Gamemakers. And when it was over they would all be given a number which declared their worth to everyone watching. This number would either make them a good or bad investment in the eyes of sponsors.

They all stood in line in order of their district—boy, then girl—and it was like the reaping all over again: some were feeling anxious to the point that their stomachs were churning, others, like the Careers, were excited as if this was some kind of talent show that they'd been eagerly preparing for for months.

Alexandrite couldn't stand being sandwiched between Grant and those animals from Two with their chins held high, chests puffed out, not a doubt in their minds of how well they were going to do. Alexandrite decided to briefly look back at the tributes from Five who had inexplicably become her—not friends, she'd firmly decided, but her strictly situational allies. Those two, like everyone else here, could never be her friends, especially not when the buzzer went off in a matter of days. But she'd been desperate, and if she was really being honest, she was tired of living in fear and being alone here. It felt good to have people around her with the same goals, who seemed extremely competent and easy to talk to. The former applied to Latia, and the latter was definitely true of Wicker.

Then there was what Latia had said about them both being here because of treason charges, and the way her face had darkened when she'd talked about her parents, it had made Alexandrite's heart ache when she thought about how the last thing she had said to her own mother was to shut up. It was the last thing she had said to her whole family, actually. Had she even told them that she loved them? Weren't important moments in your life right before you were about to die supposed to be remembered with perfect clarity if they were so important?

Yesterday, when the three of them sat across from the district 9 girl, Maizie, she suddenly felt very stupid for giving away that information about Longwell. She thought that maybe she could have used that herself. But then she wouldn't know how to make a decent shelter, not as well as Latia, who seemed to be a natural survivalist, did. And she certainly wouldn't know that Inga was planning to stab her in the eye on the first day in the Arena because she didn't like the way that Alexandrite looked at her even though she could only count on one hand the number of times she'd even glanced in Inga's direction. And besides, given how little Maizie seemed to want to talk to them anyway, it was clear that Alexandrite wouldn't have been able to do this on her own. She'd already kind of burned a bridge with Maizie's district partner, so it was probably best that she tried not to screw this up. She needed the Fives' help.

The thing was, when they told Maizie that her mentor was the former head Gamemaker, she looked genuinely surprised. No one had told her this, apparently. Then once she got over the shock, she actually looked pissed. In other words, that lunch had turned out to be a waste of time. Well, at least Alexandrite had some company while she ate, which she hadn't realized was a luxury that she enjoyed. She hadn't realized it was a luxury at all.

The next day, despite her better judgment, Alexandrite decided to ask Maizie if she had spoken to her mentor and if Longwell had said anything about the Arena. Maizie had shaken her head and told her that Longwell's Arena plans really had been trashed, a final screw you to him for how he'd quit, or so he said, so there was really no point in dwelling on it or asking him—or her, for help.

Alexandrite wanted to accuse her of lying and press her for more information, but something about the way Maizie was looking at her told her that this wasn't the case. No, they wouldn't have a former Gamemaker—the former head Gamemaker—mentor a pair of tributes and give them that kind of unfair advantage. Or any advantage, really. It made sense that his games would be canceled, and they would start from scratch, however inconvenient it may have been for whoever had replaced Longwell. It was probably just going to be a free-for-all where they would hope half the tributes would die in the first thirty minutes to make up for the games that took weeks before Longwell got smart and created the ticking clock and poison gas to speed things up.

She told the Fives this and claimed that they were back to square one and all they could do was just go forward with the information that they had and hope for the best. The two of them had exchanged a glance with each other, nodded and then all three of them had separated, leaving Alexandrite alone, again. Had she said goodbye, nice knowing you this time, either?

Now, Wicker and Latia both looked lost in their own worlds, not noticing her glancing at them, so she looked forward and realized that Grant was no longer in front of her. When had he been called in? She crossed her arms, rubbing her own shoulders anxiously while she waited for her turn.

She'd spoken to Royal privately last night about what her skillset was, and it had been simple: she was fast, and she was relatively small, for a Career, at least. He'd nodded like he was thinking about it, but it was clear that he had no idea what to really do with that. How do you impress the Gamemakers with a game of hide and seek? According to Royal, you didn't. You impress them with real skill.

Alexandrite sat there after dinner thinking about it and tried to remember all the sports she'd played growing up. Her parents had allowed her to do that, at least. And every time she and the other kids played dodgeball; she had almost always been the last one standing because she was very hard to hit. That had been her one real claim to fame back in school, and it was something she'd always been proud of. That is until she heard some of the whispers from kids repeating what their parents told them about her and her family. That of course she had a talent for dodging things and people, just like the rest of them…

Alexandrite was called in. She exhaled and walked forward. At some point during training this morning she'd had an idea, a very last-minute idea about what she was going to do, and it was crazy and possibly very stupid. Those five words had pretty much defined her life lately, and really, what else did she have to lose now?

She cleared her throat and looked up at the Gamemakers, forcing herself to speak up so that they would be forced to hear her. "Hello. Alexandrite Tallis, District 1. Um…I'm not going to be using a weapon. Instead, I'm going to show you…I'm going to show you how hard I am to hit. And if I could please get one of the trainers to help me with this demonstration. Thank you…"

She spoke to the trainer, whispering in her ear about what her intentions were. The trainer's eyes had gone wide with surprise, but Alexandrite just insisted that they do it. So, there she stood on the other side of the room while the trainer stood in the middle quite a few feet away with what resembled a large gun that the peacekeepers used, only in here it was a tranquilizer gun.

"Ready?" the trainer called out to her.

Alexandrite cleared her throat and called back, "Ready."

"Alright," the trainer said, cocking her gun. "And go!"

Alexandrite started running towards the other side of the room, while watching the trainer—her current attacker—aim a gun at her. The trainer aimed, prepared to shoot, and Alexandrite saw her finger on the trigger as she began to fire, but she quickly ducked to the floor, just barely dodging the attack. Then she got back up and, again, just barely dodged another shot. This was the case the entire time she almost ran into the wall, placing her open palms on it, showing that it was a safe zone. She turned around and saw that she had done it. She'd actually managed to—

She felt a little funny. A little tired, like she'd been up all night and was finally starting to crash. Also, had something bit her? On her right shoulder to be specific. She reached back and felt what could only be a small dart sticking out of her shoulder. She quickly pulled it out like a tick off an animal and examined the tiny black cylinder the size of the top of her pinky with a tiny needle sticking out the top of it. How embarrassing. Though not as embarrassing as needing to be taken back to her apartment on a stretcher as she felt herself lose consciousness. Apparently, the other tributes had found that very funny.

Her district partner had scored an 8 for his skills with knives. She had scored a 6. She was told it would have been a 7 had she actually avoided getting hit at all. But still, not bad. Fifty percent, which was fitting, since 50/50 was a higher chance than what she thought she'd had before.

...

Nona decided to secretly pray before it was her turn to go inside. Not pray for her score to be high, she could do that all on her own. Grandfather had warned her against that sort of thing, asking for what you could get on your own, and he was right. It was a waste of everyone's time. You should only turn to the Old Gods when things are uncertain and out of your control. And at this moment, Nona was certain that she was not uncertain about anything.

She patted Servius on the shoulder encouragingly when it was his turn to go in and he smiled back at her. When he came back out, he smiled at her the same way and even gave her a thumbs up. He ended up getting a 9 for his ability in hand-to-hand combat.

She walked in and gave a gentle bow, looked up at the gamemakers and suddenly realized that here, in this room, these were the Gods who controlled everything. It made her momentarily nervous, but she was able to quickly brush that off and focus on what she was here to do, which was to impress. And of course, they would be impressed.

She asked for a trainer's help, a tall, broad-shouldered man, and then she grabbed two long swords and handed him one. They bowed to each other and began to duel. The agreed upon rule was the first person to tap the other person with the flat of their sword on any part of the body, won. And Nona had become well adept at swords ever since she was eleven years old. She'd been preparing for this moment her whole life and now it was time to show everyone what she could do.

Apparently, she'd impressed them since she'd had to be told that her time was up before either her or the trainer had the chance to win. She was covered in sweat and feeling very proud of herself as she bowed once more and was excused. And she definitely should have been proud. She scored a 10.

...

Latia hadn't told the truth about her circumstances. Like the fact that not only had she been taught to survive in the wilderness, "earth skills" her parents had called it, or that she had been forced to memorize a map of what had once been North America, otherwise known as Old Panem that her parents inexplicably had managed to hide without getting caught or punished by Peacekeepers. The truth was that even though she hadn't officially been charged with a crime, she had been questioned.

That first day in her cell, which at the time had been purposely kept pitch-dark, someone, a man, based on his voice, had come in, shined a light on her face, blinding her and asked her one question: "What do you know about what Dr. Clarke and Cinda Burns were working on?"

"What?" she'd asked, incredulous. Her parents had both worked as communications operators, it was how they'd met and where they'd been working since before Latia was born and had been working ever since. They were also weirdos who had weird hobbies like old, irrelevant geography and working on old radios. In fact, they would sit her down in their office at home and have her talk to people on the radio with them. Communicating with other districts, she'd learned, when she was just a little bit older, was what they had been doing, which was not in any way allowed.

Then one day they'd gotten a call that had deeply surprised them and decided to pack up all their things and burn all their maps, but not before making sure that Latia was able to draw that map from memory.

Latia had known all along why she was in there. The Capitol, like her crazy parents had always feared, had figured out about the secret radios' frequencies and were finally here to punish them for it. And if they had a room full of equipment in their house then there was no way that their daughter couldn't have known about it. That was why they had been killed. It had taken her two weeks of wondering why she hadn't been killed or released or why she hadn't received any news of their deaths, but there it was. And when she'd finally heard about it the way that she did from the person that she had…it had just been too much. It all hit her at once. It was amazing how well you could prepare yourself for something and still not be ready for it when it happened.

That had been their treason. That was why she was going into the Arena. Because people from different districts had had the nerve to talk to each other.

That had been why she'd been so eager to talk to the girl from District 1. A little act of rebellion, especially since her parents had rigged the games, rebels themselves in their own way. Rule breakers. Everyone here was a rule breaker. The products of rule breakers, all working together. She didn't really want to separate from Wicker or Alexandrite, but One had said it herself: they were all going to be enemies soon enough, they may as well cut the cord now.

Wicker's gymnastic skills and ability to run the gauntlets had earned him a 7. He'd come out and wished her luck, luck that she would definitely need. She'd nodded, her only real way of showing him solidarity with what little energy she had to give. The truth was that however annoying he was, she was actually starting to like him. He seemed like he was a genuinely kind person, and yes, a lot smarter than she had given him credit for.

She'd planned on going in there and showing off her survival skills, showing all the ways she could build a fire with just the objects nearby—which she could. But everytime she thought about doing something that would impress the gamemakers, her blood boiled. She thought of Therma's cold, unfeeling, scarred face, how winning the games hadn't done her any good, about Giles' insufferable curiosity over what happened to her parents and how thoroughly he was now investigating like he had some kind of personal stake in this. About all the days she spent locked away because no one had the backbone to just kill her already, or at least let her die with her family.

No, she wanted to do something. She wanted to show these people that she…what was she?

It was her turn. She looked up at them, gave all those vultures up there a cold stare and stood in the center of the room. Her voice steely, yet clear, she called up to them, "Latia Burns. I'm the girl someone chose from District 5. You're welcome, by the way, for the lights in here. That was us. Our hard work. Our labor. My parents. Who are dead now. They can't work for you anymore. Maybe soon I won't either. But I don't want to bore you with the details, you seem busy."

So, she got to work. For five minutes in rapid succession, she lit several fires using many different methods: char cloth on a piece of flint with a knife, creating friction against a piece of wood, a reflection, a bow, two rocks, ect. Then once she finished doing that, she stood up and admired her row of fires, made no attempt to put them out, held out her hands and declared, "I hope my death will be as entertaining as this was."

And without being dismissed, Latia walked out of the room. She ended up with a 5.

...

Patch's biggest fear, which he hadn't felt comfortable sharing with Woof, was that he would start coughing right there in front of the gamemakers and then that would be it, they'd give him a low score, maybe even a 1, just because he'd proven how weak he was, physically. Woof could sense that something was wrong and squeezed his shoulder, encouraging Patch to get it off his chest or it was going to eat away at him while he was in there, making him unable to 'perform' as Woof was calling it with a sardonic smile.

But Patch didn't say anything. He just glanced over at Inga, who was playing with the spoon between her fingers, since she wasn't allowed to have a fork or knife, and she eyed him with that evil smirk. Woof looked over and saw her, rolled his eyes and told Patch that he planned on coaching Patch as far away from her as possible. Some people wanted to be prepared separately anyway. Later in the evening, they did wind up going back to Patch's room to talk about his skills and when he told Woof all that he planned to do, Woof nodded, approvingly.

"What did you do?" Patch asked.

Woof gave him a shy, embarrassed smile. "I climbed. Seriously, I just climbed all the structures. I was a big climber back in Eight, I loved to climb all the time. Buildings, play structures, vehicles. I ended up with a 4, which, honestly, was pretty generous. The mentor I had back then told me I probably deserved a 3."

"Nice," Patch said bitterly.

Woof nodded. Then he said reassuringly. "Don't worry, okay? From what you've told me, you have a lot of talent. A mixed bag of things. Sometimes being a master of none is better than being a master. That's certainly what I've found."

Woof seemed to have come a long way from tearing into Patch about how stupid it was to volunteer. Now, he actually seemed to like him, or was at least rooting for him, which wasn't really saying much considering the only other tribute he had to work with was Inga. But still, it was nice to have an ally here, even if it wasn't for much longer.

"Well, I'm good with clothes," Patch said lamely. "Too bad that's not really a skill you can use in the games"

Something Patch had noticed about Woof, which he was seeing more and more, was that he always wore loose fitting clothing. A lot of greys and blues. Anything to not call attention to himself or suggest that he was anyone important who should be taken seriously. Not a victor at all. Patch often found that people who dressed this way, neglecting the need to present well, either had a low opinion of themselves and were too caught up in their own internal world of suffering, or they did it on purpose, as some strange form of rebellion. What little way they could rebel, some might say. Then again, there was nothing minimal about the message clothes presented.

"Not necessarily," Woof said. "You know the strengths of fabrics, you know which are flammable, which can survive what elements. In a strange way, a seamstress has a lot of the same qualities as a chemist. You can name fabrics by heart, just by the feel, smell and touch of them, I suppose?"

Patch nodded.

Woof smiled. "And you've become quite adept with slingshots? Well, maybe you can fashion yourself one out of whatever material is available to you."

Patch had marveled at his words, at the world of possibilities that had just opened up for him. He was still thinking about this when his name was called, and it was time to go in. Inga poked him in the back as hard as she could and whispered darkly in his ear, "You're gonna die. You're gonna get the lowest score here, and then on day one you're gonna die. You know that don't you? You should know that by now."

Patch did his best to ignore her and walked into the room. He looked up at the Gamemakers, his fists clenched firmly at his side.

"My name is Patch Tergesen. District 8."

He gave a slight bow before going over to the collection of knives and picking out three that were as long as his hand. He held all three together like they made up a bouquet of flowers before standing a respectable distance away from the target, aimed, and threw a knife, which hit the target. His technique had greatly improved over the last two and a half days and even though he had never been able to hit the center like he hoped that he would, he still hit the target every single time, including now.

When he threw the last of his knives, he risked a look up at the Gamemakers' balcony. They didn't look too impressed. He tried to shake that off and picked up the little metal slingshot with a strong leather band, as well as a handful of tiny pellets from a bin next to it. He did the same thing that he did with the knives, using his slingshot to aim at various targets around the room, including the light fixture above head, which created a spark even if it didn't knock it out. Patch actually decided to focus on the light fixture and kept aiming pellets, it took about seven more, until it was finally knocked out.

Looking up at the Gamemakers again and seeing that they were still unimpressed by him, and lacking any other skills to show them, he decided to quit right there. He bowed slightly; the same one he'd given when coming in. Then he walked out and ignored Inga, just barely missing her as she reached for his arm and mockingly asked him how it went. It was only as he was walking back to their floor that he realized that he hadn't coughed once. That was lucky, at least.

Inga had wrestled one of the trainers and apparently had held her own pretty well and earned an 8, which she wasn't happy about, claiming it was lower than she deserved. Patch, however, had earned a 6. Not so bad.

...

Emmer had been shocked to learn that their mentor was a former head Gamemaker. But plain as day, Maizie had announced it over dinner that night.

"Guess what I learned today in training," Maizie said, throwing an accusatory glance in Isley's direction, who just glared at her in return. "From two members of the privileged districts and not even our own mentor: he used to be the queen bee around here."

"What?" Emmer asked.

"Head Gamemaker, for what, five years? You didn't think to mention it?"

"The demotion was irrelevant," Isley said coldly. "Especially since they told me that my games weren't being used. I'm still mentoring you two to the best of my abilities."

"Well, you weren't good enough to keep your job," Maizie sneered. "So, what, we're your punishment?"

"A very effective punishment," he fired back automatically.

"This is not okay," Emmer said. "It's not. You can't keep things like this from us. You shouldn't have kept it from us."

"What did I just say?" Isley asked. "This is the problem, you two aren't very good listeners."

"We did listen to you," Emmer fired back. "We were overshadowed."

"Yes, because I didn't see what those cowboys in Ten were going to do. Sorry, I can't see the future. I was certainly blindsided by the loss of my job and getting stuck with you two."

"You would rather be pulling the strings and figuring out the best way to arrange our deaths?" Maizie asked accusingly. "Like dolls? Because that's what we are to you, right? Dolls? Because that's what you've been doing for all these years. Or what, did you think the 'pain-free' poison gas made you some kind of angel of mercy? You're not. You're just as much of a killer as any other Gamemaker."

Emmer had gotten up, walked out and headed for his room, shutting the door behind him. He didn't really see the point in staying to hear the rest. After all, it was like Isley said, they weren't using his Arena plans.

Later that night, however, he found Isley sitting on the couch in the living room nursing a drink. Then, inexplicably, he got the bright idea to walk over to Isley and ask if he still had the Arena plans. Isley had looked up, raised an eyebrow at him in confusion and said, "Yes. Why?"

Emmer wet his lips, gathering up the courage, and the nerve to ask, "Can I see them?"

"Emmer Skadsen, District 9," he said, looking up at the Gamemakers.

He took a deep breath, slipped off his shoe and took out the folded piece of paper he'd kept hidden in there, slipped his shoe back on, unfolded the piece of paper, revealing his tiny black writing, for some too small to even read.

He cleared his throat before reading from the piece of paper all the observations he'd made over the past two and a half days: "The district 1 girl isn't one of the Careers. She's not as strong or fast or ruthless as them, she doesn't share their passion or fighting spirit. She's a loner. Or she was, until she met the tributes from district 5. The girl from Five is shrewd, serious. Her district partner is playful, reckless, he seems attached to her, the girl from Five, possibly because she's his one connection to home. They seemed to be a pack. They're going to survive by building shelter, identifying bugs and poison plants, and with speed. Trapping them somewhere with no resources, somewhere they can't escape easily, that's the way to beat them. Cut them off. Make them sick, maybe, somehow.

"And honestly that would be the best way to take out the Careers, which in this case also consists of the girl from Eight. Seclude them, cut them off from their resources. It's really the only way since they're so much stronger than me. Lure them away, keep them isolated, maybe get them to turn on each other somehow. It shouldn't be too hard, they're all here to win in the end, just like the rest of us.

"The boy from district 3 seems to have an instinct to hurt women that he is both unable and unwilling to control, while the girl always seems lost in her own head, she's trigger happy. Neither one can control their instincts, I'll play on that lack of impulse control, lure them in with the chance to kill me, set a trap. The girl from district 6 seems to be having stomach problems because I always see her clutching her stomach when she's not expertly shooting a bow. If I'm going to outrun her, it'll have to be when she's having one of her stomach pains. Her district partner has a fondness for torture, but he likes to savor pain, step back and admire his handy work, which means he'll take his time. I'll take advantage of that and get away. I'll find something sharp nearby, and I'll be long gone by the time he notices me.

"The district 7 girl is useless, she'll probably die quickly, she won't be able to outrun anyone, and she doesn't seem to have the drive or desire to kill anyone to stay alive. The boy, however, is quiet. He's subtle. He's focused on getting better at spear throwing and surviving. This means that he won't savor kills, he will be all business. He'll kill and move on. Be diligent. So, I'll have to evade him, outrun him as long as I can. It's the only way I can avoid him. The district 8 boy appears to be…ill. He's always coughing. He's not a threat. He'll probably die before the games are over. My district partner will survive by stealing food from others, she's fast, so I'll have to keep my supplies hidden. Buried somewhere, hidden under camouflage.

"The ones from Ten are very strong, I have no hope of beating them in a physical match, but if I have a weapon handy, I can try to cut them off at their ankles, knock them down if I can, use whatever opportunity I can to get away. However small the window may be. But the boy seems slightly…not all there, not always focused. Much like with the girl from Six, I'll wait until he's having a moment of preoccupation and weakness. The ones from districts 11 and 12, they're violent, just like anyone else. In fact, no one in the district 12 boy's family seemed particularly sad to see him go. These are people who were born poor, are starving, even more so than anyone else. So they're going to be more desperate than anyone else. And being desperate is going to make them stupid. And dangerous. But hopefully more stupid. Not cautious. Easily tricked.

"I intend on surviving by exploiting every single one of these individual weaknesses, setting traps, hiding, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. I will fashion weapons from whatever I can find and use them in whatever way I can. Patience, planning, and observations. This is how I plan on staying alive. I have spent the past three days observing these people, my competition, learning as much as I can about them, and I am fully prepared to exploit every weakness. That sounds cruel, but we all do what we must. That is the position that we've found ourselves in, and that is what I've signed myself up for."

Maizie had just sat there the entire time, legs crossed on the ground, purposely doing nothing. She got a 1, the lowest score of all the tributes. Emmer got a 5. Apparently, this was okay, according to Isley. Not that Emmer really cared what he had to say.

...

Marrow was terrified that he was going to actually look and sound silly in the head and had asked Rex how he could avoid looking that way in front of the Gamemakers. Rex told him to take a deep breath and just imagine that he was there with him, just rubbing his back while he threw weights around the gym, wrestling a trainer twice his size to the ground. It was over in flash, he barely remembered any of it, and he liked it that way.

Dove did some hand-to-hand combat with a trainer and scored a 7. Marrow scored a 9. Okay. Yes, that was definitely okay with him. Okay. He was going to be okay. Or at least he was for now. That was okay, too.