Cato

Soon after I leave Clove's room, we are all called to an early breakfast so we can be handed over to our prep teams sooner rather than later. I'm not very hungry. I have pretty much always had enough to eat, but even so being stuffed with the finest food in the world is quite a change and is doing weird things to my stomach. Or maybe it's nerves. Either about Clove or about the Tribute Parade tonight. I make myself think it's the latter. It doesn't feel right to be nervous around Clove. We've been inseparable since middle school. It's honestly very funny how one almost-kiss can change that. I then have the unsettling realization that the almost-kiss probably wasn't the cause. The Games were the cause. My volunteering. I wonder if Clove really could have made it back on her own and we would get to live happily ever after. I push the thought away because it's too late now. We're both here and that's that.

Which leads me back to the almost-kiss. Clove only stopped me when our lips were practically touching, and she said she'd wanted to kiss. But that we couldn't. Now we have decided to ignore that though. Which is why I almost-kissed her again. But I got nervous because I didn't know if she wanted to, and I didn't know if I should, and the moment was gone. I will have my moment though. I must.

Clove

That day when Cato nicknamed me 'the girl who played with knives' was also the day we found out my father had been promoted to head peacekeeper of District 12. My mother was in a tizzy because she knew she couldn't raise me alone. I made a comment about how dad wasn't doing much of a good job raising me anyway, since he left when I was a baby, and was sent to my room for the rest of the night. I didn't understand why my mother cared so much until I found out it was my father's paychecks that he sent us part of that we're keeping us out of poverty. I'd never been told because my mother didn't want me to worry.

The next morning when I got up, my mother was asleep at the dining room table. I shook her awake and she told me dad was gone already and told me about the paychecks and how we couldn't receive anymore now that dad was in 12 and they were getting an official divorce. She seemed sad, and I guess even though he left us, she still loved him. And she was right about it being harder to support the family. We struggled for a while; mom had to get a job. Several actually, and our well-oiled family dynamic fell into disrepair.

Eventually, we got back on our feet with the help of Aunt Rose and some of our nicer neighbors. Cato told me he'd convinced his mother to give us some money but his father wouldn't let her. Even though we now had enough to live off of, mom was never really the same. She grew more distant; I guess maybe she did love dad. I asked her once and she gave me the mysterious answer of "You never know how much you love something until it's gone."

I threw knives a lot during that time. I was confused about my feeling towards my dad. Did I hate him? I don't know. Maybe. Probably. Did I feel sad as well, because I'd never gotten to meet him? Surely. I mean, he is my father. I wonder what life would be like if he'd stayed.

-

After a quick breakfast of warm bread spread with soft cheese, I am taken to my prep room to be made beautiful. I'm told to lay on a cool metal table by an extremely skinny girl with baby blue skin and eyes, and bright red hair in some sort of braided up do. Her name is Lilliana. The rest of my prep team is made up of Anora and Beckson, who are twins with hair that is actually golden and excessive gold makeup and tattoos.

The first thing my prep team does is strip me of any hair on my body- except for my head of course- and rub me down with an assortment of different oils and lotions. They turn my fingernails and toenails into perfect rounded shapes and paint them with a shiny clear gel. Surprisingly they don't give me a lot of makeup. Just some light pink lip gloss, black mascara and a little black eyeliner, mentioning my natural beauty which causes a smile. Then the prep team runs off to go find my stylist.

Cato

My time with my prep team in unbearable. It's like some odd beauty salon, and it makes me feel stupid. I mean, I even have to wear makeup. Not a lot, but still. Also, my prep team is made up of Loni, Jax, and Titania, aka the world's biggest morons. They talk nonstop about life in the Capitol. How awful it is when they can't get in an appointment for dying their skin, hair, eyebrows or any other part of their body. What bugs me most is how ecstatic they are about the Games.

"You see, last year's were just swell! I wonder what the gamemakers have planned for this year!" Shrieks Loni. I don't understand why the Capitol residents speak so strangely. Their voices are always high-pitched and the ends of their sentences go up as if they're asking a question. The words are clipped, with odd vowels, and hisses on the letter s. And their jaws barely open when they talk. They look kind of like ventriloquist dummies. Dummies is right, I think and let out a tiny laugh. The prep team takes it to be a laugh at Loni's comment, like I just can't wait to see whet these Games will hold.

"You must be quite exited!" Titania squeals.

"After all, Careers do spend all their lives training for this moment!" Jax is beaming at me with her bright orange lipsticked smile. This comment rubs me the wrong way. All of them do.

"You know, we're still just kids too," I say icily. "Just because we're born to die doesn't mean we want to."

"Oh!" Is all they say.

Soon they call my stylist in. She's a tall skinny girl with pink and red streaks in her purple hair and flawless pale skin. Her nose is pinched and her small lips are puckered slightly as she stares me down from head to toe. I feel extremely awkward considering I'm stark naked and she's, well, a she.

After a while she gives me a robe and tells me to follow her. I do, and she leads me into a sitting room where two red couches face each other, with a low wooden table in between them. Three walls are blank, and the third is made entirely of glass. I stare down at the Capitol residents wandering the streets about 50 feet below.

"Sit," my stylist says and gestures to the couch across from the one she's sitting on. I sit.

"My name is Freya. I'm your stylist for the Games. I hope we can get along well. Are you hungry?"

I nod. I haven't eaten since breakfast, where I only had some fruit, and that was over three hours ago. Freya presses a button on the side of the table and it splits open. A small feast comes up out of it.

There are two little cakes made from vegetables and grain. These lay on top of several large chunks of chicken and are topped with stuffed mushrooms and a light sauce. I pile a plate with food and eat as Freya talks.

"Traditionally, costumes for the Tribute Parade should reflect the District's main industry. With District 2 being masonry, we want to do almost a gladiator outfit." She says.

I smile and nod with my mouth full of food. A gladiator outfit sounds cool, and it will make Clove and I look stronger. Maybe we'll get some sponsors. Not that it would matter, if we're both going to die in the end. But I find myself riddled by the odd thought that somehow, someway, we could both make it out.

Clove

My stylist is an odd man with a head full of dusty brown curls. His eyes seem too close together, his lips too thin, his cheekbones too defined. The whole thing makes him look hollow and starved, though coming from the Capitol that's impossible.

"Hello dear," he says. It feels weird to be called 'dear' by someone I've never met before. "I'm Spencer, your stylist. Tonight's costumes are going to be magnificent! I promise you, with me controlling your looks, you will be utterly charming."

"Uhm... Okay," I say. Spencer walks a slow circle around me, taking in every detail of my now flawless body. I cross my arms protectively over my chest. I do not like being naked in front of this strange Capitol man. This makes him laugh.

"There's no need to be nervous." He says, stopping in front of me. "Now, let's go have a chat." He lets me put on a robe and we walk to a sitting room nearby. There are two red couches facing each other, and we each sit on one. Spencer presses a button somewhere on the table and calls up a hot meal of chicken, mushrooms, and tiny cakes made from vegetables smothered in a light soy dressing. As we eat her tells me about Cato and I's costumes for the Tribute Parade.

When we're done with our food, I'm led to another room, where I'm dressed in a gold chest plate with featherlike gold embellishments flaring down from my neck and continuing to a few inches above the gold strip of metal, like a belt, that sits over my hips. There's a skirt made from strips of pointed golden metal that goes down about three quarters of my thighs. I have on I thin, sleeveless, see through gold bodysuit that goes to my ankles. My shoes are high heeled, sparkly golden lace up boots that envelope my legs up to the bottom of my knees.

"District 2 will be the bell of the ball in these!" Spencer chirps as he secures a winged golden helmet atop my head. I've learned that he is very fond of self-praise.

We make our way down to the ground floor of the Remake Center where several other Districts are already gathering. I spot Cato and his stylist near a chariot with two dark brown horses attached to it.

"Hey, Clove, lookin' good," Cato smiles. He's in a similar getup to mine. The few differences I spot are his boots, which are much less extravagant than mine, just simple low heeled, bronze ankle boots, and his belt, which is made from shiny off-white cloth, and the absence of a helmet. He also wears a bronze cloth cuff on his upper left arm.

"Thanks, Cato, you too," I reply with a small smile. I look around and realize we actually look the least ridiculous in our ancient Greek god style garb. District 1 is spray painted silver, wearing tasteful tunics glittering with jewels. District 1 makes luxury items so I guess it makes sense, and they don't look terrible. They're already naturally attractive so it balances out. I wonder for a moment if we should try and talk to them.

The other Districts look pretty ridiculous. District 3 are wearing silver mesh; the girl in a bubble dress with glittery silver disks jutting from her shoulders, and the guy in a large tunic and loose fitting pants. They wear silver boots and headdresses that I suppose are meant to resemble the gears in a machine; after all, their District's main industry is technology.

District 4 is in simple, blue toga-like things with starfish pins on the shoulders and elaborate headdresses made from pearls. Obviously the fishing District. I recognize the girl, Marina, and the twelve year old boy whose name I can't remember. They are traditionally to be our allies as well as District 1.

The District 5 tributes are in glittering silver from head to toe that reflects and refracts the light every time they move, wearing what look like silver dog cones around their faces. Their main industry is power.

District 6, transportation, wear gold like us, but their costumes are loose fitting and they wear crescent moon shaped headdresses.

District 7 is wearing what looks like layers of paper, clean and white and folded in elaborate ways, which is kind of cool, and District 8, the textiles District, has on the ugliest costumes out of everyone. They are frilly, baggy, blue and pink checkered cloth jumpsuits with poofy blue and pink hats. I feel bad for the Tributes, and they look pretty embarrassed too.

District 9 is another silver getup, with rows of gold buttons and accents, which I think are supposed to signify rows of golden grain, which is what their District produces.

District 10, livestock, is wearing a modern take on a cowboy outfit, hats and plaid and all. Their outfits are gold and white.

For District 11, the girl is wearing a denim overall dress with poofy sky blue sleeves, and the boy is wearing traditional overalls. They both have on leafy silver halos.

District 12 has just showed up in fitted black jumpsuits that must represent coal, their District's main industry. They honestly look pretty boring, and I wonder what took them so long.

"Here, Clove," Spencer says, sliding sparkly golden cuffs onto my wrists. Cato's stylist places a winged crown on his head and we are guided into the District 2 chariot.

This is when the nerves hit me. What if I fall out of the chariot? We've been instructed to show no signs of affection, so I can't exactly hold on to Cato for stability. I settle on gripping the side of the chariot as we line up in front of a set of huge doors.

Soon the anthem begins to play and the doors slide open. District 1 starts off the parade, pulled by snow white horses. Spencer and Cato's stylist attach see-through gold capes to our shoulders and then we're off. I try to stay calm and keep a solemn look on my face as the bright lights, thousands of cameras, and extremely loud screaming greet me. The streets are lined with Capitol residents. I turn to Cato, who looks just as nervous, though he is managing to keep a straight face, and give him a small nod of encouragement. He gives me the tiniest hint of a smile and turns back to the front. District 1 is waving to the crowd, so I raise my hand above my head as if in triumph. Cato soon follows, giving the crowd little nods. My nerves start to melt away as we continue to ride along the Avenue of the Tributes.

Suddenly, the crowd goes insane, and I wonder which District they're cheering for. Maybe 7? I soon find out as the twelve District's chariots form a semicircle around the curve of the City Circle. All the way to the right are the District 12 tributes. They are on fire, literally engulfed in flames. My mouth falls open a little, then closes, and I purse my lips, determined not to falter at being stood up. District 12 has certainly stolen the show. So that's what took them so long, I realize.

I turn my attention foreword again, to see President Snow, our nation's leader and master of the Games, on a balcony high up on the building in front of us.

"Welcome," he says, his voice not strongly affected by the Capitol accent. The crowds respond with enormous cheers. "Tributes! We welcome you. We salute your courage and your sacrifice and we wish you all... Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor."

A few of the tributes nod or offer a small smile, then a pair of huge doors open in the building in front of us, which turns out to be the Training Center, and we disappear, District by District, into the building. Once we're all in, the doors slam shut behind us, cutting of the shouts and cries of the Capitol residents outside, and leaving us in an eerie silence.