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at dawn, i lie in bed for a while, watching the sun come up until i'm forced out of bed by vivian. she hits my leg with a book; it doesn't hurt but it's irritating so i do as she says and get in the shower, all the while muttering under my breath how much i despise her. i could've sworn i heard her muttering the same things about me. that's makes me smile.

after my hair is all dry and brushed through, i head down to the dining room. kit is the only one there. i guess everyone else got tired of waiting for me. he's chewing on a straw when i sit down and he says, "congratulations." in the most monotonous voice.

i consider not saying anything but it's just the two of us in the dining room and i hate uncomfortable silence. "thank you," i tell him. "but what i really want to hear is how you managed to get a 4."

"guess my talent wasn't up to their standards," he shrugs.

"have you ..." i pause. "have you changed your mind about helping me win?"

it's the only reason i can think of that he's all of a sudden become distant and, odd.

"no," he said. "i'm still getting you to the finish line, davina."

"then what's wrong?" i'm practically begging. "you're not acting the same."

something flashes in his eyes, but it's gone before i could place it. it's the most emotion i've seen out of him since training. haymitch walks in so our conversation is put to an end. we eat in silence.

tomorrow night will be our televised interviews. our entire team will be preparing us for that today, then games begin in two days. i thought i'd be more scared, but i guess a part of me just wants this entire thing to be over with; live or die.

kit leaves with our stylists for wardrobe while i stay with haymitch for content.

haymitch seems to be looking worse and worse with each day that passes; the circles under his eyes get darker and his body looks more frail. the games are changing him. year after year he has to watch the tributes he mentors die. he blames himself, thinking he could've done more to prepare them. which is why he asked for theron's help.

"the impression you make tomorrow will decide exactly what i can get you in terms of sponsors," says haymitch. "you got the top training score but the televised interviews will lock in your sponsors. if you appeal to the crowd, you gain favor."

"i'm can't pretend to be humorous or brutal or eccentric because i'm none of those."

"no, but you're headstrong. i've seen it when you insisted on getting that last hour of training in even though you took a beating just moments before. don't pretend to be anything, just answer the questions as honestly as you can."

i nod. seemed easy enough, but my insides were in knots.

eventually me and kit switch places after haymitch drills me with questions about life in district 12 and my father. i'm more than happy to be done with the fake interview, talking about my father made me feel ill.

envie, my stylist, waits for me in another room. rows of gowns lined the walls, and there's a table in the middle of the room with accessories. she wastes no time in making me try on a dress with black beads; like coal. it's heavy and hard to walk in, which is probably why she makes me take it off.

no one wants to see me stumbling onto the stage.

gown after gown, nothing is up to envie's standards. she bolts around the room frantically, pulling dresses off the racks and onto the floor.

i watch as she pulls down something wrapped in a black plastic. she carries it over and tells me to unzip it. inside is a mass of a red dress. she helps me put it on and brings me over to the mirror.

it clings to my bodice like a second skin, but flares out at my waist and ends at my knees, making it look like i was on fire. if i moved in the slightest the dress glittered.

"magnificenttt," envie says in awe.

-

after a much needed sleep, it's the day of the televised interviews. i slept through breakfast so the second i'm out the door, i'm surrounded by my prep team. they usher me into the bathroom and into the bathtub. normally i'd feel uncomfortable but they've seen me naked enough times that i don't.

they scrub at my skin, removing any inch of dead skin until my body is numb, then wash my hair twice. i'm pulled out of the water and covered with a robe, thrusting me into a chair they begin to dry my hair.

the team works on me until late afternoon, turning my skin to glowing satin, glueing red and black diamonds onto my collar bones, chest, and halfway down my arms, and painting my nails silver. they straighten my hair and tie up the top half. they cover my eyelids in red shadow and glue lashes that are three times the size of my own. finally, they cover my entire body in a powder that makes me shimmer in gold dust.

envie enters the room with the dress and slips it over my body.

i walk to the mirror while the stylists consult on which shoes to give me. they purposely didn't cover the gash on my forehead; i wonder why until i remember that i'm supposed to be headstrong during my interview. it's all a tactic.

they finally put heels on my feet and usher me out of the room and down the stairs.

kit is already done because he awaits by the elevator, fixing the collar of his black shirt. he's not wearing a jacket, only the black shirt with sleeves that are pushed up to his elbow, along with black pants.

he looks up as i'm walking down the stairs and his lips part. he meets me at the bottom and takes my hand. all my fears seem to melt away.

"don't let me fall, okay?" i ask. "in a dress this big i won't be able to get up again."

"i got you, davina," he says quietly.

we meet up with the rest of the district 12 crowd at the elevator. haymitch and vivian are all fancied up for the occasion, but haymitch looks worse than he did yesterday, tired and emotionally drained from having to do this again, knowing tomorrow he could be watching us die.

"haymitch," i say and he looks at me. "we try, sometimes that's all we can do."

when the elevator opens, the other tributes are being lined up to take the stage. all twenty-four of us wait back stage and one by one each tribute leaves to take their interview. me and kit wait together at the end of the line. i fidget nervously but kit looks calm.

"are you going to tell me what was wrong yesterday?" i ask, trying to keep my mind off the interview. "and what happened during your private session with the gamemakers? i know you said they didn't like your talent but what didn't they like? what skill did you show?"

"you're rambling," he rolls his eyes. "you ramble when you're nervous."

"and you brush aside my questions when you don't want to answer them," i retort.

"have you given any thought to having district 7 as allies?" he asked his own question.

"they got low scores," i avert my eyes. "not sure how useful they'll be or if we can really trust them."

"i got a low score," he pointed out.

"guess i'll have to find a new ally," i joke and he rolls his eyes.

each interview only lasts three minutes. then a buzzer goes off and the next tribute is up. everyone seems to be playing up some angle. the boy from district 2 is a ruthless killing machine. the girl from district 4 is timid. the girl from district 9 is cocky. malorie, the 13 year old is sweet until she growls at the crowd.

adonis and astrid from district 7 fidget nervously during their interviews. my eyes narrow in confusion, wondering why they chose to appear weak when i feel a tap on my shoulder. i turn around and meet theron's eyes.

*

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