24 Before the Games:

The Night Before:

Niko Dyne, 18, District Five:

My interview was not the most important part of tonight. I know that.

I know enough about myself to know that nothing I could have possibly said during my interview would help me. I'm a boring tribute. I was boring back home too.

It doesn't matter how cool or interesting I think I am, to the Capitol I'm a nameless faceless kid from District five. The oldest tribute that isn't a Career. This might have worked to my advantage if I was big and muscular like that guy from District Ten, but because I'm short and plain, I don't have to worry about it. I can just be ignored.

I learned a lot more by just watching anyway. Watching and listening. That's what I'm good at after all. I'm a natural born eavesdropper. And what I hear tonight, will keep me alive in the arena tomorrow. So, I listen.

The funny thing about the interviews is that you learn a lot more by watching the tributes that aren't speaking on the stage talking to Cesar, than the ones that are.

Take the girl from One for instance. During her interview she was the perfect image of what a Career should be; focused, determined, confident. But the moment she sat back down, and her brother took the stage you could see a definite shift. She was less calm. Her eyes narrowed in frustration and her leg began to bounce nervously. There was definitely something going on with her regarding her brother, and I want to know what it is.

I always thought that Maia was the leader of those two. But could it be Brandi?

That would be weird. I thought he was too reckless to lead her around, but I'm starting to think he's the one who calls the shots. Someone like her can't like that very much. I make a mental note to keep my eyes on the twins. Those two are a land mine waiting to blow, and when they do I want to be very far away.

I can hardly keep my eyes from either of them the entire we're up on the stage. Every time I think I have that power dynamic figured out, something else happens and I'm stooped.

I see other things too, though. The way that boy from Lincoln looks at his district partner Tyler for instance. He seemed like a friendly guy during training, but there's some deep resentment in his eyes when he looks at her. I wonder if it's because she's with the Careers now. That could be it. Maybe it's jealousy? Weird. I wouldn't have pegged him for that kind. He seemed like a regular, okay guy. Kind of like me. I thought he might be a good ally, but now I'm not so sure. I better keep my distance. I do better on my own anyway. I'm not much of a talker.

Allies are the other thing I see so much clearer than everyone else. Outside of the Careers, people very rarely ally with anyone other than district partners. Probably because they're so familiar. They're from home. It isn't a risk, because they almost never turn on you. I see this very clearly in the pairs from Seven, Eight and Ten. They cling to their district partners, making me think that bonds must have been formed early on. The girl from ten doesn't move an inch unless her district partner does too, and I overheard both Seven and Eight talking about being allied at training. So, unless they're all lying, they're sticking together.

What's more obvious is the groups that don't want to stick together. Anyone with eyes can see the pair from Four are at each other's throats. I don't even have to sneak around to hear those fights. They're at full volume. They might be trying to hide it from Capitol audiences, but when it's just us tributes, they're don't even try. The pair from Three seem to dislike each other too, but I doubt any one notices. They're both young and weak, the kind of tributes people ignore. I only know because when I was tying my shoe in training, I overheard the boy tell the girl that she was too stupid to make it past the bloodbath. The tone he used made me shudder, and I was suddenly very grateful that Lydia is at least nice to me.

Most of the tributes are like that. Not rude to their district's partners but not close to them either. It makes me feel a little better about not being close to Lydia. We just don't have much in common, but maybe that's good. It won't be as bad for us when one of us dies.

The moments the interviews are over, I meet back up with Lydia in the center. She seems really upset about something. She keeps tearing up, wiping at her eyes and sniffling. I want to be a good district partner and ask her what's wrong, but the Career pack is forming again, and I don't want to miss that. Who knows what kind of valuable information they're going to be spreading? It's the night before the Games after all. This is where they'll hammer out their plans.

So, I abandon Lydia with her stylist and slowly make my way past the groups of exiting tributes. I can always apologize to her later. I won't have an opportunity like this again. Next time I see these people, they'll be armed. Might as well use the only weapon I have in my arsenal now. Because really, what will eavesdropping do against a bow and arrow or a knife?

I quietly push through the throngs of tributes trying not to be seen. The girl from Six looks like she wants to head to the Careers but is being dragged back to the elevator by her mentor and stylists. Weird. I wonder what that's about. I thought she was one of them now. Why wouldn't her mentor encourage that alliance? Wish I knew.

The Career Pack is standing in one of the far corners giving them a good vantage point on everyone else and it takes me a minute to find a place that will allow me to be inconspicuous and still overhear what they're saying. For the first time in my life I'm glad I was too short to be a Peacekeeper because I'm able to stand behind a thick, plant without my head poking out. I'm a good five feet away from the pack and they still can't see me. They're deep in conversation anyway, not paying attention to little old, boring me. Good, I think. Talk away. And then I listen.

"…you're being an idiot, Brandi," Maia snaps quietly, her eyes trained on the boy from District One. From the sound of her tone, a fight is beginning to brew. "I know you think that no one can dare charm people better than you, but I saw the looks on those people's faces. They loved that guy. Ten is a favorite."

"She has a point," Finn adds quietly, his eyes glued to the tall, curvy blonde across from him like she's something to eat. "Even if I think it's ridiculous. Why would anyone sponsor an outlier when they could support me?"

Hmm. They're talking about Gael. The tribute from Ten. Maia sounds worried, her beautiful face was knotted up as she spoke. Not that I blame her. Gael did manage to charm the audience. He has a certain quality about him that makes it hard to stop listening to him.

Brandi makes a strange hissing sound in the back of his throat to express his incredulity and shakes his head. "Please. You really think that the Capitol audience is going to fall over themselves to sponsor some big, burly idiot from Ten? No way. They like a certain elegance with their tributes. Not some rancher who doesn't know how to flirt properly."

"Like that actually matters, Brandi," Aurelia says quickly, sounding annoyed. She seems to be at the end of her patience and reaches up to untwist her hair from the elegant style, letting it fly loose down her back. She kicks off her heels too, abandoning them on the floor beside her. Brandi stares at her while she does it, but she doesn't seem to notice.

Lykon nods his head in agreement. "Exactly. No one cares about that stuff in the arena." He is looking at Brandi like he could crush him between his fists easily. And who knows? He probably could. He's big enough.

"And that is why your interview sucked," Brandi says evenly, his handsome face turned into a strange frown. "You don't understand how these Games work, Two. You can't just be good in the arena. It bores them." He jabs a finger back towards the direction of the Capitol audience, with a haughty look on his face. "They want someone they can fall in love with. Someone who thrills them. The Games are nothing more than a show, and they're looking for their star."

It's an astute observation and Brandi seems to know it. He smirks at the other Careers.

"But Brandi, they did fall in love with Gael," Sedna presses, speaking for the first time. "Look at it from their perspective. He's an outlier, but he's handsome, and he's skilled. He's someone to root for- "

"- He isn't that skilled," Brandi snaps, almost interrupting her. "I saw him in training. He barely touched the weapons." There's something dark in his blue eyes now as he speaks. Something that makes me shiver.

"He was skilled enough to get the same training score as you," Maia reminds him, haughtily. At first, her tone sounded teasing but the smirk on her face suggests she liked saying it. Reminding him that he scored lower than her.

Brandi's eyes darken again as he looks at her and his right-hand twitches as it moves upward. For a minute, I'm convinced he's going to strike her, but he simply brushes a chunk of her blonde hair over her shoulder and says "Careful, dear Sister. We wouldn't want our allies thinking you're a bitch, now would we?"

From the furious look on Maia's face, it's pretty clear she doesn't care what any of the other Careers think about her, but to her credit, she forces a smile, and keeps it until Brandi turns his head back in Sedna's direction. I can tell she's planning something, I just wish I knew what it was.

"Brandi," Sedna pleads, "Can you not be rude to her?" The tall girl's eyes flit to Maia almost immediately as she says this and it's clear that for whatever reason, Sedna is trying to get back in the blonde beauty's good graces. For half a second, it seems to work. Maia looks more relaxed and Sedna beams. Only Brandi looks mildly annoyed as he blinks from one Career girl to the other.

"Friends again, are we?" Brandi teases in a strained voice, looking more amused than anyone else. "I thought you had better taste, Sed."

"If we don't move on to Bloodbath strategy, I swear to Panem I'm going to stab you all myself," Lykon says abruptly, furrowing his brows. It's clear he has reached his wit's end and it seems to focus the other members of the Career Pack. Something that Aurelia in particular seems grateful for.

"I mean what strategy do we really need?" Sedna asks foolishly. "Don't we just go for it?"

Even as a boring tribute, I know how ridiculous what she just said was. Didn't she train at the academy? I thought they better prepared their Careers for this sort of thing, maybe it's all weapon training there. Who knows.

To her right, everyone except Aurelia and Lykon snicker quietly. Maia and Finn in particular exchange a knowing smile.

"That's how Careers end up killed in the bloodbath, Dyan," Aurelia says quickly. She doesn't say it as insult. It's much more matter-of-fact, but it still turns Sedna's cheeks pink. "We have to have at least a loose plan."

Brandi nods. "She's right. We don't know what kind of Arena we'll be thrown into. Or who we'll end up next too. We need a plan."

"Then how can we plan?" his twin demands, "don't we have to be adaptable and then meet up as quickly as we can?"

Aurelia looks bored now. "That is a plan."

"Tell you what. Here's the plan," Lykon says quickly, before any of them can bicker anymore. "Wherever you end up in the rotation, whatever the arena is like, the moment that gong rings out, you make it to the Cornucopia fast as you can. Gather as many weapons as you can and fan out. Kill anyone you see that isn't one of us and get the others weapons."

There's a moment of silence as everyone weighs it over in their heads and then they all began to nod carefully.

"We need to watch each other's backs too," Aurelia adds carefully, looking around at the rest of them. "Whether you like it or not, the more people we have, the stronger we are."

There's a collective grumble of agreement, but I notice Finn eye Sedna with fury out of the corner of his eye. Of course, he doesn't like that idea. He'd probably rather stab her himself than watch her back. But I don't see how he can without causing a bigger split down the middle of this pack.

"We can't let any other tributes get weapons," Maia reminds them. "The last thing we want is to arm our prey."

The way she says that send shivers down my spine. Prey? She's not just enduring tomorrow. She's looking forward to it. There's a murderous gleam in that bombshell's eyes.

"Not that any of them are likely too," Finn chuckles confidently, running his hands through his thick curly hair. He's pretty arrogant for the youngest one there, and from the look on the other Careers faces, they sense this too.

"And most importantly," Brandi says ominously. "We kill anyone with a score above Seven, got it?"

They all agree and then begin to dissipate. Finn and Sedna leave first, stomping away from one another at different paces, and taking different elevators. They must really hate one another.

Brandi and Maia leave together, whispering in quick fervent voices that I can no longer hear. Weird. They seemed at each other's throats a second ago. Is that a Twin/sibling thing? That they make up easily after they bicker? Or is there something else going on? Could they be pretending to have a contentious relationship for the others benefit? I have no clue, but I want to find out.

I am stuck behind the plant until Aurelia and Lykon decide to move. The two of them wait for the others to disappear before they turn to one another.

"What a shit show," Aurelia says, shaking her head in the direction of where the others disappeared. "Are they all crazy?"

"Seems like it," Lykon answers, his thick brows furrowed. "Brandi is a piece of work, huh?"

"So is his sister," Aurelia sighs, staring off where the girl from One was standing only seconds ago. "Too bad they're actually pretty good with the weapons." She sighs again. "and Finn's no better, he's great with that trident but he's a cocky ass. I don't trust any of us those three."

"What about Sedna?" Lykon presses her, "What do you think?"

"That she's meek," Aurelia answers without skipping a beat. She's clearly thought about this a lot. "She's good with her weapons though. I don't distrust her, but I'm not exactly thrilled with buddying up with her either."

She frowns. "What do you think is up with that girl from Six?" she asks Lykon. "Do we deal with that or let it play out on its own?"

Lykon snorts. "That's Brandi's pet. He can deal with it." He shakes his head, as if that idea makes him happy, then his face goes back to its usual stony grimace. "The rest of them are distracted. They've forgotten what this is about. The killing."

Aurelia is quiet for a second, pursing her lips as she thinks. "They're going to get us all killed if they keep acting like that. We're supposed to be the strongest tributes in there."

"You and I are," Lykon reminds her. He tilts his massive chin in her direction, with a knowing look.

Aurelia raises an eyebrow at him, looking very shocked. "Are you suggesting we form our own alliance?" she asks.

Lykon's face doesn't change as he looks at her. "All I'm saying, is that it wouldn't hurt to have a backup plan. I'm not getting my head bashed in with a rock because we've got a Career pack full of crazies. The second those four start to spin out of control, I'm leaving. You're welcome to join. After that we don't worry until top three."

Aurelia is silent for a moment, letting his words hang in the air. For a second, I think she might refuse him, but then she nods carefully and says "Ok."

"But when the time comes," Lykon says carefully. "I'm killing Brandi." There's a firmness in his voice that makes me think this point is non-negotiable.

A crooked smirk forms on the corner of Aurelia's mouth and I think it might be the first smile I've ever seen from her.

"I make no promises," she jokes quietly. "He's really irritating."

The two of them laugh in unison and the sounds seems disturbing from the least emotional tributes I've seen so far.

They exchange a quick look and then make their way back to the elevators, leaving me behind the plant with my thoughts. I can't move for a second, letting the gravity of what I've just heard settle over me.

Brandi and Maia. Aurelia and Lykon. There are sub-packs among the Careers. And resentment too. I have no idea what is going to happen with this pack when the gong rings out. And for the first time, I'm really glad that I'm not a Career.

I decide instead to think about what I've learned so far. The Careers have a plan. They're going to be ready to kill seconds after the Games begin. That leaves me with one clear plan for myself. If I want to live past the bloodbath, I have to put as much distance as I can between me and them. No time to stop for supplies. No waiting. Not a single minute of hesitation. I can't afford to waste any time.

Grain Garner, 16, District Nine:

Somehow, Grant and I end up in an elevator alone.

He's still sniffling and hiccupping from all the tears he shed on stage and for some reason the sound of it makes me want to ditch him here and walk up nine flights of stairs by myself. I don't know why he annoys me so much, but sometimes I can barely stand being around him.

Maybe it's the crying. I don't get it. Sure, you're upset, but we're all upset. No one wants to end up in the Games, but there's nothing you can do about it now. Crying makes you look weak and pathetic. It instantly makes you a target. Someone whose easy to discredit and kill. Why would anyone want to give themselves a worse chance in the arena? It makes no sense to me. I'm desperate for people to even look my way here, and Grant spends all his time making sure no one ever does.

He's watching me now. I'm staring straight forward at the elevator doors trying to avoid him, but I can still his lingering gaze out of the corner of my eye. He's crying a bit harder now but manages to stop for a second.

"I'm… really… sorry, you… know," he hiccups quietly, "…that… I'm…such a terrible… District …partner."

He's looking at me all teary-eyed now and looks years younger than fourteen. He wipes at his face with the sleeve of his jacket.

"I know I've been useless," he continues quietly, still pink-faced, "and that our mentor's been busy with me, and I'm sorry. I've just been so scared, and I miss home so much. I just wish this whole thing could be over." He looks like he's on the verge of tears again and his eyes are wide and glassy. It's sad really, and for the first time I start to feel a little bad for how I've been treating him.

It's not his fault that I'm handling being reaped so well. I'm a realist, always have been. So far, I've been thinking about the whole Games from a strategic point of view. I never stopped to consider what it might be like for someone who's young and weak and knows it. Someone whose scared. Someone who knows they're never going home again. Never going to see the people they love. Someone who knows they're going to die. Maybe if I thought like that, I'd spend all my time crying too.

He's barely older than my brother Wheat after all. I try to think of what I was like two years ago. Maybe I would have been weepy too. A wave of guilt washes over me as I place my hand carefully on Grant's shoulder.

"You don't have to worry about it," I tell him softly, feeling very guilty. "It's not your fault. This whole thing is scary."

"Are you scared too?" Grant asks, and suddenly his face is very still, as if he's eagerly awaiting the answer. It's a little strange but I decide to ignore it. I've been cruel enough to him thus far.

I nod. "Of course."

Grant gives a tiny meek nod and wipes at his eyes again. "Thanks Grain," he says quietly as the elevator opens into our apartment.

I feel good for a moment. Sure, Grant will probably be dead two seconds after the gong rings out, but at least now I don't have to hate him. He can go easily, knowing I understand. I get it. It feels nice not to despise my District Partner anymore.

I feel good about my decision not to hate Grant. It's petty. And I don't want to be petty going into the Games. I made the right choice.

Just before we leave the elevator together, Grant flashes me a smile that inexplicably sends a shiver down my spine.

Futura Bug, 14, District Three:

Dinner makes me wish the Games would just come faster. It's that bad.

I don't know if it's the stress of tomorrow, or the fact that Beetee and Wiress seem to know that neither Marcus or I can win, but something is making them both quiet.

Only Marcus seems to be in a great mood. Probably because his interview went well. After he scored a three in training, I sort of thought he and I were in the same boat. Sure, I knew he was really smart. Everyone in the district knows that, but smarts don't always do much in the arena. I sort of thought we could be united by our low scores. That neither of us were much of a threat to the others and could be allies, but Marcus had a different plan.

I had no idea he knew so much about the Games. That had been a total shock. When he got every one of Cesar's trivia questions right I almost gasped on national television. It was really impressive. Beetee definitely thought so. He managed to do the thing that low-scoring tributes never do, be memorable. It was a really great interview, and he knows it. It put him in a really great mood for the meal.

The kitchen crew made sure there was a huge spread of yummy foods at dinner that accommodated his allergies, and he seems to like that. He happily serves himself two portions of everything and chats to anyone who will listen. Not me, of course. He never talks to me. I don't really know why. I think he thinks I'm stupid. Which to him, and his big obnoxious brain is probably the worst thing in the world. To me, cruelty is the worst trait someone can have. But to Marcus, it's stupidity.

It reminds me of dinners back home after my grandpa died. The ones where I would sit silently picking at my food while Mom and Dad praised Ryam and all of his accomplishments. Ryam and Marcus would probably get along great. Both of them are genius' and they both dislike me.

"…and I really think that the arena is going to be cold this year," Marcus tells Beetee, inhaling another mouthful of soup. "I mean they wouldn't want to give the District Four tributes an unfair advantage, would they? So why would they choose a tropical arena? They wouldn't."

"…Hmm? Yes, I suppose so," Beetee says, although he doesn't seem to be listening anymore. He's staring off at the TV that's playing reruns of the interviews. The pretty blonde girl from District Seven is on the screen.

I liked her. She's the one who sticks with her District partner, even though he's only twelve. That's loyalty right there. I'm older than Marcus and he still has no interest in being polite to me, let alone being my ally.

I'm just as alone here in the throng of the Games as I was back in District Three. It's like I'm destined to live my whole life alone and unwanted.

Once again, I think of my grandpa. If he were here, I'd feel better. He would give me a reason to try. To have someone to go home for.

I stare into my bowl of delicious broth and sigh. No one here cares for me. Just like back in the District.

I won't be missed when I die in the arena.

Bale Tempin, 13, District Eleven

The food is the only good part of this whole trip. Probably the only good part of the whole Capitol if I'm being honest. The only time I don't hate these ridiculous, naïve people is when I'm chowing down on a plate full of Capitol food. It's hard to be angry when you're tasting the most delicious thing that's ever existed.

Tonight, the food is especially good. Probably because the kitchen staff knows that most of us will be dead tomorrow. They wanted to go all out and really give us tributes a great final meal.

There're five courses; a warm oaky soup filled with green peas and carrots, a risotto full of wild mushrooms and spices, some gamey bird filled with a delectable apricot sauce that actually makes me moan with every bite, a thick, creamy butterscotch pudding that Melody seems to enjoy, and a cake that actually gets lit on fire.

I eat as much of it as I can. Mostly because it's too good not too, and partly because it wouldn't hurt to try and be as full as I can for tomorrow. Who knows what kind of arena we'll be thrown into? What if there's no food in there whatsoever. It would be just like the Capitol to starve us out. Isn't that what they do in the Districts anyway?

I try not to think about home as I savor every bite. Of the fact that somewhere my little sisters are alone and probably hungry. I can only hope that someone is helping to take care of them, making sure they're fed. The alternative is too horrible.

The more I think about, the more the icing from the cake starts to taste foul in my mouth. I am sitting here in a plush chair eating cake when my baby sisters could be starving back in District Eleven. The thought makes me grip the knife in my hand tighter.

This whole thing is the Capitol's fault. My starving siblings, my beating, my reaping. All of it. And tomorrow, when I'm in the arena facing twenty-three other people who want to kill me, I'm going to make them pay for it.

Junez Croster, 16, District Eight:

I don't know how she did it, but Velvet turned on the charm for her interview.

One minute, she was a full-on basket case after what that dickhead Finn threatened her with and then the moment she sat in that chair beside Cesar she was flirty, sultry and funny. She had Cesar eating out of the palm of her hand.

It was strange too watch. That was not the girl I spent the last couple of days around. Maybe it's just because of how she looks. In a fancy dress, face highlighted with makeup that ages her, she looks completely different. Sure, Velvet's always been pretty, but not like that. That hair-flipping, self-assured girl that Panem saw. The kind of girl who would have been rude to me back to District Eight.

And her jokes, what the hell was that? She's cracked plenty of them in the last couple of days, but they were always sarcastic or dark. Usually at the Capitols' expense. But on stage? She was the girl-next-door. Bubbly. Velvet's cool, nice too, to people like me and Cecelia, and the stylists. But Capitol people? She hates most of them. But you wouldn't know it from her interview. I barely recognized her up there.

But I know why she did it. She's scared. Of Finn. Of dying. And she thinks that if she's warm and charismatic, she'll live longer. Not that I can blame her. That Career douche-bag seems hell bent on targeting her for the worlds dumbest reason. And she at least has a decent chance at making people like her. I like her, and I hate everyone. So, I try not to hold her charade against her as we get on the elevator together. She's the only real person who's ever given me a chance, who's gotten to know me.

She's really quiet now. Not like usual. And the second the doors close she kicks off her shoes and plops down on the floor of the elevator, cross-legged and surrounded by the massive fabric of her dress.

"Are you having a mental breakdown?" I ask her, looking down at her crumpled figure. "Because I think I'm too tired and hungry to help."

"So much for being an ally, huh?" Velvet chuckles darkly, the ghost of a smile on her face. "If you're not much help when you're tired or hungry, we're definitely going to die in that arena tomorrow."

I grin at the return of the morbid humor, glad that whatever perky redhead was on stage with Cesar is now long gone.

"I'm handy with the weapons though," I remind her. "You should take surly and skilled over happy and weak."

"You're not always surly," Velvet says evenly, stretching her arms out in front of her. "not like that guy from Two." She shudders, and her entire tiny body moves. "I bet he's not much fun to talk to during a long day in the arena."

The guy from Two is a beast. The kind of guy who you know is a lethal killer just from looking at him. Silent too.

"Bet his idea of fun is being in the arena," I point out, knowing that Career type well. He's the violent kind. Not like the guy from One who likes the attention (and reminds me of my brother) The guy from Two wouldn't think twice about crushing your skull between his hands. It's hard to even picture a scenario where either Velvet or I are in the vicinity of him and not dead.

"Cheery," Velvet says sarcastically and sighs. She stares forward at the shiny elevator doors. "I just wish we were back home." She says it resoundly, and I can hear the pain in her voice.

It's hard for me to agree with her. I wish I wasn't here. Fighting for my life against a bunch of sick bastards who want to watch me bleed. But there's not much for me back in Eight.

I don't have a great job or friends. My brother is an asshole. And most of the district thinks I'm no good trouble. It's not as if there's some wonderful life waiting for me back there. My life in District Eight was hell. The only thing I miss is my sister Loraine. I wish I could see her again.

But the sad, shitty part of this whole thing is that the only way District Eight would be tolerable for me is if I came back a Victor. Rich and able to take care of Loraine without any help or interference from Rasta.

I don't get long to think about it. The elevator doors open, and Cecelia and the stylists are there, eagerly awaiting us for dinner. The smell of the food is so good it almost knocks me over. At least the food here doesn't suck. It's nice not to have to worry about starving for once.

Velvet is beside me being good-naturedly chastised by her stylist Tilly for taking off her shoes, and then the two of them flit off to the dinner table with Cecelia talking like old friends. I really don't understand how she stands that girl. She's from the Capitol, even if she is nice. My stylist tells me that he overheard people in the audience were impressed by my training score and offers me his support. I scowl at him and move on. I have no interest in befriending Capitol people. They're the reason I'm here in the first place.

The dinner is a nervous one. I try to eat as much as I can so I'm full and focused for tomorrow. It's a good thing the food is so good. It There's a thinly sliced spicy beef that actually melts in my mouth, so I eat about half the roast by myself while Cecelia watches and giggles.

"Good huh?" she asks, serving herself a slice.

I nod with a mouth full of the stuff. "Really good."

"The baby likes it too," Cecelia says as she takes a bite. "I always crave it when I'm back home." Her hand is resting on her stomach as she eats, and I try not to look too uncomfortable. Pregnant woman scare me. I'm always afraid I'll make them cry or something. Most people dislike me anyway, but she's a good mentor, I really should try harder. I give her a small smile, but from the look on her face I know it's not comforting to her.

Cecelia tries to returns it, as she eats. "I know this whole thing is hard for you, Junez, and I really admire how you haven't let it change you. That's not an easy thing to do. Especially in your position."

I raised my cut eyebrow apprehensively. "You like the way I act?" I find it hard to believe that anyone likes my surly unpleasantness. Especially the wide-cheeked, happy mentor that sits in front of me.

"I like that it's authentic. You haven't let any of this process sway you. You're you through and through," Cecelia says. "I wish I had been like that when I was reaped."

"That's not how you win the Games, though," I mutter darkly, "People have to like you."

Cecelia sighs, and reaches out to touch my arm. "That's not necessarily true." But we both now that's a lie. The Capitol has to like their victor, or at least respect them. My eyes drift over to the other side of the table where the stylists are fawning over Velvet and her story about how she made her reaping dress.

"I'm going to help you in any way I can," Cecelia tells me firmly, as I shove another helping of food angrily into my mouth.

"Why? Don't you like Velvet better?" I ask. I don't want to be rude. But were heading to that Arena tomorrow. We don't have time to beat around the bush and be polite. I'd rather a mentor whose straight up with me.

Cecelia blushes. "It doesn't matter. It's my job to help you both. And I will."

She spends the next half hour of dinner dolling out last minute pieces of advice to us. Find water and food. Don't trust Careers, etc. It's stuff I already know from watching the Games and or things I probably would have figured out anyway but still I let her talk. She wants to help.

I eat as much as I can, including two slices of a thickly frosted colorful cake. When dinner ends, Velvet and I part ways, wishing each other good luck, and then I head to my room.

I take a long time in the shower, letting the hot water run over my back and then I lay down on my bed and think about my sister and District Eight. If I won the Games, the two of us really could have a better life there. We would have money and a mansion, and the respect of the people in the district. They always come around to the Victor eventually. It's hard to hate them when parcels are being dropped every month. You can't help but be proud of them. Being crowned victor could finally make the people of District Eight see me as something other than a troubled, poor, thief. Maybe I could really win. It would change everything for me.

I fall asleep and dream about my life as a victor, laughing as Rasta watches me from behind my new thick iron gate.

Brandi Boyle, 18, District One:

Dinner is a fun, joyous affair.

That's the great thing about being a volunteer and a Career. Going into the Games is something to celebrate, not dread. So why not fully enjoy it? The night before should be about indulgence, not fear. Especially not when you're me.

Maia, Golden, our escort, the stylists, and I all sit down to a delectable dinner and drink sparkling wine as we talk about our interviews and our excitement for the Games to begin. It's loud and fun, and surely a much happier environment than the other floors of the tribute center.

We laugh and eat, as we discuss the high points of our interviews and torment the tributes who failed so miserably.

Maia is being a touch over-confident about how well she did, and it makes me smile. Just like usual, she is so in denial. She thinks that because she dressed right tonight, that that alone was enough to make the Capitol choose her? If that's what she believes, she's forgotten one major piece of the puzzle; Me.

I am exactly like Maia, only so much better. We look and think similarly, but that's where the comparisons stop. I am the skilled one. I am the Victor. Maia is too obsessed with being perfect to actually be perfect. She's a stickler for the rules. She never takes any chances or risks. She never lets herself feel anything. She's guarded, and it won't serve her well in the arena. You can't plan for the arena. You have to roll with the punches and go with your gut. The Hunger Games is nothing more than a show. One that values flashiness and showmanship. The only thing worse than being weak in the arena, is being boring. And boring is one thing I am not.

Why else did she think that father always preferred me? It's because our father wants a victor. And he knows that the Victor will be me. Maia is a good second choice, but that's all she'll ever be; second. That thought alone, makes me take another confident sip of wine.

Golden seems to be enjoying the meal quite a bit too. She took the time to get to know Maia better after the score reveals but now, she has shifted to giving us both attention. I don't know if it's out of politeness or a tactic, but whatever the reason I'll have to make her see reason. I need to be the one she supports in there. The focus of her attention. And I know exactly how I'll do it. The same way I killed my interview, by making her love me.

It's not exactly difficult for me. I can charm any woman, anywhere. I spent my entire life back in District One doing it. With a face and silver tongue like mine, it's easy. I planned on doing it any way, after I won. What better woman would there be to woo than Golden Hendricks? She's beautiful, deadly and a Victor. We're a match made in heaven.

I specifically wait until the end of the evening, when all of the goodbyes and last pieces of luck are shared.

Maia is oddly calm tonight, and I don't know why. Normally, she's so full of herself she never shuts up. But tonight, she's cool as a cucumber, and it's worrisome. When she turns to me to say good night she actually smiles.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, Brandi," she whispers evenly, holding her tiny hands at her sides. Her face is an even mask, devoid of any emotion.

"See you when the gong rings out, sister," I tell her, unable to hide the smallest smirk. This is the last time she will ever be able to look at me and not feel fear. Not wonder when one of us will turn on the other. She seems to sense it too and gives me one long look before disappearing around the corner.

Now that she's gone and out of my way, I set out for Golden. I feel a quick sense of pride at the thought of what I am about to do. I really am lucky that I'm so good-looking. I won't have to try nearly as hard.

I find her in the sitting room, curled up in one of the big armchairs, a glass of sparkling wine balanced in her tiny, manicured hand. She looks relaxed, the way she can afford to be as a Victor and not a tribute. Tomorrow means nothing to her. One way or another, she already knows she has the victor in her midst's. She can rest easy.

She blinks when she sees me, the corner of her full attractive mouth pulling upwards. She looks ridiculously gorgeous tonight in a sheer gold-colored dress that matches her long hair, and from the confident way she's sitting, she knows it.

"Aren't you supposed to be getting some sleep?" she purrs, balancing her glass on the table as she elegantly rises from the armchair. It's a clear attempt to show off her ample breasts and long legs, but I don't mind. "You have a big day tomorrow, Brandi."

I know from the way she's looking at me and the deep, careful tone of her voice, that I wasn't wrong when we met. She wants me too. Technically speaking, relationships between a mentor and a victor aren't against the rules of the Games, but they are a bit taboo. It only makes it more fun for me.

I cross the room and stop right in front of her. Carefully, I reach down for her glass of wine and bring it slowly to my lips. I take a long, dramatic sip, very aware of how the red liquid looks so much like blood. Golden's eyes watch me like a hawk the entire time. Her eyes are practically glued to my mouth. Narrowed, even. She focused on me like I am her prey.

"The big day will be when I'm Victor," I tell her smoothly, my voice dripping with confidence. "Until then it's just having a bit of fun, isn't it?"

Golden smirks and tosses some of her iconic hair behind her back. "What makes you so sure you're going to win?"

She's flirting. That much is clear. Anyone who knows me knows why I am so confident. There's not a doubt in my mind that I'm going to win this thing, and Golden knows it too. That's why she's teasing me.

"Weren't you sure?' I whisper to her, wiggling my eyebrows. "before your Games. You must have known."

Golden's eyes flash at the memory of her time in the arena, and the left corner of her lips pull up slowly. "Of course, I knew. The victor always knows."

"Then I have nothing to be worried about, do I?" I ask her seductively. "Especially not with such a prepared and helpful mentor."

Golden relinquishes and lets out a sultry little sigh. "I suppose I have nothing to worry about then," she whispers, her thick eyelashes fanning out as she slowly looks me up and down. "The victor of the 59th Hunger Games is definitely on the floor."

That's when I know I have her.

"The victor of the 59th Hunger Games is standing in front of you Dollface," I whisper, teasing her the way she did me.

Golden smiles, and before she can say anything else, I'm leaning towards her. For a few delicious seconds, she doesn't move and then before we know it, we're kissing. As our mouths crash together, and I can feel her urgency as she kisses me back. She wanted this just as much as me. Besides the face that I'm good-looking, it's clear what her motivation is. I am going to be a victor. She wants to curry favor with me now before I'm crowned. Before I can have any woman, I want. She may be Golden Hendricks, a beautiful and vicious victor, but I'm Brandi Boyle, soon to be the most beloved victor of all time. And she knows it.

I don't let this bother me as I knot my hands in her trademark hair and kiss her passionately. She's my mentor. If she loves me, she'll keep me alive. So, I move my hands to her waist and slowly lead her back to my room.

I crack a smile as I she trots behind me excitedly, and all I can think is that once again, I have made the person who supposed to look after both Maia and I, like me better.

Good luck, Sister I think with a quiet laugh. Let the Hunger Games begin.

Sedna Dyan, 18, District Four:

I sink lower into the pool of water, letting the frigid water sooth my muscles and my mind. The bathtub in this apartment is huge. Pool- sized even. It's big enough that I when I sink to the bottom, I'm completely submerged with water.

It has all of these fancy faucets too, that make the water hotter, colder, bubbly, smell good, jets, whatever you want. It took me a few minutes to figure out, but I found that there was even a setting to make it salt water. I filled the tub up to the very top and plunged myself inside of it.

There underneath the surface, naked and feeling the salt on my skin, I finally feel like I'm home. It's a comforting feeling. If I close my eyes I could be swimming in the ocean back in District Four, with Serena or Murray. I could be fishing with my dad. I silently pray that the arena tomorrow will be tropical. If it feels like home than there's not a doubt in my mind that I will win.

Every ounce of me misses District Four. The warm sand between my toes, the sound of the cicada screeching in the background, and the salty, fishy smelling breeze. Mostly I miss the the constant radiating blaze of the sun on my back and shoulders. The Capitol is too cold. I hate the feeling of the mountain air. It feels stuffy and makes me shiver. In comparison, District Four feels like a living vacation. Finn doesn't feel the same way. He loves the Capitol. He would. Stupid, arrogant little boy. He belongs here. That's why he won't make it in the arena. Everyone knows if Capitol people wouldn't make it past the first five minutes of the Games.

My heart aches for my District, and for home. But as I move my arms up and down in the water, I remember why I am here in the first place. For my District. To bring honor and gifts to all the people that I love back home. I think of what it will be like to win.

My father will be so proud of me. He's been dreaming of that moment since I was little, and I won't disappoint him. I think of Serena too, and how she'll have to forgive me when I win. I'll do whatever I have to. Beg. Plead. Even shower her with dresses from the boutiques in the Town Center if I have too.

Then my mind drifts to Murray. His kind, handsome face and suddenly I'm overwhelmed with how much I miss him. I know he's sitting back in District Four watching every single thing I do on the Capitol programming. As both my trainer and my boyfriend, he wants me to win, and is analyzing my chances. I know he's glued to the screens.

I think of what he'd say to me if he was here and I can practically hear his voice in my head; "What are you doing in the water, Sed? There's water athome. Enjoy your last night in a Capitol bed and get some sleep. Tomorrow is the day you prove yourself."

I chuckle to myself and take the advice, lifting my body from the water and wrapping myself in a thick towel.

Murray's right. Tomorrow is the day I prove myself.

Lykon Sestius, 18, District Two:

I'm panting, and my breath is hitched. Beads of sweat are rolling down my cheeks and neck, as I grunt over and over again. I'm focused, and I don't stop. Over and over again I push myself. Harder and harder, my elbows slamming into my knees as I do sit up after sit up. Exerting m muscles feels good. Right. It's the perfect way to spend the night before the Games. I don't see the point in sitting around talking about them. That's now you win. It's just like all the other stupid things like the interviews. None of it matters. When the gong rings out, the only thing that will matter is how strong you are. How easily you can kill. So, I ready myself and do another hundred sit ups.

All of this; the Capitol trip, the tribute parade, the interviews, is all crap. Tomorrow is when the real Games begin. Where I will truly shine.

Waverly Tuffington, 27, Capitol:

The interviews were perfect. Better than perfect actually, they were phenomenal. An orchestrated piece of art. They couldn't have been better if I had scripted them myself. And believe me, if I could have, I would. The word perfectionist is almost synonymous with my names these days. Or so my Gamemakers tell me.

Of course, there were surprises. Things I wasn't expecting, like that boy from three. He had such extensive knowledge of the Games he could have been a contestant on a Capitol Game show. I wish we had had more of a chance to ask him about it, because I'm sure he's a bloodbath and that's a shame. But what chance does he have with those powerhouses from One and Two running around the arena. My arena. In all it's perfect glory.

There was a sense of relaxation for most of us Gamemakers during the interviews. We weren't crowded around the tech hub whispering in tense nervous voices like we usually are. Instead we were all seated together in the audience, dressed to the nines and watching just like everyone else. It is the last time I will only be watching the Games, and I try to savor it.

From every moment on, I will have a headset plastered to my head, and my eyes glued to the screens of the hub. I will need to be a lion, making sure I dominate the Games. What most people don't know. What you can't know until you do the job yourself, is that being Head Gamemaker is like being the most important tribute in the Games.

I take the time to enjoy the interviews with my fellow Gamemakers, sitting beside my friend Atticus. Together we sip sparkling wine and try to view the tributes as the Capitol audience does. Sometimes it helps to see them as the people do. It makes it easier to decide what to do to them in the arena. And it gives us an idea of who the favorites are. Some are easily guessed, like the Careers. Or the boy from Ten. But some are surprises. I never would have guessed the audience would scream as loudly as they did for the girl from Seven; Morgan. She seemed pretty plain to me, but it's clear the audience adores her. I make sure to make a mental note of that. And I can't ignore the way the boy from Ten lights up the stage. He has the Capitol audiences eating out of the palm of his hand. I knew they would love him. My female Gamemakers haven't stopped talking about him since his private session.

"Are you enjoying the fruits of your labor?" Atticus asks, chuckling quietly as the girl from Twelve flits to her seat beside Cesar. He's looking at me with his classic toothy smile, and I know he's having fun. The fun that someone is able to have when they're not in charge.

"Oh I'm downright delighted," I tell him, smirking as I watch the girl from Twelve toss her hair in a very calculated move.

I'm enjoying the interviews too, but it's different. I'm in charge. My mind is running with all the things I need to check on for tomorrow. The weapons, the tunnels of the preparation rooms, and the supplies. Every single element of my carefully designed arena has to be signed off by me, and me alone. I made sure of that.

By the time the interviews end, all of the other Gamemakers are headed home, ready to get the first full night's sleep for anywhere from two weeks to two months. No one ever knows how long the Games will last. Of course, I do have a hand in it somewhat. And this year I want a long one. Our new hub was designed with bedrooms equipped for the long nights of the Games. There is a system that schedules who sleeps and who works. That way there is always a certain number of people tending to the arena and tending to my tributes. As Gamemakers we will eat, sleep and breathe the Hunger Games until the Victor is crowned.

But I do not have the luxury of going home tonight. My after-interview plans were arraigned by the President, and I don't plan on disappointing him.

I keep running my hands over my dress as I get up from my seat. It was expensive. Too expensive. At least a month's rent, but I didn't care. Golden Hendricks' stylist is well worth the money. It's made of a shiny hot pink material that perfectly matched my eyes. It's one shouldered too, with a thick shoulder pad. It's very Capitol. And unlike anything else I usually wear, but I know that this is the style the President will prefer.

I quietly make my way to the back of the theater, where two Peacekeepers are clutching a sign with my name printed on it.

"Good evening, boys" I tell them as they lead me to a sleek, shiny black car outside, and open the door for me. "Did you enjoy the show?"

One of the Peacekeepers smirk as he gets in the seat beside me. "Oh, very much, Ms. Tuffington. It's gonna be a good Games this year."

The car is an expensive one I can tell from the way it effortlessly shoots forward through the narrow Capitol streets, passing the residents of the city so quickly that they're just a blur of bright colors and laughter. The President has spared no expense.

"And did you bet?" I ask, crossing my legs, my eyes locked on the Peacekeeper's in the rearview window. Through the helmet I see him crack a smile.

"Just this morning," the Peacekeeper replies with a sheepish smile. Not that I needed the confirmation. No one bets more than the Peacekeepers here. The Capitol Residents prefer to sponsor tributes. To have a hand in who wins. Peacekeepers like to gamble.

"Got any insider information?" the Peacekeeper presses, his eyes glued to mine, and I actually laugh.

People in the Capitol always try to press me for information about the Games. From the moment they find out that I am in charge, it's the only thing they want to know. Not that I blame them. The Hunger Games is the most exciting event of the year. Everyone wants to be involved in any way they can.

"Come on now," I say evenly, using the professional mask that has become my comfort. "You and I both know that I can't say a word about the Games. It's against the rules."

Both Peacekeepers chuckle good-naturedly and make casual conversation about their favorite Games while I watch the crowds of people in the city that we pass by. They're all exuberant, watching recaps of the interviews, crowding into souvenir shops, and lining up around the block to make their bets.

The car pulls up in front of a crowded restaurant that is lined with people who have just come from the interviews. I can tell from the way that they're dressed. It's even more ridiculous than normal. They're funky Capitol clothes have been replaced with equally as ridiculous evening gowns. In comparison, my dress looks tame.

The Peacekeepers push past the crowds of Capitol people and lead me through the front of the restaurant. It's a full house tonight, full of laughing and chattering people. The giant screens in the back of the room are all showing Hunger Games related programming, including recaps of the tribute parades, interviews, and Claudius Templesmiths' analysis.

The Peacekeepers clear a line through the room, leading me carefully. As we move, I see several familiar faces in the crowds. Mentors are littered across the restaurant floor, clustered in groups with hopeful sponsors, foraging the bonds that may or may not keep their tributes alive. A few of them look up with recognition, and I realize they know exactly who I am. I can tell from the sharp gaze they direct at me and the way they sit up straighter. They know that I control the lives of their tributes. They're showing respect. They have too.

In the very back of the room, is a roped off booth that is clearly caught the attention of most of the patrons here. Inside of it sits Cesar Flickerman and his band of groupies. He waves excitedly to me.

"Waverly!" he cheers in his usually dramatic tone. "Join us! We'd love a chat with a Gamemaker the night before the celebration begins, wouldn't we?" He turns to his group ad they all nod and giggle excitedly.

The Peacekeepers don't stop long to let me talk. "You know I'd love to Cesar, but I'm far too busy tonight. I have to make sure the Games are exciting, don't I?" I smile.

"Oh yes you do!" Cesar laughs, making his entire group chortle in unison, "We won't keep you, Waverly. Tend to your hunger, and then to your Games."

I smile again, glad I don't have to put up with Cesar's probing questions and pretentious personality for the evening. I like Cesar, but only in small doses. I respect that he's a big part of what keeps the Games running, but as a person, he's too much. That and his new red hair is just garish. I can hardly look at it with a straight face.

The Peacekeepers lead me up a flight of marble stairs at the back of the restaurant and to a private room. When they open the door, I saw a long oak table with a pearlescent tablecloth covered in beautiful foods and wines.

There are only two chairs. One on either end. President Snow sits at the furthest one. He's sipping blood-red wine from a crystal glass and stops to smile when he sees me. The wine still covers his teeth as he does.

"Ms. Tuffington," he says in greeting, "take a seat."

There's something weird about sitting across from the leader of our country. Sure, I've met him many times, but as Head Gamemaker there is a certain amount of pressure put on me that makes the interaction uncomfortable.

"Of course, Mr. President," I say and sit down in the plush chair. "Thank you for inviting me tonight."

The President nods. "Of course. I know the importance of tomorrow, I thought you could use a nice meal to relax you."

I know the President well enough to know that this dinner is not about my relaxation, or making sure I'm fed. If there's one person who understands that I love and breath the Games, it's the President. If he's invited me here tonight, there is a reason for it.

I take a swig from the wine glass in front of me and notice that the President's eyes are glued to me as I do.

"I am very proud of the job you have done so far," the President says, complimenting me carefully. "I think these Games will be very satisfactory. Public opinion seems to be very supportive."

I nod. "People are excited."

President Snow smiles. "Yes, they are. They love the Games, don't they? It's the whole idea of them. The opportunity for a young, beautiful district child to make something of themselves. The people of this country love that. They root for it."

He's pauses to rest his white, thin hand across his cheek, twirling his wine glass in the other hand.

"What I need from you, Ms. Tuffington," the President says, watching the red liquid swirl against the crystal glass, "is to make sure that that victor is not the boy from Eleven or the girls from Three and Ten."

I release the breath I was holding on too. This is what he asked me here to discuss? The rigged tributes. I thought that had already been handled. Doesn't the President know me and my work ethic well enough to know I'd never let a rigged tribute win the Games? That would be a failure and I don't do failure.

"Believe me President, they won't be," I tell him, nodding my head firmly. My voice resounded and strong "I'd be surprised if any of them made it past the first five minutes of the Games. And if they do, I can assure they'll die bloody." I take another sip of the wine in front of me and the President offers me an impossible white smile.

"That is what I like to hear, Ms. Tuffington."

The dinner lasts one hour exactly. After that I am shuffled out of the restaurant, into a car, and dropped off back to the Games headquarters.

I twist my hair out of its updo and let it fall down my shoulders as I make my way into the hub. I have to scan my fingerprints, retinas and input a nine-digit pin to get in. The extra security measures were my idea. I didn't want anyone touching my arena or interfering with my Games. Three stroked of the keys and the screens alive with the arena. The giant hologram of it appears in front of me, and I turn it slowly, admiring every element and curve of its perfect design. I'm almost drooling at the thought of the tribute standing in it tomorrow. It's going to feel so vindicating to finally watch ten months of work come to alive.

I open my metal folder in front of me and go over every last-minute preparation. The weapon list, the supplies, the tributes outfits. Everything.

There isn't a single problem. Everything is perfect. Tomorrow it will all play out exactly as it should. Tomorrow is the day I've been waiting over a year for. Tomorrow is the day I become the most powerful person in the entire country.

I can't wait.

The Morning Of:

Melody Twig, 15, District Eleven:

I just want to sleep. That's all I want.

For some reason, I actually slept well last night. I had anticipated a sleepless night full of tossing and turning, and vivid nightmares that would haunt me for ten hours. But instead, I had a resting, peaceful sleep. When I did dream, it was of nice things. Delicious food. Pretty dresses. Peace.

There was no beaten Bale in my sleep. My family wasn't starving. I wasn't in the Capitol. There was no Games. I just enjoyed it.

So when my stylists come barging into the room at six am sharp to deliver me to the Games, all I feel towards them is anger. I don't know what else to feel. I know I just lost out on the last few restful hours I will ever have, and I hate them for it.

Maia Boyle, 18, District One:

I wake up on the morning of the Games with only one feeling. Confidence. It's radiating through my pores and filling my head, as I gently wake up smiling.

Today is a momentous day. An exciting one. The day I begin the one thing I've been training my entire life for, the Hunger Games.

Up until this point, I had a pretty good idea that I was going to win and be the victor, but there was always one lingering fear in the back of my brain. One little worry that made me think this entire win could be ripped from my perfectly manicured hands. And its name was Brandi Boyle.

Sure, I know I am just as good-looking as Brandi. Just as talented. Just as determined. On paper, Brandi was never better than me. The opposite actually. I always outperformed him, and he certainly didn't want it more. But still, everyone is always drawn to Brandi. He's charismatic and manipulates people in a way that I've never been able too. And that worried me. Because while talent and drive are important, the Hunger Games are still a television show. And Brandi knows how to be a star.

But that all changed last night.

I pulled out every stop for my interview. Every smile. Every smirk. Every quippy comment in my arsenal. I made the Capitol like me just as much as my brother. I even made myself more beautiful than him. For the first time I made us even competitors. And he knows it.

I had my suspicions that my performance worried him after his strange treatment of me with the other Career's but it wasn't until I quietly crept back into the dining room for some water and found him showing his tongue down Golden's throat that I realized just how right I was.

It took everything in me not to burst into laughter when I saw him leading our mentor back to his room. He had to charm her to make sure she helped him. He knew that his skills alone weren't enough to get her to favor him. He had to seduce her to make sure she was fully on his side. That's how good I was, and it plastered a confident smile on my face for the rest of the night.

Who cares if I can't depend on Golden anymore? I don't need her. If she's siding with Brandi, I already know how stupid she is.

Brandi must think he has no chance of winning this thing. None whatsoever. Why else would he pull a stupid stunt like that? Something so pathetic. I know why. It's because he thinks I'm going to win. And he's right.

So when my stylists wake me up the next morning at dawn, I'm in a fantastic mood, skipping out of bed and dressing with a renewed excitement. My stylist chatters away happily as I slip on a simple white tracksuit, knowing I'll have to change in a few hours anyway, and she tells me how her roommates are rooting for me. How I'm their favorite, and it only makes me smile wider. Of course, I am. The Capitol people know a victor when they see one.

I take my time in the bathroom, looking at my face for longer than necessary. A good night's sleep did wonders for my face. It's as fresh and lovely as ever. My hair sits long and full on my shoulders, a perfect curtain of silver. My snowy complexion is even and clear, showing off the bright fierce blue of my eyes.

I carefully trace all of my features as I wash my face with cold water, unable to stop smiling no matter what I do. Today is more exciting than any birthday or holiday I've ever had. It will be more fun than anything else I've ever done.

I take one longer look at my reflection and allow myself one more confident smirk. After this moment, I cannot afford to be cocky anymore. I will need to focus and through myself into killing mode. I will be the deadliest tribute in that arena.

I hope my brother is ready.

Lydia Light, 16, District 5:

The ride in the hovercraft with my stylist is a quiet one.

Neither of us have much to say to one another and I don't think anyone blames us. How could we, after all? We both know what kind of horrors I'm going to be thrown into in a few hour's time. There's nothing that either of us could say to each other to make that less frightening. Small talk would be a waste of time, so instead we stay quiet.

I decide that this isn't the worst thing in the world anyway. I like the sensation of gliding through the air in the hovercraft. It's relaxing, and it lets my mind wander. Which isn't a bad thing today. The ride is so nice that I barely flinch when one of the Capitol attendants shoots my arm with my tracker. I just keep tracing my fingertips over the little bump and think.

I decide eventually to focus on what I'm about to do. I think of all the arena's and past Hunger Games I've ever seen. Of what happens the second the gong rings out. It's a bloodbath, it always is. The only way to escape immediate death is to try to high tail it out of there as quick as you can.

I frown. I'm not much of a runner, but I'm also smart enough to know that running is my only option. Thankfully, I don't think the other tributes expect much from me. I doubt I'm any one's first target. Most of the tributes look away from me pretty quickly. No one likes looking at the poor burned girl for very long.

I overheard the girl from One tell her brother at training that my face made her nauseous. It's not anything I haven't heard before. Kids back home in the district have said crueler things. In fact, today, I don't even mind that my scarred face makes me hard to look at. If people look away from me, they can't kill me as easily.

As long as I stay far away from the deadliest tributes and head for cover, I should be able to make it past the initial killings.

I'm certainly not strong enough to try and fight for the supplies in the Cornucopia. I'll let the others do that. I'd rather stay alive and forage for supplies in the arena.

I'm running over edible plants and water sources in my head when the hovercraft finally lands. I can't see exactly where we are because the window are blacked out, but a group of Capitol attendants lead me and my stylist through a series of underground tunnels and stop in front of a door marked, District Five Female.

I repeat the phrase over and over in my head. District Five Female. District Five Female. To these people that's all I am. The female tribute from District Five. I am nothing. Forgettable.

I hope the other tributes feel the same way. It's the only way I'll stay alive.

Tyler Minroe, 15, District Six:

Sometimes my mentor can be real idiot.

I mean I like the guy fine, but he doesn't seem to know the first thing about staying alive in these Games. It's a wonder how he ever managed to win this thing. He kept me from talking with the Careers after the interviews on purpose and I know I had to have missed some valuable information on what their plan is, so now I'll just have to wing it. Which I'm usually pretty good at, but I didn't want to have to do. It's hard enough to stick with the Careers without being the stupidest one there too.

My mentor told me he thinks sticking with the Careers is a way to get killed, I told him I'd rather die at their hands later than be bored the whole time and get killed by some nobody later. He stopped listening to me after that, and just wished me a quiet good luck.

But I don't really care all that much what he thinks about my plan. I like it. Sticking with the Careers is the only way this whole Hunger Games won't suck for me, so I'm sticking with it. If I have to be dragged to that arena, I'm going to have fun at least. That's what I've been doing this whole time, and so far, I've been enjoying myself. Say what you want about me, but I know how to have a good time.

So that's what I do when I get ready for the Games. I joke with my stylist during our hovercraft ride and with the attendant who injects my tracker. There're strawberries on board, and I turn it into an eating contest that makes me stylist double over with laughter.

By the time we get to the underground part of the arena, I'm basically doing a comedy routine for my guards and attendants that makes every last one of them smirk. I keep it going in the room I wait in, even calling the tube that will launch me into the Games a tube slide. It's probably a defense mechanism, because looking at the tube does my stomach do an uncomfortable little flip, but I ignore it. There's no fun in being worried, so I'm not going to let myself do it.

Instead, I gorge myself on the breakfast platter that's spread out in front of me and chat happily with my stylist about the arenas I hope I'll get.

"Do you have a preference?" my stylists asks as I work on my fourth breakfast sandwich.

I grin with a mouth full of food, "I'm hoping for tropics. I've never seen an ocean. A beach would be fun. Maybe I'll get an interesting farmers tan."

She chuckles and makes me drink some water. By the time the cool female announcer's voice is telling me to get on the launch pad, I'm in a pretty good mood. One way or another, this thing has to start. Hopefully, it might even be a little exciting. I climb on the launch pad and hope I'm close to at least one of the Careers. I need to remind them that I'm one of them. I'm an ally. Somehow, despite all the odds, in these Games, I'm a Career.

And Career's always have the most fun.

Velvet Wilkinson, 16, District Eight:

I had nightmares again last night. Horrible flashes of Games and arenas that I'd seen in the past with the faces of this year's tributes thrown in to make them even more terrifying and real for me.

I was disturbed by the sheer amount of times that Finn's face made it in there. The Career that has made it very clear he wants to kill me himself. Even thinking about being in the arena with him makes my skin start to crawl, but I know there's nothing I can do about it.

Junez told me all I have to do is outrun him, but I don't know if that will be enough. Sure, if he's halfway across the cornucopia from me, I probably can. But what if the Gamemakers put him right beside me? He'd probably strangle me with his bare hands before the I had time to take my foot off the launchpad.

I'm quiet most of the morning, doing whatever I can to keep my mind off of Finn and how great he is at wielding that stupid trident.

I'm grateful that the morning before the Games is spent with your stylist, because Tilly comforts me the entire time. She is the person here that I'm closest to besides Junez. There's something about her bubbly personality and great advice that reminds me of my mom. She fills all of the silence the entire time we ride in the hovercraft and make our way to the waiting room. She's highly perceptive and great at alternating the conversation between advice for the arena and things that would distract me, like sewing.

The only time I'm away from her is to take a very hot shower in the bathroom. It feels good on my muscles and does a little bit to relax me. The pad outside of the shower instantly dries and detangles my hair so that it sits shiny and red on my shoulders. In the mirror I can see the reflection of my naked body and I'm pleased to see that I have put on some weight since being in the Capitol. Probably from all of the rich foods they've been feeding us. Sure, I'm still one of the skinniest tributes here, but I'm not an inch away from starving anymore.

I wrap a towel around my body and leave the room to find Tilly opening the bag on my arena clothes. She examines each piece and then twists her bright blue hair into a bun.

"So? What kind of arena are they throwing me into?" I ask her, clutching the towel tighter and hoping that it's anything but tropics. They're food and plants are the ones I struggled with the most during training.

"I have no idea," Tilly says as she turns to me, with a look of irritation in her knotted eyebrows. "Each one of these pieces contradicts the other."

I curl up on the edge of the couch and frown. "What do you mean? How's that possible?" We had had a long conversation on the hovercraft about how the clothes they put tributes in are very telling. The years it's warm, it's all thin jumpsuits and tank tops. When it's cold, there's thermal clothing and fur lined jackets. And being from Eight, textiles are something I know like the back of my hand.

Tilly sighs and shakes her head. "Look, see these pants?" She holds up a pair of thin forest green pants. "They're built for foresty terrains. So you'd expect some kind of thermal lining right? For the cold nights? But there's none. And these," she yanks on the light grey Henley tee. It's only three quarters, and pretty thin too. It has a matching grey tank top for underneath.

"So maybe it won't be a very cold arena then," I tell her slipping on the pants and corresponding shirts. They fit like a glove. The material is soft and has good mobility. "Maybe it'll be normal."

Tilly raises an electric blue eyebrow, like I'm missing something very obvious.

"That's what I thought. Maybe it won't be tropics warm, but warm right? Then why give you this," she tosses a bundle of something at me. I catch the jacket. It's a heavy, tan colored thing, covered in pockets and lined with a thick, warm collar. It's the kind of thing that Peacekeepers were when it gets freezing in District Eight. It's a jacket built for very cold nights.

"And these," Tilly says handing me a pair of thick warm grey socks.

Suddenly I understand what Tilly means. Half the clothes are for a mild climate, the other half are for an arena that could be covered in snow.

"Why would they give us clothes that don't make any sense?" I ask, slipping on the socks and jacket. "Are they trying to trick us?" That seems like exactly something the Capitol would do. What better way to terrify tributes than outfit them improperly for the arena. As if we didn't have enough to worry about in their already.

Maybe the arena will be cold, and they want us to suffer, or it will be warm and those of us with the jacket on will be immediately distracted when the gong rings out. I wouldn't be surprised either way.

"I have no idea, Velvet. But whatever the reason it's probably not good for the tributes," Tilly says quietly. She looks very nervous. She's chewing on her perfectly painted nails and pacing the room as I slip on the shoes they provided. They're made of buttery brown leather, with thick heavy laces. When I look on the bottom, I smile. They have perfect treads. They're made for running. That's comforting for me. And I know somewhere for Junez too.

"The whole Games isn't very good for the tributes, Til," I remind her darkly. "They're dropping me in an arena full of people who want to knife me in the back."

Tilly's eyes grow dark and she frowns, the way she always does when I remind her about the grittier, violent side of the Games, and I sigh, not wanting to upset her in the final moments were together.

"Sorry," I whisper quickly, "I couldn't help it."

Tilly shakes her head. "Don't apologize. I can't imagine how your feeling right now. I'd probably say the same things if I were in your position."

She takes my token, the silver coin necklace from my father out of her pocket and places it around my neck and then looking very exasperated, she plops down on the thick fluffy couch, with her head in her hands, and after a minute she lets out a pair of tiny sobs.

Unlike Tilly, I can't afford to sit and cry. In a matter of minutes, I could be dead. So instead I lean against the couch, stretching the muscles in my arms and legs, preparing myself to run the way I do at home. The only chance I have at all of surviving is to fly through that arena like I do in the concrete streets of District Eight.

Tilly watches me while I stretch, her mouth turned into a frown. When I'm done, she forces to me to eat some eggs and sip on some water, and then the two of us sit beside one another rand she clutches my hand in hers, then she quietly pulls my hair out of my face and secures it into a low ponytail. My mind is on fire now, running through the possibilities of what will face me in a minute. I think of my mom, of Seam and Tweed, even of my father. Then I thick of Cecelia, and Junez, and I wonder if he's as nervous as I am right now. He must be right? But then I remember he did get an eight, and maybe he's not worried at all….

I drop my head on Tilly's shoulder and she sighs. "Promise me that you won't' give up in there, okay Velvet? Just try as hard as you can. Fight for it if you have too."

"So don't go running into any knives?" I ask, the ghost of a joke in my tone.

"I'm serious," Tilly says. "Try."

She sounds like a grown-up Tweed when she says this, and my heart tightens at the thought of my best friend back home. They're similar. They're both wise. Tilly's waiting for my answer, so I nod my head carefully. "I'll try," I say quietly.

That's all I can promise her. That I'll try. Try and stay alive.

Morgan Mak, 17, District Seven:

I wish I could have seen Elm this morning before all of the Pre-Games craziness. I know he must be scared and worried enough without having to be all alone too, but unfortunately the only person were allowed to see before the Games is our stylist. It's too bad. I think Elm might have been a comfort to me today.

Last night was the hardest night of my entire. I spent the entire night tossing and turning in bed as I thought of Momma, Poppa, Birch, and Brent. My family. The people I love most in this world, and the ones that I will never see again when I die today.

I'll never bake muffins with Momma in the kitchen or joke with her in my bedroom as she braids ribbons into my hair. I'll never sit with Poppa in the workshops, carefully sawing and staining wood to make beautiful, lasting furniture.

I'll never run through the woods with Brent, chasing hummingbirds and competing to see who can chop down the biggest trees. I'll never tuck Birch into bed and make up stories for him to hear as he falls asleep. There will be no more beautiful, happy family breakfasts. After today, they might continue, but my death will hang over them at the table, and the thought of their unhappiness sends me into another frenzy of crying.

I thought of Baxton too, and how sad he looked when he said to goodbye to me, his beautiful, kind face riddled with grief as he clutched poor baby Willow in his arms. We will never be married. We'll never take care of that sweet baby girl. My entire future will be stripped away from me when I enter that arena and it makes me want to curl into a ball and cry some more.

I spend the entire prep time, from the hovercraft ride to the tunnels thinking about my home back in District Seven. I think of the beautiful town center. I think of the woods where I spent so much time with my brothers. If there is anyone in this whole Capitol looking out for me, then there will be woods in this arena. If I manage to survive the bloodbath, which is unlikely, I will flee to the woods and find a nice thick, oak tree to curl up in. Then at least, I can close my eyes and pretend I'm back home.

My body shivers with fear as I shower in the underground room, knowing what I will have to face in an hour from now. My hands shake so badly as I wash my hair that they keep getting knotted up in the honey colored strands and eventually I end up curled in the corner, crying softly as the water sloshes over me and turns cold.

I only let myself be upset for a few minutes though. The other tributes already know how weak I am in comparison. The last thing I want to do is show up on the launchpad with a pink nose and matching cheeks to let them all know I was sobbing minutes before. No. I want Momma and Poppa to be proud of me when they see me. My brothers too. I don't want them to know I'm scared.

When I come out of the bathroom. My stylist and I open the arena clothes and I'm glad to see that they're simple and fit well. Even though I can't tell what kind of arena I'll be in.

Please be forests, I beg kindly in my mind, as my stylists takes the time to twist my hair into a long braid down my back.

"It'll keep the hair out of your eyes," she tells me, tears in her eyes. "I want you to be able to see if anyone's coming at you." She's crying now, and it's such a nice gesture it makes my heart hurt.

"Thank you," I tell her and embrace her in a tight hug. "I really appreciate it."

She dabs at her eyes when we break apart and nodes eagerly. "Of course. It was a pleasure to serve you this week, Morgan."

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the wooden cube I made with Sarah and Hailey. My token. The minute I see it, my heart swells up with happiness again. I forgot I could take that into the arena with me, and I'm so glad I brought it. It will bring my comfort in there. Like Sarah and Hailey are watching over me.

My stylist opens the pocket on my jacket, the one right above my heart and places the cube in there.

"Make sure you don't take it out until your safe," she warns. "If you drop it from the launchpad they'll blow you sky high."

"I won't," I tell her, my heart racing with fear at the possibility.

We don't get a chance to say anything else to one another, even though I desperately want to thank her for making this process as painless as possible for me. The voice announcing thirty seconds to the Games has filled the room and my heart begins to thud with nerves.

My mindset has shifted. I can no longer think of home now. Of my parents or my brothers. I stand firmly on the launchpad, and as it closes around me, I know that I now can only think of Elm. He needs me in here. I am all he has.

The voice now says ten seconds and the launchpad slowly starts to rise into the air. I can barely feel my legs now. My whole body is quivering as it rises higher and higher, sending me into a fit of anxiety.

This is the moment I have been dreading since I was reaped. Standing on the launchpad for sixty endless seconds, looking at the arena and all the people who want to kill me will be torture. I take a deep breath as the launchpad rises into the arena and the brilliant sun blinds me for a moment. The countdown begins loudly, and it takes five seconds for my eyes to adjust and take in the sight of the arena.

When I see it, I breathe a sigh of relief.

Marcus Sparks, 13, District Three:

Sixty Seconds.

That's how long I have to stand on the launchpad and see as much of the arena as I can before the Games begin. Sixty seconds to scan the arena and delve into my extensive knowledge of Games past to figure out what the best course of action will be. I need to see what the Gamemakers are thinking. I need to be as brilliant as they are. That's my purpose in this Games anyway, right? I'm the smart one. The brilliant tribute. This is where it counts. My launchpad stops rising and my eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the blazing sunlight.

The countdown begins and fills my ears as I stare around me, making sure not to move me feet even an inch from my launchpad.

The golden cornucopia sits evenly in the middle of our twenty-four metal plates, about a hundred feet away from any of us and nestled in a meadow of grass. Even from here I can see it's piled with weapons, food and supplies. There are some other supplies scattered around the outside and spread out closer to our launchpads, but it's clear that all the good stuff is in the middle of the cornucopia. The closest thing to me is a square of silver metal and even that is at least ten feet towards the Cornoupia. It could be helpful, but I calculate that it's not worth the risk of being stabbed. I forgo it.

45 seconds left. I turn my head behind me slightly and see that the Meadow with the Cornucopia seems to be in a circular valley of some kind, surrounded by a circular set of stone steps. There not steep, about ten or twelve of them, but they're uphill and the only way out of this Meadow. It's enough to wind someone who's not used to running, and it's clearly an attempt to slow some of us down. It makes it harder to run out of here at full speed when you're doing it on steps.

It puts our backs to the Cornucopia too. Which means if you're not fast enough, you're going to end up to a knife to the back before you reach the fifth step. Our best chance is to head straight for the steps and try to make it up them before the Careers make it to the weapons.

An even, thick forest starts directly after the steps, with very tall trees. They're unnaturally tall. Probably to hide whatever is beyond them and that makes me shudder. I can't see how deep they go, but I notice a few supplies are scattered at the entrance of the forest too. Maybe to give those of us fast enough to make it out of the meadow a fair chance. That's a little concerning though. What kind of horrors lie in this mystery arena that they felt we needed more supplies?

What is behind those trees?

30 seconds.

I face forward quickly, trying to scan the line in front of me. My launchpad is near the side of the the front of the Cornucopia, so I can still see inside of it. If I was a Career, this would be excellent, I could make it straight to the weapons without blinking, but I'm not. I know I will be immediately heading behind me, up the stairs and to the trees.

I look instead to who I am near. They will give me an idea of what I will be in for when the gong rings out. On the right side of me is the girl from Eleven. Melody. The quiet one who always looks a little pissed off. There is absolutely nothing special about this girl whatsoever, so I immediately don't worry and turn to my left side. It's the girl from Ten. The pretty one. Crickett. She is careening on her toes scanning the launchpads like her life depends on it. It takes me only a second to realize that she's looking for her District partner. The big one. Gael. She probably thinks he's her best chance of surprising, and she's most likely right. But I can see him from here. He's at the very back of the Cornucopia, as far away from her as he could be. She has such a slim chance of reaching him before someone murders her. Especially considering one tiny twist of my head reveals that she's beside the girl from One. She has a 1:8 chance of not ending up with one that girl's throwing stars in landing in her head. If I were her, I wouldn't risk it.

20 seconds.

I focus myself now, leaning back as far as I can on my launchpad so that I'm nearest to the steps, and as far as possible from the other tributes. Run to the trees. That is my best course of action. Who cares what is beyond them. What choice do I have?

10 seconds.

I take a deep breath and ready myself, and then the gong rings out.