I’m laying on the bed in my Capitol room when suddenly my prep team comes in. “Ready for interview night?” They ask me. I smile—very fake— and say, “yes.” But I’m not ready. I don’t want to talk to a bunch of people who want to see me die in the arena. “So today, we thought we could work with an off the shoulder dress.” One of the members of my prep team go on to showcase the most gorgeous dress I’ve ever seen. Not that I’m one for most dresses back in District 7, but the silky emerald fabric seems to fit me perfectly. I wonder how they got the measurements exactly. “It’s… beautiful.” I say, and then I smile—a genuine one. They decide on doing a complicated version of a fishtail braid, my stylist’s fingers weaving through my thick blonde hair effortlessly. It’s loose on purpose, so some of the pieces hang down to frame my face. I can’t say I don’t like it. I finger a piece of my now-soft blonde hair. The Capitol has changed us. And although we’re headed to have an interview with people who will be watching our deaths with a bowl of popcorn on their sofa like we’re in a movie, at least they can get an impression of us before we become monsters. Or victims. I uneasily stand up. And then Arbor comes in. He’s wearing a dark green suit-like thing. His eyes are the same color as the pine green fabric. I can’t admit it doesn’t look cute on him. I avert my eyes quickly, embarrassed, but he’s looking at my dress too. I feel kind of awkward now, like these clothes are just a little too thin for comfort when he’s around. “Well? What are we waiting for?” Rowan asks sharply to the prep team. “Take them to the green room.” Our prep team leads us to the green room A real smile. I smile back. Mine also real. “Hey Rosemary, you look gorgeous.” She says. I stare back down at my dark green flowing off shoulder dress. I nod in gratitude and say “Thanks, Piper. You look wonderful as well!” She looks down at her black short skirt and strapless lava red dress. “What? This old thing?” I laugh. We’re both wanting to ask the same thing and I know it. “So… how did training go?” I say carefully. Obviously we’re not forced to say whatever we did for training but since we’re allies, I figure we may as well. Plus then she can know that the Gamemakers probably want to destroy me. She pauses for a second. I guess she’s wondering what to say. She hesitates for a moment, and I wonder if she’s going to tell me, when she starts talking. “Well, I showed them my knife skills... and they were looking at me with... pity." I wait for her to continue with an expressionless face. "There was a bucket of red paint-" she chokes off, starting to cry. "And I threw a-" choking again. "another knife at it...and-" "There was red...all over the Gamemakers, and I said-" I must look concerned, because she seems to be thinking about something having to do with me. "I said, 'happy hunger games'." I’m silent. Wow. The question I’m thinking about is, why did they give her a 1, and me a 10? Did they further want to agitate the Careers and District 10 to hate me? Probably. “You probably think I'm really pathetic now," Piper says, wiping her eyes. “No,” I say. “I don’t.” She isn’t pathetic. But that could put her in danger. Being a rebel, I mean. “Look, even though the Gamemakers rated you badly, it doesn’t reflect your actual abilities. Remember the victor from District 12 a few years ago? Haymitch? Well, he got like a really low score. But he still won. Went back home.” I needed to hear that too, honestly. “I guess,” she says. Her eyes are still red and slightly splotchy. I wish I could comfort her further, but I don’t know if she wants alone time or what. “So, what about you? How was your session?” she asks me. I take a deep breath. “Well…” I say slowly, preparing to pick and choose my words so I don’t seem like SUCH a rebel. Because that seemed like a very rebellious act to me. “I kind of told the head Gamemaker something and then when I threw my axe they weeent watching. So well… I started singing… a song that shouldn’t be sung. The Hanging Tree. I’m not sure if you’ve heard it. It’s technically forbidden but I sing it in the woods a lot,” I elaborate quickly. “And I k1ll3d the president as a dummy.” Her face changes as quickly as the Gamemakers’ did when I started singing it. I don’t know why that song has such an effect, but it does. “That’s a Covey song,” she murmurs. I don’t know if she meant to say that out loud, but I know it’s true. Her head looks like it’s about to explode, and she is blinking back tears from her eyes. I’m concerned about her. And confused, until she says “I’m sorry. I have to get out.” And I respect that. So I let her walk away, and I let her be alone as I hear the sobs coming from the bathroom—despite my instincts telling me to run and comfort her. She wanted alone time, I tell myself. She doesn’t want you to be there. I take a deep breath. It’s too close to showtime to fall apart.
