Chapter 1
I lay on the cold side of my bed, giving my back a break for a while. I slip out of my khakis and put on my pajamas with the little lambs on them. I then retreat under the covers and carefully prop the pillow up so it's accustomed to my neck, and sigh. What a busy day, I think.
The breakfast I shared with Josh reminds me its still there when my stomach wobbles like it always does on a roller coaster. I can remember clearly and surely, his Kentucky accent chirping at me to slow down. "You're going to become sick," He assures me. And he was right. He had only had a plate of bacon and eggs, where as I ordered flapjacks, waffles, strawberries, bacon, and a glass of sparkling water.
I guess when your best friend reminds you it's best to keep your food in your belly, you shouldn't argue.
I guess I shouldn't try to make myself turn green, anyway. I swing my head around to check out the four, medium-sized suitcases that sit just above the green and pink rug that lies on my floor.
Tomorrow's the day, I remind myself. Tomorrow is the day I spend another 10 months working on the sequel to The Hunger Games.
As excited as I am, I've gotten no rest in the past few days. I had a photo shoot with Dustin Rowles witch didn't get me home until 1 a.m. on Wednesday, attended a luncheon with the people from Glamour magazine on Thursday, spent a day with my dad at the gun range yesterday, and had a heck of a day today with Josh.
I bite my lip as I twiddle the hangnail on my finger with frustration. I turn over to the other side of my bed and cast my gaze out the window upon the glowing city before me. Los Angeles at night is crawling with the rich and famous, vying to flaunt their new sports cars, diamonds, ladies friends, whatever. But I'm not like that. Growing up in Kentucky, you sort of adapt to the friendly down-to-earth vibe everyone gives off. One of my close buds, Josh Hutcherson, was also raised in Kentucky, so he would understand what I'm saying. I mean, he should. That boy is the product of good-manners, loyalty, and kindness.
I feel my eyelids pulling me down with drowsiness as I try to remember exactly what the plan is tomorrow. Get up. Shower. Meet up with Amelia. Head out to the airport. Arrive in North Carolina. Simple stuff. I fret for a while, like I'm forgetting something, but after five minutes of this I quickly shake it off and let the moonlight pull me under.
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Zzzzzzzzing! I snap upright and rip the covers off of me as I pant heavily. I slap my fingers to my forehead as I realized it was only my phone ringing.
Damn it! I think to myself. Well, you didn't have to scare the hell out of a sleeping person; whoever you are.
I grab my phone off the desk next to me and press the button on the Blackberry to enter it. I check for missed calls and notice that it was my publicist, Amelia, who had called me.
I sigh, and without further hesitation I rapidly dial her phone number as I wait for her to answer. "I just want this call to go by fast so I can get some damn sleep," I complain to myself, again. Three rings later, she answers asking me why I didn't answer to her phone call.
"Ugh, It's ten thirty, Amelia. I was asleep. Anyway, I sprung up so fast when that phone rang that I thought I mus've went deaf in my right ear," I say, patting with hand on the spot atop my ear.
"Word of advice?" She suggests. "Change your ringtone."
I roll my eyes at that comment. It remind me of someone...a character...Haymitch! Haha, with his sarcastic ways and all. Then I think of Woody Harrelson, and the rest of the cast which reminds me I will be seeing them all tomorrow. If, I get any sleep, that is.
"I'm sorry. I was just calling to remind you about your busy day tomorrow!" She starts. Now that remark, reminds me of Effie. Oh! I tell myself, Save this Hunger Games talk 'till tomorrow!
"Go on," I sputter. I yawn into the receiver loud enough so she'll know how tired I am. "Okay, so you will wake up at approximately...6:00 a.m. Have you set an alarm?" She asks, clearly aggravated with me already.
"...Uh-huh." I gape.
"Good. Then you shall get yourself ready. You know, shower, dress, get your bags. Check and remind yourself that you are not leaving anything behind that you need." She says specifically.
"I'm all set!" I confirm. "I packed, like, 4 days ago, anyways." I moan. With a long pause from her end, I know she is already doubting me. "Okay. Then you should meet me at the studio around...7:30. Then off we go to the airport with the rest of your castmates to run down North Carolina." She quivers.
That's just it with her. She can't be supportive. She just so.. accustomed to the high live of California with it's fame and glitz and glamour. She just can't take a brake from the jewels once in a while and settle herself into real, beautiful wildlife. Even a brick in the face wouldn't wake her out of the shallow Hollywood drama she is so persistently drowning in.
"Okay. I got ya. Plus, I did a mental check of the same exact things you just explained to me before I went deaf," I raise my voice. "Thanks for the call, though." I manage.
"No problem. See you tomorrow!" That's when the phone clicks off. I slam it back on the desk next to me and shove the pillow over my eyes to block out the dim light shinning through the window from the nearby city. And her words. Ugh, I just need get away from this superficial crap for at least two seconds. And hopefully Josh can give me that. I fall asleep at this thought, with a wide smile crept across my face in hopes of tomorrow.
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Zzzzzzzzzing! I awake, less panicked this time because at least I had some sense in knowing that this alarm was coming. I pick up my phone and glance at the clock. 6:01 a.m.
"Uurrrrgh!" I spit as I slam the pillow tight over my face again. The comforting cold it gives off quickly disintegrates and absorbs the heat of my face, turning it as warm as the other side. And that's my cue that it's time to get up.
I pull through my closet, looking for whatever will be comfy for my trek to the airport, and place it on the dresser in the bathroom. I slip out of my night clothes and let the shower water run as I step into it. An instant feeling slips down my body. Unbearable warmth. I remember the warm pillow incident this morning, and soon realize that I'm sweating.
I step up to the faucet in the shower and turn it to the cold side, waiting for it to replenish me. I stand there for about ten minutes, washing myself, shampooing, and then alight myself from the ice beads that stand still on my skin.
I wash off and put my hair up in a towel as I dress in a maroon jumpsuit and low-top Converse sneakers. Comfy, relaxing, yet not overwhelming.
I glance at the clock on the wall in my living room; it reads 6:42 a.m. I pull my hair in a wet up-do to scrub my face clean with a morning facial wash. Then I gulp down a glass of orange juice and decide on weather or not I should make a bowl of cereal, but I come to the conclusion that I can't just order food on the airplane.
I undo my hair and quickly blow-dry it, and unsatisfactorily find that it's getting later than it should be and that I probably won't have time to finish.
Knowing this, I just throw my hair up in a bun on my head and prop my sunglasses on top of it. After I brush my teeth, I grab a banana from my table and head to my car.
Once I arrive at the studio, I find my publicist, Amelia waiting for me with her luggage. She soon realizes how hard I'm doing heaving my luggage up to her, and gets some of her attendants to help me load them into the van that will take us to the airport.
The ride takes a short time, about 30 minutes at the least, and into the airport we go. Once we pass security, they escort us to a private plane reserved for The Hunger Games Cast Only. We walk a short distance to the runway and we let the attendants take our luggage and prop it in the luggage compartments. Then we load ourselves in the plane to see that everyone of the main cast is already there, and I blush as I realize that we were the last ones.
Wait a second...Where's Josh? They're starting the plane when I silently panic, searching for him. It's only when he retrieves from the bathroom that I see him, smile, and head for the seat next to him.
