Our Love Could Be Lethal Act I Re-Write

Act I: Mentor, Mentor

The train ride to the Games is a quiet one, but I can't complain. That's just the way I like it. Though, unlike the ride back from my own Games, I don't hide away in my room and I make sure to take up space in the main compartment—let the others hide this time if they don't want to be around me. Lyme has come with us to be the female tribute's mentor. Usually, I'd be shadowing to take over the next year, but since I refuse to participate in the Academy, it's likely I'll only ever be a mentor for appearance's sake only. That is perhaps a good thing, because the female tribute is someone I happened to not get along with in the Academy. I claim a prime spot at one of the window tables and throw my feet up on the table, flipping through a Capitol magazine to pass the time. Sometime into my reading, I feel someone's eyes on me.

I try to push past the feeling and ignore it, hoping the presence will go away—"Have you always been intimidating or is that a new thing that I'm just now noticing?" says Percy our male tribute who just so happened to be one of my friends from the Academy. Not that there's any surprise with that; the Academy sends two children each year without fail. I can't remember the last time a 'normal' kid slipped through the cracks and was sent to the Games. We're the same age, he's a few months younger than me and would be turning 19 by the end of the year. But more importantly, I haven't seen him since the day I went to clear things out of my locker at the Academy. Or any of my other friends from the Academy for that matter.

I lower the magazine to get a look at him and realize he's looking at the picture of me on the front cover. "Very funny," I say sarcastically as I go to return to reading.

A few beats of silence pass before he speaks up again. "We've missed you down at the Academy you know," he states simply. "Knife-throwing class just isn't the same without you being ready to give out impromptu haircuts."

This time, I set the magazine down in my lap more forcefully but try to maintain a sense of calm in my voice. "That's very nice of you."

"Why'd you leave?" he asks, his voice both sincere and a bit forceful at the same time.

"You wouldn't understand," I say dismissively. It may come off as rude, but it's inherently true. He won't get it.

But he wastes no time with the retort as he sits forward in his seat. "You're right. I don't understand. But that's why I'm asking, Octavia. Why'd you do it?"

I take a hostile breath and avert my gaze to the window. I don't have anything to say. Or maybe I don't know what to say.

"You know, Gareth called you ungrateful and unappreciative. And I defended you. I said that you always have a reason for the things you do. You're smart. You're always one step ahead of the count. So explain it to me. Explain why my friend disappeared after she won the crown. You haven't talked to any of us since you got back. Please tell me you have a good reason."

"Percy, it's not like that. Things are...complicated."

Percy scoffs. "That's what Brutus said when we asked him too. You won the Games. You're a victor now. And you don't come back to help us? I know—I knew you. The Academy was your life, all of our lives, and you just pack up and leave like it's nothing? Like it means nothing?"

What am I supposed to say to him? If you survive the next few weeks of your life, you will be permanently traumatized. You won't be the same person, so you might as well have not survived at all. Killing other children isn't all it's cracked up to be, Percy. And if I told him that, it would only worsen his chances of winning because he would be in the middle of having a life crisis in an arena of death. I feel a lie surface, a plausible, more like a half-truth type lie, and pluck it from my thoughts. "I'm taking care of my grandmother. She's sick."