The Direction Games: A One Direction Fan Fiction

7

7

   “You did what?!” Katy screeched the minute I’d finished recounting the story for Simon, Louise, Caroline and her.

   “He rebelled,” Simon said, defending me for once so far in these days leading up to the games. “It’s a risky strategy, but he shot perfectly, right?”

   I nodded as the last word in his question was directed to me. I’d hit the bottle of wine directly in the center of the label; just another bull’s-eye.

   Katy pursed her lips, unsure of what to say, and plunged the main room of the flat into complete silence. It could’ve been worse. I could’ve gone with my first plan and killed a Gamemaker.

   I heard the elevator doors, behind me, open and close, and light footsteps patter out. Taylor was back up from her demonstration period. She stepped over to the rest of us. “Hey,” she purred out, with a large smile plastered on her face.

   We all sort of nodded to her, none of us using words to greet her. A confused expression crossed over her face at our silence.

   “Taylor, were the Gamemakers watching you?” Louise asked quizzically.

   Taylor nodded. “Like a hawk,” she replied, “Why?”

   Without the need for me to speak, the others launched into the story of my private session. I just sat there; ignoring any glares I got from Taylor, by the end, her face was frozen in the same shock it had held before when I’d fired the first arrow.

   “Did their faces look anything like hers?” Caroline asked with a slight laugh, pointing her thumb at Taylor.

   I let a chuckle escape and nodded. They’d actually managed to cheer me up about this. We all let out a short chorus of laughs, except Taylor and Katy; Taylor still frozen by the information she’d just received, and Katy biting her bottom lip in horror.

   “Do you realize what they could do to our families?!” Taylor finally burst.

   “Nothing,” Simon said, butting in for me. “To do anything to anyone they’d have to reveal what happened in your sessions to everybody, and they wouldn’t break their own rules to do so.”

   “The worst they can do will happen in the arena,” Caroline added, “And all of it is going to be possible to survive through.”

   With Caroline’s last words, we drifted off the topic of my private session. In fact, we avoided talking about training until after dinner, when we returned to the sitting room, where they will show our final training scores on television. They will show our picture, and announce our name and score, ladies first and then the boys by district number.

   “Mine will probably suck,” I muttered.

   They all disagreed, but I knew it in my heart I would probably have the lowest score on the program. Most of the Career Tributes would have their usual eight-to-ten range out of a score of twelve, and the others would usually average a five.

   The Capitol anthem played and there on the screen was the announcer for this year’s games in all his shining, boldly red-haired glory, Kaius Evans. He wished us a good evening and then dove right into the program.

   A picture first flashed of the female tribute from District One, and Kaius resumed speaking. “Claire Easton,” he started, and her number flashed, “Nine.”

   Next, was a picture of the boy from one with the quiff. “Zayn Malik,” he said, “Six.”

   Then there was the girl from Two. “Jaden Lands: Seven.”