all too well

chapter four. . . the interviews

BITING MY LIP, I WAIT NERVOUSLY FOR THE SCREEN TO SHOW ME MY SCORE. Once again, they went in order of the districts, which meant I'd be dead last. As to be expected, the careers all received scores of tens and nines. The rest of the districts scored between three and seven, with Azalea winning a six. The boy from eleven—whose name I found out was Scythe—had earned an impressive ten, and his partner only got a four. When Dusty's face appears on the screen, with a flashing nine circling him, everyone cheers for him. Haymitch grabs his shoulder, giving him a congratulatory shake.

The room is so quiet, you could hear a pin drop, as a one flashed in front of my picture. My stomach sank; was this the lowest score in Hunger Games history? I can't help but feel stupid, I'd sung. Not show off any real skills. Even the survival skills I'd acquired from the forest would have given me an average score, like five or six. My cheeks flushed a deep red as everyone's bewildered faces stared at me.

"What did you do?" Effie practically shrieks.

"Nothing, apparently," Haymitch replies, side-eyeing me.

Dusty reaches out for my hand, "Didn't you show them your fire building?" he asks, leaning in closer to me. All I can do is shake my head, trying to contain the tears threatening to spill.

"I sang," I mumble, avoiding everyone's gazes.

Only Tigris seems to know what I mean, as a smirk appeared on her face. "What song?" she inquires, leaning in, eager to hear my response.

I bit back my own smile, "Pure as the Driven Snow," I reply. She bursts into laughter, covering her mouth with her hand to contain her giggles. Our exchange must be extremely weird to everyone else in the room.

Taking a quick swig from his container, Haymitch shot me a mischievous grin. "Which has nothing to do with our dear president, right?" he teases, his eyes focusing curiously on me,

"His presence may have inspired me," Haymitch spits out his drink, Effie and Ptolemy gasp in shock while Tigris' eyes widen. "What?"

Dusty looks at me like I have two heads, "He wasn't there for me. Are you sure you saw him? It wasn't someone else?" he questions, but I shake my head in response. That answers one question, I guess. It's like my presence tortures him, so he has to return the favour tenfold. I'm sure he had something to do with my low score.

Effie places a hand on my shoulder, "President Snow never comes to those things. Not since he was a game maker himself," she explains. The knowledge that he not only condoned the Hunger Games but also played an active part in it makes my stomach crawl. It wasn't driven snow that he was as pure as—that much is obvious. Pure evil, was more like it. "You must've been mistaken. Singing is. . . an interesting choice, but don't worry, I'm sure once Caesar is done with you, sponsors will be piling up to place their bets on you," she tried to comfort me, but honestly, it made me feel worse. Effie didn't want me to win, she wanted one of her tributes to win. It didn't matter who she brought to victory—I doubt she even cared for me—just as long as she did.

The next couple of hours, Haymitch trains Dusty and me on what to say during the interview to get the most sponsors. He convinced my partner to go down the protective route—which wouldn't be that hard to do—and say that he cared deeply for me. We hardly knew each other before this, but the Capitol didn't need to know.

As for me, the only instruction Haymitch gave me was to sing. He sent me off to my room to practice, and I had just the song in mind. I only had a few minutes on stage, so if I had to sing, it was gonna have to be short and sweet. It didn't matter I couldn't play the guitar, since I found out that during the interview, they weren't allowed to bring anything extra on stage. Something to do with a tribute from years ago who supposedly "smuggled" a guitar on—I wonder who that could be.