Jeopardy: The Fourth Quarter Quell

Afternoon - Elton

Elton

It’s been at least twenty four hours since Wake died, and I’m still expecting him to poke his head out from behind a tree and shout “Boo! Fooled you!”

He pretended to be drowned once, letting himself float into shore on his front, motionless, so I had to swim in and drag him out. I hadn’t been expecting to go in the water because there’s plenty of shells on the beach and the water generally doesn’t agree with my hair, but if he’d died then I’d have had to fetch the quota on my own. Frankly I don’t get what’s so special about shells – they’re ugly things, always scratched and mostly looking like lumps stuck onto other lumps – but a job is a job and it doesn’t involve water and it still gave me plenty of time for training. If I’d been born in One or Two, training would have come first. But no; in Four you train if you’ve got the time. That must be why we end up with so many weaklings.

I’d been just about to do basic CPR when he sat up, headbutting me painfully in the nose as he did, spat a stream of water into my face and ran off, laughing like it was the funniest joke in the world. And I’d set off to make him pay for getting my hair wet, until Mr. Meera poked his head out of his hut and shouted for us to both get back to work, thank you very much. The old ex-Peacekeeper dude isn’t that bad, to say he’s from Two where it looks like they’re deadly strict, so we’d stopped and carried on looking for shells and I didn’t forgive him until I’d washed my hair.

“Hey, Wake, remember-?“

Wake is dead.

Luxury wheels around and glares at me, her eyes practically daggers already, and my mouth snaps shut of its own accord. Fear pulls at the back of my mind, which isn’t helped when Diamond snarls and draws a finger across her elegant throat. Pretty girls. But too deadly for my liking. I prefer them giggly and blushing; it’s good for the ego.

“Okay, I get it,” I mumble, just to annoy them, “No talking or else. Loud and clear.”

Why am I still here? Obviously I know why I’m here and not guarding the supplies with Venus and Chase. They don’t trust me not to run off, and Venus is the best choice because she makes too much noise to be any use on a hunt, and Chase is just as bad. But why am I sticking with the Careers in the first place? Diamond, pretty as she is, isn’t to be trusted, and Luxury is probably the same because girls like that generally are. Claymore is too dim, too loyal to the ‘Career’ idea to even think about killing me off – especially when I make such good bait, and let me tell you, bait has never looked so good – but I wouldn’t put it past his partner, the one who looks about as much fun as a lobster that knows you’re going to kill it and knows what its claws are for. I’ve still got the scars; lucky that Wake is quick with a hammer or the stupid thing would have had my finger off. As it was it ruined my nails.

I rub my little finger with a sigh, feeling the ridges. This earns me another glare from Luxury. Or Luxie, as she hates to be called. How far can I push her before she snaps? The urge to test it bubbles up in my mind, but the desire to stay alive is stronger. Just about.

So, anyway. Why am I here? They don’t like me. They won’t protect me. Well, Ade might, as long as her totally-not-boyfriend Crispin isn’t in danger; I’m from her beloved District Four. They flank the left side, Ade clutching her net and intensely focused, Crispin pretending to be relaxed, occasionally twirling the spear in his hands and earning himself a scowl from Ade. Not that it’s a very impressive scowl, though. It should be. It would be if it was aimed at the others. But you’d have to be a fool not to see that she’s much softer with Crispin. And I’m not a fool, though it was Wake who first pointed it out.

She thinks she’s clever to have brought him. Ade thinks she’s clever anyway. But bringing someone you’re that close to sounds like bad news to me, especially with me as one of the competition. I can manage this even without Wake. Knowing him, he’d have just got in the way anyway.