promises • cato the hunger games

Five

Two hours later, I'm sitting on a table somewhere in the training centre, completely naked, whilst two Capitol people, my 'prep team', continually rip hair out of just about every place in my body.

I'm biting my tongue to stop myself from yelling out in anger.

Finally, they stop, and then both leave, leaving me lying alone on the bench. I shiver. Not from the cold, from nervousness.

It's the tribute parade tonight. Where the Capitol 'show off' the tributes to the people of Panem. Cato said I should try and make a good impression, get them to like me. I honestly don't see the point. There's no way I can win, so why bother trying?

The door slides open and yet another Capitol woman walks in, this time wearing an odd gold dress and spiky fake eye lashes. "Hello, I'm Saffra, your stylist."

"Hi," I say, horribly aware that I'm still not wearing anything.

"They did a good job of you - you look almost human now!"

She laughs at her own 'joke', whilst I throw her a dirty look. She pretends not to notice, and launches into a detailed talk on hair and makeup. I block her out and try to think of what they'll have me dressed in. Two, typically being a career district, usually has the best stylists, unlike the outlying districts like Eleven and Twelve, who usually get stuck with the newest, inexperienced, and frankly quite rubbish stylists.

I hopefully won't look too bad - Two usually end up wearing some kind of roman gladiator outfit. It's supposed to represent what our district provides. But we provide more than one thing. Masonry? Weapons? Peacekeepers? Careers? (though it's technically illegal to train specially for the games. I don't think the Capitol have put a stop to it because it makes things more 'interesting.')

"Did you get that?"

"What? Oh yeah, totally," I lie.

"Good. Then let's begin."

~

"Honestly, hold still, Penelope," says Saffra, sticking yet another pin into my scalp. I'm telling you, this whole process has been unbelievably painful. After about two hours, I'm wearing a gold gladiator thing, which isn't as bad as I was expecting. Thankfully, she went for 'natural' makeup, so I'm not caked, like I can see some of the tributes are.

"It's just Penny," I say through gritted teeth.

"Whatever, just keep still," she says, trying to stick another pin. I'm too quick for her this time, and slap her hand away.

She gasps. "You vicious little cat!"

Cato laughs, but tries to disguise it has a cough.

"Have it your way then," she says in a strop. "If you don't appreciate my hard work, I'm leaving."

And with that she walks off in a huff.

Cato rolls his eyes. "How old is she? Five?"

I laugh. "I think I'll add her to my list of people I hate."

He stops laughing. "I'm not on that list, am I?"

"No, of course not."

Why does he care so much?

"Good."

"You can't see Saffra anywhere, can you?" I ask.

"Nope, why?"

I reach up and pull out all of the pins, leaving my hair flowing down my back in a long chestnut wave. "That's better."

"She'll kill you."

"Aww well, it'll say them the trouble at least, won't it."

He shakes his head. "You need to start thinking positive."

"And you need to start thinking realistically."

He sighs. "I give up. You're impossible."

"No, I'm Penny," I say, putting on a serious face.

He just laughs. "You look pretty by the way."

What?! That's a bit out of the blue. I put my hand on his forehead.

"Er ...are you feeling okay, Cato?"

"Fine, thanks," he replies, brushing my hand away. "We'd better get on the chariot now. Ready?"

"No. But here goes nothing." I hoist myself up next to him, wobbling on the stupid heels Saffra made me wear. She said I'd look far too small next to Cato. She's got a point, but I think I'll have broken both of my ankles by the time I get off the chariot.

The horses start to move and the whole carriage veers forward. I hear the crowds roaring, and gulp.

We come out of the tunnel, and I'm hit with thousands of people all cheering and clapping. There are cameras and lights pointing in my face, dazzling me. I'm stunned. Cato's already waving and smiling, even winking at some of the women in the stands.

"Wave at them," he whispers.

I nod, and start to wave. This gets me more cheers, but some of the men start wolf-whistling. I stop so quickly I wobble backwards. I gasp, but Cato reaches out and catches me.

"Thanks," I whisper.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just tripped because of these stupid shoes."

He smiles and takes my hand. I don't swat it away. The crowd goes 'Aww,' at this, and we receive more applause, but after a while the crowd seems distracted. They seem to be looking at the back of the row of chariots, towards Eleven and Twelve.

What're they looking down there for? The outlying districts never usually get much attention. With Cato now holding my hand, I dare turn round and see what all the fuss is about.

I gasp. The tributes from Twelve are on fire. Literally. Their black jumpsuits are engulfed in flames. I'm shocked. Not at the fire, just that they actually have such amazing costumes. I mean last year, the tributes from Twelve were naked, and covered in black paint and coal dust.

The crowd are positively screaming for them now, especially because they've joined hands and put them in the air. Mine and Cato's publicity stunt, has clearly, been long forgotten already. I turn back round.

"Cato, have you seen them?"

He nods, but doesn't say anything. I think he's annoyed that he's not the centre of attention anymore.

The chariot comes to the edge of the stands, and stops in front of what I think is the home of the president. And right on que, there he is. President Snow. The man who I hate. The man who's ruined my life.