The Tracker- The 43 Hunger Games

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Althaea, we're at the Capitol. It's time to wake up," Candlet chimes.

For the first time in my life, I get to see the Capitol. I might actually be excited to arrive if I didn't just see Carter get murdered not more than an hour ago.

I know I just met him today. And I know I didn't know him well, but I feel like I did. We just had a sort of connection that's not easily explained.

The pangs in my chest and gut return when I realize that I killed him. I didn't hold the gun, but I might as well have.

"Althaea, dear, we are on a very tight schedule. Thanks to the unnecessary, unscheduled stop, we are now behind. You have less than one minute to get out of your room."

Quickly drying my face and erasing it of any emotion, I walk out not saying a word. Candlet gives a look of approval to my outfit that was solely put together by Carter. Her reaction to my puffy, tear stained face is less pleasing.

Kurio meets both Densper and me at the door before it opens.

"This is everyone's first real glimpse of you. Use your happy, friendly face." He gives us an exaggerated smile and points to his face. "It looks ridiculous, but they'll love it."

We both nod as the door begins to open. Densper starts to walk out.

"Wait, Kurio," I pull the letter out of my shirt and hand it to him.

I can hear Candlet muttering about my lack of respect for schedules and the people around me.

"Make sure this gets to Zander as soon as possible. Please."

"Of course, now go before Candlet has a fit."

Candlet shoves both Densper and me forward through the crowd of people pushing to get a close look at us.

"We mustn't be later than we already are, children. We have a very tight schedule and tonight is a very important night for you."

At the Remake Center, I meet my styl­ist's three helpers— Sophette, Kiketo, and Jornene. They wax all of the hair off my body. It hurts a lot more than I initially thought it would. Really, I should've known better. Ripping hair out of your skin is bound to be painful.

"It's so nice that District One tributes take care of themselves," Jornene trills.

"What?" I ask. Take care of myself how? They are remaking me quite a bit for someone they think takes care of herself.

Sophette and Kiketo rub this cream all over my body to take the pain away. It offers a cooling relief that I gladly welcome.

"Most other districts don't care about appearance, covered in hair..." She shudders as if it's truly terrifying her.

"But you dear," Kiketo says, "are in wonderful condition. Ah, the perks of being a victor's daughter."

Ah, yes. Because keeping my eyebrows groomed and occasionally waxing is the best part of being the child of a victor.

But instead of making a smart comment, I smile and say, "Yes, I'm very lucky to have what I have." It's what they want to hear. They expect me to be thankful for being in the Games since I'm from District 1.

The rest of the time, all they talk about are things like parties and who wore what clothes. That's typical Capitol conversation. All the citizens ever talk about are shallow things. I'd be surprised if any of them ever had intelligent conversations. They're almost more like pets than people.