The Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games

Chapter 2

I'm not quick to get up the next morning.

Why should I be? It's not like I have anything to get up for. If I do decide to go to breakfast, I'll only be faced with meeting another tribute, and why would I want to do that? If I meet the kid and get along with him or her, it'll only make things harder in the arena. I'll already have to sacrifice all my morals just to harm a stranger, but killing a friend might very well kill me -or at the very least, my sanity.

I soon realize I'm not being given a decision on the matter as someone knocks three times on the door, loudly. I roll out of bed, not on purpose, but I don't stop myself from hitting the soft carpet and the hard floor below. I figure hitting the floor when I go down will be the least of my problems in the arena; I'll probably be more worried about whatever sent me down in the first place.

Reluctantly, I pull on a pair of black shorts and a white t-shirt. I shake my head and wipe the sleep from my eyes, waking myself up properly. It's all I can do to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Feeling depressed and useless doesn't do much to help my already shoddy footwork. This will be yet another disadvantage, I realize. How on earth do I expect to survive with feet as clumsy as mine? Oh wait, that's right, I don't expect to survive.

"Did you sleep well, Lyrina?" Cecelia asks as I enter the dining room. I utter the most convincing 'yes' possible (although that's still not very convincing), and slump into a chair. I do make an effort to eat, I really do, but every bite I take from any of the dozen different dishes makes my stomach churn. It's as if my body is reminding me that starvation is one of the many ways I could die.

Soon enough, I deem eating useless for the moment and stand up to leave. I sleepily wander back down the hallway, walking right into a tribute. I rub my eyes and look up to see a boy, although I know he must be the tribute I have to share a floor with, I find it hard to believe. He looks too old -no, mature is a better word- too mature. The boy looks as though he's been through too much heartache to be a capitol-born child, and as though that heartache has hardened him and taken away any humanity he once had.

"Watch it," he grunts, not unclenching his teeth. The boy puts his hand on my shoulder and leads, or rather, pushes me back to the dining room. He releases his grip on my shoulder only when I'm sitting at the table once again. "You'll be even more useless if you starve before you even enter the arena." The boy flicks me on the ear, and sits as far away as possible.

I feel like a dog who'd just broken a rule and been given a warning, but one good thing comes from this, I don't have to worry about being friends with this tribute. One down, twenty-two more to rule out.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Rico. You won't gain any allies acting like that," Cecila advises. I rub the tip of my now pink ear, and force some food into my stomach. Rico is right, even if he did express his point so rudely. He doesn't comment on Cecila's advice; however he does throw her passing glares throughout breakfast.

"Are you excited or nervous about starting your training?" She asks us, attempting and failing to fill the silence. I say nothing. Nervous is an understatement, especially now that I've seen Rico. I didn't think there was anyone like him in the capitol, scarily-strong arms and piercing eyes that look like they could poke a hole right through you if he stared long enough. What if there were other tributes that were just as terrifying? I force some food down my throat in a pathetic attempt to raise my odds by even the tiniest amount.

"Neither," Rico mutters, shoving multiple pieces of cold chicken into his mouth. We start training today at eleven, and enter the arena exactly one week from then. Halfway through the week we'll be interviewed, but there will be no tribute parade, for reasons that have not been shared with us. I can only guess it's because either the Capitol does not need to be introduced to us since most of the tributes are the kids of used-to-be-powerful men and women, or the districts want us in the arena as soon as possible.

I can feel Cecelia's eyes staring at me but I ignore her, not wanting to grace her question with an answer. I'm starting to get the feeling she won't be much help as a mentor. Apart from her comment on allies to Rico, she hasn't even mentioned tactics to either of us. I guess I'm on my own, with an ever-growing list of disadvantages. I glance at the clock on the wall and stand up, noticing it's ten to eleven.

"I'm going to head downstairs." I walk towards the elevator, trying once again to keep one foot in front of the other. To my surprise, the elevator isn't empty. A young boy -tall and very skinny- and a girl around fifteen -average height but also very skinny- are standing as far apart from each other as they can in the small, now over-crowded area. Hesitantly, I step inside, being forced to stand in between them due to lack of space.

I stand perfectly straight on the way down to the training area, partly due to nerves and partly due to my inability to move my arms without elbowing one of the other tributes. The minute I spent in that elevator was the most awkward minute I have ever experienced. I could feel the girl's eyes bearing into the side of my skull and looking me up and down. The little boy doesn't move and keeps his eyes fixated on the elevator buttons for the next sixty-or-so seconds.

I sigh in relief when the doors finally slide open to reveal the large hall outside the training room. A few tributes are already standing around, waiting for the trainers to get here and lead us inside. I slide down the left wall and sit on the floor while I wait. No harm in resting until they get here, right? The room I slept in was completely silent last night, yet I still could not sleep. I would close my eyes for a split second, think of some horrible death that could fall upon me in the next few weeks, and the force them open again.

I don't plan on falling asleep before training, but resting my eyes for a while could help my sanity. My eyes flutter closed and I lean my head back against the wall. The trainers should be here any minute now.

...

"Is she sleeping? Maybe she collapsed, or maybe she got into a pre-arena argument and someone clocked her so hard she was knocked unconscious!"

...

"Oi, Sleeping Beauty!"

...

"Surely you've got better things to be doing, lass?"

...

My eyes shoot open. In a moment of panic, I scramble backwards and hit my head off the wall. Three boys are crouching in front of me staring at my confused expression as if their unsure what to think of me.

"I'm not saying it will snag you victory, but wouldn't training be more helpful than an afternoon nap?" The boy to my left suggests. I nod, pathetically. I'm being silly, acting like a scared puppy.

"When did the trainers get here?" I ask groggily, pushing myself off the wall to stand up.

"About half an hour ago, I guess none of them noticed you. To be honest, we didn't either. Until you started talking, that is..." the same boy asks.

"I'm Isaac," the middle one starts. "That's Darrian," he points at the boy to my left and then to my right, "He's Jerrith. Now what do we call you?". They seem friendly enough; haven't threatened me yet... or flicked my ear.

"My name's Lyrina, Lyrina Snow," I say wearily, hoping they won't care about my family ties. I see Jerrith and Darrian tense, a sight I've become used to. I sigh, "There it is again, more judgement." Annoyed, I stand up and barge into the training area. I'm trying to choose a station to start at when Isaac pulls on my shoulder, spinning me around.

"Now just hang on a second, what do you mean? No-one said anything about you!" he tries to clarify, but I don't buy it. These three probably already think I'm just like my grandfather.

"I saw your reactions. You've decided to judge me on my surname and the man I share it with, I'm used to it by now but that doesn't mean I'm going to subject myself to it." I say this calmly. I'm not actually angry with Darrian, Jerrith or Isaac, only disappointed. I had hoped they wouldn't care. By now we've attracted the attention of some of the other tributes. Darrian steps forward from behind Isaac.

"You took us by surprise! You seem cool, Lyrina, we're not going to blame you for the old President's mistakes. Right Jerrith?" he asks, turning to Jerrith for confirmation but realizing he is not there. It is at this point that I notice Jerrith is no longer standing behind Isaac and Darrian.

Instead, he is standing beside me.

He is also holding a sword to my neck.