And that was the thing about her, she kept on surviving. With bullet holes in her lungs and knife marks etched in her back. She never let anything get in her way, resilient. A fighter, not by choice. But a warrior at heart.
| the hunger games |
| pr...
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As I stride towards the elevator, I brush past the gaping Avoxes who guard the elevator and hit the number nine button with my fist. The doors slide together, and I zip upward. I actually make it back to my floor before a smile falls on my face. I can hear the others calling me from the sitting room, but I fly down the hall into my room, lock the door, and fling myself onto the bed. I don't want to talk about it until Monty is here.
My mind wanders to what my score might be. They will probably give me a low score, no one in their right mind would sponsor me. The hope that I had walking out of the private session has vanished, and fear has replaced it. Since the training isn't open to the viewers, the Gamemakers announce a score for each player. It gives the audience a starting place for the betting that will continue throughout the Games. The number, which is between one and twelve, one being irredeemably bad and twelve being unattainably high, signifies the promise of the tribute. The mark is not a guarantee of which person will win. It's only an indication of the potential of a tribute showed in training.
Often, because of the variables in the actual arena, high-scoring tributes go down almost immediately. And a few years ago, a boy who won the games only received a three. Still, the scores can help or hurt an individual tribute in terms of sponsorship. I had been hoping my sword skills might get me a six or seven, even if I'm not particularly powerful. Now I'm sure I'll have the lowest score of the twenty-four. I only just picked up the sword for the first time a couple of days ago. If no one sponsors me, my odds of staying alive decreases to almost zero.
When Willow taps on the door to call me to dinner, I decide I may as well go. The scores will be televised tonight. It's not like I can hide what happened forever. I go to the bathroom and wash my face.
Everyone's waiting at the table, even Teak and Piper. I wish the stylists hadn't shown up because, for some reason, I don't like the idea of disappointing them. It's as if I've thrown away all the good work they did on the opening ceremonies without a thought. I avoid looking at anyone as I take spoonfuls of fish soup.
The adults begin to chit chat about the weather forecast, and I let my eyes meet Monty's. He raises his eyebrows. A Question. What Happened? I just give my head a small shake. Then, as they're serving the main course, I hear Nolan say, "Okay, enough small talk, how bad were you today?"
Monty jumps in. "I don't know that it mattered. I threw a few knives, and only some of them nodded their head in approval."
That makes me feel a bit better. "And you, sweetheart?" says Nolan.
"I used the sword like Willow told me too, and only a few of them were paying attention."
Willow smiles at me, "I'm sure they were paying attention, and you watch, tonight when the scores are revealed, you will get a good score." she says and then looks over at Monty, "The both of you will."
I realize that the impossible has happened. They have actually cheered me up. Nolan picks up a pork chop with his fingers, which makes Mica frown, and dunk it in his wine. He rips off a hunk of meat and starts to chuckle, but doesn't say anything.
"I'll get a bad score," I say.
"Scores only matter if they're very good, no one pays much attention to the bad or mediocre ones. For all they know, you could be hiding your talents to get a low score on purpose. People use that strategy," said Piper, and I steal a glance over at Willow, and she gives me an encouraging smile.
"I hope that's how people will interpret the four I'll probably get," says Monty. "If that. Really, is anything less impressive than watching me throwing knives and having only like one of two hit the target."
I grin at him and realize that I'm starving. I cut off a piece of pork, and dunk it in the mashed potatoes, and start eating. After dinner, we go to the sitting room to watch the scores announced on the television. First, they show a photo of the tribute, then they flash their score below it. The Career Tributes naturally get an eight to ten range. Most of the other players average a five. Surprisingly, Calyptus comes up with a seven. I don't know what she showed the judges, but she's small like me, and it must have been impressive.
District Nine comes up soon after. Monty pulls an eight, so at least a couple of the Gamemakres must have been watching him. I dig my fingernails into my palm as my face comes up, expecting the worst. They're flashing the number nine on the screen.
Nine!
Mica Blake lets out a squeal, and everybody is slapping me on the back and cheering and congratulating me. But it doesn't seem real.
"There must be a mistake. How... How could that happen?" I ask Willow.
"Guess they liked your skills," shes says and then leans in and whispers in my ear, "Wait until they see what you have been hiding." and then she leans back and speaks, "They've got a show to put on. They need some players with some heat."
"Ember," Teak says and then quickly pulls me into a hug. "Oh, wait until you see your interview dress."
"More gold?" I ask.
"Of a sort," he says mischievously.
Monty and I congratulate each other. We've both done well, but what does that mean for the other? I escape to my room as quickly as possible and burrow down under the covers. The stress of the day, particularly the worrying, has worn me out. I drift off, reprieved, relieved, and with the number nine still flashing behind my eyelids.
At dawn, I lie in bed for a while, watching the sun come up on the beautiful morning. It's Sunday. My mind wanders to what my mother is doing today. Sunday's are the days where we gather a few berries in the garden that we have and preserve them for the winter. A day off at home. I think of the nine flashing under my name last night. I know exactly what my mother would say. "Well, there's some room for improvement there." And then she would give me a smile knowing that she was joking, I'd return it without hesitating.
Mica knocks at the door, reminding me there's another "big, big, big day!" ahead. Tomorrow night will be our televised interviews. I guess the whole team will have their hands full readying us for that.
I get up and take a quick shower, being more careful about the buttons I hit, and head down to the dining room. Monty, Mica, and the mentors are huddled around the table, talking in hushed voices. That seems odd, but hunger wins out over curiosity, and I load up my plate with breakfast before I join them.
The stew's made with tender chunks of lamb and dried plums today. Perfect on the bed of rice. I've shoveled about halfway through the mound when I realize no one is talking. I take a big gulp of orange juice and wipe my mouth. "So, what's going on? You're coaching us in interviews today, right?"
