Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
★★★
THIS FIRST THING I SEE, no, hear, are the crowds. So many people, all dressed in bright colors and extravagant clothing and fancy wigs, screaming our districts, our names. Celebrating our arrival. All of these people can't wait to see us dead.
I press my face against the window, and to my surprise, am recognized. "Ivy!" they roar. Not a lot of them are cheering for me, not popular enough I guess, but I can make out my name on their lips as we pass by. "DISTRICT THREE!"
I smile and wave, albeit a little shakily. This is a lot to take in. I think once again that I shouldn't have cried back at the Justice Building. It would have been fine if I were small and young, like Gavin, but I am seventeen and taller than most of the men in Three. I have no excuse to act weak, and won't fool anyone into underestimating me like Johanna Mason from Seven pulled off a few years back.
We dock at the station, and we are led off the train. I am still wearing my reaping dress, not wanting to leave it. I check the pocket to make sure my hovercraft is still inside. It's secured, and I breathe a sigh of relief. A sudden urge to not want to leave anything behind has me obsessively checking my pockets the whole car ride to the training center.
"I like your ribbon."
I startle. Wiress is sitting right beside me in the Capitol car, and I was so busy inspecting the various mechanics inside I hadn't realized she'd moved closer. "Um, thank you." The ribbon in my hair. It's white silk, probably one of the most expensive things we own.
"Is it your..." Wiress trails off, and since there's no Beetee to finish for her, I infer the meaning.
"You mean is it my token for the arena?" I ask, and she nods. "Yes, it is. It belonged to my father's sister."
"Very pretty." Wiress strokes it gently, and I feel comforted for some reason. "Pretty girl."
I smile bashfully and look down, playing with my fingers. "Thank you."
We arrive at the training center, and I stare. It's tall, taller than any building I've ever seen; the factories in Three are big, but nowhere as sleek and towering as this. The tributes stay in the apartments. Twelve floors, one for each district. The training center, where we will gather to train and showcase our skills, is in the basement. Beetee and Wiress gave us as much information as they could, but I still feel like a blue wire in a sea of red ones—it's that feeling of not belonging, of being in over my head. Panic squeezes my heart in an iron grip.
Then I feel Wiress's frail hand on my arm and realize I've tensed up. "It's okay." She flashes me a smile. "Don't panic."
Don't panic. I smile weakly. "Yes." It comes out in a strangled whisper, and I take a few deep breaths.
