Till Death Do Us Part

Chapter 9 Private Training Sessions

I eat lunch with Levy and some of the "friends" we've acquired. Seth, Marcy, Patrick, Samantha, Hannah, and Brad sit at the same table as us. When everyone's done, names start being called in no discernable order.

I am called seventh.

I take a deep breath. Levy puts his hand on my arm. "Don't be nervous. Just do what you're best at."

"Running and hiding?" I say, half joking.

"Well, not the running part," he says.

I laugh almost hysterically. I get really nervous at times.

"You'll be fine. We're not in the Games yet."

Yeah. Right.

I walk to the door and open it. I step into the gymnasium and close the door behind myself. I see a bunch of people in chairs on one side of the room. They're all wearing bright red clothes.

"Your name?" one of them asks.

I take a deep breath. "Esther Heyschel," I get out. "California."

"You have five minutes to express your skills."

I pause to consider saying something in response, but I can't think of something to say, so I just go to the archery range. I shoot a few arrows and hit the center once. Then I do knives. The first one doesn't stick and I glance at the Gamemakers but their attention is still on me, not on any roast pig.

The second one sticks and the third one almost hits the middle. I punch a punching bag for a few seconds and, sensing my time is almost up, I decide to go to the station I didn't have a chance to visit, the camouflage station. I am by no means an artist and just about all I'm good for is a general color maker. I grab some paints and dyes and start painting on the floor. My heartbeat quickens as I sense my time ticking to an end and, even though it isn't perfect, my picture of a sunset is actually kind of pretty. I know sunsets have almost nothing to do with the Hunger Games, but it's the only thing I could think of that was simple enough.

They tell me I can leave and I make my way to the second exit where a man is waiting to escort me to another waiting room. The six that went before me are silent as I walk in. I sit down with a loud exhale, trying to relieve this tense feeling. Dylan, the mean-looking tribute from Iowa, gives a long loud huff, mimicing mine. I look down. Five more tributes come in before Levy, who walks in and sits down next to me.

"Number thirteen. I got the unlucky one," he says to me, breaking the silence.

"Was it bad?"

"No. I ran a little around the gym, then threw some knives, shot some arrows, and then did some pull-ups and push-ups until my time was up."

"Oh."

He laughs a little. "What did you do?"

"Almost died of a heart attack," I say, only half-joking. "I did some archery, knife throwing, punching bag punching, and then I painted a picture on the floor."

"Of a rebellious Rue?"

"No, I..." I laugh, "I did a sunset."

"Oh. Wow, I didn't see it."

"They probably covered it up or something."

"Yeah."

He loops his arm through mine and I lay my head on his shoulder.

"Hey, guys," Dylan says, "No PDA please."

I ignore him and close my eyes.

"Well at least one of you is going to die," he says. "I'm going to win."

"There are people older than you," Levy says.

"Just because they're older doesn't mean they're better."

"How do you know you won't be killed?" Another tribute asks. I don't know who it is because my eyes are closed but it's either Nicole or Hannah.

They continue arguing while the last seven tributes finish their private sessions.

Then we all get on the bus and drive back to the White House.

Levy and I go to our suite and find that Shella is nowhere to be seen. We open a few drawers and cupboards and find a game. It's Apples to Apples.

We can't really play with two people, but we look at the cards and find ones to match.

"Mean" goes with "The President".

"Lovely" goes with "Sunsets".

We keep playing until Shella comes in and happily tells us to turn the TV on to see the scores.

I close my eyes, not wanting to see mine, but my eyes find a mind of their own when my name is said and I see a six. It's taken out of ten so I scored above the middle. Levy gets a seven. My eyes are held open by some invisible subconscious glue. The career tributes all get eights except Rexford, who got a nine.

Tomorrow we have the interviews and I hope I can keep my sanity long enough to be good for the sponsors.

I didn't see what Marcy got but I don't want to.

I don't know why I care about her so much, maybe because she was the first one I saw reaped.

Levy and I climb into my bed.

"We'll have our first kiss tomorrow."

I smile. "Yeah. You'd better make it good."

"You should too."

"I will."

"I love you," he says.

"I love you too."

And we fall asleep.

Thank you so much for reading this!