The career

Chapter 4

We spent a day and a half on the train. When we were about to arrive, Lux and Gloss emerged from the cabin where they had been. Cashmere's strategy is simple: during the interviews, I should play the confident girl because that's what's expected of a volunteer and especially a career tribute. She also told me to do the same once I'm in the arena because if I don't appear to know what I'm doing, I won't receive any sponsor support, which will be vital once I'm in the arena.

When we arrive at the station, hundreds of Capitol residents await us as if we were circus animals. They're just as ridiculous as the District 1 escort who leads the reaping. Their ugly, unnatural hairstyles and 20-centimeter-high heels are horrifying. Despite being from the luxury district, we've never dressed so foolishly. There are limits that shouldn't be crossed, and apparently, these people haven't learned that yet.

On the evening of our arrival, we gather in the Capitol's main square. We've all donned our outfits, but our stylists need to make final adjustments. I wear a long pink dress adorned with diamonds and an unusual headdress. They also suggest I wear the cape they've crafted for me, and I agree.

Lux and I exchange a glance after the stylists finish their touch-ups. He climbs onto the chariot and extends his hand for me to do the same, which I do. At this point, we still haven't spoken to each other, which frustrates me. "Does he really intend to keep to himself?" I wonder before the chariot moves forward. Suddenly, I recall Cashmere's words: smile and appear confident.

So, I smile and greet the entire Capitol population, who cheer for someone—I'm not sure if it's us or the tributes from the other districts behind us. The chariot stops, and the cameras zoom in on each of the 12 chariots representing the districts. Of course, they start with Lux and me and end with the ones from District 12—Cole and Lilly, if I remember correctly.

Then President Snow delivers the same speech he's given for years. Lux looks at Snow with clear bitterness on his face. I glance at the other tributes on their chariots and notice District 12. At that moment, I'm certain I made a grimace seeing the crudeness of their outfits. The girl wears a transparent dress with black fabric—probably meant to represent coal—that covers what needs covering. The boy has a similar outfit, but with less black than the girl's. It's utterly ridiculous; they might as well parade naked for the same effect. Their stylist must be cut from the same cloth as their mentor—an alcoholic who thought this revealing attire was a brilliant idea. I wonder how they feel, exposed like this in front of everyone, but then I push that thought aside. After all, if their stylist is incompetent, it's not my problem.

After all the chariots return to their starting point, we descend. Our mentors, stylists, and the District 1 escort join us. The insufferable escort praises us, patting our faces as if we're four-year-olds. "Just leave me alone," I think. If I have to endure this woman throughout the interviews, training, and everything that follows, I can't wait for the arena.