FIGHTING FIRE | The Capitol Games

VII. The Wild Youth

Even though it might have been Petronius' second to last day alive, he spent the first few hours of it grinning like a maniac.

First of all, he had woken up in a real bed for the first time in months. Second of all, he hadn't woken up alone — Crinoline was in his arms, and when her eyes fluttered open she kissed him softly. (Then, because why not, they made love a second time.) As they waited for the elevator, they made out until it came, and once the doors closed behind them they made out until the doors opened again.

As Petronius made his way to his normal table, the moody Caius Ivory looked up, scowled from behind his messy black bangs, and asked, "What's with the smile?"

"Oh...nothing," said Petronius, still beaming like a lightbulb. "What's with that being the first time you talk to me voluntarily?"

Caius' scowl just grew deeper. "Jeez," he muttered. But it hardly dampened Petronius' mood.

He had a girlfriend. Wow.

Even the atmosphere of the cafeteria couldn't faze him, which might have sounded insensitive because everyone knew what day it was. The day before the Last Games. Instead of being solemn like they had a few days ago, everyone was suspended in a state of nervous, tensed chattering. The Rosemarie Snow Protection Squad resembled a huddle of football players and seemed about as approachable as a hive of tracker jackers. Even the "loners" had begun to band up. It was mostly by age, which seemed like a bad idea; there was a rather large group of former loners who Petronius knew were all under the age of fourteen.

He decided to put his good mood to use and went to sit with them.

There were about eight kids at one table today, way more than usual. Overall, the number of kids thirteen and under was a little disproportionate for a normal Hunger Games — since there were no tesserae, just malice and vengeance. There were even two eleven-year-olds, selected for no reason than the rebels especially hated their parents. But Petronius knew that these kids were by no means helpless. Their sudden grouping might've been initially out of fear, but these kids were buzzing with bloodlust.

As Petronius walked over and sat down at the end of the table, Amadeus, a skinny freckled thirteen-year-old with purple eye tattoos, was talking excitedly to the others. "So the trick is just to be silent, right until you're about to do it," he was saying. "If they know you're behind them, they'll tense up, and it'll be harder to make the snap 'cause they'll be tense. This is when you wanna grab the chin and the side of the head like I described, and pull as hard and fast as you can — oh, hey Petro!"

"Hey, guys," Petronius grinned. He tried not to think about the fact that Amadeus knew how to snap someone's neck. "How's it going?"

"Bad," said Augusta, Amadeus' twin sister. She had matching eye tattoos, but instead of curling fiercely upwards like her brother's, they melted down her face like tears. "Didn't you hear? My guard said the rebels really aren't letting anyone win. They're just gonna wait for all of us to kill each other and then they'll blow up the victor."

"That's bullshit," said Romulus, a stocky silver-haired eleven-year-old with a lip piercing.

A few of the kids giggled. Eleven-year-old Titania gasped. "You said a bad word."

Romulus grinned. "Oops. Fuck."

More giggles. Typical of middle schoolers. Petronius chuckled, glad that they could laugh about something even as petty as a swear word.

"But, like, that's why we're banding together!" said Amadeus, leaning on Augusta's shoulder. "Petro, I dunno if you've heard, but this is the biggest new thing — we're calling us the Elites. We're like the Careers, except that we're, like, better."