Skyler still couldn't quite believe that she was still here, still alive. She'd already drifted through the Victory Tour, taking the jeers and hisses as the Career districts gawped up at her, unable to believe that such a stick of a girl had done it. The Capitol hadn't exactly snubbed her, but they'd made it clear they weren't happy with her for not killing anybody and, probably, for siding with Oak. She was expecting a kind of punishment, always looking over her shoulder, but it never came.
District Nine had cheered her and she'd nearly cried. District Eight had clapped politely, and a boy with vivid orange hair had come up to her while she was in the Justice Building, shaken her hand and said it was Sebastian's stupid fault for volunteering in the first place, before bursting into tears and sobbing that he didn't blame her. Those were the only things she could remember about it, apart from Daisy, her old mentor, constantly saying how proud she was.
Another morning, and she woke up, and she was still alive. As usual, she breathed thanks to nobody in particular and gawped around her room. It wasn't exactly luxurious - no velvet or satin anywhere - but she was still surprised to wake up in it. The walls were a kind of mural, with endless blue skies and burnt ground, with idyllic trees painted onto it. She had furniture, actual furniture; a desk and a dresser and a wardrobe for all the dresses and outfits that had been heaped on her.
Everything was made of wood, solid oak, which at times made her smile and at other times nearly made her cry. She really couldn't think about that today. Instead, she wondered which of the various outfits she was going to wear today. She didn't really like wearing them but her mother, thinking her old clothes weren't fitting for a Victor, had hidden them all and she didn't have a choice.
She still couldn't quite believe her bed was so soft.
She remembered what today was. How had she forgotten? She'd been dreading it for weeks.
With a heavy sigh, she heaved herself out of bed and chose her favourite clothes from the wardrobe. They were nice and simple, a burnt umber dress that covered her shoulders and knees but didn't make her look swamped or too skinny. Even though she had enough to eat now, she was still a rake. Peering in the mirror, she brushed her hair loose and chose her old glasses from the stand. Her sponsors had given her the luxury of choice, with a variety of styles and colours, and a fetching pair with lenses that changed colour, but she preferred her old ones.
Now she was ready, and she didn't like it.
She looked completely different. She looked like the sort of girl who'd never worked a day in her life. She still worked, though she wasn't supposed to. She couldn't help herself, looking out of her window and seeing nothing but stick-thin workers scampering between the Peacekeeper towers and the clattering tram lines, and knowing that she wasn't out there. But whenever she did it left a sick feeling in her mouth, like she was still helping the Capitol as well as being their puppet, their live representative in District Eleven.
"Sky!" Vintage shouted from outside. Her voice wobbled a little and Skyler instantly stopped what she was doing - which was staring disbelievingly at her reflection - and rushed onto the landing to hug her.
Some thoughtful Capitol rep had provided Vintage with a dress for her reaping. She was wearing it now, pure white cotton that made her look younger than she was. Out of habit she'd raked her hair up; Lidia would explode if it was Skyler. She had some kind of issue with ponytails.
Skyler threw her arms around her, biting the inside of her lip.
Vintage hugged her back tightly, reminding her "I'm only in there once, thanks to you. You look pretty!"
"I can't get away with not looking pretty now," she joked. Vintage was right; thanks to her winnings they hadn't needed tesserae. It made her feel a little bit better, for Vintage anyway.
"I'm so proud of you, Sky!" Vintage exclaimed, pulling out of the hug and looking up at her with gleaming eyes. Skyler couldn't help a small tear falling down her cheek and was ridiculously glad she still hadn't dared to try applying mascara.
"I'm proud of you too," she told her, "Now you'd better go to ma. They want me at the Justice Building."
The very idea of mentoring made her dizzy. She'd have to talk to the tributes, get to know them, run around finding them sponsors, and all for what? To watch them die?
"Annabelle's waiting outside," Vintage told her. This was the same girl who had clung to her exactly a year ago and pleaded with her not to go. She'd grown up so much. She didn't know what she'd have done without her, when she'd got home in a mess and in shock and hadn't wanted to leave her room. Vintage had always been there, always only just on the right side of annoying. Without her, she'd probably still be in her room. Skyler squeezed her arm warmly, with a fond smile that was all she could manage without really starting to cry, and darted down the stairs, her hair flapping behind her.
As Vintage had said, Annabelle was waiting outside. She had been exactly as she'd imagined her, plain and patient, and usually she had a tired, worn smile on her face. This morning, though, she was restraining tears, her mild brown eyes watering.
"I miss him so much, Sky," she muttered, her voice thick. Skyler stood there awkwardly, putting arm arm around her shoulder. Annabelle had assured her that she didn't care about the difference everyone now saw between them, but Skyler couldn't help but notice the badly sewn patches in Annabelle's reaping dress. She'd tried to offer her money, so that she didn't have to take tesserae, but Annabelle had a proud, stubborn streak and had refused. Oak's family had been the same, but eventually they'd given in. "I know you do," she said, "I think everybody misses him."
Annabelle sniffed. "I shouldn't feel sorry for myself," she smiled sadly, "I should feel sorry for you. You've got to go back to the Capitol, do the mentoring..."
The lump was back in Skyler's stomach.
"I'll manage," she assured her, "Come on, let's go, before ma tells me I'm not wearing the right shoes!" The joke felt hollow but Annabelle laughed obediently, and the two girls linked arms and headed off for the Justice Building.
Annabelle talked a lot about Oak. They'd been together - or as much as it was possible to be in Eleven - for three years, and had loved each other very much. Skyler had to admit that this had surprised her; she'd thought Oak was only really capable of hate. They hadn't exactly been inseperable, but they'd been as close as they could get. They saw each other at least once a day, and Oak used to sneak her fruit from work. This terrified Annabelle, the thought that he'd get caught.
Today she was silent.
The Victor's Village was currently inhabited by Skyler and her family, Daisy and her husband and an old woman who people never saw. Everyone said she'd been traumatised by her Games. It led almost directly onto the massive square. A few people were already milling about in the square around the broken fountain, the trams clacking away in the background. There were even a couple of kids already in the pens.
Soon, Vintage would be there with them.
A team of off-duty workers were putting up the stage, the smell of damp wood floating out over the eerily spacious square. All of them smiled and waved as Skyler and Annabelle slid around the back and towards the Justice Building.
"It's falling down," Annabelle commented quietly. She was right; the whole building seemed to be on a slant. Skyler chuckled, then felt sad. District Eleven was falling down. This time last year she didn't know; it had been her life and she'd only seen anything else on screen. But since the Victory Tour, she knew what the other districts were like. Clean, well cared for. Even Nine and Twelve looked better than Eleven.
Last year she'd been on that stage.
There was only one Peacekeeper guarding the main entrance to the building, lounging on one of the columns and gazing lazily at the unbroken blue sky. Skyler could just about tell that it was female. She stood up as the two girls approached.
"Skyler, they're waiting for you," she snapped in a brusque Two accent, "But you can't come in." She gestured to Annabelle. Annabelle smiled and shrugged her arm free from Skyler's.
"Good luck, Sky," she said, giving her friend a quick hug, "Oak would have been proud of you."
Skyler couldn't say anything for a moment.
"Good luck to you too," she replied; it was Annabelle's last year, though she tried not to think about it, "If you see Vintage, tell her that I love her."
Annabelle squeezed her hand, looking at the floor. "Don't worry about Vintage," she muttered, "On the off-chance that she does come up, I'll volunteer." A sick feeling rose in Skyler's throat. She didn't mean it, surely not?
"Annabelle, no. I don't want to mentor you," she pleaded. Both of them knew what she really meant by that. The Peacekeeper snorted impatiently. They ignored her.
"What would Oak say?" she threw out desperately. Annabelle smiled, though a tear dripped down her cheek. "You did it, Sky. I can do it too. Besides, you don't want to mentor Vintage either."
It's almost impossible, Skyler reminded herself.
"I'll come and work with you after this," she assured her. Annabelle always worked afternoon to late shifts in the first circle of orchards, so it was always easy to get to her.
"Hopefully," Annabelle replied, and drifted off to the square. Skyler sighed and steeled herself.
Lidia enveloped her in a vanilla hug, beaming through her makeup. Just like last year, she found the temperature too much and was wearing as little as she could get away with, only this time she'd added some net around her shoulders. "Sky, sweetheart, how are you feeling?!" she squealed.
"Unwell," Skyler responded honestly. She'd learnt that, despite her ridiculous outer self, Lidia was shrewd and could always tell when she was lying.
Daisy, floating behind Lidia, gave her a warm smile and squeezed her shoulder. "The first year is the worst. If you have any questions, or you're just finding it difficult, please ring me," she said. Skyler nodded, starting to feel numb. She was getting the uneasy feeling that today was more about herself than the tributes.
"Promise me," Daisy insisted sternly, locking eyes with her, "I'm not gonna lie" - there, her old accent started to creep through - "It is hard. But you've gotta be strong, for your tributes, for yourself. And I'm always here for you. I don't want you falling apart when I could have helped."
"I promise," Skyler replied. She didn't feel capable of any long sentences, but she wanted to assure Daisy that she really did appreciate it.
Daisy gave her a smile. "I'd better go to Winston," she said; her husband hated reaping days and Skyler had met him enough times to know he'd be a mess. She nodded, and Daisy left, exchanging words with someone outside. Lidia beamed at Skyler. "You'll be fine, sweetheart. I'm here to keep an eye on you," she assured her.
It felt weird. She was only seventeen, still old enough to be in the pens. But some high-up Capitol genius had decided that she had to mentor. The reasons had been few and far between, but she hadn't dared to complain. It was likely that she'd have to mentor someone older than her.
She would still try her best, of course. She wouldn't let her tributes down.
What if she did? These were people's lives, in her hands. And she was still just a girl. She was just a Victor as well.
It must have been hours, but before she even knew it, she was hovering at the back of the stage listening to Lidia droning the speech, the eyes of the district and of Panem turned to her. She could see Vintage, standing out in her clean, clear dress and bright expression. Annabelle blended in with the others but she could still see her, pale and hiding towards the back of the pen. As usual, latecomers from the trams scrambled in while Peacekeepers roamed the crowd, keeping the younger children on their feet. Babies wailed in hunger. Her legs felt weak, perhaps even more so than when she'd been reaped. Then she'd assumed that she wouldn't survive. Now she knew she would, and she also knew that two kids who were in her care probably wouldn't.
She wanted the speech to go on forever.
It didn't.
Lidia was reaching into the reaping bowl. She only had the briefest moment to assure herself that the only way it would be Vintage was if the Capitol had rigged it, before Lidia had the name. She knew instantly from the way Lidia's back stiffened and she half turned her head.
The floor fell away from under her.
"Vintage Dashton!"