It's like I'm moving through water. It's difficult to move my legs. I can hardly hear anything over the shrill ringing in my ears, but I know the audience is shrieking and cheering with delight as I cautiously make my way to the center of the stage where Caesar is waiting for me. My heart hammers. My hands tremble. Thousands upon thousands of eyes are staring right at me, and grabbing Caesar's outstretched hand is more of a stabilizer for me than an act of greeting.
I cannot do this.
At least we get to sit during the interviews. I'd surely pass out if we had to stand. I clasp my shaking hands together in my lap, desperate to hide how nervous I am, and force myself to look at Caesar's pastel green wig and pale makeup as the audience slowly quiets down.
"Welcome, Dean! Welcome!" Caesar exclaims, and it takes me an agonizingly long second to register his words and give him the brightest smile I can muster up. The stage lights are so hot and suffocating. "So, the Capitol must be quite different from your home back in District Nine. How's city life been treating you so far?"
Don't panic. Don't panic.
I see Crowley sitting down front. He gives me a near-imperceptible nod of his head, reminding me to remember his words. Stay calm. Take a deep breath. Be myself. Pretend like the question is coming from Cas.
I turn back to Caesar and, with another attempt at a smile, I manage to string together a response from the jumbled mess in my mind. "Well, it's definitely a lot busier, that's for sure. I usually go to bed when it gets dark out, but you guys like to stay up and party all night."
A wave of relief—at least I think it's relief—floods through me when I hear a series of chuckles and noises of agreement coming from the audience. Caesar, on the other hand, I'm worried is going to fall out of his seat from laughing so hard. I don't think what I said was that funny, but that's what Caesar is best at. Making sure each interview stands out, regardless of how anxious or awkward the tribute is. I can appreciate that.
"I didn't even think about that, but I suppose we do!" the enthusiastic host laughs. "Not the party type then, Dean? What's it like in District Nine?"
"Hot and disgustingly humid." My smile widens when another small chorus of chuckles rises up into the evening air. Maybe this isn't so bad after all. "And in the winter, there might as well be snow coming out of our ears."
"Sounds like you get every forecast imaginable over there," Caesar remarks.
"Pretty much," I agree with a feeble laugh of my own. "But it's home. It's quiet, the people are friendly, and it's spacious. I couldn't ask for anything else."
Now the audience murmurs gentle ahhs of sympathy. There they go acting like they know me, like they care about me. That familiar indignation begins to seep into my veins, but thankfully Caesar continues before I get too worked up.
"So sweet," he gushes. "We'll come back to that, though. Right now I want to know how training went for you, Dean. We all saw you received a fantastic score of nine. Do tell."
I glance up at the balcony that holds the group of Gamemakers. Most of their expressions are blank as they gaze down at me. "Training went well," I manage to say. I'm about to make a comment on how afraid I was at first, but then I remember what Bobby said. Be lionhearted and fierce. I rethink my words quickly. "A lot of the other boys tried to intimidate us, but it didn't work on me." That's a lie. "I just focused on making myself better and stronger. And I think it paid off, too. I mean, I got a nine for my score, didn't I?"
Okay, maybe a little too bold and arrogant there, Dean. Now the other tributes are going to think you're not scared of them.
But the audience loved it. Rowena's advice briefly flashes through my mind, about being coy and flirtatious, and even though I'm far from it, the crowd seems to react strongly to anything I do. Might as well go the extra mile and really make sure they remember me.
I turn toward everyone watching me, cast them the most coquettish smile I can, and run my fingers through my crunchy hair.
The response is instantaneous and uproarious. Excited shrieks from both men and women echo into the sky. They're so loud that I can feel the vibrations. These people are crazy.
"So dauntless and cheeky! I love it!" Caesar cackles. "You must have a lot of admirers back home. Tell me, Dean. Is there a special someone you had to leave behind in District Nine? A girl, perhaps?"
The crowd falls so silent that you could hear a pin drop. I see some of them leaning out of their seats, eyes wide and expressions agog, anticipating my answer. Most of the other tributes were asked the same question. Some said yes, others said no, and some managed to avoid the topic altogether. I wish I'd gotten that lucky.
"No," I say, shaking my head.
Caesar looks aghast. I even hear a few gasps of disbelief coming from the audience. "You must be joking," the host says, hand over his heart, as I've just told him the worst news he's ever heard. "You mean to tell me that someone as good-looking and charming as you doesn't have a girlfriend? I don't believe it. Do you, folks?" He turns to the crowd, and their response is a deafening series of shouts and cheers.
This really is a reality show. All they care about now is whether or not a romance is involved.
"Honestly, Dean," Caesar continues. "You can tell us. I'm good at keeping secrets."
I want nothing more than to cut off this conversation before it can irritate me any more, but it's too late. Charlie flashes through my racing mind. Not my girlfriend—I think she'd rather gouge her own eyes out than be with a boy—but my best friend, the one who's probably watching this interview right now and missing me as much as I miss her. I wonder what she's been up to since I've been gone.
Thinking about her and my family and my home just makes my heart ache. I hope it doesn't show on my face. "I'm not in a relationship," I persist. "I do have a best friend, though, who just so happens to be a girl, and I miss her a lot."
The crowd murmurs noises of compassion again. It sickens me, but toying with their emotions is the only way to make an impression.
"I'm sure she misses you, too," Caesar says, his expression understanding and tender. "Is there anything you'd like to say to her?" He motions toward a nearby camera, which I can see focusing in on my face.
I wasn't prepared for anything like this. But it's Charlie, I remember, and the rest of the audience doesn't matter right now. This might be my only chance to communicate with my best friend before the Games begin, even if it's just a one-sided conversation. That's more than I ever thought I'd get.
I tune out the hushed crowd, and I look directly at the gleaming camera. "Charlie, I hope you're doing okay out there. I feel like it's been years since I last saw you, and hopefully it won't be long until I see you again. Stay strong until I get back, all right? Keep an eye on Sam and my parents. And remember, I miss you, and I love you." I pause, thinking back on our final farewell in the Justice Building, and smile. "Platonically."
Some people in the crowd wipe tears from their eyes, while others let out a laugh at my last words. It's bold to assume I'll make it back home and see her again like I promised in my statement, but I can't exactly be morbid on live television, can I? I might have to be added to the list of Capitol citizens stifling their flowing tears.
"That's so sweet," Caesar says. "And speaking of your dear little brother, Dean, I think it's safe to say we were all very touched when you volunteered to take his place at the reaping. Truly an act of love and courage. What was running through your mind in that moment?"
My throat starts to sting. I can't cry now. The interview is almost over, surely, but how am I expected to respond to Caesar's question without letting my voice break?
The audience is dead silent again. I spare a fleeting glance down at Crowley—another subtle nod of reassurance—and turn back to Caesar, whose sympathetic expression looks so genuine, so sincere. I made a name for myself in the Hundredth Hunger Games when I stepped up to take Sam's place and caused a scene at the reaping. Everyone knew who I was because of that. Everyone seemed to take an unfeigned liking to me because of what I did for my little brother. Now they're anticipating more details to the story, and I have to deliver without shattering to pieces on the stage.
"Fear, mostly. And dread," I say, slowly and carefully, fighting to keep my voice unwavering. "There was no way I was letting him come here. He's too gentle. I couldn't bear to see him go."
A surge of condoling sounds rises up from the crowd, but I barely notice.
"So you volunteered to save him, even though you knew it could cost you your own life?" Caesar asks, his tone soft.
I nod, swallow the lump in my throat, try to keep the tears at bay. "I had to. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I'd let him go."
When is this buzzer going to go off?
"You have a heart of gold, Dean," Caesar says, "and I just know that your little brother is so proud of you for making it this far. I know I am."
Buzzer? Please? My lungs are starting to constrict.
As an answer to my desperate pleas, the jarring sound of the buzzer echoes through the evening air, signaling the end of my interview. Caesar wishes me luck and shouts my name as he takes my hand and holds it high into the air. We stand, and the audience erupts into deafening cheers. Some of them even stand, furiously applauding and shrieking and chanting my name. I manage to catch Crowley's gaze as I scan the riotous crowd, and I can't help but smile when he gives me a proud smirk and a thumbs-up.
I did it. I don't know how, but somehow, I did it, and I think I did it well.
Rowena is backstage, and she scoops me into an embrace so secure that I think she's cutting off my circulation. "That was incredible, darling!" she sings. "They absolutely adored you! And when you talked about little Sam!" She pauses to let out a sigh of affection. "Outstanding!"
"Nice job, kid," Bobby adds. I didn't have a chance to see him before Rowena enveloped me in her arms. "Way to tug on their heartstrings. That's the way to do it."
I'm still so stupefied from the aftereffects of that stressful interview that I actually flash him an appreciative smile as Rowena lets me go. I despised almost every second of it, but it could've gone a lot worse. The crowd seemed to love me like everyone told me they would. I was able to somewhat utilize the suggestions Bobby gave me. I think I was lionhearted. I think I was fierce. I think I was flirtatious—Rowena makes sure to tell me she almost screamed when I followed her advice—and I know for a fact that I was protective of the people I care about. If anything, talking about Charlie and Sam will be the things that win me sponsors. It was awful, but it's done, and I'm proud of what I managed to achieve out there on that stage.
The three of us wander toward the room Cas and I waited in before our interviews began just in time to see the big screen showing him sitting down with Caesar. He's glowing underneath the bright stage lights in that sparkly white suit of his. He's striking and irradiant, and he doesn't appear to be nervous at all. Either that, or he's doing an excellent job of hiding it.
I stand with Bobby and Rowena and watch as Caesar starts the interview. He asks Cas almost the exact same questions, just slightly varied to keep things interesting. Cas says his favorite part about the Capitol is riding the streamline glass elevators, which is an answer so simple and endearing that the crowd is already rhapsodizing about him in between questions. He plays the shy and lovable part perfectly, but I don't think he has to try at all. That's just who he is, and it only sells the sincerity of his interview even more.
He and Caesar then go into a delightful little anecdote where Caesar says how much he used to ride the elevators when he first discovered them because they're so fun and fascinating. The two of them joke about taking an afternoon just to travel to the different floors of the Training Center so they can have an excuse to ride the elevator together. The audience is in stitches.
Caesar asks Cas about his home life and family back in District 9, and for a fleeting moment, I'm terrified that he's going to bring up the incident with Cas' brother. Not on live television. That wouldn't be fair. My jaw tightens, but much to my relief, that sensitive topic is avoided. Instead, Caesar focuses the attention on the same question he asked me and all the other tributes thus far.
"So, Castiel," the Hunger Games host begins, one curious eyebrow raised. "You're an adorably handsome young lad. Is there a girl back home?"
Once again, the crowd falls completely silent. All eyes are on Cas as a tint of pink flushes onto his cheeks, barely noticeable through the thin layer of pale makeup. With a sheepish smile, he shakes his head. "Nah," he says, his voice suddenly much softer than it was moments before. "Girls aren't really my thing."
Intrigued murmurs of confusion swell from the audience. Caesar's brows raise even higher. I find myself unconsciously stepping toward the screen, as if being closer will somehow give me the answer to why another spurt of warmth is prickling in my chest.
"Oh?" Caesar asks. "What do you mean by that?"
Cas takes a deep breath. I see his shoulders rise and fall, trembling ever so slightly. He looks like he has a thousand things on his mind but doesn't quite know what to sputter out first. Then that sheepish smile returns, and he glances up to meet Caesar's expectant gaze.
"I like boys."
Some people whoop. Others whistle. Even more let out affectionate awws. An interested grin twists onto Caesar's surprised face, but I hardly notice any of them over the muddled disaster of thoughts careening through my head.
"I see," Caesar remarks as the crowd steadily quiets down. "Have any of the other tributes caught your attention, then? A lot of them are rather good-looking."
Cas gives him a faint smile, a lighthearted laugh, but I know the glint in his eyes. He's hesitating. "It would be bad luck if I told, wouldn't it?"
He didn't answer the question.
"Right you are," Caesar agrees with a hearty chuckle. "Well, hats off to you, Castiel. I wish you luck, and you'll have to let us know if you find someone you fancy!"
"You know I will, Caesar."
And just like that, the interview is over. The buzzer goes off. Caesar grabs Cas' hand and hoists it into the sky as they stand. The applause from the audience is so thunderous that I can feel the vibrations in the floor beneath me. They really adore him.
Rowena meets him backstage and wraps him into a tight hug, just like she did for me. Bobby even offers another heartfelt compliment, too, which surely must be a record for him. By the time our escort and mentor finish praising his excellent work out there, Cas looks more rattled than I've ever seen him. Shallow breaths. Wide eyes. Little to no speaking. I'm sure it's only the pressure lifting from the aftermath of that taxing interview, but I can't help but wonder if it's something else.
Caesar is just welcoming the first boy from District 10 when the four of us pile into the elevator to take it back to our ninth floor apartment.
Cas hasn't looked at me since I left for my interview.