"(Y/N) (Y/L/N)."

The sound of your own name spoken on the intercom from the waiting room brought a sense of relief through your system as you got up from your bench, stretching out all the cramps from your legs and making your way into the training room for your private sessions. Being the female tribute from District 12, you were scheduled and slated to go last and give your demonstration to the Gamemakers.

Before that, though, you had to witness everyone else go up and leave the waiting room, one by one, starting with Marvel, then Glimmer, then Cato, then Clove...the list went on until you saw the female tribute from District 11 go up--a young girl of about 12 years old with a haunting aura about her.

"I think her name's Rue," Peeta whispered to you when you were both alone.

"She's so young, though," you murmured, feeling Peeta reach over and take your hand loosely. "If only someone else from her district was able to volunteer for her."

"Not everyone's world is perfect," Peeta eventually commented, and you were able to tell in his grim voice that he was right--you had risked everything, even a possible quiet life with your mom, just by going forward to volunteer for the other girl. Primrose.

"I only hope I made the right decision to volunteer for the other girl. Prim...rose, right?" you asked.

Peeta nodded. "Who knows, maybe the odds will be in Rue's favour. Maybe she could beat all of us and win this thing."

You only laughed hollowly at this comment. "I wouldn't bet on that just yet, but maybe she could outlast some of the other tributes."

Soon, Peeta was called in, and you had to wait for a long time before your name sounded on the intercom. Those few moments alone had been the most agonizing in your life--not counting the time before your mom came into the Justice Building to say goodbye to you.

You threw your shoulders back as you entered the training room, your eyes flitting firstly towards the Gamemakers who were sitting on a stage, shifting around in their chairs and glancing once in a while at the food behind them. It hit you that the Gamemakers were here for way too long, and that they didn't want to see anyone else perform anything anymore. Twenty-three people have gone before you, and they didn't want anymore. Back in the past you recalled how horribly District 12 had done in training, and you weren't willing to pull off that kind of performance. Which made you worry about Peeta--how did he do?

Slowly, you made your way to the knife-throwing station and grabbed a sack of the blades that you were used to training with. You then went over to the archery station, grabbed a quiver and bow, and slung them both onto your shoulder. Days of experimenting with both of them during training made you feel confident that you could offer them a good performance.

Taking a deep breath, you approached the dummies, and then started to give your demonstration. First, you grabbed a blade and threw that at one of the dummies on the left, lodging the blade well into its heart. Then you grabbed another blade and had that whistle to a dummy behind you, and then you pulled out an arrow from your quiver and shot another dummy. Knife and arrow and knife were released from your stash until you had nothing left, then you picked up a sword and performed some expert moves as you danced right through the room, deflecting and then stabbing at the other dummies present. At long last, you flipped forward and hurled the sword towards the last dummy standing, piercing its body right through its back.

That, you thought, was pretty satisfactory. You turned around to the stage, where a few Peacekeepers nodded at your spectacular performance. Others, however--including the Head Gamemaker--had their attention to the pig right behind them. Their dinner.

Suddenly, you felt enraged. You felt absolute hate for the Capitol to withhold all of their wealth from the other districts just to have them give this form of entertainment to you that results in death, that results in your life being cut short at the hands of the people who ruled you. It was completely unfair, with your life on the line, for them to just pay attention to something so rich that you can't even afford and you won't ever see. Without thinking, you grabbed onto a knife and hurled it towards the apple in the pig's mouth, effectively pinning it to the back wall, the blade sunken into the plaster and well into the flesh of the apple with only the hilt showing.

This made everyone turn heads at your sudden move. Never have they ever experienced a tribute get back at them and feel enraged at their ignorance. For a while, tense silence hung in the air for 5 seconds before you threw down your weapons and bowed.

"Thank you for your consideration," you spat out curtly before marching out of the training room, stiffened. It wasn't until you got to the elevator that you began to feel immediate regret for what you did, though you didn't start breaking down until you got to your floor, running towards your room and throwing yourself on the bed, sobbing.

How could you do that? Sure, you were enraged and furious at the Capitol's treatment, now that you figured out what they have done when they turned their back on you to that pig they had been feasting their eyes on for so long. But how could you suddenly act out of turn and throw that knife towards them? What would they even do to you? Would they perform more torturous things on you?

"(Y/N)? You okay?"

The sound of Peeta's voice resonated in your ears as you laid on your bed, your (H/C) hair now serving a curtain in front of your eyes. You didn't want to see anyone right now, but if it was Peeta, he'd have to know. He was your best friend.

"What happened?" Peeta asked you further, entering the room and perching on the bed beside you, rubbing your back with one hand. But instead of calming you down, your anxiety only built.

"I...I did something bad to the Gamemakers," you finally managed to say. "Well, not to them, but--I acted out of turn, okay? I threw a knife at them just to get their attention and now what are they going to do to me or my mom?"

Finally relieved at getting that out of your chest, you sobbed even harder, which only increased Peeta's concern for you.

"Hey hey hey," he murmured, his hand travelling from your back up to the nape of your neck, slowly turning your tear-stained face towards his. "They won't do anything bad to your family. I assure you that. I'm pretty sure you didn't mean that on purpose."

"I was just sick of their ignorance," you retorted weakly, sniffling as you wiped your nose. "I--argh, I can't stand them, I really can't."

Peeta nodded in understanding. "They can't bring you out of the Games at this point, you know. Just hope that your training score isn't that abysmal. I mean, did you do anything other than throw a knife at them?"

You only nodded and smiled. "I did throw knives and shoot arrows at the same time at dummies. I gave quite a show, I think."

"Hey, at least you did something better than I did," Peeta laughed. "I just threw weights around while they were singing this drinking song."

To this, you giggled. "Seriously?"

"They paid, like, NO attention to me!" Peeta finally chuckled, and you both had a good laugh now. "Really."

"Wonder what everyone would think," you finally shrugged.

Soon, you were both called down to dinner and so you both obliged, you still in your training wear and Peeta having changed into a sweater and a pair of khaki pants.

"So, how did you two do?" Haymitch finally asked.

Both of you then relayed your stories. When you got to the part where you threw the knife at the Gamemakers and pinned the apple to the wall, this made Effie gasp dramatically again.

"You--did--what?!" she finally managed to speak out. Then she regained herself. "Are you insane?!"

"I just got mad!" you protested.

"MAD?! You realize that this reflects BADLY on all of us, NOT just you!" Effie finally scolded.

"She just wanted a good show," Cinna murmured to her in your defense, and you felt a smile return to you.

"How about it was just bad manners, Cinna?!" Effie said, clearly displeased.

But Haymitch seemed to think differently. He chuckled. "Nice job, sweetheart," he complimented you, and you felt you smile grow wider.

"So...uh, what did you say at the end? 'Thanks for...'"

"'Thank you for you consideration,'" you murmured in response.

"That is GENIUS!" Haymitch exclaimed, beaming at you. "Genius," he repeated, slightly quietened down once he caught Effie's glare.

"I don't think this is funny," Effie cried, "if the Gamemakers decided to take it all out--"

"On who?" Haymitch cut her off. "On her?" he asked further, gesturing to you. "On him?" he asked again, pointing at Peeta. "They already have! Loosen your corset and have a drink," he finally said, which made Effie purse her lips into a very thin line.

Later on in the evening, you all huddled by the screen to see the final training results. You found yourself sitting right next to Peeta, which you didn't mind. As he reached out for your hand, you took it without hesitation, and felt him squeeze your hand slightly in assurance.

"Have any tributes scored really low before?" you asked Cinna.

Cinna shook his head. "I don't think so. But there's a first for everything."

You nodded, sure that you would get a low score for sure. The scores are all ranked from 1 to 12, 1 being the lowest and 12 the highest, obviously. Since the training isn't televised to the rest of Panem, everyone relied on the scores to see and bet on which tributes would pull off the most sponsors and would most like survive the longest in the arena. You knew some of the low-scoring tributes would have scored low on purpose to hide and mask their true potential until they get to the arena.

"How much are you betting you'd get?" Peeta whispered.

You shrugged. "I was hoping a 8 or 9, but now with the knife on the wall I suppose a 4."

Peeta laughed. "You'll do great," he assured you, squeezing your hand again and rubbing his thumb lightly over yours, which sent another rush of butterflies and something floating through your throat, your chest. Would he ever get the chance to know how much you liked him?

Soon, Caesar Flickerman's voice interrupted your thoughts as he introduced the whole training ordeal and then showed off all the scores of the tributes.

Naturally, District 1 and 2 fell in the 8-10 range. It even surprised you that Cato, the guy who always tried to flirt with you in the Centre, managed to pull up a 10. Clove got a 9, which wasn't too bad. You only nodded as the scores went on. Some of them pulled up from 6-8, which wasn't too bad either. Even Rue managed to score a 7.

Then came Peeta's score. An 8 flashed by his face.

"Whoa," you murmured. "Amazing!"

"Congratulations, Peeta!" Portia congratulated him.

"We can work with that," Effie eventually said, and Peeta smiled.

Caesar looked up from his notes again as he introduced the final tribute--you.

You bit your nails, waiting for your score.

11.

"NO WAY!" you screamed in awe. "How the heck?! I thought they hated me!"

"They must have liked your gut!" Haymitch finally commented, which made you grin.

Peeta eventually wrapped his arms around you in a celebratory embrace, which you accepted wholeheartedly as you buried your face into his shoulder. You never got to hug since the day before the reaping, and this greatly comforted you. A score of 11--you managed to outscore everyone else! This was pretty insane.

"To (Y/N) (Y/L/N)," Cinna called, holding up his drink. "The girl on FIRE!"

Everyone raised their glasses--water and juice and beer all held up to the light--and clinked them together in celebration. At least for now, that was one huge weight off of your shoulders.

"For what I know, (Y/N), you must have gotten yourself 'lodged in their minds,'" Peeta joked, and you grinned as you gave him one more quick hug.

"Thank you so much for not giving up on me," you said in relief.

Peeta only smiled. "Anything for you, (Y/N)."

Then you all continued celebrating well into the night, when you were finally ushered to bed. Tomorrow, you had to begin training for interviews. A smile only spread across your face as you laid on the mattress, your eyes eventually closing as the number 11 flashed behind your eyelids one more time.