There is a knock on the door. I stand up too quickly, knocking over my chair. Looks of horror appear on Plough’s parents’ faces.

They’ll get arrested. How stupid I was! This was one of the first places that people would check to find me.

Plough stands up shakily. He leaves to room to answer the door.

I creep over to the door of the room we’re in to listen. I hear people, peacekeepers probably, asking him if I was here. They asked to take a look around. Plough starts objecting and I hear a slap.

I can’t stand it.

I push the door open and walk into the front room.

“Please stop,” I beg. Plough is holding his hand to his cheek.

“Is there anyone else here?” one of the two peace keepers asks.

Plough nods his head. “My parents. But they didn’t know she was here. I didn’t tell them because they would have turned her in.” He made them sound like law abiding citizens. They are, to some extent, but we’ve all broken down in times of hunger.

One of the peacekeepers takes hold of my shoulder.

“It’s time to go to the Capitol,” he says. I nod. There’s no point in struggling. Each of them is stronger than both me and Plough put together.

The peacekeeper steers me away from Plough’s house and towards the train station. I turn a little to look back just in time to see the other peacekeeper hit Plough over the head with his gun. I see Plough drop to the ground and I panic and scream but the peacekeeper takes hold of my other shoulder tightly so I can barely move except in the direction he wants me to. I manage not to cry.

I expect the train ride to be long and lonely, but it isn’t really. I discover that since I am an honorary member of District 12, I am treated as though I am a normal District 12 tribute. There is a long train ride to District 12 to meet with Haymitch, then a longer one to travel to the Capitol. Haymitch, Effie and I have meals together, and it doesn’t take me long to figure out that Effie knows nothing of the rebellion. I discover that Cinna is going to be my stylist, which makes me happy despite everything else. At least I can die pretty.

Effie leaves the room during dinner soon before we are going to get off in order to wave at the crowds. I glare at Haymitch. He knows why.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re not going to die.”

How can he possibly know this?

“I promise you will go back to District 11 alive and safe.”

I don’t say anything. Partly because I don’t believe him.

Effie comes rushing back in and everything happens very fast. We are quickly ushered to get ready for the parade: we could not take a direct route because of me, so we are about a day late.

Effie introduces me to my prep team: Venia, Octavia, and Flavius. Their names fly over my head; they mean almost nothing to me. The three of them coo over how small and sweet I am; it makes me feel stupid. They are essentially the same as last year’s prep team: they don’t have individual personalities, but all merge together as one being who is A Prep Team. They tell me how hairy I am like last year; they wash and comb out my hair, all the time chattering about how they want to portray me.

Fortunately, it’s up to Cinna what I look like. As soon as he enters the room carrying a heavy looking suit bag, the prep team all stop fussing over me and stand next to each other, as if awaiting orders from a general. He tells them that they may go and turns to me.

“I’m sorry that you had to come here,” he says. He says no more, so I guess he thought people might be listening in. If there was a possibility of hidden microphones in my own house, there would definitely be some here in the Capitol. We can’t talk here.

“We’re on a tight schedule,” he says. “Change into this.” He hands me the suit bag. I open it up and look inside.

Since I’m part of District 12 now, I get to wear coal related clothes. If I’d had another stylist, I’d probably have dreaded what I’d have to wear. Because the stylist is Cinna, I am not disappointed.

At first, I think I am simply wearing a black jumpsuit. After I have put it on, Cinna places a heavy black crown on my head. He taps a button inside my wrist and points me to a mirror.

“Have a look. Portia and I spent a lot of hours watching fires. Haymitch is wearing a similar outfit. I’m reasonably satisfied with the outcome.”

I look into the mirror and cannot speak.

I look as though I am on fire, burning up and threatening to scorch everything around me. Cinna has made different shades of red and orange and yellow rise and fall like coals on a fire. My crown now appears red-hot. I don’t look like a little girl who won the Hunger Games last year by chance, but a ruthless rebel.

“I’m sorry, we don’t have time to do any make up,” Cinna continues. “Not that you need it. Can you walk in heels?”

I nod.

“Wear these then. We want you to look taller.”

The shoes are higher than the ones I wore last year, but I manage to just about walk in them without hobbling. Cinna turns off the light show. It is going to be stunning.

“Don’t smile or wave when you’re in the chariot. This year the Games aren’t very popular, not even in the Capitol. Let them know that you don’t approve of them either.”

I go down to the Remake Centre and wait for Haymtich to appear. I feel awkward standing among the victors. Not exactly a bad awkward: I feel pure. I am the only one out of them who is not a murderer. This also makes me feel unsafe.

I feel a hand slip onto my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine. I can tell who it is even before I see him. It is Finnick Odair.

“I liked watching you last year,” he purrs. From anybody else, this could sound innocent enough. I’m sure a lot of people enjoyed watching me last year, as many people enjoy the Games. Coming from Finnick it makes me feel sick. My parents won’t tell me exactly what Finnick does, but he has a reputation of being popular among women. Not in a good way. I feel vulnerable, being the youngest tribute once again.

It scares me what Finnick has become. He must have seemed innocent at one point, being the youngest in the Games he won. Now he makes people swoon just by looking at them. Will I be like that in ten years time?

Will I be alive at all in ten years?

I push the thought out of my head and his hand away.

“Sorry,” he says lightly, like he doesn’t mean it.

Thankfully, I am spared from having to reply by Haymitch appearing. He looks grumpy, which I think is due to the fact that Portia wouldn’t let him have any alcohol.

“You ready?” he asks, but he sounds as if he doesn’t care. I wonder if he does, deep down.

“I suppose,” I reply.

He takes my hand. It doesn’t feel creepy, like it would if Finnick was holding my hand, but it sort of makes me feel safe. I close my eyes and pretend it is the hand of somebody I trust: Thresh, my father, one of my brothers, Plough. It gives me the strength to go through with the parade.