Perle Perch // [District Four]

There's a kid in my chemistry class, a real fuckboi, you know? One day he leans over to me and tells me I have a great ass. So, I deck him. On the way to the office - he, to the nurse, me, to the principal - he sputters through blood and snot, "you're just like your mother."

I've never received such a great compliment.

'Course he should have been a little more careful in Four, right? Except that both my parents lament our training system has fallen behind that of One and Two's. They make a strong argument: the other Career districts are up to their elbows in Victors and we've got Leon Krigel? Who is kind of my brother-in-law? I don't really know what Mathilda's up to these days. It's not like we were ever close, so don't even bother asking. Or do - I could stand to work on my right hook. Really the obsession with victor and victor culture is distasteful. It completely ignores the years of hard work and dedication all the other career tributes put into the Games. We all know it comes down to luck, in the end.

Luck, whether or not you get reaped.

Luck, whether you click with the Gamemakers.

Luck, whether the arena betrays you.

Luck, whether your ally does instead.

Luck, and if you do end up in the finale, Ripred help you. Because your weapon could break. Or some yahoo from a lower district could trip and stab your eyeball.

All this, and I'd still prefer to be reaped to a life of a fading Career. My mother is so beautiful and so strong, even now, but does anyone look twice at her? Even when she was First Lady of the district, her name barely passed the lips of our citizens. Everything entered around my father. I know, he's won all those elections, but he didn't do it alone. All of us lined up for the campaign photos. All of us signed our names in thank you cards. I even distributed pins to my classmates. We all helped. I try not to resent my father but the older I get, and the more feminist I become, it's difficult. Not to mention that since Mathilda ran off, the house is mostly full of boys.

I do love having the upstairs shared bath to myself most mornings. I've let my hair grow for the last two years and it does not disappoint. Bless my mother's genes. She braids it for me, sometimes, but not as often as when I was young. I've got to learn to french braid myself, as I need to keep it back for practice. Otherwise I don't bother too much with makeup. A little gloss and mascara goes a long way. Every month it seems I get a little taller. Thankfully I fit into my older brothers' hand-me-downs for training. No point in looking too fancy at the gym, right?

When I'm not working out or dragging my tired ass to school, I'd say my style falls somewhere between tomboy and grunge. Colors are good, but only if the cut is loose. I'm still adjusting to this body of mine and I don't have brain space to waste over what fabric might accentuate or detract from my curves; unless it's going to help me fight harder, who cares.

This has not made me overly popular at school. I can't quite get the hang of talking to a crowd. Either I blather on for too long or clam up. Ultimately, I prefer one-on-one interactions. My brain doesn't get so panicked when I'm talking to one person. Maybe it's practice; I've always been a better dueler than I have when attacking in a group. My father enrolled me in a class about alliances once. I slept pretty much the entire day.

Because the truth is, if I snatch that glorious opportunity to enter the Games, I'm going it alone. One Perle against the masses of Panem.