rhinestone jitters { nylon & mortem

Mother always said it was important to remember your station and not interact with those beneath you, but like I’m pretty sure anyone who’s not an avox here makes twice as much money as her. I’m not stupid, I know district one is better than the other eleven, but the Capitol still outshines us in every way.

I mean like, look at the stylist team. We’ve got hairdressers and whatnot back home but while they talk a good game, they don’t measure up.

Not that I’m going to tell Mortem that. Can’t let people get too high an opinion of themselves. That kind of thinking is reserved for victors and future victors like me.

Nervous? Me?

“Nervousness is for poor people,” I say with annoyance. “And obviously, no one looks as good as me.”

Obviously.

The interviews are going to start in fifteen minutes or so and like, maybe there’s one or two other tributes that might be almost—

Nah. I mean, sure, there’s definitely a few three’s and fours who’re gonna need all makeup they can get. I might even consider a certain someone a ten. Too bad for them, the dial in my district goes up to eleven.

I spit my gum out just as Mortem moves out of the way, and it lands in the sink under the mirror. I look good, and it’s not bragging if it’s a fact. I pull another stick of gum out and pop it in, glancing at Mortem.

“Nakom’s.” I say offhandendly, staring at her hair. “Are you a fan of Cricket?”

Sure that victor from district two is older than dirt, but we have to study ancient history as part of our training, learn why careers won and what mistakes the losers made. Cricket is a great example of how to have showmanship and perform.

We need more victors like her in one.

You know, like me.

“So what do I have to fight for you to decorate yourself like me?”

Eyebrows.

Yeah, I guess I could see why Cricket’s eyebrows could be a talking point. But it’s really hard to resist the urge to say something testy about the crown.  So I don’t resist it, and once she’s stopped moving my head around, I have something to say.

“I’ll remember that on the victory tour,” I say with a sneer. “Maybe you can polish it for me.” I cross my legs and stare at myself in the mirror. I look like a proper celebrity now. Just like the victors she mentioned.

“Ridley, duh. Opal’s a traitor who ran off to district eleven to romance some ditzy blonde.” Honestly. It’s not a good look for a district one victor. Love ‘em and leave ‘em sure, break a few hearts here and there, but getting married to someone whose surname is a fruit?

Gag.

Ridley’s prettier anyhow.

Not—not that I’ve noticed or anything.

“You forgot Justice Fray though.”

Gawd, imagine forgetting to name a dreamboat like him. I’ve got posters of him in my room. Him and Shy Aubergine. Oh right, Topaz. I think I remember something about her in school. She’s one of those ancient victors that keeps to herself. I dunno, I don’t really pay attention to anything older than the 70th except for quells and interesting victors.

“Have you talked to Ridley at all? She’s seems really nice for a grim reaper. But like, edgy too, like she stares into people’s souls in her spare time.”

It’s been real hard to get a read on my mentor. If I didn’t know any better I’d say she like—doesn’t like being a victor.

Crazy talk, I know.