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I’m in a bad way. I’ve checked and double-checked my makeup, my dress fits like a glove, and my hair’s as close to perfect as it can get, leaving me with nothing to do but wait my turn. Judging by the muffled whooping I can hear, they’re almost done with his friends. That leaves me to be the big finale. I can’t help but start rehearsing what I want to say, even though they said they want us to be as natural as possible. Sure, I know I’m going to ace the interview, but I’m nervous anyway. Instead of resorting to nail-biting, I twist a lock of hair around my finger. I’d usually wear it up, to keep it from getting caught in the faceting machine, but practicality isn’t really the point today. Glossy black ringlets spill over my shoulders, in contrast to Marvel’s straight, sandy-brown crop. Nobody could deny that we make a striking pair. If we were physically together right now, that is.
The reporters have been camping out here for a couple of days, waiting for it to get to the final eight. I can’t help but feel sorry for the ones who have to slum it in the outer districts. Thinking about it though, they’re probably just sitting pretty in spare Victors’ houses, since hardly anyone from those garbage heaps ever wins. Still, I think our lot are relieved to have gotten somewhere decent. As soon as Three went, they swooped in to talk to us straight away. Maybe they’re that thrilled to be speaking to people with proper diction, or maybe they just need to get them done stat before someone else goes. Twelve-boy doesn’t look so hot, so I bet the reporters are even more rushed over there. And I bet the reporters over in Three are pissed, since they came all that way only to have their tribute come ninth. Well, it serves that dweeb right for trying to get all smart with the mines. Good thing Marvel can fend for himself.
Every tribute gets a fifteen-minute TV spot – I think they must interview at the same time in all the districts and then just stagger the footage afterwards. They usually air the ones most likely to bite the dust first, just in case, which is a little annoying for the more competent districts. I can’t remember anyone actually cannoning before their interview went out, but I guess there’s a first time for everything. A few years back, a girl got stabbed just after they wrapped up at home. Talk about bad luck!
It only takes a few more minutes until I’m whisked into a softly lit room. The interviewer, I think his name is Hyacinthus, is lounging on a plushy chair opposite an even plushier sofa while the crew fuss over their equipment. I put on my most winning smile and sit down, careful to keep my back straight and knees together.
Hyacinthus has sat up from his reclining-emperor pose and greets me in a way that I assume he thinks is charming. “Well hi there, Ruby! Aren’t you just the cutest little thing?” Ew.
I have to be honest, I’m not a fan of this guy. This is his first time in District One, and he’s totally trying too hard. He told me earlier that he went straight to the salon to bleach his hair when he found out where he’d been assigned. It really doesn’t suit him, and come on – this isn’t a blondes-only district. Even worse, with how he’s been looking at me, I’m wishing this new ruby-red dress – very subtle, Mom – had a higher neckline. For about the millionth time these last couple of weeks, I desperately long for Marvel to be here.
Before I know it, the interview is starting and a jolt of nerves rushes through me, but I quickly get into the flow of things. At least Hyacinthus isn’t the worst interviewer in the world. It’s not like Marvel is exactly a hard sell, either. Okay, so the others in the pack are strong, but they’re your typical Twos – basically psycho killing machines. Marvel’s here to win, sure, but he’s not going to be a dick about it. Plus, he has this thing called charisma, which I doubt those two can even spell.
Time’s ticking away, and I sense that Hyacinthus is about to wrap up. “So, Ruby, this interview has been a delight. After everything I’ve heard about Marvel, he almost feels like my own friend!” I laugh in a hopefully-not-fake-sounding way, battling against the urge to roll my eyes. “I just have one more thing to ask.” He leans forward, looking smug. “If you could say something to Marvel right now, what would it be?”
Ouch. Somehow, I don’t think that saying “Please don’t die, I miss you so much, also this guy is a total creep, can you please come beat him up,” and then bursting into disgusting, snotty tears is the response Hyacinthus is looking for, so I go with something else.
“Gosh, well, that’s a tricky one!” I hear myself saying. “We already have so much to catch up on! But I’d say that he’s so close to victory, and to keep pushing and do whatever it takes. I’d tell him that I have total faith in him – we all do – and we’re all really proud. And… I’d tell him I love him.”
“Ah, how sweet!” warbles Hyacinthus. “Young love is so precious, as we’ve already seen in this most unusual Games!” I’m almost grateful for the wave of annoyance washing over me, because I really was about to burst into tears. “Unfortunately, that’s the end of our lovely little chat. I hope everyone at home is rooting for Marvel as much as I am now!”
“Thank you, Hyacinthus. It’s been so wonderful to talk to you,” I simper. Nobody tells you that lying is the most important interview skill.