Let the Games Begin: A YouTube Hunger Games

The Games Begin

Forty eight YouTubers piled into six vans, and the punch line was death.

Was that a bit too morbid? Sorry, I'll try to tone it down a notch for the kids at home.

As the black, windowless (except for the windshield, of course. Otherwise the Games would be pointless because we'd all just die in fiery car wrecks) van pulled away from the hotel I fidgeted with the hem of the light jacket that Tan had given me to wear. Actually, it seemed as though all of the competitors (Jesus, I hate that word) were decked out in identical gear: a black thermal, tan cargo pants, combat boots, and a black windbreaker. The only thing that differed from person to person was hairstyle. Christian was sporting a relaxed quiff that wouldn't last long in the arena, and Tan had gone with a simple ponytail for me, braiding back my fringe so it wouldn't hang in my eyes. Nothing could be done about my glasses, I'm afraid. I'd just have to pray that they'd stay safely on my face and not get broken in the hubbub and hoopla.

Tanya was scarcely able to reign in her tears while she helped Christian and I prepare. It was sweet, but it tugged at my heart strings in a way I didn't like, and even though I knew it would only end up causing everyone more pain in the end, I couldn't help myself; I comforted Tan, assuring her that we'd be back, that we'd figure out a way to get out alive, just for her. It didn't help, of course. I believe I actually made it worse, as is my talent. I need to get shirts made that just say "Alice ruins everything" across the front.

A funny thing had happened whilst Tan was prepping me for the Games. We'd been alone in the dressing room (Christian and Jim were in the adjacent room) when Tan suddenly stopped fussing over the lie of my jacket and pulled me into a quick, tight squeeze. I squeaked with surprise.

"Tan," I'd gasped. "You'll suffocate me before I even get to the arena."

Tanya released me reluctantly and brushed a few tears from beneath her eyes. "I just... I'm sorry."

We fell into silence again and my eyes wandered around the room awkwardly. Apparently Tan was doing the same because suddenly she moved away from me and snatched up my rucksack from the corner. She squinted at something on the flap and then hastily fiddled with whatever it was. She dropped the pack and hurried back over to me.

"You have to promise not to let anyone see, alright? They might take it away," Tanya had whispered as she worked at the lapel of my windbreaker. When her fingers drew back, I saw what she'd been so concerned with. It was the winged airline pin, the one that the nice steward had given me on my flight to the States... what was his name? Stewart? I looked up at Tan in mild shock. "For luck," she murmured, nodding firmly.

I had fingered the edges of the pin thoughtfully. Darling Tan had no idea how wonderful she was. This pin didn't just mean something so trivial as luck... by carrying it into the arena, I'd carry a piece of my past in, too, a token from the people who loved me and were rooting for me. Maybe - hopefully - it would remind me to stay real, to stay Alice.

I pressed the lapel of my windbreaker against my chest now, feeling the outline of the hidden pin dig into my skin through my shirt. The fluttering in my stomach subsided a minuscule fraction.

Christian shifted next to me. His leg was warm pressed against mine. They'd crammed as many people as physically possible into the vans, and currently Christian and I were sharing a bench seat with our guard. Poor Christian had been shoved in the middle. His knees were accordioned between his body and the seat in front of us, and he looked quite uncomfortable at the close quarters. His expression would've made me laugh in less dire circumstances.

Jim glanced over his shoulder and flashed us one of his reassuring smiles, which I half heartedly returned. Besides being tense and silent, the windowless car ride was making me motion sick. Add that to the nerve-fraying dread of the impending Games, and I was hanging on by threads.