CHAPTER ONE

I sit on the sandy and pebbly shore of District Four weaving a net. This one won't go to my father at the net shop. This one is to keep me busy. Two days from now is The Reaping for the Sixty-Nineth Annual Hunger Games. I am sixteen. My name is in the draw twenty times. My family doesn't really need the extra tesserae but I just want to do my part to help. We're small. It's just me and my dad. We run the net shop together. Just the two of us. I make nets alongside him and debone fish.

My mother died when I was very young of some disease that I've never had the courage to inquire about. The topic of my mother's death is a sore one that bring tears to my father's eyes. He's a strong man. I don't like seeing him break.

I lay back in the sand and close my eyes, putting the net beside me. I wasn't looking forward to the Reaping. Then again, not many people were. Just the few of us who travel to District One to attend The Academy. The Academy where they train us to fight. I've only been once when I was eleven. They let you attend one year for free if you live in Districts Three or Four. Usually people go the first year their name is in the running. The Academy was a dreadfully depressing place. You could either kill dummies, study the environment or watch videos of the deaths of tributes and study the tactics of past victors.

I refused to go back after my free year. I didn't want to spend more time than necessary thinking about the games.

Suddenly, a strong breeze blasts me. My long, auburn blows in the wind. I open my and squint at the noon sun. It is soon covered by a large metal ship that floats overhead. I recognize it as the Capitol's mode of transportation for Victors and citizens of Higher Class. Onboard now was Finnick Odair returning from his second Victory Tour this year. He would receive two days off before he started mentoring with Mags.

I sigh and close my eyes. Poor Finnick. We had met a few times when we were younger. He bought nets from me and my father and also paid for our deboning services. I doubt he knew my name though. We'd never spoken but once when he told me thank you. This was long before he won the games though. Long before he was the famous ladies' man he is today.

Slowly but surely, I drift off, the heat of the sun lulling me into a comfortable slumber.

"SPLASH! SPLASH! SPLASH!"

I am stirred from my slumber. My sea green eyes flutter open.

"SPLASH! SPLASH! SPLASH! SPLASH!"

I looked to one side. There's my net. I look to my other side. Nothing. I yawn and sit up looking across the water to the other side. I see the silhouette of a man against the sunset. I must have been asleep a while. I blink him into focus, but he remains a shadow. The he retrieves something from the water. A triton. Now I know who this is. Finnick Odair. Spearing fish. Finally rid of his string of fan girls.

Lazily he splashes through the water and retrieves the triton, pulling off a fish and tossing it into a pail. I grab my net and mindlessly weave as I watch him spear fish after fish. He stops after about a half hour and strokes his triton.

I stand. My blue eyelet lace dress dry from my morning swim. I tie the net around my waist and walk into the shallows, sand wedging between my bare toes. The water touches my knees and I dive in headfirst. I stroke forward in the direction of Finnick, trying to stay out of range of his deadly aim. I don't feeling like dying or scaring away his game.

I open my eyes, not coming up for air. I see tiny fish swim out of my way and take bigger strokes, kicking my legs as I frog paddle into the shallows. My knees scrape the bottom and I plant them, slowly rising to my feet. I walk to the shore not looking at Finnick, but I feel his eyes on me. I can't help but peek at him out of the corner of my eye. I peel my dress from my curvy figure. He sighs and faces me.

"Thanks. You scared off all the fish," he says.

I halt and frown walking over to his bucket. It's filled to the brim with fish.

"It doesn't look like there were many left anyway. I think I may have saved the species," I reply.

The flat line of his lips twitches into a smirk.

"Your welcome," I add plopping down in the sand.

He laughs softly and stabs the sand with his triton, planting it upright. Lazily he walks to where I sit and collapse beside me in the sand, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Hello," I say.

"Hey," Finnick replies.

I look at him and observes his features.

The angular plains of his high cheekbones. The erect form of his nose. The sea green eyes common in District Four look unique and sultry on him. Plump lips in an amused smirk. His bronze hair disheveled. I don't dare look at his body in fear of gawking at him like everyone else. I bite my lip and look away.

"You're as good looking in person as on television," I murmur with a wry smile.

If you haven't guessed… I'm not exactly bashful.

FINNICK'S POINT OF VIEW…

I get this compliment often, but coming from this girl…it means something more. I have no idea why. I can't help but laugh softly and shake my head.

"Thanks," I say.

She smooths her dress that is already beginning to dry in the light of the sun. I admire the dark red hair that falls in graceful waves and clings to her back with the water that saturates it. Her big turquoise eyes study me. She looks like a lot of girls in District Twelves, but one thing sets her apart… the fleck the color of caramel that litter every inch of her pearly skin. Most girls in Four have bronzed skin and auburn, blonde or light brown hair. How is she so common yet so different aside from this difference. Maybe it was her humor or her ability to go from awkward to funny in seconds.

"Now you compliment me on my swimming," she says with a pointed nod.

I chuckle again. Yeah, it's her humor. Who is this?

"You're a really good swimmer," I grin.

She scoffs dramatically and shakes her hand waving me off

"Oh, stop it! Me? Please!" she giggles, shoving me.

I laugh and shake my head squinting at her.

"Who ARE you?" I question.

I have to know.

ANNIE'S POINT OF VIEW

My smile turns grim and I look down at my bare feet bashfully. I didn't expect him to remember. The last time he saw me we were ten and he was buying a net. He hadn't been back since. I untie the net from around my waist and start to weave quickly.

"Oh," he sighs.

I look at the sunset, still weaving.

"Annie Cresta," he concludes.

My jaw drops a fraction and I smile looking at him.

"Yeah," I say.

He smiles and nods looking at the glimmering surface of the water.

"You and your dad have the net and bait shop. You make nets and run the fish deboning section," he grins.

"Yeah! That was me," I gawk, surprised.

He nods and glances at me.

"That's you. You do a good job. Nice nets. Good deboning skills too."

I feel myself flush and hug my knees to my chest. He falls silent.

"You saved my damn life, Annie," he says softly.

My head snaps in his direction and my brows furrow.

"What?" I gasp.

He nods, a warm smile on his kissable lips. How many girls had kissed those lips?

Finnick shifts his body to face me and smiles, looking at me through his long lashes.

"Do you remember in fourth grade, when we all went out to recess and you decided to lead a seminar on how to build a proper net? All the kids gathered around and you showed about twenty of us how to build a basic net. You were the self proclaimed-"

"Queen of Nets!" I laugh.

I am surprised he remembered, or was in the audience for that matter.

"Yeah, and then you and your dad hosted free seminars every month on how to build different nets? I came to those. All the nets and snares I made in the arena, they were based on your instructions at those seminars. All the food I hunted and cooked based on your instructions from when I watched you debone the fish. You saved my life, Cresta," he grins.

I flush again look at my hands as I continue to weave.

"I guess I should thank you for that…" he says nudging me.

I shake my head with a shrug.

"Your welcome," I laugh.

We are silent for a moment before he speaks.

"How many times is your name in?" Finnick asks softly.

I release a breath as I tie off the last string of the net.

"Twenty times," I reply flatly.

He frowns.

"You nervous?"

I set down the net and hug my knees again, resting my chin on them. I shake my head slowly.

"Don't think they'll choose you?" he asks.

I shake my head again, pursing my lips.

"It's not that," I murmur. "I mean, I DO think the drawing is sometimes rigged. I honestly believe there are more interesting possible tributes besides me. However, I don't think I'll be chosen because I don't FEEL like I will be. I am good at predicting things. I listen to my gut. My gut tells me that they won't choose me. Not this time…"

"Do you think they'll ever choose you?"

I cross my legs and fold my arms.

"I don't know. I feel like…the Hunger Games will effect me… I just don't know how…" I say.

"So you don't count yourself completely out?"

"Of course not… I mean, does anybody ever count themselves completely out of the Reaping when there name is in the drawing?" I ask.

He looks to the side at the water's surface again.

"Did you expect your name to be called?"

His eyes turn nostalgic as he stares into the distance.

"No… My name was only in there five times…" he mumbles.

"Sorry," I reply.

He shakes his head and looks at me. I offer a comforting smile.

"It's fine… Better than some of the other questions I am asked," says Finnick with a dry laugh.

"Fair enough," I giggle.

We stare at each other and smile. Suddenly he jumps and reaches into the large pocket of his cargo shorts. He removes a small black rectangle and squints at it as it beeps.

"Did you just expire or something?" I ask.

He chuckles. I seem to be good at cheering him up.

"No, it's just my manager. She needs me to come to the Hall of Justice for dinner. Needs to 'discuss the itinerary for our stay,'" he says in a Capitol accent.

I laugh softly.

"Well, see you," I say.

He looks at me and grins.

"See you."

Finnick stands and starts to press buttons on the rectangle, pressing it to his ear. I offer a wave and look back out at the sunset.

"I'm on my way…" I hear him say, the sound of his voice fading into the distance.

The first conversation I have with Finnick Odair and it ends with me yearning for more.