"So I'll take the girl again and you the boy, right?" Eura says under her breath from beside me.
I'm so focused on the stream of children filing in below the steps of the stage that I almost miss her words. Toward the front, a young girl in a floral skirt latches onto a tiny boy, her pale lips quivering as they break off and find their respective places alongside other children behind lined ropes. To think that only five years ago, that was me.
"Finnick," Eura says again, sucking in air between her teeth and sitting up straighter in her chair. "Did you hear me?"
"I heard you," I say. "I just don't understand why it always has to be us that's doing the mentoring. Every year, it's just you and me and Mags while they show up and spend their time drinking and conversing like it's a holiday party and not a stage show for a massacre." I nod my head toward the line of victors seated beside us on stage, each one laughing and whispering and pointing into the crowd, except for the tiny gray-haired woman who sits quietly at the end.
"Watch your tongue," Eura says. "You're young, Finnick, and you still have much to learn about the way things work around here. This is only your fifth year mentoring of many more years to come, and the Capitol has expectations for us both."
I turn to Eura, examining her choppy blond hair and the dark circles under her bright eyes, and I wonder for the first time if she's been forced to sell herself, too. She's in her later twenties, that much I know, and I can't help but wonder if that's going to be myself ten years from now. A lump forms in my throat. At nineteen years old, I already feel I've lived a lifetime of servitude.
The feedback of the microphone and the start of percussions indicate the start of the reaping, and the District 4 town square goes quiet.
"So, you the boy and I the girl?" Eura whispers as we both turn forward.
In response, I only give a slight nod.
The mayor gives the usual welcome to the 70th Hunger Games. When he introduces the victors and I feel the burn of a staring camera, I slip on a flirtatious smile and wink straight into the lens. The thought of a thousand Capitol girls shrieking at their televised screens makes my stomach turn, but I know my part well.
Then, as is tradition, they pull the name of the girl tribute first. I try not to think of the little girl with the floral skirt.
"Annie Cresta."
As usual, there is a mix of sighs and gasps in the mass of girls, and it takes a few moments before the crowd shifts and an isolated bubble forms around a lovely young woman with wavy, dark hair in the sixteen year-old group. Neither Annie Cresta's name nor her face ring a bell, but that doesn't make it any easier to watch her face contort into an expression of terror and disbelief. But just as quickly as it's there, the expression is gone and her face unreadable as she emerges from the crowd and walks forward. I hold my breath for the chance that someone will volunteer to take her place, but there is only silence as she mounts the stage in a green dress that matches her eyes. The way she stands straight as she overlooks the crowd intrigues me; she's trying to be brave.
"Drift Talloway."
I'm so distracted by the girl tribute that I almost miss the name of the male tribute I am to mentor. Just like with Annie, no one volunteers to take the place of the seventeen year-old boy with light brown hair and hard, focused eyes. Eura sighs from beside me.
"At least they're not twelve year-olds," she mumbles. "Those are the worst."
"But no volunteers this year, just like the last," I say. "I'm becoming increasingly more unconvinced that 4 is a Career district."
Eura says nothing in response. After the ceremony, we're led into the Justice Building and made to sit until the tributes have a chance to say goodbye to their family and friends. I find myself eyeing the door to the room the girl, Annie, is in, wondering if she is still staying strong or if we'll find her emerge in a tear-filled mess.
Not that I care that much, anyway.
I never know, though, because soon after that all the victors are rushed onto the train to make sure we're on schedule to leave the moment the tributes are done with their goodbyes. I take a seat on a velvet couch next to Mags, who looks to be lost in a very deep thought, and I pull her into a one armed hug. It's not until we're given word minutes later that the tributes have boarded that the train slumps forward and quickly begins to pick up speed.
"Showtime," Eura says under her breath as the door to the train car slides open.
Drift walks in first, his hands fisted at his side, and Annie falls in soon after. I hastily separate myself from Mags and stand, each step closer to the two tributes serving as a reminder that more than likely I'll watch both teens die within the next two weeks regardless of whatever help I offer them, and just like that the sweet and slimy mask of my alter ego falls over my face.
"Hello, Drift," I say with a half smile. "Finnick Odair, though I'm sure you know that from previous introductions. Looks like you get the pleasure of working with me as your mentor." I ignore his incredulous snort of laughter and turn to Annie, locking eyes with her for the first time and just now realizing the exotic sprinkling of light freckles across her nose. "And you, Annie, unfortunately are not quite so lucky; you'll be working with Eura here, though I'll deeply regret the missed opportunity."
I'm not sure what reaction to expect from her; perhaps dramatic disgust like some of the other tributes, or maybe a goofy smile and flustered look like the sort of girls who fall for my act. What I'm certainly not expecting from her is a calm, serious smile, and quizzical eyes that squint and examine me in a way that translates a clear message: I'm not buying your act.
"Nice to meet you, Finnick," she says, her voice light and professional for such a young age. "I'm sure the missed opportunity will be mutually regretted. Now if you'll excuse me..." Her voice fades as she breaks eye contact and works her way around me toward Eura without glancing back.
I can't help but turn and watch her in puzzlement as she walks up to a surprised Eura and shakes her hand. In the past five years since my winning of the Hunger Games, never once has anyone given me a look like that before, like they can see past the molded mask and read all my secrets, and maybe even have the capability understand where I come from and not judge me for it. It feels like I'd been screaming for help into an empty chasm, and finally someone has heard me and shouted back, "I can hear you; I know you're in there." Maybe it was only my imagination, but I have to find out.
Later that night I find Eura sitting in an arm chair and running a hand through her hair as she reads a book. Taking a deep breath, I straighten my back and walk up to her, urging the words out of my mouth.
"I want to trade tributes with you," I say in a rush.
Eura looks up and slowly shuts her book before leaning her cheek into her propped up arm, her eyebrow shooting skyward as she eyes me. "What did you just say?"
"I said I want to switch tributes with you. You take Drift and I'll take Annie."
"Why do you want Annie?"
"Does it really matter to you?" I snap. It's then in that moment that I look closer at Eura's expression and I realize: of course she's never been forced to sell herself to the Capitol. She sees me as the others do, a young man crazed by a lust for arrogance and women. The concern lining her furrowed eyebrows has nothing to do with me and everything to do with Annie's wellbeing, as if I were the one throwing her into the Games. A sudden pang of loneliness eats away at my gut.
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose, looking downward and momentarily shutting my eyes. "It's not what you think, okay? I just want to talk with her... and I think we'd work well together, maybe increase her chances of winning. With Drift I may as well be a brick wall for all the attention and respect that boy will pay me. It'll do him no good in the arena."
When I look up, Eura is carefully studying me with pursed lips. She's known me long enough; she must see that at the very least I don't like watching both our tributes die year after year. She'll know that I'm right about Drift, anyway. There's a long period of silence between us that's filled only by the clinking of crystals on the chandelier.
"Fine," she says suddenly, so quiet she's barely audible. "We'll trade. You take Annie and I'll take Drift starting tomorrow."
I give a swift nod and exit the room before she has the chance to change her mind.
...
Shortly before our arrival to the Capitol the next morning, I find Annie spreading jam over a piece of toast in the eating quarters. Her dark hair is now pulled back in a low-hanging ponytail, and she seems to be carefully examining the vibrant color of the flowers on the dining table. I walk in and pull a chair out next to hers, casually falling back into my seat.
"Good news, Cresta," I say with a wicked smile. "Change of plans; I'm now going to be your mentor."
She turns suddenly and stops mid-chew with toast in hand, raising her eyebrows at me. She then tilts her head in a quizzical manner and swallows.
"Wow, Odair," she says, biting on each syllable of my last name with a smug smile. "And how did I come to receive this honor?"
I shrug. "Maybe I wanted to work with you," I say quietly, leaning closer toward her. "Maybe there's something about you that I like." That's probably laying on the charm a little too thick, but still I watch carefully for any kind of dramatic change in her expression. She only takes another bite of her toast and slowly rises up from her seat.
"Okay," she says with a sigh, as if more exhausted by my comment than anything. "Here's the thing. My chances in the Games are slim, especially if I don't receive any help from a mentor, so if you ever decide to move on from only 'liking something about me' and actually want to feed up some advice, you know where I can be found."
And just like that, she's through the train car door and gone, toast and all.