Training

The salty water, tossed by the newly chilled November air, sprayed high, dusting droplets onto the hundreds of people who ran along the rocks. Students from District Four's high school, a school that trained its students in academics and fishing—the industry of their district—as well as survival in the arena of the Hunger Games, the things they had known and been learning since they were born. Among these students, was a sixteen-year-old girl. Like all the others, her skin was tanned and her body was fit from a life of fishing and training. She had sea green eyes and brown hair that hung in waves, resembling those she ran above. They were running to the Justice Building, already late and hoping to catch the end of the most recent Victor's speech. This time of year, when the air of District Four began to chill and birds from the northern Districts could be seen flying overhead, making their way even farther south, when Fall could be seen melting into Winter, was the time for the Victory Tour. They had heard that in the lesser districts, the touring victor was met with resentment, having survived where those districts' children had died, but here in the career districts, they didn't dwell on hate in that way. Here, they congratulated the victors for their strength and skill. This year, the Victor, a boy from Two named Valer, had been allies with Four's tributes, Hester and Murphy, until the very end. He won honorably and deserved a good reception.

But the day the Victory Tour came to a career district was also a very special day for citizens between the ages of twelve and eighteen, especially those sixteen or older.

When they finally arrived, breathless, at the square in front of the Justice Building, the Victor was leaving. They'd missed the speech, but that was fine by them, as the day was exciting enough already. The girl grabbed the hand of a boy. He was seventeen, almost eighteen, and had russet-brown hair and blue eyes. They waved to the others, separating from the group to seek out the most recent Victor of District Four, Finnick Odair, who had won four years before these past games, the 65th Victor.

"Odair!" they shouted together when they saw him, and letting go of each other's hand, ran to him.

Finnick, a young man of nineteen with sea green eyes like the girl's and hair just redder than the boy's, rolled his eyes sarcastically through his smile. "Cresta! Don't tell me they elected you? And you, Ridley? Boy, will I have my hands full this year!" He clapped a hand on each of their shoulders. Annie Cresta and Cyrus Ridley had just been secretly elected by their peers to volunteer at the Reaping the following June. It was a long-held tradition in the career districts and gave their tributes six months to prepare even more than they normally would. Of course, it would be a long time until then, and at the Reaping, anyone else could fairly volunteer, sparking the yearly fight over who got to go to the Games, but this year, the vote for Annie and Cyrus was nearly unanimous. Even those who had been running against them would surprise everyone if they were to volunteer. In the other Careers, Districts One and Two, people would fight for the position, hardly giving those elected any respect for their right to the position, and it's just a mess. Here in Four, things went a little more smoothly.

"Aw, come on, Finnick," Cyrus teased, "We'll be joys to train!"

Finnick was again filled with joking sarcasm, "Oh, I'm sure you will!"

Just then, a man with blue hair, a vibrantly colored purple and gold suit and ridiculous makeup—Valer's Capitol escort—tapped Finnick on the shoulder and whispered something into his ear.

"I understand, just a moment," Finnick murmured to him and turned back to Annie and Cyrus. "Well, I have to run, but I would like to start training both of you as soon as possible. Cresta, I want to see you on East Point Shore Monday and Wednesday mornings at sunrise and Tuesday and Thursday afternoons at one. Ridely, the opposite for you, Monday and Wednesday afternoons and Tuesday and Thursday mornings. When you aren't with me, I want you at the school's gym doing whatever I've assigned. Don't train at night: rest is crucial. And remember to eat hardy, balanced meals. No deserts."

This Finnick was not the Finnick Annie had always known. Her Finnick was humorous, fun, and whimsical. This Finnick was not her friend, but her mentor. He was hard, strict, and not her buddy but someone who would help her live. Both students nodded. "Understood," they said in unison.

"Good, see you Monday," he said with a nod, turning to go with the Capitol man.

"Wait!" Annie stopped him. "What about Friday through Sunday?"

Finnick's face looked as if he'd been punched in the gut, but then his expression went blank with a horrible, silent sadness. "Annie, you know I spend those days in the Capitol. I have to leave now, in fact. Over the weekends, rest your muscles and read up on survival strategies, training in the gym as I instruct. Goodbye."

Cyrus waved, a smile on his face, but Annie held Finnick's sad eyes with her own, a question hanging between them. When he couldn't take that gaze any longer, he turned away, walking towards the train that would take him away, and she stared at the back of his beautiful head, feeling abandoned by her lifelong friend. A friend she wished could someday become something more. But until she won the Games, they'd never be able to fully understand each other. At least that's what Mags, Four's oldest living Victor and a friend to most people of the district, had said when describing the life of a Victor. They understand only each other, and no one can ever understand them.

_

The sun had hardly been in the sky for an hour, but already, Annie was beginning to feel exhausted. With strong arms and legs she pulled and propelled herself through the high waves, Finnick watching carefully from a small rowboat.

"Breathing?" he shouted at her, angrily. "What are you breathing for? Breathing will only slow you down! You need to be faster! Faster!"

She'd been getting this for the past hour and was finally fed up with it. She stopped swimming and snapped at Finnick, "I'm breathing every five strokes, just as we've been taught in the school's training. But honestly, I don't need to be training for swimming like this! None of the other tributes will know how to swim but Cyrus. Regardless, I'm already the fastest girl in my year!"

Finnick's face betrayed no emotion. "Are you, though?"

"Sprinting," Annie muttered, hanging her head. "After a hundred meters, Kayla Truti can pass me. Later, a few others."

"Exactly," Finnick breathed. "I know none of the others will be able to swim, at least not as well as you or Cyrus, but this isn't for your swimming speed, it's for endurance. Your heart rate increases too quickly. You start breathing heavily and slowing down, and after that initial sprint, as you just said, people pass you. Endurance is what you need if you are going to win. Now, give me five hundred yards, breathing only every seven strokes throughout and meet me on shore. I am timing you."

"Seven?! Going my fastest, I can't only breathe every seven for five hundred meters. I can hardly do that every five!"

Finnick smirked, "Well, if you do breathe every seven, it will be your fastest. Go."

Annie was irritated and frustrated by how harsh Finnick was being, but she knew it was only because he wanted her to win.

As the weeks past, however, Finnick's coaching only grew harsher. "What was that?" he shouted, he voice like venom, when she walked up onto the sand one afternoon after her daily 500. "You sacrificed form for fast strokes and forgot to glide. Thrashing around in the water like a drowning pig isn't going to get you anywhere!"

"Well, fuck you, Odair!" she shouted right back. "How's about you tell me what the hell you do in the Capitol every weekend, and then maybe I'll cooperate!"

At that, his harsh image melted into the Finnick she'd known. "I can't tell you that. I wish it wasn't true, but after you win these Games, you'll find out for yourself what the life of a Victor's really like."

And yet, Annie only scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Don't give me that crap! I'm sick of the vague, oh-poor-me answers. No matter how heartfelt they may seem. Give it to me straight."

Finnick shook his head and turned away, but he wasn't getting off the hook that easily. Annie leapt onto his back, locking her muscled legs around his waist and hooking an elbow under his jaw, her other hand pulling at his dark red hair. "Screw that! You tell me this instant!"

"Annie!" he gasped, falling down into the sand. Before he landed, Annie released him, lest he hurt her leg, and got on top of him, pinning him down. She knew he was stronger than her, and would be able to fight her off if he wanted to. But she had the advantage. He didn't want to harm her, but she had no problem leaving a few marks on him. "Annie, please. If I told you the truth, you'd lose all respect for me. You'd hate me, I'm sure. You wouldn't be able to look at me the same, if you knew what went on in the Capitol with the Victors, with me on the weekends. You'd be disgusted."

She wasn't buying it, and yet, felt insulted. "I said screw that. Really? I've known you for forever, and you used to treat me pretty shittily. But we've grown up together. You've redeemed yourself and earned my friendship time and again. I thought we knew each other better than this by now! Finnick, whatever it is, if it was me doing it, and you left here to wonder, would you hate me upon finding out? Would I disgust you? Is it so horrible that you wouldn't be able to look at me the same again if it was me?"

Sighing, he let out a soft, "No. No, you'd still be you. You'll always be my friend, through anything. But I can't tell you."

"Oh, come on!" she shouted, smacking him in the face. "Is it because you think I'm too young? I'm sixteen. That's two years older than you were when you won your Games. It's how old you were when you started leaving to spend days, sometimes weeks, at a time in the Capitol doing whatever it is you do! Please, I need to know. I'm sick of this."

"Yeah, so am I," he told her, glaring.

Knowing he wasn't going to crack she stood up and stormed off, back into the water, where she started swimming straight out to sea.

"Annie!" he called. "Where are you going?"

"Out!" she spat over her shoulder. "I really just don't want to be anywhere near you at the moment—not even on the same land mass!"

Rolling his eyes, Finnick leaped in after her, catching up quickly, as she was tired from his grueling 500 assignment. "Annie, please!" he said when he met her. She ignored him, so he shot in front of her and grabbed her arms so she couldn't swim away. "Please, Annie, listen to me!"

"What?" she spat, half treading with her legs, half being held up by her arms.

Finnick sighed. "Swim another 300—with effort this time—and then we can talk."

Her jaw dropped in shock at his arrogance. "Fuck you. Tell me now, or I'll swim out past the border boat and get shot by a peacekeeper."

Fed up, Finnick wrapped his arms around her and kicked them both to shore. Annie thrashed the entire time, kicking as much of his legs and her feet could reach, but he was holding her tightly, and she couldn't reach much. He threw her down on the sand and began to say something, but she cut him off, scrambling to stand and face him. "What is the matter with you?!" she shouted. "Have you gone mad! I swear, you've gone mad! Making me swim like this every day—nearly killing me. Not telling me this one simple piece of information even after all we've been through together. It's ridiculous! You are being ridiculous. Do you think Mags would want you keeping secrets from me like this? Did she push you so hard in training that you felt like you were going to die before even the Reaping? Would she be proud of this?"

"Hey," he stopped her forcefully. "Don't bring Mags into this. No, she hasn't been quite the same since her stroke, but she's getting better. She knows what's going on, and she's not proud of me for what I do, but I know she wouldn't want me telling you about it. On the matter of pushing you too hard in training, I don't know what she'd think. She definitely wouldn't be proud of me for pushing you harder than I push Ridley."

"Well, that's not fair. Why are you letting Cyrus slack off? You aren't playing favorites, now, are you?" Annie whispered with wide eyes. "Please tell me you aren't sacrificing him before it's even begun."

Finnick looked down at the sand, embarrassed. A crab slowly scuttled between them. When he finally looked up at her, he met her eyes with an intense gaze. "Yes, Annie. I am. I'm favoring you in training and when it comes to sponsors' gifts, I will favor you in the arena. I know it isn't fair, but… but I know I could never stand to watch you get killed in there. You mean a lot to me. You're right, I was mean to you when we were kids, but you grew on me, and now I consider you one of my best friends. I need you to come back alive."

Too stunned to respond appropriately, Annie only said, "And your secret adventures on weekends, do I get to know about those?"

"Maybe after you win, I'll tell you all my secrets. Deal?"

"Deal."