Thousands of frothy bubbles swirl around me, tickling my bare skin. I giggle, batting at them as I float along with them. Suddenly, from somewhere beyond the reaches of the bubbles, I see a faint glowing light. I strain to see better, and all the bubbles fall away, leaving me alone. I am in a dismal, dark abyss. But I am not afraid, as the light floats toward me. It breaks apart into two lights, and then I notice the color of them. They are perfect, sea green with a twinge of blue and flecks of gold. I can think of nothing else, not the bubbles nor the cold abyss. The beautiful lights warm me, and I feel completely satisfied with the world. I soak up all their light, bathing in it, never wanting to leave the glowing beauty of these two orbs…
"Annie!" my father's voice echoes from down the hall. "Hurry up! It's Reaping Day!" I stretch and get out of bed, upset that my father has torn me from my dream, the same dream I have nearly every night. I clumsily throw my covers over the mattress, then scuttle to my closet. My Reaping dress, faded pale green, hangs tiredly on a bent wire hanger. I yank it on, tying the belt that goes around the waist. I am so small for my fourteen years that the belt hangs to my knees even after I've tied it. I slide my feet into my woven palm frond sandals and quickly fix my wavy, dark auburn hair. I pull it into a bun at the nape of my neck and then tie a tiny net over it, both for decoration and to ensure it stays up. I check my reflection in the mirror, which is really nothing more than an extremely well-polished seashell. Satisfied, I scuff down the hall for breakfast. My father silently slides me a plate with a fried seagull egg and some bread. I wolf down my food as my father chews his own breakfast quietly.
"Annie," he says after a moment.
"Yes?" I reply.
"Whatever happens at the Reaping today, remember: show no weaknesses. No matter what you're feeling, stand strong and face your obstacles. Okay?"
"Okay, Dad," I sigh, as reality sets in. Two kids from my home District will be dead in a matter of days. And there's nothing I can do about it.
Outside, the clock in the square tolls ten times, startling me. We have to hurry to make it on time. District Four has a fairly early Reaping time, but it's never bothered me. We can get it over with sooner, be productive with the rest of our day and try to forget the two kids who were just marched off to execution. My father and I quietly shuffle out the door, getting caught in the streams of people flooding the square. Flooding. The very thing that killed my mother. That wave washed up from nowhere, catching her and pulling her back to sea with it. I shake my head, clear it. That tragedy was long ago, four years. There is a much more current tragedy occurring right in front of me. I sign in with the Peacekeepers and head to the female section for reaping. The sun is brutally hot already, but a breeze from the ocean brings salt-scented relief.
It is time. The mayor, dressed in a faded blue suit, reads the Treaty of Treason in a droning voice, before turning the microphone over to our Capitol man. Our Capitol spokesman ascends the flimsy stage, taking his place at the driftwood podium. This year, his skin and suit are orange, his wig a vibrant yellow so bright I can hardly stand to look at him. But I do see a young man leap onto the stage behind him. Finnick Odair, our latest victor and mentor, the merciless trident-wielding heartthrob. He's wiry, with rippling muscles visible through his light blue dress shirt and black pants. He looks uncomfortable, standing up there in full view. I don't know why, he's usually confident to the point of cockiness. Besides, everyone here has already heard the rumors: Finnick goes from girl to girl in the Capitol, leaving a trail of heartbroken lovers. Why should he be nervous about standing in front of his home district? Weird. But then the Capitol man begins to speak and I focus on him.
"Alright!" he shouts in a high-pitched voice. It seems as though he's unaware he has a microphone; his voice screeches too loudly over the cheap speakers. "Today, I will decide the fate of one lucky girl and one lucky boy from District Four! And what a beautiful district to come from, I might add! Now, let's get right to it and see who will have the privilege of representing Four in the Seventieth Annual Hunger Games!" Always eager to leave the squalor of the districts, anxious to get back to his shining Capitol, the man wastes no time with formalities. He strides over to the Reaping balls, then throws his arms into the air, awaiting applause. No one claps, until the Peacekeepers aim their guns into the crowd. Then you would think silver parachutes were drifting down in droves, based on the excited cheers and cacophony of applause.
"Ladies first! And may the odds be ever in your favor, girlies!" the man screams. He shoves his fist in among the slips of clean white paper, tossing them around before one falls into his palm. Then he pries open the paper and says crisply, "Annie Cresta! Annie, you will be representing…" his sentence continues, but I don't hear any more. I go numb, and there's a dull buzzing in my ears. I gasp and almost fall, before I remember not to show weakness. Never weakness. So I straighten and stagger toward the stage. I am terrified, and I hope in vain for a volunteer. But the crowd stays silent. The Capitol man offers me his hand, to help me onto the platform, but I refuse. I can do it myself, appear like I'm still feeling strong. I stand on the stage with what I hope is a bored expression, like I can't wait to leave. Inwardly, I'm shaking like a palm frond in a hurricane. Some boy gets called to the stage, a big boy. He bawls into his large hands until the ceremony ends and we are whisked off to the Justice Building. Finnick disappears, I notice. Probably off to find another girl.
The Capitol man chatters as we walk across the square, and our male tribute seems annoyed by it. Halfway to the Justice Building, he sucks up his tears and uppercuts the spokesman, which is an effective way of getting someone to shut up. I suppress a giggle and shoot the tribute a thumbs-up. He smiles at me as three Peacekeepers drag him away. No one helps the Capitol man, so I grab his hand and pull him up. His wig is disheveled and he seems scared of our male tribute, but I just stagger towards the Justice Building with him. He continues his prattling, but my own thoughts are filling my head to bursting. I am so afraid. I don't want to die in the Games. Not that I have much of a life here in Four, or much of a future, but I don't want my death televised live in front of Panem. We enter the Justice Building and I dump the Capitol man by the door; I know where I am supposed to go. I remember from two years ago, when my friend Molly was taken for the Games. I went to see her before she left, hugging her and telling her goodbye. A few days later, she was the first death of the Games. She leapt off her platform before the gong sounded, a beautiful suicidal swan dive that ended in her explosive death. I shiver at the memory, knowing that I'll soon see things far more grizzly, far more real. I find the room where I told her goodbye and sit down on the velvet couches to wait.
First, my father is brought in by Peacekeepers. I expected that, but not the tears streaming down his face. My father taught me the 'show no weaknesses' rule. How can he expect me to be strong when he can't even hold it together in front of me? And then he is hugging me and I'm crying too, sobbing because my father knows my weaknesses, because we can be weak together. We cry and hug for a few minutes, and then the Peacekeepers return to take him. I sniffle, and my father looks at me sternly.
"No, Annie," he whispers, his voice shooting up an octave through the last of his tears. "Show them no weaknesses." And then he is gone. I have no other family, so only friends come after that. They hug me and cry and I hug back, but I refuse to let even one tear escape my eyes. For an agonizing hour, I go through this. Finally, the last visitor comes. He is a little boy, simpleminded but sweet. I know him because his mother drops him by my house sometimes, so he can help me mend nets and she can go fishing. The little boy's name is Isemet. He runs toward me, arms outstretched, sobbing. I catch him in a bear hug and hold him tight.
"Annie, you can't leave me," Isemet pleads. "You're my bestest friend! And I'll miss you if you leave!" He is bawling, soaking my dress with his tears. I shush him gently and whisper into his hair.
"I know, Isemet. I don't want to go, either. But I don't think I have a choice. I promise you, I'll see you again. And we'll mend nets. Like always. Okay?" Tears are welling up in my eyes, but Isemet has never seen me cry, and I'm not about to let him see me cry now. He nods.
"Okay. I love you, Annie." I am struggling to answer the little boy, to tell him I love him, too, but I can't without crying. The Peacekeepers save me, coming in at just the right moment and dragging Isemet out. "Annie! ANNIE!" he screams, hysterical. As soon as the door closes, I break down into sobs, uncontrollable. I cry and cry for what seems like years, until I finally run out of tears. I want out of this building, out of this district. I want to go home and hide, evade the Peacekeepers. But of course I can't. So I dry my nose on my sleeve and sit up.
Finnick is standing right in front of me, silent and wary. I fall off the bench in shock, struggling to my feet.
"What- what are you doing here?" I ask, as he comes closer. My mentor has seen me crying! This is awful, he knows my weaknesses, he won't want to get any sponsors for me. But he doesn't sneer like I expected, he doesn't scoff or laugh. He moves silently closer, then envelopes me in a hug. I was expecting something more romantic from the Romeo of the Capitol, but Finnick's hug is entirely platonic. And for that I am grateful. I desperately need a friend right now. I hug back, pressing my head against his muscled chest and finding more tears to cry into him.
"Shhh. Everything's going to be okay, if I have any say in it. I'm here to help you, remember?" he says. I whimper and nod against him.
"But… but you must think I'm weak," I murmur. To my surprise, Finnick shakes his head.
"No, no. Everyone has fear. I'm scared, and I'mnot even the one in the arena this year," he says. "I'm scared because I want my tribute to come back, and I am in charge of that. It's a scary thing, having a life in your hands. Fear does not make you weak, Annie. A person without fear is weak. Fears make us stronger. Okay? Now, let's go help you get stronger." He breaks away from our hug gently, holding me at arm's length. I see that he has been crying, too, based on the wet streaks on his cheekbones. Then I look farther up on his face, to his eyes. I have heard about the famous eyes of Finnick Odair, the eyes that can break any heart and mesmerize any soul. And I am not immune. In fact, I feel my knees go weak when I look into Finnick's eyes. Because I know their color.
My dream. The twin lights that are green, blue, gold. Finnick's eyes are exactly the same color. Black spots flicker over my vision, from exhaustion, stress, surprise. I begin to sway, and my knees start to give out. But I remain focused on Finnick's eyes. He sighs, as though he is used to girls passing out at the sight of him, and swings me up into his arms. I hold on to him, as he carries me out of the Justice Building, and into the waiting train. Finnick gently sets me down on a soft sofa with the male tribute, before whisking off to his own compartment. After Finnick leaves, I regain my senses and take a deep breath. The other boy from Four is watching me.
"Not you too?" he asks.
"What?" I'm confused. "What are you talking about?"
He rolls his eyes and waves his arms ceremoniously. "Don't tell me you've fallen for the famous Finnick Odair?" His tone is mocking, and I sneer at him. No weaknesses, regardless of what Finnick said.
"No," I retort, not sure whether I'm telling the truth or lying. "He just… reminded me of someone."
The boy scoffs, then extends his hand, which I shake.
"I'm Pisces," he says. "Pisces Dalhey. And you are?"
"Annie Cresta," I reply, doing my best to smile. I draw a shaky breath. "You ready for any of this?" I ask.
"No," Pisces replies readily. "I just wanna go home, and we're not even out of the District yet. And I made a fool of myself crying onstage." I shake my head.
"Just because you showed fear doesn't make you weak. A friend told me that once." I smile.