Hey! This is my first THG story!

I decided to do it centred around Finnick and Annie, but there is a lot of Katniss and Peeta and some other couples.

It's in Annie's POV - and I've decided to make her not-crazy - but that may change depending on reviews and what I feel like.

If you're not certain, the Hanger was the place where they kept weapons and Hovercrafts in District 13. I was going to use Panem High but some other authors have used that and I wanted to be original.

Without further ado...

So far, this morning has been pretty bizarre, maybe because I woke up before my alarm – which never happens – and also because my skin is improbably clear.

My skin has always been a bit iffy – if you know what I mean. Whilst I haven't had acne, my skin certainly hasn't been free of blemishes, but after me and my family went to Hawaii for the summer, the sun had really helped, alongside a kit consisting of creams, exfoliating cleansers and face masks.

I reluctantly get out of bed and scoop up my dressing gown from its crumpled state on my bedroom floor and pad along the corridor to our bathroom…only to find it is already taken by my idiot of a brother – Will.

People seem to think I dislike him, for some unknown reason, but in truth, I hate him.

I mean, I'm sorry but I don't know what I've done to offend you, God, but my brother, really? In all seriousness though, he is an arrogant, irritating, head-stuck-up-his-arse, good for nothing asshole.

He's a couple of years older than me, and thinks he is my body guard or something, and not even in a nice, protective way. Some might think its sweet, but he doesn't even give me space to breathe half the time.

So I proceed to bang loudly on the bathroom door.

"GET OUT, LOSER!" I yell, stopping my knocking only to regain conciseness in my hand.

"What is it your time of month or something?" He retorts, and I can almost hear his smug smile through the door. Although, despite his pain-in-the-arse-ness, he does acknowledge the fact I need to shower and shuts off the water. A few minutes later, he opens the door, letting out what seems to be a cloud of steam, beaming at me.

"Why hello little sister, what a fine day it is!" I just grimace at him and slip past him into the bathroom, quickly slamming the door and bolting it shut.

Our bathroom is nice. For starters it's huge (so huge I'm annoyed my parents didn't convert it into two separate bathrooms) but it's been tiled really attractively so I'll forgive them eventually. It's mainly white which gives it an airy feel – which makes up for the fact there is no window.

There is an old Victorian bath in the centre of the room that's amazing for bubble baths, two sinks next to each other with their respective mirrors and shelving units.

Will and I actually have separate sections of the wet room. Since there are two shower heads and it's a fairly big wet room, there's enough space for all our stuff in different cubbies that seem to have been carved out of the wall.

I wash and condition my hair, making sure to rid it of knots and tangles before going through my normal morning routine: body wash, shave armpits and legs, moisturise, dry off, brush my teeth, pluck any unwanted eyebrow hair and put my hair up in a towel.

I then pad back to my room where I throw on the outfit I had planned the night before.

In Australia, where I spent most of my childhood, I went to schools where it was compulsory to wear uniform, but my Dad had just got promoted – he's really high up in the fishing industry and shit – and for that we had to relocate our whole family to Florida or more precisely, Mexico Beach.

So anyway, I'm now a sophomore at Hanger High, and my brother is a senior, but hopefully we won't cross paths…at all.

The weather is blisteringly hot, so I pull on some high waist shorts – glad I shaved – and a cropped t-shirt that was navy and had the Australian flag on it.

I blow dry my hair and scoop it up into a messy bun – i.e. the hairstyle that looks like it took ten seconds whilst in reality it took ten minutes to make it look that way – and do my makeup.

While I'm not that girl who slathers herself in makeup (and there's always that girl don't try to deny it) I do want to look nice and presentable on my first day of school. I apply some concealer under my eyes and use a small brush to blend it – because even though I haven't a clue what I'm doing, it looks professional – and use a larger brush to apply a thin layer of foundation, followed by some contouring with bronzer, blush, covered in a light powder, mascara and a pale pink lipstick, not far off my natural colour.

When I'm satisfied with my face and body I step into some white converse that I've had for years and check my bag is full with all the right stuff, before slipping my phone in my pocket and skipping off downstairs to our kitchen.

The kitchen is just like the rest of our house – big and bright, which I suppose isn't a bad thing, but it's a bit modern for me – you know? Too many clean edges and sharp finishes and smooth surfaces and white because it's just so blinding and with all the secret compartments I cannot find a single thing! Several times I've gone to get a spoon and returned with a whisk, or been told to fetch a chopping board and finding only a blender. But at the end of the day it has food and that's all that matters to me.

I grab an apple from the fruit bowl and my sunglasses, keys and purse from the table and try to make my way out of the house before my parents could catch me.

"Where do you think you're going without any breakfast, young lady?" My dear mother called from the living room – which unfortunately for me was connected to the kitchen.

My Mum was unemployed, so she felt that she should be a stay-at-home Mum for Will and me, which is ten years too late in all honesty. She cooks, she cleans, watches awful soap operas and sitcoms and still despite her pledge to be a Home-Mum cannot to save her life empty the damn dishwasher.

"Ugh, Mum, an apple is breakfast," I reply, opening the door to escape her wrath.

"And you can't leave without a jumper, sweetie!" I roll my eyes. "What if it gets cold?"

My Mum is from England, so she's used to its unpredictable weather. Well, so are my brother and I, but we only lived there until I was six and he was 8, whereas my Mum had lived there for most of her life.

"It's 50 degrees out there, I doubt I'm going to need a jumper."

But in spite of this, I still let her stuff a hoodie and cereal bar into my bag before I leave. I decided last night not to get the school bus, but to cycle in. Why not? It's a quiet route and it will probably get me to school quicker than the forever stopping bus.

I dump my bag into the basket on the front of my bike and leave with my mother shouting Call me! From the kitchen window.

I set off along the lane, shadowed by large palm trees and sprinkled in sand, letting the salty smell of the sea fill my nostrils. With the wind in my hair and the salt up my nose, I ride happily into the School's bike shed, where I promptly lock up my bike.

I pass people lounging around in groups on the fields outside the school, and get out of the sun and outside the Principals office, where apparently, someone will take me to homeroom.

I've already had my tour a couple of weeks ago, but I've almost definitely forgotten where all my classes are, so my tour guide better be something.

Term started a few weeks ago, but because of my family's "situation", I've only been able to start school today, in the middle of term, when everyone has already made friends and gotten into friendship groups. So thanks family.

The corridor smells musty even though I just saw the cleaner pass through, and the hard plastic of the chair I'm sitting in makes it impossible for me to get comfortable.

I sigh and pull out my phone to check my reflection. I'm not vain, but I'm bored and it kills time. Not to mention the fact I'm a loner and have no notifications apart from a text from my Mum saying she's going to sunbathe in the garden – because I really needed to know that.

I look up when I hear footsteps approaching, the sound of the persons walking loud in the hall.

The boy was stocky and broad shouldered, with blonde hair in curls across his forehead, and big blue eyes that reminded me of the sea back home. He smiled and I smiled back because it was just so full of genuine kindness and it was enough to make my day suck less.

He comes to a stop a holds a piece of paper up, seemingly comparing me to the torn piece of page.

"You're this girl?" He asked, a smirk evident on his face. He shows me the photo and I snatch it from his grasp.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that," I say, blushing.

It was a picture of me from last year. My hair was frizzy – I got a comb stuck in it the morning before – my skin was awful and oily and I had big, chunky braces. Thankfully my braces came off before we moved, and I switched shampoos which had a dramatic – and surprising – effect on my hair, that is now sleek and shiny.

"My name is Peeta Mellark," The now named boy said, extending his hand to greet me. I smiled and shook his hand.

"And I'm Annie Cresta."

Thanks for reading!

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