CHAPTER 1
Blue. Blue swirled with green on a canvas. Dabs of lavender interspersed here and there – perhaps accompanied by a hint of soft yellow. Add a sun the color of blood reflected on the surface. If Annie Cresta could paint the ocean, these are the colors she would use.
But why paint the ocean when you can experience it firsthand, feel it slip between your fingers? Why live vicariously through brush strokes when a vast expanse of water laid before you, day in and day out? Annie lived in the ocean. Her father, Terrell Cresta, affectionately regarded her as "District Four's Resident Mermaid." Annie felt a peace beyond description when she was in the water – as if the world around her melted away, and all that remained was the water. Just Annie and the water. Simple, easy. No preoccupations or worries. She would float; allow the waves to cradle her in watery, salt-soaked swaths. Her chestnut locks swirled and stretched in all directions like octopus tentacles, clinging to the wet surface. As soon as her bare toes grazed the water, Annie was renewed. Rejuvenated. It was as if she walked about with the world on her back, holding her breath, and when she entered the ocean that weight was lifted. She could breathe again. Annie's mother, Malia, used to chide her incessantly about spending too much time swimming. She thought Annie didn't socialize enough with friends. Unfortunately, Annie didn't have any friends – at least ones that were living, anyway. The water provided sanctuary, relief from the toils that ensued in her everyday life. The water was her friend.
Annie floated, meandering seamlessly on the water, not far from the shore. She thought about how pathetic that sounded – the water being her friend. But the Capitol took Annie's actual friend away from her, in the form of the 67th Hunger Games. The blade of an ax was driven mercilessly through Mercy Keller's forehead on live television, for all of Panem's entertainment. Zee Castorman, a District Seven tribute, deftly wielded the ax that demanded Mercy's end. Annie remembered bitterly how badly she longed to reach through the television screen and wring Zee's neck, choke the life out of her the way she did to Mercy. Normally she was a passive and nonviolent person, but The Hunger Games kept stealing away people she knew, and the murder of Mercy Keller proved to be the proverbial final nail in the coffin. Annie recalled watching it happen with Mercy's parents, Todric and Havana Keller, while clasping Havana's tear-stained and shaking hands. Todric was frozen where he stood, fists clenched and nerves taut. District Four seemed to fall silent. Annie frequently had nightmares consisting of Zee chasing her down with the ax – the rusted and sharp blade piercing her skin, pushing through her skull. Since then, Annie swore she would maintain a safe distance from people, extricate herself from those who qualified for the Games so as not to form attachments. She couldn't afford to develop a relationship with someone, only to have them ripped from her hands.
The Games. Those were swiftly approaching, much to Annie's chagrin. The Games...Reaping Day. That was today. Suddenly, the water seemed contaminated, injected full of toxins from the outside world. They seeped, uninvited, into her world – a world free of worry and death and The Games. Everything seemed jarring, forceful...almost painful. Today she would potentially face her demise, or live to see another year. Fortunately her family didn't need to apply for tesserae this time around, which meant her name was only entered nine times, at the age of seventeen. Annie had only applied for tesserae once, when she was fifteen. That was the year her mother passed away. District Four had been subjected to quite a bit of natural disasters, monsoons being one of them. The monsoon had destroyed hundreds of homes, even killed the sea creatures, which in turn left District Four in a dilapidated and impoverished state. It was the worst poverty to hit the district since shortly after the Dark Days. While the rest of the Crestas were able to escape safely, Malia Cresta sacrificed herself for her family's lives, and was thereafter killed by the thrashing waves. After the storm, Terrell rebuilt a new home for his family. Annie took out tesserae for the four remaining members that year, which was a necessity. She couldn't help but think about her mother on Reaping Day. Malia cooked a bountiful lunch of fried fish (salmon, typically), with fried seaweed and oysters. She would dress Annie in the finest clothes she had, even putting on a dab of makeup and an intricate hairdo for the occasion. Annie felt that familiar lump formulating in her throat, threatening to suck the air from her lungs. Her eyes welled with tears, and when they could no longer be contained, they spilled down her cheeks in hot rivulets. She missed her mother more than words could express.
Annie wasn't the only Cresta facing Reaping Day today. Reagan Cresta, Annie's fourteen year-old brother, would also be awaiting a possible "death sentence," as they called it. Iris Cresta, Annie's eleven year-old sister, was safe for now. Annie thought of her father, and what he must be feeling today. Ever since her mother died, Terrell seemed out of sorts. He wasn't the same father she knew as a child, roaming about the shore with wet sand clinging to her soles and seashells in her hair. He was numb, oblivious to the world around him. While he did the best he could under the circumstances, it still wasn't up to par as before. The void in his heart, where Annie's mother resided, would never be refilled. But in spite of all that he forged ahead, striving to stay strong for his three motherless children. Today would be no different. Today, Reagan and Annie would dress in their best and head to the Town Square, to brace themselves for their potential "death sentence." Or perhaps they would survive one more year. Perhaps the odds were in their favor.
The real world beckoned Annie, trying to rouse her from her peaceful floating. It even had a voice – a gruff voice with uneven edges. The sound brought on a wash of familiar memories and sensations. A face materialized, correlating with the voice. Terrell. Annie's father. He was calling out to her.
"Annie! Annie, time to get out! You have to get ready, otherwise we'll be late!"
She knew he was right, unfortunately. Heaven forbid they weren't punctual on Reaping Day. Every year Aurora Cuffington, District Four's escort, stressed the importance of punctuality. She would always trill in that silly high-pitched Capitol accent, "To be early is to be on time, to be on time is to be late, and to be late is unacceptable!" Annie always thought that voice was ripe for nightmares beyond the mind's capabilities. The "ceremony" (only the Capitol regarded it as such) took place at two o' clock, so Annie had maybe an hour to primp herself and get out the door.
She arose from the lulling waves, the wind whipping her wet locks to and fro. Her porcelain skin glistened in the early afternoon sun, the light creating diamonds on her flesh. She reluctantly trudged to shore, while glancing behind her disparagingly on occasion, watching her world fade into the horizon. The fish swam beside her, their scaly bodies grazing her calves. Annie loved everything about the beach, and just about everything to do with District Four. Their main export was fish, just as District Three's was technology, District Eleven agriculture, District Twelve coal mining, and so on. It was the only home Annie knew, as she'd never been outside the district before. Quite frankly, she had no desire to see the other districts. From what she learned in school, Four was the only district with an ocean. That was enough incentive for her to stay put.
Once Annie felt the blistering hot sand between her toes, her magical realm lay far behind her. She'd left her house in such a haste that she'd forgotten her sandals; however, she much preferred going barefoot. The Cresta abode was nestled in an alcove of sorts – between another strip of beach homes and palm trees, all leading to the ocean. It was simply built, as all homes were in Four. Off-white siding, with a slate gray roof. A one-story building with small, rectangular windows. A rickety wooden fence, with faded white paint signifying weathered use, encompassed the house and yard. The Crestas had only lived there for two years, following the massive monsoon that wiped out hundreds, including Malia Cresta. A small plot of soil laid directly under the window to the left of the slate gray front door, where delicate orange roses blossomed, adding a colorful contrast to the otherwise drab house. Annie froze momentarily before unlatching the fence, eyes drinking in the sight of the flowers. The lump in her throat was preparing to make a comeback. Everything seemed to remind her of her mother today, especially the blossoms, which were Malia's favorite. Since the roses weren't native to District Four, Terrell had bartered for them in Four's own underground (or black) market, called the Vesena. It was literally underground – fortuitous, metal double doors opened to reveal descending stone steps. While Annie had never been allowed in the Vesena, her father described his experiences there. Everything could be traded and bought, from food that was shipped from other districts to herbs and medicinal properties. Most of the items were discreetly exported from neighboring districts. The Capitol was unaware of the secret trading, and if they were, they inexplicably turned a blind eye to it all. About ten years ago, when Annie was seven, the Crestas were in a financial slump. Terrell's fishing business was suffering as a result of lack of monetary compensation from customers, or they were simply fishing by their own means. Malia's herbs business (she sold medicinal and many other kinds of herbs) had also taken a blow. It was Terrell's idea to start trades in the Vesena, hoping to earn some extra money. Although Malia was adamant in her dissent, stating that black market affairs were illegal and punishable by death, Terrell reluctantly won her over. He was trading fish with a ragged and bony elderly man, when something the color of a sunset caught his eye. He turned and saw the beautiful orange blossoms, arranged in perfect rows in a frail woman's cart. Terrell approached her, hoping maybe purchasing the roses would soften Malia. The coppery-haired woman, who's face was covered in soot, flashed a toothless grin and named her price. Terrell met it, and fortunately they still had a fair amount of money left over. He presented the flowers to Annie's mother, and her eyes glittered with the onset of tears. It had been too long since she'd come in contact with something so naturally breathtaking. Beautiful things were hard to come by in District Four. She placed them in a large plastic gallon, watering them daily. They almost became a hobby of sorts. Annie watched her mother care for the roses, and witnessed the light return to her sea green eyes, as if the ocean waves were roaring with life inside them. They seemed to take years off her face – the wrinkles eradicated, the calluses on her worn hands eroded away. Annie saw the natural beauty in her mother radiate from within. Ever since then, Terrell regularly purchased the orange roses. Even after Malia's death, the Crestas arranged the blossoms in almost every nook and cranny in the house, so they could always have a piece of their mother wherever they went.
Annie made her way up the cobblestone path leading to her house, but not before stopping to smell the roses. She breathed in the luscious scent as images of her mother flashed in rapid succession. She smelled like the orange blossoms. They smelled like her. Everything from her sea green eyes to her chestnut tresses smelled like roses. Annie smiled to herself, relishing in those images. Savoring them. They may be the last bit of happiness she'll have on this earth.
She opened the front door and was taken aback by another smell – salmon. Salmon, in conjunction with fried seaweed and oysters. Her favorite dish. Terrell was hard at work, slaving over the wood stove. He would pause on occasion to mop the sweat from his brow. Annie lightly touched her face, and her fingers felt wet. She hadn't had this exact meal in two years. Terrell couldn't bring himself to make it, just as the kids couldn't bring themselves to eat it. However, something changed in Terrell this year – he wanted his children to partake in their favorite dish. Was he under the impression they were going to meet their end, thanks to the Hunger Games? Did he believe the odds were not in their favor?
Annie's eyes were arrested on two small bodies sitting erect at the wooden dinner table. Reagan Cresta sat silently with his ocean-colored eyes boring a hole in the wall. Iris Cresta was perched beside him, his hand cradled in hers, with her head rested on his shoulder. The sight made Annie's heart stop. Reagan seemed more nervous about Reaping Day with each passing year. The whole household was shrouded by a hazy fog, weighted down with that inescapable feeling of helplessness. Both qualified Crestas wondered if they would escape the Capitol's death sentence. Annie shuddered at the pang of unadulterated fear in her gut – a prevailing sense of doom. Something, some small voice in the recesses of her mind told her she wouldn't live to see another day in District Four. She wanted to gag that voice, to wrap her hands around its throat and squeeze until it was too hoarse to whisper another syllable. But perhaps she had been spared one too many times. Perhaps, at the age of seventeen, it was Annie Cresta's time to fight to the death on television, for all of Panem to love and ridicule. If Terrell was capable of reading Annie's thoughts, he would certainly chastise her. He would convince her to press forward with positivity. Negative thoughts typically lead to a dead end path, he would say. The battle isn't over yet. She knew she had to stay vibrant for Reagan's sake. Annie pasted on a cheerful face and plopped down beside her brother.
"Doesn't the salmon smell delicious?" She loped a petite arm around his slender shoulders. Iris reached for her hand and grasped it. Annie leaned behind Reagan, locking eyes with her sister. Iris' green eyes were a canvas, painted with shades of fear and worry. Annie sent her a glance filled to the brim with warmth and what she hoped would be comfort. She forced her mouth into a tight-lipped smile. So much for feigning vibrancy. Annie made a mental note to never pursue acting as a career – that is, if she ever lived past seventeen. Reagan remained silent, still staring at the wall in front of him. She wondered if he heard her, or pretended not to hear.
"I think father is doing a wonderful job on the meal today, don't you, Annie?" Iris presented her best smile and joined in the charade, much to Annie's relief. The best thing for Reagan was to be surrounded by normalcy and good energy, regardless if it was feigned or not. Terrell lifted his head from the boiling pot of oysters he was stirring, and silently observed the interaction unfolding between his children.
"Without question. We'll make a gourmet chef out of him yet. He could even work as President Snow's personal chef. Could you imagine such a thing?" Annie giggled, the thought itself utterly absurd. Why would he work for the same man that, year after year, put the lives of his children at risk?
A deep, boisterous laugh carried from the opposite side of the kitchen. Annie felt her lips tug upward at hearing the sound. Terrell was laughing at her comment.
"Oh, if only, kiddo. But I don't think Snow's stomach would sit well with District Four cuisine. Most people can't handle seafood. Unless you're a native, of course." Terrell winked at Iris and Annie. Reagan continued to focus on the wall, trapped in his soundless reverie. Terrell glanced at his son, and could only frown. Annie began to lose hope in ever reaching her brother. He would remain silent until Reaping Day was over.
"Hey, Ann, you need to get ready," Terrell chided after looking at his watch. "Time's a wasting. Iris, make sure your sister wears something presentable, and doesn't sneak off in her swimming clothes like last year. You can eat after you've finished."
Annie hated this part. After her mother passed, it seemed pointless to put forth the effort. Malia was adept at all things feminine, while Annie put woman kind to shame. She could never exude the grace and femininity her mother possessed. Plus, simply thinking about going another year without her mother to support her just left Annie feeling numb – or rather, wishing she could feel numb. But nonetheless, Annie had to appease Terrell and not give Reagan any more cause to be disconcerted.
"It's alright, dad. I'll go without making a fuss. Scout's honor," Annie promised, sending her father her most angelic smile. Terrell laughed – Annie's favorite sound in the world. She would never tire of it.
"And what an honorable scout you are. Off you go!"
Annie and Iris made their way into the bedroom they shared, adjacent to the kitchen. Annie gave a glance in Reagan's direction prior to closing the door. He still sat erect, eyes carving holes into the earth-colored wall. Annie bit her lip to keep it from quivering. She must not show any weakness today, especially for Reagan's sake. Strength never came easily to Annie, but she had to try. Her brother desperately needed it to survive.
Iris caught Annie observing Reagan, and laced her tiny fingers through her older sister's. She reached with her free hand to shut the door.
"He'll be okay."
"I'm not so sure this time."
"He's like this every year though, and he never gets picked. And neither will you. We'll all come home at the end of the day and sit down to leftovers and...be happy."
Annie could tell Iris was resolutely fighting back tears. She was never very good at suppressing her emotions. Little Iris wore her heart on her sleeve, and everyone loved her for it. Annie was very much the same; however, since her mother's death she slowly learned to develop thicker skin. Granted, she wasn't completely numb, but she wasn't a fragile china doll either. Her little sister was watching those she loved being incessantly thrown to the edge of death, so Annie couldn't blame her for being that fragile china doll. All she could do was love her, reassure her. Although, sometimes she wondered if reassurance nowadays was more like false hope.
Annie sat down on their bed. Her fingers grazed the delicate fabric of the bedspread; her mind awash with memories. Terrell's mother had sewn it for them long ago, when Iris was still fresh from the womb. Annie imagined her grandmother working from dawn till dusk; raw, bloodied fingers pricking and probing, creating a blanket that would stand the test of time. And eleven years later, it certainly did. The colors reminded Annie of her favorite place – the ocean. Blues (her favorite color) and greens and lavenders. Pearl Cresta even stitched in sandy seashells, scattered across the oceanic fray. Annie loved the blanket and felt comforted by its promises of safety, each and every night.
Iris stood silently, continuing to put up a brave fight against the tears. Annie motioned for her to sit on her lap. She complied as Annie cradled her, stroking her dark hair. Annie couldn't help but be reminded of how much she resembled Malia – even more so than herself. While every Cresta possessed the same deep sea green eyes; Iris, Annie and Malia had dark chestnut waves that framed their faces, stopping in the center of their backs. In certain lighting, their hair had tints of copper, while in others it took on a charcoal hue. The boys playfully nicknamed them "The Chameleons." Terrell and Reagan had hair the color of sand, which tended to be the norm amongst Four men. The women were slight, with slender shoulders and small limbs. Malia had more of a feminine build, with the womanly curves to match. She told her daughters that the curves would come with age, and they were still too young to develop adult figures. Terrell was tall and lean, while Reagan was considered small for his age and gender. At fourteen he was still shorter than Annie, and not much taller than Iris. Annie shuddered at the thought of her brother facing off against stronger competitors in the arena. And while she despised herself wholeheartedly for thinking these thoughts, she knew in the back of her mind that he wouldn't survive.
Iris clung to her elder sister, her fingers digging into Annie's arms. Annie sat and simply held her. She closed her eyes, breathing slowly and deeply. The tears had already threatened her multiple times that day and she would be damned if she let them win. Annie knew she was a ticking time bomb, and one more jab to the ribs would send her over the edge. Iris relaxed her grip, and cast her green eyes upward to meet Annie's. They were reddened and swollen. Annie used her thumbs to gently wipe away the salty liquid streaming from her sister's eyes. Iris forced herself to smile as Annie laid a kiss atop her head.
"You have to get ready now." Iris' voice came out in a feeble whisper, devoid of inflection.
Annie found the rickety wooden clock to her right, ticking the time away. It said they had only thirty minutes until the "ceremony," as Aurora Cuffington called it every year since Annie could remember. She would have time to throw on a dress, toss her hair in some semi-fashionable hairdo and scarf down a small plate of food. Luckily, they were only a few minutes' walk from the Town Square.
Annie beamed at Iris. "If only I had your time management skills." She tapped her on the shoulder, and Iris scurried off her lap. The youngest Cresta was already dressed in her Reaping Day clothes – a coral-colored frock with capped sleeves and a hem that brushed her knobby knees. She donned white sandals with tiny decorative seashells on her feet. Half of her hair was secured with a matching ribbon, while the rest flowed freely in tousled waves down her back. The dress used to belong to Annie, and Malia before that. Annie thought she looked beautiful, as always, but something seemed different. Iris looked as if she aged years in a matter of hours. Perhaps it was due to the somber expression she wore. Annie tried to imagine an eleven year-old standing before her, but simply couldn't.
"Coral suits you," Annie said.
Iris didn't respond. She was already rummaging in the double-shuttered closet they shared, searching for the perfect dress for Annie. Annie suspected she had crowned the winner when she pulled out a vibrant, turquoise piece with a sash around the waist.
"I like this one." Iris carefully laid out the dress on the bed beside Annie.
Annie faced the floor-length mirror, studying her transformation. The dress fit her quite nicely. It had a scope neck, with slitted sheer sleeves that billowed out, stopping at her wrists. A tied sash wrapped around the center of the bodice – a slightly darker turquoise than the rest. The skirt cascaded from her waist and, like Iris', it grazed her knees. Iris picked out a pair of shoes that belonged to her mother – lovely, simple turquoise heels to accompany the dress. Iris ran a brush through Annie's seemingly unmanageable locks and cinched them in a loose side ponytail, draping her curls over her left shoulder. She even gave Annie a tube of sheer, sparkly gloss to paint her lips with.
"Wait here a minute, Annie. I'm not finished with you yet," Iris said as she bolted out the door. True to her word, she returned a minute later, carrying an orange blossom in her hand.
"I think this will tie it all together." She broke off the stem and tucked the flower in the blue ribbon containing her locks, so it appeared the orange rose kept them in place. Annie's vision began to blur, and in the mirror she saw a seventeen year-old girl who's eyes were welling up like a hot spring. Curse those eyes, and their ability to falter at the slightest stir of emotion.
"You look beautiful." Iris rested her chin on Annie's shoulder. Annie, for once, had to agree. She saw her mother staring back at her – young, strong, vivacious. Maybe it was Malia's favorite flower adorning her hair. Or maybe she was beginning to take on her late mother's womanly looks. Regardless, Annie felt beautiful with the help of Iris and, inadvertently, her mother.
"Thank you, Iris," Annie whispered, turning her head to plant a kiss on her little sister's cheek.
"Girls! Are you alive in there? You only have a few minutes to eat, Ann! Then we have to go!" Terrell called from outside the door.
Annie and Iris exchanged grins, and made their way back to the kitchen.
Terrell was sitting beside a still sedentary Reagan, who never abandoned that spot on the wall. An untouched plate of salmon, oysters and seaweed sat before him. Annie stopped short, unable to take in the sight. Reagan always ate his food, regardless of his emotional state. This year really took a toll on him. Terrell, on the other hand, had a plate licked clean of food in front of him. He glanced up as Annie and Iris entered. His eyes widened, as a smile took shape on his face.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't the most strikingly beautiful girls in the world – in our own kitchen to boot! You both look lovely. Nice to see you in some dry clothes, Ann." Terrell winked at his oldest daughter. Annie couldn't stop the grin that surely spanned from ear to ear.
The girls took their seats, and Annie felt as though she inhaled the contents on her plate. As quickly as she ate, however, the quality of the food was incomparable. Terrell crafted her favorite dish, and it tasted identical to her mother's cooking. Once both Cresta girls were finished, everyone bustled out the door. Of course, the other three had to coax Reagan to move, but that proved less difficult than Annie imagined. Each girl grabbed his hands and led him into the outside world – a place none of them were especially excited to go.