Just a one-shot that I lack the steam to turn into an actual story. Finnick/Annie sweetness... enjoy.

I really should start when we first met. I must've been… what, seven? Eight? Tiny. Probably didn't clear five-foot, with this ridiculous tuft of red hair and too many freckles to count. That was back in the good days, of Dad yelling at me to be home before dinner as I streaked out of the house, water-bound. I don't think I even owned shoes- why should I? Sand feels best between bare toes.

And I loved to just explore the shore. Lay with my belly on the ancient dock, my hair standing on end and all the blood pumping to my head as my fingers made awkward acquaintances with the sea life below. I built sandcastles, and learned where to construct them so the tide wouldn't eat my creation up. I learned which fruits on the heavy branches of shore-side trees made good snacks, and which had you hurling over the dock's edge all afternoon. It was also there that I learned how to make friends.

Every kid in 4 knew the place to be on a hot Saturday. I guess that's why weekends were always my favorite; all the older kids hung out around my favorite spot. I watched, bright eyes wide in admiration of the 10 and 11-year-olds who hosted footraces along the stretch of beach, their feet moving so sharply the sand could hardly slow them down. I observed the 13 and 14-year-olds shrieking with laughter as they pushed and pulled each other off the dock and into the water. Rarely did anyone walk away from those situations dry. I saw the older teens sit on the edge of the old wood with the bare feet dangling into the waves, leaning against each other. The curve of the girl's neck as she rested her head contently on the guy's shoulder, the guy's hand sliding up and down her spine in slow, intimate motions…

They seemed like a different species. Even as the adults around town smiled at me and told me I was going to be so handsome one day, I couldn't imagine a world in which anything existed but the lazy afternoons at the shore. A place where I could have solitude if I wanted it, or could join my friends in their splash wars and rants about girlie cooties. Not a care in the world, apart from what's for dinner.

I was eight. Yeah, that's it—I must've been, because she was seven. I'd been swimming, out a bit earlier than usual because I'd newly discovered how tangy the morning air was, and how much my lungs enjoyed it. I had the entire beach to myself, the closest people being the ones working on the 'important boat' docks about a quarter mile down the shore from me. And I hadn't even noticed her arrival. It seemed like one moment, I was ducking in and out of the wonderfully clear waves, and the next, there was a small figure crouched on the beach, hidden from the morning light by one of the fruit trees that grew further up. I think I almost gagged. But I wasn't really one to wait it out and hope that this new person would approach me, so I paddled back to the sand and made my way up the sandy slope to her (at just about the same time I realized it was a her). I wasn't unaccustomed to people watching me swim—in fact, I sometimes liked their encouraging smiles—but she wasn't smiling. She was hunched over a certain rock on the sand, straggly pieces of that light brown hair falling around her small face.

"What are you doing?" I asked, a bit louder than I should've. I wasn't a very subtle person, I guess.

Her head didn't snap up, her expression didn't even change, as if I'd been standing there with her the whole time. "It's a wishing rock," she said in intrigue, adjusting her knees as to get a better look at it. "See the grey stripes? They're really rare."

"Oh cool!" I bent down to match her position, soaking hand extended to pluck it up. Her small hand snapped out to smack mine back before it could even get close to the rock.

"No!" she insisted, going back to staring at it. "It washed all the way up here on its own, and this is probably the last place it will sit naturally."

"Sit naturally?"

"Placed on its own accord. Or the ocean's accord, in this case. Before somebody picks it up and moves it somewhere else."

"So we're not going to move it?"

"Of course not!" At my confusion, she sighed impatiently. "Look how nice it looks on the dry sand. See how it has flecks of tan in it? Isn't that pretty?"

I looked as hard as I could now, determined to see the prettiness of a rock on the beach. They were all sort of pretty to me already. "Why's it called a wishing stone?"

"'Cause you're supposed to wish on it. Only three wishes per stone, though, and trouble is—I don't know how many wishes have been made on this one." Her fair brow crinkled as she studied the rock.

"Wouldn't the ocean wash all the other wishes off it?"

"Hm… maybe. But what if those wishes don't come true?"

I had to think about that one. "I think they would. The sea's a pretty powerful thing." I recalled the way riptides could catch you up as strongly as if a net was dragging you under—and the way the waves ebbed and flowed with a constant energy that never took a break. It must get pretty tired, the ocean.

The girl seemed to mull over my suggestion as her light eyes mulled over the surface of the seemingly insignificant thing. Little dark drops of moisture fell from the tips of my flattened hair and onto the sand beside it—I was careful not to drip on the actual rock. Dark spots wouldn't look as good on it.

"Okay," she finally said in a gush of excited breath. "So we can make three wishes."

"I get one, and you get two. 'Cause you found it."

She looked up at my face for the first time then, and I randomly recalled the stories of sea nymphs that my father used to tell me. She had the same wide eyes and small mouth I'd imagined the creatures to feature. The only difference was that she wasn't green and scaly.

"No," she countered, suddenly annoyed. "I get one, and you get one. Then we'll split the last one."

"How do you split a wish?"

"You… um…" she bit her lower lip, eyes squinted slightly in thought. "You make a wish about both of us."

Made sense to me.

And suddenly, she got to her feet, and I saw just how skinny she was. And small in general—standing with her, the top of her wind-swept head came up to my ear. Her eyes squeezed shut, her tiny fist balled in concentration. She opened one eye in irritation. "Are you going to wish?"

"Oh—um, yeah." I copied her stance, unsure of what I was supposed to do now, but having a great time of it.

"I wish I had an adventure," she announced in a loud, clear voice that I wouldn't think her tiny frame would be capable of. We listened to the wind rustle the branches of the tree above us for a second, before she stage-whispered to me, "Now you wish."

"Oh okay. I… I wish I could save someone's life." Like a hero, but that seemed little-kiddish.

I opened my eyes slowly, to see her eyeing my face in that thoughtful way of hers. Her features suddenly lit up. "Oh, I know, I know what we're going to wish for. C'mere." She held out both her little hands, expression expectant. I hesitantly clasped them in mine and, on her signal, re-closed my eyes.

"I wish this boy, um…" she trailed off uncertainly, cracking her eyes to give me an inquiring look.

"Finnick," I whispered to her, so that the sea-wishing-gods wouldn't hear that she didn't know my name. Can you split a wish with someone if you don't know their name?

She got out her loud voice again. "I wish this boy, Finnick, and me, Annie, were friends."

Her small, sandy hands felt nice in mine, and I tried to imagine a magic flowing through our grasp. There was a happy tingling—that was probably the wishes kicking in.

"There," she said happily, stepping back a bit. "Now we're friends."

I owe the sea-wishing-gods a lot.

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In the early stages of our friendship, the adults who smiled at me and my other friends seemed a bit confused. I didn't understand why—Annie was great. She always pointed out things that I never would have noticed, and told me her opinions on different topics. She was happy to share her knowledge—and she did have a lot of it—and was always nice to everyone we met. Maybe a little detached, but still nice. It was like her thoughts revolved around a completely different point than mine did, and there was just so much to learn.

But as we grew older, the adults seemed worried. Why should they be worried? I had a best friend, and endless hours at the beach, and now even a school to go to with her. We never ran out of things to talk about, and I never tired of exploring her head. The situation seemed fine to me. It wasn't until I was twelve and Annie eleven that I understood the whispers.

"What's nice Finnick doing with that Cresta girl? Doesn't he know what her mother is?"

I didn't, actually, know what her mother was. Didn't particularly care, either. My mother is dead. I was fine—If I could get by without a mother, Annie should be able to as well, right? And anyway, we had each other. We had endless things to discuss, and endless worlds to discover. We were fine.

More than fine, it turned out to be. Because that annoying little thing called puberty sprung upon us, and suddenly I wasn't a little twig of a redhead. My hair had darkened, actually, and years of swimming had paid off into muscles that you could see. Not that I really noticed any of that—I wasn't the kind of kid to mark his height on a wall and celebrate when he'd gained an inch—because it was Annie that I did notice. The angular little girl I'd made friends with had softened out, her hips more defined and her chest suddenly not flat as a board. You could see the waist of her silhouette, and the heart-shape to her face. Her hair had thickened and darkened to a deep reddish-umber, but thankfully the wide eyes and small lips stayed the same. I could still see my Annie in the girl that was becoming a teenager quickly. I think I grew six inches that summer, and ate more fish than I'd ever consumed before without gaining a pound of fat. Fat didn't stand a chance; with all the after-school swimming and running I did with Annie.

My other friends were so excited about our first year of Secondary school. Their complaints of cooties had swiftly turned to glassy stares and mumbled conversations with girls they'd known since kindergarten. I don't remember ever slipping into that sort of awkwardness… in conversations, anyway. The first girl I ever dated was named Pearl Caps—yeah, I remember her… she actually asked me out. Annie and I'd been strolling down the school hall at the end of the day, headed to our dock, and Pearl'd materialized out of nowhere. With her posse of 13-going-on-17-year olds and their flippy hair and batting eyes. Pearl was pretty enough, I guess—I'd certainly thought so when I accepted her invitation to a dock party at her place that night. I was 13. And a half. Girls were something that I'd never had a lot of trouble with. And it's not like she was inviting me to somewhere all alone—she named a bunch of my friends that would be there too. Just a dock party. Happens all the time. Normal.

I'd been stupid enough to assume that she wanted me to come for my conversation skills, but even stupider to assume that the invite extended to Annie. Everyone knew Annie and I hung out. A lot. But something about her didn't spring the automatic assumption that we were dating—not that we were, at the time. But she was still my best friend. There's no way I would have agreed to come, standing in that blocked hallway with Annie at my side, if I'd known I was publicly dissing her in front of those bitches.

My head full of excitement of a real party (not a birthday or lame-o sleepover), I arrived at Pearl's beach house and was immediately greeted by pounding bass that vibrated the sand beneath my sandals and the screams of recognition from some of my friends. I was greeted warmly, and was found by Pearl in the next five minutes. She'd done something to her makeup… it made her look like a sort of goth clown… but I didn't care that much. The suggestive smile that curved her lips in combination with the fact that her parents weren't home and the plastic cup that was shoved into my hand… The twirling lights… music pounding the floor… Pearl asking if I'd like to head to the beach… the music more distant… the rush of the waves… the air on my skin… fingers twined in my hair… harsh, fiery lips against mine…

I, uh, can't remember the rest. It isn't important that important, anyway. Annie came back into play the next morning, saving my sorry ass as usual…

"Finnick? Finnick, you complete asshole! Wake up! C'mon, Odair, wake up. Finnick!" Another hand on my face, but this one much more harsh, and left a sting in my cheek. The pain drew me into a fuzzy awareness… and made me realize the horrid ache in my head and wrench in my gut.

"Wuuuuh…?"

"Thank god! You've got to sit up, now, Finnick, and we have to go—Pearl's dad is going to get home any minute. Sit up, you idiot!"

Annie'd never spoken to me this harshly before—but the rushed words were distinctly hers. I would recognize that voice anywhere. And it was her furious yet worried face that filled my vision as I cracked my eyes open to the blinding brightness of the morning air. Salt registered on my tongue, and sand sifting beneath my weight. The gentle hiss of the waves slipping off the beach confirmed the déjà vu. Annie and I were on the private beach behind the Caps' house.

All the swear words in my vocabulary spewed off my tongue as I struggled to my feet—my head spun wildly and my stomach gave an awful lurch that sent bile into my throat—but I harshly swallowed it and let myself lean against Annie's considerably smaller frame as she dragged me along the sand to the property line. I didn't have a really good sense of time at the moment, but it must've taken her more than 20 minutes to get all the way back to our beach.

She let me fall pathetically back to the sand the moment we'd reached my neighborhood's shared property. My vision twisted the clouds above me to the point where I let my nausea take over and sat hunched over in the sand, puking my guts out, for what seemed like forever. Annie just stood by with her arms tight across her chest and disgust battling pity in her gaze. But she stayed.

When any food that I might have consumed in the last few hours was spewed all over the sand, I sat back against one of the wooden supports of the dock and let my throbbing head tilt back against the salt-weathered pillar. I wished I could puke again. My gut was twisted and wrenched into complete disgust, my vision hardly recovering… and she stayed. She watched me with that steely gaze, still panting slightly from dragging me all that way.

"You're a complete idiot, you know that, Odair?" She pressed her small lips together after her statement.

"Yeah," I managed to say. At least, I think it came out like that.

"I can't believe you! I can't—even fathom why the hell you'd do such a thing!" Her hands flew up into the air to accent the harsh words. She just stared down at me then, and I must have really been a mess, because she sighed and side-stepped my puke to kneel beside me. "A complete—asshole—to even go, much less drink… much less—is that lipstick?" She made a revolted noise as she took a corner of my unbuttoned shirt to wipe furiously away at my mouth, not taking any care of being gentle on my sore lips. "That's so beyond disgusting, Finnick… and to sleep on their beach? That's private property! Her dad's a Peacekeeper, Finnick—can you imagine what he would've done to you, had he found you like... like this?" She gestured vaguely to my front. I wished she would stop moving so fast. It made her all blurry in my vision…

"With your hair all mussed, and your shirt off, and her freaking lipstick on your face!"

"I'm sorry," I tried to say. "I didn't… think. I thought you were coming, but…"

"You didn't notice that I wasn't there? Typical, Odair. So awfully typical, of someone else. One of those guys that hang out behind the bleachers at school—the ones who wear way too much cologne… who girls like Pearl spend all day whispering about… is that what you want to be, Odair?"

"I dunno!" Because I didn't. I didn't know anything.

"Well I hope—for Pearl's sake—you clean yourself up and forget your misadventure last night." She buttoned my shirt with hurried fingers before springing away from me. "I hope you had a great time last night. No doubt the school will know all about it by Monday. Don't you feel glamorous?" She took a shaky breath and headed off toward the main road, but stopped halfway there to yell, "Have a nice life, Finnick Odair!"

I was almost 14. And didn't have a friend in the world. So of course I did stupid things... saw Pearl a few more times... fought with Annie every night, me standing pathetically outside her second-story window booth, her curled in her blankets and pillows, looking down at me with watery eyes. It was a real low point...

We made up over shrimp and inside jokes-just one night of laughter had us back to connected at the hip. We made finger puppets out of shrimp heads and raced each other down the beach... our classes lined up almost perfectly... life was good. That was one of the only blowouts we've had.

Thing is, time passed way too quick. 13 quickly flushed into 14-a year that didn't even register in my memory. But Annie and somehow managed to keep our friendship kindled and growing, having a sleep-out on the docks the morning before the reaping and failing to make a fire on the beach.

"It's my dad's birthday on Wednesday... we should hit up the Square tomorrow and find him something," she mused, toes wiggling in the cool waves.

"As long as I can change out of my reaping stuff-those shoes give me the worst calluses ever."

She raised her eyebrows. "Your shoes hurt? Try my dress shoes someday. They're awful. And pointy-toed."

"You could gauge someone's eye out with those things," I laughed, recalling her footwear at last year's reaping.

"And my dress is too small... do you think anyone will notice if I just skip my hair?"

"I will."

She smacked my arm with a small smile.

"Shopping it is, then." We sat in silence for a few moments, letting the wind toss our hair and listening to the easy ebb and flow of the tide.

"I hope it's not Weed," Annie pipes up quietly. "She can't even kill the clams when we dig."

I glanced over at my friend then, and noticed the dreary arc to her spine and the way her head hung to watch the water. Silently, I raised my hand to rub small circles on the tight spot in between her shoulder blades, trying to soothe the stress stored there.

"It won't be Weed. She doesn't have any tessare."

"That didn't stop Gill from going. Last year. Or Sebby, the year before that."

I sighed, lifting my gaze to the full moon that illuminated our beach and bleached Annie's hair to a whitish sheen. "I don't know what to tell you. It's a random draw. And chances are, the more pathetic ones will be volunteered for." Her stiff neck didn't relax. "C'mon. Those huge guys that haul the nets off boats and run fifteen miles a day? You think they'd let the opportunity pass to show off their manliness?"

She brushed the hair away from her face to look up at me with the same small smile. "You're right. I'm overreacting. But Finnick-" She cut herself off, biting her lower lip sharply.

"What?"

She took a deep breath. "You're in, what, six times this year?"

I nodded slowly. "And Darious-the one who likes kicking four-year-olds-is in forty times. Relax."

Her tired head lolled onto my shoulder as she drew a grating breath. "We're fine. We're going to find a present for Dad tomorrow. We're fine."

I got the feeling she was trying to convince herself more than me.

And with her weight pressed against me and the brightest moonlight glancing off the waves, my childhood concluded. I couldn't have chosen a better ending.

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Topsy