Chapter One
Whenever I begin to go back to that day, the beginning of the rest of my life, I always think to myself: Why did you say yes? The fact is, I actually have never really answered that question. Not truthfully, at least. Maybe it was to make my parents happy, to prove myself to my friends. Maybe it was because I couldn't make my mouth form the correct words at the moment, just accepted that my name had been called. No one volunteered though, that I remember. There was an odd drop in people volunteering that year; usually we had at least two girls or boys fighting to get up to the stage.
That year though, no one tried to take my place as I walked up to the stage, trying to seem confident, arrogant. I couldn't make myself do that though; be a Career. I wasn't a Career; I was just Annie Cresta, a fisherman's daughter, a lover of the sea. My instincts weren't to fight, they were to flee, to escape. As I stumbled up those steps and reached the microphone, I was about ready to crumple in defeat. My peers were snickering, strangers were groaning about how they would have a scrawny tribute this year; no way would she become the victor. Frankly, the same thoughts were running through my head as well. Without any training, winning the Hunger Games sounded like a miracle for me.
"Are you Annie Cresta, dear? How old are you?" The high-pitched voice of the Capitol woman rang in my ears, and I blinked at her bright, fuchsia-colored eyebrows and corkscrew curls. Her lips were a blood red, which contrasted scarily with her pale white skin.
"Yes, I'm sixteen." I managed a quick reply before standing where she pointed on the stage, a few feet from the girl's reaping ball. It took me a moment to register that I was indeed standing beside our district escort, Dorathea Elphinstone. She was known for literally being covered in a single color, each year, save for her blood red lips. It looked like purple was her color this year, a copycat of Ceasar Flickerman.
"Alright, now for the boys!" Dorathea's voice rang in my ears once again; it was just way too high-pitched for my liking. It reminded me of a half dead mouse, squealing with all of its might as the cat murdered it. That gave me a strange urge to chuckle, but I resisted, watching to see whom I would be partnered with in the arena. Most likely the boy would be a Career, and I was determined to stay out of his way.
"Our boy tribute is… James O'Shan!" Dorathea's voice interrupted my thoughts once again, and I watched a bit humorously as James O'Shan showed his face. Usually this would be the time for volunteers, the boy volunteers, but once again there were none. I found that odd once again; had the Careers given up? Were none of them old enough yet? My eyes found the rather tall boy as he untangled himself from two younger boys, probably his brothers. His hair was thick and sandy blonde; his eyes a clear blue. His walk was the confident stride of a Career as he sauntered to the stage, but his expression suggested otherwise. In that expression, I saw fear. Maybe this was the year of weaklings for our district, though I didn't totally count myself as a weakling; I was strong, just not very good with a weapon. Plenty of winners of the games were untrained though, so my chances were the same as everyone else.
"Annie, shake his hand." Dorathea's voice interrupted my thoughts for the third time, and for the first time I noticed how spacy I was being. To the viewers of the reapings, I obviously looked like an idiot, and that I hated. Blinking back to the present time, I carefully grasped James's hand, and he seemed to give me a reassuring squeeze. What was that supposed to mean? Did he want me to be his friend? I think I knew this boy though; he was sixteen just like I was, maybe in the same grade, the same classes. Yes, I thought I remembered now, people mocking him about his funny name, O'Shan. Ocean. Wonderful really, a foolish way to mock someone, for their name.
He was fairly unpopular, though he had friends, unlike me. Friends weren't a necessity as a child for me; I got along fine enough on my own. My parents resented my independence at times, but to them I was just their quiet, fairly pretty, young daughter. Soon to be dead, they were probably thinking. Too bad I never got to talk to them again after that day, what with that despicable Snow. He ruined my life, many lives; he ruined my love as well.
As the Peacekeepers brought the two of us to our separate rooms in the Justice Building, where we were to say our final goodbyes to our families, I realized I had nothing to say, not really. My mother and father walked through the door, gave me a hug and kiss; told me to try hard. There were real tears in my mother's eyes I remember, ones I had never seen before. My father looked as if he was trying to compose himself, but I could see that all too familiar scary edge in his gaze. I knew what he was thinking. He wanted me to win; in his mind if I didn't win, I was a failure. His only daughter, just a weak girl who died in the Hunger Games; he could never live with that.
As they left, I formed my purpose, my goal throughout the games. I was going to try, if I came back alive, my father would get a mouthful from me; one that he would never forget.
"Annie, is it?" Those were the first words he said to me, taking me out of my blasted thoughtful oblivion. Startled, I sprang up from my spot on the light blue-sheeted bed and whipped around, straight into those mesmerizing sea green eyes.
"Oh, sorry I startled you. I'm Finnick Odair, though you probably already know that. Annie Cresta, is it?" His voice had a strange provocative purr to it, purposefully I had no doubt. He was irresistible in the Capitol, everyone ate him up, drank him in. He looked rather intimidating, to be honest.
"Oh, um yes, I'm Annie Cresta. You can call me… Annie." It took me less than a second to notice how stupid I had just sounded before my cheeks started to get really hot. I never blushed; barely talked to others… this behavior was messing with me. It must have been the reapings, the death sentence; now I'm acting like one of those giggling popular girls at school, the ones who get married at sixteen because they get pregnant or some other crazy reason. I wasn't that giggling girly girl, was I?
"Okay Annie, well I'm your mentor. Before we leave, do you have any questions? Basic questions, not specifically about the Games yet; we'll have plenty of time for that on the train." His casual manner struck me as a bit abnormal, though he was trying to be friendly, which I thought was nice. I bet most of the kids he had mentored in the five years since his victory had been… slaughtered. They might have been Careers, that I could not remember clearly enough, but they were still children. That was the way it was though, I supposed. Our "price" for disobeying the Capitol, all those years ago.
"No, not particularly… are we leaving now?" I was trying desperately to keep my tone friendly, casual, but I kept getting breathless. I couldn't force enough air into my lungs. It must have been nerves; I usually got this way around people: uncomfortable. Instead of replying, Finnick nodded once, grinned, and led me out of the room. As he led me down the hall and finally into a sleek, silver vehicle; automobile, was it? Even though I was in District Four, we didn't really use automobiles as transportation; boats, bicycles, and walking were just fine.
Finnick once again flashed me his "winning" smile, and I wondered if his charisma was just a façade. At that moment, that first day, I barely knew the strange, exotic, Finnick Odair.
Though soon, he would be the only one who kept me from going mad.