Chapter 7
It's not until later when I'm waiting for Annie's appearance on stage while simultaneously batting off a clingy Capitol woman that my own nerves begin to settle in.
Ever since this morning, I have been here, meeting various important names and charming my way into sponsorships for my tributes, particularly Annie. Everyone seems willing to sacrifice their money for the stunning, kind girl from 4 even though her training score wasn't all that great. And I can tell the other tributes hate her already because they realize her public image isn't an act at all. It's who she is, and that's what I love about seeing her tonight. She doesn't have to try as hard to impress and pretend like I did. She can be herself: a little funny, compassionate, and so undeniably empathetic that everyone around her relates without her even meaning for them to. She's magic.
But no matter how anxious I am to gauge the audience's reaction to her, I can't get over the fact that tomorrow; she's going to be put in that hell. And whether, she knows it or not, I'm going in with her too.
I hate that I have to watch. I don't want to see her die…
Stop, Finnick. You will see her again. You can make her come home. I try to reassure myself by uttering these sweet nothings, but by the time the interviews are in full swing and District One's ditzy blonde is trying to sex her way through the audience's heart, I feel a hyperventilating anxiety swirl in the pit of my stomach. And the obnoxious girl standing up onstage, giggling and trying to show off her barely-there, diamond studded body suit is not helping my calm. If anything, I'm resisting the urge to laugh at her exaggerated attempts. Then again, everything the Capitol does is exaggerated.
Suddenly, before I have time to register it, I hear the crowd chanting her name, Caesar Flickerman's loud gasp as he reacts to her most likely stunning ensemble, and mentors' whispers around me. Everyone loves her already, but not as much as I do. No one knows her like me.
And after all these years of friendship and silence and reconciliation, it seems completely unfair that after everything that's happened, it could amount to nothing.
She deserves so much better.
Suddenly, I feel such a burning, heated loathing for the Capitol, a stronger hate than I've ever felt before, that it makes my eyes see red and my hands clench into fists. I hate anyone and everything that had something to do with this. This girl, the girl with the dark, chocolate hair and fragile heart, deserves to live this life. For me, it was different. When I went into the Games, they changed me. After those few weeks, I changed. I wasn't good; I didn't deserve life anymore than the twenty three other people that had come into that arena with me. And I've known ever since that day I stood on that platform of the train that returned to District 4 that I wasn't worth it. That I was bad. I've always known that.
But she's not. And she deserves so much more. Even if she does come out of this thing alive, she'll never be the same. She'll never be truly bad or callous like I became, but she'll be scarred. She'll be scared. She'll be… sad.
An image of Annie's beautiful, bright green eyes slowly dulling into a haunting, dead sea gray assaults my mind now, and I try to focus on anything else. Which thankfully isn't that hard because Annie's standing front and center, elevated above the audience, gingerly taking her place on the plush, ornate seat.
She's looking for me, searching for my face in the sea of people. When our eyes lock, hers' melt a little and she laughs shyly, saying something that I don't catch, probably to Caesar.
All I'm looking at are those eyes, sea-green like the ocean and warm like the sun, inviting me into her heart while almost everyone else stays locked out.
And I don't care what people are muttering under their breaths when they see my unwavering gaze transfixed on her. I don't care what Caesar says about the 'lovely Finnick Odair' and how millions of girls are probably crying right now because they think their Finnick's fallen for pretty little Annie Cresta.
They can think whatever they want, but they don't know a thing about me.
Because if anyone in this audience really truly knew me, they'd know that I'll never let myself fall in love.
Annie
This is quickly becoming too chaotic and too overwhelming for my anxious conscience to absorb. Everything over the course of this past week has been a whirlwind. The reaping with the heart-wrenching goodbyes that still make me cringe at the thought of them, the parade, the hopeless training… Add this- an interview in front of the entire nation of Panem that probably means almost everything to my life or death in that arena- to my ever-increasing list of things to stress about.
But I can almost handle all of these scary, foreign situations that the Games have put me in. The one thing on my mind that I cannot handle, the one thing that has been keeping me up at night and forcing me to think of things other than my imminent death, is something so unimportant yet everything in my current situation that it's ridiculous.
Finnick Odair is something I can't handle.
Our relationship isn't something I know how to approach. Sure, I was best friends with him for half of my life, but how can I forget the look on his face when he coldly stalked past me in the halls, looking at anything but me? How can I forget the fact that he was the one who pushed me away? I can't. Of course, I did think of other things at times, my few friends or my family keeping me occupied. But if I was being honest with myself, I had never once had a single crush to prattle on about my friends with. Was that because of Finnick? When I was still friends with Finnick, I thought of him as my loving, annoying brother. When that changed and we didn't talk anymore, I saw the way other girls looked at him. The way Panem looked at him. He had matured after the Games, losing that boyish roundness and filling out with a desirable, muscled body, not to mention learning to showcase his unparalleled charm and wits.
Of course I noticed that. After knowing him for so long, he was bound to catch my eye, even if we were no longer friends. It wasn't until after I lost access to him that I realized just how much I wanted him back.
I didn't want the sexy, seductive, Capitol-esque Finnick though. I wanted my Finnick. The Finnick with the ocean eyes who laughed while he speared fish and chased me around with seaweed. The Finnick who willingly gave me mouth to mouth recessitation when I was twelve after I fell out of his boat into deep water and panicked. Since then, I'd stared at him countless times in the hall and secretly wondered if my best friend was still inside of this expensive-looking, newly-toned body. Now he's a man, nineteen and still as charming as ever, but these past few nights on the roof have made me come to a conclusion of sorts. He has changed, but not in a bad way. Of course, after the Games and losing his family, he can't be the exact same happy-go-lucky boy I spent all my time with on the beach. But he didn't exactly turn out to be the famous Capitol womanizer I imagined him as either. Well, he was, but only because he had to be.
Always pretending.
That thought makes me sick to my stomach.
All these years I've blamed him for pushing me away, and he did it to keep me safe. I almost can't believe it. How was I so blind? How did I not know what was happening? I should have tried harder. I should have known something was wrong and forced him to tell me. I should have made him let me back in…
"Annie, are you all right, darling?" Yvonne asks quietly. As my stylist, she is from the Capitol, but I love her. Something about her soft spoken nature and kindness sets her aside from the rest of these colored, bejeweled puppets and makes her more real, a person rather than some Games-obsessed fan in Capitol garb.
I'm snapped out of my daze in an instant. Focus, Annie. Stop thinking about Finnick. You can't mess this up."I'm good," I assure her, nervously tucking a piece of my loosely curled hair behind my ear. She smiles genuinely and squeezes my hand, which she holds lightly as we wait for my name to be called. Here backstage it is dim-lit and reeks of a familiar, rose-scented perfume that makes my temples throb. In my opinion, the smell of salt and brine is much more appealing. It's much more natural.
I suck in a deep breath, trying to imagine my nostrils curling with the familiar scent of the ocean instead of this phony, Capitol perfume. It doesn't work.
"You look beautiful," Yvonne murmurs quietly.
My prep team practically flies across the small space, too-wide smiles plastered on their ridiculous faces. "Ah Annie! You are pefect! I love the waterfall theme, yes? It brings out that nice delicate shape of yours, doesn't it?" On they ramble until suddenly Dreeda, her purple tattoos glinting in the soft light, shrieks, "Oh, we can't forget the finishing touch!"
She steps forward, uncapping a small lipstick and swiping it across my mouth, then finally sealing the waxy, nude color with a shimmery gloss. It feels a little sticky and uncomfortable, but I resist the urge to lick my lips, feeling too guilty to undo my prep team's hard work. I know they mean well.
I'm dressed in a silvery-blue floor length gown that cascades down my body as if it was meant to hang there. The flowing material has flecks of green in it that bring out my eyes, which are ringed in smoky makeup and give the impression of a watery mist. My skin is dewy and bronze, while the hair I normally leave naturally wavy is shaped into cascading curls that whisper down my back. I resemble a walking waterfall, and I have to admit that I do feel beautiful. Not necessarily like myself with all this makeup on, but beautiful all the same.
Suddenly, I see the boy from District Three exit to the left and I freeze. I'm about to air live on every single television in Panem. Can I do it? Be winning so that sponsors will see me as worthy of their support?
I think of Finnick's words. Smile. Be charming. Be the kind, beautiful girl they see you as.
My thoughts twist around his face, boyish and charming yet sensitive and sweet, and I'm even more distracted. Because now I'm thinking of those liquid, sea-foam tainted eyes instead of my soon-to-be very public appearance on national television.
Since when have I ever let Finnick Odair have such an unwavering hold on my every thought like this?
Caesar calls my name out in a happy, booming trill, and I emerge, trying to remember what Odiva instructed about walking tall and confidently, shoulders back and legs straight. I smile sweetly and bat my eyelashes, trying to emanate that beautiful, kind air. I feel a little self-conscious and a little worried that I'm not convincing enough. I start to panic, hoping that my face doesn't betray my bluff. Of course Mags assured me that I wouldn't have to try at all to be nice, but being beautiful and humble and caring even though I'm about to be sick with nerves? It's a hard thing to accomplish.
I need an anchor, something to calm me down. I rack my brain, and then suddenly, I'm searching for him. My eyes frantically scan the crowd until they lock on those liquid orbs that remind me of home and my family and everything that I'll be able to have if I pull this off. Finnick smiles, his eyes encouraging and almost pleading in a way, and I know I could never deny that face. So, with renewed confidence, I face Caesar and smile, greeting the screaming fans of the Capitol with a shy wave. Unfortunately, Caesar catches me staring at Finnick for a little bit longer than would be normally acceptable, just as I'm finally composing myself.
"Ah!" he squeals cheekily. "Staring at the lovely, Finnick Odair, are you? None of us blame you, dear Annie! He's absolutely breathtaking! Isn't he, folks?" Caesar laughs and I hear several Capitol women shriek in agony, as if just the thought of Finnick Odair's beautiful face causes them an emotional pain too great to keep to themselves. I resist the urge to frown slightly, wondering which of the women in this room have deliberately agreed to use Finnick for their own pleasure.
"He is something," I agree with Caesar, quickly brushing off my slight disgust with the women's Finnick-crazed eyes. I let my cheeks burn a little in real embarrassment, which I hope adds nicely to my presentation of a shy, sweet girl. "But he's been very helpful. I'm grateful to have him." I keep my voice quiet, and now I'm actually blushing. If only those girls out in the audience knew just how grateful I was to have Finnick's arms wrapped around me every night before bed… But I halt my thoughts, remembering that I shouldn't want these girls to feel jealous. Finnick doesn't know them. So they shouldn't matter, right? And why should I be jealous in the first place? He's not mine.
Caesar nods in agreement. "Well, yes. He is indeed. And Annie, I must say, you look absolutely stunning. Like a waterfall, here in the middle of our lovely stage! Have you enjoyed all of these new luxuries of the Capitol?"
I giggle lightly. "Thank you, Caesar. I have enjoyed it here, but if I'm being honest, I'm not all that comfortable in a lot of makeup and fancy dresses like this one, even though they are beautiful. I prefer the sea."
The audience ooos at my truthful answer while Caesar simply smiles. "Ah, who doesn't love a caring, down-to-earth girl? All too adorable, Annie Cresta! Now, tell us, what is it you love about the sea?"
I think for a moment, deciding to answer with the truth again. "I love the way it feels like home, Caesar. Of course, everyone in the Capitol has been so welcoming, but something about the ocean is just so… pure. I collect white seashells at home all the time to make a little extra money for my family, and they always remind me of the beach. Now, looking back on it, I wish I would have brought one with me as a token, just something to hold onto."
"Ah, yes, too bad," Caesar murmurs understandably. "But I think that now you will be receiving quite a few shells as gifts from your adoring fans, of course! You'll probably have a plethora of tokens! Listen to those screams!" The Capitol audience cheers in concurrence.
I muster a genuine smile as Caesar asks me about my family, but when I respond all I can think of is Finnick and those words I said to him on the beach all those years ago, about white seashells being innocent and pure. I wonder if he remembers that conversation now….
Pulling me out of my train of thought, Caesar rises and grasps me into a tight, warm hug. "Best of luck to you, Annie Cresta! District Four!"
The crowd's cheers seem deafening, so I take that as a good sign. I slowly walk off stage, allowing myself one last glance at the bright lights and the nervous, excitable air that the audience pours onto the stage. But as I'm about to step off and descend to once again sit beside York, I meet Finnick's eyes, and he gives me a subtle thumbs up. He's smiling, but there's something else about his face that seems… out of place.
Once I'm out of Finnick's sight and York praises my performance, it suddenly dawns on me.
He does remember that conversation on the beach so many years ago. He remembers our argument about the white seashells I love so much. The way his eyes lit with that subtle understanding… it's a look I've seen many times throughout the years when Fin and I have seemed to simply understand each other, always shooting the other knowing glances. And now, with both of us reminiscing about that day when we bickered over the pureness of my white seashells, it suddenly feels like we are five years old again.
The smile won't leave my face throughout the rest of the program and even as I'm led out to a waiting car after the interviews end, it's still plastered there. I don't even register the air of excitement around me as my prep team chatters on while the darkened windows of the limousine shield my eyes from the white lights of the camera flashes. All I can focus on is him. In that moment, Finnick's eyes had seemed to shine with something different than their usual teasing, easy friendliness. It was almost an understanding, a kind of desperate gaze that made me feel like we shared something that no one else could.
After all these years, Finnick and I are still desperately twined together, through our memories, through our homes, even through our nearly identical green irises.
And for some reason, I like that thought much more than I should.