Annie Cresta has never been a rule-breaker. Not even a rule-bender. Which is why she was horrified when Ms. Coin, the sour secretary in the front office, informed Annie that her excessive tardiness had earned her a Saturday morning detention.
She tried—really tried—to write an essay to explain herself. To absolve herself of all wrongdoing. But after about an hour of furious scribbling, Annie realized that there was really nothing to say. Excessive tardiness is unremarkable. She can't wax poetic about her failure to arrive at school on time for two thousand words because there is only so much that she can say.
I'm sorry. It won't happen again.
Did I mention that I'm sorry?
And then there was that slight distraction. Johanna Mason, stirring up trouble by taunting Finnick Odair, and then Peeta Mellark. Annie worries about the inevitable moment that Johanna shifts the focus to her, finds a wealth of insecurities and hang-ups to target, and exposes them for all the room to see.
There are the usual insecurities. Her frizzy hair, her wide-set eyes, the nearly imperceptible cluster of pink bumps on her forehead. And then there are the insane insecurities that creep in when she's least expecting it, the ones that whisper tauntingly in her ear. You're a failure. You're worthless. You'll never be good enough, smart enough, strong enough. It's almost enough to drive her to the brink of insanity.
But currently, she's gnawing on her thumbnail and chastising herself for not being brave enough to tell Johanna Mason off. To haul her ass out of her chair and tell her firmly to leave Finnick Odair alone.
She wanted to. But there was just that crippling fear of the consequences if she broke one of Principal Snow's explicit rules by getting out of her seat. And, worse, the fear of being laughed at.
Not by Johanna. By Finnick.
Oh, God. Her pulse is pounding just thinking about him. Her eyes glide over to him instinctively, and she almost wishes that she hadn't, because the longing is that powerful.
He was in her trig class last year. Annie remembers because she sat in the desk directly behind him. His hair always smelled like… like the ocean. A hint of salt, fresh and clean. And those thick, luxurious golden waves, always within reach, but tantalizingly off-limits. Her fingers itching to rake through it.
Frankly, it was nothing short of a miracle that she managed to get through that class with a B-minus.
She doubts he ever noticed her then. Doubts that he would notice her now, even though there are only five other people in this library. Would it matter to him that she's an elected NHS member? That she can find the derivative of a problem set faster than some college students? That, for as long as she can remember, she's been holding out for someone like him?
It doesn't matter. They're here to do penance.
But it is killing her inside, just wondering what exactly he did to end up here.