Chapter Three

In the haze of early morning, I recall the dream I had. It wasn't an unpleasant one, just strange. I was on a sailboat with Miguel, and it was speeding into the ocean too quickly for us to control. Miguel jumped overboard to try to stop the boat by holding it back with his bare hands, which surprisingly worked. But when he got back into the boat, he was Finnick Odair. Finnick then gave me a smile and told me that my hair reminded him of the night sky and then I woke up. It's left me with a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I roll out of bed and pull on the standard training uniform the Capitol has provided us. Stretchy grey and gold pants and a matching shirt. When I walk into the shared dining room of our floor, I'm surprised to see Finnick sitting at the table, conversing with Mags and Felix. He gives me a wink and takes a sip from his mug when he sees me, and for a second I'm reminded of my dream and I blush.

Mags turns to greet me. "Good morning, Annie. I hope you slept well. Make sure to eat up if you can. You'll want your strength for training."

I nod and start to fill my plate at the buffet. My appetite is back in full force and I realize I hardly ate a thing yesterday. I grab a flaky pastry that's filled with chocolate, some sort of pink porridge, some sort of fried meat that I've never seen before, and a few slices of melon. I jump when I turn and find Finnick right in front of me.

"Didn't mean to startle you, Annie. I was just getting some more coffee. Can I make you some? You know, I'm not one to boast," This causes Felix to guffaw and Mags to chuckle, "but I make the best coffee in Panem." He flashes a toothy smile.

I gaze at Finnick, his sea-green eyes glinting, trying to figure him out. I know I've decided not to trust him, but I don't want to be rude, and it is a kind offer. "Um… sure," I say.

"Excellent." Finnick smiles and makes a show of pouring my coffee into the mug, plopping in three sugar cubes, and stirring in the creamer. "Here you go. Enjoy."

I feel a pang of guilt that someone would make something for me. My father often told me that one of the only things I was good for was making food for him, and it's weird to be on the receiving end of things. "I should be the one making you coffee, not the other way around," I say.

"Nonsense. Then you'd never know what Finnick Odair's specialty coffee tastes like, and that, Annie, is an experience I'd never want to deprive of someone as important as you."

I'm puzzled—no one has ever called me important before, and I still feel guilty. But Finnick seemed to enjoy making the coffee for me, and the food was set out for us whether or not we'd eat it, so I try to push my father's voice out of my head and ignore the churning that's begun in my stomach.

The coffee is delicious, as is the food. The pink porridge I got is some kind of creamed wheat flavored with cranberries, and the chocolate pastry is so good I go back for seconds and thirds. By the time I've finished eating, I'm feeling full and energized from the coffee.

"I can't believe I slept in!" Miguel shouts as he runs into the dining room, pulling his shoes on when he comes to a stop.

"We didn't want to wake you," Felix says in a gruff voice. "Rest is important, especially in the days leading up to the arena. Besides, we've still got an hour before training begins."

Mags nods, and then turns toward me and says, "We do need to talk strategies before the two of you go into training."

"That's my cue to leave," Finnick says, spinning out of his chair and giving Mags a kiss on her cheek, and a pat on Felix's shoulder. Before he opens the door to leave, he turns to me and Miguel, who's now sitting across from me at the table. "Good luck, you two."

Mags clears her throat to refocus us on the matter at hand. "Are both of you okay with doing this together, or would you like to be separated?"

I turn back to look at Miguel and give him a small smile before telling Mags, "I'm okay with training together."

Miguel nods. "Yeah, that works for me, too. Besides, we'll be in the training center together. We might be able to help each other out."

"It does tend to make things easier for tributes to train together, in my experience," Felix says. I'm glad he thinks we've made the right decision.

"So tell us, what strengths do you have that you think would help you in the arena?" Mags asks. Her voice sounds curious and kind, but the words make my heart sink as my mind goes blank. I can't think of anything that would help me in the arena.

"I'm pretty good with nets," Miguel says. "I help out my parents at the fishing dock when I'm not in school. And we just started learning how to spear fish in school, and I think I'm getting a hang of it. Oh, and I think I'm a pretty fast runner."

Hearing Miguel say this only makes me feel worse. He's so much better than I am. "I don't think I have any strengths. I'm useless. I'll probably die before the gong even goes off," I say, feeling despondent. I squeeze my hands together as tight as I can. I really do need to prepare myself for my inevitable death. There's nothing I could do in the arena to win. I'm worthless. Any hope that might have been building was just a fantasy.

"Don't say that, child," Mags says, "Look at me." I hesitantly lift my gaze, meeting hers. "You have strengths. Everyone does. And you're not useless."

"Yeah," Miguel chimes in. I'm surprised, because boosting me up could be dangerous for him. Only one person can survive the arena after all. "I already know one of your strengths. You're good at staying balanced."

Felix gives Miguel a strange look.

"Those chariots are hard to stay on, and I know how tall her shoes were."

Felix lets out a sharp laugh and Miguel looks pleased with himself for this accomplishment.

Mags takes my hands in hers. "What kinds of things do you enjoy doing at home? Any physical activities? Any specialties in school?"

I try to tamp down my father's voice in my head and think about the past. It's painful to think of what life used to be and know I'll never be going back. But they're right. I should at least try. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, remembering the feeling of the ocean waves drifting over my head as I dove for sea shells.

"I guess I'm a pretty decent swimmer."

"Decent?" Mags asks.

"I used to dive in the ocean to collect shells. I could hold my breath for up to seven minutes if I really wanted."

"Seven minutes? Now that is impressive. And diving builds up your agility and strength, especially when you're swimming in the ocean. We can work with that."

We can? I wonder. I look around the table, and see Miguel and Mags smiling at me. Felix looks a bit uncomfortable as he takes a sip of his coffee, but he tends to look uncomfortable most of the time. I don't think socializing is really his thing.

Felix puts down his mug and turns to Miguel, an intense look on his face. "Your strengths are what're gonna help you the most in the arena, because you've already built up that muscle memory. What you're both working with could be helpful in keeping you alive. For this week, Mags and I want you to focus on building up other skills, especially survival skills. Do not underestimate the value of knowing which berries are edible, or how to create a fire. But we also want you to do strength training. Spend half of each day on survival skills, and the other half on strength training, making sure to spend some time with each of the weapons they have available. You never know what you'll be able to get your hands on, so having experience with all of the weapons will be helpful."

Mags nods and says, "And we want you both to eat as much as you can while you're here in the Capitol. Food could be scarce in the arena, but if you eat well here and find water in the arena, you could last without food for a couple of weeks."

Miguel and I keep to their advice each day. Eating as much breakfast as we can stomach, going to the different survival stations in the morning, stuffing our faces at lunch, and then strength training and practicing weapons in the afternoon. I'm exhausted at the end of each day, but I know it's good. Within just a couple of days, I can feel my stamina increasing, and know this will be good for my chances. I tend to keep to myself, though I often end up doing the same things as Miguel. We don't talk much, so I'm surprised one day when we're both trying to start fires using sticks and friction that Miguel brings up something I had forgotten about.

"So, who tells you that you're useless? Is it a parent or a bully or—?"

I'm so stunned that I don't know what to say. "What?"

"Back when Mags asked you about your strengths, you said you're useless." He turns back to his sticks, running his hands down one as quickly as he can to create friction. They've added some fake trees and dirt to this area to make it feel more realistic. But it's a strange contrast from the steely grey of the rest of the training floor. "Look, I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but it's been on my mind. My best friend, Trevor, he has a mom who says all kinds of horrible things to him. Makes him feel like he's worthless, and that he deserves the bad things that happen to him. But I always tell him, and I'm telling you now that not everyone sees you that way. Those things aren't real. You're enough. You have strengths. And you're likable."

I quickly glance around, worried that the other tributes would see this kindness as a weakness, but there's no one nearby. Miguel looks so earnest, and I start to absorb what it is that he's said to me. He's given me a gift. One that I'll never be able to repay. "Thank you. But you know, you don't have to be nice to me. After all, your ultimate survival depends on my dying."

"I know," Miguel says giving me a grim smile before turning back to his sticks. "But I want to be nice to you. I like you, Annie, and you deserve it."

"You deserve it too, Miguel. Thank you." I wait until he looks up at me again so he can see on my face that I mean it. Miguel might be the kindest person I've ever met, and I want him to know that I'm grateful for it.

"Besides," Miguel says, "I'm only fourteen. The odds are not in my favor. Only one fourteen year old has ever won the games."

Even though he's said it with a smile, I feel the ice run through my veins. But I don't want Miguel to feel hopeless. "Yeah, but it was Finnick Odair." I say. "He's from out District, and probably had the same mentors as us. If he could do it, so could you." I want to try to build Miguel back up, the way he did for me, but I don't know what else to say.

"Thanks, Annie." He smiles and then gets back to his fire making, and I follow suit.

For the rest of the week, we stick together more often, and I learn a lot about Miguel and his life. His parents sound so kind. It's hard to imagine growing up with two adults who adore you and support what you do. He has a younger sister who he dotes on, always bringing her home a treat if he wins it in school, which apparently happened a lot because Miguel is pretty smart. And his best friend, Trevor, who would go on adventures with him, which mostly consisted of walking down the beach and trying to find any caves in the cliffs by them, seeing what was inside.

I tell Miguel a bit about myself too, though I don't think there's as much to me. I just got by in school, doing only well enough to advance with the rest of the class, but no more. I floated from different friend groups at school, never feeling a part of them, before finding Shelley and sticking with her because she was easy. The more distance I have from her and the more I get to know Miguel, the more I realize that Shelley and I were never really good friends. We were just there to keep each other company. Miguel is the first person who really feels like a friend to me. Which only makes our situation feel worse.

When it comes to talk about my family, it ends up being a lot of me saying things that I've always accepted as fact, like how I killed my mother, and Miguel telling me that it's not true. It gives me a lot to think about, but it's hard to accept his words. My father's version of my life is so deeply ingrained in my mind. Still, I try, because a big part of me wants to believe Miguel is right.

By the end of our training week, I feel strange, because it's like I've finally begun living a normal life in this place that's the farthest from normal, and I know that my days are probably numbered. Still, I can't deny that between the food, the exercise, and the talks with Miguel, I feel better than I've felt in my whole life.

For the training evaluation, I've decided to do some work with daggers and throwing knives. Out of all of the weapons, these are the ones that felt most comfortable to me. It's been easy to think of training as just a task to do, and not think about what it is that I'm training for. I try not to think too much about what it will be like to use those knives on actual people, and not just mannequins.

My palms start to feel sweaty and I look around the steely waiting room, a slightly blue light reflecting off of the walls. Each of the tributes are sitting in pairs, waiting for our names to be called one by one so we can prove we're worth something. Even though training scores don't always predict who will win—people who scored a 3 have won, and people who scored 8s have died on the first day—Mags and Felix assured us that they are important in terms of what sponsors we can get. I hear Miguel next to me take a deep breath and realize his name must have been called.

"Good luck," I say.

He gives me a grim smile, and walks stiffly toward the doors.

Now that it's almost my turn, I start to panic. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears as words from my father start to creep in. Worthless. Useless. I shake my head to try to get rid of those thoughts and remind myself of our last parting. He had hope for me. He was proud of me. That's the father that I want to remember. But my brain can't quite compute the two versions of him that now exist.

"Annie Cresta." A cool automated voice says. I get up, and take a deep breath just like Miguel did. If he can get through this, so can I.

Once I'm in the training center room, I can see a dozen people looking out over a balcony at me. Most of them are politely smiling, some holding clipboards. A few people are busy getting food from the extravagant buffet that sits behind them. I wish more of them would focus on the food and not me. I walk over to the knife stand and pull a few throwing knives. The small, angled ones are my favorite, so I decide to go with those. I turn toward the mannequin that's set up behind me. It's got red targets painted on its head and chest.

The first knife I throw slips as I release it, and it clatters to the floor halfway between me and the mannequin. I glance up and see a few people are now taking notes. Stop writing, I think. I don't want them to remember that. My instinct is to give up and run away, but I can't do that now. My life depends on it. I hastily wipe off the sweaty palm of my right hand, and try again. This time I'm able to stick the knife almost in the center of the target. After a few more throws, I hit a bullseye in the chest.

"Thank you, Miss Cresta," a male voice booms from a microphone, and I turn, unsure of what to do. I give a half-hearted bow and then walk out, hearing too clearly every step my shoes make in the silence.

I'm shoveling my mouth full of some delicious chicken covered in orange sauce, trying not to think about what my training score is going to be when Finnick Odair comes through the door. He's dressed in a shiny silver suit and smells strangely floral. His suit would look ridiculous on pretty much anyone else, but because he's Finnick Odair, of course he can pull it off. Finnick must notice how we're all sitting around the dining table not talking, Miguel and I looking a little green in the gills because after greeting Mags and Felix, he comes up behind us and says, "Hey tributes, how'd your sessions go?"

I jump when Finnick claps his hand on my back. He seems to notice because he removes his hand from me while he keeps his other hand on Miguel.

Miguel answers his question first, turning to look up at Finnick behind him. "I think I might have blacked out the moment I stepped through those doors. I was so nervous. I'm pretty sure I threw some spears at a dummy though, and I think I actually landed a few."

Felix rubs his eyes and I think he might be trying to hide his disappointment. But Finnick's face lights up. "That's great, my man! You know, I think I blacked out of the majority of my games. I ran on pure instinct, and hey, I turned out just fine. You never know, maybe it's the trick to winning." Finnick gives Miguel a wink before turning to look at me.

Looking up at Finnick's face, I think I see a hint of concern before it's wiped away by his dazzling smile. "I think I did alright." I say. "I dropped my first throwing knife, but managed to stick the rest of them on target. I got one of them right on the bullseye too." Saying it out loud makes it seem more impressive than it was. I wouldn't be surprised if my score was a 3 or lower.

"Impressive, Annie." Finnick says, giving me what appears to be a genuine smile.

"Yes, Annie and Miguel it sounds like you both performed well. I'm sure you'll get scores good enough to help us get you sponsors." Mags says, her eyes crinkling in an encouraging smile.

Felix grunts in agreement before grabbing his wine glass and swirling it around in his hand. They'd offered to let Miguel and I try some wine. Miguel was excited to, but said it tasted too much like vinegar. I had no interest in it. I saw what it did to my father, and didn't want to find out what it could do to me.

I feel like I need to say something to fill the silence. Everyone has gone back to focusing on their food. Finnick is at the buffet, piling his plate high with food, and the rest of us are working on our plates, but now that the silence had been broken, I feel responsible for keeping the conversation going. I don't like the thought of other people feeling uncomfortable if I can do something about it. I think back to when the game makers started taking notes, trying to figure out how they'd determine scores. "Some of the game makers might have stopped watching me after I dropped the first knife though. They definitely noted that I dropped it."

Miguel groans, putting his face in his hands. "There were multiple of them? I swear, I couldn't even look up at that little room. All I could focus on was my throwing, and that was it."

"That's pretty normal, actually," Finnick responds. "You'd be surprised, but most people are either too nervous or too focused to care about the game makers, so don't worry too much about it. Annie's an observant gal, which could come in handy for both of you if you want to be allies."

I glance over at Miguel, and he looks back at me, his dark eyes looking apprehensive. We haven't discussed allyship yet, but of course we'll ally together, for as long as we can. I don't think I could handle being an ally with anyone else though. I've done my best to not notice them as much as possible. The less I know about these people who are going to try to kill me, or who I might have to kill, the better.

I'm about to open my mouth to respond when our conversation is cut short by a loud beeping and then the anthem playing as the television screen at the end of the table turns on. It's time for the training recap.

The chicken I've just eaten dances around in my stomach and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. There's a brief introduction and then the scores start to be revealed. The tributes from the first two Districts all score 8s and 9s, with one of them scoring a 10. District Three scores a 4 and a 6. And then it's Miguel's face on screen along side the score of 6, and mine with a score of 7. I inhale sharply. I wasn't expecting that good of a score. The rest of the scores are all a blur as I try to comprehend how lucky I've been in getting this score. Luckily that dropped knife didn't do too much damage.

Once the broadcast is over, Mags tugs her knit green cardigan closed and gives a contented sigh. "Well done, you two." She says, and I'm glad I've pleased her. Mags is the kind of person that I want to make happy. The kindness and care that emanates from her feels too much and not enough all at the same time. Like I want to bask in her presence, but I feel weird about that compulsion. I've survived my whole life without a mother-figure. I don't need anyone to fill that role now. Still, I can't help but wonder what it must be like for Finnick, who is able to show Mags affection so freely and get it in return.

Felix shares some words of encouragement with Miguel, Finnick makes a few jokes, and then it's time for us to go to bed.

"It's going to be a big day tomorrow with all the prep for your interviews. You'll want to get good sleep tonight," Mags says.

Interview prep lasts all morning and most of the afternoon. Yardley trains Miguel and I on how to walk and sit properly, how to make sure we speak clearly, and Mags and Felix give us some tips on what to say if our minds go blank and we're not sure of how to answer the questions we're asked.

Finnick joins us after lunchtime. Today he's dressed in a bronze damask-print suit and smells like some kind of artificial spice. It's strange to me how he embraces the Capitol's trends and practice of scenting themselves with strong perfumes. He's the only one of the Victors in our District who seems to do so. Mags always seems to dress for comfort, and Felix tends to dress in basics.

I learn that the hardest part of the interview is figuring out how to present yourself.

"Most people find that it's easiest to market tributes to potential sponsors if we can pin one defining characteristic on you: brooding or bubbly or smart as a whip," Felix explains.

After some discussion, it's decided that Miguel is going to present himself as charming. This suits his friendly and easygoing personality well.

"This will help us compare you to Finnick as well. That's how he presented himself in his interview," Mags explains. Finnick smiles behind his coffee mug, but I think I see his jaw clench.

"Now for you, Annie," Felix starts, "What do you think of presenting yourself as sexy? You're old enough and have the figure for it."

My heart sinks. Sexy? I've never thought of myself that way before.

I try to imagine what I'd even say or do that could convey sexiness when Finnick bursts out, "Absolutely not. We don't want to do that to her."

I'm relieved that he says that, but it confuses me as well. Finnick Odair seems to flaunt his sex-appeal everywhere he goes. I don't understand why he seems so opposed to presenting me that way.

"Yes, I agree with Finnick. Sexy doesn't suit Annie. She's too shy." Mags says.

Felix crosses his arms over his chest and jiggles his foot. I feel bad that he's upset by their rejection of his idea, but I'm grateful to Finnick and Mags.

"You know what Annie does have though? Street-smarts," Finnick says. "Annie can pick up on body language and other subtle details better than a lot of people I've met."

I'm shocked that Finnick has noticed this much about me, especially considering I've tried to keep my distance from him, not wanting to trust him after our first meeting. "Finnick, I'm not sure how I'd portray that though. And if Caesar were to ask me what I think about the other tributes, I'd flounder. I've done my best not to notice anything about them."

Mags nods and rests her face in her hand. "That does present a problem for that angle then."

We're silent for a few minutes as everyone thinks. My heart starts to feel heavy as the thoughts that I'm worthless and useless circle around in my mind. We can't even figure out how to portray me.

Finnick claps his hands together, a wide smile on his face. "I've got it! How about mysterious?"

"Great idea, Finnick. I was thinking the same thing. Being mysterious plays well with your shy nature, Annie. Let's try out a few practice questions and see how it fits you."

Mags asks me a few questions, and I do my best to seem mysterious as I answer. Felix and Finnick give me some feedback, prompting me to be more elusive in my answers, and then it's decided that this mysterious works for me. I'm relieved that we've settled on something that feels more comfortable to me.

A watch on Finnick's wrist beeps, and he gets up to leave, kissing Mags on her cheek. "Thanks for letting me help out with this today. It's good to know I can do something actually useful with my time here."

When it's time to meet with our prep teams again, I'm feeling more nervous than I've felt all week. Being singled out in front of a crowd, or rather, the whole country, is definitely not my comfort zone. But seeing Albina's face calms me a bit. I know this woman can help me feel more confident in myself.

Today she's dressed me in a heavy dress that's covered in dark sea-green gems almost the exact color of my eyes. When I move in the dress, it looks like the light sparkling off of the deep ocean on a sunny day. My face shines in glitter, and my hair is done up in complicated twists and knots. Somehow, just as on the first day, looking so different from my normal self helps me to feel more confident. It's as if I'm putting on a show, and this is my new character. Yes, I can be mysterious. I can do this.

I'm grateful that I'm from District Four as I'm back stage, waiting for my turn to interview. I can't imagine how hard it is for the tributes in Districts 11 and 12 to wait through all of the interviews. When it's my turn, I take a deep breath, and walk through a series of dark curtains before I'm on stage. It's larger than I thought, with a full background of screens behind the two interview chairs. I'm dazzled by a dozen bright lights all shining on me, and it takes me a moment to orient myself and find the chair across from Caesar Flickerman. Caesar's in his same midnight-blue suit that he always wears, but this year, he's colored his hair and eyebrows a bright lemon-yellow. The effect makes him look a bit like a bird.

I hear the roaring of a crowd before Caesar greets me. "Hello, Annie! It seems you've made quite a splash here at the Games so far."

His joke gets a few laughs at the crowd. I look out to see if there are any familiar faces, but the lights are too bright and I'm reminded that I need to respond to Caesar and keep the conversation going.

"Have I?" I ask. "I suppose being from District Four, it's hard not to."

"Yes, how could you not? Now tell me, Annie, do you enjoy swimming? Surely being from District Four you'd be a great swimmer, right? What do you think the chances are that there will be water in the arena this year?"

Remember, be mysterious, I tell myself before responding. "I guess if there is water large enough to swim in this year, you'll get to wait and see if I'm a good swimmer or not."

"So mysterious, Annie," Caesar responds, and I wonder if mentors get the chance to prep Caesar on what our angles will be before the interviews begin. "Do tell us, what kind of skills do you have? How did you earn that seven in your training score?"

I look out into the crowd, and try to narrow my eyes in what I think is a sly expression. "I'll tell you this, Caesar. I earned that seven by using some sort of blade. Can you guess what kind?"

Caesar rubs his hands together before turning to the crowd, "Oh ho ho, aren't you dying to know what it is? Annie, please, tell us." Caesar looks at me with an eager smile, showing a few too many teeth to be natural.

I smile back. "You'll just have to wait and find out."

"Well, Annie, you've certainly intrigued us tonight, and I know that we'll all be keeping our eyes on you so we can learn everything we can about you. But our time's up with you tonight. Everyone, let's give Miss Annie Cresta a big round of applause!" Caesar gives a hearty laugh, and I stand up and give a bow before I'm ushered over to sit with the other tributes who have finished their interviews on the level above the stage.

The male tribute from District Two stares at me as I sit down, and I quickly look away, not wanting to make eye contact. I do my best not to pay attention to the rest of the interviews, despite what Mags said about getting to know my opponents. I don't think getting to know them will give me any more advantage than it will make it harder to kill them. Even so, it's hard not to, and I learn bits and pieces about each one. There's a small thirteen year old girl from District Five who can barely squeak out answers. A big and brutal looking boy from District Seven who seems to seethe with anger. The tributes from both District Eleven and Twelve are all so small, I wonder if they've ever had a full stomach in their lives. No, getting to know my opponents does not make it any easier for me, and I hope that their faces won't haunt my dreams tonight.

Before I know it, the interviews are over and we're all escorted back to our living quarters. The week had drawn on so long, it felt like it would never end, but now that it's over, it feels too soon. I tremble as I climb between the soft cotton sheets, feeling cold and dreading the morning light that will bring the next day. The day that the Hunger Games blood bath will begin.