Eight

Annie shrieks as the gob of thick, sticky mud smacks against her bare leg. It's a good shriek - not terrified, laughing instead as she sprints behind the trunk of a banana tree. "Stop that!" she calls out.

There's no chance of me stopping and I make that clear by throwing another handful of mud at her other leg. "Rub it around."

She makes herself almost thin enough to be completely hidden by the trunk. "No!" she cries out, barely choking back her laughter. "I'm not smearing mud on my legs."

Crouching beside the patch of mud, I scoop more out and smear it on my own legs below the hems of my shorts. "Suit yourself. If you don't mind painful and itchy red bumps the size of clams then don't cover your bare skin in mud. I mind."

I've got her attention and she steps part of the way out from behind the tree. "Where to the bumps come from?"

"Mutt bugs. I don't remember if I ever knew exactly what they're called but my mother used to call them Devil's Spawn when we came out here when I was little." Switching to my other leg, I cover it in mud and stand up. "Before you ask, I didn't tell you to change into long pants because the bugs would still bite you. The only thing that will keep them away is the mud. Sorry."

With obvious reluctance, she emerges finally and smears the mud over her legs. "Why does the mud keep them away? And won't the bugs just go up under my shorts or bite my hands and arms? I don't have to cover my face, do I?"

"You could, if you wanted to - and my mother always said her skin looked better after she had mud on it, but you don't have to. For some reason, the bugs never really go above a person's knee. They don't fly and they don't jump, so they don't even crawl up your leg." I won't say it to her, but the mental image of her with mud smeared all over her face is both amusing and alluring. "Don't forget your feet."

She wrinkles her nose but reaches to scoop up mud for herself and smears it on her feet. "This is really gross, Finnick. I can't believe you're making me do this."

I gesture over the tall grass waving in the wind, and hiding the Devil's Spawn, to the small trees on the other side. "I'm not making you do anything, Annie Cresta. You said you wanted to get strawberry guava to make jam and tea for Mags and I said I knew where you could get fresh strawberry guava. If you don't mind the bites, don't smear the mud."

For my trouble, when my back is turned, I get a handful of mud to the back of my neck. I turn around slowly, careful not to send what seems to be a teasing good time spiraling out of control and do my best to look playfully mad. "You did not just throw mud at my head."

In answer, I get more mud on the front of my shirt. "What are you going to do about it?" she challenges, darting behind the banana tree again when I gather my own ammunition.

It only takes ten minutes for us to cover each other from head to toe in mud. I've got mud in places that would scandalize my Capitol prep team, even though I've still got all my clothes on. And Annie looks just as amusing and alluring covered in mud as I expected she would.

"Guavas," she announces abruptly, using a leave from the tree to wipe the mud from around her eyes. "We're entirely protected from the Devil's Spawn now so we're going to get the strawberry guavas. Mud or no mud."

Never one to argue with a lady, another thing my mother taught me when she took me out into the bush and swamps to collect the fruit and berries she sold to the town people for extra money, I step in front of her and lazily swing my machete to clear a thin path to the trees bearing the fruit she wants. I can sense she's following close behind me but I know she's not frightened. She's giggling too much to be frightened, and it's make me paranoid about whether or not she's laughing at me.

Having reached the trees, I point to the bright red fruit with the tip of the machete. "You brought the bag, didn't you? I'd rather not make nine trips back through the grass."

Rolling her eyes, she drops the burlap bag to the ground beside me and looks at the tree critically. "It's not strong enough to climb and the fruit is too high to reach on foot. We need a ladder."

I'm not going all the way back to the Victor's Village for a ladder. The skeptic in me knows I'd never get Annie back out to the fruit trees. So I do what I did with my mother when I was little, only I take on her role and crouch down. "Get on my shoulders," I instruct Annie. "You'll be able to reach the best guavas from there."

She hesitates, but she does it.

She's light, too light for someone her height and age, and I know it's because she hardly eats anything since she came home to District 4 four months ago. I'll have to work on getting her to eat more. After all, she's a rich victor now and the world is literally hers for the taking.

I spend the next hour and a half walking slowly around the trees while she fills the bag I'm also holding with only the best looking fruits.

When she declares us done, mostly because the bag won't hold any more, she climbs down from my shoulders and insists on carrying the fruit. "My father used to buy fruits and berries from your mother," she says softly as we make our way back through the grass. "I used to come with him. I remember you."

Ignoring the itchiness of the mud drying on my skin, I think back to those days. I remember Annie and her father. He was a tall man with a booming voice who was the captain of one of the bigger ships in the District - and died when his ship went down in a hurricane. Annie was a skinny, shy girl who carried a book with her wherever she went. "What is that you remember about me, then?"

"You were never where your mother expected you to be," she says, sort of spitting the words out as though she's worried she'll lose her nerve otherwise. "She'd say something to you and sigh because you were never there. Where did you go?"

I miss my mother, and I've never talked about her to anyone but Mags, but I answer just the same - even though it hurts. "Usually I went two stalls down the row. Old Lady Rowena always had sugar cubes and I'd trade a piece of fruit for six cubes. Then I'd get, some might say steal, a little milk from Old Man Thaddeus' goat and mix it in a cup with the sugar cubes."

She stops in front of me and turns around. "Why did you mix fresh goat's milk with sugar cubes?"

I shrug, chewing my bottom lip at the memory. "It made a kind of cream. My mother would pour it on whatever fruit we'd have left and we'd have a treat. Maybe that's why she only sighed."

Annie smiles and sort of reaches for me but then pulls her hand back. "I'm sure it is." She shakes her head and turns back around. "Come on. I'm itchy and we need to check on Mags."

I couldn't agree with either thing more.

The best part of it all is the look on Mags' face when we appear on her porch. I know we look like fools but the way her eyes light up seconds before she laughs, the first real laugh I've heard from her in four months, makes me stupidly happy to look like a fool.

She keeps laughing as Annie pretends she isn't covered in mud and explains what she intends to do with the strawberry guavas. I don't know how the girl keeps a straight face because I'm choking on my laughter in a matter of seconds. Only when Mags calms herself enough to say she's very much looking forward to the jam and tea does Annie start to laugh.

I can't hold it in anymore and neither can anyone else.

We laugh until there are tears trailing through the lines of Mags' face and making wet tracks through the dried mud on our faces.

I haven't felt this good in a very, very long time.

I wish I could make the moment last forever.