"A, B, C, D, E, F, G," Finnick sings along with the rest of his class, following the boy next to him's motions as he traces the letters in the air. His teacher smiles at him when he messes up and makes the big C backwards, and he blushes when he realizes his mistake, but he keeps singing and dancing. They're just letters, she says later, and everyone makes a few mistakes in first grade. He'll get the hang of them eventually.
His backwards letters aren't worth a smile anymore. He does the extra work that his other teachers assigned him, but none of it seems to help, and by the time he walks into Ms. Norris' classroom for his first day of fifth grade, he has accepted that he'll be the stupid kid in class again. He does his best to sit in the back so he can escape notice.
Ms. Norris will not allow him to escape so easily. She moves him up to the front of the class and offers to meet with him after school for extra help, but the day his tutoring is scheduled to begin, he runs home as soon as the school bell rings. She's the only person who has ever told him he's smart, and Finnick can't bear to prove her wrong.
The next day, she forces him to stay after. "Finnick, if you aren't going to meet outside of school time, I need to meet with your parents."
He goes quiet for a moment after that, but he nods and waits as she writes a note for his mother to sign. He tries to puzzle out its meaning on the way home, but it's no use. Finnick is sure he'll find out what it says eventually.
"He's a very smart boy, but he hasn't been applying himself in class. I'm worried that Finnick doesn't have much of a future in front of him if he doesn't start devoting himself to his studies." Her glasses can barely keep their perch on her nose as she peers over them at him, and her hair is pulled back in the same rigid bun as always.
His father's voice is as rough as his hands and belt will be later. "What do you think we send you here for, boy? 'Cause it ain't for you to fuck around all day, I can tell you that much –"
"Patrick, not in front of his teacher –"
"Quiet, Sheila." He focuses his hard eyes on Finnick, who hunches his shoulders and pushes himself as far away as the chair will allow. "The boy's old enough to know when he's fucked something up. Aren't you?" Finnick knows he has to nod. No matter what you're agreeing to, things only get worse if you argue. "See, he agrees. He doesn't need your coddling no more."
"Mr. Odair, I think our time together would be best spent discussing your son's education."
Finnick has never heard a woman talk like that to his father, and despite the circumstances, he can't help but smile at Patrick Odair's flushed cheeks. "Well then, ma'am, what do you think we should be doing with him? 'Cause whatever you and the school've been doing hasn't been working too well."
He holds his breath and waits for her to tell them how he skipped their meeting, but her next words surprise him. "I was thinking that perhaps a more structured environment might be good for Finnick."
"What type of structure?" his mother asks.
Ms. Norris looks towards him. "I think Finnick would be an ideal candidate for the training academy. He's very athletic and very smart. He would have to spend most of his time in Port Town, though."
His mother's voice shook when she spoke up. "Would he be required to volunteer?"
"I'm not sure. There are usually four or five boys in each class, so of course not all of them end up in the Games, but I'm not certain how they decide who will be volunteering. That's definitely something you would want to discuss with the instructors there if you choose to look into it." Her eyes flick over to Finnick to judge his reaction. He shrugs at her, trying to hide how scary but wonderful the idea of leaving home sounds to him.
His parents have a few more questions, and Ms. Norris tells them that they don't have to make a decision tonight, but she'll tell the principal that they're interested.
Dad likes the idea of his child joining, and Finnick knows as soon as he steps out of the classroom that despite his mother's concerns, he'll start training eventually.
He has one bag that his mother packed, the clothes on his back, and himself. That's what Finnick's thinking when he waves at his parents from the deck of the ferry that will take him to Port Town. His mother cries, but he stays strong like his father told him to last night. He doesn't cry that night when he's assigned a bunk in a dormitory full of boys who are all at least as big and as strong as he is, and he doesn't cry when he loses every single match of sparring the next day. He's sure he'll get used to life here eventually.
Sometimes, he thinks that his entire life has been spent waiting for eventually to come.
A/N: I received a request for more of Finnick as a child. Thank you to that reviewer for the suggestion.