#I love writing this dynamic when Finnick has won but Annie hasn’t

[the-sun-and-the-sea]

Odesta Week Day 4: Throwback Thursday

Annie is almost fourteen years old, and that is a very important age to be. Yes, there’s the ‘you’re growing up’ speech that her parents foisted onto her last year, but that’s not what she means. She’s talking about something even more important than that.

From the ages of twelve to fifteen, students are leaving District Four’s training facility in droves. That’s because this is where things start to get serious. A lot of parents pull their kids out before they reach sixteen, so they never live and train at the Academy full time. But the teachers are also cutting people from the program; anyone who can’t run or fight or survive is gone.

That won’t happen to Annie.

She’ll be sixteen soon enough, and then it will be her turn to live at the Academy. It will be her turn to become a Senior and eventually be selected as the volunteer. Her Games will be the 70th, the first of a new decade. She got really lucky in that way.

She’s just gotten out of a weapons class, but she needs somewhere quiet to study. Although the Academy doesn’t require as much studying as regular school, they’re still expected to know the most common causes of death and what weapons are most frequent at the Cornucopia. Annie finds her way to an isolated hallway, grinning as the sunlight that beams through the big windows hits her skin.

It’s only after she walks a little further that she realizes she isn’t alone.

He’s sitting on a bench, slumped against the wall, oddly still. The sunlight seems to illuminate him from the inside out. When he looks at her, his eyes are so vividly green that her breath catches.

Finnick Odair. In case that wasn’t clear enough from the description of his eyes.

Annie almost apologizes and walks away. Victors are supposed to be treated with the utmost respect, but Finnick Odair is only a year older than her, so it feels weird to treat him like any sort of authority.

“Mind if I sit?” she asks, faux casual. Hopefully she’s not overstepping. She’s pretty sure Finnick Odair doesn’t even know her name.

“Sure,” is all he says.

Annie joins him on the bench gingerly, pulling out her notebook that’s filled to the brim with her careful handwriting. This notebook has everything from arena strategy to fighting stances to different tactics for the Flickerman interview. Finnick peers over her shoulder, and Annie pretends she doesn’t care.

“I guess you don’t need this stuff anymore,” she says conversationally. There’s a hidden question in there too; what are you doing here? He must pick up on it because he huffs a laugh.

“I spent a lot of time here,” he says. “I used to come here when I needed to think.”

Annie feels heat rise in her cheeks. She’d never admit it because the last thing she wants to do is look stupid in front of Finnick Odair, but she does the same thing. “What are you thinking about now?”

“Are you going to volunteer?” Finnick asks, promptly changing the subject. It’s not a smooth transition at all, but she supposes that since he won the Hunger Games, some brusqueness can be excused.

She folds her notebook proudly in her lap. “Of course.”

He gives a vague hum of acknowledgement, and Annie can’t tell if it’s approving or disappointed.

“Do you have any advice?” she asks after a beat of silence.

“No,” says Finnick softly. “I thought I did. But I don’t.”

She gets the feeling that they’re not talking about the Games anymore. The only problem is that she doesn’t actually know what they are talking about. “Well, that’s okay. You’re only fourteen. You can take your time, right?”

He laughs. “I guess I have all the time in the world now.”

What that must feel like, to have achieved your life goal at fourteen. Annie can’t even imagine. She’ll be eighteen by the time she wins, practically an adult. It all feels so far away. “What are you going to do with it?”

He actually smiles now, and it’s genuine enough that his eyes brighten. “Eat all the saltwater taffy I can find.”

“Lucky,” she says. She’s actually salivating. The Academy doesn’t really do sugar; the closest thing she’s had to real dessert since she turned twelve is protein cookies, which are definitely more protein than cookie. “When I win, I’m going to have so many muffins.”

“What kind of muffins?”

“Chocolate. Obviously.”

Finnick hums. “Solid choice. You don’t have to win to have muffins, though. They have them in the Capitol.”

“It’s not the same,” Annie says immediately. Victory muffins will just be different. She watches the swatches of sun on the ground until they start to swim in her vision and she has to look away. “What’s the Capitol like?”

“It’s cool,” he says with a shrug.

When he doesn’t elaborate, Annie asks, “That’s it?”

“I don’t know. It’s weird. The people dress like they’re in costumes all the time. And they sound weird when they talk.” His eyes meet hers guiltily. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“I won’t,” she says solemnly.

“It’s not too late to drop out of the Academy,” he says, and Annie’s caught so off guard by the sudden change in topic that she almost drops her notebook.

“What? I’m not dropping out. I’m going to—”

“Win the Games, yeah,” Finnick finishes. He’s not looking at her anymore, but his eyes have taken on a glassy look. “Just try to think about if that’s really what you want.”

What is he even talking about? “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I was reaped,” he reminds her.

“I know,” Annie replies, because she’s watched the reapings of every living victor enough times to memorize them. “But you trained here before that. You must have wanted it a little.”

Finnick shrugs. “I guess. I don’t really remember, honestly. Everything feels different now.”

It would, after an experience like the Hunger Games.

Annie stands up, sliding her notebook back into her bag. “I hope you figure it out,” she offers. “Whatever it is you’re thinking about.”

His eyes gleam in the sun as he looks up at her. “Thanks, Annie.”