Chapter Text
PART ONE: THE SHARK
I sleep in that morning. We are the last district, so there is no point in getting up early, unless you want to watch the others live. But why? There will be a recap later, complete with commentary.
So I sleep in, then lay in bed for another half hour, because I can. Most days I either get up early for school or to go out on my father’s fishing boat. I enjoy the work. My father is the manager of a fishing group. He actually owns his own boat, and oversees a fleet of about a dozen Capitol-owned boats. He hires the crews, organizes sales and shipping, the whole hook and sinker. It’s nice, really. We make enough money to be quite comfortable, and my father is well-known and well-liked, so we get along well.
Ever since I was big enough to manage my own fishing pole, he let me come along on weekends to fish for fun and learn the family business so someday I can take over. When I was twelve, he decided I was big enough to start actually helping, so he put me on his most experienced crew so they could keep me out of too much trouble while I learned the ropes. When I turned fifteen and there were some staffing changes due to retirements and a shipwreck with no survivors, he let me pick a crew from the existing group, and from then on, I was in charge. Since then, we have been one of four crews on the largest fishing boat, the one my father captains personally. I love it. I love the sea air, the camaraderie, the sheer effort of fishing. Every weekend I am exhausted—going to school during the week is almost a vacation.
So the reaping is a special day. After being sufficiently lazy, I get up and get dressed. Dad bought me a new dress for the occasion.
“Your last reaping is something to celebrate, I think,” he said, when he handed me the box last night after supper.
The dress is sea green and gorgeous. I leave my hair down, letting it fall all the way to my waist, and tie my seashell necklace around my neck. It was my mother’s, and after her death, it became mine. A single white shell, perhaps an inch in diameter, strung on a simple cord. I smile at my reflection, then walk downstairs.
Dad hands me a plate of broccoli, rice, and seabass. Not my favorite, but he always does this. Reaping lunch is mediocre, reaping supper with our neighbors is extravagant and delicious.
We have just finished when there is a knock at the door.
“Yeah!” Dad calls down the hallway without getting up.
The door opens and Mako steps inside. He winks at me as he pulls up a chair.
“Lunch?” My father gestures at his own plate.
“No thanks,” Mako says. “Mom had us finish last night’s salmon, so I’m full up on that. You’re still planning on supper tonight, right?”
Dad and I both nod.
“Good,” Mako continues, “Because Mom’s making seafood.”
“You’ll have to narrow that down,” I say with a mouthful of broccoli.
“Can’t. She’s making all of it. Lobster, clam, oyster, calamari, caviar. She even said she found some escargot on the… in town.”
We all know what he isn’t saying. Just because we have all the seafood doesn’t mean we get to eat it all. The good stuff goes to the Capitol, and we get the leftovers, but the black market thrives here, and Mako’s mother supplies the whole neighborhood with her finds.
When my father and I have finished our lunch, we sit in silence for a moment, considering what is about to happen. Finally, Dad says, “Well, you two have to be there earlier anyway, so how about I do the dishes this time, and I’ll see you after?”
Mako nods. I give Dad a quick hug, then follow Mako out the front door. He takes my hand, lacing our fingers together. “Happy Hunger Games, my love.”
“And may the odds be ever in your favor, my dearest,” I laugh.
We separate before reaching the square, he to the boys’ side and I to the girls’. I register, then walk to the very back of the square with the rest of the eighteen-year-old girls. As tall as I am, I make for even the back row of that group. I have just settled in place when Jade and Coral hurry up to me.
“Oh your dress is beautiful!” Jade gushes. “I wish my dad would buy me a new reaping dress every year.”
“We all know you’d never wear it again though,” Coral says with a grin.
Jade smiles. “Okay, true, they’re not very multi-functional. I’d feel silly wearing it to school, and it would just get caught on everything at work.”
Jade works in her parents’ net shop, designing and making the fishing nets that fishermen like my father use. Coral is training to be a teacher, so much of any conversation Jade and I have about fishing techniques goes right over her head, but we love her anyway.
The square fills in quickly. We are nothing here if not punctual—though usually only on reaping day. At two o’clock, the speeches start. They mayor talks for a little while, then Casca says a few words as well, and then it is time.
Casca walks to the first bowl, reaches in, and pulls a slip of paper. He walks back to the microphone, opens the paper, and says, “The female tribute from District Four...”
I give the customary sigh of relief. Another year, another tribute. I am done. I turn to smile at Coral and Jade, but they are not smiling back. They are staring. Coral has tears in her eyes. And then it hits me. They have called my name.
“Annie Cresta?” Casca says again. He has no idea who I am. But most everyone else here does. Heads turn toward me. For some reason all I can think about is how beautiful this would look from above. The funnel of faces all facing one point, and that one point is me. My red hair and green dress. Striking.
I walk through the crowd in a haze. There is silence. On the stage, I see Four’s six surviving past victors. They are sizing me up already, deciding if I am a contender. Last year they had a pair of thirteen-year-olds. Both dead within twenty-four hours.
I reach the stage, walk up the steps, stand awkwardly while Casca moves to the other bowl, pulls another piece of paper, reads another name.
“Mako Silther.”
I do not react. I cannot react. I hope very much that no one else reacts either. That is the last thing we need.
Mako walks forward. Like me, he was at the back, and watching him move through the crowd, I realize how painfully long it took me to reach the stage. And he didn’t stand there gaping like a fish for several seconds before starting.
When he reaches the stage, Casca has us shake hands, and the people of Four applaud dutifully. Then we are escorted into the Justice Building, into separate rooms, to say our goodbyes.
My father comes in first. He is not crying, but I can see the pain in his eyes. We embrace, silent at first, but then I remember.
“No one can know,” I whisper. My voice is more frantic than I would prefer, but given the circumstances, I think I am doing okay.
“I won’t say a word. And I’ll pass it on to everyone else.”
“Thank you.”
Then he steps back, hands on my shoulders, just looking at me. Looking at me like it’s the last time he’s ever going to see me. Which, in fairness, it probably is. I’m eighteen, strong, and good with pointy objects, but in the arena, anything can happen.
After at least a minute, I can stand it no longer. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Goodbye’ seems so final.”
“Your mom always told me, you don’t have to say goodbye, just make sure you don’t leave anything unsaid.”
I shrug. “I guess that doesn’t leave much for us, does it?”
He laughs, then pulls me into a hug. “I love you so much, and you have always made me so proud to be your dad.”
There are tears running down my cheeks. “I love you too. I couldn’t have wished for a better dad. And I’m gonna come home.”
Dad nods. “I know you can do it.”
And then the Peacekeeper opens the door and says our time is up. Dad gives me one last hug, then walks out.
As he exits, Jade and Coral come in. They are both crying.
“Please don’t,” I say, because I know I can be strong for me, but I’m not sure I can be strong enough for all three of us in this moment.
They run to me and wrap me in their arms, still sobbing, but Jade has the good sense to speak so quietly I can barely hear here when she says, “What about Mako?”
“We won’t tell anyone,” Coral says, squeezing my hands. “We’ll get all the kids who know and make sure nobody tells.”
Jade nods, but doesn’t stop staring at me. “Annie, what are you going to do?”
I shrug. “Hope someone else kills one of us before it comes to that. The odds are at least in our favor that way.”
Jade nods again, but she doesn’t seem convinced. “You have to come home.”
“I will,” I say. “I can do it.”
“We know,” Coral says. “If any girl we know can win, it’s you.”
The Peacekeeper is back. Jade and Coral hold my hands all the way to the door, where the Peacekeeper stops me and pushes them away. I can hear Coral sobbing.
Mako’s parent’s come in next. They have been crying. I don’t blame them. Before I can say anything though, Mr. Silther says, “No one will say anything.”
I nod. We are all on the same page then. That’s good. I will not be like the pair from Ten.
We sit in silence for several minutes. None of us know what to say.
When the Peacekeeper opens the door and the Silthers start to leave, I practically shout after them, “Take care of Dad! Make him come to supper! Please!”
Mrs. Silther turns back to me and nods, her eyes brimming with tears, and then the door shuts again.
My last visitors nearly aren’t all allowed into the room because there are too many of them, but the Peacekeeper takes pity on us, and lets my whole fishing crew crowd in.
Circled around me, they say a rushed Fisherman’s Prayer, asking for calm seas, fair winds, and a worthy ship. Then Rizz claps a hand on my shoulder and says, “Annie, you can win.”
“I know,” I say.
“No, listen to me. You can win. I’m not saying that to comfort you as you go to your death, and I don’t want you saying it to convince yourself that there’s hope. I’m saying it because it’s true. You’re our Tiger Shark. You can win, and you will win, if you remember that. Nobody messes with tiger sharks. You just have to show them that.”
I nod. Rizz means it, and his confidence has given me confidence. He is right. None of the other tributes are brave enough to swim with tiger sharks, but I am. I will win.
The Peacekeeper tells my crew it is time, so we quickly shake hands all around, and they file out. Once Rizz has followed the rest of them, the Peacekeeper escorts me out of the room, down the hall, out of the Justice Building, and onto the platform at the train station. He gestures at the door of the train, so I step inside, and the door closes behind me.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Inside, sitting at a mahogany table, are our mentors. Before getting on the train, there’s no way to know who they will be this year. Well, that’s not entirely true. Mags is always there. Mags, the seventy-five-year-old who won the Eleventh Games. Mags, who suffered what the doctors said must have been a stroke last year and whose words are now garbled. Mags, the woman who is so kind to everyone. Mags, who somehow won her Games and who helped mentor five others to victory. Mags, who has never been able to keep a girl alive. But the man is a mystery. Nobody really knows how mentors are chosen once you have a pool of potential mentors. It’s been Finnick Odair every year since he won, and before that it was Beck, who won something like forty-five years ago. To my knowledge, the other two have never mentored. But Cellin is a slobbering drunk and Manta had a ferocious temper before he won fifteen years ago, and victory only made it worse. Dad told me Manta has never been a mentor because one of the rules is you have to treat your tributes well, and even the Capitol thinks Manta would be too cruel to be allowed. Cellin, though… District Twelve has a drunk for a mentor every year. Then again, he’s their only surviving victor. Maybe if Beck and Finnick both dropped dead, they’d drag Cellin out. Or Maybe Mags would just do it herself like she did for ten years. Who knows.
I am jerked back to reality by Finnick. Finnick, who is only a year older than me, but has already mentored four groups of losing tributes. I’m sure he’s already coming up with a plan. Already hopeful, maybe even confident, that he has a winner this year. A pair of eighteen-year-old fishermen. The odds may not be great, but they are at least in our favor.
Finnick gestures at the chair across from him. Mako is sitting across from Mags, staring at nothing. I sit as Casca enters from the front of the car and announces that we will be leaving in five minutes. He walks past us and exits out the back, into another car.
Once Casca has closed the door behind him, Finnick speaks.
“All right, what are you good at?”
“Lobster diving,” I say dryly.
Finnick nods. “Breath-holding,” he says to Mags, who is scribbling on a notepad.
Finnick turns to Mako. “You?”
“Math,” Mako says even more dryly.
“Angles, trajectory, force, velocity.”
Mags nods and keeps writing.
“You again,” Finnick looks back at me.
“Reaching high shelves.”
“Damn it, that was gonna be mine,” Mako says, a hint of a smile in his voice.
“We’ll write it for both.” Finnick turns to Mags, who is decidedly not writing.
“Why?” she says. And then says something else that takes me a few seconds to realize was “It’s obvious.”
Finnick nods again, drums his fingers on the table for a few seconds, then says, “Come on, help me out. We can’t help you if…”
He is still talking, but I am not listening. I am counting fingers, rapid taps and pauses, the occasional use of the thumb. Finnick is saying something about how we will need to focus on the things we don’t know, like edible plants and building fires—and knowing when it is safe to build a fire and when we should never under any circumstances build a fire—when it hits me.
Stop that, I tap.
Stop what? Finnick taps back, still talking, but I can’t concentrate on both conversations.
Alphabet backwards. No point.
Yes point.
And then he stops tapping and is still talking about fires and learning what food is okay to eat raw and what needs cooked.
The train starts with the smallest of lurches. I stare out the window, watching District Four pass us by. After ten minutes, Mags stands up and takes Mako’s hand, leading him to the door at the back of the car.
“Where are they…?” The door closes behind them, cutting me off.
“We have to strategize. Mags and I flipped for it, and this year, honey, I get you.”
This makes me distinctly uncomfortable. For one thing, “honey” is not a term of endearment thrown around by nineteen-year-old boys, or anyone in Four for that matter. Second, I don’t really like the way he is looking at me. I’m sure he’s probably just sizing me up, but something about it is…
“I’m not a piece of meat,” I snap.
Finnick smiles. “No you are not. In fact, I hear you’re a tiger shark.”
I stare. “How do you know that?” It’s just a nickname. Nothing bad. But it is a nickname Rizz and the rest of the crew gave me. It doesn’t get thrown around in school. My friends don’t call me Tiger Shark, my father doesn’t call me Tiger Shark. I start to wonder if Finnick has been stalking me. Maybe the Reaping is rigged, and they have known it will be me for months now, so Finnick has studied up. Maybe-
“Don’t flatter yourself, honey. I hear things. Actually I’m glad they pulled you.”
“I’m not.”
“I don’t expect you would be. But just think about it this way. Your crew knows you’re a tiger shark, I know you’re a tiger shark, you know you’re a tiger shark, now you just have to show 23 other people that you’re a tiger shark. Understand?”
I tilt my head to the side, scrutinizing him. Maybe Finnick Odair isn’t just a pretty face, though I suspect that is still most of his talent. “A shark won’t mess with you unless it has a reason.”
Finnick nods. “And what did they just give you?”
“A reason.”
“Exactly. So that’s gonna be our strategy.” He pops a grape into his mouth. “I know it was Rizz, and I know the sacred bond a crew has, but we are going to take that and run with it. Everything is about Tiger Shark now. You act like one from now on, even more than you already do. You tell Caesar about it during your interview. You exude that confidence, that strength, that will to fight, that unshakeable…”
“Cold-blooded killer instinct?”
“Yeah, that.” A smile spreads across his face. “I just realized, I’ve got two sharks this year. We’re gonna play that. Now, back to business. Who taught you Taps?”
Why that is relevant, I don’t know. “My father.”
“Good for him, makes my job easier.”
“Why?”
“You remember the pair from Ten? Cally and Alvan?”
How could anyone forget them? “Yes.”
“Well that made me realize how helpful a little secret communication can be. And Taps is all Four has, so I’m glad one of you knows it.”
“How do you know Mako doesn’t?”
“I was watching him after I did the first run of the alphabet. I could see in your eyes you’d get there eventually, so I ignored you until you tapped back. He didn’t have a clue though. Not even a good blank expression to hide it. Just confusion that there was a pattern, but he had no idea what it was.”
“What, and that makes me better than him?”
“No,” Finnick shrugs. “I figure we’ve got an even shot for either of you, but it does mean I can tell you this.” Then then he taps, It has to stay secret. If they find out, they will make you the next pair from Ten.
I nod.
Finnick thinks for a moment, then says, “It puts you at a disadvantage, because you will have to work twice as hard. You have to act, which means your focus will be on acting, on looking normal, and it’s hard to look normal if you’re trying.” He smiles. “But that’s why Mags and I are here. It’s our job to help you.”
I nod again. “Then help us.”
“Don’t worry honey, I will.”
“And stop calling me honey.”