𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐄 ━━ finnick odair ✓

𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞. ( preparations )

 I can't stand to be in the room for another minute. Following in Finnick's wake, I rise abruptly and head for the elevator. I punch in the combination I'd seen Finnick use to get us to the roof. In no time at all, I've arrived. When I step outside, I'm finally able to breathe. I take large gulps of air into my lungs, feeling as if I'll never have enough. The view of the bustling city seems more sinister than fascinating now that my hope has been destroyed. My first chance to make a name for myself outside of gossip has failed horribly.

I hadn't stuck around to see what the scores of the other tributes were, but there's no doubt in my mind that mine will be the lowest. The very lowest and very highest scores are not often seen, often going years between such drastic measures. Never before has there been a one or a twelve (I can at least be thankful I didn't make history), but only a handful of twos and elevens have occurred. To have both a score of two and eleven in one game will pique the interest of many Capitol Betters, no doubt. It would be a miracle to secure any sponsors at this point.

I find a stick among the gravel and draw spiraling lines to soothe me as I think. I've always been a planner, never entering a situation without knowing the way I want to act. I pride myself on my ability to think of loopholes and solutions to tough problems. Right now, though, nothing comes to mind. I see no way out of the hole I've dug myself into. I will have to survive in that arena based on skills alone. There will be no help from doting sponsors and adoring fans. I've proven through training that I'm gifted in mental arts, but struggle with even the most basic physical tasks. The one thing I learned well was to stand up straight and walk correctly, which won't be of much use when I come face to face with a swordsman.

I think then of the people I've aligned myself with. Will Fritz and Audrey still want to partner up with me? They must be thinking that they've picked quite a dud. I hope they don't reconsider. The thought of being shunned by the world outside as well as inside of the arena is overwhelming. I shoot a silent repeated prayer into the void that Finnick won't be contacted by the District 3 mentors tonight calling everything off.

The thought of mentors brings back into focus the ever present ache for my mother. Would she have been watching tonight, tucked away in our home? Most likely. I wonder if it's disappointment or despair she feels right now. Perhaps both. Maybe she wishes she'd pushed me harder into the realm of athletics. No, she wouldn't. She'd come to terms with that a long time ago.

The wind beat something fierce, buffeting the side of my face as I ran. The irony in the fact that I was running away from track practice did not strike me until much later. I pushed the pace as I heard a whistle sounding somewhere behind me. I didn't stop until I'd reached the safety of the fine arts building.

There weren't many students enrolled in any of the after school athletics programs, so it was quite difficult to slip away unnoticed. Whenever I saw a lapse in supervision, I'd be off. I knew they'd call my mom at the end of each training day I missed, but I never cared. A stern lecture from her was better than hours of humiliation on the field.

I knew I'd be a decent competitor if I'd worked out enough, but that thought was too hard to push into reality. I was a naturally bookish kid, which suited the District I grew up in. Almost all of the children around me preferred the library to the sports centers, which made it all the more infuriating that my mom pushed me to excel physically.

When I reached the bathroom, my cheeks were rosy with exertion and chill. My hands gripped the edges of the porcelain sink as I inspected my image in the mirror. The bruise above my left eye was darkening. Softball practice yesterday had left me with both a shiner and deeply wounded pride. My skin was tanner than it had ever been before, having been forced to spend hours each day in the sun. This too set me apart from the people around me. Even in the winter months my skin marked me as other, the dark honey hue stuck out against the cool pale masses like a sore thumb.