Chapter Text

The Prodigy

July 65 ADD

Murdock slashes his sword in a wide arc toward me, and I just barely dodge it in time. I’m not expecting it. It’s a stupid move to make, leaving his side completely exposed. I take advantage of the opening, jabbing my knife into his side. The blunted tip thuds into the padded fabric of his training jacket and stops.

“Good,” Murdock says. “We tend to put more emphasis on fighting opponents who are trained in combat since they are more difficult to defeat, but it is important to remember that most of the kids you’ll face aren’t trained. They won’t know enough to prioritize defending themselves over killing you, and if you forget that, you could very easily be killed by a tribute with no skill whatsoever.”

I nod, and Murdock walks me through several more scenarios of how a desperate, untrained kid with a sword might attack me. I’m getting the hang of it by the end of the session.

“Maybe you should get some actual kids with no training to come here and have a go at me,” I suggest as I gulp down some water. I’m only half joking.

Murdock looks thoughtful. “You know, that’s actually not a bad idea, Finnick.”

I shrug. “Least they can do, really, if they don’t want to go themselves and be slaughtered.”

Murdock chuckles. “Yeah, you got that right.”

I laugh too. It’s kind of an awful thing to joke about, but most of us trainees share a pretty dark sense of humor. Murdock aged out a couple of years ago without being chosen, but still — he was willing to go, so he understands.

As for me, it’s really no use pretending that anything except the Hunger Games lies in my future. I’m not trying to brag when I say that I’m sort of a prodigy. Everyone says so. Last year, the academy invited me to become a full-time trainee, so I don’t go to school or help on my dad’s fishing boats anymore. They give me a monthly stipend, too. The only thing I’m asked to do is train. I spend hours every day becoming faster, stronger, smarter, deadlier.

It’s not all that common to get this opportunity, at least not in District Four. Only the best of the best — usually the top three or four out of each age cohort — are invited to become full-time trainees. Typically, this happens around the time they are fifteen or sixteen. It’s never been done before for someone as young as me, but I beat out the top ranked boys in the two age cohorts above me. The older kids grumbled about it some, but no one could deny I’d earned the spot.

There just aren’t that many spots to go around since the academy’s resources are so limited. Since it isn’t technically allowed to exist, the academy has no official funding and relies on small donations. No one can give very much since no one really has all that much.

My family is probably about as close to rich as anyone in Four with our fishing business, but we still don’t have a lot of money to spare. It’s not like we have to worry about having enough food or if one of us needs a new pair of shoes or something, but money is tight sometimes. Like, when one of the boats breaks down, or if the fishing is poor for too many days in a row. We’re certainly nowhere close to rich by Capitol standards. No one is. Well, except maybe the victors.

Still, with everyone pitching in, we get by. Even the very poorest give what they can to the academy. It’s in their own best interest since they rely on tesserae the most. This way, everyone can sign up for all the tesserae they’re eligible for without worrying about being reaped. And in the years we win, the Capitol gives us extra food for a year.

It doesn’t sound like much, but we need that lifeline. Let the academy collapse, and the effects would snowball until District Four was every bit as poor and destitute as some of the lower districts. It’s a good system that benefits everyone.

Well… everyone except trainees like me, I suppose.

Don’t get me wrong — I’m not actually bitter about it or anything. The whole district recognizes the sacrifice trainees make, and everyone treats us really well. People regularly bring us small gifts, and there are several shopkeepers around town who refuse to let me pay for anything. It might be a short life, but it’s undeniably a good one. It’s an honor to serve my district in this way, and I’m going to do everything I can to win when it’s my turn.

I say when, not if, because I know that short of some fluke injury, I will be chosen someday. I’m probably good enough to be in the running already, but the trainers aren’t going to consider sending me this early. I might have a decent chance now, but they think I’ll have an excellent chance in a few more years — at least insofar as anyone could be said to have an excellent chance in the Hunger Games.

I’ve looked at the odds bookies give on tributes. The most heavily favored tribute I’ve ever come across had three-to-one odds of not dying. He lost.

My dad says I shouldn’t fixate on that. He’s never once doubted that I will win. He raves to anyone who will listen that I’m going to win the Hunger Games and get him a house in the Victors’ Village. That was always his dream, after all.

He was supposed to go to the Hunger Games himself, actually. At eighteen, Galen Odair was chosen as one of the male tributes for the second quarter quell. It was the happiest day of his life when he was chosen. But then, just two days before the reaping, he sprained his ankle. It wasn’t a bad injury, but they weren’t going to send anyone who was at less than full health. He fought tooth and nail to still be allowed to go, but the trainers refused.

That was the greatest disappointment of his life. Growing up, Dad always had big dreams. He wanted the sort of life only a victor can have — the parties, the riches, the glamor — but instead he had to resign himself to staying in District Four. When he aged out of the academy, he married his childhood sweetheart, Katia, and took over the family business. It wasn’t a bad life; he did well with the business, and to hear people talk, my mother was perhaps the most stunningly beautiful woman in all of Four. It just wasn’t what he had dreamed of.

When I came along, Dad wanted nothing more than for me to have the life he missed out on. He’s been training me to fight for as long as I can remember, even before I was old enough for the academy. Mostly, I learned with a trident early on because that’s what we had on the fishing boats. I’m still a little better with a trident than an ordinary spear, actually.

He’s tried to prepare me for it mentally as well. I remember when I was little, it used to upset me if the fish were still alive when he cleaned them. One time when I was maybe four or five, he noticed that I turned away and wouldn’t watch. That day, he handed me the knife and made me behead the fish myself, one after another, until I could do it without crying. Later on, he would do it with other animals too — birds, rodents, kittens. I still don’t like thinking about it, but I understand why it was necessary. If I’m going to be a victor, I can’t be squeamish about blood and death.

In the locker room, I take off my training gear and change into shorts and a t-shirt. I don’t bother showering — no point if I’m just going to jump in the ocean later. Then, I put everything away and head outside.

Evie comes up behind me. I notice her coming — I’d make a pretty poor excuse of a career tribute if I didn’t — but I pretend not to and let her cover my eyes with her hands.

“Guess who?” she calls in a sing-song voice.

“Hey, Evie,” I say, grinning.

I turn, and she kisses me. For a moment, I’m lost in it, unable to remember where I even am. It’s like that, kissing Evie — always something exciting and passionate. She’s experienced in a way none of the other girls I’ve kissed before were.

“Meet me down by the pier tonight?” she asks.

“I can’t tonight. Have other plans,” I tell her. That sounds cooler than ‘I’m hanging out with my mom,’ I think.

Evie makes a pouty face, and I laugh.

“Tomorrow?” I ask hopefully.

“Tomorrow,” she agrees.

I see Mom waiting at the corner. She waves at me, and I hurry down to meet her. She gives me a big hug, which is maybe a little embarrassing, but I don’t mind.

“Who’s the lovely lady?” she asks.

“Oh, um…” I blush a little. I’m almost completely shameless, according to my friends, but it’s still embarrassing to talk about this stuff with my mom. “That’s Evie.”

“Is she your girlfriend?” Mom asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I guess. Sort of.” Evie has never really said if I’m supposed to be her boyfriend or anything, but she’s really gorgeous, and she likes me, so that’s good enough for me.

“She’s older than you,” Mom says.

“Only a year,” I tell her.

“Hmm,” Mom says. “Well, just remember to…”

“Yes, Mom. I know,” I say quickly. I definitely do not want to have that conversation again.

“Okay.” She smiles at me, though her eyes look a little sad. “Just don’t try and grow up too fast, Finn.”

“Why not? I only have a few years left to do it.”

I say it without thinking. It’s the sort of thing other academy kids would find amusing. Unfortunately, my mom does not.

Her face falls instantly. “Finnick, please don’t say things like that,” she says.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I promise, I’m going to win and come back to you.”

It’s a promise I don’t know if I can keep. Everyone knows that no matter how much you train, there are other factors at play in the Hunger Games. A lot of the time, whether a tribute wins just depends on how much the Capitol likes them. I’m pretty well-liked in Four, but who knows what the Capitol will think. If they don’t like me — if the rich Capitol people don’t want to sponsor me — then I will lose no matter how good I am.

“I don’t want to think about you winning either,” Mom says.

She looks so sad that I desperately want to say something to comfort her, but I have no idea what I could even say. She doesn’t want me to lose, and she doesn’t want me to win… so I’m kind of out of options here. The silence stretches on too long.

“You don’t have to go, you know,” she says finally. “You have a choice.” She pauses for a moment, then adds, “Your father would get over it.”

He wouldn’t, though, and neither would Four. They would hate me. How could they not after investing so much in training me?

I suppose I could just do poorly in training on purpose so that I would never be asked to volunteer, and no one would have to know. But how could I ever live with myself if I did that? The truth is that I don’t really have a choice at this point. I made my choice years ago. But I know it will just upset her to hear, so I don’t say it. Instead, I just nod.

Mom manages a smile again. “So you want to hang around town or take the boat out?” she asks.

“Boat,” I answer immediately.

“Of course,” she says, and I duck away as she ruffles my hair. “You wouldn’t want to be seen in town with your old mom.”

“That’s not true. You’re not so old,” I say with a grin.

“Hey!” she exclaims, and I laugh.

She’s really not old at all. Mom still turns heads everywhere she goes. It drives Dad a little crazy sometimes.

We head down to the dock and climb aboard the skiff. It’s motorized and a bit of a luxury to take it out just for fun, but with my academy stipend, we can afford the gas. As Mom steers us out of the marina, I sit at the bow of the boat, basking in the wind in my face and the rocking of the waves. I love this feeling more than anything.

We drop anchor out near the sandbar, a favorite spot of ours for swimming. Not wasting a second, I strip down to my underwear and dive right in. Mom follows a moment later.

“Race you out to the buoy?” she suggests.

“You’re on,” I say, grinning.

We take off. I slow down when I’m getting close to let her catch up a little. I’m actually surprised by how far behind she is. Mom is a really good swimmer. She makes it there a few seconds later, panting in a way that seems a little dramatic for the short distance we swam.

“You’re going to have to take pity on me in my old age,” she says.

“No way,” I tell her.

I swim back to the boat and climb up the ladder. Mom catches up behind me. I’m getting ready to jump back in the water when I hear a thud. I whip my head around to see Mom collapsed on the deck of the boat.

“Mom!” I exclaim, rushing to her. Her eyes are closed.

“Mom!” She opens her eyes but looks groggy and unfocused.

“What happened? Are you alright?” I ask.

“I… I don’t know,” she says. “I think I must have fainted.”

Fainted? She’s never fainted before. I frown.

“I’m sure it was just the heat getting to me,” Mom rushes to reassure me.

I help her to sit with her back resting against the side of the boat. I find her water bottle and pass it to her. “Here, you should drink some water.”

She takes a few sips.

“How are you feeling?” I ask anxiously.

“I’m alright,” she says. “Just a little tired is all.”

It’s not like her at all, and it worries me. “We should head back in,” I say. “Will you be okay there if I take it slowly?”

She gives me a smile. “I’ll be okay. I’m sorry we can’t stay out.”

“I don’t care about that. I just want you to be okay,” I say.

I keep glancing back at her as I drive the boat back. I take care to hit the waves at the right angle to avoid jostling her around too much.

“I’m really okay, Finnick,” she assures me on perhaps the third or fourth time I look back to check on her.

We make it back to the dock, and I help her out of the boat.

“Do you need me to carry you?” I ask.

I’m being serious, but she laughs. “No, I do not need you to carry me. I promise that I can still walk.”

She does indeed seem alright on the short walk home, though I make sure to walk slowly and keep a close eye on her in case she starts feeling lightheaded again.

“I think I’ll just take a little nap,” she says when we get home.

“Okay, Mom. Call if you need anything,” I tell her.

“I will.” She smiles and musses my hair. “You’re a good boy, Finn.”

She goes to her room, and I don’t know what else to do, so I head outside, hoping Annie might be around.

Sure enough, she’s sitting on the swing back behind her house. Rooster is also on the swing, his head and front paws draped over her lap. Rooster is a fluffy reddish bear of a dog who thinks he’s a lot smaller than he actually is.

“Move over,” I tell the dog. Rooster just looks at me lazily, so I push him to the side until there’s enough room for me to sit down. He licks my face, then resettles himself in my lap.

“You’re back early,” Annie remarks.

“My mom wasn’t feeling good,” I say.

“Oh, is she alright?” Annie asks.

“She says she’s okay. She fainted, but it was probably just heat exhaustion.”

I’m trying to convince myself of the words as I say them. Mom has spent plenty of long summer days out on the water in the scorching sun, and nothing like this has ever happened before.

Annie frowns, probably thinking the same thing. We’ve lived next to each other and been best friends our whole lives, so she knows Mom well enough to know that this isn’t normal.

“Well, tell her I hope she feels better,” Annie says.

I nod. Rooster rolls onto his back, and I scratch his belly.

“What are you doing Friday?” she asks.

Oh yeah — I’d almost forgotten that Friday is Reaping Day, so we have it off. “I don’t know,” I say with a shrug.

“Well, my family is having this big seafood boil,” Annie tells me. “A bunch of aunts and uncles and old people. It would suck a lot less if you were there.”

I laugh. “I’ll see if I can. My dad will probably still want me to get a little training in before the Reaping.”

“You think we've got a shot of winning this year?” Annie asks. “I mean, Emory and Grove are good, right?”

“Yeah, they’re solid,” I say. “But…”

I break off, not really sure how to say what I’m thinking. The truth is that strong and smart and well-trained as this year’s chosen tributes are, I just can’t see either of them winning. It feels like they lack some elusive, undefinable trait that is absolutely essential to becoming a victor. It just seems awful to say that I think they are both doomed to die, though, so I don’t.

“I know what you mean,” Annie says after a minute. “There’s nothing… special… nothing particularly interesting about them.” She smiles a crooked smile. “That came out wrong. That sounds awful.”

She isn’t wrong, though. To win the Hunger Games, you have to, above all, be interesting, and there just isn’t anything about either of this year’s tributes to make them stand out from the herd. Maybe their mentors or stylists can find some kind of angle to get the Capitol to notice them, but I just don’t see it happening.

I consider for a moment whether Annie and I are interesting. I think that Annie is, but I might just be biased because she’s my best friend. As for myself, I have no idea. I’ll probably be able to play up my looks at least. I inherited Mom’s green eyes, wavy red-blonde hair, and high cheekbones — all distinctive features that tend to make people take notice. Beyond that, I’m not sure.

We sit in silence, just petting Rooster, who basks in the attention.

Then all of a sudden, with zero warning, Annie leans over and kisses me. I’m so taken by surprise that I forget to move my mouth.

“What was that for?” I sputter.

Annie shrugs. “Just wanted to see what Evie Grador was going on about. But I can't say I’m impressed. I’ve had better.”

“I just wasn’t ready,” I argue. “You took me by surprise. I can do better.”

To prove it, I pull her towards me and catch her lips in a slow, tender kiss. I finish by sucking lightly on her lower lip. Girls always seem to love that.

“Okay, yeah. That was better,” Annie admits, sounding slightly breathless, and I grin smugly. “But seriously, Evie Grador? She’s dumber than a bag of hammers, Finn. You know that she once asked me if nightlock berries were safe to eat.”

“Really, nightlock?” I don’t laugh because that seems like crossing some kind of line, but Annie does have a point. Evie has never exactly been known for her intelligence. She’s strong enough that she hasn’t been dismissed from the academy yet, but no one would seriously argue that she has a chance in hell of actually winning the Games.

“Yes, nightlock,” Annie repeats. “You know — the ones that kill you in half a second.”

I shrug. “She has talents other than recognizing edible plants.”

“Like what?” Annie demands. “She’s barely ranked high enough not to be dismissed.”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” I ask with a smirk.

Annie blushes adorably and gives me a playful shove. “Eww, don’t be gross.”

I laugh. “You’re such a prude, Annie.”

“Am not!” Annie says indignantly. “And besides, I think this is short-sighted of you. Keep going through the academy girls at this rate, and you’re going to end up having to kill one of your exes.”

“Someone else will probably do the job before I have to,” I say with a shrug. “And besides, we both know that Evie is not tribute material, so nothing to worry about there.”

Annie laughs, and I briefly wonder if we are terrible people for joking about this, but I shake away the thought as soon as it comes. It’s just reality. No matter what, twenty-three kids are going to die, and to pretend otherwise will only ensure that I’m one of them.

But then another thought occurs to me — a worse thought — and I’m surprised the possibility has never crossed my mind before.

“I wouldn’t be able to if it were you.”

Annie says nothing for a moment, the same horror I’m feeling reflected in her eyes.

“I wouldn’t be able to either,” she says finally.

I nod. “So… I guess we just sit around and wait for the gamemakers to finish one of us off?”

“I guess so,” Annie agrees.

Hopefully it won’t come to that. Annie and I are both likely to be tributes at some point, but probably not in the same year. I know that the odds of us both winning are still minuscule, but at least it’s possible. At least there is a tiny thread of hope for us to hold onto.

By the next morning, I’ve mostly forgotten about the whole fainting episode.

“Mom, I’m heading out!” I call as I open the front door.

I wait for the usual “Love you. Have a good day,” but it doesn’t come.

“Mom?” I call, peeking into the kitchen.

I take in the shattered mug before I see her sprawled on the ground.

Panic washes over me as I rush to her side. “Mom?” I see that she is breathing, but she doesn’t react. She must have hit her head because there’s blood on her forehead.

I have no idea what to do. I have to get help. I run over to Annie’s house and knock on the door frantically, hoping she hasn’t left yet. She hasn’t.

“It’s my mom. She collapsed again. I have to get her to the doctor,” I say in a single breath.

There’s only one doctor in Four, Doctor Reggie. Luckily, he isn’t far. Annie and I carry Mom between us. She’s starting to stir now, but still seems very out of it. I can’t stop my mind from racing from one terrible thought to another.

“She collapsed and hit her head,” I say to Doctor Reggie when we arrive. “Yesterday too. She said she thought it was the heat getting to her, but then it happened again this morning.”

Annie waits with me while the doctor works. I can’t think of anything to say, but I’m glad she’s here anyway. After what feels like hours, Doctor Reggie returns.

“How is she?” I demand.

“She’s… better,” Doctor Reggie says, though he doesn’t sound so sure. “I gave her some fluids, and her blood pressure has improved. She’s more aware than before.”

“What’s wrong with her?” I ask.

He sighs, and my heart sinks. “I’m afraid it’s not good news, son. Your mother is very sick. It looks to me like some type of blood cancer.”

I close my eyes, my breath coming in short gasps. No. This can’t be happening.

“But… you can fix that, right?” I hear myself saying. “There are medicines. People in the Capitol get cancer and get better all the time.”

Doctor Reggie shakes his head. “I’m very sorry, but there’s really nothing I can do beyond supportive care. If there are any medications for this, then we don’t have them in the districts.”

“We’ll pay whatever it takes to get them,” I insist. I know there are ways to get things from the Capitol. It won’t be cheap, but we can sell some of the fishing boats. Or there’s the money my parents will get from the academy when I go to the Hunger Games. Maybe someone would let them borrow against that.

“I wouldn’t even know what it is she needs,” Doctor Reggie admits sadly. “This isn’t like smuggling in a bit of morphling. We’re talking about highly specialized drugs, possibly even custom-made.” He shakes his head. “I’m so sorry, but there just isn’t any way.”

Only… there is one way.

“How long does she have?” I ask.

“A few months to a year, maybe. If we manage it well,” Doctor Reggie says, sounding miserable.

“Okay,” I say. “Can I see her now?”

“Uh… yes. I don’t see why not,” Doctor Reggie stammers. He and Annie both seem kind of taken aback by my sudden acceptance of the situation.

But of course, I haven’t actually accepted anything at all. If Doctor Reggie can’t save her, then I just need to find someone who can.

A few months will be enough. The reaping is tomorrow, which means I can be crowned victor in less than a month. Surely then I’ll be able to get anything I want from the Capitol. I have to do it. It’s the only way.