CHAPTER 6
- 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘁 𝘀𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀
( 𝗯𝘆 𝗽𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗯𝘂𝘁𝘀𝗸𝘆𝘄𝗮𝗹𝗸𝗲𝗿 )

            THE NEXT TWO TRAINING sessions are spent mindlessly in my opinion. It's heartbreaking how much I enjoy everyone's company now that I know only a few of us will be able to be broken out. At lunch the second day, one of the tributes made me laugh so hard that water came flying out of my nose, eventually dribbling down my chin onto the table. Finnick told me that it was the most attractive thing he'd ever seen me do, which definitely boosted my ego.

            I even bond with Katniss a bit more. Finnick gives her an hour-long lesson with his trident in exchange for some instruction with a bow and arrow. She teaches me how to properly skin an animal that isn't a fish, and afterwards, I show her how to tie a fishhook. The lessons are first spent in awkward silence, both of us incapable of properly upholding a conversation with people that are fairly unfamiliar. But, after a while, she starts to open up to me. She has a little sister named Primrose, the one who she originally volunteered for at the Reaping last year, and a cousin named Gale, who she used to poach with in the woods outside of District 12.

            Despite her revelations, I keep my mother's death to myself. I don't want to drop that information on her so suddenly just to hear the same response I've heard for years. All the teachers and the acquaintances I've had to tell, only to be given an uncomfortable sentiment in return. I'm so sorry for your loss, Sonnet. She lives on within you. She's in a better place now. You're such a strong, young woman.

            Over the years, I've lost almost every friend I had before I was reaped. Hazel, my best friend all throughout school until I started to reveal to her my mental issues and she abruptly had no time to visit me at all. Elliot, another close companion that disappeared when I moved to Victor's Village by ignoring my invitations to visit my new home. Dalia, a beautiful girl with long, flowing hair who resented me for my newfound wealth and refused to speak to me anytime after my triumph.

            Only Finnick withstands it all, and that can be surprising at times. He has a better way with people, he always has. Sometimes, I'm jealous of how easy it all comes to him, like his witty remarks and charming gestures.

            I guess Katniss and I are more similar than I'd imagined. Her cousin, Gale, seems to be her only true friend other than maybe Peeta, if she counts him at all. If it were under different conditions, we would be perfect for each other. Two lonely young women in desperate need of friendship and love to relieve themselves from the everlasting horrors that still reemerge. It's better for me not to get attached, just in case something goes wrong and the Mockingjay doesn't live.

            And she can't know about the plan. It's safer for her if she doesn't. In the case Katniss gets captured, she'll know nothing that's worth anything to the President. So I keep my lips sealed about any idea of companionship and stick solely to fishhooks and bows. Maybe, if we both survive, things will change.

            Now, on the third day of training, I must focus on my private session. This is a 15-minute period in which the tribute has to show off their skills to the Gamekeepers, and then after hours of contemplation, they receive a score based on their abilities between the numbers 1 and 12. There are many jokes about what everyone will do, like sing, dance, and strip naked in front of Plutarch. I tell Finnick that I might just grab the cans of camouflage paint to write a crud message on the tile floor. He laughs and tells me he'll just lie down and go to sleep.

            Gloss of District 1 gets called in first, and Katniss is scheduled to go last. I'm sitting beside Finnick on the long bench, waiting for the moment my name will be called and it'll be my turn to be judged. My leg bounces anxiously, and I try not to chew at my fingernails to ebb away the nerves. I still haven't decided what to perform yet, but does it really matter what I get scored? Everyone knows my talent anyway, so they'll be looking out for traps in the first place.

            "Hey," I say softly, placing my hand on Finnick's thigh. He sighs when I touch him, but he covers it up quickly with a cough into his elbow. I pretend I don't notice. "Are you ready?"

            "Yeah, I've just got to swing around a trident for a few minutes," he replies, putting his hand on top of mine and sliding it from side to side. "What did you decide, princess?"

            I shrug. "Maybe, knives. I don't know, I need to stand out and take the attention off of Katniss somehow."

            Finnick contemplates the options, but before he can give me a proper answer, his name is called out over a fuzzy speaker. He stands up, and our fingers still linger together, skin on skin. I can tell he's secretly nervous by the fretful look hidden in his wide eyes. Our hands hover until the connection breaks, and my arm flops back into my lap, his trace still remaining.

            The minutes go by slowly, but without Finnick, there is no liberation from my anxiety. I give in and gnaw my nails down until blood seeps slowly from the exposed slices deep beneath the skin. One bleeds so heavily that I have to continuously wipe it on my training suit, hoping the spotted bloodstains won't be too noticeable by the Gamekeepers from afar. My mother used to paint sour polish on my nails to hinder me from biting them off. If I tried, I would receive a mouthful of a disgusting, acerbic taste.

            My name is announced, but the male tribute from District 5 has to tap me on the shoulder to grab my attention. I jump up and find myself practically skipping down to the training room. Still no plan. If I just throw knives, Katniss Everdeen's arrows will be more show stopping than that. Maybe I can set some traps with ropes and knots. I need the eyes off of her and concentrated on someone less important, like me. There's no revolution balanced on my shoulders.

            The doors swing open to reveal Finnick walking smugly the opposite way. He looks at me momentarily before a Peacekeeper shoves him out entirely, slamming the doors afterwards. I gulp back the bile rising steadily in my throat. What can I do? What can I do to make a difference? President Snow might watch these, and this could be my chance to show him that he doesn't own me. He doesn't own anyone in the districts at all.

            "Sonnet Alcott, District 4!" I yell up to the many men that stare disdainfully down on me. All of their eyes stay fixated on me when I turn to look at all my options. Spears, knives, weights, fishhooks, traps, camouflage...

            Camouflage. I think back to what I told Finnick the day before over lunch. He'd apparently take a nap while I would write crude message on the tile in paint. I mean, who's going to stop me?

            My feet skid across the shiny floor, and I grab the red paint and a large brush into my grasp. I can't say something that outright defies the Capitol, or I'll surely be arrested and killed. Or will I? I'm going into the arena anyway, so maybe this is the chance I've been waiting for. If I say something crazy enough, it may just reach the President.

            I'm a song that's needed to be sung, and the games have given me a perfect opportunity.

            The bristles of the paintbrush are dipped roughly into the canister of gooey red paint. With a delicate hand, I swoop and spin my wrist to form the words that need to be read. Each curve of an 'o' and loop of a 's' brings me more confidence, fueling me onwards. My mind races with both excitement and underlying fear, making my hands shake subtly.

            Once I'm finished, I throw the paintbrush to next to my statement, splattering droplets of paint further across the tile. I even kick over the tin just for good measure causing the red ooze out slowly like blood next to my feet. Many of the Gamekeepers stand up to read my wide, block letters spanning across their field of vision. There's no looking away now.

            THE ODDS WERE NEVER IN OUR FAVOR.

           I'd chosen something just enough to show my disobedience but nothing too overpowering to get me possibly executed. The feeling of rebelliousness is so terrifyingly good. Finnick has always teased me for being a unwavering rule follower, and for once, instead of complying with the Capitol's games, I've just shamed it in front of its game masters.

            I grin at my play on words, but it dissolves when I feel the harsh grip of a gloved hand on my shoulder. I'm yanked backwards, slipping on the pool of paint, which colors my black shoes messily. A Peacekeeper drags me across the slick surface as I thrash back and forth, defiance pumping through my veins. Through my screams, I see the Gamekeepers burst into an angry outrage, pointing fingers and throwing insults in my direction. The traction on my shoes is gone, so I slide furiously in the guard's pinned hold.

            He releases me once I'm completely out of my session. I stand, my legs and feet covered in a thick layer of paint, with a hot face and clenched fists. The hallway is empty, but in the distance, I hear the speaker call out for the next tribute. I scoff to myself and turn to a shiny window to see the dim outline of my discolored jumpsuit and frizzy hair.

            The Gamekeepers know that I am a supporter of rebel activities, but it pleases me to know that the attention must be shifted away from Katniss now. She may still be the girl on fire, however, if she decides to display her shooting, she won't be an immediate threat. I sink down against the wall and rip off my sneakers, not bothering to untie the laces. And after throwing my shoes aside, I take a moment to cringe at my sticky hands and smothered ankles.

            Avox servants are the only people who see me in my messy state, but they don't do anything but give me wide-eyed glances. It surprises me they haven't sent an employee or one of the Gamekeepers to put me into my place and reprimand me for my insubordinate actions.

            I make my way to my room unstopped and slam the door behind me. Finnick is nowhere to be seen, so I have no one to rant my problems to but Phaedra, who decides to stop by before dinner to question me on my session. She almost faints when I explain to her what I had written, and then continues on to lecture me about loyalty and respect while pushing me into a bubble bath and trying to scrub away the bright red stains from my hands and legs. By the end, the water is colored red, reminding me of the blood I used to wash from my hands with the freezing cold water in the arena. Phaedra doesn't question it when I scramble out of the tub to rock back and forth on my bed for a while. No matter how hard we scrub, hints of red still stain my skin.

            "Darling," Phaedra says carefully. She is wearing a bright gold dress in celebration of her success in the design of my infamous outfit from the opening ceremony. Within her frizzy blue hair is the new accessory of gleaming yellow stars. "I have an outfit that is perfect for dinner tonight. Just for Finnick!"

            I try not to let out a groan as I slump backwards blearily onto my mattress, the cold air blowing onto my naked body and making me shiver.

            "And even though your skin is a monstrosity," she spits, wavering her slender hands around to show her distain, "he will still fall head over heels in love with you!"

             "Phaedra, you know there's nothing happening."

            She cackles while hunting through the clothes hanging in my closet. "I see the way he looks at you, darling. Do you think I'm an idiot?"

            "The way he looks at me?" I ask, sitting up with impulsive interest. "What do you mean?"

            The woman raises her blue eyebrows like it's something obvious and then goes on to ignore my question. "Please, Sonnet, wear the outfit for me. I made it for you!"

            I sigh, not wanting to reject something she put so much effort into completing. Before I even see it, I know that it will truly be a striking dress, but the thought that my stylist made it just so Finnick will see me wearing, it gives me a hint that it will be a little revealing.

            "Fine, but won't it be a little odd if I show up to a normal dinner wearing a formal dress?"

            Phaedra grins cheekily. "Don't worry, Finnick has something too, darling! I'm not this underprepared!"

            My stomach is in knots already as Phaedra pulls out a bright white dress that already looks unbelievably short and tight. After I put on my thin undergarments, she helps me slip the material over my hips and then zip up the back. It is obvious that this dress was crafted perfectly for my body shape. It curves flawlessly at my waist and chest, making me smile at how amazing I look. The collar is cut down my chest in a triangle-shape, subtly accenting my cleavage. The dress ends about midway down my thigh, which isn't as short as it looked on the hanger. At the edges of the skirt, small shiny sequins make me shimmer once again.

            "My golden girl still needs to sparkle!" she squeals before ordering me to twirl around repeatedly in the mirror until I'm dizzy. "Do you like it?"

            "It's beautiful." I'm glad that the dress shows my body but does it modestly. It looks careless how well it makes me look, and I turn around to give Phaedra a hug, which she accepts gratefully.

            I can tell she's holding back tears when we pull apart. "Now hurry up and put on those shoes! We still have to do hair and makeup."

            I shove my heels onto my feet, and apparently, last time I'd seemed completely fine in my short heels because I've upgraded to a much higher pair. They are both slick white, but despite their splendor, I still hobble dangerously over to the mirror where I stand while Phaedra applies a light amount of silver eye shadow and clear lip-gloss to my face. After she pulls back my hair into a tight bun, she gives me a quick lesson in my high heels. I improve a decent amount so that it doesn't look like I'm walking on a thin wobbly tightrope.

            "I'm not ready, can I just wear some flats or something?" I beg, tumbling down into a heap of exhaustion onto the floor. Phaedra screeches about how I'm going to crease my dress, sending me flying up again.

            "Beauty is pain, darling!" She says, patting my back harshly. "Now get up and look presentable! You don't want Finnick to be disappointed."

            She is right. I don't want Finnick to be disappointed. In fact, I would love for Finnick to be overwhelmed by my presence in my new tight dress and silver high heels. I take a deep breath and decide to wear the high heels after all, even if they will give my blisters on my heel and pinky toe by the end of the evening. 

            Before I leave, she attempts to cover the vague pink splotches on my skin with various creams and sprays but it makes it look worse. The ointment clumps irregularly on my palms, making Phaedra wash it away with an angry expression. I guess I will be attending dinner along with the excess paint after all.

            The dining room is empty when I arrive except for a full table of food and only two sets of silverware and plates. I glance around for the sight of Mags or any other guest that could be joining us when the realization hits me. Phaedra set me up on an involuntary date, and I was gullible enough to fall for it.

           On the table is a small roast chicken with various vegetables in different bowls surrounding it, including asparagus, potatoes, broccoli, and carrots. There is a boat of gravy rested nearby with a plate of green-tinted rolls from District 4 beside of it. My mouth waters but I stay still, hovering by the entrance, contemplating whether I should find Mags and invite her along or if I should just deal with it myself.

            I don't have time to flee because before I know it, Finnick opens the door opposite of me. We both freeze when we make eye contact. Upon quick observation, he's wearing a white suit accompanied by a sleek white bow tie. His blonde hair is styled and swooped to the side, and with his right hand, he slides his hand underneath his jacket to tug uncomfortably at the underlying vest.

            I'm at a loss for words that our stylists both planned pairing outfits for this unexpected dinner tonight. My face begins to heat up as he makes his way over to my chair where he pulls it out and gestures to it with a bob of his head.

            "Milady," he says in a deep, humorous voice. I grin and sit down into the seat quietly while he makes his way to his own. "They really treat us well."

            I nod. Finnick Odair doesn't seem like my best friend in this moment, making me unsure of what to say. It is all too classy for me to treat him normally, especially while he's in his tuxedo. I must admit that he looks extremely attractive, and this always causes me to internally panic.

            We begin to serve ourselves which causes the silence is becoming too noticeable. "I have to say that this wasn't what I was expecting."

            "Me neither," he says, tearing into his chicken hungrily. His green eyes flick up occasionally to meet mine, and I try to study the depth of his gaze more deepily. I see the way he looks at you, darling. But as hard as I try, I see nothing romantic in his expression. All I can see is Finnick Odair, the boy who mentored me and the boy who saved me.

            Not the boy who loves me like I'm in love with him.

            My heart thuds louder until I'm sure he can hear it. The pulse goes lower into my stomach, making me queasy while swallowing my green beans. Unlike me, Finnick doesn't look shaken at all from across the table. He eats his roast peacefully while my palms sweat furiously, and my knee bounces up and down underneath the tablecloth.

            "Are you alright, Sonnet?" He raises one eyebrow without looking at me.

             "Never been better! Do you like my dress? Phaedra made it for me," I lie, standing up to showcase the entire outfit. His eyes scan me from top to bottom, pausing at a few particular spots to admire with mischievous eyes. I try not giggle, and he circles his finger a few times to get me to spin.

            "You're amazing as usual. What about my tux? Is it fashionable enough for you?" He also abandons his chair to let me appreciate his look. It's all colored a pure white just like my dress, and it fits his body just as well.

            "Handsome. I like the bowtie," I say. The vegetables make my stomach churn more so I set them aside.

            A minute passes, and Finnick puts on a serious expression. "Why are they doing this? You in that dress and me in a suit?"

            I gulp which does nothing to aid my dry throat. Sometimes, he can be so clueless. "Well, I think it's because Phaedra saw us together in bed and thought..."

            He lets out a noise of understanding, and we go the rest of dinner talking about the training sessions. His explanation is comparatively short since he was planning to show off his trident in the beginning. However, I have to prepare myself beforehand for a lecture that will surely come. Finnick knew that I was going to do something wild to distract them, but I'd never said it would something outright insolent.

            I take a deep breath before exploding into a rapid rant of the events that occurred. I make sure to describe the Gamekeeper's faces, the slippery red paint on my shoes, and the Peacekeeper's firm hold on my flaying body. Gradually, Finnick's face gets more concerned until I'm finished.

            "You're one stupid girl, Alcott," he laughs, catching me off-guard. Instead of being upset, he's supportive of my action against the President.

            I shrug. "I guess it is fun to be rebellious."

            "Wait!" Finnick cries, gasping animatedly, covering is mouth with his hands. "Did Sonnet Alcott just say she liked defiance?"

            "Things change!" I cry, giggling softly.

            Dessert comes, and I choose the red velvet cake while Finnick selects a chocolate slice. The white cream is smooth and rich against my tongue, so I savor it as it dissolves in my mouth. Finnick gobbles down his without giving it a second thought. Back in District 4 after I moved to Victor's Village, I tried red velvet cake for the first time with Willow. Ever since, it's been both of our favorite sweet treat.

            The dinner comes to an end, and despite my previous concerns, I don't want it to. We both drift to the entryway, laughing about nonsense that Mags tries to punish us for. I love when he laughs, and his face crinkles up to show his dimples and his adorable squinted eyes. It's hard to ignore it, especially because of our close proximity. We stop at the exit to stand before each other, grinning pleasantly.

            "I had a fabulous evening, Miss Alcott," Finnick announces, his voice thick with a the usual fake Capitol accent. It's now become an ongoing joke.

            "Well, Mr. Odair, you sure know how to show a lady a good time." My own impression isn't as spot-on, but he continues nonetheless.

            "Well, I think you may have been the most beautiful girl in all of Panem tonight," he says, his voices shifting from his playful accent into his customary deep voice midsentence.

            I smile, trying not to blush too noticeably. "Thank you. You look very handsome."

            We stand, slowly moving closer into each other's bodies. His hands move around my back, so it's his own movements that are pulling me in. My breath hitches as his hand trails teasingly down my back, our faces only a few dangerous inches apart. I move my own hands, so they're at the back of his head, running them slowly through his hairline.           

            I have no time to think. I have no time to speak. Finnick cups my face and moves me, so our lips are hovering an inch apart. My mouth is parted slightly, ready for him to initiate the contact, and I smile at him playfully while doing so. He grins with a new spark in his eyes and strokes my face tenderly with his thumb.

            Maybe Phaedra was right. I see the way he looks at me.

word count: 3398 words
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