The Tutor

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Mackabee's son met Finnick in the training arena after class with a pep in his step

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Mackabee's son met Finnick in the training arena after class with a pep in his step. He was already in workout clothes when Finnick walked in and was stretching on the mat.

He perked up, excited to see Finnick.

There was no one else in the training room, which they were both grateful for. Finnick walked over to the weapons area and grabbed two poles. They wouldn't feel good if he was hit, but it was better than being killed.

"I thought you were training me to use a trident," the boy protested.

"I need to assess your strengths so we know where to begin," Finnick explained. Then, he attacked.

In one swoop of his arm, he knocked the kid right off his feet. He didn't give the boy any time to react or prepare.

Welcome to the arena.

"I wasn't ready," he protested, scrambling back up. Finnick shrugged.

"You want to win in the arena? Don't ever expect anyone to play fair. Only one person makes it out alive and everyone wants that prize."

This time, the kid was ready. When Finnick went for his legs, he jumped back and swung the pole. Unfortunately for him, it was so heavy that he sunk right to the ground. Finnick was able to get him on his back very quickly.

The kid groaned as Finnick looked down at him.

"What's your name?" Finnick asked. He scrambled up and held out a hand.

"Adrien Mackabee," he said. Finnick tossed his pole to his other hand and shook it firmly.

"Okay, Adrien. We're done."

"But we just got here!" he protested. Finnick carefully placed his pole next to the weapons, and Adrien scrambled after him.

"You have no muscle. For the next few months, I'm putting you on a strict weight lifting regime and a protein-heavy diet. You'll die quickly if you can barely pick up a weapon."

Adrien scurried out of the room to follow Finnick to the weights. Finnick walked in and looked around. This room was much busier than the last one. All eyes seemed to turn to them as they walked in. Heads swiveled in their direction. Giggles could be heard around the room.

Finnick Odair in workout clothes was certainly a sight to behold.

He ignored the crowd and walked over to the lightest section. Adrien awkwardly followed. Finnick then grabbed to 5lbs weights and handed them to Adrien.

"You're going to rep these for an hour," Finnick said. Adrien looked around at the snickering room. "Don't look at them. Look at me."

"They're going to laugh at me," Adrien said, turning a shade of red.

Finnick glanced over his shoulder, and everyone turned away from them.

"If you want to learn a new skill, you have to get used to the laughter. You want to get stronger. You want to win the games. The only way to do that is if you push yourself now."

Adrien nodded and took the weights from Finnick.

"These are so light," he said. Finnick only laughed.

"They won't be in an hour."

**

Dear Finnick,

I hope you've been able to adjust to life in the districts the last few months.

Amara crumpled up the paper and threw it in the relative direction of her trashcan where a total of twelve other crumbled letters resided.

What was she doing?

What did she hope to gain by writing a letter to Finnick Odair? She was going to see him in three months and then she would find out if he wanted to be friends with her.

She groaned, rolling over into her pillow. She was Amara White. She was the most desired guest to have in any room. Why was she so desperate to befriend Finnick Odair?

You're lonely. It was a quiet voice in the back of her head that she preferred repressing.

She really did need more friends.

Amara rolled out of bed and padded over to her door. She opened it just in time to see Celeste walk out and smile broadly.

"You're up late," Amara noted.

"So are you," she pointed out. "You need to get some sleep. It won't be good for you to develop bags under your eyes."

Amara slowly nodded, and Celeste came to a halt, standing slightly off to the side.

"What's bothering you?" her manager asked in a softer tone. It was one that Amara had never heard before, and she was shocked that the woman knew to speak like that.

"I met Finnick Odair," she admitted. Celeste's jaw dropped.

"Why didn't you mention this?" she asked. "You disappeared for so long at the party. Was this recently? Please tell me someone got pictures..."

"That will be all, Celeste," Astrid's voice echoed from across the living room. Celeste whirled around.

"You have to understand this is vital to Amara's public image. If you two are going to be friends, the world needs to know. I'll set up an interview with Caesar next week."

"No," Amara said, and both women looked at her, slightly shocked. Amara shook her head like she was trying to shrug off the word. "It was a brief conversation. It made me realize Finnick is the first person my age I've talked to in a really long time."

"We can arrange--"

"I want to make my own friends, Celeste," Amara cut her off. Astrid made her way over to them.

"Celeste, I would like to speak to my daughter. Why don't you come by tomorrow after lunch. Take the morning off."

Astrid began to slowly push Celeste toward the door.

"But, I can schedule--"

"No scheduling anything. Just take the morning and go to the spa." That suggestion sat well with Celeste, who allowed herself to be pushed quickly out the door after that.

Astrid shook her head at the closed door and turned back to Amara, reaching a hand out and tugging her over to the couch. She sat down, pulling her daughter into her side until the two were snuggled together.

"It really has been a long time without talking to someone your age, hasn't it?" Astrid asked. Amara nodded.

"I just want to make a few friends," Amara said. "And I want to do it on my own terms."

"Is that why you didn't tell us about Finnick?" Astrid asked, and Amara nodded.

"I was excited to meet someone who wouldn't ask me to kiss their baby," she groaned. Astrid let out a laugh and began running her fingers through Amara's hair. Her daughter sighed and snuggled closer to her.

"I know that you have a lot of responsibilities being raised here in the Capitol. I also know that because of who you are and who our family is, you will never be a normal kid. The life of luxury comes at a price."

"I know," Amara nodded. "And I don't want to seem ungrateful, I just want to have someone to talk to."

"I get it, baby," Astrid kissed her head.

Life of an elite was not all it cracked up to be.

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