"You will train for 2 hours each day, for the next four days, and then you will have the day you will be judged by the game makers, and then you will be sent into the arena." The woman says, looking at each of the tributes as we stand in a loose crowd. So I have forgotten her name already.
I'm concentrating in the first place. I am looking at the dummies, around 50 or so, I think, and there are no doubt more behind them, waiting to be brought in. I just want to begin. Waiting makes me impatient.

"Off you go." The woman says finally, and we each move off to a certain place.

A few of the younger tributes from 5, 6 and 7 go off to the camouflage area, and the fire and knot making areas. The career tributes go off to the bigger things, like spear throwing, sword-work and knives. The rest of us move between areas, trying not to get too close to them.

I decide to leave archery till last. I don't want to be compared to Katniss. Not again. It's enough that my friends, family and trainers compare me to her, but to have them, the other tributes, and the gamemakers, scoff at me because I'm second best to her, yet again, will bring me down completely. So instead I go to the climbing area, knowing my upper-body strength will help me out here.

As I stand in the short queue, I notice the small girl on the frame. She has pale, white skin, and chestnut hair, plaited in pigtails that hang over her shoulders. She jumps down blithely, and a small boy with the same pale skin and chestnut hair takes her place, swinging across the frame with ease. It is my turn, then, and though my faith in myself doesn't waver, I wonder if I'll ever be able to make it seem as easy as they did.

I reach the end and eye the boy and girl, who don't seem to know what to do with themselves now. I move on, ignoring them. I'm not going to make Katniss's mistake with Rue. That's another way I won't allow myself to be compared with her.

I move on to the spear range, and feel the eyes of the career pack homing in on me. I gulp, taking up a javelin. I have quite good aim. I know where to aim for. If I hadn't of found... that place, I wouldn't know anything. I would be dead in the bloodbath. But because i had found it, I knew I could do it.

I bring my arm back and throw the javelin towards the target, hitting the bullseye where the heart would be. I hear a murmur of approval from the head of the career pack, see his eyes take me in, as if wondering whether I could join, whether I'm fit to be part of his elite crew. But I don't want to be. And so I move to the camouflage area.

After a few minutes of painting the back of my hands in various different patterns - trees bark, grass, bushes of nightlock - I give up. I will never be as good as Peeta. Or as good as the girl from Distict 6 who is stood opposite me, painting what seems to be a field of yellow flowers on her arm. She smiles at me as I stand up, leaving the paint on my hand, and move towards the archery range. Well, it had to happen eventually.

And as soon as I take up the light, black bow, I feel 34 pairs of eyes fall on me. 23 tributes, 5 game makers, 5 trainers, and that woman who ran the training group. I clench my jaw, grabbing an arrow brashly, pulling back on the bow-string, aiming and firing. I hit the target where the eye would be. Not where I was aiming for, but still a good target. Good enough for the eyes to drop and murmurs of silent approval. There would be no second best here. I would be me. I would be strong. Hell, I would be the girl who glittered if I had to be, if it made me unique. I smile to myself,
see Cole nod in approval from the fire-building area, and draw back another arrow, taking the time to aim.