Training starts the next day. I try to remember Woof's advice about learning a new weapon. The trainers work with me and I decide on the shortsword. The other weapons were too heavy. The trainers compliment me on my knife throwing, and I work hard on combat. I haven't fought anyone since Juanita told our class that the Peacekeepers murdered my grandmother. It may have been true, but she shouldn't have said that.

I also study survival skills. I don't really pay attention to the other Tributes. They seem to ignore me. Except for when I move on the monkey bars. That is the one time I excel physically.

When it's my turn to be judged by the Gamemakers, I can't stop shaking. I walk into a huge room and face them. I'm so nervous that I drop the first throwing knife I grab, and almost cut my foot. I pick it up and stand up. They're judging me. Before, I was a random name pulled out of a glass bowl. Now I'm Cecelia from District 8.

Stand tall, I hear my grandmother say. Show them what you're made of. So I draw in a deep breath to center myself. I feel the weight of the knives in my hands. And I go through the motions of throwing knives at targets, only missing two.

We reconvene in our suite on the eighth floor, and watch the results. The Careers get nines and tens. Johnny gets a six and I get an eight.

The beauty team descends on me again, preparing me to be interviewed by Caesar Flickerman. They put waves in my hair and dress me in a short sparkly kimono with glittery knee high boots. Battus gives me a pair of shorts to wear underneath. Her ideas are wacky, but at least she's considerate of my comfort.

Johnny gets a kimono too, over pants. We wait in line with the other Tributes. The District 7 girl is so happy not to be dressed as a tree. She's wearing a silk dress and keeps smoothing it, delighting in how it feels. She's never touched silk before.

I feel homesick. I was making myself a silk tunic when I was reaped. I had carefully found large pieces of the fabric and had almost finished sewing it, dreaming of the flowers I planned to embroider on it. I suppose Paisley will wear it some day. Maybe Georgette will finish it for her, Georgette prefers dresses.

Caesar whistles when I step out onto the stage. His color this year is turquoise. He pretends to attack me, striking a martial arts pose. I play along, moving my arms and kicking at him, but not making contact. He falls to the floor dramatically, and the audience roars. I help him stand up, we shake hands, then sit down.

"I hear your district has a nickname for you," he smiles, blindingly. "Do you know what it is?"

I blink. I don't have a nickname. "Um, Shorty?"

"Ha ha ha!" Caesar turns to the audience and then back to me. "Fabiana says they call you 'Sweet Cecelia'."

I blink again. I am nice to people, sure, but they just call me Cecelia. I bet Fabiana made this up. I then smile at Caesar. "Oh you're just teasing me."

Caesar's eyes light up. "Are you saying you're not sweet?"

"Well, I do like to sew special things for my family," I reply, still smiling. "And my friends."

"Oh, I thought you were making candy for them!" Caesar chortles, checking the audience's reaction.

I giggle, trying to hide my nervousness. I feel so exposed.

Caesar takes my hands. "What did your family say before they left?"

"They told me that I was clever and to win," I answer, shyly. Then I add, "My grandmother was known throughout District 8 for her toughness, and I hope she would be proud of me. I'll be kicking butt in her honor."

"Sweetness and spice!" Caesar is delighted. He squeezes my hands. "I have a feeling that you will make your family proud of you." Then we stand and he kisses my cheek. He takes my right hand and raises it. "Sweet Cecelia, everyone!"