I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers.

I dig my fingernails into my palms as my face comes up, expecting the worst. 

Then they're flashing the number eleven on the screen.

Eleven !

Effie Trinket lets out a squeal, and everybody is slapping me on the back and cheering and congratulating me.

But it doesn't seem real.

"There must be a mistake. How ... how could that happen ?" I ask Haymitch.

"Guess they liked your temper," he says. "They've a show to put on. 

They need some players with some heat."