FUTILE DEVICES | clato

FIVE

To my surprise, Cato knocks on my door two weeks later.

Hearing a knock on the door, I tread through the hallway to open it, assuming it's a friend of my parents.

Much to my dismay, it's not my parents' friend. It's that stupid, stupid blond boy with a nervous look on his face.

I inhale sharply, ready to close the door.

"Hey," he mutters.

I don't respond.

"Can I come in?"

"No."

"Okay..." Cato pauses. "Look, I need a favor."

"I don't owe you anything," I snap, starting to shut the door on him.

"I'll pay you!" he quickly interjects.

I sigh and hold the door open. "What?"

As much as I hate Cato, I don't hate money.

Cato needs training, apparently. After finding out that he has to volunteer for the games this year, he wants me to train him with a knife.

"Yeah, right," I say, "why would I give anyone else an advantage over me?"

"Two thousand dollars a month," Cato offers.

I freeze in place.

"Two thousand?" I stutter.

"Mhm."

I should've known. Cato's family is crazy rich.

I consider it for a moment. Two thousand dollars a month - for four more months until the games - would be enough to keep my family stable for who knows how long.

Plus, I could always just half-ass the training. He would never be better than me.

"Deal," I finally say.

-

Three days later finds me stuck in the stuffy training center with Cato. He has a knife in his hand, ready to throw.

"Nope," I purse my lips.

Cato sighs, exhausted, and drops his hand. "What now?"

"There's no way you'll hit the target holding it like that."

"Oh yeah? Watch me," Cato taunts, aiming for the dummy. Meeting my expectations, the knife bounces off the arm of the dummy and clatters to the floor.

I smirk, facing Cato. "Mhm."

Flustered, he walks over to the dummy to retrieve his knife.

"Well then, miss perfect, show me how to do it," Cato instructs me.

"Mmm, I like that name," I lull. "Just look."

I position the knife correctly in my hand and aim for a target on the wall. Aiming to throw, the knife slips out of my hands and soars through the air, landing perfectly in the center of the target.

Cato stares at me, dumbfounded. "How?"

"Cato," I groan, burying my face in my hands. "We've been over this for forty five minutes. You just suck."

"Maybe you're a shitty teacher!" Cato replies, shrugging.

Frustrated, I sit myself down on one of the training benches.

"I don't know," I finally say.

"Break for today?" Cato asks, walking to stand in front of me.

"Okay."