CHAPTER 2

I OPEN MY eyes, terrified, my hands

clutching at the sheets. But I am not running through the streets of the city

or the corridors of Dauntless headquarters. I am in a bed in Amity

headquarters, and the smell of sawdust is in the air. I shift, and wince as

something digs into my back. I reach behind me, and my fingers wrap around the

gun. For a moment I see Will standing before me, both our guns between us-his hand, I could have shots his

hand\, why didn`t I\, why? -and I almost scream his name. Then he`s gone. I get

out of bed and lift the mattress with one hand, propping it up on my knee. Then

I shove the gun beneath it and let the mattress bury it. Once it is out of

sight and no longer pressed to my skin, my head feels clearer. Now that the

adrenaline rush of yesterday is gone, and whatever made me sleep has worn off,

the deep ache and shooting pains of my shoulder are intense. I am wearing the

same clothes I wore last night. The corner of the hard drive peeks out from

under my pillow, Where I shoved it right before I fell asleep. On it is the

simulation data that controlled the Dauntless, and the record of what the

Erudite did. It feels too important for me to even touch, but I can`t leave it

here, so I grab it and wedge it between the dresser and the wall. Part of me

thinks it would be a good idea to destroy it, but I know it contains the only record

of my parents` deaths\, so I`ll settle for keeping it hidden. Someone knocks on

my door. I sit on the edge of the bed and try to smooth my hair down. “Come

in,” I say. The door opens, and Tobias steps halfway in, the door dividing his

body in half. He wears the same jeans as yesterday, but a dark red T-shirt

instead of his black one, probably borrowed from one of the Amity. It`s a

strange color on him, too bright, but when he leans his head back against the

doorframe, I see that it makes the blue in his eyes lighter. “The Amity are

meeting in a half hour.” He quirks his eyebrows and adds, with a touch of

melodrama, “To decide our fate.” I shake my head. “Never thought my fate would

be in the hands of a bunch of Amity.” “Me either. Oh I brought you something.”

He unscrews the cap of small bottle and holds out a dropper filled with clear

liquid. “Pain medicine. Take a dropperful every six hours.” “Thanks.” I squeeze

the dropper into the back of my throat. The medicine tastes like old lemon. He

hooks a thumb in one of his belt loops and says, “How are you, Beatrice?” “Did

you just call me Beatrice?” “Thought I would give it a try.” He smiles. “Not good?”  “Maybe on special occasions only.

Initiation days, Choosing Days . . .” I pause. I was about to rattle off a few

more holidays, but only the Abnegation celebrate them. The Dauntless have

holidays of their own, I assume, but I don`t know what they are. And anyway,

the idea that would celebrate anything right now is so ludicrous I don`t

continue. “It`s a deal.” His smile fades. “How are you\, Tris?” It`s not a

strange question, after what we`ve been through, but I tense up when he asks

it\, worried that he`ll somehow see into my mind. I haven`t told him about Will

yet. I want to, but I don`t know how. Just the thought of saying the words out

loud makes me feel so heavy I could break through the floorboards. "I'm .

. ." I shake my head a few times. "I don't know Four. I'm awake. I .

. ."I am still shaking my head. He slides his hand over my cheek, one

finger anchored behind my ear. Then he tilts his head down and kisses me,

sending a warm ache through my body. I wrap my hands around his arm, holding him

there as long as I can. When he touches me, the hollowed-out feeling in my

chest and stomach is not as noticeable. I don't have to tell him. I can just

try to forget—he can help me forget. "I know," he says. "Sorry.

I shouldn't have asked." For a moment all I can think is, how could you

possibly know? But something about his expression reminds me that he does know

something about loss. He lost his mother when he was young. I don't remember

how she died, just that we attended her funeral.  Suddenly I remember him clutching the curtains

I his living room, about nine years old, wearing gray, hi dark eyes shut. The

image is fleeting, and it could be My imagination, not a memory. He releases

me. "I'll let you get ready." The women`s bathroom is two doors down.

The floor is dark brown tile, and each shower stall has wooden walls and

plastic curtain separating it from the central aisle. A sign on the back wall

say REMEMBER: TO CONSERVE RESOURCES, SHOWERS RUN FOR ONLY FIVE MINUTES. The

stream of water is cold, so I wouldn't want the extra minutes even if I could

have them. I wash quickly with my left hand, leaving my right hand hanging at

my side. The pain medicine Tobias gave me worked fast—the pain in my shoulder

has already faded to a dull throb. When I get out of the shower, a stack of

clothes waits on my bed. It contains some yellow and red, from the Amity, and

some gray, from the Abnegation, colors I rarely see side by side. If I had to

guess, I would say that one of the Abnegation put the stack there for me. It's

something they would think to do. I pull on a pair of dark red pants made of

denim—so long I must roll them up three times—and a gray Abnegation shirt that

is too big for me. The sleeves come down to my fingertips, and I roll them up

too. It hurts to move my right hand, so I keep the movements small and slow. Someone

nocks on the door. "Beatrice?" The soft voice is Susan's. I open the

door for her. She carries a tray of food, which she sets down on the bed. I

search her face for a sign of what she has lost—her father, an Abnegation

leader, didn't survive the attack—but I see only the placid determination characteristic

of my old faction. "I'm sorry the clothes don't fit," she says.

"I'm sure can find some better ones for you if the Amity allow us to

stay." "They're fine," I say. "Thank you." "I

heard you were shot. Do you need my help with your hair? Or your shoes?" I

am about to refuse, but I really do need help.  "Yes, thank you." I sit down on a

stool in front of the mirror, and she stands behind me, her eyes dutifully

trained on the task at hand rather than her reflection. They do not lift, not

even for an instant, as she runs a comb through my hair. And she doesn't ask

about my shoulder, how I was shot, what happened when I left the Abnegation

safe house to stop the simulation. I get the sense that if I were to whittle

her down to her core, she would be Abnegation all the way through. "Have

you seen Robert yet?" I say. Her brother, Robert, chose Amity when I chose

Dauntless, so he is somewhere in this compound. I wonder if their reunion will

be anything like Caleb's and mine. "Briefly, last night," she says.

"I left him to grieve with his faction as I grieve with mine. It is nice

to see him again, though." I hear a finality in her tone that tells me the

subject is closed. "It's a shame this happened when it did," Susan

says. "Our leaders were about to do something wonderful."  "Really? What?" "I don't

know." Susan blushes. "I just knew that something was happening. I

didn't mean to be curious; I just noticed things." "I wouldn't blame

you for being curious even if you had been." She nods and keeps combing. I

wonder what the Abnegation leaders—including my father—were doing. And I can't

help but marvel at Susan's assumption that whatever they were doing was

wonderful. I wish I could believe that of people again. If I ever did. "The

Dauntless wear their hair down, right?" she says. "Sometimes," I

say. "Do you know how to braid?" So her deft fingers tuck pieces of

my hair into one braid that tickles the middle of my spine. I stare hard at my

reflection until she finishes. I thank her when she's done, and she leaves with

a small smile, closing the door behind her. I keep staring, but I don't see

myself. I can still feel her fingers brushing the back of my neck, so much like

my mother`s fingers, the last morning I spent with her. My eyes wet with tears,

I rock back and forth on the stool, trying to push the memory from my mind. I

am afraid that if I start to sob, I will never stop until I shrivel up like a

raisin. I see a sewing kit on the dresser. In it are two colors of thread, red

and yellow, and a pair of scissors. If I feel calm as I undo the braid in my

hair and comb it again. I part my hair down the middle and make sure that it is

straight and flat. I close the scissors over the hair by my chin. How can I

look the same, when she's gone, and everything is different? I can't. I cut in

as straight a line as I can, using my jaw as a guide. The tricky part is the

back, which I can't see very well, so I do the best I can by touch instead of

sight. Locks of blond hair surround me on the floor in a semicircle. I leave

the room without looking at my reflection again.

When Tobias and Caleb come to get me later,

they stare at me like I am not the person they knew yesterday. "You cut

your hair," says Caleb, his eyebrows high.

Grabbing hold of facts in the midst of

shock is very Erudite of him. His hair sticks up on one side from where he

slept on it, and his eyes are bloodshot. "Yeah," I say. "It's .

. . too hot for long hair." "Fair enough." We walk down the

hallway together. The floorboards creak beneath our feet. I miss the way my

footsteps echoed in the Dauntless compound; I miss the cool underground air.

But mostly I miss the fears of the past few weeks, rendered small by my fears

now. We exit the building. The outside air presses around me like a pillow

meant to suffocate me. It smells green, the way a leaf does when you tear it in

half. "Does everyone know you're Marcus's son?" Caleb says. "The

Abnegation, I mean?" "Not to my knowledge," says Tobias,

glancing at Caleb. "And I would appreciate it if you didn't mention

it." "I don't need to mention it. Anyone with eyes can see it for

themselves." Caleb frowns at him. "How old are you, anyway? "Eighteen."

"And you don't think you're too old to be with my little sister? " Tobias

lets out a short laugh. "She isn't your little anything." "Stop

it. Both of you," I say. A crowd of people in yellow walks ahead of us,

toward a wide, squat building made entirely of glass. The sunlight reflecting

off the panes feel like a pinch to my eyes. I shield my face with my hand and

keep walking. The doors to the building are wide open. Around the edge of the

circular greenhouse. plants and trees grow in troughs of water or small pools.

Dozens of fans Positioned around the room serve only to blow the hot air

around, 80 I am already sweating. But that fades from my mind when the crowd

before me thins and I see the rest of the room. In its center grows a huge

tree. Its branches are spread over most of the greenhouse, and its roots bubble

up from the ground, forming a dense web of bark. In the spaces between the

roots, I see not dirt but water, and metal rods holding the roots in place. I

should not be surprised—the Amity spend their lives accomplishing feats of

agriculture like this one, with the help of Erudite technology. Standing on a

cluster of roots is Johanna Reyes, her hair falling over the scarred half of

her face. I learned in Faction History that the Amity recognize no official

leader—they vote on everything, and the result is usually close to unanimous.

They are like many parts of a single mind, and Johanna is their mouthpiece. The

Amity sit on the floor, most with their legs crossed, in knots and clusters

that vaguely resemble the tree roots to me. The Abnegation sit in tight rows a

few yards to my left. My eyes search the crowd for a few seconds before I

realize what I'm looking for: my parents. I swallow hard and try to forget.

Tobias touches the small of my back, guiding me to the edge of the meeting

space, behind the Abnegation. Before we sit down. he puts his mouth next to my

ear and says, "I like your hair that way." I find a small smile to

give him, and lean into him when I sit down, my arm against his. Johanna lifts

her hands and bows her head. All conversation in the room ceases before I can

draw my next breath. All around me the Amity sit in silence, some with their

eyes closed, some with their lips mouthing words I can't hear, some staring at

a point far away. Every second chafes. By the time Johanna lifts her head I am

worn to the bone. "We have before us today an urgent question," she

says, "which is: How will we conduct ourselves in this time of conflict as

people who pursue peace?" Every Amity in the room turns to the person next

to him or her and starts talking. "How do they get anything done?" I

say, as the minutes of chatter wear on. "They don't care about

efficiency," Tobias says. "The care about agreement. Watch." Two

women in yellow dresses a few feet away rise and join a trio of men. A young

man shifts so that his small circle becomes a large one with the group next to

him. All around the room, the smaller crowds grow and expand, and fewer and

fewer voices fill the room, until there are only three or four. I can only hear

pieces of what they say: "Peace—Dauntless—Erudite—safe house—involvement—”

“This is bizarre," I say. "I think it's beautiful," he says. I

give him a look. "What?" He laughs a little. "They each have an

equal role in government; they each feel equally responsible. And it makes them

care; it makes them kind. I think that's beautiful." "I think it's

unsustainable," I say. "Sure, it works for the Amity. But what

happens when not everyone wants to strum banjos and grow crops? What happens

when someone does something terrible and talking about it can't solve the

problem?" He shrugs. "I guess we'll find out." Eventually

someone from each of the big groups stands and approaches Johanna, picking

their way carefully over the roots of the big tree. I expect them to address

the rest of us, but instead they stand in a circle with Johanna and the other

spokespeople and talk quietly. I begin to get the feeling that I will never

know what they're saying. “They're not going to let argue with them. are they.

“I speak. "l doubt it." he says. We are done for. When everyone hag gain

him or her piece. they sit down again. leaving Johanna alone in the center of

the room. She angles her body toward us and folds her hands in front of her.

Where will we go when they tell us to leave? Back into the city, where nothing

is safe? "Our faction has had a close relationship with Erudite for as

long as any of us can remember. We need each other to survive. and we have

always cooperated with each other." says Johanna. "But we have also

had a strong relationship with Abnegation in the past. and we do not think it

is right to revoke the hand of friendship when it has for so long been

extended." Her voice is honey sweet. and moves like honey too. slow and

careful. I wipe the sweat from my hairline with the back of my hand. "We

feel that the only way to preserve our relationships with both factions is to

remain impartial and uninvolved." she continues. "Your presence here,

though welcome, complicates that."  Here

it comes. I think. "We have arrived at the conclusion that we will

establish our faction headquarters as a safe house for member8 of all

factions," she says, "under a set of conditions. Th first is that no

weaponry of any kind is allowed on the compound. The second is that if any

serious conflict arises, whether verbal or physical, all involved parties will

be asked to leave. The third is that the conflict may not be discussed, even

privately, within the confines of this compound. And the fourth is that

everyone who stays here must contribute to the welfare of this environment by

working. We will report this to Erudite, Candor, and Dauntless as soon as we

can." Her stare drifts to Tobias and me and stays there. "You are

welcome to stay here if and only if you can abide by our rules," she says.

"That is our decision." I think of the gun I hid under my mattress,

and the tension between me and Peter, and Tobias and Marcus, and my mouth feels

dry. I am not good at avoiding conflict. "We won't be able to stay

long," I say to Tobias under my breath. A moment ago, he was still faintly

smiling. Now the corners of his mouth have disappeared into a frown. "No,

we won't."

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