I'm more tired than I can ever remember being. The sun is beating down on my neck, and my shoulders are aching and I feel ashamed of my weakness. All around me, cheerful Amity are filling baskets with vegetables, laughing, singing, enjoying the sunshine and each other's company. Two rows over, Beatrice and Four are working as a team. They pause to smile and kiss each other. I look away. It's so easy for them (even for my sister, so slight) to use their bodies in this way. It makes me wish there had been any kind of physical component to my initiation. There's nothing in my brain that helps make this hot, dirty work any easier.
An Amity girl comes by to bring me a new, empty basket. When she sees how little I've accomplished, she tries to pretend she's squinting because of the sun. I crouch down again, turn my face away and sink my hands into the earth. Why did I always assume that soil was soft and felt good on your hands? My hands are scraped and raw. I'm sure my nails are peeling back. I feel tears stinging the corners of my eyes. You're so weak, Caleb. I drag my filthy forearm across my face to stop the tears.
A shadow descends over me, as though the sun has disappeared behind a cloud. I look up, and I find myself staring up into the face of the boy that Beatrice shot. Peter. I look back to the ground and go still. I find it difficult to look into Peter's eyes, which I noticed when I bandaged his arm on the train. I tell myself it's an old Abnegation habit, looking down, holding my breath. I know what it really is. Weakness.
Peter crouches down beside me, and I shiver. I am filled with self loathing. I can actually feel him grinning at me. I don't look.
"Need some help, stiff?"
I shake my head. "I'm fine."
He chuckles, then strikes the back of my hand with a short stick.
"Ouch, I..."
"That didn't hurt" he says firmly. "I didn't hurt you". He reaches down and takes my hand in his. I shiver again, and I try not to show it, but I know that he knows. He puts the stick in my open palm and slowly closes my fingers around it. For a moment, I am only the sensation of his calloused palm pressed against the back of my fingers. Is it my imagination, or does he linger for a half-second, holding my closed fist?
"If you use your hands to dig, you're going to tear up your hands." He smiles as he lets go of my hand. "You'd think an Erudite like yourself would have thought to use a tool to make things easier."
I can feel heat in my cheeks and I hope it looks like a sunburn. Peter stands and walks away. I'm instantly aware of the heat of the sun. I wish that he was still here, his broad shoulders providing a patch of shade just large enough for me to hide in. Even alone in my head, I am embarrassed by this and I feel my blush deepen and spread down my neck and chest. I look down at the ground, and plunge Peter's stick into the soil to loosen it. He's right, it's much easier this way. Great, apparently I'm stupid, too.
The cloud covers the sun again, the heat on the back of my neck disappears. Peter crouches down beside me, with a stick of his own. He digs in the dirt next to me. He doesn't speak. I look at him for a moment, then turn back to my work. In silence, we dig. A couple of times our hands are in the basket at the same time and I have this urge to reach out the extra inch and brush his fingers with my own. I picture it happening, our hands touching, our eyes meeting, him leaning over the basket to punch me in the face. I don't touch his hand.
I hear the sound of crunching dirt and there are a pair of feet standing near my hand. I look up to find Beatrice, glaring down at Peter.
"Why are you bothering my brother?"
Peter grins and squints up at her. "I don't think I'm bothering anybody"
He looks over at me "Am I?"
I shake my head.
"Peter" says Beatrice, venom in her tone. "You need to leave Caleb alone or we will have a problem". I see that Four has walked up behind her, though whether he's there to restrain her or back her play, I can't tell.
"Beatrice, he isn't bothering me." I smile weakly up at her "He's helping".
Beatrice snorts. "Peter being helpful, that's new".
Four steps towards her and lays a hand on her shoulder. "Tris, let it go. He's not hurting anything".
"Yeah, Tris. I know you're busy enjoying the sunshine with your boyfriend, but someone has to help poor Caleb. He's really struggling." I'm blushing furiously again, and I know everyone can see it. "Look, I think he has heatstroke."
I turn my head to the ground and start to dig again. "Beatrice, I'm fine."
I can feel her standing there still, staring at the top of my head. Eventually she moves away.
Peter has stopped digging but I don't look at him. "Caleb" he says. My heart skips a beat. I look up at him. He's rolling down the sleeve of his shirt, not looking at me. He kneels next to the basket, then reaches across and takes my chin in his hand. "You've got dirt on your face". He wipes the back of his hand across my cheek, then his thumb. The skin on his hands is rough. He leans back onto his heels, picks up the nearly full basket and stands. "Keep digging, stiff. There's always another basket to fill." He walks away.
