Hey peeps!
I hope you enjoy this. I will update often – I don't have much of a life outside science and writing. I just purchased a copy of 'City of Bones' (Mortal Instruments #1) and I was wondering if it was any good? I know lots of people have read it so please leave a review giving your opinion. When Tris describes the class system in this chapter, it is just her POV. I do not mean any offence by how I describe popular people, or any other class.
*9th April* So this is me just re-reading some of my old chapters to see what I can improve on. Let me tell you that future chapters get a lot better.
Annnnnyway,
Disclaimer for full story: I don't own divergent, Veronica Roth does. Nor do I include any brands that may or may not appear, or any of the songs.
TRIS POV
"Come on Tris! It will be fun!" Christina is somehow under the impression that going shopping will be fun. Oh, the joy. At times she can be so naïve, especially when I've already talked to her about this.
"Christina, we can't go to the mall." Christina joined our school a week ago and she doesn't understand the social class system again. No matter how many times I explain it to her she refuses to get it – I know she's not stupid, as she was placed in some of the same classes as me and I'm certainly not.
"Christina, I explained it to you already. The class system, we can't go to the mall. That is where the jocks and the popular girls hang out. You want to shop? Let's hit the streets." She groans, and I know why. There are no good clothes shops on the streets. Not that I like shopping, it's just when you need proper clothes you're gonna have to go to Oxfam or some other charity.
Most of my clothes are from charity shops. It doesn't matter to me, but I know it bothers Christina. No-one other than my family and friends see me in my clothes, because we have a school uniform – which I am very thankful for. As if people needed any other reason to pick on us.
Our school has a very simple class system – a straight ladder from the bottom to the top.
So at the bottom, you have us nerds. The nerds freak out about the latest episode of our favourite shows and new additions to the best book series. People mock the way we get excited about these kind of things and some of us get bothered about it, some don't. I belong to the latter. There are subordinate classes in the nerd group, for example the arts nerds, the gamer nerds and the smart nerds. I am definitely an arts nerd, but there are more categories and not just those ones. You could be a book nerd, or a flat out nerd where you panic when the new Star Wars movie doesn't have the classic lightsaber.
My friends are also nerds, as having a friend with a different social status at our school is unheard of. Will is a smart nerd, Al is a gamer nerd and the newbie Christina is an arts nerd. But her art is mostly in fashion-y stuff that I can't relate to. She has tried to get me interested in fashion but to no prevail.
The level up from us, the ones who get a tiny bit of respect (we get none) are the hippies. They all love trees and plants and saving the planet. Every year they run for student gov in an attempt to make our school more eco-friendly but they always lose to a prep or a jock. Who would vote for someone who's unpopular when they can vote for someone who they worship.
The next level up is the druggies – they smoke outside the campus and take drugs in the bathrooms. We've all accepted that they're not going to get anywhere and leave them alone. It's an unspoken truce between everyone: we won't associate with you if you don't associate with us. When people see a druggie, they walk quickly in the other direction.
Then there is the wannabies, who follow the popular crowd wherever they go and worship them. It's pathetic the way that their lives are consumed by that of others. People could, and have described them as zombie slaves.
After that is the dancers and the cheerleaders, the only crowd that I have a little respect for. They are talented in what they do and don't brag about it. They perform every football match, which come every Friday. I haven't been to one for a long time. I don't want to think about those matches.
Next there is the popular girls. They are always cake-faced in make-up and I would like to think that they do have some brains, because their schemes prove well planned and detailed. I would much prefer if they didn't have brains because then we would all perish less under their pink nailed hands. Lauren is the leader of the popular girls, and she seems to hate me in particular.
On my first day here, Lauren dumped her Starbucks milkshake all over me.
The very top of our class system is the jocks. There are no female jocks, they are considered as dancers or cheerleaders even if they play football or something. The jocks are muscular, good-looking, and 'incredibly brave'. I think those at the bottom us the system, us nerds, are in fact the brave ones, as we have to put up with their bullshit on a daily basis.
So every jock has to be at least a littlesmart to be a jock, there's no being good at sports with no brains. Lack of strategy, their coach says. And every jock has to have a popular girl that hangs on their arm, no-ones allowed to be single.
Well, apart from the 'Pride of our school' Four. He has no surname, no popular girl, and is the star player of the football team. He only talks to his best friends, Zeke and Uriah Pedrad. They are just as annoying as he is.
Four is the biggest tormentor to us nerds, with his two friends and every other popular person acting like he is god he has a large enough audience to publically humiliate us so much that we sometimes take a few days off school to wait for the gossip to calm down.
All the nerds hate the popular crowd, but we are the only ones. Others either ignore them or laugh with them. At us.
"So, is that why you are wearing Oxfam clothes? Or do you just like charity stuff…" I am sporting a pair of faded blue jeans and a red and white stripy t-shirt with a brown beanie. Hot.
Although, these are basically the only clothes that fit me properly. You can never get your proper size in charity shops, and being a 16 year old wearing clothing that is meant for a 12 year old isn't the nicest thing ever. However I do have one skirt and blouse combo that I wear for special occasions where I'm meant to look pretty and well brought-up.
"Yes Christina that is why I wear clothes from Oxfam. That is also why Al and Will wear clothes from Oxfam. If you hadn't noticed, all of the nerds, excluding gamers, wear clothes from Oxfam." The gamers wear clothes that they buy online supporting COD of GTA or something weird like that. I do own a few gamer clothes, but I don't wear them anymore. My brother, Caleb and I used to love gaming. I can still beat your Fifa score in a heartbeat.
Christina nods. Just then she jumps up and runs to my closet.
"Christina!? What are you doing?" I shout at her. She doesn't pay any attention.
"Look. You said these were too big for you. Let me fix them! I can sew things together to make something very you and very perfect!" The only way to deal with a wild Christina, I have learnt in this past week, is just to let her be.
"Okay, but nothing too short, or revealing." She squeals and runs out my bedroom door.
"Bye Tris!" She calls as she runs down my stairs. "See you at school tomorrow!" Urh! Why did you have to remind me? Sunday nights are the worst. They bring the end of the weekend and instead of enjoying your last night of freedom before school they just lurk in your mind. You can never escape the hell that we call school. School has always been particularly bad for the nerds.
I get up off my bed and scan my room. My violin and my clarinet sit in the corner, and my keyboard of sitting in the middle of the room. I have posters all over the wall of famous pieces of music, just the name and composer in fancy writing.
And then I have my paintings and drawings. The drawings are largely dominant over the paintings, but the few paintings I have made mean a lot to me.
There's one of my family, two or three of various pets I have had over the years, and of one my ex-best friend, Tobias Eaton.
I used to live in Arizona, and Tobias was my neighbour. We met when we were 6 and got on really well. We became close, very close in fact. Then, 4 years later he moved away. He didn't say where, and he never replied to any of my heart-felt emails and letters.
I ruled him out of my life. I got new friends, I matured. When I was 14, I moved here, to Chicago. Nowadays I couldn't care less about Tobias.
The painting I did in the year he moved away is still very good, for a 10 year old.
But I moved on, and I bet my clarinet that he did too.
I walk to the bathroom, strip and hop in the shower. I let the warm water relax me, and for a moment I forget about the horrors of school I must face tomorrow.
After my shower I go to bed, and as soon as I pull the blankets over myself I fall asleep.
Page break
I wake the next morning, dread filling ever cell, every tissue and every organ of my body. School! Yay…
Not.
I throw off the covers and go to my dresser. I pull on my knee-length school skirt and blouse. My blazer goes on and I head downstairs, checking the hallway clock as I walk – 07:32am. I have 13 minutes before I need to leave, so I grab a granola bar from the kitchen and head out the door.
I walk to school, but the populars all have fancy sports cars that the drive past us in, mocking us. Thankfully, today I am early and won't have to put up with assholes in shiny cars. I have to walk really far to school, so I'm surprized when I'm half way there and there is still no assholes. This sets me on edge. What are they doing?
At this school, there's no telling when you'll get picked on. It could be during a lesson, when the teacher isn't there or isn't looking.
It could be in the car park, before school or after school.
Or it should be in the hallways. The hallways are the worst part of being picked on, because there's always a crowd that's willing to jeer and mock us.
I arrive in the school car park, tense and nauseous. I walk into the school building and to my locker, but what I see there surprises me.
I've never had all the populars as an audience before – only a few at a time.
I feel sick. What have they done this time? I remember when Lauren and co spray painted the insides of my locker with glitter spray. Or when Four, Zeke and Uriah printed pictures of themselves and put them all over my locker. Or when –
I could continue, the list goes on.
But this, thisis another kind of social embarrassment.
I shuffle up to the crowd, my intent on opening my locker and ridding it of whatever it holds that the populars and jocks put in it.
I have to push and shove my way to my locker. I would rather just walk past and go to class, but I have to put my books in my locker because they're too heavy to carry all day.
Four is leaning on the locker next to mine, the Pedrad brothers closely behind him. The girls that hang on the Zeke and Uriah are grinning maliciously, and every other popular girl and guy have horrible smirks on their faces that make me feel disgusted. I begin to expect the worst as I shakily straighten out my arm and open my locker.
The next thing I see fills me with so much rage.
I am a keen flute player, along with clarinet, violin and piano. The flute is the instrument I have been playing the longest, and it is my grandmothers. I started playing when I was 8, and Tobias encouraged me all the way. Right now I am playing grade 7 pieces on it, or I should say wasplaying grade 7 pieces on it.
My flute, my beautiful,silver, antique flute is covered in graffiti. And that's not the worst of it.
It has scorch marks all over the once shining surface. I see the populars enthralled the druggies into putting out their cigarettes on it.
My eyes fill with tears, but I won't let them fall. I can't give them the satisfaction of knowing they hurt me. Instead I outsmart them.
I turn to Four, who is grinning like he just won the lottery, and I smile broadly at him, showing off my pearly white teeth. He looks shocked by the sudden change in events, and his posse even more so.
"Thanks Four!" I grin and say with fake happiness. "I always thought my flute was getting a bit dull… also the colour scheme you used in your artwork really brings out your personality, the reds and the blacks and the dark blues really symbolize your inner passions. Good job." I turn around to everyone. "Listen up guys!" Not like they weren't already. "I think you should all be proud of Four for bringing out some of his inner fetishes. I, like him, think everyone should follow in his footsteps." My insides cringe at how much I am lying and I force back a wince at the fake enthusiasm when all I want to do is just break down and cry. Sometimes the worst thing is having to pretend to be strong when inside you are dying.
They look shocked by my sudden bravery.
I take out my flute and put my books in my locker. Apparently Four has regained his cockiness because as I turn to walk away I fall flat on my face. He tripped me.
Or actually, it wasn't him. It was Lauren.
I should have known. Everyone laughs, and my face flushes and some of my artwork spills all over the floor. Lauren walks over it, wiping her feet on my art assignment. Some of the populars do the same, but I notice that Four, Zeke and Uriah just walk away, which I am thankful for because with all their muscle they would do a lot more damage to my schoolwork than anyone else. But a question forms in my head – after ruining my flute why don't they do the same to my art?
Inwardly, I am screaming. My flute was one of my most prized possessions, I was always so proud of my natural music ability.
They don't know that though. They probably just think it's another one of my instruments that I will eventually stop.
I don't think that Four would have ruined it if he did know how special it was to me, because I think really that deep, deep,down he could be a good person. That good person is just masked by a LOT of asshole. I pull myself up off the floor and pick up my destroyed artwork. I've never had a day worse than today, and right now I really need my friends. Thankfully classes don't start for another 20 minutes so I can call them. I look at my art work as I get my phone out my pocket.
My recreation of 'Starry Starry Night' By Vincent Van Gogh has footprints all over it, and there is rips in the painting paper where Lauren's heals were. Technically you're not allowed to wear heals at school because it's against the uniform, but it's not like she really cares.
The tears that my eyes were collecting start to fall, dripping onto my already ruined work. My flute lies to the side, it's once glossy surface covered in spray paint and cigarette marks.
Now I'm properly crying, and I dial Al's number into my phone. He picks up on the first ring.
"Hey Tris!" He sounds so happy. Wait until he finds out what they did, then he'll be less amused.
"Al…" My voice sounds croaky. "Al it's never been this bad… can you call Will and Christina?"
He replies with yes and a few minutes later the gang are running through the corridor I'm in, headed to my locker. In the time I was waiting for them, I slid to the ground and had left my artwork and flute discarded to the side, destroyed.
I hear multiple gasps as they approach me.
"This is beyond the line…" I hear Will growl.
"Who did this?" Christina asks softly.
"Isn't it obvious?" That's Al, I think. His voice isn't that different from Will's so I can never tell.
I am being pulled into a hug by Christina, while Al and Will pick up my stuff. I cry into her shoulder, and she rubs my back. I haven't known Christina that long, but she is a great friend.
I wipe my tears away with my sleeve and sling my bag over my shoulder. I put on my best brave face and look at my friends – they look infuriated. Oh god, what are they going to do?
I notice all my things have been put in my locker, which has been locked. We are required to keep our lockers unlocked over the weekend, probably in case there is food in it which starts to go mouldy that the caretaker can remove. It's a stupid rule that allows vandalism to take place.
Suddenly, Al springs into action. We follow him in wonder as he storms down the hallways.
He walks into a classroom, and I follow him. Christina and Will stop and hang in the doorway. Al goes up to Four, who is sitting on his desk talking to Zeke and Uriah. When he sees Al, he smiles.
"Come to protect your lady friend?" He asks mockingly.
Al responds by punching him in the nose. I hear a loud crack, which makes me want to smile. Four deserves to have his nose broken.
"What the hell, dude?!" He shouts at Al. Everyone looks amazed.
"That was her grandmother's flute! She's been playing since she was 8 you asshole!What the fuck gives you the right to ruin someone's things like that?!" Al shouts back. He goes in for another punch.
Upon Al's words, I see a spark in Four's eyes… recognition?
Before he can do any more damage, I pull Al back. He looks at me incredulously.
"Al. Stop. He's not worth it." I shoot a look at Four. He looks confused. "He's not worth it." I repeat with as much venom and hatred in my voice as possible, still looking at Four.
Four straightens up, blood gushing from his now crooked nose. He looks at Al.
"I didn't know. I thought it was just an instrument. And not to pass the blame or anything, but the artwork wasn't my fault. I'm sorry." He apologizes.
How dare he? Just because he didn't know does not give him the right to vandalism.
"And what makes you think I'll accept your apology? What makes you think that I would everaccept anyof your apologies?" I hiss at him. God, I hate him.
But do I? I have never hated someone before, and I believe in the saying hate is too strong an emotion to waste on people you don't like.
I don't hate him. Doesn't mean I like him.
I drag Al out the classroom.
Wow. That was long. Please review! Too much drama for chapter 1? Also please give your thoughts on The Mortal Instruments as mentioned above. Fourtris won't happen for a while.
Peace out!