A/N: So, I had a friend over yesterday and we decided to write a Divergent high school AU just for shits and giggles, kind of as a take-that to all the terrible high school AUs out there. We decided ours would feature nerdy Tris and popular Four, as well as a friendship between Academic Decathlon champion Caleb and party animal Peter. Anyways, this is our creation.

WARNING: T for vague descriptions of sexual assault and teen drug use.


An undercurrent of words traveled through the school. "You going to Four's party tonight?"

It was whispered in English classes, in History classes, on the asphalt, on the bus, in the stalls of the bathrooms.

Peter Hayes stretched mockingly in Algebra II, using it as an excuse to talk to Zeke, the boy behind him. "Are you bringing the booze?"

"Yeah," said Zeke, chewing on his pencil eraser. "Are you bringing the Percy?"

"Zeke," Peter chided, green eyes glinting, "I'm sixteen."

"You drink like an elderly Irish man."

Peter glared at him.

Zeke raised his hands back. "Okay, I'll hook us up."

"Good."


Beatrice counted her steps as she walked in a straight line down the school's hallway, reminding herself not to step on the white tiles.

She looked down, pushing up her glasses that only magnified her large blue eyes. She held her books tightly to her small chest. She was caught up in her memories of the time Eric gave her a sash that read 'WORLD'S SMALLEST BOOBS' when she ran into something solid.

Strong arms grasped her as her books flew everywhere.

"Sorry," a deep voice said. She looked up into deep blue eyes.

"Oh, sorry, Four," she said quietly, trying not to be noticed.

But she couldn't be unnoticed. Laughter roared through the hallway.

He put his left hand on her far shoulder and steered her away from the public.

"If you want," he said gently, as though she was a gun about to go off, "you can come to a function at my house tonight. My dad's gonna be out of town. Everyone's gonna be there. We're gonna have happy dust, and ganja, and pills, and sauce, of course, and music. We're gonna turn up."

Beatrice stared at him with awe, trying to process all the words he just used - all of that slang. "But," she said a bit louder than intended, "isn't a turnip a veggie?"

Four shook his head, patted her shoulder, and walked away.


Beatrice used her student directory to research Four Eaton. She found his address - his house was near hers. She smiled with hope as she pored over the pictures, gazing at his picture. He was so handsome.

She decided to walk there, since he was only two zip codes away. She wore a black collared shirt and jeans. She knew she was taking a big risk - all she ever wore were uniform pants. She decided to let her hair down and lose her glasses. She inserted contacts with precision, imagining Four's strong hands doing it for her.

The sun was still up when she left, but she figured that since it was Daylight Savings Time, the party would be in full-swing!

When she got to Four's house, she could have sworn that it was the wrong house. There were no cars.

She walked up to the door, mustering all of her courage to knock.

When it swung open, one person greeted her. It was Four.

He smiled with utmost sincerity. "Hey."


It was nine-thirty, and it was thirty minutes past Beatrice's weekend bedtime. She knew her parents would be upset, but she liked to live on the wild side. It was exhilarating!

She heard yells and moans from other rooms of Four's large house.

She heard a loud thud, and then the footsteps of someone walking up to her. He was tall and pretty like a girl, and his green eyes were full of awe.

"You look… sexy tonight," he said quietly. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. Something lined the skin by his nostril - white powder. That must be happy dust.

"Um, thank you," she said meekly.

"Tris, right?"

"Um… Beatrice, actually," she said, her voice becoming more quiet as she trailed off.

"Yeah… what size tits are you?" he blurted out, hiccuping.

"Uh… small," she whispered.

He patted her back and then stumbled away.

Another hand grabbed her there. It was big and strong, just like she remembered. Four's.

"Sorry about Peter," he said. "He's a bit of a snowbird. Very… uh… happy tonight."

"That was nice of him," she said, not looking in Four's eyes.

"No, it wasn't. Lying isn't nice."

Her heart sank.

"Bye, Four," she said, padding as fast as she could toward the door.

"Wait!" he called. "Was it something I said?"

She didn't pause.


The minute Beatrice had left the house in jeans, Caleb knew something was up. Beatrice's footsteps faded slowly as she walked down the street, the pattern resembling that of someone skipping excitedly.

So he did the only thing that a good brother would have the sense to do - he followed her.

He watched and hid silently as she made her way to the party. Once other guests flooded in, Caleb found his place among them and sneaked in.

He watched from afar as she interacted with people, sometimes leading the conversation, other times being the one who had been approached. He had never seen her so alive.

He stopped watching for a minute when he realized he had to pee, and walked to the bathroom. When he stepped out, someone quite literally fell into his arms.

He wasn't prepared, and found himself losing his balance. The weight of the person, another boy his age, didn't help.

He caught himself on the door frame and moved the kid up with his knee, taking his hand and helping them both stand.

Which turned out to be a challenge for the other boy, who had dark, shiny hair, a bottle of alcohol, and an inexplicable purple bandana tied around his head.

Peter fell into Caleb's arms again.

He clasped hands with the very drunk, very disoriented person in front of him and dreaded when he would finally have to let go.


Beatrice was storming out of the Eaton residence, her breathing heavy, when she felt Four's strong hand come down on her shoulder for the third time.

She turned around. "What?" she snapped. She had never yelled at a boy before, never expressed her independence in this way. She had never felt so alive.

"Beatrice… Tris… come inside. Please. Have fun with me. It's not even ten yet. It's… the night is young."

"Why did you even invite me here in the first place?"

"I wanted to have fun with you."

"Me? Beatrice Prior? Of all people."

"I've already had fun with everybody else."

She considered him. He had a way of making things seem better than they were.

He extended his hand and reluctantly she took it.


"Hey, where's Peter?" Zeke asked as he sloshed his drink around, leaning on the staircase of Four's house.

Eric shrugged, making his long, greasy hair bounce a little.

Peter was their sophomore friend, and usually at parties, even though always a bit coked up, he was down for things like the ones they were about to do. Usually it was Four who objected to whatever Eric had up his sleeve.

Zeke nodded, and Eric pulled something out of his jacket pocket - a bag of little white pills. He winked to Zeke and placed them in his hand.

Zeke disappeared into the kitchen, placing individual tablets of the bag into a few of the assorted full cups. Courtesy of Four's own generosity.

Idiot.

When he was done, Zeke discarded the bag in the trash and walked by Eric, winking.

Then it was Eric's turn.

He saw her across the room.

Small, blonde, looking around in all directions, eyes always searching. She didn't belong.

Eric saw the cup she selected, and he just had a feeling.


Everything happened so fast.

She remembered her heavy footsteps as large hands carried her upstairs. She imagined they would be her father's, carrying her after she had fallen asleep. Her waking moments.

She felt warm all over. Her color perception was distorted, and for a bit everything was green, and then red, and then blue - like Four's eyes.

She felt herself being thrown on the bed. She saw a blurred face, and that's when it happened. That's when Beatrice's world changed.


Four struggled to be heard over the roar of the music. The lights flashed different colors. Even at his considerable height, he could not find his petite blonde beauty.

It didn't make sense for her to be upstairs. That's where kids did drugs. The booze was downstairs.

Still, he climbed the stairs two at a time. The noise level was no better there.

A crowd was formed around the upstairs bedroom that belonged to his father. Camera phones were out, the door cracked open.

His heart sank, dropped beyond the pit of his stomach and into the ground. No. It couldn't be happening.

He broke the crowd, forcing his way in, and shoved the people out of the way.

And there she was.

Beatrice.

She was naked from the waist down, squirming, barely conscious. Her mouth was open, maybe muttering words.

"Four…"

His heart might have been pounding a million beats per minute. But he'd never know - physical sensations were nothing. He wanted to hurt the people who did this to her.

Because they did it to him, too.