I decided to merge the first two chapters if that's okay. D: I think I'm going to try dedicating myself to writing 2500-3000 words for each chapter.
What is a good length to write at?
I hate school.
"Beatrice! Come on!" Caleb bangs on the door harder. "Don't be selfish."
Nope. Not going out there where a bunch of jerks are going to throw me into garbage bins and push me down stairs. "You're the one being selfish," I groan. "Go to school without me. Those jerks are waiting for you."
It's almost a year since we moved here, in Chicago. My dad lost his job again, and so our family sought for a new start here. And what a great start that was. Caleb and I are already targets of harassment, but while I'm dying to punch the jerks in the gut, Caleb manages to cope and keep me steady. As you can see, I don't have many friends. I've learned to play the shy kid, and I guess that keeps me out of trouble.
There's a squeaky sound and I hear the door click. Caleb walks in with a malformed paperclip in his hand. Dammit, I think. He picked the lock. I curl up into a ball, my last feeble attempt to evade him.
"This year will be different," he says softly, sitting on the bed next to me. I feel his hand press against my shoulder. "I promise."
"You're a liar," I grumble. I twist under his hand and stick my head outside of the blanket to peek at him. His face is a rare shade of red. Impatience doesn't suit him.
"I'm not," he says, slowly uncovering me. His hand wraps around my arm. "Beatrice, all those bullies are gone now. They graduated." I frown at him. "It'll be okay."
There's a maturity in his eyes that makes him look like an old man. I sigh. "Let's go."
"Stiff!" someone yells. Two hands shove me into the water fountain.
I hate Caleb. I hate high school. I hate people.
"This year will be different." My voice mimics Caleb. "I promise."
Caleb always told me not to retaliate—that retaliating brought me down to their level.
Cowardice brings me down to their level. Standing up to them is the bravest thing I could do. But I listen to Caleb, all the while not agreeing with him. I don't know how he deals with it, but he does.
I walk next to the wall until I reach my first class, English.
The teacher is petite and small like me, with a cranky expression scrunching her face. The bell still hasn't rung yet. She pauses from the book in her hands to eye me carefully as I walk in. I try to ignore her, taking a look at the whiteboard. It says, "PICK ANY SEAT" in blue marker. On each desk, there is a small square of dark chocolate. I settle in the back corner. If there's one thing I learned from last year, it's that socializing is a pain because no one wants to be friends with me.
After the bell rings, students shuffle in with their chatter, stumbling around the desks. A girl plops down beside me.
"Hey," she says brightly to me. Her hair is short and her skin is dark. She pops the square of chocolate in her mouth.
I stare at her almost, unsure if someone is actually trying to talk to me. I answer back, "Hey."
"My name's Christina." She slides her backpack off her shoulders and sits it next to mine. "Yours?"
I hesitate. "Beatrice," I say quietly. My name sounds like an antique.
She surprises me with a grin and whips out a phone from her pocket. "What's your number?"
"I don't have one."
"You don't have a phone?" she gasps, her eyes bulging. I shake my head and she gasps again.
A boy with a tight black shirt settles in the seat in front of me and automatically spins to face Christina.
"Have you seen Marlene?" he asks, a look of concern coating his face. Christina scrunches her mouth before shaking her head. He sighs. "She's supposed to be in this class, but I don't see her."
"Sorry Uriah," she shrugs. He sighs again disappointedly as he turns back around.
The teacher taps a ruler against the whiteboard, forcing the class to go silent.
"Hello, class. I'm Mrs. Matthews," she begins, scanning the students with her cat-like eyes. "But you may call me Jeanine. I'll be your English teacher this year."
Before she can continue, a tall, sturdy boy strides through the door. An interesting scowl coats Jeanine's eyes as she and him lock stares for a moment. Her ruler jabs at the desk next to Uriah. "There's a free seat over there," she says icily. He nods and makes his way towards my corner. I catch his gaze for a moment. His eyes are a deep blue, like the ocean and his nose is hooked handsomely. Uriah slumps in his seat, probably because he was saving that seat for Marlene.
"So," Jeanine says as the boy settles into his chair. "Let's begin with attendance. Tell me if there's another name you prefer to be called by. Christina."
"Here."
"Peter." Three seats in front of me, a hand raises.
"Edward."
"Here."
"Tob—"
"I go by Four," interrupts the boy next to Uriah. Christina stifles a laugh, nudging me with her elbow.
"Four? Like the number?" she whispers in my ear. "What kind of name is that?"
Four turns around to glare at her. "You've got a problem?" His voice is low and menacing, too old for his age. Christina shakes her head. Real charmer, that guy.
Jeanine scribbles something on her attendance sheet. "Marlene," she continues. Uriah sits straight up, his head on a swivel. No one answers. Jeanine shakes her head as she marks Marlene absent.
"Will."
"Here."
"Eric." Another hand raises four seats to the right of me.
"Beatrice."
I freeze, suddenly hating the name more than ever. Beatrice sounds like the weak girl that my family always believed in. "I go by something else," I say quickly. My mouth searches desperately for a new name. I still have a chance to be someone else. Someone different than Beatrice Prior. "I…um. I go by…Tris."
"Tris," she repeats, writing on the sheet. "Alright." That sounds tougher. Sounds braver.
When she finishes calling attendance, she proceeds onto the wonders of British grammar with so much alacrity, her voice almost rises to a shout. I tune it all out until the bell rings.
Jeanine smiles, "Have a good day, class. I'll see you tomorrow."
As I walk out the door, I hear Peter next to me. "Heard about your dad," he sneers into my ear. "About how he arrested three homeless people for loitering. Can your family get any stupider?" He shoves me, forcing me to stagger against a trashcan. Then he strolls away with the rest of the crowd, leaving me to the aid of Christina.
"What's his deal?" she asks, steadying me. I shrug. I finally got a her as a friend. I don't want her to know about my murderer of a dad too soon. "Well next time he touches you, I'm gonna kick his ass." She says it with a determined smile and I can't help but smile back..
To my fortunate surprise, Christina shares almost all of my classes with me. To my unfortunate surprise, so does Peter. And to my weirded-out surprise, so does Four, Eric, and a boy named Al.
When lunch begins, Christina sits beside me. "Oh God, I'm starving," she groans, grasping something that resembles a hamburger. Only it's stripped down to a simple bun and patty. I watch her in amazement, waiting to see how fast she can inhale it until I hear a tray clatter across the table. It's Al.
He gives me a nervous look. "Can I sit here?" he asks shyly. I nod. Christina gives him a thumbs up in approval, her mouth too full for words. Al is big in size. A lot bigger than me. But there's a gentler air that surrounds him. His skin is pale, like he doesn't go outside a lot.
This is already more friends than I had last year.
A group of people walk past, one of them leaning in towards me. "Whore," he whispers before pulling away. I ignore it. Christina doesn't take it though.
She stands straight up. "Hey you, shit-face!" she calls out. Oh my God. What is she doing? The guy whips around with the rest of his crew. One of the members is Peter. I catch Four peeking his head over their shoulders, watching Christina curiously. Really? He's one of them? I guess I can't be surprised, considering how he acted earlier.
Christina reaches for the guy's collar and sends her knuckles into the his nose. He cries out, grabbing his face. Blood immediately drips from his nostrils. He tries to retaliate, sending a punch flying, but Christina dodges it easily and kicks him in the stomach with her slightly elevated boot. He doubles over and backs away into the crowd next to Peter.
"Sorry," Christina grins. "I thought I heard you talk. Really annoyed me. Did you talk?" He shakes his head and grudges away, the crowd of people turning away with him.
Christina settles down beside me, casually returning to her food. I simply gape at her. "You didn't have to do that."
"Of course I did," she scoffs, picking up a cookie.
We just met, but I feel like we've known each other for years. "Well remind me not to get on your bad side," I say. We laugh together. Even Al.
Maybe this year will be different.
"How was today?" Caleb asks as we walk out of the school. Even though Caleb is only two months older than me, he's an 11th grader—I'm a 10th grader. "Different?"
"It sucked," I grumble, folding my arms. I don't want to admit he was right.
"It looks like you made some friends."
Shoot. "Oh, you saw that?"
"How could I not? It's only the first day of school and a fight already breaks out," he sighs, shaking his head. "And you're friends with her."
"Her name is Christina. And she was protecting me," I say defensively, even though I can't really explain why. I'm still trying to get past that she even wanted to talk to me. Probably because she doesn't know about our dad, I think.
We walk in silence for the rest of the way home.
Mom's cooking lingers in the air. "We're home," I call out as we step into the house. I follow the scent into the kitchen and find my mom leaning over a soup pan on the stove.
"Beatrice," she smiles without looking at me. "I made chicken noodle. Get your brother and sit down at the table."
"Is dad home?" I ask.
"No. He won't be home until late tonight."
"Again?" I feel slightly betrayed. He's been taking more and more night shifts at the police station lately. Enough that I haven't seen him for four days straight.
"He'll be here tomorrow. Oh, by the way, could you go get the mail? The keys are on the counter."
Good. I need some air. I grab the keys and leave through the backdoor.
My dad is a police officer, but he kind of sucks at it. This year, he's made a couple of false arrests. But more than that, last year he accidentally shot an innocent bystander. The only thing that saved him was his position of authority. That's why people don't like him. His mistakes were broadcasted all over the news throughout the country, and more than enough people think he'd be better off dead than alive. Our family had to endure so many threats and harassment that we decided to leave Los Angeles, and somehow he managed to get another job here in Chicago.
My dad might suck at being a police officer, but he's a good person with good intentions so it didn't take me too long to forgive him. Caleb is a different story. He doesn't talk about in front of our parents, but he's still mad at my dad for remaining a police officer after killing someone and forcing our family to flee the city. The problem hasn't completely left us, because there are still people bullying Caleb and I, but at least it's not as intense as it was in Los Angeles. There was actual danger of being killed there.
The mailbox is across the street. It's one of the big ones that hold all the mail of the whole neighborhood. My street is really close to the more sketchy areas of the city, and a lot of sidewalk is vandalized with words like "Dauntless" or "Fearless". It's probably gang stuff.
As I unlock my family's slot, a whistle breaks the sound of distant cars. I look to my left. No one's here. I look to my right and see Peter turn around the corner with two of his friends. His eyes lock on me and he pauses in his step for a moment. "Hey, Drew," he says loudly, nudging his friend. "Is that stiff?"
Oh no. I grab the mail quickly and turn around to cross the street but Peter is fast and gets in the way. He shoves me against the mailbox.
"Is this your neighborhood, stiff?" he whispers menacingly. I try to tear around him before his friends can surround me, but he catches my arm and slams me back against the box. Drew laughs as I struggle against Peter's grasp. "She's so small," he snorts, his eyes skirting over my body. "Kind of cute."
Peter makes a gagging noise and frowns at him with disgust. "She's not cute," he grumbles, his gaze returning to me. "I could use some pictures though. Some payback for Christina's little hit today."
Oh no. This isn't happening. This isn't happening.
"Don't touch me," I hiss, trying to wrench myself free. The bundle of mail slips from my hand. After pulling out a phone, Drew slithers a finger under my shirt while Peter and his friend pin me against the mailbox. I kick wildly. I can't let this happen to me. I can't let them think I'm scared. My foot manages to make contact with Drew's privates and he flinches, inhaling sharply.
"You bitch," he growls, seizing a handful of my hair. He jerks my head upward. A faint cry slips from my lips.
"Alex, hold her down," Peter says to the other guy. Drew slides up my shirt further, laughing, "She's probably super flat-chested."
The breeze feels cold on my stomach. My head is screaming. "Stop…!" I whimper quietly, shutting my eyes.
Why does this have to happen to me?
Suddenly Drew's hand withdraws from my shirt. His laughter is replaced by a grunt, and then followed by smacking noises. There is a thud. Peter begins to shout, but he's cut short by another sound of a thud.
I open eyes, finding Peter and Drew doubled-over and motionless on the sidewalk. Alex backs away from a boy in a black sweater who stands defensively in front of me. The boy is tall, his hair dark, but glittering brown in the sunlight. He wears a sense of pride in his stature and humbleness in the curve of his neck. His fists clench tightly at his sides, daring Alex to try and fight back.
Alex has two decisions now: he can either retreat…or become like his friends—knocked out cold on the ground. It doesn't take him long to decide. He runs away and disappears behind the corner.
Triumphantly, the boy in the black sweater spins around to face me. I breathe heavily, letting my stare drop to his converse shoes.
"You know…" His voice is familiar, but seems out of place. Like it should be cold and harsh, not warm like it is now. I feel his gaze on the top of my head. "You can't always have people picking fights for you," he says. He knows about Christina too?
I shake, unsure of how I should respond. A small "thank you" shudders from my mouth. He picks up the bundle of mail and slides it into my hands.
"Be careful next time," he says, briefly putting a hand on my shoulder. I take the bundle and nod, avoiding his gaze. Once he strolls around the corner, I look around. This guy just saved me.
Immediately I regret not looking at him. Who was he?
When I go to school the next day, I keep my eye out. It seems ridiculous because really, it could be anyone out of the hundreds of kids that go to my school, but I still search anyways. It's when I reach my first period class that I notice a pair of converse shoes shuffling beside me. When I look up, I meet Eric's stare.
Eric is tall. Eric is muscly. Eric looks threatening.
He doesn't say anything. He looks away just as quickly as I do. Is he the boy in the black sweater?
I settle down in my seat in the corner. If I ask him and he's not it, then I guess I'll have made things awkward—but if he is it, then I've found my person to thank properly. I look at the clock. There's five minutes to ask him. Maybe there's something brave in thanking people too.
I stand up and weave around the desks until I reach his. His eyes shoot up to mine icily. Suddenly, everything seems doubtful.
"Hey…"I start, struggling to form the words. "Have I...met you before?"
His gaze hardens. "No," he growls flatly, his voice harsh. "What do you want, stiff?"
I cringe. Even if he wasn't the person, I wasn't expecting that. "Never mind," I mutter, returning to my seat. Must be a friend of Peter's.
Speaking of Peter, Peter saunters into the room, limping slightly. What did that guy do to him?
Four follows a couple feet behind him, striding through the door like yesterday. The instant the door closes behind him, he blue eyes quickly skirt mine. I frown. Even if Four is tall, there's no way Four is the guy. He's one of Peter's little crowd of people.
"Tris?" Christina plops down next to me. "Whatcha staring at?"
If I tell her about yesterday, she'll flip out. I shake my head. "Nothing."