(Tris)
"Did you know they want to test all the kids for divergence?"
I'm livid when I storm into my parents' house uninvited, banging into the kitchen. I drove here in panicky circles in the biblical downpour. Outside, the trees bend in supplication.
"What?" My mother snaps to attention, dropping the knife she was using to cut carrots and accidentally cutting her thumb. She jerks her thumb to her mouth.
"What the hell is going on?" I demand.
"Watch it," she says, glancing at Daxton, and I look at him guiltily. He repeats just about everything we say, and I know it's just a matter of time before he's in preschool and asking the teacher why today's snack is so shitty.
I press my lips to his temple and mumble, "Sorry."
"Did you skip work?" My mother asks, and I'm about to tell her exactly where my job falls on my list of priorities at this particular moment when Caleb lets himself in through the back door, my father close behind him.
"Ladies," Caleb walks in, holding Callie in his arms and glancing at me briefly. He heads straight for the fridge and frowns at the contents as if they're extremely interesting.
I ignore him as if I hadn't even heard. "Did you know Erudite is trying to test all the kids for divergence?" I demand, bouncing Daxton on my hip and trying not to sound hysterical.
"No," he says immediately, but suddenly he won't look at me. "Do you want some orange juice, baby?" he asks Callie.
"Caleb Prior, I am going to ask you again-"
"What?" He sounds pissed at me now. "I didn't know, exactly-"
"Caleb!"
"Beatrice." My father steps between us like we're ten and eleven and not nineteen and twenty, like I'm about to pull some bratty little sister move that involves a shin-kick or a punch to the back of the head. Like I'm not standing here holding a child of my own.
"Enough." He says, and I turn on him. My father has been supervising the council since he came out of his coma, practically. He regulates every faction. There is no way in the breathing world that if someone from Erudite so much as said the word "divergent," my father didn't hear about it.
"What about you?" I demand, trying to keep my voice steady. Daxton squirms unhappily in my arms. "You must have known."
My father nods. "Yes," he says, and looks at me evenly. One thing he never does is lie.
"And you didn't tell me?" He doesn't reply for a minute, like he's thinking. Dark spots are flecked across his shirt from the rain.
"No," he says when he's ready. "I didn't."
None of this is new information, but it still hits like something with physical force.
"Why not?" I ask, and it comes out a lot sadder than I mean it to.
"Beatrice-"
"Mom, PLEASE."
"I didn't tell you," he says slowly, "because I was hoping I could get it dismissed."
Well.
All three of them are staring at me, waiting. My mother has a hand pressed to her heart. Caleb still stands at the fridge, all bulk and muscle, Callie on his shoulder, watchful.
"See you for breakfast on Saturday," I say finally, and start home to put Dax to sleep and break the news to Tobias.
...
(Christina)
Zeke and Shauna are throwing a party tonight. They want to get pregnant soon, they said, and Shauna wants to get shamelessly wasted one last time. Tobias is sick, so he and Tris aren't coming. I, however, am prepared to get drunk right alongside Shauna.
I'm gravitating towards the vodka, loud music blaring, when something stops me. A man who looks just like Matthew. I can't breathe then, and try to tell myself that it's my imagination. I've already had three drinks, of course it's my imagination. I killed him myself, of course it's my imagination.
I stumble to the backyard and towards the swing set in the dark. It's my imagination, it's my imagination, it's my imagination.
I collapse onto a swing. Why can't I ever get away? Even in death, he won't let me escape. I hear other girls talk about being independent, sober, focused, then they trail off mid sentence into alcohol, hookups, good times. It's the game I can't play. They do what they want without breakdowns. They slip in and out of this world, avoiding the holes, whereas I am hooked. Every single time.
"What are you doing?" Uriah walks through the damp grass, hands in his pockets.
I grope around for plausible deniability, and finding none, I settle for the truth. "Hiding."
He sits in the swing beside me. "From anything in particular?"
From Matthew's ghost, actually, but it doesn't seem like the kind of thing I can tell him without sounding crazy. "That," I say instead, stalling, "is a very good question."
"Well you suck at hiding, because I found you in like, one second."
I laugh hollowly.
"Christina," he says, and I look at him. "Don't let this fear keep you from living. You're worth more than that."
"Fear? Of what?" I gesture around. "People having a good time? I'm not scared, Uriah."
"True Dauntless," he rolls his eyes a little, then softens. "You know you can let people help you."
"I got a therapist like you wanted me to."
"That's not what I mean. You have all these friends that are here to support you. You don't have to do it all on your own."
I look at him and breathe.
"Uriah!" Zeke calls. "Christina!"
We stand at the same time, still watching each other carefully.
"Thank you," I say, then walk away.
...
(Tris)
"What?" Tobias demands. Usually when he's frustrated or nervous, he runs his hands through his hair, or rubs the back of his neck - habits that I have memorized. It's what makes girls fall in love with him in the middle of supermarkets and when we go to restaurants. Now though, he's still as winter, like the blood has dried up in his veins, his eyes glued to our son.
"Amar is coming over at 9 so we can talk about our options."
"Our options? There is no option! It's not happening! They're not touching him!"
"Of course they're not. We're talking about options of how we're going to stop them. The council would have to vote, right?"
"Yeah," now he's running his hands through his hair, and it makes me feel a little less unsettled.
I press the back of my hand to his cheek. His fever still hasn't broken. I sit next to him and he puts his warm head on my shoulder. I kiss his forehead and run my hand over his arm.
"It'll be fine," I murmur.
Dax toddles over to us. He's a hugely beautiful kid, dark hair and round eyes, even taking into account the fact that I grew him inside my body and may therefore be a little biased. Strangers stop and say he's beautiful all the time. He looks nothing like me, except for the pointed nose we share.
"It'll be fine," Tobias smiles and repeats to him, but I can feel his heart pounding.
...
A/N: Please review!
