CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE


FOUR


I usually hate Mondays, but today I am feeling much happier than usual. For one thing, Zeke is back at school; Hana refused to let him continue missing his classes when it could easily be months waiting for Uriah to wake up. No one is saying it aloud, but the truth is, he may never wake up. No one really knows for sure.

That's the thing that makes me nervous about Tris's request to keep this thing between us quiet for now. Eventually it will come out whether we are ready or not, and I don't really like hiding it in the first place. But for now, it is a reasonable request and I would honestly feel better if Uriah knew before the rest of the world as well.

Even so, Tris is the main reason for my good mood; I haven't seen her yet this morning but I know I will at math class in about three minutes. Plus, tonight she agreed to come with me to Peter's for that hidden camera. The gang has been passing it around for dares, for years. I can't wait to see the footage. I hope it's angled the right way to catch Peter's reaction; I can't imagine that he will have made it far down the street before noticing the smoke that appears to be coming from his engine.

When I see Lauren fifty feet ahead of me, I duck down a hallway to take a longer route to my class. She is on crutches for that broken ankle and every time I pass her she ropes me into carrying her books. She insists on making small talk with me every single time. I hate small talk. I love that Tris doesn't insist on filling every silence with meaningless chatter.

I'm hardly looking where I'm going, too lost in thought, and am startled when I hear the deep growl of, "You!"

My head snaps up and I see Peter flying toward me. I try to dodge him but the hallway is too crowded and my movement is stopped by a group of girls walking right next to me. Peter knocks over a scrawny guy in glasses but by the time I have regained my balance, he is coming toward me again.

I duck the next punch. I learned a long time ago that even if I am only defending myself, any retaliation might get me into trouble with the school faculty and when Marcus gets wind of it, I'll be very, very sorry. Even so, soon enough I'm sick of trying to avoid Peter's attack. The other students in the hall have formed a circle around us, cheering and shouting.

Peter comes at me tirelessly, fueled by anger and adrenaline and finally I fight back. For a few moments we trade punches and by the time a teacher breaks through the thick crowd of students to break us up, I have Peter pinned to the floor.

I mentally curse all the way to the principal's office, dreading whatever consequences are waiting for me.


Ms. Matthews is sitting at her desk when the school nurse leads us into her office. We were kept separated while the nurse fixed us up; all I really had was a bruised jaw and knuckles; Peter has a split lip and black eye, and definitely appears to be favoring his right arm. Seeing the severe look on Ms. Matthews face, I am guessing that the teacher that broke us up, Mr. Delgado, filled her in about our fight.

"Sit," Ms. Matthews commands. There are two chairs for me and Peter, sat right next to each other. I glance at him as I move for the chair and he glares at me. I scowl back.

Apparently we are taking too long, because Ms. Matthews repeats herself. "Sit."

Peter and I drop into the chairs and scoot them further away from each other, so we're each at a corner of the desk. I can feel him glaring at me. I don't gratify him with a glare back.

Ms. Matthews stares us down with her chin on her steepled fingers. Then she pushes a paper toward each of us and leans back in her chair.

"When you began the year here, each of you signed an agreement to abide by the rules of this school and acknowledgement that you read the student handbook and are aware of student expectations." I look down and see that she has actually pulled out the agreements each of us signed, as if we were going to dispute being aware that fighting was not allowed. "Can either of you tell me what that handbook said about engaging in physical altercations?"

"Not to," Peter mumbles. He's sitting there with his arms crossed over his chest, pouting, like a child.

Ms. Matthews looks at me, but I have nothing to add, so she proceeds to pull out the student handbook. She consults the table of contents and thumbs through the pages before highlighting a section and handing it to me. She nods at me and I realize I am supposed to read it aloud.

"A student shall not intentionally cause or attempt to cause physical injury or intentionally behave in such a way as could reasonably cause physical injury to any person. Any student involved in fighting or promoting fighting shall be subject to disciplinary action, including dismissal from campus," I read. "Assault or fighting is defined as a verbal or physical altercation causing a disruption of the educational process. Students should not move toward fights but should seek ways to avoid fights. A mob fight is defined as a fight in which two or more students fight against another student. Students who participate in mob fights face dismissal."

Peter rolls his eyes, catching Ms. Matthews' attention. She clears her throat. "Mr. Hayes," she clips, "Witnesses have said they believe it was you who attacked first. Were you provoked in some way?"

"Yes," Peter spits. He points a finger at me as he whines, "He put a smoke bomb under my car! I thought my engine was blowing up or something. And I've got a date this weekend and my car's gonna smell like smoke for weeks!"

"No I didn't," I lie, rolling my eyes and trying to sound bored.

"Yes you did," he spits. "I saw you driving near my house last night."

"Did this happen on school property, Peter?" she asks, pinching the bridge of her nose like she is trying to stave off a headache.

"No," he pouts. "It went off when I pulled out of my driveway this morning."

I hear the door open and glance behind me to see that Coach Amar has come into the room. When the door closes, he leans against it with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Then your vehicle is none of my concern, Mr. Hayes," she says sharply. "Keep the disruptions off of school grounds." She turns to me. "Mr. Eaton, what do you have to say for yourself?"

I clear my throat. "I'm sorry that I hit him back, Ms. Matthews. I was not looking for a fight, he just attacked me out of nowhere. I dodged him as long as I could, but eventually I had to defend myself. I didn't do anything to him but take his first string spot on the football team. He's just jealous." Next to me, Peter grits his teeth. We both know it's a lie, but he's crossed the line in the past without any reason. I'm not above bending the truth in this instance, not if it might keep my dad from getting wind of this.

Ms. Matthews stands and with a pointed look, says, "I trust that you two can be civil for a moment." She walks over to Coach but doesn't leave the room, so we both stay quiet as the two adults have a hushed discussion. Then she comes back to her chair and sits down.

"Mr. Hayes," she says with an exasperated sigh, "this is not the first major offense I have seen you for here only two months into the school year, and both times you have targeted Mr. Eaton. This school does not tolerate physical violence. It is an institution of learning, not a daycare, and we have no room for your sort of immaturity here. You are hereby suspended from school for one week, and from the football team for one month."

"You can't do that!" Peter bursts out, enraged. "There are scouts coming to these games."

"Perhaps you will think about that in the future. Now, Mr. Eaton," she turns to me, "witness accounts support your account of today's events, and your previously empty disciplinary file does work to your favor. For your role, you will serve two hours of detention and I will be contacting your parents."

"Thank you, ma'am," I say quickly, heart pounding. "Uh, will you be speaking to both of them? Or just my mom?" I hint, praying to every god that might exist that she have mercy on me.

Ms. Matthews waves her hand dismissively. "I see no reason to have the conversation twice. Your mother is the first contact." I stifle a relieved sigh. "But Mr. Eaton," she adds, narrowing her eyes at me, "do know that I am aware with whom you keep company." Somehow I am not surprised that my friendship with the Pedrads doesn't win me any brownie points. As much as I hate my father, he did warn me about that pitfall. "You are dismissed."

I hurry out of the room just as the bell rings. So much for seeing Tris at math class today.


I worry all day about whether Ms. Matthews was able to reach my mom on the first try, or if she will have moved down the contact list and called Marcus. I have to stay with him weekend after next, he'll have plenty of opportunity to make me sorry. And what's worse, it's my own fault. I'm not that surprised that Peter would react as he did once he figured out it was me, and with Uriah in a coma and Zeke hardly leaving his bedside, I was the most likely culprit.

By the time I'm able to speak to my mom after football practice, my nerves are frayed. I am relieved by her assurances that yes, she did speak to Ms. Matthews, so my father shouldn't have received a call as well. I rest my forehead against the steering wheel for a minute. With a deep, cleansing breath, I start my car and smile thinking about my next stop: Tris's house to study together for tomorrow's Spanish test.


After eating dinner, Tris and I cuddle up on her bed with our Spanish books. She has made flashcards and I lean back into the pillows with her head on my chest and my arm around her shoulders as we take turns quizzing each other. After a while, Tris sets the cards next to her on the bed and twists her body to look up at me.

"I went by Peter's, right after school," she tells me. "Got that camera back. I thought it was better to go when I knew no one was home."

I lift my head to look at her. "In daylight? You sure that was a good idea? Someone might have seen you."

"I was careful," she says. My eyes are drawn to her lower lip, caught between her teeth. "So, that fight today. You didn't fight back at first."

I lay my head back. "Yeah."

"You're obviously a better fighter than him, and he's been a dick to you. I don't know, seemed like your opportunity. Couldn't have gotten in too much trouble when he started it."

"You'd be surprised," I say. She keeps her eyes on me, patiently waiting for me to explain. "At my last school, there was this guy, Eric. He was ― well, it was a lot like the situation with Peter; he was on top until I moved there, joined the team, bumped him back to second string. And he really hated me. At first he just tried to spread rumors and stuff like that. But then one day he started a fight with me and I fought back."

"What happened?" Tris asks, turning a bit and molding herself against my side. I absently run my fingers up and down her arm, the one without the cast on it.

"Eric was smarter than Peter, more manipulative. He managed to convince the principal that I provoked him in some way and I ended up in almost as much trouble as him. Suspended a couple days, benched a couple games." I shrug. "I was only a sophomore so not much worry about scouts watching me, but my dad… he was pissed. Not something I care to repeat."

"So you tried not to fight back even though Peter deserved it."

"Yeah." I clear my throat and change the subject. "So, you think we're ready for this test tomorrow, or can we find better things to do than study?"

Tris grins at me with a twinkle in her eye. "Oh, I think we're good. There are much more fun ways to spend the evening."

I grin back and pull her in for a kiss.