Chapter 37
Some Things Don't Change

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 2016 | 12:15 AM | TRIS

I have to read The Grapes of Wrath for my English Lit class. I cannot concentrate on this so-called American classic to save my life, and it's not because I just got home from a closing shift waitressing. It's always been this way, ever since high school, every time I've been required to read a book by this particular author. I drop the open book on my chest and release my frustration with a growl. Maybe I'll just print out the spark notes when I'm on campus tomorrow. I really should buy a printer. I could ask Four to use his; Uriah has already chipped in for ink cartridges to print his own schoolwork. But then I would have to tell Four that I'm in school.

I hear someone come in the front door. It could be either of the guys; Four usually gets home from work about now, and Uriah went to a party tonight with Lynn, Marlene, and a couple of other new friends from school. I have been laying so that I take up nearly the whole couch, so I sit up and see that it is Four on his way in from work. He greets me as he puts something away in the fridge, and I cross my legs beneath me as he makes his way to the couch with a beer in each hand.

"Long day?" I ask, setting my book down on the coffee table.

"A bit," he says. He nods at the book and raises his eyebrows. "The Grapes of Wrath? I know a lot has changed, Tris, but I never in a million years thought I'd see you choose to read Steinbeck. You couldn't even make it through Of Mice and Men."

I open the beer he hands me and take a slow sip, buying myself time. His words spark an uneasy feeling inside me. Not just because I am unsure how to explain my attempt to read this book, but because he is right.

"Uriah must be reading it for school," I lie. "Saw it sitting around, thought I'd give it a go."

"Never knew you to be so masochistic."

"Well, like you said, Four. I've grown up, changed. Thought maybe my taste in literature had matured as well, but it seems not."

"You still hate it, then."

"Yes," I agree, smiling. I change the subject. "So, you said it was a long day. Anything in particular?"

Four sighs and turns so he is facing me, knee bent on the couch. "You know that boxing class I teach?"

I nod. Once we started getting along better and I noticed his absence, Four explained that he teaches a youth boxing class at the community center. But he has never told me anything more than the simple fact that this is where he spends his Monday afternoons.

"There's this kid who used to watch from outside the door. His dad won't pay for the class but I just have this feeling about him…"

"What sort of feeling?" I ask.

Four only shrugs. "Anyway, I told him to come in the back door, join the class, I won't tell anyone he hasn't paid."

"That was kind of you," I say.

Four chuckles. "People don't often call me kind," he says. I smile and playfully punch his arm and Four grins back before his face becomes serious again "Anyway, he missed class this Monday, and tonight when I was driving home I saw him sitting out in the park without a coat. I don't know, I'm just...concerned. He has shown up without a coat before but it's not as cold in the middle of the afternoon. So I stopped and offered him my coat, but he wouldn't take it."

I bite my lip, deep in thought. I know Four is thinking the same as I am, that this child isn't being properly cared for. Perhaps due to poverty, perhaps something more. "I would be worried, too," I admit. "Have you tried talking to him?"

Four shakes his head and looks away, almost like he is staring off. "I don't think he would like that. Once he started coming to class, it took two weeks just to get him to tell me his name."

Four looks at me again, like I hold all the answers. But I don't have any more idea than he does. "I don't know, Four. Just take it slow, I guess. Try to earn his trust. I know you want to help him right now but if he's so closed off…"

"Yeah," Four sighs. He turns so his feet both touch the floor again, and I notice how close he is. Six inches. I am very aware of that fact, but Four doesn't seem to notice. He reaches to grab the remote off the coffee table, but just sits there with the remote in his hand for a moment. "Thank you, Tris," he says.

"I didn't do anything," I protest.

"Yeah," he says, looking at me with a half-smile, "you did."

I reach for my book again and flip lazily through the pages as Four turns on the TV and begins to flip slowly through the channels. I don't last long at all before I toss the book on the coffee table with disdain and stare at the television instead.

"Why do we have cable?" I ask him. "There's never anything good on, anyway."

"I don't know," Four shrugs. "Zeke had it when I moved in, I guess I just figured you and Uriah would want it so I never canceled."

"Well, Uri and I don't watch it much, either," I point out. "We have internet, and netflix. We could just stream what we want instead. Save a bunch of money every month."

Four doesn't reply and I realize that he is frozen, staring at the TV without so much as blinking. I glance back at the screen, realizing that he has halted his channel surfing, and there I see footage of Marcus Eaton shaking hands with someone.

"Marcus," I mutter angrily, remembering all the hassle he gave me back in Chicago.

"He's going to run for office," Four murmurs, shellshocked. "U.S. Senate."

I search my mind and remember that there had been some scandal going on with one of Illinois' senators. Marcus's deceptively charming smile on-screen spurs me to action and I grab the remote from Four's hands, quickly changing the channel to Comedy Central.

"I don't care what we watch," I grumble, "as long as I don't have to see Marcus Eaton's face."

This is what finally pulls Four out of his trance. "Why?" he asks me, his voice sounding harsh.

"I wouldn't think you would mind that I don't like him, you wouldn't even tell him where you were," I snap.

Four shakes his head, and he doesn't move away from me, but I don't miss the stone-faced mask that falls over his face. "I don't mind, Tris. But I'm a little confused. I don't remember you having a problem with him before."

Although Four and I kept our relationship quiet back in Chicago, Marcus was a friend of my father's, and Mom would have Marcus over for dinner from time to time. He only occasionally brought Tobias along, and every time I asked about it, Tobias would brush my question off. I never pushed the issue but once Marcus fixated on me, I wished I would have. I have suspected more and more that the reason Four ran had something to do with Marcus, but it has long been clear that Four doesn't want to discuss it with me.

"Things change, Four. I thought you had figured that out by now."

"When it involves my father," Four says, "I need to know what happened, Tris." He is trying to appear patient and calm, but I know him too well to miss the tension coiling inside him.

I consider brushing Four off. But if the tables were turned, I would want to know, too. He has been making an effort. I can too. But I am nervous, and my palms sweat, and I wipe them on my pants.

"A few months after you left, Marcus found out about us. Someone at school told him. So he was convinced that I knew where you were, or at least had heard from you. I told him he was wrong, that we were friends but I didn't even rate high enough for a goodbye, and that I hadn't heard from you, but he didn't believe me." Four abruptly stands up from the couch and begins pacing the room. My eyes follow him everywhere he goes. "He wouldn't leave me alone about it, told my dad that we had been sneaking around, and about seeing me and Uri outside a club late at night. He kept showing up. He would wait for me outside work, or pop out of the shadows when I got out of my car when I got home. Come over on some pretense when Dad was home only to try and intimidate me into giving up information on you. It got bad enough that Dad actually got protective of me, if you can believe it, and defended me. He threatened to file for a restraining order and Marcus left me alone after that."

Four stops in front of the coffee table and looks at me, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. He is making me nervous. I stand and slowly walk toward him. "And that's all? He didn't do anything else?" he asks quietly.

I look at him in confusion. "No, nothing else," I say slowly. His gaze bores into me, stripping me bare. "That was all, Four." As if the stalking and harassment wasn't enough.

Four closes his eyes and lets out a slow breath. His hand finds mine, and I let him take them. "Does he know where you are now? Does your dad?"

"Uh," I say, "I left in a hurry, I didn't really give details. When Caleb last called he had forgotten what state I was even in. He thought Seattle. So I don't know, Dad might not remember either, since I didn't even say goodbye."

Four's eyebrows furrow at that, but he doesn't press for details. "You had heard from me though, by the time Marcus stopped bothering you. You lied for me."

"I did."

"Why?" His eyes are searching my face. I don't know what he expects to find there.

"If you wanted him to know anything, you would have contacted him yourself. I don't know, I guess I trusted that there was a reason you didn't want contact with him."

Four takes the last step toward me and wraps his arms around me. I slowly return the gesture, allowing him the comfort he seems desperate for, his nose in my hair.

"Thank you," he whispers.