I've never heard someone yell the way that Phyllis does when her eyes land on Eric. One of the nurses requests that Al carry Christina to the infirmary. I don't care that it's not six PM yet; I'm not going back to training and the others agree without any of us having to speak.
"Can – can we help her?" asks Tris.
The third medic smiles gently. "Why don't you get some food and dry clothes for her?"
In Al's arms, Christina flails out to reach us. "Don't – don't…" She's crying too hard to speak.
Will takes her hand gingerly, careful of her injuries. The railing scraped her palms something awful and I think about tetanus. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'll be here."
"Me too," I say.
Al and Tris leave us to take care of their own missions after Christina is settled in a bed. She is changed into a gown and I can still here her crying as her wounds are disinfected and bandaged, as the bruises are given ice, as she's dried off and a blanket is wrapped around her to keep her warm.
"The good news is that nothing is broken," says the medic with tattoos spiraling up their arms. "We'll keep you overnight, just to be sure things will be okay, and we'll talk to Four about training tomorrow."
"I – I – I'm sorry," Christina gasps. "I'm sorry."
Both medics look as horrified as Will and I. One of them repeats, "Sorry? What are you sorry for?"
She's still shaking, but not from the cold of the water. "I – I wasn't brave. If I was just–"
"Christina, was it?" The tattooed medic takes her hands. "Dear, you're the bravest person I've ever met. You survived something horrible. It's okay; you get to cry; you get to hurt."
"But – but –"
"No buts, dear," the other medic cuts her off. "You were brave. We're proud of you."
She bursts into tears again, but this time she is almost smiling. Tris and Al return sometime later with soft clothes and enough food for all five of us. Just as we start to eat, Will snaps his fingers like something has suddenly occurred to him.
"Wha–" Christina asks, but he has already darted out the door.
He returns with half a dozen bottles of nail polish. He takes one of Christina's hands in his, the nails are chipped and broken. "I think we should all paint our nails. I got, like, the brightest colors I could find plus black because, y'know, Dauntless."
Christina decides on black with neon green stripes, which Will executes with an incredibly steady hand. Tris can't decide on one color, so I paint a different one on each finger. Christina insists on purple for me.
"Your eyeshadow just looked so lovely yesterday," she says.
Tris clumsily paints Al's a vibrant orange and he paints Will's hot pink. Just as we're finishing, there's a light knock at the door. Myra pokes her head in.
"Uh, hey. Can I…come in?" Christina nods and she carries in a cupcake. "Just thought I – we'd bring you something. You know, to make you feel better."
"We?" Christina raises her eyebrow.
Myra swings the door open all the way and clustered somewhat nervously behind her is, well, it looks like half the class. Most of them are bearing some sort of food offering.
Edward steps beside his girlfriend and the first words out of his mouth are, "I'm sorry, Christina. We – I should have done something. We should have stood up to Eric. We should have helped you."
"It's not like Eric could make all of us do that," adds another initiate and after a beat of awkward silence says, "Sorry, I was trying to lighten the mood."
Another girl steps up, she is holding a doughnut. I think she used to be Amity. "I know that sweets don't make it okay but…here."
Christina takes it from her, stunned into silence. "Um…uh…"
One by one they come up and lay what they brought around her. At last, she laughs. "Guys, this is nice and all, but it does feel kind of like a wake."
Myra laughs to hard she snorts, which draws laughter out of others until all of us are laughing.
Christina hands the cupcake back to Myra and says, "You guys can keep the desserts but – but if you all want to stay…"
Somehow, most of them wind up on the floor crowded around the bed. Will, Tris, Al, and I all give up our chairs to sit on the edges of Christina's bed. One person comes in late holding several bags.
"Nothing solves pain like alcohol!" he says with a wild grin.
Beer is not for me, I learn immediately, so I am drinking lemonade and vodka out of a plastic cup. Tris is reluctant, but compromises on a hard seltzer. Someone asks the boy – Jamal, former Amity – where he got all of this and he replies, "Liquor store. Had to get enough for everyone."
"You didn't," says Christina, who is starting to seem embarrassed by all of the attention.
He grins back at her. "Yeah, I did. And, hey, now we all get to know each other."
When Phyllis eventually returns, still a little flushed with anger, but when she looks at us all spread out, she laughs.
"This is cute," she says. "You guys are cute. Very cute."
"We're a family now," says a boy.
Those four words make an emotion I can't quite name swell up inside me. It is joy, and sadness, and fear all at once. Of course nothing can replace my blood family, of course they'll always be important to me. But I look around at everyone here, clustered around Christina, and I can believe that this is a kind of family too.
I dash out to grab my camera, desperately telling everyone not to move. People grin, and throw peace signs, and cheer, raise their cups, and laugh. Christina has tears in her eyes again, but she insists that they're happy ones.
Christina raises her own cup, which is filled with cheap red wine. "Hey, here's to family."
"And surviving!" Will chimes in.
"Living!" shouts someone else.
"Having the time of our goddamn lives!"
"And an anti-toast to Four and Eric," says someone who is slightly drunker. "Fuck those guys."
"Fuck 'em!" several more people echo as Phyllis laughs at her desk.
At around nine, the others start to trickle back to the dorms. Most of us are a little drunk, and all full of a truly ridiculous amount of desserts. The last person to go back to the dining hall to restock told us she was getting dirty looks from the chefs. Eventually it is just the five of us again and Christina's eyelids are starting to droop.
"You guys should probably go get some sleep," she murmurs.
Will shrugs. "I mean, these plastic chairs aren't great, but it'll do."
"Hm?"
"I'm stayin'." He relaxes back in his chair. "Hey, Mimi, I'll take yours and lay down."
"Uh, no," I say. "I'm staying too, obviously."
"I can go get our bedding," Al offers.
"I'll help." Tris stands with him.
"Wait…" Christina says breathlessly. "You guys don't have to…"
"Christina," Will leans toward her, "it would be literally unconscionable of us to just leave you here alone after what you went through." He scoots his chair so that he's sitting next to her head. "Al's got a watch; we'll get up for training…probably."
"I will literally kill Four if he makes you go," says Al. "No joke."
"You guys really…" Her eyes start to water again. "O-okay. Okay, but I'm going back tomorrow." She looks down at her bandaged hands. "Eric doesn't get to make me afraid of being Dauntless."
The four of us stare at her, at the hard determination set in her face, and Tris is the first to smile. "Okay. Be right back. I'll get your blanket in case you get cold."
The plastic chair isn't comfortable and Phyllis tells us that she and other medics will be in and out all night, but we're still welcome.
Al pulls his blanket up over his head because, "I can't sleep with the lights on, stop laughing! It's normal!"
Christina doesn't mind when Tris leans forward to rest her head on her bed. Will and I stay next to each other. The lights and the little noises work hard to keep me up, but the stress and physical demands of the day work harder. I hate how hard it is to tell time down here, but eventually I do fall asleep.
I wake to Al grumbling about his back as he emerges from his shroud. My head leans against Will's boney shoulder and all of the pains from yesterday come back with a vengeance. Tris sits up and stretches, her spine cracking like weak ice. Christina is blinking sleepily at us, not fully awake either. Her eyes are so dark and rich, seeming to eat all the light around them. I could write poetry about those eyes.
She rolls her shoulders and flexes her hands, though grimaces in pain.
"Time check?" Will's eyes are bleary.
"Half past six," says Al through a yawn.
"Bleck." Will shakes his head back and forth as though it will wake him up more. "Chris, do you want us to get you breakfast?"
"'M going with you, remember?" Christina swings her feet off the bed and then makes a noise to tell us she regrets it.
The girls in the bathroom are excited to see Christina up and around, even if some of them are a little hungover. The ones who didn't come to see us last night still smile at Christina anyway. I notice Molly at the corner sink, trying not to make eye contact with anyone else.
At my advice, Tris has stopped putting her hair in those horrific buns and has opted for ponytails instead.
"Honestly, it feels…better? I don't know, I just like not having my elastics snapping all the time, which…was a problem in Abnegation."
"That's because those hairstyles are only designed for white people," says Christina.
For a second, I worry about Tris getting defensive. But instead she laughs. There is a bruise blooming on the underside of my jaw that I only half remember getting and even the light touch of the cloth as I wash off yesterday's makeup sends waves of unpleasantness radiating across my face. For the first time, this all feels like too much. I stare at my reflection for a long time. I think I should feel lucky that there aren't more bruises on my face; what a thought. My hands are becoming rough despite my moisturizing. Somehow all of this feels even more alien to me than the act of working out daily itself.
When we walk back into the dorm, Tris finds that someone has vandalized her bed while she was out last night. The word STIFF has been spray-painted across her bedspread and pillow with smaller versions of the words written up and down the wooden beams.
She doesn't even seem mad, she just lets out a tired groan.
"We can help–" Christina starts but is cut off by Tris shaking her head.
"Just…just go to breakfast, guys. I'll catch up after I deal with this…"
"Shit?" I fill in for her.
She shrugs and throws the blanket and pillowcase into her laundry basket. Christina and I share a nervous look at leaving her to deal with this alone, but decide to do what she wants. Will is sitting at our table already – somehow it's become our table as everyone else sits in the same places everyday too. He perks up at the sight of us. On every other day, he put so much work into styling his strawberry blond waves; now they're just pushed out of his face.
"I have a question for you," Christina says to him when we've sat down.
"I probably have an answer," he replies.
"What's your beef with Edward? I mean aside from being kind of weird even though we're all in the same faction going through the same stuff, he seems alright."
Will grimaces and looks to the left where, at another table, Edward is sitting with his group of friends.
After a long moment, Christina says, "I – I mean, you don't actually have to tell me if you're not comfortable or–"
"No." He sighs. "No, I mean – like – it's whatever. The short version of the story is that we were dating for a little while but then he met Myra and they just kinda…I guess clicked. I – I wish it didn't sting as much as it still does because I like Myra; I think she's cool. I just feel weird around them and Edward really, really doesn't like to even think about it." He rubs the back of his neck nervously.
"Thought so," says Christina after she finishes chewing on a bit of waffle.
Will raises his eyebrows. "Pardon?"
"I mean, being Candor I learned to pick up on all kinds of little details. My dad used to say I had 'a nose for drama' and maybe he's right." She shrugs. "I basically had it narrowed down to you used to be friends, or you used to date, or both. He didn't strike me as the type to steal some science project from you or whatever it is Erudite usually get mad about."
He laughs. "Oh, great. Remind me to never make a Candor mad. The last thing I need is someone sniffing out my darkest secret through a minor twitch in my hand."
"Not all Candor can do it. I'm just talented."
"Or you read the Sherlock Holmes stories one too many times," I interject.
"Okay look," she starts. "Stop laughing you two! I know what I'm talking about!" She huffs and rolls her eyes as we continue to laugh.
Al and Tris never join us for breakfast, and Will's face pinches in worry when I tell him about the vandalism.
"It's not that I don't think she can handle herself," he says as we're walking to the training room after each of us has downed a second cup of coffee, "it's just…I don't get why it happened. We're supposed to all be in the same faction now."
"Tell that to Peter," I reply.
I nearly run into Tris, who is frozen in horror just past the threshold into the gym. She is staring at the board, which has already determined our matches today. I am fighting Will, Christina is fighting a girl named Riley, Al is up against a boy named Mike, and Tris…speak of the devil, Tris is fighting Peter.
"Maybe you can just…take a few hits and pretend to pass out," says Al who is standing beside her. "No one would blame you."
"Or go for his eyes; he can't hit what he can't see," I suggest and when Al looks at me with naked shock I add, "What? It's not like Four ever established rules for these fights. It's a goddamn free-for-all."
"Can you even reach his eyes?" asks Will with a snicker, but when no one else laughs he says, "Okay, not the time for humor. Got it."
Four walks in at last, holding a cup of coffee and looking even grumpier than usual.
"You're late," I mutter under my breath, mocking the tone he used with us last week.
"Everyone take your laps." He makes a circle in the air with his finger. "And I heard that, Ice Queen. You can take an extra one."
"Worth it." I shrug and even Tris manages a half smile.
Our worry presses down on us all morning and through lunch. I want to say that Tris will be fine, but that would be a lie. Peter rivals Edward in his strength but has none of his good nature.
"You would think after a week, they'd be better at hitting the targets," says Eric, prowling around while myself and a small group are working with guns again.
Four snorts derisively. "Yeah. But they're all too busy getting buddy-buddy to actually practice."
I roll my eyes, but this time keep my mouth shut. What would Four know about having friends? What would he know about kindness? We can't all be bitter, brooding man-children who demean and torture teenagers for fun.
Peter is two people down from me and doing the best out of all of us. He says, "Yeah, come on guys. It's not that hard."
Maybe it shouldn't be, but I can't stop thinking about Tris, bloody and bruised on the mat as she might be. My hands won't stop shaking.
"Well," says Eric, "let's hope some of them have learned their lesson after their abysmal display yesterday."
I choke down the anger that threatens to spill from my mouth. Christina is running laps and doesn't hear him. Al is to my left though, and I see him shudder out of the corner of my eye.
"Hey," I lean over, "don't…don't feel bad. You know that Will isn't mad at you, right?"
"…Yeah." He flips the safety switch back to 'on' on his pistol. "It doesn't stop me from feeling guilty, y'know?"
"Of course I know. I–" I'm not able to continue because Four calls for Tris and Peter to come to the mat. Neither Al nor I care that it's not time to switch stations, we both leave our guns behind and head over to the weights. Christina moves toward the punching bags so she can also pretend to work while watching the match.
"I can't believe that guy is a faction leader," Myra whispers to me, jerking her head in the direction of Eric's cruelly excited grin.
"I can," says Al. "Fits with everything else so far."
"I just…" she struggles to find the words for a moment. "I left Erudite because I was sick of all the – the bad stuff. I had always thought that Dauntless would be – I don't know – better? I guess? The Dauntless kids at school just never seemed so…" She gestures in Four and Eric's direction.
"Yeah." Al nods. "Things weren't great in Candor either." He chuckles mirthlessly. "Don't know what I was expecting when I got here; it just wasn't this."
Of course I know what they're talking about. Of course I'm familiar with the toxicity in Erudite; it was impossible to avoid. And I thought by becoming Dauntless I would be leaving that casual, acceptable cruelty behind. But there's an old poem I read for my faction studies class, written by a man who has been dead for decades now, who for some reason opposed the factions and our way of living.
Dauntless, the cruelest of the five, tearing each other to pieces.
Erudite, the coldest of the five, knowledge is a costly thing.
Candor, the most merciless of the five, honesty can hurt the most.
Abnegation, the quietest of the five, selflessness and silence go hand in hand.
Amity, the most dishonest of the five, a smile can be a muzzle just as easily.
It's always fascinated me. The factions are what's kept our city at peace; they are the solution to war and bitterness.
But there's bad things in Erudite, and I know that. I suppose it's naïve to think that I could just run away and everything would be happy forever.
But there's beauty in Erudite too; I've seen it. And there must be beauty in Dauntless; I just have to find it.
I am not going to find it right now though. Peter is throwing taunts at Tris as they circle each other. But when he lunges toward her, Tris is quick enough to spring away and deliver a hard kick to his side. I didn't know she could swing her leg up that high.
Peter doesn't stumble with the impact though and doesn't hesitate to grab her ankle and yank. She goes crashing to the ground and he descends like a starving animal. Images of Molly atop Christina flash through my mind, making my breath catch. But Tris scrambles away and springs back onto her feet. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't for her to be almost suicidally aggressive. I didn't get the chance to see her fight with Myra, so I missed the way that she springs forward with every hit.
Her face screws up in pain whenever Peter lands a hit; shoulder, chest, stomach, a kick to sweep her legs out from under her. But every time she throws herself toward him again. Tris is the bravest person I've ever met – of course she is, she was the first jumper. But she's getting tired, getting sloppy. She's not as physically strong as she needs to be to win this fight and when Peter strikes her across the face, she goes tumbling to the ground again. This time he kicks her in the ribs as she tries to stand. She collapses and doesn't move, but Peter kicks her again. This time she screams, and I run from the place where I was doing squats before my rational brain can stop me.
"Enough!" Eric calls after another kick just as I have made it halfway across the gym. Tris isn't moving and Peter steps back with a self-satisfied grin that makes me want to hit him myself.
"Someone get her out of here," says Four, completely impassive.
Al scoops Tris up in his arms. I hadn't heard Christina and Will come up behind me, but here they are following us out of the infirmary.
"Don't stay too long," Eric says snidely. "You four are up soon."
Nothing is said as we walk to the infirmary, but eventually Tris opens her eyes. She mutters incomprehensibly and Will shushes her.
When we arrive, Phyllis looks at Tris in Al's arms and gives a tired sigh.
"Oh, I am going to have words with Eric and Four this evening, believe you me," she says.
Christina gives her a smile. "Thank you. For taking care of us and all."
"Of course, dear." She gestures for Al to set Tris down on a bed. "It's what I'm here for. You four head back to training; your friend is going to be just fine."
We share a look between the four of us, caught between Eric and Phyllis' orders and our own concern. But after a moment, Phyllis makes a shooing motion with her hand and we all know that just standing here will only get us in trouble.
"She's going to be fine," Al repeats as we shut the door. It's unclear if he's telling us or himself.
Four gives us a disapproving look when we all cluster around the same station, but I decide to ignore him and the others clearly agree. Running is starting to be calming to me, something about the rhythm of it. Thinking about my breathing gives me an excuse to ignore the world around me. Maybe I'm not the fastest and never will be, but that's not why I do it.
Christina's match against Riley goes well for her and I hear Eric say, "Well, look who's taken my lessons to heart." He claps his hand down on her shoulder and she looks nauseous.
An hour later, Will and I are called to the mat. He bumps his hip against me and says, "Hope you're ready to lose."
I roll my eyes and bump him back. "Don't be so sure of yourself."
Will makes the first move, just like he did with Al. He seems to know how I will go for his solar plexus first just as well and blocks it. For a long time it's like a dance; block, dodge, dart into his guard and dodge back before he can land a hit and know that he will do the same to me.
"Not as easy as Al and Edward made it look, huh?" Will says with a grin.
"Depends."
"Depends on what?" He ducks my right hook headed toward his head and attempts to use the opening to catch me in the throat.
"Oh, you know." I dodge to the right and bring one leg up to kick the backs of his knees.
"I literally do not; that's why I asked." He actually jumps over my leg, twisting midair and swinging his leg back around at my ribcage. That one surprises me too much to dodge.
"Will you two shut the fuck up and quit playing with each other?!" snaps Eric.
Will is graceful and composed, all lean muscle and quick blows. I know that he's been watching me train, but I've been watching him too. I've watched how he's learned to pace himself, to be aware of his limits and work for maximum impact with minimum effort. He's as fast as I am, maybe faster. But this isn't all about speed and it's not all about strength, no matter what Eric might have us believe. The best thing Four has taught us so far is to be smart, to think ahead and analyze our opponent. Will is playing off of everything he's seen me do so far, so the solution is to not do that.
I close in on him with the intensity I saw in Tris, throwing my arm up to block a swing even though the pain rattles down to my bones. Four told me last week that I don't throw my whole body into my swings, and I remember the way that Al hit. I don't want to hit his already bruised jaw, but my right arm just has more power behind it. I see his eyes widen with surprise just before he collapses to the ground.
Instinctually, I catch his dead weight to help break his fall.
"Looks like we've got two initiates who have found their spines," Eric says approvingly.
I roll my eyes, but my attention stays on Will until he's recovered himself enough.
"He-ey," he drawls.
"Are you okay?"
He gives me a crooked smile and starts to get to his feet again as I offer my hands to help him. "I'll live. You did great."
I help him over to one of the large pillars, where he promptly slumps down. We allow ourselves to rest for just a few minutes before Four starts sending periodic glares in our direction. Will is still out of it though, so we make our way to the easiest station: flexibility training with the assistant I've come to know as Jan. I like Jan; he's the nicest of our six instructors, he always has words of encouragement for us when we need it and doesn't seem to take Four's whole "breaking point" philosophy to heart.
Al's fight against Mike is evenly matched. Both are large but rather slow. Al still manages to eke out a win. He wanders back over to us, once again miserable.
"Hey, big guy." Christina bumps her shoulder lightly against him. "You okay?"
He shrugs. "This just…doesn't seem right." He sighs and curls in on himself. "I don't know if I can keep hurting people like this."
"I mean, is there anything else to do?" says Will. "There's no other way to pass."
Desperation flickers across his features and he whispers, "Is it worth it though? All of this? I don't want to hurt anyone and – and what if I have to fight one of you guys again?"
Will wraps an arm around Al's shoulders. "Hey, you know that I'm not mad about yesterday, right? It was you or me and – and you did great. I actually wanted to ask you for tips on your uppercut."
Al takes Will's compliment with sad eyes, but nods anyway and the two walk over to the punching bags.
"Do you think he'll be okay?" I ask Christina when they're out of an earshot.
She looks up at me, suddenly so tired. "Are any of us?"
I know what I should say, but it would be a lie. I think about what my father said, about adapting and rising above pain. This wasn't what he meant, but maybe it's something close.
"At the end of this week," says Four when the clock strikes six, "you will all have completed your first two weeks of initiation and you're all still alive. Congratulations." I see Christina tense out of the corner of my eye. "Next Sunday, I will be taking you all on a field trip to the fence. You'll have a couple of experiences throughout initiation to familiarize you all with the jobs you're likely to end up in. We'll meet at the pink line station at seven AM; don't be late." Then he gestures for us all to go away.
Phyllis isn't in the infirmary, instead there are two others, a man with bright green hair and a woman with a detailed tattoo of a crescent moon on the back of her hand. Tris is propped up on pillows but has her eyes closed.
"How is she?" asks Will.
"Concussed," says the man. "But not severely. We gave her some painkillers and she just needs rest. Do y'all want some ice for those bruises?"
We all nod and the woman begins handing us cold-packs, then all four of us squeeze into the three chairs near Tris' bed. Al half hangs off of one end and Christina is squished between Will and I on the line between our two chairs.
"Is her eye already black?" Will leans over Tris to get a better look.
"Shut up." Christina elbows him lightly.
Tris mumbles incoherently and cracks her eyes open. Then she says more clearly, "What happened to your face, Chris?"
Christina does indeed have a couple of bruises from where Riley hit her before she went down. But Christina laughs and says, "Look who's talking. We should get you an eyepatch."
"Well I know what happened to my face," Tris replies. "I was there…Sort of…"
"Was that a joke, Tris?" says Will with a laugh.
She hums noncommittally and Al leans over, eyes shining with concern. He says, "How are you feeling?"
She makes another mysterious noise. "Kinda wishing that I'd never have to see Peter again."
"Someone will beat him tomorrow," says Christina. "Or eventually. He can't win every fight." Tris gives a small smile in response and Christina puts her hand over hers. "You did well though."
Tris' smile drops. "You don't have to lie."
Christina looks mildly offended by this. "I didn't. I mean, you for sure did better than I could've. Just because you lost doesn't mean you didn't try and that's gotta mean something."
Tris nods, but her expression doesn't look convinced. Instead she says, "I think you guys are missing dinner."
"We can bring you back something," Will offers. "You know, have another little party in here."
She shakes her head. "No, I'm fine just…I'll just catch up later, okay?"
"Later then." Christina nods and puts her hand on Will's shoulder until he gets to his feet as well.
Al lingers near Tris. "You guys go on; I'll be there in a minute."
It feels wrong to just leave Tris behind, but even after such a short time together I know that forcing our help or even just our presence on her won't make anything better. A couple days ago, she told us that she's still getting used to having so much noise around her. Abnegation is a quiet place and it's easy to get overwhelmed. Then she hesitantly admitted that she also didn't really have many close friends and sometimes just needs to be alone.
I'm so tired at dinner I can barely keep up with Will and Christina's conversation. Even when Al and Tris join us, I just find myself staring blankly down at my plate. There are callouses starting to form on my hands and a blooming dark bruise on my forearm from blocking a punch. I tell myself that this is what a Dauntless initiate is supposed to look like, that I'm making myself stronger.
But I don't feel strong; I just feel vaguely sad.
September 13th 499
My handwriting has gotten worse since coming to Dauntless. Maybe it's just that I no longer have a solid surface to write on. I lock myself in a bathroom stall on the nights I want to write to keep anyone from knowing that this journal is all I have left from Erudite. Maybe it's just my constant nerves.
I don't know what's wrong with me. I came to Dauntless because I was sick of plastering on a smile and pretending like I was fine day in and day out. I wanted to learn to be brave. But I'm not brave, am I? I'm not anything. I was pretending in Erudite and I'm pretending here. Sometimes I think about what would have happened if I'd just made the choice that I was supposed to. I could have grinned and worn the crown that had always been mine with pride. Now I've given up everything and even though it seemed like the right thing to do at the time, I'm struggling to justify it to myself now.
It's not my friends. My new friends may be the only good things about this place, something to hold on to in the chaos. But I can't stop thinking about the friends I lost. Eliza, who I lied to; Kira, who I could have opened up to but never did; Casey, who might never have understood but always would have listened. Do they hate me for what I did? Maybe. I would deserve it.
Guilt won't do anything for me now, but it feels right.
I wonder what my parents are doing right now, if they're angry. Will I be alone on Visiting Day? No, they would never do that to me. They took the twins and I to visit Percy and Minerva in their new factions when the day came. Minerva had been furious when Percy left, and the twins had hated Minerva for leaving. I had never been able to muster that kind of anger, it was overwhelmed by sadness. Are the twins angry with me? I wouldn't be surprised.
The fact that they might be angry – no, the fact that they are angry is another reason for me to do well here. I have to prove to them that I'm still capable; I can still make our family proud.
I don't have any other choice.