Chapter Twelve

"So, any plans for tonight, Tris?" Christina asks as she walks out from the stall. Pink bubbles forming in my hands, I clear my throat and shake my head.

"Not really," I say, averting my eyes and grabbing some paper towel. She gasps dramatically, swivelling her head towards me.

"Lies!" she cries out. "When are you going to learn not to lie to a Candor?"

Raising my eyebrows, I say, "Let's face it, Christina. You aren't much of a Candor." We both knew it, I guess, but we'd never talked about it before; it just slipped out.

Suddenly, she quiets — yes, she quiets — and I remember: other families aren't so accepting of defection as mine. Even if Christina transfers, she will be seen as a traitor by her family, mother and father and sister. I don't know what I would do if I had to choose between how my mother sees me and who I really am.

"That's what confuses me," she says softly, running her hands under the tap. I look around the room, making sure that nobody can hear us; as open and fun as she seems, I've learned in the past few years that closed-off Christina hardly ever lets me in. She continues: "I overheard my mother talking about initiation. In Candor, they put us under the truth serum and make us spill all of our secrets. I know it's silly — we're eleven years old. We shouldn't be worrying about this stuff! I don't even have anything to hide…"

"You're never too young to have secrets," I whisper under my breath.

She doesn't hear me. "I just don't want everything out in the open, you know? Like, my mind is my own. I want to keep it that way. But then there's this pressure to tell the truth, almost an instinct. Like now. Of course, I'd never tell any of this to anyone else, so there's that. I'm caught between truth and lies."

"It's perfectly normal," I tell her, rubbing her arm soothingly. "You were raised to tell the truth, but that doesn't mean you have to. See?" Turning away from her, I face the mirror and stare at my reflection.

"Tris!" she squeals. I can see her in the mirror, too. She hasn't changed much in the past three years that I've known her: still cheery, excitable, brave. Her hair is cut shorter now, lining up with her jaw, and her eyelids are caked in green. I smile watching the both of us.

"My faction tells me not to look in the mirror. I just did. Does that make me vain? No, it doesn't. Just like you wanting privacy does not make you a liar. Okay?"

"Yeah." She brushes away a tear and takes my hand, grinning. "Thank you. Now we should get to lunch." I nod. Linking our arms together, we push through the doors and walk from the bathroom, arm in arm, grey, black, and white, confident, proud, again. Then, out of the blue, images bombard my vision. I freeze outside the door, eyes wide…

Caleb sees us. I smile and wave at him, my brother, and wait for him to smile back. He doesn't; his face contorts with rage, and he stomps over to me, grabs my arm, and drags me away from Christina into an empty hallway.

"Hey," Christina says, but her voice is faraway, spinning like money in a coin fountain. Round and round and round…

"Beatrice, what is on your eyes?" His voice is low, scary, and I flinch away from him.

"It's makeup," I tell him. "Christina put it on me. Isn't it pretty?"

"Pretty?" He yells, louder this time. "Pretty! Beatrice, you sound like a narcissist!"

I frown. What that word means, I don't know, but it doesn't sound good. "But Caleb… it looks nice."

"How would you know that?" he snarls, pointing an accusatory finger at me. My heart quickens, and I know I've gotten myself into deep trouble.

"Tris?" Christina calls out. I hear her, but I am not listening…

"I… I looked."

He's quiet again for a minute, and I start to think that he's not angry anymore. Then, I feel a stinging pain on my cheek and grab it with both hands. Startled, I look up at him and realize; he hit me. A sob builds in my throat. "Go home, Beatrice, and tell our parents why I sent you back."

I flinch, clasping my hands to my cheek, tears burning the corners of my eyes. "Caleb," I whisper, a sharp pain shooting through my chest. That's not how I want to remember him, how I want to remember my brother… I've already forgiven him for that and for everything. I forgave him a long time ago. I want him back. I just want him back.

Brushing my tears away, I straighten up and make my voice even. "Come on, Christina. Let's go," I instruct, taking a brisk pace to the cafeteria.

Following me, concerned, she says, "What was that?" I shake my head, swallowing the knot in my throat.

"It was nothing," I answer, quickening my gait. "Just some memories I'd rather forget." Once we forget, we are only doomed to repeat… I shake my head again, so hard this time that my bun almost comes undone. Hastily, I fix it up, biting the inside of my cheek.

She says nothing and takes my hand again, walking slower. A sad smile, like she can understand what I feel, spreads across her face. "Look," she says, pointing somewhere in the distance, eyes lighting up. I giggle softly at the sight: Zeke has Uriah in a headlock. Again.

I shove the memory deep into the back of my mind, leaving it there to haunt me like an old picture stowed away in a dark, creepy attic. I smile.

We sit down at our table, rolling our eyes. "Be civil, Zeke," I scold, pulling out my lunch, "or I might just have to take you on myself. We both know how that one ends, my friend."

"Yeah, with me kicking your ass," he replies, plopping down beside me. Smelling my food, he scrunches up his nose in disgust. "How do you Stiffs eat that sludge?"

"Like this," I answer, spooning a forkful of bland beans into my mouth and making a show of chewing them slowly. He gags dramatically, putting a hand to his forehead. I flick his cheek, narrowing my eyes. "By the way, I would so not be the one whose ass got kicked."

"Yeah, right," Christina interrupts. "Like you could beat a Dauntless." I clear my throat, but don't argue. To be honest, I probably can't beat Zeke — but Uriah is a different story, and he's just as Dauntless. Still, I can't tell Christina that; she doesn't know about my training. I figure, the further I can keep her from finding out about Tobias, the better. And… there's a part of me that thinks she wouldn't look at me the same if she knew.

"Of course," I respond, aggrieved. "There's no way I could beat a Dauntless. After all, I'm just a weak Stiff."

Zeke frowns. "Tris…"

"Oh!" Christina exclaims suddenly, snapping from her reverie. "I forgot to ask. What are your plans for tonight that you won't tell me about?" I exchange glances with Zeke and Uriah.

"I already told you," I answer, poking at the potatoes in my tupperware. "Nothing special is happening."

"Beatrice Prior, if you don't tell me-"

"It's her birthday!" Uriah interrupts, throwing his arm around my shoulder and smiling cheekily. "Yeah, it's her birthday, and she's celebrating with her mother."

"Oh," she says, satiated. "Well then, happy birthday. Why didn't you tell me? Never mind, I'll never understand you, anyway. I'm off to buy my lunch… I really should start brown-bagging it." Getting up, she heads towards the lunch line, out of ear-shot.

I punch him in the arm. "What the hell, Uriah!"

"Ow! Tris!" he whines, rubbing the sore spot.

"It's not my birthday!"

"Well," he counters, "I couldn't exactly tell her whose birthday it really is. That would raise some questions, considering she doesn't know Tobias exists."

"Why did it have to be anyone's birthday? Abnegation don't celebrate them! You're a terrible liar," I snapped.

"Hey! She doesn't know that… You really don't celebrate them?"

I shake my head. "Never have. It's self-indulgent."

"But we're celebrating Tobias' birthday."

I smile to myself, biting my lip. "Today is a special birthday."

Zeke chimes in. "Well, we're celebrating from now on with Dauntless Cake."

"Ooh," I reply. "The infamous treat. What does it taste like?"

"You know, like chocolate."

"What does chocolate taste like?"

"You've never had chocolate?" They gasp, synchronized, and share a glance filled with determination. Uriah, still crazy-eyed, says, "You'll find out, tonight. We're bringing a whole cake. And we'll get some candles and sing while Tobias blows them out and ask what his wish is, even though he won't tell us because then it won't come true. Then he'll cut the cake, and you'll try it, and you'll be spoiled for every other faction and be forced to join us." His enthusiasm is endearing, and I can't help but grin stupidly.

"Just for the cake?" I say.

"Just for the cake," he replies.

A fuzzy feeling rises in my chest at the thought of the dream of a birthday: Tobias with his gorgeous smile, laughing and shoving cake into Zeke's face; Mama putting her arms around the both of us while Uriah pouts until we let him join; Tobias and I sneaking off around midnight to our cave, sharing the last piece of cake that we saved from Zeke's vacuum of a mouth. Perfect, blissful, exactly what Tobias deserves.

Sighing with happiness, I realize that it's not a dream; I only have to wait a few more hours. Staring at the clock…

"Eight forty-five," I whisper to myself in the darkness of my room. From the open window, a light breeze ruffles the white curtains and cools down my flushed skin. The moonlight is the lamp by which I write in my notebook: "Mama will be home in fifteen minutes, and we will celebrate. Finally. Today is the day, the special day… Tobias is turning thirteen."

Suddenly, a booming howl echoes through the night, loud and fierce as a wolf. Struck suddenly with fear, I hop off my bed and race to the windowsill, gazing through it, heart pounding in my chest. I sigh and run a hand through my hair; it's only Tobias and Zeke, locked in an affectionate wrestle.

"Hey," I call out into the backyard. They look up, and I glare at them. "You two scared me half to death!"

"Sorry, Bea!" Tobias calls back sheepishly. "That was just Zeke's war cry. What do you think?"

"I think he sounds like a dying walrus," I answer, rolling my eyes. "Hold on, I'm coming down to ref. Neither of you play fair." Sprinting from my room, I race down the stairs, stopping at the base. We used to have carpet here… I burst through the front doors.

Outside, the air is brisk and fresh, like taking a sip of ice water on a hot day. I jog over to the boys, where Uriah is leaning against the house with a white box in his hands: the cake. A massive grin makes its way onto my face when he nods at me, confirming my suspicions. I face the older boys.

"Okay," I say, putting on my referee voice. "Are you guys ready to rumble?"

Tobias snorts, and I scowl at him. He puts his hands up playfully. "I surrender, I surrender. But— I think we should put a wrap on the wrestling for today."

"Whatever you say, Birthday Boy," Zeke teases, pinching Tobias' cheeks. He brushes him off, smiling widely, and makes his way over to me. For a moment, we watch Zeke tackle Uriah and then scramble to catch the cake mid-air. Then, Tobias turns to face me.

"Hi," he says, taking my hand.

"Hi," I reply, squeezing. We lock eyes and grin stupidly, lost in the bliss of each other's warmth and comfort.

"I've missed you all day," he says, playing with my fingers, smiling so wide that his cheeks must be aching — I know, because mine are.

"So have I. I wish you could come to school with me."

He shrugs. "I do, too. But I have… Caleb's school material to study with."

My heart swells. "He's still taking care of us."

"Still." Absently, he traces the scar on his arm, gazing up at the moon, round and full. The milky light showers us, illuminating part of his face and leaving the other part in darkness. I take both of his hands into my own, stepping closer until our arms are pressed together.

He watches my face gravely. "I would, too."

"What?"

"I would still take care of you. Even if…" My lips tremble, and tears fall from my eyes.

"Shut up, Tobias."

"Tris—"

"I said shut up!" I bury my head into his shirt, not caring that my tears are making it wet. "Don't ever say anything like that…"

"Hey," he soothes, and I can hear the sad smile in the wavering of his voice. "Hey, come on. Don't cry, Baby."

Tobias lays on his stomach, eyes open. He is still weak, but he's gotten some sleep now. I sit on the chair beside the bed and watch him for a minute.

"My name is Tobias… but you knew that." I giggle, and a small smile plays on his lips. It's full of relief, and his shoulders sag; until now, I never noticed how tense they were, but looking at them now, it's like night and day, black and white. He was so scared. "What's yours? I can't call you Baby."

I sniffle. "You can't call me that, remember?"

He laughs softly, a laugh soggy with tears. "Of course I remember. The night we met."

"Four years ago," I say.

"Today's the big day," he adds. "I was nine when I met you. I've been looking forward to today for four years."

"Are you excited?" I ask.

"Of course I'm excited. I'm finally thirteen," he says. "When is Mama coming home?"

"Fifteen minutes," I reply automatically.

He chuckles. "You been counting down the minutes?"

"The seconds. I want to know where she's kept it all these years."

"Probably right under our noses," he says, tapping my nose. I giggle, and his eyes twinkle. "How bittersweet."

"She'll be home soon." I look up; there are no stars tonight. And if there are, they are hidden by the moon's shining light, drowning underneath it. But it's beautiful, so we don't notice for a while, sometimes not until the sun's up.

Tonight's wish will have to come from the blowing-out of candles.

All of a sudden, a figure darts out from the front of the house. I recognize her immediately, with her thin, dark hair and heart-shaped face. "Mama!" I call out, rushing to her side. "You're early."

"I know," she says, and she's out of breath, and her hair is loosed from her bun — she never lets her hair down in public — and sticking to her sweaty forehead. "I'm sorry, Baby, but I can't stay." Her voice shakes.

"When will you be back?" I ask as she places a kiss on my head.

She hesitates. "I won't."

"What?" I cry out, anger rising in my chest. "But it's Tobias' birthday! You can't miss it!"

"Beatrice—"

"I can't believe you!" I yell at her, pulling out of her hug. "Do you know how important today is to us, to him?"

"Of course I do! It's just—"

"No!" I shout. "Don't lie to me! If you knew, you wouldn't leave!" A loud bang comes from in front of the house, and Mama jumps. Her upper eyelids raise, making her eyes look wider, and her lips part in shock. My forehead wrinkles in concern. "Mama?"

"What?" She shakes her head. "Never mind. Look, Tris, I have to go now. Goodbye." Then, as if only just remembering, she adds, "Tell Tobias happy birthday. And… I hid what you're looking for in the place where you went to hide away."

Glancing over her shoulder, she pulls me into another hug and kisses the top of my head again. Her fingers wrap around one of my golden locks. "Your hair is getting long, Tris," she says, twirling the strand between her fingers. Mama rests a gentle hand on my shoulder, eyes swimming with some unreadable feeling, before she turns suddenly and runs the way she came.

"Mama!" I call after her, following her around the corner, but she is gone already. Under my breath, I whisper, "Where I went to hide away…"

Tobias sprints to my side. "What was that?" he asks. Thick clouds move to cover the moon, and he has to squint to see in the darkness. It is at this point that we both note the lack of stars. He says, "Was Mama here?"

"She left," I answer, running a hand through my hair.

"Left?"

I nod, bewildered. "She said she couldn't stay. And… to tell you happy birthday." The skin on Tobias' neck strains as he swallows loudly, and he wraps his arms around me from behind.

The others round the corner. "What was that noise?" Zeke calls out, holding his brother protectively behind him. Uriah's face is paler than the moonlight, like all of the blood has been drained from his veins. I can barely see him in the dark, but the whites of his eyes glow bright as a cat's.

"I don't know," I reply, resting my hands on Tobias' arms across my chest. "But Mama sure ran when she heard it."

"Tris, what exactly happened?" Tobias says. "What exactly did she say?"

"Just that she couldn't stay, she wasn't coming back, and to tell you happy birthday. And then she said… she said, 'I hid what you're looking for in the place where you went to hide away.'"

"What does that mean?"

I pause. "Tobias, she said what we're looking for. There's only one thing we're looking for. And, today…"

"Of course," he exhales, breath tickling my ear. "So she wants us to find it?"

"But… Toby, she seemed off."

"Off how?"

My breath catches in my throat. "I think something's wrong. She seemed panicked, almost. Like she was… in danger. And then the noise…"

He freezes, arms stiffening around me. "Beatrice," he says slowly, pronouncing each syllable. "When she said she wouldn't be back, did she say tonight?"

"What?"

"Did she say, 'I won't be back tonight'?" My breathing catches in my throat, and he pulls away, grasping me by my shoulders. "Tris."

"No," I breath, voice so thin it could slip through the cracks of a door. "No. I asked her when she would be back… and she said, 'I won't.'"

"Guys," Zeke interjects. "Let's not get worked up. It could just be a coincidence." His voice is perfectly pragmatic, but his expression is just as uneasy as ours.

"Yes, Zeke, it could be," Tobias says, "but it could also be something else. Mama would never miss my thirteenth birthday unless something important was happening."

Zeke frowns. "What's so special about thirteen, anyway? Why is today so important?"

"Because…" Tobias trails off, lost in a memory, perhaps. Raising his head, he meets my eyes; in that moment, it is as if we share one thought, one terrible, spine-chilling, blood-curling name that rolls through our minds like a tsunami that tears through an unsuspecting town: Marcus Eaton. And, to answer Zeke's question…

"That's it!" I cry out. "Marcus has gone after her! She must be hiding somewhere! But where?"

He quiets for a minute, as if trying to remember every last thing she's said. "She must have gone somewhere safe… somewhere she has access to a weapon. The place where you went to hide away! Tris, it's a riddle for you."

I pull at my hair, frustrated, and cry out, "But I don't know where it is!"

"But we do know something," Tobias says through clenched teeth. "It's the same place where she keeps the gun."

Kneeling, Tobias slides my foot into the boot gently. He rests it against his leg as he pulls the laces tight, making a knot, and then another. Resting on my bed, I watch his concentrating face solemnly. The room is silent. A soft lantern burns on my bedside table, illuminating the both of us. I have closed my white curtains and, for the most part, they block out the pale moonlight.

"What are you thinking?" he asks as my gaze falls on the covered window. He speaks quietly, quiet as the flickering of the lantern's flame, as he sets my foot down and picks up the other. Really, I am thinking of three things: one, how each and every movement of his seems agonizingly slow; two, where the hell my mother is hiding; three…

"I don't think you'd want to hear it," I tell him. He pulls the laces tight, and the feeling is comforting. I shake my head. "If you have any love at all for your father—"

He folds his lips together. "He's not my father." But he doesn't say that he hates Marcus, or that he doesn't still love him. He doesn't get defensive, doesn't start shouting.

"I understand," I tell him, reaching out to hold his face in my hands. His chin rests in my palm, a vulnerable state. "It's so easy to love a father… and so much harder to hate him."

"Should be the other way 'round," Tobias mutters. He sets my foot down gently, standing up and leaving the room. For a minute, I think he might not come back. Then he enters, an oversized training bag, black with flames rising from the sides, slung over his shoulder. I slide my feet from the footstool, and he drops the bag onto it and tugs at the zipper, revealing sets of knives and knuckle wraps and rolls of bandaging.

"Everything but a pistol," he muses, picking through the weapons. Once he selects one, a throwing knife designed for precision and agility, he shoves the bag towards me. "She didn't leave us unprepared. I guess I should have seen this coming."

"Seen what?" I add bitterly, reaching into the bag without looking. He grabs my hand, guiding it towards the handles instead of the blades. I laugh without humour, muttering under my breath. "Hide-and-seek, that's what this is. A stupid game of hide-and-seek. I swear, if Marcus even lays a hand on my mother… I'll kill him."

Tobias watches me, examining my face. "That's just it," he says, eyes narrow. "For some reason, I don't doubt that you will."

"And that upsets you?"

"Not exactly, no." He sucks on the inside of his cheek, and I notice how his face is like a sculpture. I wonder for a moment, if I touch it, will it feel like the soft skin I know, or will it feel like marble? The Marble Boy sighs. "Despite what you may think, Tris, your ambition does not disgust me. It's one of my favourite things about you."

The lantern flickers, and my frown lessens into a straight line. "You should get dressed," I suggest. He nods, pulling a black t-shirt from the bag, and works his buttons. As he slides out of his dress shirt, the fading scar on his abdomen sticks out; it is long and pale pink, cinched up and protruding from his stomach. I clench my fists so hard that the nails dig into my skin.

"My father did that to you," I whisper, ashamed. He spins around, t-shirt loose around his neck, and stares at me, gaze following mine down to the scar. Slipping his arms through the shirt, he comes closer to me, and my eyes focus on him in the dark light.

His long, pale fingers hold up the shirt around his midsection. "Your father did this to me," he repeats, voice lacking the pointed tone that I anticipated. Then, he turns around, showing me his back. Silver scars, familiar to me, run along the skin. "My father did this to me."

He turns around again and takes my hand, placing it on his chest. "Feel the beating heart?" I nod. It's impossible to not notice, beating as hard and fast as mine. He whispers, "You did that to me."

As I stare into his eyes, I am swallowed by an overwhelming feeling of deep affection, and it strikes me in that moment that I can not live without this boy. And it is then, when I imagine this, that I remember what I have been trying to forget — the time when I almost had to live without him. Once we forget we are doomed to repeat… but I have let myself remember. Now, I can only hope that it isn't too late.

I tell Tobias, "I know where the hiding place is."