Still don't own Divergent.
Another update.
I walk across the street and knock on the door. No one answers, but there are a few lights on upstairs and I hear yelling. I open the door and creep up the stairs. only one door is open, and I see two shadows in it. I push it open further and see…..Four cowering in a corner and Marcus above him, a belt in hand.
"Stop!" I shout. Marcus turns around and his face fills with fury.
"What are you doing her, little girl?" he asks, voice dripping with fury and disdain.
"Four left some stuff at my house, and I came to return it. I heard yelling, and walked up the stairs to find this." I glare at Marcus. "He's not an animal, Mr. Eaton. He is your son. And he is an amazing person who deserves better than you."
Four looks scared. Marcus calmly puts the belt down and pulls his son to his feet. He hugs him, making Four wince.
"You're right," Marcus whispers. "I'm sorry, Four."
"Liar," I spit. "If you don't stop beating Four, I will file a formal police report. And then I will show them his back. And, believe me, Mr. Eaton - I will be able to tell if you beat him." I turn to Four and shake my head. "Four…." I hand him the phone and shirt and leave.
Until Thursday, Four and I don't interact other than for me to check his back for new bruising. So far there hasn't been any, but Four says his father's away on a business trip. I've been hanging out with Christina, and I've found out she's a lot like Ange. Almost all of my friends have agreed to come to my house on Saturday night - Lynn refused.
On Thursday morning, as I am logging on to my computer for AP English Lit, I feel someone sit down beside me. I look and it's Four. I look back down.
"Tris," he pleads.
"What?" My voice is full of coldness and acidity.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have lied to you and then acted like a dick," he begs.
"Then why did you, Four?" I ask quietly.
"Because I was scared, okay? I still am. He's - you wouldn't understand. Your father isn't - doesn't -" Four shudders.
"Four," I start.
"Don't call me that," he requests.
"Then what should I call you?" I ask, still coldly.
"Nothing, yet." Damn, his answers are cryptic.
We get through the rest of Thursday and Friday rather uneventfully. In AP writing, after we have turned in our story, Harrison calls us over.
"Yes, sir?" Four asks.
"You two are exceptional writers, but - this story. Were you two pissed at each other while writing it?" Harrison remarks.
I look decidedly at the floor, and Four is very interested in his fingernail.
"Ah," Harrison comments. "You're still pissed at each other. Well, you'd better get over it, because I'm pairing you two together permanently. And, instead of having the assignments the rest of the class has, you two will be getting special assignments."
Four and I gape at him. "But - sir - we -" I splutter, and then take a deep breath. "But then we won't learn to write individually." Four nods earnestly.
Harrison scoffs. "You two are the best individual writers this place has. There's no question about you two knowing how to write by yourselves. But this work is amazing. Your writing styles compliment each other's. It's beautiful. And I intend on enhancing it." Both Four and I scowl at him. "Oh, don't be such wimps. You two are just fighting. You two had something special that first day." Then Harrison smirks at Four and I get a twinge of nervousness at what his next words will be. "Oh, and Four, man up and ask her out. Everyone can see you like each other."
Four and I both redden and we make our way back to our table, grumbling. We don't say anything about Harrison's last comment, but it actually made my heart leap a little. People think Four and I like each other.
Four and I sit, staring at each other, for a few minutes. Harrison watches us. Finally, he comes over. "If I give you an assignment, will you at least speak to each other?"
Four and I look up at him. Four nods and I glare. "What's the assignment?"
"Oh, uh, er -"
"You don't actually have one, do you?" I ask drily.
"I do!" he answers indignantly. "You guys have to describe a shared memory from your point of view. And it's due on Monday."
I stick my tongue out at his back, and Four chuckles.
"I saw that, Prior!" Harrison shouts. The class looks up, startled, and sees me and Four smirking at Harrison's back. They shrug and go back to whatever crap they were doing.
"So what memory should we do?" Four fiddles with his pen.
"How about the first time we met each other?" I suggest, trying to sound innocent. "And….how about we can't read what the other person wrote."
Four watches me warily. "So that means when Chris was talking to you on the bus, right?"
I nod and pull a new Google Doc open, sharing it with him. He shares on with me, too. I don't open his, and he doesn't open mine. I close my eyes and remember exactly what I was feeling on that day, and my fingers start to move on the keyboard. All too soon, class is over.
"Hey! F-Whatever you want me to call you!" I call. Four turns around. "Do you want to take the Red Line home today?"