Dauntless High School

Chapter 7

TRIS

I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling. A pile of unfinished homework waits on my desk. I made a half-assed attempt earlier, but I gave up. I probably won't try again. Whenever I try to focus on my schoolwork, I just can't, so I don't bother much any more. I'm smart enough to pass the tests, often with high scores, but not much of my work makes it to the teachers' inboxes.

Today has sucked. After my unfortunate choice of words last night, Uriah stormed out, and he hasn't spoken to me since. He made a point to ignore me all day at school, hasn't answered any of my texts or calls, and when I tried to wait for him after practice, he went straight to the locker room without even glancing my way.

Things have been a little rough with Uriah and me for a while now. I don't know what it is... if I did, maybe I would know how to fix it. Sometimes I'm not completely sure I even want to... but the thought of losing him scares me. I don't have many constants in my life, and Uriah is one of the few. Zeke, too, and I suppose the girls, but I am not as close to any of them as I always have been with the Pedrad boys.

Maybe if I had known that I would lose my mother (and, really, my entire family in the process) I would not have risked my friendship with Uriah by becoming more than friends. But it's too late now. If Uriah and I fall apart, I don't think it will ever be the same between us.

My phone vibrates, making a loud buzzing sound on the table by my bed. I pick it up and see a text from Christina, and I sigh. I don't want the text to be from Chris, I want it to be from Uriah. I unlock the screen and look at it anyway.

Christina: Marlene and I are going down to lincoln park to give benji a makeover at 12. Wanna come?

Right, Christina's dare. The Benjamin Franklin statue. I sigh and glance at the time. It's 8:14. As much as all I want to do is sleep, and block out this entire day, I'm not tired. I really don't feel like doing pranks tonight, but what else am I gonna do?

Tris: Yeah, sure. Where and when should I meet you?
Christina: 11:45 in the museum parking lot.
Tris: Kk. cu then.

With a deep sigh I get up and put my school things back into my backpack, knowing I won't bother with them again tonight. I didn't finish the dishes after dinner, so I deal with those next. There aren't many; since I was eating alone tonight, I just had a turkey sandwich and some leftover soup. I'm drying the cutting board I used to make my sandwich when I hear three knocks, loud but slow, on the side door. My stomach flips. I'm pretty sure I know who it is... and what state he is in... and my blood pressure is already rising at the thought.

I unlock the deadbolt and fling open the door. Uriah tumbles in― he was stupidly leaning against the door. His eyes are red and he looks overall disheveled. He pulls me into his arms, but I feel more like I am holding him up, too much of his weight is leaning on me and he sways as he stands. "Trissss," he slurs. "Baby, I miss you." His breath is sharp with whiskey.

Anger surges through me and my heart pounds in my ears. I push him off me and he stumbles back, barely catching himself on the kitchen table. "Ow," he mumbles. "The hell? What was that for?"

I huff out a breath and pull out the chair closest to him, then push him into it. "Are you shitting me right now?" I hiss. I stomp to the front window as I continue. "Tell me, Uriah, how did you get here? Let me guess―you drove yourself, drunk off your fucking ass!" I look out the window. Sure enough, there's his jeep, parked at a careless angle with the front driver's side wheel in the flower bed instead of on the driveway.

"You're so uptight," he mumbles.

"Uptight?!" I screech. "Uriah, you could have killed yourself, or someone else! How many times do we have to have this conversation, you asshole?!"

"Oh yeah... I forgot."

"You forgot?" I pace the kitchen with my fists clenched at my sides. How the hell does he forget something like this? How does he not understand the way this affects me? "Did you forget that some asshole just like you is the reason my mother is dead? The reason I don't have a family any more?! Fuck you, Uri!"

His face falls. But I don't feel bad for yelling at him. No matter how mad he is at me or how much he's had to drink, I don't know how he can possibly forget the most basic details of the tragedy, only a year ago, that has turned my entire world upside down.

"Trisss, just... slow down... I..." He starts to get up and I push him back into the chair. Tears leave hot, sticky trails down my cheeks and I don't know if it's anger, or grief, or frustration... or maybe it's a combination of all three.

I hold my hand out to him. "Give me your keys. Now." He stares at me blankly. "Give them to me!" I scream. And finally he fishes them out of his pocket and drops them in my outstretched hand, his movements sluggish and sloppy. "Don't move," I order, shaking my finger at him. He nods dumbly.

I put his keys in a drawer in the living room to make sure he won't find them sitting somewhere and take off again, though he looks too bewildered by my reaction―even though this is certainly not the first time we've been through this―to do anything but stare at me, anyway. Then I pull out my phone and call Zeke.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

I took Uriah home in his Jeep and made Zeke promise to keep the keys away from him. We didn't talk anything out, I was too angry with him for driving drunk―still am. It's always complicated when I have to do this... either Zeke has to drive me home, or if he's been drinking, too, I just drive the Jeep back to my house and am stuck getting it back to Uriah the next day. That's not normally a problem... but when we aren't even really on speaking terms, it's a little awkward.

Tonight, though, Four was there, and he offered me a ride home. He said he had to get back to his homework, anyway.

"This car is amazing," I gush as I hop into his black vintage Mustang.

"Thanks," he smiles as we both buckle the lap belts. He pats the dash. "This car is my baby. I've put a lot of work into her."

"You fixed it up yourself?" He nods. I bite my lip. "My mom and I used to work on my truck together," I admit. "But I don't know enough to do it by myself. Do you―could you―" I stutter.

"Tris," he interrupts. "If you want me to help you fix your truck, I will."

I smile. "That would be great. Thank you, Four."

"You're welcome. What kind of truck is it?"

"Uh, it's a 1961 Ford F-150. Mom got it for me when I turned fifteen, and we spent a few months working on it. But since―I―" I stammer. It's still so hard to find the words when something about Mom comes up... when I have to think of how I lost her. "Well, without Mom, I've only done cosmetic work. At least it looked good by the time I turned sixteen and could drive it around on my own, right?"

"That's yours?! It's awesome. I saw it in the lot at school this morning," Four says. Four glances at me looking conflicted. I'm not surprised when he asks, "Does she not work on it with you any more?" I shake my head. "Why not?"

"She died," I whisper. I hate this part, the thing I know is coming. The part where the person looks at me with pity and tells me how sorry they are, and then it's all awkward while they try to figure out what to say to make it better. Nothing will ever make it better.

"Well, we should finish it, then," he says after a short pause. "I bet you know more about fixing a car than you think. I think she'd want you to finish it yourself, don't you? With an assistant to help, I mean."

He's looking at me the same way he did before. He doesn't pity me. And it's not awkward. He even made me feel like it's okay to talk about her, and he won't get weird and uncomfortable. I'm not sure if I am ready to do that, but it's nice to feel as though I could. Maybe I could be okay with Four joining our group, after all.

"I think she would," I agree and I smile at him. I glance at the clock and am startled when I realize it is 11:25. I smirk. "So, Four... would you like to help with a dare?"