Count On Me

Best Friend

FRIDAY, AUGUST 15, 2014 | 10:15 PM | BEATRICE

Susan, Tess and Megan finally badgered me into going out with them this afternoon for the first time in the past month. They already know about my mother, because Caleb told Susan when she stopped by one day. But they didn't know about Tobias. I've never been so thankful for my job: my 5-10 pm shift delivering pizzas tonight was what allowed me to end the painfully awkward little get-together.

I drag myself up the ladder into Uriah's treehouse balancing a pizza in one hand, one of the few perks of my job. Uriah absolutely lights up when I slide it across the floor. "Pepperoni and pineapple, my favorite! You're the best," Uriah cheers as I snatch the bottle of liquor from beside him and get settled in a bean bag chair next to him.

"And thank you," I return, "for this!" I don't even care what it is, I just unscrew the cap and take a big gulp.

Uriah laughs at the sour look on my face. "Super cheap vodka. Pretty disgusting, huh?" He takes a big bite of pizza and grabs a red solo cup like the ones at that party a couple weeks ago and sets it in front of me along with bottle of fruit punch. "Mix it with that."

I shrug. "After my day with the girls, it's worth the bad taste, believe me."

"That bad, huh?" he mumbles through a mouthful of pizza while I fill my cup with vodka and fruit punch—heavy on the vodka.

"Uri! Eww! Swallow, then speak!" He at least has the decency to look sorry. "Yeah... it really was... that bad. First of all, there were all the pity looks, about my mom, of course." Uriah nods and rolls his eyes; he's plenty familiar with that particular annoyance. "Well on top of that, they asked about her with this voice... like..."

"—like they're talking to a five year old whose puppy just died?"

"Exactly!" I exclaim.

Uriah winces. "Yeah, I'm familiar." He continues eating his pizza.

"But somehow I wasnt prepared even think about Tobias," I spit.

Uriah's face falls, understanding my meaning. "They asked about him."

"Yep," I say, popping the p.

"So what did you tell them?"

I lean back and close my eyes. "I told them that we broke up, but when I didn't know where he ended up they were certain there was more to the story. So then they spent all this time searching all the social media sites for him, which of course came up with nothing. I thought we'd be done with it at that point," I sigh. "Nope. Time for another round of twenty questions!"

"That... sucks," Uriah says emphatically. "You know they mean well. Bet you can't wait to go back to school with all of them in another week or so," he teases, laughing. I groan in response. "Hey, maybe you can talk your parents into letting you go public for the rest of high school. Come slum it with me."

"Yeah, right," I say, but the idea takes root in my mind. What can it hurt to try? "Anyway, enough about me. How was your day?"

"Fine I guess," he sighs. "I heard Mom on the phone with Zeke a few hours ago. Telling him that he needs to talk to his boss about being prepared to fly home for the funeral. Won't be long now. A couple weeks if we're really lucky."

I reach for his hand; it's become instinct now. Not for the first time, I notice the warm feeling I get when we touch... it feels like safety and belonging.

"Tris?" Uriah says, turning on his side in his bean bag to face me. I do the same, lying kind of sideways on my own chair, and hum in response. He stares right into my eyes as he says, "I'm glad I met you. I don't know how, but everything is... is a little less fucked, when you're with me, even though nothing's changed."

I smile. "Ditto. I don't know how I'd survive this without you."

Uriah smiles and glances down at where our fingers are still laced together. He beckons me with his other hand, I roll my eyes but get up and manage to fit myself onto the beanbag next to him, his arm behind me. Uriah wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me in closer, my head resting on his shoulder. "That's better. You were too far away."

I relax into his embrace, feeling so relaxed and comforted, and at the same time, a mild nervous, tingly feeling in my stomach. Not the bad kind of nerves, like dread, but the good kind—the kind you get when something good is about to happen.

I lie there in my best friend's comforting arms, and before long, we drift off to sleep, wedged next to each other on a bean bag in a treehouse lit by twinkle lights.