Yay another cliche went on the Internet!
Well what if I told you there were Marcus and Tobias drama because everyone wants that secretly.
This is my first story. Oh forget it I'm bad at these descriptions.
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Hi, it's me from the future. I've decided to rewrite this book because it's bad and in this span of time I have literally become a different person.
That picture is still a great representation of how I see reading though. ^
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"Four," Zeke huffed, exasperated; he slid into the slot next to Tobias on the bench, frowning. It didn't suit his face, and the abnegation in him twinged, knowing that he was causing his sadness, "I know you're like this enigma, but I need you at the party tonight!"
"You need me?" Tobias asked wryly.
"For my sanity," he stated, melodramatically draping an arm across his shoulders and leaning against him.
Well used to his antics, he shrugged the hand off of him and stood, leaving the plate of pushed-around food on the table, "Y'know, if I were an Amity that speech might have worked."
"It should've," he grumbled, and he stop, rigid. Why would he- never mind. Just breathe. Being a transfer never gets easier: nobody truly leaves their old lives behind, and it's annoyingly easy to slip into old habits as if you'd never left at all; though, maybe, that's just due to 'not conforming'. Probably. Other people seem to just slink into the 'family' as if they'd always been there. "See you're still a stiffy."
"Stiffy?" He repeated, incredulous and the dredges of panic slipped away as he gave into the absurdity, "I don't think anyone has ever called it that- I don't even think Amity serum shuts off enough of your brain."
"Rude!"
"Great convincing there, Zeke, my friend," he clapped his friend on the shoulder, "but unfortunately I still cannot attend your frat party."
Zeke gripped onto his outstretched arm, pulling himself up from the table with a groan, "that's getting harder in my old age," he remarked, pinching a fry from my plate, "Where's the fucking ketchup, man?"
"Don't like it."
"Woah there tiger, sure you wanna say that: sounds a bit like free information there, Four. Anyway, speaking of free info, a little bird tells me you like Tris." He linked arms, and Four briefly wondered if he'd been day-drinking as they weaved through the benches, "It's truly a love story for the ages: didn't some old sap write something like it in the old world?"
"Shakespeare was not a sap." He pushed his friend playfully, "And I'm not Romeo."
"Coulda fooled me," he laughed, "Tris is going, by the way. Just please consider it, everyone wants you there and you're actually killing me."
