Right? --A Fourtris/Tris Pedrad Story

Chapter 2

I put myself in a daze until I feel a tap on my shoulder. Ugh. Zeke. "What?" I snap quietly, keeping my eyes trained on the stage below. "I shouldn't have said that. I was a total bitch. How can I fix it?" I look over to him with a smirk. He shakes his head.

"Ask Shauna out." His eyes widen and his head shakes violently. I turn back to the stage, ignoring his protests. "Fine," he growls under his breath. "On the way back." I nod with a cocky grin, knowing that I got him good. "Thanks," I say. He rolls his eyes in disbelief that he's actually doing this.

"Shauna Earnest," Marcus calls from the stage. She gets up and gives Hector a high five before perkily hopping down the stairs. Lynn's foot taps anxiously as she sits on the edge of her seat. Het hands tightly clench the armrests so hard that I think they might break. She must be really nervous.

Shauna is handed and she doesn't hesitate to cut herself. Blood doesn't even receive the chance to pool in her hand before she spills it into the sizzling coals. Lynn jumps up clapping with the rest of dauntless. It would be so weird without her.

"Tobias Eaton." That's Marcus' son. I've seen him around school a few times, but never actually spoke to him. He nervously was to the stage, almost tripping on the stairs. His body seems quite strong for an abnegation. Marcus tells him something before handing him the knife. I don't know why this boy intrigues me so much.

His blood pools and he looks between two bowls, indecisive. He opens his hand over the coals and they loudly sizzle in the silent room. Marcus glares at him with pure hatred. The candor or erudite snicker as he slowly walks towards the sea of black. His head stays down and I start clapping. All eyes in the room turn to me, but I continue to clap. I'm the only one. He takes a seat a few rows from the front and I stop clapping when they call the next name.

"Who is he?" Uriah questions and nudges my elbow. I shrug. "I don't know. I just felt bad that nobody clapped for him, " I answer and he nods. He is totally suspicious though. I can tell.

"Ezekiel Pedrad." Zeke cringes at the use of his real name. He quickly runs down the stairs two at a time. When he reaches the stage, he quickly takes the knife and cuts his palm. Is it painful? Guess I'll find out in two years. The red liquid drips into the sizzling coals and the sea of black pumps their fists, clap, and shout for him. I don't know what I'd do if he left.

"LET'S GO!" Max yells and I'm one of the first people out the door. I run to one of the back trains that are especially for initiates. Uriah and I each press a button to open a door and pull ourselves in. We stand in between the entrances as different colors enter the car, but no gray yet.

I spot Zeke and Shauna talking in the back as a tall erudite approaches me. His nose sticks far out of his face. Isn't it ironic? "You're in the wrong car shortie." I shake my head. "No, I'm not. You clearly aren't too smart for a previous erudite, " I reply in a snarky tone. "You didn't even choose. What are you, ten?" He asks and tries to push me back. I don't budge.

"I wouldn't fuck with her if I were you, " Zeke warns, breaking from his conversations with Shauna. "What's this ten year old gonna do?" He asks and squats down to make eye contact. "Beat your ass actually. I'm fourteen and have been a dauntless prodigy for eight years. I'm also you instructor for initiation, so shut the fuck up, "I retort and go to close the door. Shit.

I hear the sound of feet on the mushy grass. We're turning soon. I look out and see him. Of course its the stiff. Who else wouldn't be? "Come on!" I scream out the door. He appears to struggle. Damn it. I dangle myself our the door and reach my arm out for him to grab. "Hurry!" I shout, seeing that the turn is almost here. He grasps onto my small hand and I hold on tightly.

I yank him in, losing my balance. I fall back onto the cold floor, him landing on top of me. I lay back on the cold floor and he is above me. Zeke and Uriah stand above me with crossed arms. The stiff stands up and brushes himself off. I soon join him in brushing myself off.