Dauntless High School

Chapter 35

FOUR

"Ready to kick some stuck-up Erudite ass, Four?" Zeke asks jovially, jumping with his arm stretched upward to tap a support beam protruding from the ceiling of the hallway as we walk to the locker room for visiting sports teams.

"Always," I say, hiding my uncertainty. I am not in top shape tonight. The gashes on my back have begun to scab over and any significant movement stretches them painfully tight. Undoubtedly a few will break open during the game, so I have my torso wrapped in a generous few layers of gauze and will wear my Dri-Fit athletic top under my football jersey to hide all evidence of my injuries from prying eyes.

I keep my eyes peeled for any of my rivals from my old school, but so far have only passed a couple of guys I know, all ones I never had any quarrels with. Anytime I receive a nod of recognition, I politely return it, but that's all the acknowledgement that passes between myself and my former teammates. It's kind of amazing to me that I have such good friends at Dauntless already; I had friends at Erudite, yeah, but it almost as though it was just for appearance sake.

The locker room we will be using is beyond the one I was in every day last fall, the one the people I had hoped to avoid are loitering outside of. Leaning against the wall are the three guys I had the most trouble with: Parker Jacobsen, Sean Arnold, and, of course, Eric Coulter.

"Well, well, if it isn't Number-Boy," Eric sneers. "Tired of fighting me for the spotlight, were you, Eaton?"

"It was never much of a fight, Coulter," I quip without pause.

Eric scowls. "Guess we'll just see which of us the scouts are talking to after the game, won't we?"

I stare him down. "Good for you that I transferred schools, isn't it? If I were still here, you wouldn't see enough time on the field for the scouts to even know you exist."

Eric's looks like he swallowed a lemon. "You're going down this time, Four," he sneers after me.

-o-o-o-o-o-

I walk slowly to the locker room as I grit my teeth against the pain shooting through my shoulder, arm and back. It's only the third quarter, and I know already, I'm out of the game. I somehow managed to downplay my pain enough that Coach didn't insist I go to the ER, where I would never get away without someone noticing the wounds on my back. I don't need the ER anyway. I can deal with this myself. I have done it before.

As soon as I make it into the school building I look up and down the hall to be sure I am alone. As much as this hurts right now, the process of popping it back into place will hurt even more, so I cradle my arm to my chest and take a minute to gather myself, leaning my forehead against the cool wall trying to control my breathing. If the pain in my shoulder wasn't bad enough, Wednesday's lashes on my back burn and throb worse than they have since that first night.

I straighten up quickly when I hear the door open behind me, and I turn to see my mother rushing toward me. Her concern is clear in her deepened worry lines and the way she rushes to check me over. It hurts even more, and I hiss through my teeth.

"Dislocated," she says.

"I know."

"I can fix it."

I roll my eyes. "I don't need your help."

"Tobias..."

Guilt eats at me seeing the hurt look on her face. "Fine," I sigh. "I'm sorry. Thank you."

Mom nods. "We'll need ice packs and a sling."

"I know where they are. We should go to the locker room."