Count On Me

Some Things Don't Change

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 2016 | 12:15 AM | TRIS

I have to read The Grapes of Wrath for my English Lit class. I cannot concentrate on this so-called American classic to save my life, and it's not because I just got home from a closing shift waitressing. It's always been this way, ever since high school, every time I've been required to read a book by this particular author. I drop the open book on my chest and release my frustration with a growl. Maybe I'll just print out the spark notes when I'm on campus tomorrow. I really should buy a printer. I could ask Four to use his; Uriah has already chipped in for ink cartridges to print his own schoolwork. But then I would have to tell Four that I'm in school.

I hear someone come in the front door. It could be either of the guys; Four usually gets home from work about now, and Uriah went to a party tonight with Lynn, Marlene, and a couple of other new friends from school. I have been laying so that I take up nearly the whole couch, so I sit up and see that it is Four on his way in from work. He greets me as he puts something away in the fridge, and I cross my legs beneath me as he makes his way to the couch with a beer in each hand.

"Long day?" I ask, setting my book down on the coffee table.

"A bit," he says. He nods at the book and raises his eyebrows. "The Grapes of Wrath? I know a lot has changed, Tris, but I never in a million years thought I'd see you choose to read Steinbeck. You couldn't even make it through Of Mice and Men."

I open the beer he hands me and take a slow sip, buying myself time. His words spark an uneasy feeling inside me. Not just because I am unsure how to explain my attempt to read this book, but because he is right.

"Uriah must be reading it for school," I lie. "Saw it sitting around, thought I'd give it a go."

"Never knew you to be so masochistic."

"Well, like you said, Four. I've grown up, changed. Thought maybe my taste in literature had matured as well, but it seems not."

"You still hate it, then."

"Yes," I agree, smiling. I change the subject. "So, you said it was a long day. Anything in particular?"

Four sighs and turns so he is facing me, knee bent on the couch. "You know that boxing class I teach?"

I nod. Once we started getting along better and I noticed his absence, Four explained that he teaches a youth boxing class at the community center. But he has never told me anything more than the simple fact that this is where he spends his Monday afternoons.

"There's this kid who used to watch from outside the door. His dad won't pay for the class but I just have this feeling about him..."

"What sort of feeling?" I ask.

Four only shrugs. "Anyway, I told him to come in the back door, join the class, I won't tell anyone he hasn't paid."

"That was kind of you," I say.

Four chuckles. "People don't often call me kind," he says. I smile and playfully punch his arm and Four grins back before his face becomes serious again "Anyway, he missed class this Monday, and tonight when I was driving home I saw him sitting out in the park without a coat. I don't know, I'm just...concerned. He has shown up without a coat before but it's not as cold in the middle of the afternoon. So I stopped and offered him my coat, but he wouldn't take it."

I bite my lip, deep in thought. I know Four is thinking the same as I am, that this child isn't being properly cared for. Perhaps due to poverty, perhaps something more. "I would be worried, too," I admit. "Have you tried talking to him?"