The room is so bright I have to squint to see. The opposite wall has large windows that look out over the orchard. Despite this, the room feels small, probably because the ceiling, like the walls and floor, is also covered with wooden boards.
“Please sit,” the older man says, gesturing toward the stool in the middle of the room. It, like all other furniture in the Amity compound, is made of unpolished wood, and looks sturdy, like it is still attached to the earth. I do not sit.
“The fight is over,” I say. “I won’t do it again. Not here.”
“We have to follow protocol,” the younger man says. “Please sit, and we’ll discuss what happened, and then we’ll let you go.”
All their voices are so soft. Not hushed, like the Abnegation speak, always treading holy ground and trying not to disturb. Soft, soothing, low—I wonder, then, if that is something they teach their initiates here. How best to speak, move, smile, to encourage peace.
I don’t want to sit down, but I do, perched on the edge of the chair so I can get up fast, if necessary. The younger man stands in front of me. Hinges creak behind me. I look over my shoulder—the older man is fumbling with something on a counter behind me.
“What are you doing?”
“I am making tea,” he says.
“I don’t think tea is really the solution to this.”
“Then tell us,” the younger man says, drawing my attention back to the windows. He smiles at me. “What do you believe is the solution?”
“Throwing Peter out of this compound.”
“It seems to me,” the man says gently, “that you are the one who attacked him—indeed, that you are the one who shot him in the arm.”
“You have no idea what he did to deserve those things.” My cheeks get hot again and mimic my heartbeat. “He tried to kill me. And someone else—he stabbed someone else in the eye . . . with a butter knife. He is evil. I had every right to—”
I feel a sharp pain in my neck. Dark spots cover the man in front of me, obscuring my view of his face.
“I’m sorry, dear,” he says. “We are just following protocol.”
The older man is holding a syringe. A few drops of whatever he injected me with are still in it. They are bright green, the color of grass. I blink rapidly, and the dark spots disappear, but the world still swims before me, like I am tilting forward and back in a rocking chair.
“How do you feel?” the younger man says.
“I feel . . .” Angry, I was about to say. Angry with Peter, angry with the Amity. But that’s not true, is it? I smile. “I feel good. I feel a little like . . . like I’m floating. Or swaying. How do you feel?”
“Dizziness is a side effect of the serum. You may want to rest this afternoon. And I’m feeling well. Thank you for asking,” he says. “You may leave now, if you would like.”
“Can you tell me where to find Tobias?” I say. When I imagine his face, affection for him bubbles up inside me, and all I want to do is kiss him. “Four, I mean. He’s handsome, isn’t he? I don’t really know why he likes me so much. I’m not very nice, am I?”
“Not most of the time, no,” the man says. “But I think you could be, if you tried.”
“Thank you,” I say. “That’s nice of you to say.”
“I think you’ll find him in the orchard,” he says. “I saw him go outside after the fight.”
I laugh a little. “The fight. What a silly thing . . .”
And it does seem like a silly thing, slamming your fist into someone else’s body. Like a caress, but too hard. A caress is much nicer. Maybe I should have run my hand along Peter’s arm instead. That would have felt better to both of us. My knuckles wouldn’t ache right now.
I get up and steer myself toward the door. I have to lean against the wall for balance, but it’s sturdy, so I don’t mind. I stumble down the hallway, giggling at my inability to balance. I’m clumsy again, just like I was when I was younger. My mother used to smile at me and say, “Be careful where you put your feet, Beatrice. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
I walk outside and the green on the trees seems greener, so potent I can almost taste it. Maybe I can taste it, and it is like the grass I decided to chew when I was a child just to see what it was like. I almost fall down the stairs because of the swaying and burst into laughter when the grass tickles my bare feet. I wander toward the orchard.
“Four!” I call out. Why am I calling out a number? Oh yes. Because that’s his name. I call out again, “Four! Where are you?”
“Tris?” says a voice from the trees on my right. It almost sounds like the tree is talking to me. I giggle, but of course it’s just Tobias, ducking under a branch.
I run toward him, and the ground lurches to the side, so I almost fall. His hand touches my waist, steadies me. The touch sends a shock through my body, and all my insides burn like his fingers ignited them. I pull closer to him, pressing my body against his, and lift my head to kiss him.
“What did they—” he starts, but I stop him with my lips. He kisses me back, but too quickly, so I sigh heavily.
“That was lame,” I say. “Okay, no it wasn’t, but . . .”
I stand on my tiptoes to kiss him again, and he presses his finger to my lips to stop me.
“Tris,” he says. “What did they do to you? You’re acting like a lunatic.”
“That’s not very nice of you to say,” I say. “They put me in a good mood, that’s all. And now I really want to kiss you, so if you could just relax—”
“I’m not going to kiss you. I’m going to figure out what’s going on,” he says.
I pout my lower lip for a second, but then I grin as the pieces come together in my mind.
“That’s why you like me!” I exclaim. “Because you’re not very nice either! It makes so much more sense now.”
“Come on,” he says. “We’re going to see Johanna.”
“I like you, too.”
“That’s encouraging,” he replies flatly. “Come on. Oh, for God’s sake. I’ll just carry you.”
He swings me into his arms, one arm under my knees and the other around my back. I wrap my arms around his neck and plant a kiss on his cheek. Then I discover that the air feels nice on my feet when I kick them, so I move my feet up and down as he walks us toward the building where Johanna works.