Free Divergent Trilogy 01.1 FREE FOUR: Tobias tells the story by Veronica Roth Page B

had known that I would prevent things like this, things like dangling initiates over the chasm and forcing them to beat each other senseless. 
    I realize that I have been squeezing the knives so tightly that the handles have left impressions in my palms. I have to do what Eric says. My only other choice is leaving the room, and if I leave, Eric will throw the knives himself, which I can’t allow. I turn toward Al. 
    And then she says—I know it’s her because her voice is low, for a girl’s, and careful— \“Stop it.”
    I don’t want Eric to turn on her instead. I glare at her as if that will make her think twice. I know it won’t. I’m not stupid.
    “Any idiot can stand in front of a target,” Tris says. “It doesn’t prove anything except that you’re bullying him. Which, as I recall, is a sign of cowardice.”
    Dauntless brutes—bullies, Lower Level children—that is what we are, beneath the tattoos and the piercings and the dark clothing.
    Maybe I  am stupid . I have to stop thinking of her this way.
    “Then it should be easy for you,” Eric says, pushing his hair back so it curls around his ear. “If you’re willing to take his place.” 
    And then his eyes shift to mine, just for a second. It’s like he knows, he knows I have a thing for her, so he’s going to force me to throw knives at her. For an instant—no, longer than an instant—I think about throwing a knife at him instead. I could hit him in the arm, or the leg, no harm done. . . .
    “There goes your pretty face,” Peter says, across the room. “Oh, wait. You don’t have one.”
    I barely register the comment. I am too busy watching her.
    She stands with her back to the board. The top of her head skims the bottom of the target center. She tips her chin up and looks at me with that Abnegation stubbornness I know so well. She may have left them, but they are what’s making her strong.
    I can’t tell her it will be okay, not with Eric here, but I can try to make her strong.
    “If you flinch, Al takes your place. Understand?” I say.
    Eric stands a little too close, tapping his foot on the floor. I have to get this right. I can’t throw the knife to the edge of the board, because he knows I can hit the center. But a clumsy throw, an inch in either direction, and I could hurt her. There goes your pretty face.
    But Peter’s right, she’s not pretty, that word is too small. She is not like the girls I used to stare at, all bend and curve and softness. She is small but strong, and her bright eyes demand attention. Looking at her is like waking up.
    I throw the knife, keeping my eyes on hers. It sticks in the board near her cheek. My hands shake with relief. Her eyes close, so I know I need to remind her again of her selflessness
     “You about done, Stiff?” I say.
      Stiff. That’s why you’re strong, get it?
    She looks angry. “No.”
    Why on earth would she get it? She can’t read minds, for God’s sake.
    “Eyes open, then,” I say, tapping the skin between my eyebrows. I don’t really need her eyes to be on mine, but I feel better when they are. I breathe the dust-sweat-metal smell and pass a knife from my left hand to my right. Eric inches closer.
    My view of the room narrows around the part in her hair, and I throw with my exhale.
    I hear Eric behind me. “Hmm” is all he says.
    “Come on, Stiff,” I say. “Let someone else stand there and take it.”
    “Shut up, Four!” she says, and I want to yell back that I’m as frustrated as she is, with an Erudite vulture analyzing my every move, searching for my weak points so he can hit them as hard as he can.
    I hear that “hmm” again and I’m not sure if it’s Eric or my imagination, but I know I have to convince him that she’s just another initiate to me, and I have to do it now. I breathe deep, and make a quick decision, staring at the tip of her ear, the quick-healing cartilage.
    The fear does not exist. My beating heart, tight chest and sweating palms