Cold Hearts | Tobias Eaton

°6°

WE REACH OUR street five minutes before I usually do, according to my watch—which is the only adornment Abnegation allows, and only because it's practical. It has a gray band and a glass face. If I tilt it right, I can almost see my reflection over the hands.

The houses on our street are all the same size and shape. They are made of gray cement, with few windows, in economical, no-nonsense rectangles. Their lawns are crabgrass and their mailboxes are dull metal. To some the sight might be gloomy, and I completely agree. But I know Beatrice finds some comfort in this.

The reason for the simplicity isn't disdain for uniqueness, as the other factions have sometimes interpreted it. Everything—our houses, our clothes, our hairstyles—is meant to help us forget ourselves and to protect us from vanity, greed, and envy, which are just forms of selfishness. If we have little, and want for little, and we are all equal, we envy no one.

I try to love it. I really do. But somehow it's just not working.
"Why did you leave earlier?" I hear Beatrice say.
"Why did you leave earlier?" I ask her. And then we both stop talking.
We sit on the front step and wait for Caleb to arrive. It doesn't take long. After a minute I see gray-robed forms walking down the street. I hear laughter. At school we try not to draw attention to ourselves, but once we're home, the games and jokes start. My natural tendency toward sarcasm is still not appreciated. Sarcasm is always at someone's expense. Maybe it's better that Abnegation wants me to suppress it. Maybe I don't have to leave my family. Maybe if I fight to make Abnegation work, my act will turn into reality.

"Beatrice!" Caleb says. "What happened?  I heard you weren't feeling very well. Are you all right? And Kazuha? Thank you for helping Beatrice."

"I'm fine." Beatrice says. "When the test was over, I got sick. Must have been that liquid they gave us. I feel better now, though."
She tries to smile convincingly. Susan and her sister smile in understanding way, but Caleb narrows his eyes at her, the way he does when he suspects someone of duplicity.

"Did you two take the bus today?" He asks. Like if he knew I was silently praying for change of this conversation.

"No, we decided to walk," Beatrice says.

Susan smiles at Caleb than leaves with her sister to their home.

"You're welcome to come over later, if you'd like," Caleb says politely. And little loudly.

"Thank you." Susan smiles at Caleb.
Cornelia raises an eyebrow at me. Shee and I have been exchanging looks for the past year as Susan and Caleb flirt in the tentative way known only to the Abnegation. I bet that even Beatrice noticed. Caleb's eyes follow Susan down the walk. I have to grab his arm to startle him from his daze. They Beatrice leads him into the house and close the door behind us.

He turns to Beatrice. His eyes seems so crescent like.

"Are you going to tell me the truth now?" he asks softly.

"The truth is," Beatrice says, "I'm not supposed to discuss it. And you're not supposed to ask."

"All those rules you bend, and you can't bend this one? Not even for something this important?" His eyebrows tug together, and he bites the corner of his lip. Though his words are accusatory, it sounds like he is probing her for information—like he actually wants her answer.
I narrow my eyes. "Will you? What happened in your test, Caleb?"

Our eyes meet. I hear a train horn, so faint it could easily be wind whistling through an alleyway. But I know it when I hear it. It sounds like the Dauntless, Beatrice's Dauntless.

"Just...don't tell our parents what happened, okay?" I hear her say.

His eyes stay on mine for a few seconds, and then he nods to Beatrice's words.

I want to go upstairs and lie down. The test, the walk, and my encounter with the factionless man exhausted me. But my brother made breakfast this morning, and my mother prepared our lunches, and my father made dinner last night, so it's my turn to cook. I breathe deeply and walk into the kitchen to start cooking.

A minute later, Caleb joins me. I grit my teeth. He helps with everything. What irritates me most about him is his natural goodness, his inborn selflessness. Beatrice doesn't do that. - but still to everyone eyes she would be better in abnegation than me.

Caleb and I work together without speaking. I cook peas on the stove. He defrosts five pieces of chicken. Most of what we eat is frozen or canned, because farms these days are far away. My mother told me once that, a long time ago, there were people who wouldn't buy genetically engineered produce because they viewed it as unnatural. Now we have no other option.

By the time my parents get home, dinner is ready and the table is set. My father drops his bag at the door and kisses my head. Other people see him as an opinionated man—too opinionated, maybe—but he's also loving. I try to see only the good in him; I try.

"How did the test go?" he asks Beatrice, Caleb and me. I pour the peas into a serving bowl.

"Fine," I hear Beatrice say.
"Interesting," says Caleb.
"Wasn't what I was expecting, but somehow totally me." I say at the same time as Caleb.

"I heard there was some kind of upset with two of the tests," my mother says. Like my father, she works for the government, but she manages city improvement projects. She recruited volunteers to administer the aptitude tests. Most of the time, though, she organizes workers to help the factionless with food and shelter and job opportunities.
"Really?" says my father. A problem with the aptitude tests is rare. And two problems? That is almost impossible.

"I don't know much about it, but my friend Erin told me that something went wrong with two of the tests, so the results had to be reported verbally." My mother places a napkin next to each plate on the table. "Apparently one student got sick and was sent home early, and the other had to leave with the sick one." My mother shrugs. "I hope they're all right. Did you two hear about that?" 

"No," Caleb says. He smiles at my mother. Yeah, sure, we didn't.

My brother couldn't be Candor at all.