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 do not exist.
I throw the knife and look away when she winces, too relieved to feel bad for hurting her. I did it.
“I would love to stay and see if the rest of you are as daring as she is, but I think that’s enough for today,” says Eric. To me, he mutters, “Well. That should scare them, huh.”
I think—I hope—that means he’s not suspicious of me anymore.
He touches her shoulder, and gives her a metal-framed smile. “I should keep my eye on you.”
I watch blood trickle down her ear and onto her neck and feel sick.
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