Four sits down on the edge of the carousel, leaning against a plastic horse's foot. His eyes lift to the sky, where there are no stars, only a round moon peking through a thin layer of clouds. The muscles in his arms are relaxed; his hand rests on the back of his neck. He looks almost comfortable, holding that gun to his shoulder. I close my eyes briefly. Why does he distract me so easily? I need to focus.
Veronica RothHe bends over to untie his shoes. โSo, have you been ostracized from your little crowd of devotees?โ โNo,โ I say automatically. Then I add, โMaybe. But they arenโt my devotees.โ โPlease. Theyโre like the Cult of Four.โ I canโt help but laugh. โJealous? Wish you had a Cult of Psychopaths to call your very own?
Veronica RothI laugh shakily. โYouโre a little scary, Four.โ โDo me a favor,โ he says, โand donโt call me that.โ โWhat should I call you, then?โ โNothing.โ He takes his hand from my face. โYet.
Veronica RothWe've all started to put down the virtues of the other factions in the process of bolstering our own. I don't want to do that. I want to be brave, and selfless, and smart, and kind, and honest." He clears his throat. "I continually struggle with kindness.
Veronica RothDo you know him well?" I ask.I am too curious; I always have been. "Everyone knows Four," she says. "We were initiates together.I was bad at fighting,so he taught me every night after everyone was asleep." She scratches the back of her neck, her expression suddenly serious. "Nice of him." She gets up and stands behind the members sitting in the doorway. In a second, her serious expression is gone,but I still feel rattled by what she said, half confused by the idea of Four being "nice" and half wanting to punch her for no apparent reason.
Veronica Roth