XII

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

And only in part because of the Divergent thing.

The past several nights, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and now Tuesday, Aletheia had been holding more of those “Candor-exclusive parties”. At least five Candor-born were in our apartment at all times, laughing and smoking and drinking a lot of fine wine. The party would escalate along with blood alcohol content, peaking at around midnight. The next morning, I would walk out the door to find a Candor boy still passed out on the couch and some girl’s bra on the kitchen counter. Class attendance that day would be suspiciously low of Candor-born.

I had never liked parties. It wasn’t even just an Abnegation thing—I simply could never wrap my head around it. Even though drinking alcohol was legal at sixteen, I had never wanted to do it. It was massively expensive and it smelled gross and it made people loopy. I definitely did not want to share such an experience with peers. But what I hated most about parties, I realized, was when your roommate hosted them in your apartment every night without any regards to whether or not you were getting any sleep. Every time I tried to drift off, someone’s laugh would pierce the night, or someone would shout something lewd, or someone would begin jumping on the couch and shaking the whole building.

I tried to say things on nights before. Aletheia just convinced everyone else to ignore me. Granted, I was easy to ignore; I had never had a strong voice. But tonight, I lost my nerve.

They were playing some sort of truth or dare game and I could hear every word. I was tired. It was two in the morning. I opened my door, leaned out, and screamed:

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?! SHUT UP!”

Then I slammed my door.

The last time I had yelled—really, truly yelled—was when I was a toddler. Now, I was overcome by how good it felt. My whole body was shaking as I stomped to my bed and yanked the covers over me.

The apartment went unusually quiet after I had yelled that. There was a single spurt of laughter from two people—Aletheia and her stupid lackey Katie—but then the conversation seemed to die down. The front door opened, then, a long time later, closed. The apartment was then quiet for a very long time and I drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, as it had been for the past few days, very few Candor-born were in class. The exception was Sherlock, who came very late and disheveled to Legal Procedure. Judge Touma even stopped class to regard him.

“I thought being late and not knowing how to tie a tie was Mr. Balakrishnan’s signature statement,” said Judge Touma, to which the whole class chuckled. Ravi just grinned. He had made himself a sort of reverse teacher’s pet, I noticed—all the professors knew him and loved him, even though he wasn’t a good or obedient student. He was just likeable.

Sherlock’s face, in turn, was red as a beet. “Sorry, Your Honor,” he murmured, then scurried to the back of the class. To my surprise, he sat next to me.

“Mr. De Luca,” said Judge Touma, addressing Sherlock, “say that you did, in fact, steal Mr. Balakrishnan’s style. He was so successful with his style that he decided to become a fashion designer of suits with untied ties. Then you come along and use the same technology to do the same thing. Which of the four types of intellectual property rights could Mr. Balakrishnan accuse you of infringing—copyright, patent, trade secret, or trademark?”

Sherlock hesitated. Under the table, I nudged his foot with my own, then typed on my computer, Patent; aspect of product.

“Patent,” said Sherlock. “Because…he would be accusing me of stealing an aspect of the product.”

Touma raised her chin, then nodded and moved on with the lesson.

After a few minutes, a message popped up in the corner of my screen. All of the initiates had a chat app that they could communicate with each other in. I hadn’t used it much except to message Oona when I accidentally locked my key in the apartment. The new message was from Sherlock.

S. De Luca: Thanks for covering for me.

I stole a glance over to him. The room was too small for us to get away with whispering. He was acting like he was taking notes from Judge Touma’s lecture, looking up at her and back down at his screen intermittently.

Another message popped up.

S. De Luca: I’m sorry about last night’s party. They get a little out of hand sometimes.

P. Prior: “Sometimes.”

S. De Luca: All the time.

P. Prior: Yes.

S. De Luca: Somehow I can tell you’re mad even if you’re not saying it out loud.

P. Prior: Well, I’m sorry, I guess I’m just a little tired. Since I haven’t slept well for the past three nights. But it’s not like any of you care—you don’t have to come to class if you don’t want to.

His end of the chat was silent for a very long time. I didn’t dare sneak another glance towards him. Out of the corner of my eye, though, I saw him glance at me.

S. De Luca: You’re right. And I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to apologize for anything.

P. Prior: No, I shouldn’t.

S. De Luca: I didn’t say anything the first time Aletheia brushed you off, so I’m just as much at fault as she is.

P. Prior: Yes, you are.

S. De Luca: It’s just kind of a shock. When you grow up Candor, you know a lot of this stuff already, so you’re told that initiation will be easy and that now’s the time to blow off class and party. It was a surprise to a lot of us that if we don’t pass, we’ll be factionless, but now that’s not as much of a concern.

P. Prior: For you.

S. De Luca: Yeah. We have an unfair advantage. And it’s not right for us to party all night and put you at a greater disadvantage. I’m sorry.

P. Prior: I accept your apology.

S. De Luca: Thank you.

P. Prior: Just don’t wake me up again.

S. De Luca: I’ll tell Aletheia that we shouldn’t have them in your place anymore. I can get the other guys on my side, too.

P. Prior: Thanks.

That was the end of our conversation. I couldn’t say I had completely forgiven Sherlock at that point, but I respected him for apologizing and for having the maturity to know why I was angry.

Aletheia was not quite as noble.

She was at lunch, her blond hair a bird’s nest and eyes bloodshot, and I caught her and Katie passing nasty glares over at me.

“You know, everyone in Amity would hate me for telling you this,” commented Oona, “but what you said last night was awesome.”

“Thanks,” I said, meeting Aletheia’s eyes from across the dining hall. She leered at me before stabbing her fish fillet with a fork. “I think it was, too.”

Aletheia wouldn’t have an opportunity to be mad at me in our apartment. I stayed out of the room, studying in the library until ten at night. When I arrived home, there were a few cigarettes in the ashtray that hadn’t been there that morning, so Aletheia and Katie had been home, but weren’t anymore. I presumed that they had moved their festivities out of the room for one reason or another.

Whatever it was, I was happy, and finally had a long night’s rest.