a bag. He bites down on a red pen and carries the bag out of the room; I hear the books inside it smacking against his leg as he walks down the hallway. I wait until I can't hear them anymore before I turn to Christina.
"I've been trying not to ask you, but
I'm giving up," I say. "What's going on with you and Uriah?"
Christina, sprawled across her cot with one long leg dangling over the edge, gives me a look.
"What? You've been spending a lot of time together," I say. "Like a lot."
It's sunny today, the light glowing through the white curtains. I don't know how, but the dormitory smells like sleep —like laundry and shoes and night sweats and morning coffee. Some of the beds are made, and some still have rumpled sheets bunched up at the bottom or the side. Most of us came from Dauntless, but I'm struck by how different we are anyway. Different habits, different temperaments, different
ways of seeing the world.
"You may not believe me, but it's not like that." Christina props herself up on her elbows. "He's grieving. We're both bored. Also, he's Uriah."
"So? He's good-looking."
"Good-looking, but he can't have a serious conversation to save his life." Christina shakes her head. "Don't get me wrong, I like to laugh, but I also want a relationship to mean something, you know?"
I nod. I do know—better than most people, maybe, because Tobias and I aren't really the joking type.
"Besides," she says, "not every friendship turns into a romance. I haven't
tried to kiss you yet."
I laugh. "True."
"Where have you been lately?" Christina says. She wiggles her eyebrows. "With Four? Doing a little . . . addition? Multiplication?"
I cover my face with my hands. "That was the worst joke I've ever heard."
"Don't dodge the question."
"No 'addition' for us," I say. "Not yet, anyway. He's been a little preoccupied with the whole 'genetic damage' thing."
"Ah. That thing." She sits up.
"What do you think about it?" I say.
"I don't know. I guess it makes me angry." She frowns. "No one likes to be told there's something wrong with them, especially something like their genes, which they can't change."
"You think there's really something wrong with you?"
"I guess so. It's like a disease, right? They can see it in our genes. That's not really up for debate, is it?"
"I'm not saying your genes aren't different," I say. "I'm just saying that doesn't mean one set is damaged and one set isn't. The genes for blue eyes and brown eyes are different too, but are blue eyes 'damaged'? It's like they just arbitrarily decided that one kind of DNA was bad and the other was good."
"Based on the evidence that GD
behavior was worse," Christina points out.
"Which could be caused by a lot of things," I retort.
"I don't know why I'm arguing with you when I'd really like for you to be right," Christina says, laughing. "But don't you think a bunch of smart people like these Bureau scientists could figure out the cause of bad behavior?"
"Sure," I say. "But I think that no matter how smart, people usually see what they're already looking for, that's all."
"Maybe you're biased too," she says. "Because you have friends—and a boyfriend—with this genetic issue."
"Maybe." I know I'm fumbling for an
explanation, one I may not really believe, but I say it anyway: "I guess I don't see a reason to believe in genetic damage. Will it make me treat other people better? No. The opposite, maybe."
And besides, I see what it's doing to Tobias, how it's making him doubt himself, and I don't understand how anything good can possibly come from it.
"You don't believe things because they make your life better, you believe them because they're true," she points out.
"But"—I speak slowly as I mull that over—"isn't looking at the result of a belief a good way of evaluating if it's
true?"
"Sounds like a Stiff way of thinking." She pauses. "I guess my way is very Candor, though. God, we really can't escape factions no matter where we go, can we?"
I shrug. "Maybe it's not so important to escape them."
Tobias walks into the dormitory, looking pale and exhausted, like he always does these days. His hair is pushed up on one side from lying on his pillow, and he's still wearing what he wore yesterday. He's been sleeping in his clothes since we came to the Bureau.
Christina gets up. "Okay, I'm going to go. And leave you two . . . to all this space. Alone." She gestures at