Insurgent (Divergent, #2)

by Veronica Roth

“We’re all right, you know,” he says. “You and me. Okay?” My chest aches, and I nod. “Nothing else is all right.” His whisper tickles my cheek. “But we are.”

He kisses my neck, and I grab his shoulder to steady myself, gathering his shirt into my fist. His hand reaches the top of my back and curls around my neck.

“Sorry,” I say. He says almost sternly, “Don’t apologize.” He brushes the tears from my cheeks.

I know that I am birdlike, made narrow and small as if for taking flight, built straight-waisted and fragile. But when he touches me like he can’t bear to take his hand away, I don’t wish I was any different.

I wrap my arm around his waist and take a deep breath of his shoulder.

He smells safe, too, like sunlit walks in the orchard and silent breakfasts in the dining hall.

I almost fall. His hand touches my waist, steadies me. The touch sends a shock through my body, and all my insides burn like his fingers ignited them.

“I’m not an idiot. Every member of your community has trouble keeping the peace, because they’re all human.

“Sometimes,” he says, sliding his arm across my shoulders, “people just want to be happy, even if it’s not real.”

I didn’t realize until that moment that Dauntless initiation had taught me an important lesson: how to keep going.

His eyes should be wild with apprehension, given where we are, but they are still and dark. They transport me to familiar places. Safe places,

“It’s extremely difficult not to immediately answer questions while under the truth serum,” she says. “It means he has a seriously strong will. And something to hide.”

Tobias Eaton is a powerful name.

His eyes search the crowd until they find my face. My heartbeat lives in my throat; lives in my cheeks.

For a moment, it’s like I’m looking at a different person, sitting in Tobias’s skin, one whose life is not as simple as I thought. He wanted to leave Dauntless, but he stayed because of me. He never told me that.

“I think it would be easier to fight in a dress,” says Marlene, tapping her chin. “It would give your legs freer movement. And who really cares if you flash people your underwear, as long as you’re kicking the crap out of them?”

I thought the transfers would go through Four’s landscape,” says Uriah. “Like he would let anyone do that,” she says, snorting. Something inside me gets warm and soft. He let me go through it.

And he has probably always been that handsome. Only boys who have been handsome from a young age have that arrogance in their smile.

Not like Tobias, who is almost shy when he smiles, like he is surprised you bothered to look at him in the first place.

All I want is to bury my face in his neck and forget anything else exists.

black. I decide to keep the shirt to remind me why I chose Dauntless in the first place: not because they are perfect, but because they are alive. Because they are free.

We live in a dangerous world, and I am not so attached to life that I will do anything to survive.

“I’m not important. Everyone will do just fine without me,” I say. “Who cares about everyone? What about me?” He lowers his head into his hand, covering his eyes. His fingers are trembling.

He sits on the edge of the bed and I stand in front of him, and we’re finally eye to eye.

WHEN HE STARTS to fall asleep, he keeps his arms around me fiercely, a life-preserving prison.

and he runs to me. He wraps one hand around mine and touches my hair with the other. His fingertips come away wet with tears. He doesn’t wipe them off. He leans over and presses his forehead to mine.

He runs, and even with my weight, he is fast. Idly I think, How could he ever have been Abnegation? He seems designed specifically for speed and deadly accuracy. But not strength, not particularly—he is smart, but not strong. Only strong enough to carry me.

My father smiled at my mother as they pulled the sheets back and smoothed them down in perfect synchronicity. I knew by the way he looked at her that he held her in a higher regard than he held even himself.

“I’ll be your family now,” he says. “I love you,” I say.

I am his, and he is mine, and it has been that way all along. He stares at me. I wait with my hands clutching his arms for stability as he considers his response. He frowns at me. “Say it again.” “Tobias,” I say, “I love you.”

He touches my cheek and, even though we’re in a room full of people, crowded by laughter and conversation, slowly kisses me.

Cruelty does not make a person dishonest, the same way bravery does not make a person kind.

“Insurgent,” he says. “Noun. A person who acts in opposition to the established authority, who is not necessarily regarded as a belligerent.”

“Do remember, though, that sometimes the people you oppress become mightier than you would like.”