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My name is Four,” I say. “Call me ‘Stiff’ again and you and I will have a problem.

Veronica Roth

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Veronica Roth
Age: 36
Born: 1988
Born: August 19
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
New York City
New York
Veronica Anne Roth
Stiff
Name
Names
Four
Call
Problem

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I'm sick of doing bad things and liking it and then wondering what's wrong with me. I want it to be over. I want to start again.
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The floor is solid metal in some places and metal grating in others. Everything smells like rotting garbage and fire. Don't say I never took you anywhere nice, Peter says. Wouldn't dream of it, I say.
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The person you became with her is worth being.
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Because even a sliver of distance between us is infuriating.
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Tris, he says. What did they do to you? You're acting like a lunatic. That's not very nice of you to say, I say. They put me in a good mood, that's all. And now I really want to kiss you, so if you could just relax-
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I can’t leave now. I like her too much. There, I said it. But I won’t say it again.
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Fighting for survival in a shattered world... the truth is her only hope.
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This concept could easily have gone awry. Stories about love tend to go that way sometimes. They wander into the realm of cheese and never return, which I think is a shame, because there is a way to write about romantic love without breaking out the Velveeta.
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Oh. I just assumed... That because I am so absorbed by him everyone must be too.
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Leaving us with Eric is like hiring a babysitter who spends his time sharpening knives.
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Peter leans forward and looks into my eyes. The serum will go into effect in one minute, he says. Be brave, Tris. My heart begins to race. Why would Peter tell me to be brave? Why would he offer any kind words at all?
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They all laugh. We all laugh. And it occurs to me that I might be meeting Tobias's true faction. They are not characterized by a particular virtue. They claim all colors, all activities, all virtues, and all flaws as their own.
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Sometimes crying or laughing are the only options left, and laughing feels better right now.
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The only reason I haven't shot you yet is because he's the one who should get to do it, I say. Stay away from him or I'll decide I no longer care.
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Peter would probably throw a party if I stopped breathing.' 'Well,' he says, 'I would only go if there was cake.
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We're all right, you know,' he says quietly. 'You and me. Okay?' My chest aches, and I nod. 'Nothing else is all right.' His whisper tickles my cheek. 'But we are.
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Just do what you're supposed to.
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You’re too important to just … die.” He shakes his head. He won’t even look at me—his eyes keep shifting across my face, to the wall behind me or the ceiling above me, to everything but me. I am too stunned to be angry. “I’m not important. Everyone will do just fine without me,” I say. “Who cares about everyone? What about me?
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