My Dear Girl. I Am

Let The Guilt Teach You How To Behave Next Time.

I Look Older. Maybe It's The Short Hair Or Maybe It's Just That I Wear All That Has Happened Like A Mask. Either Way, I Always Thought I Would Be Happy When I Stopped Looking Like A Child. But All I Feel Is A Lump In My Throat. I Am No Longer The Daughter My Parents Knew. They Will Never Know Me As I Am Now.

It Doesn't Prove Anything Except That You're Bullying Us. Which, As I Recall, Is A Sign Of Cowardice.

I’d Ask You To Hang Out With Us, But You’re Not Supposed To See Me This Way.’… ‘what Way?’ I Ask. ‘drunk?’ ‘yeah…well, No.’ His Voice Softens. ‘real, I Guess.’ ‘i’ll Pretend I Didn’t.’ ‘nice Of You.’ He Puts His Lips Next To My Ear And Says, ‘you Look Good, Tris.’… I Laugh. ‘do Me A Favor And Stay Away From The Chasm, Okay?’ ‘of Course.’ He Winks At Me.

Why Are You Constantly Escorting Me Places?” I Say. “isn’t There A Depraved Activity You’re Supposed To Be Taking Part In? Kicking Puppies Or Spying On Girls While They Change, Or Something?