divergent-excerpt

Will’s eyes that wasn’t there before. Does he really believe
he can win One hard shot to the head and Al will knock
him out cold.
That is, if he can actually hit Will. Al tries a punch, and
Will ducks, the back of his neck shining with sweat. He
dodges another punch, slipping around Al and kicking
him hard in the back. Al lurches forward and turns.
When I was younger I read a book about grizzly bears.
There was a picture of one standing on its hind legs with
its paws outstretched, roaring. That is how Al looks now.
He charges at Will, grabbing his arm so he can’t slip away,
and punches him hard in the jaw.
I watch the light leave Will’s eyes, which are light
green, like celery. They roll back into his head, and all the
tension falls from his body. He slips from Al’s grasp, dead
weight, and crumples to the floor. Cold rushes down my
back and fills my chest.
Al’s eyes widen, and he crouches next to Will, tapping
his cheek with one hand. The room falls silent as we wait
for Will to respond. For a few seconds, he doesn’t, just lies
on the ground with an arm bent beneath him. Then he
blinks, clearly dazed.
“Get him up,” Eric says. He stares with greedy eyes at
Will’s fallen body, like the sight is a meal and he hasn’t
eaten in weeks. The curl of his lip is cruel.
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