IV

I reached my street five minutes before I usually did, according to my watch—the only adornment Abnegation allowed, and only because it was practical. It had a grey band and a glass face. If I tilted it right, I could almost see my reflection over the hands.

The houses on my street were all the same size and shape. They were made of grey cement, with few windows, in economical, no-nonsense rectangles. Their lawns were crabgrass and their mailboxes were dull metal. To some the sight might have been gloomy, but to me, their simplicity provided a kind of peace.

The reason for the simplicity wasn’t necessarily disdain for personal expression, as the other factions often interpreted it. Everything—our houses, our clothes, our hairstyles—was meant to help us forget ourselves and to protect us from vanity, greed, and envy, other forms of selfishness. If we had little, and wanted for little, and were all equal, we would envy no one.

Sometimes I was content with it.

I waited on the front step until I saw Caleb appear at the end of the street. When he saw me, he quickened his pace, and I stood up.

“Beatrice!” he said. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I told him, then led him into the house and closed the door behind us. “When the test was over, I got sick. Probably just the liquid they gave us, that’s what my proctor said.”

Caleb didn’t seem convinced. His dark, straight eyebrows drew together so that a crease appeared between them.

“Are you ever going to tell me the truth?” he asked softly.

“The truth is,” I replied, “I’m not supposed to discuss it. And you’re not supposed to ask.”

“All those rules you bend, and you can’t bend this one? Not even for something this important?” His eyebrows tugged together. He was probing for information, I knew, like he actually wanted my answer. The problem was that I didn’t have an answer for him.

So I did what I did best—deflect. “I’ll tell you what I got if you tell me what you got.”

Our eyes locked. His eyes were such a light brown they were almost gold. I tried to imagine what he was seeing. My eyes, such a dark brown they were black.

“Just...don’t say anything to Mom and Dad, okay?” I said.

His eyes lingered on mine for a few seconds more, and then he nodded. Different though we might have been, there was always that much mutual understanding—some things should stay between siblings.

It was the last day of school, so there was no homework, and the last day of the week, so it was time for me and Caleb to clean our room. His side was neat as always and he took to his desk, writing something or other in his notebook, while I sat on my bed and stared at the clutter. Neither of us had many personal effects, but I still found it difficult to keep things neat. Sometimes I would drop a sock or something, forget to pick it up, and then it would sit there for the rest of the week. Other times, I would put something somewhere unusual and then be... unable to put it in the correct spot. I could never explain it, and years ago, my parents had given up trying to teach me not to do that.

Which led me to Fridays, when I would sit and stare at the disorder until I grew sick of it and cleaned as I was supposed to.

After cleaning, I wanted to just lie on my partially made bed, maybe take some time to think. But my father had made dinner last night, my brother made breakfast that morning, and my mother had prepared our lunches, so it was my turn to cook. And it wasn’t like I had much left to turn over in my head anyway.

A minute after I began in the kitchen, Caleb joined me. His natural goodness, his inborn selflessness was both admirable and infuriating, but I couldn’t say no to free help. We worked together without speaking. I cooked three cans of peas. He defrosted four pieces of chicken. Most of what we ate was frozen or canned, because farms now were far away. My mother told me once that, a long time ago, there were people who would eat only fresh, organic food because they thought processed food would make you fat. We didn’t have the luxury to be afraid of fat.

By the time my parents arrived home, dinner was ready and the table was set. My father dropped his bag at the door and kissed my head. Other people saw him as a strict man—too strict, maybe—but he was also loving. I tried to see only the good in him. I tried.

“How did the test go?” he asked me. I turned my back and pretended to be busy pouring the peas into a serving bowl.

“Well, I’m still alive,” I said, forcing the joke. Candor would hate me. I was excellent at avoiding the truth.

My mother hung up her grey jacket on the coat rack. Like my father, she worked for the government, but she managed city improvement projects. She would have been the one to recruit volunteer proctors for the aptitude tests. Most of the time, though, she led initiatives to distribute food, resources, and job opportunities among the factionless.

“I heard there was some kind of upset with the testing,” she said.

A cold hand seized my throat. I lowered my head and brought the bowl to the table, then hurried off to wash my hands.

“Really?” said Dad.

“I don’t know much, but one of the Candor proctors told me that something went wrong with one of the tests, so she had to report the results verbally. Apparently, the student got sick and was sent home early.” My mother placed a napkin next to each plate on the table, and my father stepped in to finish the job for her. “Did you two hear about that?”

“No,” Caleb said. My back was to him, but I could hear his innocent smile.

He couldn’t be Candor either.

“Well, if it was one of the Candor proctors, that means the student was from Abnegation,” said Dad.

Oh, boy.

“Not necessarily,” said Mom. “Irene is head of the test integrity board, so she checks all of the results. Just in case of—well—proctors tampering with the scores.”

My shoulders relaxed. I realized I had been washing my hands for well over a half minute and quickly turned the water off.

“I just hope the student’s alright,” said Mom.

We sat at the table. We had our routines. We passed each serving dish clockwise; no one ate until everyone was served. Dad extended his hands to Mom and Caleb, and they extended their hands back to him and to me, and Dad gave thanks to God for food and work and friends and family. Not every Abnegation family was religious, but my father said we should try not to see those differences because they would only divide us. I was never sure what to make of that.

“Andrew,” said Mom. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

I looked up, but she was looking at Dad. She took his hand and moved her thumb in a small circle over his knuckles. My parents loved each other, but rarely showed affection like this in front of us. They taught us that physical contact was powerful, to be used only sparingly. Was I so focused on myself that I didn’t notice Dad’s sagging shoulders? The shadows under his eyes?

“Work was...difficult,” Dad admitted. “Well, work was difficult for Marcus. I was fine, really.”

Marcus Eaton was my father’s coworker, another councilman. In the days before the factions, Chicago was run by corrupt, selfish leaders who were elected based on wealth and image only, leading to division and ruin for the whole city. To prevent this, the city voted to construct a new government, led by a council of fifty of the city’s wisest, most humble leaders—all from Abnegation. Selflessness was incorruptible, after all.

The councilmen and councilwomen were selected by their Abnegation peers based on service history, wisdom, and leadership ability. Representatives from the other factions could speak in meetings on behalf of particular issues, but ultimately, the decisions for the city were the council’s. And while the council technically made decisions together, Marcus was particularly influential.

It had been that way since the beginning of the Great Peace, when the factions were formed. I could only imagine the system persisted because of fear of what might happen otherwise: war.

“Is it about that report?” said Mom.

I looked up. “A report?”

Caleb shot me a warning look. In true Abnegation fashion, children were not permitted to speak at the dinner table unless our parents asked us a direct question. Our listening ears were a gift to them, as my father said. They would give us their listening ears after dinner, in the family room.

But if my parents wanted to point that out, they kept it to themselves. “A report released by Jeanine Matthews,” said Dad, his brow tightening. “Erudite’s representative.”

This wasn’t the first time Dad had spat her name like that. From what I had heard, she was sharp as a razor, cunning as a fox, and maddening as a pebble in a shoe.

“It wasn’t even a report,” Dad continued. “Just another conspiracy theory about Marcus’s character, probably written by one of Jeanine’s paranoid interns.”

I had slid to the edge of my seat. “What did it say?”

“Beatrice,” said Caleb quietly.

I shot him a look right back, fast enough that our parents wouldn’t see. If anyone should be chastising me, it wouldn’t be my four-minutes-younger brother.

“Jeanine claims,” said Dad, “that perhaps Marcus’s daughter vanished because Marcus—abused her to death.”

A silence, thick enough to cut with a serving spoon, fell across the table.

Five years ago, when she was just thirteen, Abigail Eaton went missing in the night. Panic swept through the whole city. Every Dauntless guard and Candor investigator in our police force scoured the factions to find her but found nothing. Marcus was devastated. Abigail had been his only family, since his wife died giving birth to their second child. The infant died only minutes later.

And the way he was repaid was with this. Baseless conspiracy theories about Abigail’s disappearance. The most popular was that Abigail had been kidnapped by a horde of factionless gang members, but investigators had ruled that out. Others said she committed suicide and her body was just never found. I had never met her. She was in a different grade at school, didn’t attend community events, and never joined her father at our house for dinner. I had no idea what to make of the rumors that Marcus abused her. My parents felt pretty strongly in certain ways, however.

“She thinks Marcus—” Mom hesitated before the word “— murdered his own daughter?”

“Absolutely not,” replied Dad. “She doesn’t believe it at all. She’s just trying to spread rumors.”

“But that’s what the report said?”

He sighed and set down his fork. “Yes.”

My mother pursed her lips. “If anyone’s abusing anyone,” she snapped, “it’s Jeanine abusing poor Marcus. As if he needs to be reminded of his loss.”

“His daughter’s betrayal, you mean,” Dad grunted.

The silence fell again. Our mother’s thoughts about Abigail Eaton’s disappearance manifested themselves in locks on our windows at night and never letting us out of the house without someone by our side. Our father’s thoughts were less apparent, but we all knew them. He believed, like others in Abnegation, that she had run away. Done what few Abnegation-born ever did and left. Abandoned selflessness for a life of...anything but.

“But I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Dad. “The Erudite have been attacking us with these sort of gossip pieces for months. And this isn’t the end. There will be more, I guarantee it.”

I shouldn’t have spoken again, but I couldn’t help myself. I blurted, “Why are they doing this?”

“Why don’t you take this opportunity to listen to your father, Beatrice?” Mom asked gently. It was phrased like a suggestion, not a command. I avoided the look of disapproval that I knew Caleb was pointing my way.

I shoved a spoonful of peas into my mouth. Tasteless and oversoft, they fell apart in my mouth.

“You know why,” said Dad. “Because we have something they want. Valuing knowledge above all else results in a lust for power, and that leads men into dark and empty places. We should be thankful that we know better.”

I swallowed the peas without chewing. Whatever I chose, I couldn’t choose Erudite. I never looked anything like my father, never spoke or acted or thought like my father, but I was his daughter.

My parents cleaned up after dinner. They didn’t even let Caleb help them, because we were supposed to keep to ourselves this night instead of gathering in the family room. We needed time to think about our results.

Or lack of.

I wanted to tell them. The words burned me so bad, like hot food on the roof of my mouth, and I wanted to spit it out. They might be able to help me if I could talk about it. But every time I blinked, all I could see was Irene’s round black glasses, glowing blue in illegal light, and her warning echoed in every sound around me. It would get both of us killed.

In our bedroom, when Caleb would normally relax while I went to the bathroom to shower, Caleb stopped in the doorway. He put his hand on my shoulder.

“We should think of our family,” he said sternly. He met my eyes. “But we should also think about ourselves.”

For a moment, I couldn’t look away. I had never seen him think of himself, much less insist on selfishness. I realized that, for the first time, my younger brother was being completely honest with me. And it burned more than my blank screen ever could.

“Sure,” I told him, pushing his hand away. “Not like that’s hard for me.”

His eyes widened. “Beatrice, that’s—”

“That’s not what you meant?” I finished.

“It’s not.”

“I know you only scold me because you know I’m not—not as selfless as you. Because you think that I belong somewhere else. That I always have.”

I had never yelled. Yelling was impolite and always selfish. I wasn’t yelling then, but I wanted to, I really wanted to. And I was close.

“I didn’t say that,” Caleb said.

“Yes, you did, you told me to think of myself,” I retorted. “But guess what? You don’t have to worry. When I stay, I’ll keep out of your way—wouldn’t want you to feel burdened, little brother .”

His lip twitched once at when and a second time at little brother. I knew what I had said. I met his eyes, a silent challenge. And he blinked first.

“Okay,” was all he said, and went to his desk. I hurriedly grabbed my nightclothes from my drawers and rushed out of the room.

When I closed the bathroom door behind me, it was almost a slam. I slumped against the door. Just like every night, I ripped off my scarf and undercap, but today I couldn’t fold them. I crumpled them into a ball, threw them at the wall, and knotted my hands through my unraveling bun. I squeezed my eyes so hard that it hurt my head.

It wasn’t as simple as Caleb seemed to think it to be. Either choose my family and stay or choose myself and leave. It would require a great act of selflessness to choose Abnegation, to commit myself to a life that I couldn’t stand—or a great act of courage to choose anything else. I thought of the Dauntless girl with the crescent-moon scar, the howling of the train whistle that always echoed in the back of my mind. I thought of the chorus of Amity kids in the cafeteria, laughing as they sang, and how I would hum with them under my breath. And I thought of Irene from Candor, her snow-white suit and the confident clack, clack of her shoes and cane against the floor.

I had always been told that I would know my true faction. It would call to me. But it wasn’t one, it wasn’t even two. It was none. It was all.

I didn’t belong anywhere, and tomorrow, I would have to convince the world that I did.