VI

I wouldn’t have the chance to process my choice for the rest of the day.

I trained my eyes on the floor as I took a seat in the initiates’ row. My gaze snagged on an olive-skinned couple a row above us, Sajida Touma’s parents—the woman was wearing a black hijab and the man had Sajida’s face. When they saw me, they ducked into each other and began to cry. I looked across the stage. Sajida sat below my parents. I couldn’t see any of their faces clearly, but I knew she was looking at me, and I wondered if my parents were crying, too.

As the ceremony dragged on, I tried to form a plan. I had to see my parents one more time. When the last girl made her choice, the room jolted violently into the clock again, a great machine of motion and noise. The Dauntless left first in an impatient stampede, then the Amity because they had the longest trip back home, and then Candor. Us Candor. It felt weird to even think the two words together. I tried to move to the other side of the aisle to get closer to the waiting pie slice of Abnegation, to catch a glimpse of them.

I immediately wished I hadn’t. Dad’s eyes burned into mine with accusation. At first, when I felt the heat behind my eyes, I feared that he had found a way to set me on fire, to punish me for what I had done. But it was worse. I was about to cry again.

Beside him, Mom was smiling.

The people behind me pressed me forward, away from my family, who would be the last ones to leave. They would probably stay to stack the chairs and clean the bowls. I twisted my head around to find Caleb in the crowd of Erudite behind me, but I had not realized how many of the Candor wore high heels. I was too small to see over their heads. I thought I might have caught his easy smile, once. It wrenched my stomach. If it was so easy for him, maybe it should have been easy for me, too.

I glanced at a feminine-looking boy wearing a misfitting Erudite sweater. His face was tight, like he was holding in vomit. Had I looked like that when I was walking up? Why wasn’t I feeling like that now? I had spent all of my worry-energy on what faction I would choose and never really weighed what would happen if it was Candor, of all things. Honestly, most of last night’s sleeplessness had been spent on a terrifying fantasy of what might face me if I had chosen Dauntless.

Habit led me to look around for the stairs, but the crowd of Candor filed to the elevators and inadvertently I let out a relieved sigh. I was still too shell-shocked with myself to comprehend what I had just done. But that was okay for now. For the first time in my life, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the ease of taking the lower road.

We stepped into the crisp, cold air of the plaza. I blinked, and for a second I was bewildered—a forlorn little girl in grey, lost among tall adults in fine suits—but they all headed confidently towards a line of buses, and I couldn’t help but tag along with. I had begun to follow the Erudite transfer without meaning to; or maybe he was following me, it was hard to tell. Yet I realized my back was straighter than ever, my chin tilted just slightly up. Like everyone else around me. I bared my face to the sky, clear in the noon sun.

We boarded the waiting buses. Candor-born initiates stuck with their families, taking up large sections of available seats and forcing me to the very back of the bus, but I didn’t mind. The families had a few children, some as young as toddlers, and all of them dressed in miniature white suits. The sight cheered me up immensely.

The awkward Erudite boy sat on my right. Then, on my left, appeared a familiar face—Oona Posner, the Amity girl who had chosen after me.

“Hey,” she said. “Long time no see, huh?”

My eyes widened. “You chose Candor?” I had been so shocked by myself that I hadn’t noticed anyone else’s choices until the ceremony was over.

Oona shrugged, her long brown curls bouncing on her shoulders. “It’s a long story why, but I always knew I had to. Thanks for going before me, I was so nervous.”

It was good to know that even someone confident in their choice was nervous. “Heh, no problem.”

“Who’s the guy?” asked Oona, pointing to the Erudite boy. He had been side-eyeing our exchange and startled.

“Oh—I’m, uh, Ravi,” he said. He was breathy, like he’d just sprinted a long distance.

“How’re you feeling, Ravi?” asked Oona.

“Honestly,” he sighed, “like I just asked to become factionless. But, whatever, you know?”

Oona and I laughed.

“I’m Oona,” she said, reaching across my lap to shake Ravi’s hand. “And this is—”

She paused to look at me. “You know my name,” I said mildly.

“I know your Abnegation name,” said Oona. “Faction’s not the only thing you can change today.”

Now I hesitated. Change my name? I had thought about it, once or twice. I thought of my mother’s nickname for me, Sunshine. She’d always wanted to name me something to do with the sun. When she had been pregnant with me and Caleb, the doctor had told her to expect two girls, so my parents agreed to each name one. But when my “sister” turned out to be a brother, adjustments had to be made. In true selfless fashion, my parents fought over who would give up the honor of naming the baby girl. The name Beatrice had been a compromise. The “trice” half came from my father’s choice, Theresa, and the “be” half came from my mother’s choice—

“Phoebe,” I said. “My name is Phoebe Prior.” I couldn’t bring myself to change my last name. The first name sounded strange enough as it was, stumbling off my tongue.

“Phoebe,” Ravi repeated, shaking my hand too.

“I just picked it. Is it weird?” I asked tentatively.

He shrugged. “I like it.”

“It’s pretty!” said Oona. “It suits you.”

At that, my cheeks warmed. Compliments were far and few between in Abnegation, of course, and as far as I could remember, this was the first time someone had ever told me I was pretty. I did not know how to handle it. As the bus puttered down the road, and as we three transfers smiled together in the back row, I began to feel okay.

Whatever I had gotten myself into, maybe it wouldn’t be half bad.

+ + +

Candor headquarters was large enough to contain an entire world. Or so it seemed to me.

It was a wide cement building that overlooked what was once the river. Like everything about the city, it was a patchwork quilt of architecture, its ancient foundations stitched with steel, prism-like glass filling holes in the art deco stone. The historic sign said MERC   IS   MART—it used to read “Merchandise Mart”, but most people referred to it as the Merciless Mart, because the Candor were merciless, but honest. They seemed to have embraced the nickname.

We got off the bus into the plaza north of the building. But as soon as the crowd of Candor formed, it dissipated like smoke on the wind. Some people went straight for the front doors of the Mart. Many of the families started toward the nearby apartment complexes. Even the Candor-born initiates were left behind in the plaza with the rest of us, looking around bewildered and leaderless.

“So... we just stand here?” I murmured. Ravi shrugged.

Then the Mart doors opened and someone strode towards us. We all turned.

And my heart jumped in my chest.

It was her. The Dauntless woman with the crescent-moon scar. She was so much taller up close than from what I had seen from the train, towering over even the tallest initiate. She was dressed like her faction, all in rebellious black and dark hair in a boy’s short cut. But her jeans and leather jacket were simple and professional, lacking the typical buckles and patches that a Dauntless youth might usually show off. Her dark, narrow eyes passed over each of us, critical, unwavering. The scar pinched her right eye into a glare.

“Candor initiates,” she said, her voice deep and commanding. “My name is Ace. I am head of security at the Candor Institute of Law and Investigation.”

“Excuse me?” said a blond Candor-born girl. “But what’s a Dauntless doing at the Institute?”

A couple of the other initiates echoed her. But Ace didn’t so much as flinch.

“What’s your name?” asked Ace.

The girl smirked. “Aletheia Albright,” she said, as if it meant something.

“I assume you’re related to Judge Albright, then?”

“I’m his daughter, yes.”

“Has your father told you about the death threats he gets every day? Or about the janitor who made a bomb out of cleaning supplies and tried to detonate it in a crowded courtroom? Or about the murderer who tried to strangle his own defense attorney?”

Aletheia went as white as a sheet. “Well—yes—”

“When you made your choice today, did you not make an oath?” asked Ace. “An oath that you would fight for justice and truth?”

“I guess—”

“Every day that you work for that oath,” Ace told her, “you risk your life for a greater cause. You stop at nothing to make sure that the justice and integrity of this city is sound. That makes us more similar than you think.”

The crowd had fallen silent. And now it was Ace’s turn to smirk, pulling at her wicked red scar.

“Welcome to Candor,” she said. “You have much to fear.”

Ace led our herd across the street from the Merciless Mart, to a newly built glass building similar to the surrounding apartments. The only thing that set it apart was the metal statue of a blindfolded woman, holding a set of scales in one hand and a sword in the other. She guarded the front doors. I would later learn that she was Themis, the Greek goddess of justice.

Inside the doors was a buzz of activity. Teenagers in suits and ties, from kids barely older than us to near-adults, milled around the huge white lobby. In the center of the lobby was a huge glass wall, and beyond the wall was an open-air courtyard filled with trees and flowers. Everywhere I looked, I saw a student with a laptop, an overflowing file of papers, and a thermos of coffee.

“So this is law school,” Oona marveled.

“I left Erudite to get away from studying,” Ravi groaned. “I’ve made such a big mistake.”

I peered at him. “If not studying…what did you think that Candor law students did?”

He threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know, okay? I failed Upper Level Faction History. I failed a lot of things.”

Ace led our group down a corridor to a lecture hall. A Candor professor was already at the podium and typing on his laptop. He was a tall, thin man—everyone here seemed tall and thin—with the most immaculate hair I had ever seen. Every colorless strand had a place.

Once we were all seated, Ace said something inaudible to the professor. He nodded and Ace stepped back to stand at the door, her arms folded.

The professor closed his laptop. “Good afternoon,” he said. He had a flat voice, I noticed. But an interesting one. “My name is Judge Lysander Morris. I am the director of initiate certification here at the Institute.”

He looked out over our group, scanning the faces. For a brief moment, his eyes locked on mine, even though Oona, Ravi, and I had chosen a rather unobtrusive spot near the back of the room.

“As many of you know, your initiation into Candor will be no small matter,” said Morris. “The process will span the course of six weeks, beginning tomorrow morning. At the end of these six weeks, you shall be evaluated, and if you pass, you shall be made a student member. Once a student member, you shall study for three more years, and if you pass, you shall be made a full member, free to work and serve however you please. You could say, then, that your initiation lasts three years and six weeks.”

He chuckled as if he had just made a joke. I didn’t find anything funny about it. At least school for three more years wasn’t that bad...

“But I urge you not to worry about your three student years quite yet. It is often said,” Morris added, “that the next six weeks will make you wish you had never been born.”

Oh.

Judge Morris must have noticed the collective look of horror that crossed our faces. Ravi looked like he was about to pass out.

“In the topic of good news, however—I would like you all to reach into your desk drawer.”

The tables had small drawers under them and, all curious, we opened them. Inside were black leather cases, and inside of those were sleek silver laptop computers. My eyes widened. I had used computers for school and some community events, but never had one of my own…

“These are yours for the duration of your time here in the Institute, however long that might be,” said Morris. “You will login using your date of birth for the username and ‘Candor’ for the password—Abnegation transfers, please see me afterward and we can find your birth date on record.”

Everyone turned and looked. I was the only Abnegation transfer here. My cheeks swelled with heat and I closed my laptop. Thankfully, Oona raised her hand, drawing the eyes away.

“Judge Morris?” she asked. “You said temporary password, are we changing it?”

“Good question,” said Morris. “Yes, you can do so when you’re logged in.”

“But why? I thought we were supposed to be honest about everything; don’t passwords stop that?”

A few of the Candor-born snickered, but Morris held up his hand. “The Amity girl has a point. Also a very good question. We would prefer not to keep secrets, but in your studies, you may be dealing with potentially confidential information. We also find that passwords help prevent academic dishonesty, as well. Thank you, Miss…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oona Posner,” Oona offered.

“Miss Posner,” said Judge Morris. Oona beamed. The Candor had a habit of calling people by their last name, I realized, and it felt refreshingly professional.

“On your laptops,” Morris continued, “you will find your daily schedules, your class syllabi, and lists of your required reading materials. All materials can be checked out from our law library.”

I didn’t want to make someone else share their screen, but Ravi slid his over. “I think we all have kinda the same schedule,” he whispered. “Which sucks. I was hoping that the Candor were more of night owls.” I looked and saw that Ravi had classes six days a week, starting at 9 a.m. Not bad, but Ravi didn’t strike me as someone who got up before that time. If I was honest, I didn’t care much for it either.

“Also on your laptops, you will find your exam schedule,” said Morris. “At the end of these six weeks, you will all be taking the same four exams—legal procedure, analytical and logical reasoning, investigative technique, and argumentative technique. You must pass all four exams in order to be admitted to the final stage of initiation.”

A Candor-born boy in the front raised his hand. “Are there grades?”

“Grades on the exams? Well, you pass or you fail.”

“No, in the classes. Do you have to pass all the classes or just the exams?”

“You don’t have to pass the classes, no,” said Morris. “In fact, you don’t have to attend the classes at all. The classes are meant to prepare you for the exams, and the assignments there have no bearing on your exam scores.”

“Oh, nice,” Ravi said, relieved.

“But if you don’t do well in the classes, you will most definitely fail the exams,” said Morris.

“And what happens if we fail the exams?” asked Oona.

“You will leave Candor,” said Morris indifferently, “and live factionless.”

“Oh, no,” Ravi said, less relieved.

Oona’s face went white as a sheet. In front of us, an Amity boy began to cry. I remembered the factionless teenager with the grey teeth, snatching my bag lunch from my hands. His dull, hopeless eyes. But instead of crying, like the Amity boy, all I felt was cold.

I would be a member. I had to be.

There were hands up all over the lecture hall. “What does this have to do with how good of a Candor you’ll be?” asked a boy, a Dauntless transfer. “This isn’t Erudite, what’s with the stupid exams?”

A few people echoed his statements. Aletheia, the Candor-born who had challenged Ace before, even stood up.

“I was told we were going to have to undergo the truth serum!” she said. “You know— the Full Unveiling?”

I knew about the Full Unveiling. Everyone learned about it in Faction History. In order to pass Candor initiation, an initiate had to undergo the truth serum in front of the whole faction and answer questions about their deepest, darkest secrets. In theory, it helped establish trust between members, as everyone knew everyone’s secrets, so there was no reason to lie about anything.

“And why would we do that?” Morris asked.

“Because the initiations are supposed to judge how well we adhere to the faction’s core value,” said Aletheia proudly. “Not how well we take tests! Don’t you want to see how honest we are?”

From her sentry place near the door, Ace let out a bark of laughter. Morris had on an amused look.

“What’s so funny?” Aletheia demanded.

“That’s the thing,” said Morris. “Yes—as the final stage of your examination, we will indeed be conducting the Full Unveiling on each of you. I assume that is what you speak of.”

The room dissolved into whispers and murmurs. I felt my stomach knot. I really hoped the Full Unveiling didn’t include the question “have you ever committed a felony related to aptitude tests”, because that would be awkward.

Aletheia’s face was red. “Well—duh!”

Morris’ mouth twitched. Perhaps it was a smirk. He stepped out from behind the podium and folded his hands in front of him.

“The misconception about Candor—held even by our own children—is that our truth serum is the most efficient way of extracting the truth from a person. This is false. Our initiation might just sound like a bunch of ‘stupid tests’. But I assure you, child—these ‘stupid tests’ can do more than even a serum to reveal who you truly are.”

I think it was meant as a joke, because Ace laughed again. But nobody else laughed. And I was no longer listening. I looked at the locked computer in my lap. If it had been hazy to me before, now I was more certain than ever that I was meant to be in Candor.