VII

After the warm welcoming speech, Judge Morris dismissed us. Ace took us to an office where we were given our room keys, then led us to the living quarters.

The initiate living quarters were designed to imitate a typical Candor member’s apartment. Four initiates lived in the same block, containing a common kitchen, living area, and two shared bathrooms, but which had four small, separate bedrooms. Candor members, I found, typically valued privacy—not because of any philosophy about keeping oneself accountable and honest, but because lawyers tended to be introverts.

I would be sharing my block with Oona, Aletheia, and another Candor-born girl named Katie. While other factions kept the transfers and faction-born separate, Ace explained, Candor believed it healthy not to make such distinctions. I did not agree. I was not a fan of Aletheia. Katie wasn’t as bad, but she wasn’t smart, and tended to follow whatever Aletheia did and said.

It didn’t even take us having a conversation to know I didn’t like either of them. They didn’t even say anything to me and Oona as we made our way to our block.

When Aletheia opened the door with her key card, she stepped inside and said, “What the hell?”

Curiosity piqued, I followed after her. My jaw nearly dropped, but not for the same reason. The place was gorgeous—the front door opened on the living room, a spacious white place with one wall a whole window, drowning the room in the liquid golden light of the sun. The kitchen space would have made Mom and Caleb weep in joy. Branching out from the main area was a hallway with four doors, each with a sticky note with our names on it. That was the amazing part, for me. For Aletheia, it was something else.

In the center of it all was a young woman in a simple brown dress and white apron, standing next to a cart of boxes. The woman stared at us, her dark eyes wide and mouth open. I knew who she was at once—a factionless housekeeper. Abnegation didn’t have housekeepers, but our labor organizations did help hire them out to other factions. It was just one of those small charities that we could do for the factionless, giving them jobs that better fit their inferior intellects.

“What the hell?” Aletheia repeated, venom filling the words. “Why is she still here?”

“She’s just a housekeeper,” I said mildly.

Aletheia rolled her eyes. “And she’s not supposed to still be here.”

“Yeah,” Katie put in. “Housekeepers are to remain unseen and unheard.”

“I—I’m sorry—I was delivering new clothes for the residents,” said the woman.

“Unseen and unheard,” Aletheia repeated. Like Aletheia had cracked a whip over her head, the woman flinched, grabbed a box, and scurried into one of the bedrooms.

I whirled around. Aletheia was a good handspan taller than me and gave me a look down her nose. I didn’t want to start a fight with my new roommate, and I would normally be reprimanded for doing so. But the housekeeper hadn’t done anything wrong. And my parents weren’t here. So I snapped.

“What’s your problem?” I said.

“What’s my problem?” she replied. “That housekeeper is supposed to be gone.”

“That’s not a reason to yell at her.”

“Hmm. Did I yell?”

“Okay, let’s maybe drop this,” Oona forced a laugh, but neither of us heard her.

“Look, Stiff,” Aletheia said. “I don’t know who you think you are, acting like you know how this place works. I don’t care what you do in class. I don’t care about you at all.”

“Well, we know you’re meant to be here,” I cut in, “because you’re a terrible liar.”

Her eye twitched. “But in this apartment, I’d ask that you stay in your lane,” she told me. “Not like that’ll be hard...all your faction does is hide, anyway.”

“Ooooh,” said Katie.

Oona grabbed my shoulders. “Wow, Phoebe, let’s go look at our bedrooms!” she said loudly.

It was just how she was raised, wanting to de-escalate conflict, so I went with it. But I couldn’t help saying, over my shoulder, “You’d think that someone who wants to argue for a living would be better at insults,” before Oona steered me into my room, the one at the furthest end of the hall.

This time, the housekeeper was the first thing I noticed about my new surroundings. She knelt in my closet, hurriedly arranging several pairs of shoes on a rack. The next thing I noticed was that I had a closet. Instead of a plain door to the closet, there was a folding full-length mirror. I had a large desk, with shelves for books, a rolling chair, and plenty of space for me to set up my new laptop computer, as well as a bed so neatly made that I didn’t want to touch it for fear of messing it up.

And it was all mine. No sharing with Caleb.

“This is incredible,” I murmured.

“Decor’s kinda ugly,” said Oona, “but I like that we don’t have to share.”

“You had to share too?” I asked.

“Yup.” She popped the P at the end. “Three stepsisters.”

Oh. Suddenly, Caleb didn’t seem like that bad of a roommate. “Holy smokes.”

“Yeah...well, I’m gonna go check out my room,” she said. “Don’t go after Aletheia, okay?”

“I won’t.” That was a lie. I think Oona knew that. But she left anyway.

In my closet, the housekeeper stood up, favoring her left leg. I wondered if she was hurt, or if she just always walked like that. I watched her hang several black and white scarves on a row of hooks. “Are those mine?” I asked. Startled, she turned around.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said.

“Oh.” I hadn’t thought about if I would continue wearing the headscarves. I had just assumed that other factions would have me stop.

“I was told that you always wear the hijab, ma’am,” said the housekeeper. She had a quiet voice, like she was always scared of being too loud.

“Well, it’s not really a hijab,” I confessed. “It’s not a religious thing.”

“Would you like me to take them back?”

“No, it’s okay.” I walked over to look at the clothes and the housekeeper ducked out of my way. There were several shirts, jackets, and skirts hanging above the small dresser, all in black and white, and all in my size. When I opened the dresser, I found more folded shirts and pants. “These are all for me?”

“Yes, ma’am. If you want something taken away, or you want more of something else, you can order it from your computer.”

“Thank you,” I said, amazed. I wanted to be happy at having so many new things—but then, when I looked at her, I was struck by a pang of sadness. She didn’t seem much older than me. But her eyes were deep with shadows and her black hair was already threaded with grey. I looked for a nametag on her chest, but she didn’t have one.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, ma’am?” asked the housekeeper.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

She hesitated. “Miriam,” she said finally, her voice hoarse.

“Thank you, Miriam,” I said.

Miriam nodded. Then, when I didn’t tell her anything else, she gathered the empty boxes and ducked out of the room, leaving me alone. I wondered when the last time was that someone said thank you to her. My chest had begun to ache.

I shook my head and turned back to my room. I hadn’t looked at my schedule since getting my password from Judge Morris, and I had been practically burning with anticipation. Sitting at my desk and taking some time to roll around in my new chair, I opened my laptop and found the weekly schedule.

Mealtimes every day were the same. Breakfast at eight, lunch at noon, dinner at six. I had one day off, Saturday. The other six days of the week were occupied with two classes a day, each two hours long—Legal Procedure and Argumentative Technique on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays; Reasoning and Investigative Technique on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. In all, I was stunned. Judge Morris had given me the impression that we would be in class near constantly, but four hours of classes a day? That was actually a relief. Unless I was judging the schedule too quickly. I had a feeling that my sense of relief was premature.

The schedule said I had my first dinner with my new faction in an hour. I had all of these new clothes and some impressions to make. And Miss Aletheia “I’m Better Than Everyone” Albright would be there. I had never had an enemy before. Generally, people just didn’t care enough to make enemies with an Abnegation kid. But nevertheless, here she was.

But also, I had to remember, I didn’t want to start out my new life caring about what other people thought of me. Of all the things I had turned over in my head last night, the only one that reached an official consensus was this: I was done trying to please people. I had driven myself half mad in Abnegation trying to do everything right. I would just be my true self. And if someone didn’t like it, that was their problem.

Candor would respect that...right?

I pushed that whole self-rediscovery debate aside and decided just to start somewhere simple—the clothes. I couldn’t wear my Abnegation grey to the first dinner, at least that was certain. So I undressed and dove right in.

The first thing I tried was close to home, a long black skirt, a white blouse, and black loafers. It was comfortable and modest, and I had seen Sajida from school wearing an identical outfit more than once. But I had so many other things to try, and an hour before dinner. So, what the hell.

I tried the outfit with high heels, but I wobbled too much, so I changed into a shorter skirt so I could watch my feet. But I could also see the full length of my unshaved, freckled legs. I tried the pantyhose, but accidentally ripped them. So I went back to the long skirt. But now I didn’t like the blouse, so I found a long-sleeved black turtleneck, and because the skirt was also black, I exchanged it for loose white pants. I found a pair of black boots that were comfortable, and now I was comfortable too. Mostly.

I had removed my grey scarf and undercap in order to change. My hair was exposed, still pulled back in its tight, scarf-worthy bun. I held the black scarf and the white scarf in my hands.

I couldn’t take my eyes off the closet mirror reflection. The excited frenzy of trying on my new things was over, and now I stood with a girl I did not know. A girl in black and white and disgraceful orangish-red. I tried to make her cover up the red. Black scarf, white scarf. The weight of the silk was familiar, soothing on my neck and cheeks. Something the girl in grey would like.

But the girl in black and white didn’t look right like that, and unbidden my mind flicked back to the times that I hated those scarves, hated having to bind myself just to be accepted by the people I loved, hated the immediate shame that rushed over me whenever a pin came undone or a fold slipped in front of anyone, even my own father.

I hated seeing Amity kids fawn over another girl’s long red curls; I hated watching my own get snipped down and swept away into the trash bin. I hated passing Sajida in the halls, as she accepted compliments from her friends on her fancy silver-embroidered hijabs; I hated that she had the choice to wear it or take it off as she pleased. I hated seeing Dauntless kids come to school with their hair in every color and style; I hated the day when I was fourteen and met with one of them behind the school and traded test answers for a bottle of black dye so that maybe, maybe, I could look normal.

And I hated it when my mother knocked on the bathroom door that night, caught me with the dye bottle half-open, and held me as I cried into her shoulder. I hated it when she told me that she would have to take the dye away. I hated it when she pinned my hair up again into its careful bun, wrapped it with its cotton undercap, and hid the very last strands under the grey linen scarf. I hated it when she said, “God made you perfect just the way you are, Sunshine.”

If God made me perfect, then why did I have to hide?

I had collapsed on my bed. I was shaking. Crying. I had done a lot of crying in the past few days, and I did not like it. I missed Mom. I missed Dad. I missed Caleb. I missed my house. Why did I do this? Why did I choose Candor? Just to follow some harebrained idea that a Candor test proctor lied to me about my aptitude? What if she hadn’t? What if I really was meant to live in Abnegation forever? But here I was, plunging myself into a life that I didn’t know if I wanted to live, a life with computers and law classes and stuck-up roommates and suits and ties and no obligations to anyone but myself. The most permanent impulse decision ever. I would have to deal with it for the rest of my life.

Unless I couldn’t. If I couldn’t survive these next six weeks of classes, I would be factionless. Maybe by next year I would be on the other side, dressed in brown, working a job like Miriam’s. I had been so focused on trying to figure out who I was that I didn’t consider that I risked becoming nobody in the process. What did my aptitude test scores matter if I had just doomed myself to becoming factionless?

I kept telling myself that it would be alright here. I could look at my reflection whenever I wanted. I could befriend Oona and Ravi and maybe even Aletheia with time, and I could do my hair however I wanted, and I could let the housekeeper clean up my messes.

I slipped on the silk sheets and collapsed on the floor. My forearms had to be bruised now, but I just pressed my forehead into the wood as the tears came faster.

It didn’t matter that the next time I saw my parents, on Visiting Day, they would barely recognize me—if they came at all. It didn’t matter that I ached at even a split-second memory of their faces. Even Caleb’s, despite how much we had hurt each other. It didn’t matter. Nothing did.

What have I done? What have I done? Oh, God, what have I done—

“Phoebe?” said Oona from outside my door. “Can you help me zip up my dress?”

I scrambled to my feet and looked in the mirror. “Just a second!” I called, trying to steady my voice. It wasn’t too obvious that I had been crying, at least. But my hair was still in a messy bun, and I was clenching the two scarves so tight that my hands were trembling. An impulse decision later, and I hung the two scarves back on the hooks on the wall. I pulled my bun out so fast that the elastic snapped.

Inhaling, I opened the door and prayed that Oona wouldn’t notice. But then something better happened. She noticed.

“Oh my gosh,” she squealed. “You look gorgeous!”

“Th-thanks,” I stammered, my cheeks flooding with heat. Oona’s eyes were wide as saucers as she stared at my hair. I let her inside and closed the door.

“Is that your natural hair?” she asked, fluttering around me. “I thought you were black! How do you have red hair?”

“Is it...weird?”

“No, it’s incredible! You’re so cute! That’s why you wore the hijab all the time?!”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “My parents thought that I would draw too much attention. And I am black, at least, um, my mom is, but genetics are silly sometimes.”

“Can I touch it?”

The question was so odd it took me off guard, but maybe it was an Amity thing. “Sure?” I said, and in a whirl, Oona sat me down on my bed and began to pat my hair. She even took a brush from my dresser and began to gently work it through the coils.

“Please tell me it’s here to stay,” she said.

“Yeah, I guess,” I replied with a half-laugh. I might have a hard time trusting my own judgment. Oona’s judgment, that I could accept.

“Good.” She finished brushing and got up to face me. “Okay, your turn, zip me. This dress is drafty.”

Laughing, I helped her with her dress. She had chosen a simple white thing with a flowy skirt that reached her knees, and once I had zipped her up, she slipped a black jacket over her shoulders. Unlike me, she had embraced the high heels with gusto and was now a full head taller than me. Loose and effeminate; an echo of her yellow Amity outfit from before. The only major change was her hair, now in a giant, elaborate bun held in place by two long needles. She, too, was gorgeous, I realized, and when we were both dressed and stood in front of my mirror together, we looked quite the couple.

“Shall we?” I joked, holding out my arm.

Oona nodded and accepted. Linked arm in arm, we stepped outside, miles away from the people we were when we walked in.

+ + +

When we went downstairs to the dining center, everyone was looking at me. Which was very, very new.

Oona told me that people wondered why I hid my head and skin, because my brother and I were well-known Christians and not Muslim in the least, but I had not realized what “people wondered” really meant until I saw the room full of open jaws. I couldn’t help but hesitate in the doorway.

“Just act normal,” Oona whispered to me.

“I would like to go back to my room and jump out of the window,” I whispered back. “They’re staring.”

“Of course they are,” she replied. “You’re the prettiest girl in the room.”

Which was saying something. Among the starers was Aletheia, who was wearing a white dress that showed a lot of skin. But nobody cared about her. Just me and my new self.

The dining hall was a long room with glass walls and glittering crystal chandeliers, reflecting rainbows from the light within and in the light of the setting sun. All of the tables were set with white tablecloths, silver plates, and elaborately folded black napkins. I had heard that the Candor enjoyed formal-styled dining. I had no idea that it was every meal. Most of the initiates seemed to be clustered in one corner, so Oona and I found empty seats among a few other transfers. I sat next to Ravi, who sported an untied black bowtie.

“What’s wrong with your tie?” I asked him.

“Leaving it untied contributes to my carefree, nonconformist persona,” he said.

“Not sure if they’re big on personas here,” said Lars, a huge, hulking Dauntless transfer. He had sat next to me in a few classes at school, and now he looked at me. “Hey, Beatrice, love the hair.”

“Thanks,” I said, surprised. “But—it’s Phoebe now.” It still felt weird to say.

“We can change our names?” asked Lars.

“Yeah, they never told you that?” said Ravi. “You can change anything. I changed my gender.”

I had been taking a sip of water and coughed it out. “You—what?!”

“Oh, yeah, I wasn’t going to say anything for the first day to see if anyone noticed,” Ravi laughed, “but nobody did, so whatever, you know?”

“Personally,” said Leanne, another Erudite transfer, “I already knew. Your sister’s terrible at secrets. I think all of Erudite knew except your parents.”

“Worst kept secret in Chicago,” Ravi agreed. “Yeah, I’m a trans guy. Came out to my parents this morning, they were pissed, but I changed factions on them anyway, so who really wins?”

A trans guy? I knew about transgender people. I knew Candor and Amity openly encouraged them, whereas Erudite and Abnegation discouraged them. Dauntless didn’t care so long as you could fight. But I didn’t think I had ever met someone who identified as transgender. For obvious reasons, in Abnegation, the heterosexual, monogamous, childbearing family unit was the paragon of selflessness. Sacrificing personal feelings for the sake of raising a new generation. I, personally, saw no sense in changing one’s gender for any reason than to get out of having children. At least, that’s what I had been taught.

“Oh,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.

Ravi and Oona both looked at me. “What’s the oh?” asked Oona.

“Nothing,” I said quickly. But I should have known better than to try that at a table of brand-new Candors.

Ravi laughed. “Look, I get it if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Huh?”

“Honestly, intra-faction controversy about trans people is the one thing Erudite and Abnegation has in common. But we’re not in those factions anymore, we’re in Candor, and it’s different here. So if you have any questions, I’m okay with answering—I was probably asking the same ones at some point.”

He didn’t seem hostile towards me, not like how my father and other Abnegation leaders often described encounters like this—where other factions would try to force their beliefs about personal lifestyle on us to make us change.

But Ravi was right. This was Candor. Things were different here. We could be different here.

I looked at him and nodded. “Okay,” I smiled.

“It’s a learning process for all of us,” said Leanne. “But that’s what this is about, right? Opening our eyes to the light of justice? Becoming our truest selves?”

“Whatever all that means,” sniffed Lars, but he was smiling. He held up his glass for cheers, and we all laughed as we lifted our glasses as well.

A bell rang and doors opened, ushering in a neat line of waiters and waitresses holding huge platters and bowls. The contents of the bowls were familiar. Vegetables, salads, breads. The platters, however, were foreign—circular pieces of meat wedged between round bread slices. I pinched one between my fingers, unsure what to make of it.

Ravi nudged me with his elbow.

“It’s beef,” he said. “Put this on it.” He passed me a small bowl full of red sauce.

“You’ve never had a hamburger before?” asked Oona, her eyes wide.

“No,” I said. “Is that what it’s called?”

“Stiffs eat plain food,” said Lars, his mouth full of hamburger.

“Why’s that?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Extravagance is considered self-indulgent and unnecessary.”

Ravi cackled. “No wonder you left.”

“Yeah,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Because of the food.”

Then I caught someone’s gaze. Ace was standing by the door, only a few feet away, and she was looking at me. Listening. When we locked eyes, she flicked her gaze away.

I tried to focus on my food, but even though it was delicious, I found it hard to stop glancing towards Ace. She was interesting to look at. Impressively tall; her powerful, muscular build tested the bounds of her leather jacket. I wondered if she dressed more professionally to blend in here, but the pride with which she carried herself was different than the pride of the Candor. A stronger pride, somehow.

“Hey, Lars,” I said quietly, as Ace was still in earshot, “do you know anything about Ace?”

Lars turned around to look at her, attracting her attention. I ducked my head and pretended I hadn’t been looking. She just frowned, then returned to surveying the dining hall.

“Not all Dauntless know each other, Phoebe,” said Lars. I started to apologize, but then Lars laughed. “Of course I know about Ace. She’s basically a legend. First factionless to pass Dauntless initiation.”

Ravi choked on his water. Oona dropped her fork. Now Lars had the attention of the whole table. “What?” he said.

“She’s factionless?” Leanne hissed.

“Yeah,” Lars said.

“That’s impossible,” said Ravi. “Factionless don’t get to choose. They gotta take literacy tests, and there hasn’t been a factionless kid who’s passed in, like, ever.”

I had never hated the factionless. But I couldn’t argue with that. Kids born factionless were required to go to school, just like us, and then to take the literacy and mathematics tests when they turned sixteen. Inability to pass these tests meant not taking the aptitude test, which meant never getting to choose. It was simple meritocracy, my father and Marcus had explained to me once. If a factionless-born wanted the chance to join the factions, they would work hard in school in order to pass the tests. But they never did. It was estimated that only about five percent of factionless-born even attended school at all.

“I dunno.” Lars shrugged and dug into a pile of broccoli. “Yeah, she’s factionless. Happened two, three years ago, I think.”

The only thing I could think to say was, “How?”

“She passed all the literacy tests. Aced ‘em. I heard one of the Erudite teachers was so surprised, he passed out. So they called a Candor proctor down there to check for test integrity, the proctor gave an okay, and she was allowed to take the aptitude test. She chose Dauntless.”

“You’re joking,” said Oona. “There’s no way. Otherwise, why didn’t the whole city hear about it?”

Lars shrugged again. “They kept it quiet. Didn’t want to attract too much attention to her. They found some obscure rule about test confidentiality to back themselves up, so it wasn’t technically lying. Then they dressed her up as one of their own for the Choosing Ceremony, she chose Dauntless, and it didn’t come out that she used to be factionless until halfway through initiation. Candor swooped in again and confined the secret to Dauntless. We’re technically not supposed to tell anyone.”

“But you’re telling us now,” I pointed out.

“Well, you asked,” said Lars. “What am I gonna do? Lie?”

He had a point there.

“When the news broke, we all thought it was the end of her,” Lars continued. “The other initiates, oh boy, they were pissed. She got beaten up pretty badly a couple times. But she kept training. Ended up top of her class and got to pick whatever job she wanted.”

“And she chose to work for Candor,” I said quietly.

Lars nodded. “She’s still a Dauntless member, but…it doesn’t feel like it sometimes. Again, people were mad at first. But it’s not like that anymore. When I hear people talk about her now, it’s sad. She could have been the next great Dauntless leader. Until some asshole initiates drove her away.”

I looked at Ace again. She had turned her head to hide the side with the crescent scar, but its shape was burned into my memory. I wondered if the scar came from a member of her own faction—her own family. There was something new to the proud strength in her shoulders, a darkness. A deep sadness.

The rest of the table returned to dinner. But every once in a while, I looked back up at Ace. More than once, she was looking right back.

After dinner, as people filed out of the dining hall, Ace said, “You—can I speak to you?”

Oh, boy. She most definitely overheard us talking about her. But I nodded and followed Ace down a hall.

She was much taller up close. I felt small and vulnerable without the protective weight of my scarf over my head, and wished to have it to hide behind again. Yet I forced myself to meet her dark gaze. She wasn’t a dog, but the same rules applied. Looking away was submissive. Meeting the eyes was a challenge. It was my choice.

“Phoebe, is it?” asked Ace.

“Yes,” I said.

“You’re the Abnegation transfer, right?”

“Yes.”

She raised her chin. There was another shallow scar there, stretching from just under her ear to the center of her neck. I wondered if that was from her fellow initiates, too.

“If you have questions about me, I would prefer you asked me first,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“No, you’re not,” said Ace. “All you Candor are the same. Even the former Stiffs. Gossip is in your blood, and I don’t care for it.”

Gossip. That’s what we’d been doing, wasn’t it? Ace didn’t ask to have a hard life, and now we were passing it around the table to gawk and gobble at. I could respect her desire to control what was said about her.

But I also wanted to know. I raised my chin too.

“Was Lars telling the truth?” I asked.

Her eyes narrowed. She wasn’t actually expecting me to ask. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not Candor,” she told me. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“That’s fair,” I said.

I don’t think she was prepared for that response either. “Okay,” she said. “Fine. Glad we have an understanding.”

She brushed past me down the hall, shoving her hands in her pockets. I watched her leave, swipe her ID at a door that read Authorized Personnel Only , and vanish.

I wanted to feel like I’d won, finally having a chance to flex my curiosity. But something didn’t settle right about the conversation. It wasn’t until that night, as I lay in my bed in my silent, moonlit room, when I realized what it was.

Candor proctor. Test integrity. I’m sorry, and No, you’re not.

Ace, the factionless legend, knew Irene, my test proctor. Perhaps Irene had even handled her case personally. Or perhaps it was just a string of coincidences.

But deep down, I knew that the mystery of my identity had an answer in Ace.