XVII

I wasn’t sure which of the two was more alarming for me: the fact that I liked a woman, or the fact that I liked a Dauntless.

With the second fact, I realized that it shouldn’t be surprising. I was Divergent. In a way, I was a Dauntless too. The Dauntless had always held a mystique for me, a particular addictive flair. Inter-faction relationships were discouraged—marriages were illegal, for that matter—but part of me didn’t care. Even my identity was dangerous; could it get worse?

As for the first fact, though, that was the hard part.

I had never questioned my sexuality before. I liked boys. I had had crushes on boys at school; I had seen particularly cute boys and wished that they could talk to me. In another time, I might have even reciprocated Sherlock’s desire with enthusiasm. Yes, maybe I didn’t like the thought of marriage—maybe I had always been terrified of Abnegation’s standard for me, that of the obedient wife and selfless mother. But that was every girl my age, as I had been told. The little butterflies that filled my stomach when I looked at a cute boy would soon grow, would lead me to step into the courting scene, would enable me to submit to marriage, would open my heart to carrying children.

Yet now, it was for a girl. A woman. Someone brave, interesting, mature, and beautiful, despite—no, because of— her scar and short hair and strange charisma. Someone who had saved my life.

She was everything I had been warned to avoid. Selfish, unfriendly, asocial, hot-tempered. A hellion. Thinking about her made my chest ache in a way that I had never felt before; only admitting it to myself gave any relief. It had to be torture, it had to be wrong. My church had never avoided the topic of homosexuality. This had to be the torment of sin that I had been told about.

But I wanted it, I wanted to be around her so much.

It took me hours to fall asleep. My healing injury meant that I had to sleep on my back with my arms at my sides, which I hated more than the devil. So now, not only my spine but my conscience kept me awake.

I woke up at six in the morning to thunder. It was raining furiously outside, and so dark that I thought it was still night. It might as well have been, because six was much too early. Oona was doing her hair in our bathroom, two elaborate braided buns.

“You were out pretty late,” she said softly.

I stopped in the doorway, confused. “Huh?”

Her lip tightened. She refused to meet my gaze in the mirror. “You told me that we were going to study together last night.”

“Oh.” I felt a sinking in my gut. “I totally forgot—”

“It’s fine,” she said, even though it was obvious that it wasn’t.

“Oona, I’m really sorry, I—”

A pin slipped out of her fingers. Then she broke down crying.

Immediately I was at her side, mumbling apologies. But before I could get far, she sniffled and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said to me. “It’s just really hard. Not being happy all the time. I’m fine. I’m getting there.”

“What?”

“In Amity—there’s a serum. In the bread. It helps us all stay happy.”

Another sob bubbled in her throat and she threw herself at me in a hug. She was so tall that I couldn’t do anything but accept it. Her impossibly long hair spilled over my shoulder.

“I—I’ve been trying to get off it slow—but I ran out yesterday and—and—and I heard you leave, and then I saw you outside with the Candor, and when you came back—I—I saw you with Sherlock and—and I just realized, God, I’m so lonely, I’ve felt lonely for such a long time but just hadn’t realized it. It’s so awful. I hated you. I’ve never done that before.”

I let her cry. After a while, I said into her hair, “It’s okay. We’re…all going through things that we didn’t before.”

She sniffled. After a while, she pulled back and whispered, “Really?”

I inhaled. Everything in me protested to deflect and not say anything.

“Sherlock’s still single, if you were wondering,” I said softly. “I think I’m gay.”

Oona’s eyes widened. She looked at her feet. Then she wiped her tears and hugged me again. “Oh my god, we have so much to talk about,” she half-laughed.

We sat on my bed and talked for a long time. She told me about her struggles and I told her about mine. I asked her if she was going to counseling—Amity and Abnegation usually had a couple transfers between them, and I knew a few neighbors who needed extra support after transferring. Oona said she hadn’t, but she knew that she was clinically diagnosed with depression and had always needed an extra dose of the peace serum. I helped her find the student counseling services website on her computer.

In return, she asked me how I was. I told her everything, from what I had been brought up to believe in Abnegation, to what I felt now, to what happened last night with Sherlock’s kiss. I carefully avoided saying that my feelings were for Ace. I didn’t want to back myself into a corner with anything involving other factions, lest the Divergent thing come out. But Oona didn’t ask who I liked. She knew that I didn’t want to say, which I appreciated. Few Candor understood the concept of not wanting to say something.

“Are you feeling okay about it?” she asked softly.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I told you. Abnegation doesn’t support gays.”

“Well, you’re not in Abnegation anymore, so why are you worried?”

I hesitated. “I feel like I’m letting my family down. I already let them down once when I transferred, and now I’m doing it again by—by liking girls. I know they’re—not my family anymore—” that really hurt to say “—but I still can’t stop feeling like this.”

Oona looked down. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I wouldn’t know how to respond.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Ideally I’ll ignore it until after exams are over,” I said, “but more likely, I’ll obsess until it drives me insane.”

“If you want,” said Oona, “you can go to counseling with me.”

It was a genuine offer, but for some reason, it made me laugh. “Thanks. But I think I have to work through this alone.”

She hugged me. I was getting more used to casual friend hugs. I liked them when they were with her.

“You’re never alone,” she said.

We pulled back. Outside my window, the storms were dying down. Mottled sunlight peeked through the clouds.

“I’m going to get dressed,” I told her. “I know a restaurant we should visit.”

She finished her hair, I got ready for the day, and we pooled our money for a trip to Antigone’s. In Abnegation, we didn’t have much by way of money; we just had everything we needed. But in Candor, we received a certain amount of credits each week just for being part of the faction. I told Oona about the drinks I had sampled and all of the pastries that I couldn’t wait to try. By the time we left the apartment, we were in high spirits, all animosity from before washed away like the rain.

Until we stepped outside and, from the front steps of the Institute, saw the crowds.

A group of adult Candor, impatient to start their day’s work, had gathered around the front doors of the Merciless Mart. Oona and I ran across the street to join the throng. I was shorter than almost everyone in the crowd, so I couldn’t see what they were looking at. Oona’s view was obscured by a hundred men’s hats.

“What’s going on?” I asked a nearby man.

“They’re not letting us inside,” he replied, clearly frustrated. “Vandals ruined the door.”

“Vandals?”

“ATTENTION!” bellowed a deep voice. Through the forest of hats, padded shoulders, and hair in tight buns, I saw a male Dauntless climb onto the stair railings and stand tall above the crowd. “ATTENTION, CANDOR! The north entrance will be closed this morning. Please enter through the south doors by the river.”

“What?!” a woman shrieked. “You can’t make us walk all the way around!”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before wearing stiletto heels to work,” the Dauntless sneered. “This is not a suggestion! This entrance is closed. Get out of here.”

The Candor grumbled. Eventually, they began to dissipate, not wanting to argue with an angry Dauntless. As they did, I broke away from Oona and pushed against the current to get closer to the doors. I bumped into a man holding coffee and he cursed at me. Another woman touched my shoulder and said, “Did you hear the Dauntless?” but I pushed her hand off.

I reached the doors. Someone had taken a blowtorch to the handles and melted them until the doors couldn’t open. Red spray paint was plastered all across the black metal. Huge angry letters, smeared from the morning rain, but unmistakable.

JUSTICE FOR LADY ROSE.

JUSTICE FOR THE ANGEL GIRLS.

JUSTICE FOR THE FACTIONLESS.

+ + +

That afternoon, I called Miriam to my room to clean up a spill. When she arrived, there was no spill, just a takeout cup of coffee from Antigone’s. I closed my door behind her, sat on my bed, and motioned to my desk chair.

“Miriam, we need to talk,” I said.

She limped over and sat at the edge of the seat. I handed her the cup of coffee, which she sipped hesitantly.

“Did you hear about the vandalism at the Merciless Mart?” I asked.

“No,” she whispered, her jaw tensing.

That was likely a lie. “Did you do it?”

She relaxed minutely. “No.”

That was likely the truth. “Do you know who did?”

She hesitated. “No.”

Also the truth. But a truth with a catch.

I let her drink the coffee in peace for a while before asking, “Why would they do it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Miriam, I swear to you on my life, I won’t tell anyone what you say here. You’re safe. I just want to know.”

She hesitated again, wiping her mouth with the edge of her uniform sleeve. After setting her coffee aside, her hands drifted to her apron hem and bunched it up in her clenched fingers.

“People down there, in the projects,” she began, “they’re scared. The Candor and the Dauntless stormed the red-light district two nights ago. They wanted to know if Lady Rose had allies. People who would’ve helped her break into Beauregard’s house, maybe other people with plans like hers.”

“Did they find them?”

“No,” said Miriam. “But they shot four girls anyway.”

The blood drained from my face. “What?”

Miriam bit her lip. “Four working girls in one of the clubs. A Dauntless shot them. Three died and one was wounded as she tried to run, but they killed her too, so there wouldn’t be witnesses. But a fifth girl got away. Now everyone knows.”

“Did anything happen to the Dauntless?” I asked, almost desperate.

I wanted to hear that the soldier was arrested. I wanted to know that it wasn’t like Beauregard’s case. But deep down, I knew the answer I was going to get. Miriam shook her head.

“Dauntless kill factionless every day. It’s all the less skilled and older Dauntless on street duty, and they’re all so angry, all the time. They’ll shoot at anyone.”

“That’s terrible!” I burst. “You can’t live like that!”

She shrugged. “You—you get used to it. My mum taught me, I taught my son, never run, don’t put your hands in your pockets…never look like a threat.”

Her fists tightened around her apron. Her voice wobbled.

“But the girls, they weren’t threats, they were on their knees with their hands over their heads—sixteen—year—old girls, they were angels, they were crying and begging, there was nothing they coulda done to hurt the man! Nothing and he shot them! And all the others just watched! And only because one of the girls knew Lady Rose’s name!”

Miriam shook her head and covered her face, sobbing into her hands. Part of me wanted to comfort her. The other part of me was too shocked to move. I felt that if I did, I would throw up, or break down crying too, or run out of the room.

“And it’s my fault,” I whispered.

Miriam looked up. “No—no…”

“I was the reason Lady Rose died,” I said, numb. It didn’t even feel like I was saying it. “If I hadn’t been up there, she would have gotten away with everything.” With killing Beauregard. Like the man deserved. “And she would still be alive.” And the Dauntless would never have stormed the projects. “And the girls would still be alive.”

“You don’t know that,” said Miriam. “Other groups might have found her.”

I smiled sadly. “But it was me.”

She looked back at her apron. “Yes.”

“So that’s what was different this time,” I said. “The four girls who died—they were murdered. That’s why the vandal wanted justice.”

“Everyone wants justice,” said Miriam. “But justice isn’t for people like us.”

“Justice is for everyone,” I replied.

“Not the justice that I know.”

“What happened—that isn’t right, Miriam! There has to be something we can do!”

Her breath hitched. “I could be fired just for staying here. I don’t know what they would do to me if they knew what I’ve said.”

She had a point. Miriam had too much to lose. A job. A son. I wanted to ask how old her son was.

“Well, there has to be something I can do,” I said.

Miriam looked up.

“Yes,” she said. “Study for your exams and stay out of our business.”

“No, I can’t do that—”

“Look at Ace. She grew up in the projects, and she’s finding it very easy to stay quiet about our problems. Ask her how she does it, if it’s hard for you.”

“It’s not easy for her! She hates this injustice as much as you do, as much as I do—”

“But she’s also instrumental in it,” said Miriam coolly. “A pawn. A cop. A Dauntless. They all mean the same thing.”

My throat tightened. “That’s not true!”

“Who killed Lady Rose?”

“You can’t—”

“It doesn’t matter, anyway.” Miriam let out a hostile, barking laugh. “We all knew Ace was lost from us, even if she hadn’t chosen to join the factions.”

My breath hitched.

“Why?” I asked.

Miriam met my eyes once more. But this time, there was a coldness, a venom that pricked and held me still. I couldn’t look away. Wisps of her silvering hair slipped from her bun, wreathing her face in a crown.

“Because she’s too much like you,” said Miriam. “Because she doesn’t understand that for justice to strike, it has to kill the ones that hold it back.”

The factions. To rid the injustice dealt to the factionless, one had to destroy the factions.

“That would mean anarchy,” I rasped.

Miriam tilted her head.

“Anarchy, or rebirth?” she asked.

I didn’t know what to say. She sipped the last of the coffee and stood, steadying herself on my desk.

“Thank you for the drink,” she said. Her voice changed. It had been growing stronger and clearer, as if revealing a different, hidden Miriam, a Miriam who stared into my soul as if judging my fears. My fear of uncertainty, of change. Of a destruction of peace. I had seen a Miriam who held anarchy in her mouth like a prayer and a curse. Until now, when her voice wavered and lowered until it was the trembling whisper of before.

She limped to the door, picked up her basket of cleaning supplies, and bowed her head.

“Whatever happens, ma’am…it don’t concern you.”