XIX

The rest of that day and the next were quiet. I sat in my room and wrote in my journal. Sometimes I went out to the courtyard or to the library to check out more music. Friday, I had lunch with Brighton and Amalka. I cleaned my desk. I helped Oona organize her closet.

That night I went to Antigone’s with Ravi. I told him that I liked girls. He congratulated me, bought me a few glasses of blueberry wine, and answered some of my questions about what he called “the queer community”. I found out that I might not be gay, I might be bisexual, since I still liked guys. The word comforted me. I liked having a name for the thing that I was.

I was so good at distracting myself that I fell asleep normally and soundly that night. But as soon as my eyes opened the next morning, I remembered. Visiting Day.

It took me an hour to dress. I just wasn’t sure. Miriam had taken the head scarves away a long time ago. But when I looked in the mirror and saw my bush of red hair, I felt naked. The outfit I had laid out was a black long-sleeved shirt, sweater vest, and a white tie, something I might normally wear to class. Now, it was too dark, too masculine, too unique. I tried a dress again. Then a long skirt. None of it worked, none of it was right. I finally gave up and went with my first outfit. They wouldn’t approve.

But who cared if they approved? I set my jaw. This was my faction now. These were the clothes my faction wore. And most importantly, these were the clothes I liked to wear.

The apartment was silent. When I went down for breakfast, so was the initiates’ section of the dining hall. We all knew that we might step outside and search every face and never find one that belonged to us. As I nibbled halfheartedly on a slice of toast, Judge Morris walked in. Unlike usual, he was without his black judge’s robe and simply wore a suit.

“Transfers,” he announced to us, folding his hands in front of him. “I wish to give you some advice before you step outside. If, in the event that your families do come to visit you…”

He scanned our faces coolly. The statement was neutral, but there was a defined mark of skepticism in it.

“...you may find it helpful to remember this. You have heard it said that the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. While we in Candor acknowledge that old attachments are difficult to break, we also encourage you to think critically about how you address these attachments. Each of you decided that the pursuit of your true self overruled the desire to conform to your family’s expectations. It would be...disappointing to see any of you falter over that decision. Are we clear?”

A chorus of transfers murmured, “Crystal,” in response. It was indeed very clear. We were Candor. We needed to act accordingly.

On my way out of the dining hall, I saw Oona and Sherlock ahead of me, Sherlock laughing, probably at a joke Oona made. I didn’t try to catch up. For one, I felt like it would be a mistake to interrupt them. For two, I wasn’t sure what I’d say other than an awkward, “Wow, anyone else scared out of their wits for no reason?”

I wasn’t alone there, at least. I saw Ravi by the water fountains, clutching his stomach. I felt guilty—I only had one thing to be afraid of; Ravi had two. Changing his faction and changing his entire identity. I sort of had that too. I hadn’t decided if I was going to tell my parents about being bisexual. But at least that was one of those things that could go unsaid. Ravi, however, had already come out to everyone. He had shaved the sides of his head and wore a man’s suit. His hot-button topic was already out in the open.

I stopped just before the front doors and held my breath. Then I went out.

Clusters of families stood in the plaza underneath the statue of Themis, the woman with the scales. Everywhere was black and white, Candor families with Candor initiates. They still looked intimidating to me—a father in a white trench coat and fedora, a mother with a monocle and perfectly-shined loafers, children in three-piece suits, a loving family unit.

To my chagrin, I saw Aletheia’s family first. She stood next to a portly older man and a squat, chubby woman with mousy brown hair. Neither of her parents looked like her. She was arguing with them, but the smirks on her and her parents’ faces suggested that it was all in good fun. Did they know what kind of person their daughter was?

Then again...what kind of person was I?

Across the plaza, Ravi found his way to a woman in a blue dress. She didn’t look old enough to be his mother, but she had the same thick eyebrows and cinnamon-colored skin. Leanne had mentioned him having a sister; maybe that was her.

Oona’s mixed family was there, a flock of Amity yellow next to a reserved cluster of Candor. Oona grinned as she embraced an Amity woman with hair even longer than hers. She looked just like her mother. Her father, a nervous lawyer, was herding Oona’s many stepsiblings away from his own wide-eyed children. As strange and split as the family was, Oona’s mother and father both seemed happy to see her.

Why even bother looking for my parents? They didn’t want to see me. Every smile I saw, every laugh I heard just made my heart ache a little more. I turned to go back inside.

Then I saw her. My mother sat alone in Themis’ shadow, her hands clasped in her lap. She had never looked more out of place, with her grey apron and grey jacket buttoned at the throat, her hair in its simple bun and her dark face placid. I started towards her, tears jumping into my eyes. She came. She came for me.

I was almost running. She turned, and for a second her expression was blank, like she didn’t know who I was. Then her eyes brightened. I crashed into her, the biggest and tightest hug I had ever given in my life.

“Beatrice,” she whispered. She ran her hand through my hair.

Don’t cry, I told myself. I held her until I could blink the beads from my eyes, then pulled back to look at her again. I smiled with closed lips, just like she did. She brushed my cheek.

“Look at you,” she said. “You’re so beautiful, Sunshine.”

“I know!” A laugh burst from my lips. I had heard other people say I was beautiful, Oona, Ravi, Sherlock. But from my mother, I felt like the weight of the world was rolling off my shoulders.

She chuckled. “And confident.”

“I suppose I am,” I said.

“Are you happy?

I nodded. “I was just nervous. That you wouldn’t like...all of this.”

I gestured to my clothes and hair. But Mom just hugged me again.

“All of this is you. I like it so much, Beatrice.”

We stayed like that for a while. Her cheek rested against my chest, against my healed scar. I wondered if she could feel the ridged skin through my clothes. Then she pulled back and put her arm across my shoulders.

“Tell me how you are,” she said.

“You first.” The old habits had returned. I wanted her to speak first. The conversation couldn’t focus on me for too long. I had to make sure she didn’t need anything.

“Today is a special occasion,” she said. “I came to see you, so let’s talk about you. It’s my gift to you.”

My selfless mother. I didn’t deserve gifts, not after I left her and my father. But I just nodded.

I walked with her back inside, where a few other initiates were showing their families around the Institute. My mother’s eyes traveled up the impressive marble columns and crystalline ceilings, in the same way that mine had on my first day. I took her to the sunny courtyard and we sat by a little fountain. I leaned my head on her shoulder, glad to be close. The last three weeks had been more affectionless than I realized. Even with the hand-shaking whenever I met someone new and the many hugs from Oona and even the kiss from Sherlock, I almost felt like my home in Abnegation—where touch was sparing, but tender—had more.

“Just one question.” I felt my pulse in my throat. “Where’s Dad? Is he visiting Caleb?”

Mom shook her head. “Your father had to be at work.”

I looked down. I hated that I knew she was lying. “So he didn’t want to come.”

She inhaled. “He’s been—selfish, lately. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still love you, I promise.”

I stared at her, stunned. My father—selfish? More startling than the label was the fact that Mom gave it to him. I couldn’t tell by looking at her if she was angry. After so long being around people who wore their hearts on their sleeve, I was surprised that I couldn’t. But she must’ve been; if she called him selfish, she must have been furious.

“What about Caleb?” I asked. “Will you visit him later?”

“I wish I could,” she said, “but the Erudite have prohibited Abnegation visitors from entering their compound.”

“What?” I demanded. “That’s terrible. They can’t do that!”

She hesitated. “Tensions between Abnegation and the other factions have been higher than ever. It was—” She hesitated again, then said, “Never mind.”

“What’s the never mind?”

Mom gave me a wry smile. “I almost forgot that you’re learning to ask questions for a living.”

“Judge Bandele, my Arguments professor, says I’m one of the most stubborn people he’s ever met, and he’s practiced law for thirty years,” I grinned.

She laughed—a genuine, musical laugh unlike any that I had ever heard from her. “I believe it.”

“So—what were you going to say?”

“I was going to say that it was difficult for me to get here, too. Candor and Abnegation have never liked each other, just like Erudite and Abnegation.”

“But that doesn’t mean they can forbid you from seeing me and Caleb!”

“They can, if letting me in poses a threat to the unity of the faction. Things—” She looked over her shoulder, then sighed “—things are changing, Phoebe.”

“You know my name,” I said, stunned. My new name.

“I have sources,” said Mom. “I heard about your new name. And I know about this.” She pointed to my scar, hidden under my shirt and vest. “It was very brave of you, and I couldn’t be prouder.”

But only dread grew in my stomach.

“What’s changing?” I asked.

“I wish I could say.” I couldn’t tell if it was a lie. But I couldn’t tell if it was true. “But there’s nothing I can do about it. And there’s nothing you can do, either. Like I said, I’m sure it will pass.”

I wasn’t so sure. Whatever it was, I knew in the pit of my gut that it wouldn’t just pass.

But I didn’t want to spend the entirety of Visiting Day interrogating my mom. So I told myself to drop it and looked down at the garden of white lilies. One of them had snapped off along the stem and lay forlorn in the dirt. I picked it up, dusted it off, and tucked it behind Mom’s ear. She smiled and glanced across the courtyard. For a while, my gaze fixated on two little marks on Mom’s earlobe. Tiny, circular indentations. They’d always been there, but I could never figure out what they were.

Then the door opened and Ace stepped in. I knew she usually worked Saturdays, but I was still surprised to see her. She sat on a rock, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it.

“That’s our head of security,” I said. I leaned closer to Mom and added, “She’s...kind of intimidating.”

“She’s cute,” Mom replied.

I found myself nodding without thinking. Then I did a double take. “You know that I’m—?”

“Sunshine.” Mom put her hands on my shoulders. “I’ve known you like girls probably longer than you have. It’s okay.”

She accepted me. She was okay with it. The tension seemed to melt out of my shoulders. I managed a relieved smile.

And then Mom got a devious glint in her eye and stood up too fast for me to stop her. “Let’s go say hi.”

“Wait—Mom—”

Ace looked up as Mom strolled towards her. To my surprise, instead of grumbling and acting aloof like I expected, Ace’s eyes widened and she stood quickly. Mom offered her a handshake.

“Hello, my name is Natalie,” she said. “I’m Beatr—Phoebe’s mother.”

I had never seen Mom shake hands with anyone. Ace eased her hand into Mom’s, looking stiff, and shook it twice. The gesture looked unnatural for both of them.

“Ace,” she said, her voice lower than usual. “Nice to meet you.”

“Ace,” Mom repeated, smiling. “Is that a nickname?”

“Yes.” She didn’t elaborate. What was her real name? “Your daughter is, um, doing well here. She’s good at arguing.”

I met Ace’s gaze. My mom just laughed. “Always has been. So you oversee her training?”

“No, ma’am, I just work security,” said Ace.

“Perhaps they should change that,” said Mom, raising an eyebrow. “You were the one who protected my daughter from the thief, weren’t you? Maybe a little Dauntless-style training would help her stay out of such messes.”

My face was so hot I felt it might explode. “Mom…”

Ace’s face was red too. She looked at me, and her eyes moved down my face, from nose to mouth to chin. Then she said, “In my experience, if Phoebe wants to get into a mess, she’ll find a way.”

That made Mom laugh, too. She really seemed to like Ace, which I was glad about, but which also made me wonder. I had never imagined—I had imagined, just a wild fancy, about what it might be like to bring Ace home as my significant other—that Mom would like her.

“That’s my girl,” said Mom. She tilted her head. “Ace...you look familiar.”

“The scar makes me hard to forget, ma’am,” Ace replied, her voice suddenly colder.

I touched Mom’s arm, trying to warn her that she might be stepping into sensitive territory. But I also wanted to know how this would play out.

“No,” Mom frowned. “I could swear I’ve met you before. Did you ever work around the Hub?”

“I tend to avoid the Abnegation,” said Ace tersely.

Mom just nodded. “Many people do, nowadays. I don’t take it personally.”

Ace’s shoulders relaxed minutely, but hints of red still lingered in her face. She pulled her cigarette back up to her lips to hide it. “Well, I’ll leave you to your reunion now.”

Mom and I watched Ace leave. She found a tree and slumped down under it, taking a long drag from her cigarette. The smoke was mesmerizing, hypnotizing, as it twirled up into the sun.

I wish I didn’t understand so keenly why Ace hated Abnegation. I had tried to forget what Aletheia told me—I had really tried. But now it was impossible to look at Ace and not see injustice. I wondered how she could still stand to be around me.

But it was nice of her to at least talk to my mom.

“Is she always like that?” Mom said.

“Worse,” I replied. At least she’d made an effort.

We decided we’d had enough of the courtyard and stepped back inside. In the heat of the summer, it seemed that many people decided they would rather reunite where there was air conditioning. My eye caught on Oona, Ravi, and their families.

I first introduced my mother to Oona, and Oona introduced us to her two families. The parents of both seemed to have given up in keeping Oona’s Amity stepsiblings and the Candor stepsiblings separate, resulting in a group of six children all marveling over the Candor brother’s computer game. Mom liked their family, and they liked me and my mother in turn.

But Ravi’s family representative was very different. When he introduced me to Priya, his older sister, she gave me and my mother only a cold, bitter smile. She didn’t bother to shake our hands.

“Ravi, you didn’t tell me that you were friends with an Abnegation girl,” said Priya. She said the last words like one might say “a feral rat”.

Mom pursed her lips, and of course, didn’t say anything. I bristled.

“Phoebe’s just as much a Candor as I am,” said Ravi, scowling.

“Oh, of course. But don’t you know who she is?” She points at my mom. “She’s a councilman’s wife. She runs the ‘volunteer agency’ that supposedly helps the factionless.”

“And what about it?” I snapped.

“I’m just stating facts.” Priya shrugged. “Facts shouldn’t be offensive. What else do I know? Oh, that your volunteer agency is a disguise for the fact that Abnegation doesn’t actually want to help the factionless. That the factionless population is actually twice the size of what Abnegation tells us it is? That Abnegation protects bastards like Thomas Beauregard from prison because it fits their pretty little system?”

A cold hand wrapped itself around my throat. What?

“Priya, what is wrong with you?” Ravi cut in. “This isn’t time for politics.”

“I’m sorry,” said Mom quietly.

“Don’t apologize, Mom,” I said, my voice shaking.

“No, let her continue,” said Priya. “She should apologize.”

My hands unwittingly curled into fists. I didn’t care that there were people around. “If you say another word to her, you’ll regret it.”

Priya smiled smugly. “And what are you going to do? Have me arrested? Oh wait, you’re not Abnegation. Are you going to talk me to death instead?”

My mother touched my shoulder. I knew what she was telling me— don’t engage. So I breathed in, and out, and in again. I closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, I was smiling.

“You’re right. Candor only fight with words,” I said. “But I’m not Candor yet, and I really want to smack a bitch!”

Mom’s hand squeezed my arm so tight I almost cried out from the pain. But I still managed to give Priya a nasty glare as Mom dragged me away.

“Tell me somewhere we can talk in private. Where nobody will walk in,” she said.

“The roof, I guess, but there’s better locks now—”

She walked with me, fast, towards the elevators. Once inside, she let me press the button to the top floor. We rode in silence. Once at the top, I led her up the stairs and Mom looked at the door. Ace had followed up on her promise to make the door secure, adding a type of lock that I couldn’t get open. I had tried.

“See? It’s locked,” I said.

“Well,” she sighed.

Mom looked over her shoulder, saw that the stairwell was indeed empty, and reached up to her bun. Then she pulled out three hairpins and began to bend them. I recognized the shapes immediately.

“Mom, you can pick locks?!”

With all the ease of an expert, my mother inserted the makeshift picks and began to work. “Don’t announce it to all of Candor, sunshine,” she said.

Within a minute, the door was open and we stepped onto the roof. Mom ensured that the door wouldn’t lock behind us before closing it. Then she half-followed, half-dragged me towards the bench and sat me down.

“Mom, what are we doing here—”

“I said no questions about me. And I meant it. How are you really doing, Beatrice? What happened with the factionless woman?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “My cut’s all better. They put stitches on it.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Mom. “I meant—what has happened to you since then? Has anyone talked to you?”

I thought of the graffiti on the Merciless Mart door. I knew it was there because of me. I didn’t want my mother to worry. But it made my stomach sick to think of lying.

“My housekeeper,” I said. “She’s factionless. She knew Lady Rose. She—she said that the Erudite schools, in the projects—they’re—”

“That they’re inhumane,” Mom finished. “That they mistreat their students and make it impossible to join the factions.”

For a moment I was speechless. The Erudite project schools were under Abnegation jurisdiction. I had almost forgotten that my mother helped run them; she probably knew Thomas Beauregard personally. Horribly enough, it had been Priya who really sunk the point in. Erudite had little control over the Low-Income Education Board. But Abnegation did. And my mother knew.

“Beatrice—Phoebe,” said Mom, taking my hands in hers, “I didn’t think I’d have to tell you any of this. But you’ve chosen a faction where everything is out in the open and nothing is, at the same time, and I know that it can be confusing. I know that you have probably heard things that have led you to question your past. I know that you have learned things that make you feel—torn.”

“It’s not true, is it? About Beauregard? About what he did to Lady Rose?” My voice wobbled. I sounded like a child on the brink of crying.

But my mother just bowed her head. It was all the answer I needed.

“Why?” I demanded. “How could you do this?”

“Beatrice, it’s not like I could change things on my own.”

“But the things that Erudite’s been saying about us—” about you “—it’s true? That we’re tyrants? Is our system really that broken?”

“Beatrice!” she snapped.

I fell silent. Just like I had been raised. But after the initial fear, I felt a spark of defiance in my chest. I looked away.

Mom inhaled. “I’m sorry for raising my voice. The truth is, the faction system has never been as simple as we make it out to be. It’s easy to teach children that the faction system is best for society. But we have reached a point where this is no longer—practical.”

I was growing impatient. My mother liked philosophical platitudes just as much as the Amity, and I wasn’t planning to sift through them. “Mom, just tell me what you mean.”

“I’m saying that Abnegation has begun to tear itself apart. So has Erudite. And Candor. Even Dauntless and the Amity. In every faction, there are generally two trains of thought: one that wishes to preserve the factions as they are, and one that calls for change. For—a rebirth.”

I thought of Miriam. Anarchy, she had said.

“In each faction, this debate has taken form in different ways.” Mom stood up to lean against the wall, looking out at the skyline. I joined her. “Your father and I—though it’s terrible to say—we almost symbolize the conflict in Abnegation. Your father wants things to stay the same. He wants peace. He’s always wanted peace like that, you remember.”

I remembered. There was a time when Caleb and I used to fight like stray cats. Some of the reasons were petty, some were serious. But my father never cared about either. Just told us to forget the reasons and pretend we were fine.

“But I’ve been working with the factionless for over twenty years,” said my mother softly. “I’ve never encountered a facet of our system that I haven’t questioned.”

“Why haven’t you done anything?”

She hesitated. “I’ve been a coward. I’m too self-conscious to be brave.”

I was quiet. Aletheia’s voice came back to me— Abnegation is full of people who only think about how other people see them. I didn’t want to believe it. I had hoped that seeing my family would reassure me that I was right and Aletheia was wrong. But here my own mother was, admitting to that same cowardice.

Mom shook her head and continued. “Erudite has undergone the most violent split. Many younger members are beginning to think like Priya—that the factions have been complicit in crimes against thousands of people. Those are the journalists who keep releasing the statements against Abnegation. I think that if you sat down and spoke with Priya, you would find that you actually agree with many of the things she believes.”

“I wouldn’t,” I said automatically.

She smiled sadly. “No. You would.”

It was like she could read the conflict within me.

“People like Priya are calling for a full renovation of the faction system. They point to abusers like Thomas Beauregard and say that these people shouldn’t go unpunished; that we should make it easier, not harder, for factionless children to take the aptitude tests.”

“But Dad said that Jeanine was releasing those statements,” I said. “I thought all of Erudite supported her.”

Mom nodded. “Jeanine approves all Erudite publications, yes,” she replied. “But something else is going on. Jeanine doesn’t want the factions gone. Some of the journalists have even attacked her for supporting Beauregard. For whatever reason, she’s letting them discredit her—maybe because most of the pieces are against Abnegation, so it wouldn’t be worth it to censor the criticisms of Erudite—I don’t know. But she’s planning something, Beatrice.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I—I wish I knew.”

She blinked hard, and I knew that she was about to cry. My mother and I were too alike. I cried too often when I was frustrated. I pulled out a white handkerchief, which she accepted gratefully. She tried to give it back, but I folded her hands around it.

“I have one more question,” she said. “Have you been in contact with a woman named Irene McCandless?”

I startled. “How did you—”

“I know that she was your aptitude proctor,” said Mom. “You were the student who was sent home early. She swore under oath of law that she had reported your results truthfully. But that’s not right.”

“She's Candor,” I said neutrally. “She wouldn’t lie.”

Mom gave a thin smile. “Would she?”

Yes. She would.

“Beatrice, I need to know. What were your aptitude results?”

Irene’s warning pulsed in my head. Don’t tell anyone. I wanted to echo what I’d been told to say—Abnegation. But Mom knew that it wasn’t right. She would know if I lied. I didn’t want to lie.

I met my mother’s eyes. Deep brown like warm coffee, framed by a dark smudge of eyelashes. She had lines around her mouth, but other than that, she didn’t look her age. Those lines always got deeper when she hummed. She used to hum as she washed the dishes.

This was my mother.

I could trust her.

“They were inconclusive,” I said softly.

“I was afraid of that.” She looked down at our hands. “Many children who are raised Abnegation receive that kind of result.”

“There’s other Di—”

She pressed her hand to my mouth, cutting me off. “Don’t say that word,” she hissed. “Ever.”

So Irene really was telling the truth. Divergent was a dangerous thing to be. But I still didn’t know why. Or what it meant to be one.

“I need you to stay in contact with Irene, okay?” said Mom. “You can trust her.”

“But she’s a liar, Mom—”

“If being a liar makes you a bad person, then don’t bother trusting me.”

She squeezed my hands, so tight that they hurt. My heart hurt too. This might be the last time I ever saw her, and it was spent confused and doubtful and arguing.

Mom looked over her shoulder at the door, as if it might open any minute. Then she looked down at the plaza below us. We could hear distant conversation from the families reuniting, laughter and friendly arguing. When Mom turned towards me, her jaw was set.

“There’s one last thing I want you to do,” she said.

“I know,” I said, bitterness creeping into my voice. “Keep out of trouble. Focus on passing initiation. Stay in my lane.”

Her lips quirked up. “Heh. They like to tell you that, don’t they?”

I looked up, my eyes wide.

Her hand floated to my cheek. Then down, to the scar above my heart. I placed my hand over hers.

“I want you to be safe,” said Mom. “I do. If I could carry you away from all this crazy that’s happening right now, just to let you have a normal life, I would want to. But the world is changing. It’s etched in your skin. And I know that inside, you don’t want to stay inside where it’s safe.” She inhaled. “So I want you to do what you think is right.”

I blinked hard. I was about to cry. My mother brushed a curl of my hair behind my ear, then kissed my cheek.

“I have to go,” she said. “It will make you look better if we don’t seem as attached.”

“I don’t care how I look to them,” I replied.

“They’re still looking,” she said. “Be careful, sunshine.”

She walked away. I was too stunned to follow. At the door, she turned and said, “And tell Irene to take a break for me, alright? She works herself to death.” Mom smiled a strange, twisted smile, and added, “I love you, you know.”

And then she was gone.

I sat alone for a while, the hot sun burning my neck. Almost without my permission, my hand went to the wallet in my pocket and pulled out a business card. Irene McCandless. I knew where I had seen the last name before. When I was young, I found one of my mother’s old ID cards in a junk drawer, from before she was married to my father. Her name had been Natalie McCandless.

Mom and Irene were sisters.