Archive of Our Own ^beta

Erudite is exactly what I expected. Books and newspapers are available for any question I have, stacked on tables in every corner, ready for the taking. I was issued a computer tablet a few minutes after my arrival and an Erudite man in a light blue suit told me this was all I would need for my classes. He helped me put my name in, to show the tablet was mine. If I give the screen a light tap, it brightens and says TRIS PRIOR. This is the name I wrote at the top of my entry exam. Only those with a 50% or higher are admitted to Erudite for initiation, and I passed with 54%.

But Caleb still calls me Beatrice.

He looks different in his Erudite clothes—a bright blue shirt and matching trousers. But he still holds the door to the dining hall open for me and the other Initiates, his abnegation impulses beneath Erudite blue. If he surprised me by choosing Erudite, I shocked him too by following in his footsteps.

I pick my feet up with purpose as I search for a place to sit. The room is only sparsely filled; I assume a lot of the Erudite eat at their research stations, which we passed on the way to the clothing store filled with more shades of blue than I knew existed. A woman took my measurements and said more clothing would be sent to my room, and now I wear a light blue blouse, navy trousers, and black leather shoes with thin laces. The Erudite woman who oversees the clothing store said they need breaking in to become comfortable, and I’ve scuffed the toes already.

“Beatrice.” Caleb walks ahead, motioning for me to follow him to the empty end of a long table. The chairs are higher than an Abnegation dinner table, and my feet dangle at least a foot above the ground when I sit opposite Caleb. A few seats away from us sit a group of older Erudite, deep in discussion about something serious if their dark expressions and furrowed brows are anything to go by. Not long after, initiates fill the seats between us.

“Are you going to eat?” Caleb asks. He looks at me with a blank face. He’s genuinely curious, not sarcastic.

I nod and look at what’s in front of me: silver trays radiating warmth filled with white meat, bowls of green leaves, and a clear pot of brown liquid.

“On the warming plate, that’s fish,” Caleb explains, pointing to the meat, “salad,” the leaves, “and that’s coffee. It’s all supposed to promote concentration.”

I take some of the fish and salad onto my plate and pour coffee into a heavy white mug. “You learned that from a book?” I ask.

“Yes.” He gives me a hard look, like he thinks I’m accusing him. But neither of us can accuse each other without accusing ourselves now that we’ve both defected.

“Maybe we can find that book here, and you can show me?” I smile to put him at ease. He smiles back.

Too nervous to keep talking, we eat in silence. This is how Jeanine Matthews finds us.

I expected to see her sooner than now. Perhaps it’s the suspicion my father instilled in me, but I imagined her around every corner in Erudite, behind every bookcase, lurking. So far, I have only seen her on the first floor of Erudite headquarters, in a giant portrait opposite the front doors. Now she stands behind my brother and places a hand on his shoulder. He puts down his knife and fork and cranes his neck to look at her.

Jeanine’s smile is closed-mouth and bright, but there’s something about her storm grey eyes that puts me on edge. They don’t match the enthusiasm of her smile, like she can’t fake the entire expression.

“Beatrice and Caleb Prior.” Jeanine addresses both of us but looks right at me. She shakes Caleb’s hand, then leans over the table to shake mine. I rise to meet her halfway.

“It’s Tris now,” I tell her.

“Tris,” she repeats softly. She stands upright again and clasps her hands in front of her. “I like that.”

Jeanine looks back at Caleb. I get the feeling she’s sizing us up, deciding whether we’ll end up factionless or not just by the way we look now. “It’s a pleasure to have you both in Erudite,” she says.

“We’re happy to be here,” Caleb replies.

“Good. I look forward to seeing how you progress. Let me know if you ever need anything.” The clack of her heels on tile echoes as she walks away, and everyone’s eyes seem to follow her before the dull roar of conversation resumes.

“She seems nice. Nicer than Dad made her sound, anyway,” Caleb says.

I nod because I don't have the energy to argue that one interaction with Jeanine doesn't mean anything. Her comment about our progression sticks with me, and the idea that she’ll be watching us is unsettling at best, dangerous at worse. Has she seen my test result? Does she know I’m Divergent? Or is she just proud of pulling in two Abnegation transfers, the children of someone she works with?

There’s no way to know now.

“Beatrice,” Caleb pulls me out of my thoughts, “you need to eat.”

“I’m eating!” I take a big bite of the fish to prove it.

Stage one of Erudite initiation narrows down our talents and interests. After a day to settle in and study, we’ll have six days of exams in history, mathematics, sciences, communication, psychology, and sociology. Anyone who makes less than 50% on an exam is made factionless—one of Jeanine’s new rules that puts the transfers in an uproar, until the young Erudite guide points out that, if we really belong here, a simple 50% pass rate shouldn’t be troublesome. While we come to terms with that, she continues the tour.

The transfers’ dorm is well-lit and comfortable, with a lounge area full of soft chairs, computers, and books, and a small kitchen in case anyone gets hungry while studying all night, our guide explains, although “all-nighters are discouraged because lack of sleep inhibits memory retention.”

The guide shows us to our rooms, already made up with our names written on small screens set into the door. Mine is a little smaller than my room back home and made up mostly the same, but with nicer furniture. My bed is the same, but the mattress is thick and I sink slowly into it when I sit down. I have a side table with a lamp and a cord the guide says will charge my new tablet while I sleep, a desk and chair, a small closet, and a bookshelf with “the basics” — dictionaries, encyclopedias, and the most recent papers published by the best and brightest of Erudite. About a quarter of them are Jeanine Matthews’s work.

I barely finish the first exam, Faction History. The essay question tripped me up—I’ve never been a good writer, and I’ve never had to stare at a bright screen for two hours straight. The exam hall is a massive auditorium with wide desks and plush chairs arranged in concentric circles, just like the Choosing Ceremony. Physically more comfortable, mentally almost as terrifying.

After the exam that I spent most of yesterday and all of this morning studying for, I emerge rubbing my knuckles into my eyes as if enough pressure will ease my headache. I’m the second to last out. Another girl walks behind me with heavy steps, and her hair gives away her birth faction: orange curls completely shaved off on the left side of her head. Only the Dauntless go that drastic with their appearance.

“Did you think that would be that hard?” she asks with an easy grin. We join the other initiates, transfers and Erudite-born, in the hallway to wait for our results. According to the Erudite exam proctor, we shouldn’t have to wait for long.

I shrug. “I didn’t really think about it.”

A boy leaning on the opposite wall says, “That’s quite evident.” He looks me and the Dauntless girl up and down and readjusts his glasses. “Hurry up next time, I have better things to do with my afternoon than wait around for a struggling stiff so I can get my results.”

Definitely Erudite-born.

“Maybe tomorrow you can use the time to come up with a better insult than ‘struggling stiff’?” I reply. “Really, an Erudite can do better. Put that brain to some use.”

He rolls his eyes, then someone down the hall shouts, “The results are up!” and sets us all walking quickly in that direction. Never running, because no one in Erudite rushes.

Exam results are displayed on a huge screen, green text for 50% and above, red for below, organized alphabetically by first name. Scanning down the list, I see CALEB 82%, then much further down: TRIS 65%. I shut my eyes for a brief, thankful moment.

Caleb makes his way over to me, a grin wider than I’ve ever seen on him before. “82%!”

I match his smile. “Congratulations!”

“And you got 65.” His voice is a little dimmer but trying for excitement.

“We’re both still here.”

All around us, initiates clap each other on the back, wrap arms around each other’s shoulders, or, in a few cases, hug. Caleb and I, the only Abnegation transfers, just smile at each other. Showing a little pride is our small movement away from our old faction for now.

“Good job, you two.” The Dauntless girl appears at my shoulder. She claps me and Caleb on our backs a few hard times, forcing the breath out of me but giving me a good look at her forearm tattoos, dark, intricate designs that might be leaves, might be flames, which stand out against her pale skin. “I’m Alba.” She pauses, and I remember the name at the top of the list: ALBA 76% . “You’re from Abnegation, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. The Candor transfers talk too much, the Dauntless that came over with me are annoying, and the Erudite-born are stuck up,” she says, matter of fact. “That leaves me with you two. Wanna be friends?”

The way she talks is much more like the Candor, but I guess bravery involves not holding back. Alba looks at me with raised eyebrows and holds out her hand. The tattoos go across the top of her hand and fingers too. I wonder if Erudite will make her cover them.

After a short hesitation, I shake it. “Sure. I’m Tris.”

Alba nods and holds her hand out to Caleb. He hesitates longer than I did, and Alba wiggles her tattooed fingers. “I don’t bite, I promise.”

He huffs a quiet laugh and shakes her hand. “Caleb Prior.”

“Nice to meet you. Wanna study a little before dinner? I found some practice math worksheets in the library and made copies.”

The math exam goes even worse than history. My headache comes back ten minutes in, I bite my nails until they bleed, and everything distracts me. A boy tapping his heel, a girl rolling her stylus back and forth on the desk, anything makes my mind wander away from the equations glaring at me from my tablet. I use the full two hours and leave six equations untouched.

My boredom earns me a 52%.

“You passed!” Alba reassures me at dinner. “That’s all that matters.”

I poke at my salad instead of replying.

“She’s got a point,” Caleb adds. “You passed, and you can study and improve. Don’t worry.”

The science exam is a mix of questions on geology, biology, chemistry, engineering, and computer science. This time I follow Caleb’s advice from our last study session: read the entire exam first, answer what I know, then return to the difficult parts. I blast through computer sciences, the only textbooks I’ve so far found interesting while we study, and leave geology for last.

I still take the full two hours, fighting against distraction the entire time, and the results screen reads TRIS 57% .

“As this was a five part exam, I urge all of you to look closely at your individual results,” the exam proctor announces. “Your final score is a composite, so some of your individual results may be lower or higher. Your results can be accessed through the grade portal on your tablets.”

I swipe around my tablet until I find my grade portal and access it with my fingerprint—the latest in Erudite’s privacy technology—and hold in a gasp when I read my individual results.

GEOLOGY 42% 

BIOLOGY 47%

CHEMISTRY 57%

ENGINEERING 49%

COMPUTER SCIENCE 90%

COMPOSITE 57% PASS

“Damn!” Alba exclaims, right in my ear with her head over my shoulder. I flinch and whip my head around, just managing to avoid knocking our skulls together. “Whoa, you okay?”

“Yeah.” I put a small, respectable distance between us. “You just startled me.”

“Sorry,” she sounds more amused than apologetic, “but that compsci score is fantastic!”

Caleb looks up from his results. “What did you get, Beatrice?”

“90% in computer science.” I press my lips together to suppress my smile, but eventually give in and laugh. “And 57 in chemistry, which is the only reason I passed. Everything else was below 50%.”

Caleb’s eyebrows go up but he doesn’t smile with me. “With scores like that, you could work for Jeanine, if you improve your chemistry. Computer science and chemistry are the basis of simulations, her specialty.”

Alba shudders. “She’s scary. And that’s coming from a Dauntless. Didn’t she greet you personally? I saw her talking to you two in the dining hall on the first night.”

“She works with our father,” Caleb explains. “They don’t get along.”

“So she’s pretty happy to get both of his kids, huh?”

I nod. “She probably thinks she’s winning.”

“Beatrice, that’s unfair.” I roll my eyes. Caleb’s reprimand doesn’t work like it used to because Jeanine is proud that both Caleb and I chose Erudite, and if my brother can’t see that then he’s not as smart as I thought. I wouldn’t be surprised if she finds a way to bring it up to our father at the council meetings just to gloat.

The communication exam is one essay question with an oral component where we’re asked to explain our thought process. Caleb says the purpose is to prove that you’re able to speak and write clearly and effectively, one of the tenets of Erudite, but I can barely think clearly after this morning.

An announcement came over the intercom at breakfast that Jeanine would be presenting her latest report at 10AM in the exam hall. Attendance was encouraged, but not mandatory. I remembered what my father said about her reports at our last family dinner, that they were thinly veiled attacks on Abnegation, spreading lies about the council members to stir up dissent. So Caleb, Alba, and I found ourselves in the packed exam hall at 10AM, listening to Jeanine attack Abnegation, calling us corrupt, liars, hypocrites in eloquent language.

Her speech sticks in my mind as I type up my essay and messily explain it to an older Erudite woman in the hallway after I finished early for once, but she seems interested enough and thanks me before she reports to the exam proctor.

Ten minutes later, the results screen reads TRIS 72%.

After the fourth time Caleb catches me reading from a computer science journal instead of Erudite’s latest psychology textbook, he snaps, “Beatrice! You have to focus.”

The other transfers are quizzing each other in the dorm’s common area, but Caleb and Alba claim to learn better from reading and taking notes so I followed them to Caleb’s room at his insistence. Alba claimed the desk and chair, so Caleb sat on his bed, and I lay on my stomach on the floor. I should have realized he could see my screen from his vantage point.

“I am focusing.” I barely hold back from snapping at him in return. I swipe away one of Jeanine’s articles on simulations and return to the psychology textbook chapter on abnormal individuals. I can almost hear divergent echoing under each mention of dangerous citizens who refuse to fit into the faction system.

“You’re not,” Caleb says. “We must understand how a person functions in—”

“Quit quoting the Erudite manifesto at me!” I scoop my tablet up and push myself to stand. “I see it every day in the library, I don’t need you to remind me what I should be!”

Caleb stares at me with wide eyes, looking more shocked than when I dropped my blood in the water after him, like he doesn’t recognize me for the second time in our lives. And maybe he doesn’t—I’ve never yelled at him before. I’ve never yelled at anyone.

I leave without another word, stomping to my room and slamming the door behind me, too caught up in my anger to care if I disturb the others as I let my tablet fall to my desk with a metallic thunk and flop back onto my bed.

Someone knocks at my door a few seconds later, and I don’t have to wonder who it is when Alba lets herself in. She pushes the stack of reading on my desk to the side and perches on the edge. “What was that about?”

“I’m tired of Caleb’s disdain,” I blurt out. “He’s naturally good at all of this, he can absorb any material. He’s good at studying, he can sit and focus, but when I sit down I get distracted, I can’t just read the textbook and learn …”

My anger runs out, and I realize I’m being petulant and illogical. Alba crosses her arms and squints at me.

“Tris, did you get Erudite on your test?” she asks.

My heart races and a flush creeps up to my cheeks. I sit up to hide it a little better and scratch the back of my neck. Yes , I want to say, and Abnegation and Dauntless, and that’s why I don’t fit in, and maybe my restless nature is my Dauntless side coming out, and you’re seeing that now.

“No.” I shake my head. “I got Abnegation.”

Alba laughs, high-pitched and quick. “Then why choose Erudite? It’s the learning faction.”

I chose Erudite because of my curiosity. I have so many questions that need answers—what I am, why being Divergent is so dangerous. What better way to find answers than to come to the faction that holds all knowledge? I’ve always had questions and never been able to keep them to myself, in the classroom or at the dinner table. I want to know everything , but I can’t tell her all of that.

“I like learning,” I insist. “I love it. And I’m really good at some things. You saw my computer science results. I like psychology, I like sociology, I enjoy the readings. I can do this. I just get restless when someone tells me to do something I don’t want to do.”

“So tell Caleb to get lost and do things your own way.”

“He’s my brother.” I shrug. “He’s all I’ve got left of home. I don’t want to just leave him behind.”

Alba stands and yanks me up with her.

“Okay,” she says, “you say you get restless? So before you study or take a test, make yourself tired enough to not get restless. Some of the Dauntless would go running or use the punching bags and stuff to get energy out before we had to focus on school. Come on.” She moves a little away from me, stretching her arms and legs out in an X shape while she stands. “Jumping jacks.” She jumps, bringing her hands and legs in, then back out. She does it again, and I copy her.

After enough of those that I stop counting, I collapse with a thud, sweating through my tee shirt.

Alba hands my tablet to me.

“Get studying.” She grins at me, and I grin back as I open up the psychology textbook.

On the results screen after the psychology exam, I find Caleb’s name, then mine.

CALEB 77%

TRIS 88%

After listening to another of Jeanine’s anti-Abnegation speeches before the sociology exam, Alba suggests I run to get my anger out. Barely making it back in time for the exam, flushed and still in my comfortable clothes, I score second highest of all initiates. The screen reads,

CALEB 79%

TRIS 92%

Maybe my anger at Jeanine is an impetus to do better, to work harder, because I’m never more focused than when I remember her lies about Abnegation or her cold smile when she said she’d be watching my progress in Erudite. I think of these things every time I see her walking around with her research team or pass her portrait in the library, and white hot anger runs through me. Even as I sit in the auditorium and listen to Jeanine announce the stage one rankings, I'm tense with fury.

My psychology and sociology scores rank me in the middle, just below Alba, and four names below Caleb. I tune out for a while, biting hard on my thumbnail while my head buzzes from the coffee I shouldn’t have taken with dinner, until I hear Jeanine begin to explain stage two.

“Each initiate will choose at least three but no more than seven courses for specialization, the list of which can be found on your tablets.” She walks and talks, making a slow loop of the exam hall floor, the smallest and lowest circle of the room, as she looks around at the initiates and instructors gathered. “Coursework involves a combination of seminars and independent research, the purpose of which is to cultivate a passion in your studies, test your ability to produce quality work, and narrow down a career path for your future in Erudite. Seminars will meet every other day, and at the end of the eighteen day semester you’ll be graded on a final project of your instructors’ devising. A minimum 60% allows you to continue to stage three of initiation.”

She pauses as the initiates start to whisper, then she clears her throat. The room quietens.

“You’ll have the option to participate in debates in your chosen subjects. These aren’t mandatory, but ample evidence supports that engaging in discussion assists the retention of information. Now, many stage two instructors are here and prepared to talk about their subjects, so I encourage you all to take a moment to look at the course offerings and talk to the instructors with whom you’re interested in working. You’re advised to sign up only for courses you received a 70% or higher in during stage one, but you’re permitted to take anything if you’re prepared for the challenge.”

Jeanine looks right at me when she says challenge , like she’s laying one at my feet. I hold her gaze for a long moment but eventually look down to pull up the list of classes as Jeanine finishes, letting us know that we have the night to decide and sign-up begins at 8AM tomorrow, before our families arrive for Visiting Day.

Caleb stands and steps around my legs and Alba’s. “I’m going to find the history instructors. See you back at the dormitory?”

“See you there,” I tell him, glancing up from my tablet for a second as he trots off.

I know I’ll take a psychology and a sociology class, my two easiest subjects, and a computer science class, which interests me the most. I’ll look closer at the compsci classes tonight and quickly decide on Abnormal Psychology and Sociology of the Community. The Abnormal Psychology section of the textbook seemed to focus on discretely mentioning Divergents, while Sociology of the Community studies the purpose of all factions and the factionless in our society. As an Abnegation transfer, I’ll have a small advantage over my peers who’ve never met a factionless before.

“I’m going to talk to the instructors too,” I tell Alba, who’s still squinting at her tablet. She hums at me, and I take that as a “see you later.”

I spot the Sociology of the Community instructor across the room and double check him with his picture from the course list before I approach, but when I look back up a woman is headed right for me, a small smile on her face. I wait for her to either stop or pass me up, and when she’s close enough to me she holds her hand out.

“Tris Prior?” she asks. She’s short, around my height, with dark brown skin and curly black hair.

“Yes.” I shake her hand and hope it’s not too loose or too strong. I still haven’t gotten the hang of shaking hands, but it’s the main way the Erudite greet each other.

“My name is Katherine. I teach Simulation Science. Your computer science scores were excellent. If you have an interest in it and agree to work on your chemistry skills, there’s a place in my seminar for you.”

I open and close my mouth a few times before I sort out a response. “Uh, yes. I mean, I’d love to join your seminar. Thank you.”

“Excellent.” Katherine smiles, nods once, and leaves to talk to another student.

I hadn’t expected my interest in computer science. Abnegation uses very little technology, and Upper Level school only offered a basic class on computer skills. But the textbooks had enthralled me, and Jeanine’s work on simulations in the journals that came with my room were fascinating despite their awful author. And now to be offered a place in an Erudite course?

I take a moment to laugh, incredulous and proud, before I approach the sociology instructor.

At 8:07AM, I sign up for Abnormal Psychology and Sociology of the Community. I have a place in Simulation Science, and I only have to take three courses, but I put my name down on the list for Statistical Mathematics anyway because it’s my worst subject. My pride may make me factionless if I fail but I can’t resist taking up Jeanine’s challenge.

Caleb and I wait in the Erudite headquarters for our parents that afternoon. The other transfers meet their families for the first time in a week and a half and Erudite families catch up in masses of blue while Caleb and I watch the entrance.

“Maybe Dad had to work this morning,” Caleb says after fifteen minutes. We find an empty table with the front doors in sight. He leans so I can hear him—the normally quiet headquarters, a functional library, is bursting with sound, and the Candor and Dauntless are raucous. “We should wait for a while, just in case.”

Half an hour passes, then forty-five minutes, and I start to lose hope. Our parents are angry at us for abandoning them, angry that we chose Erudite and Jeanine Matthews and Abnegation’s rival over them, and they’re not going to come, and it was stupid of us to think so in the first place.

I stand and look down at Caleb. “They’re not coming.”

“They are,” he insists. He doesn’t take his eyes from the front doors, but I can tell he’s trying not to show how upset he is.

I sigh hard and wipe away a few tears. “Fine. I’m going to study.”

I leave Caleb surrounded by families catching up and initiates explaining their classes and test scores to let myself cry in my room for almost an hour. I use the rest of the afternoon to work on chemistry before my Simulation Science course, watching pre-recorded lectures and trying to solve equations from the textbook to distract from the pain of abandonment.

The first meeting of Sociology of the Community proves disastrous when I can’t keep from arguing with the instructor, a tall man with large glasses that he probably doesn’t need.

“The Abnegation aren’t hoarding supplies,” I insist, “or cars or anything, and teaching that they are is insane.”

“It’s a well-known fact among intelligent circles that the Abnegation are not as immaculate as they claim,” he says, his voice tight with anger. He opens his mouth to continue but I beat him to it.

“I’m from Abnegation! I think I’d know if they were hiding anything, but they’re not, because they’re the selfless ones, it’s against their nature to hide.”

“Miss Prior,” he grits out, “I’ll thank you to not interrupt me again if you want to keep your place in this classroom. You are an Erudite initiate now; Abnegation is nothing to you. You truly think that you know everything about your former faction? You’re confident enough to claim without a doubt that Abnegation hides nothing? Then please, show us some compelling evidence. But, as I doubt you can do that, I’ll continue with my lecture.”

He returns to slandering Abnegation in calm, cold language without waiting for my reply, and I seethe in my chair, my heart pounding. He won’t listen, and I can’t prove that Abnegation aren’t hoarding goods but I know they’re not. The Erudite may get a kick out of thinking themselves better than everyone else, especially better than the selfless who do the hardest work without thanks, but the Abnegation aren’t liars. I know my parents. I know my faction.

I fume in silence through the overview of the other factions until we’re dismissed. I’m the first out of the classroom, and I stalk through Erudite until I find an empty hallway. With a spare glance to make sure no one’s around, I let out a frustrated scream, closed-mouth to muffle myself, and smack the wall hard with my palm. When the pain reverberates through my hand, I realize my error and clutch my hand to my chest, curling myself around it.

“Tris?” a familiar voice calls out.

I drop my hands to my side and try to ignore the throbbing. “Hello Jeanine.”

Jeanine approaches with a hand out, palm up. “Let me see.”

After a moment, I realize she means my hand and I hold it up for her. She examines it with surprisingly gentle fingers, prodding my palm and pressing on my knuckles, glancing up at my face for a pain reaction. It hurts a little, but I stay expressionless. After a moment I notice a few of her nails are bitten nearly raw—she and I share a nervous habit.

“A little redness, but no lasting damage,” she decides. She lets my hand go.

“That’s… good.” What does she want from me? Where did she come from? My thoughts fly at high speed.

She looks at me for a long moment, then says, “Come with me.” It’s not a question.

Jeanine leads me from the academic building back to the main headquarters, and we end up in a glass-walled office. There’s a metal desk with two chairs in front of it, bookshelves of identical journals, and a large window with a view of most of the city. Her office, I realize.

She sits behind the desk and motions to the chairs in front of her. “Sit.”

As I do, Jeanine picks up a tablet, taps a few buttons, and a tinny voice comes through it, asking what she needs. Jeanine requests two cups of coffee, then discards the tablet to focus on me.

Before she can speak, my curiosity gets the better of me. “The tablets can transmit voices?”

Jeanine smiles for a second. “Yes, although yours can’t yet. It will be upgraded after you finish initiation to work at full capacity. Limiting the messaging features for initiates reduces the risk of academic dishonesty.”

I nod. “How does that work? The messaging.” I’m half-trying to distract her from whatever about me has her concerned, half-genuinely curious.

“Perhaps we can come back to this at a later time?” Jeanine asks. “I have some queries for you first.”

A young woman in dark blue brings in two small cups of coffee on saucers, placing one in front of Jeanine and one in front of me, then leaves. Jeanine sips at her coffee, but I leave mine to cool.

“How are you adjusting to Erudite?” she asks.

I know what she wants, and I have to be careful how I answer her — convincing, not overzealous — but I’m so nervous I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. 

I smile at her, not too wide. “I love it here. Having so many books, so much knowledge where I can access it anytime I want is… freeing. It’s wonderful.”

“I’m pleased to hear that.” She doesn’t sound it, and I’m beginning to think that her voice is cold and flat. “So why were you screaming in a hallway?”

“I’d argue that I wasn’t screaming, I screamed. Just the once.”

Jeanine purses her lips, and I flush a deep red. I’ve got to stop mouthing off to authority.

“I was… confused after my sociology class. My instructor and I argued about Abnegation.” Surely that’s revealing just enough. She wants to hear about Abnegation, wants me to either agree that I come from a corrupt faction or argue with her so she has an excuse to lecture me.

Lucky for me, Jeanine gives a slow nod like she understands me exactly. “The resource hoarding that your former faction is doing?”

My anger makes my hands shake so I clasp them together in my lap.

“Yes. It’s hard to come to terms with that.”

“Do you believe that Abnegation are keeping fresh food from the rest of us?” she asks. She stares hard at me, and I make myself look unsure.

“I never saw anyone with fresh food,” I tell her, “but that doesn’t mean no one had it. They might have just not told me because I wasn’t a full member.”

Jeanine seems to relax back into her chair a small amount, and I reach for my coffee. It’s much sweeter than what’s available in the dining hall, and I keep the cup and saucer in my lap for something to hold onto.

“That certainly makes sense.” She thinks for a moment, drumming her fingers against her desk with a low, dull sound. “Would you be willing to work with me for my next report regarding Abnegation’s corruption? Your input would be invaluable.”

I want to throw my cup at her expression of mild interest and storm out. But I can’t.

“Would my name appear in it?” I ask. “I may have left Abnegation behind, but I don’t want to incur some kind of retribution for giving up secrets.”

“If you’d prefer to remain anonymous, that’s entirely possible.”

I finish my coffee and take some satisfaction in making her wait. “Then I’d be happy to help.” I put my cup and saucer back down on her desk and smile. “People have a right to know the truth.”

“Is that why you left Abnegation, despite your aptitude test results? The lack of truth?”

“You’ve seen my test results?”

“I’m the head of Erudite, Tris, of course I’ve seen your test results. I’m glad you were smart enough to know your own mind.”

I press my lips together and think for a moment. “Yes, I— I left because I couldn't deal with that way of life anymore. Secrets, not being allowed to speak up, to ask questions. I wanted knowledge.”

“Can I take that to mean that you agree with the reports about the political leaders of this city?”

I smile. “Wholeheartedly.”

“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me,” she stands, brushing wrinkles out of her deep blue dress, and I stand too, “I have a meeting to attend, and I believe you have another class soon.”

I check the time on my tablet.

“Yeah, I have Simulation Science in fifteen minutes.”

Jeanine guides me to the door with a hand between my shoulder blades, and I want nothing more than to shake her off. “Enjoy. It’s a fascinating subject. Your score in computer science signals an aptitude for simulations. If you pursue it, I might have a job for you.”

I force a smile. “That would be amazing, thank you.”

She nods once, an acknowledgement. “Come back to my office after dinner, and we can work on the report.”

“See you then.” I walk away first, and this time I return to my room to get angry.

With my assistance, Jeanine publishes another report on Abnegation. This one attacks my father with the implication that he’s why Caleb and I left. It details my lies about his harsh ways as revealed by “an anonymous initiate close to Beatrice Prior, known in her new faction as Tris.” That was Jeanine’s idea to keep my involvement a secret.

I’m sick the entire day after the report’s release.

My sociology class takes a field trip to interview the factionless. I’m the only one who doesn’t seem to fear them or think they’re inhuman, and I can’t help my Abnegation impulses that lead me to hide food in my school bag and discreetly hand it out to the factionless while I talk to them.

A flash in the corner of my eye catches my attention. I look over to an empty alleyway and see the flash again, so quick I almost miss it. I slow my pace to not draw the attention of my classmates, and I gasp when I step into the shadowy area between buildings.

“Mom?” My high, quiet pitch is pure disbelief as she pulls me further into an alleyway. A factionless woman sits in a dank corner a few feet away, hands busy with a can of soup and bit of bread.

My mother hugs me tight and rubs my back, and I sink into her, burying my nose in her grey sweater. She still smells like Abnegation, like simple detergent, like home.

“My girl,” she whispers. She presses a kiss to my hair and pulls back, holding me at arms length while she looks me up and down with a small smile, then she looks over my shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice tight with urgency. I look back over my shoulder as well, but despite the low hum of conversation there’s no one in sight. Yet.

“Look at you. Professional, smart… Erudite.” She runs her hands up and down my sleeves, then cups my cheeks. “Blue suits you.”

I grab her hands and squeeze. “Mom, you can’t be here. I’m with my class and my instructor hates Abnegation, he’ll —”

“I know, Erudite won’t even let Abnegation into their headquarters anymore, but I heard a class was here talking to the factionless, and I brought some food so I’d have an excuse to see if you were with them.”

I shut my eyes to hold back my tears and let her stroke my cheeks with her thumbs. I can’t believe I let myself think she would have been angry with me or forgotten about me.

“Oh, I missed you, sweet girl.” She pulls me down to press a quick kiss on my forehead. “But we don’t have long. You’re in danger.”

“What?” I look hard at her, as if I can figure out what’s going on by her concerned frown alone.

“I have to ask you something: you weren’t sick the day you took your aptitude test, were you?”

“Why?”

“What were your test results?”

I suspect she already knows, but even if she didn’t I would still tell her. She’s my mother. I look around again, making sure that my classmates are far enough away.

“It’s okay,” she says, “you can tell me.”

I can’t meet her eyes when I mutter, “They were inconclusive.”

“Divergent,” she nods, and I must have the most incredulous expression because she rubs her hand up and down my arms again to comfort when she says, “You can’t tell anyone. Not your instructors, not your friends, not Caleb, you can’t trust anyone, especially not Jeanine Matthews. Your father said she’s taken an interest in you.”

“Jeanine’s making me work with her for those reports. I think she wants me to assist her serum studies if I pass my classes. My computer science score was the highest of all initiates.” I try to tone down the pride that makes its way through my explanation. Jeanine is dangerous and her attention is a threat, but I'm pleased with my academic endeavors.

“You can’t do that. She’ll find you out, if she doesn’t already suspect. People have always been so scared of Divergents, but Erudite is looking for them everywhere, actively seeking them out —”

“Why?” I interrupt. I can’t watch myself if I don’t know what I’m watching for, if I don’t know why I’m so dangerous. “Mom, what am I?”

“You don’t conform,” she explains with a rueful twist of a smile, like she’s proud of me and scared for me at the same time. “Your mind works in a million different ways. They’re scared of you. Stage three of training is where you are most at risk. They’re going to get inside your head and watch how you work under pressure in the simulations, but you can pass, you can make it through Erudite if you’re careful.”

“How do you know so much about this? Divergence, Erudite —”

“Never mind about me,” she urges. “Do not let them know who you are.” She looks over my shoulder again. “We’ve taken too much time already. You and Caleb need to research the simulation serum. Can you do that for me?”

“Wait,” I beg, ragged with desperation, “please, Mom —”

“Tris?” My instructor calls out. His voice is too close for comfort.

Wordless, my mother turns me around and gives me a gentle push toward my class. With shaky steps I walk out of the alleyway and almost run right into my instructor.

“Tris, there you are.” He looks down at me with a frown. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Here I am.” I give him a quick smile and no explanation.

He nods and walks away, making a note on his tablet as he casts an imperious glance at a factionless child, drawing on the concrete with charcoal. I turn back to check the alleyway and tell my mother the coast is clear, but only find the factionless woman eating her lunch.

I take Caleb to Millennium for privacy, and as we sit on the concrete around the big metal bean I tell him an abridged version of the encounter with Mom — that she wanted to check on me and said we should research the simulation serum.

“You saw her?” His face crumbles with hurt. “Why didn’t she—”

“Because the Erudite don’t let the Abnegation into the compound anymore. They’re stirring up a war against Abnegation and they don’t want them to find out.”

Caleb frowns. “I wouldn’t go that far. I think Jeanine just wants what’s best for all of us, Erudite and Abnegation.”

My jaw drops and it takes me a minute to reply. Caleb and I never talked about Jeanine’s speeches, which she gives almost every day now, but I had assumed he’d know better than to believe her. Really we’ve barely talked since stage two began, both of us so concerned with our course load, and the only time we spend together is at meals. I should have asked him how he felt, should have made sure he was keeping his head on straight.

“Do you really believe Jeanine about Abnegation’s corruption?” I ask.

“No. Maybe. I don’t…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what to believe.”

“Yes, you do,” I say sternly.  "You know who our parents are. You know who your friends are. Susan's dad, you think he's corrupt?"

“How much do I know? How much did they allow me to know? We weren't allowed to ask questions, Beatrice; we weren't allowed to know things! And here ..." He looks around, up at the metal bean. “Here, information is free, it’s always available.”

“This isn’t Candor. There are liars here, Caleb. There are people who are so smart they know how to manipulate you.”

“Don’t you think I would know if I was being manipulated? And what about you?” He glares at me, and I rear back at the conversation’s turn. “You’re working with Jeanine on those reports. Dad never treated us like that, and you’d never tell any of the others that he did.”

“She asked for my help!” I stop and breathe to calm down and lower my voice. “I couldn’t just turn her down, she’d find some way to make me regret it.”

“Why? What’s so special about you? Don’t you think she’s manipulating you too?”

“Of course she is, don’t be stupid.” I stand up and look down at him. “The difference is that I know she’s manipulating me, so I can manipulate her right back. I can give her what she wants and make her think I’m not —” Divergent almost slips out of my mouth but I catch myself in time to say, “anything to worry about.”

“Why would she be worried about you?” He sounds curious, but I hear the jealous undertone. He’s threatened by me. He was always the smarter one, and now the smartest woman in the city is interested in me rather than him. He just doesn’t realize it’s not a nice kind of interest.

“Because I’m the daughter of one of her enemies. Because I’m interested in her specialty. I don’t know, I just know that she’s trying to play me and I’m smart enough not to let her. These people are arrogant and greedy, but no one more so than Jeanine.”

His voice hardens. “I think you should go now, Beatrice.”

“With pleasure,” I say, and I don’t look back as I return to headquarters. It’s only once I get back to my room that I realize that my brother and I have drawn a line in our relationship.

I’ve started running before breakfast every morning to clear my mind and get ready for the day. As much as it made my legs and stomach ache at first, it’s become a vital part of my day — the only thing keeping me from running my mouth or losing focus during lessons. The morning after my argument with Caleb, I push myself twice as hard, as if I can run away from our disagreement, and I end up trudging back to the initiates’ dormitory clutching my left side, bright red, breathless, and in desperate need of a shower. Of course, this is how Jeanine finds me. I’m starting to wonder if she’s following me.

She calls out my name in an odd tone, higher at the end like I’ve surprised her, and I try to suppress my slight limp as I walk over to her.

“Are you alright?” she asks, her eyes on my hand pressing hard below my ribs.

“Yeah, it’s just a cramp,” I tell her. “I’ll be fine in an hour.”

“All right.”

She looks at me without elaborating, which makes my heart pound with anxiety, so with a little hesitation I ask, “Do you need something from me?”

“Not at the moment,” she replies. “Are you returning to your dorm?”

“Yes. I need to shower before breakfast.”

“I’ll walk with you.”

She starts walking, and I lengthen my stride to catch up with her.

“Are you unhappy here, Tris?”

“Not at all.” I force myself to drop my hand from my side.

“Restless, then,” she decides.

I’ll give her an inch. “A little. I find it hard to focus sometimes, and another initiate suggested I try exercising, which has been an adequate solution. But I understand the material and I’m enjoying my seminars.”

“The reports from your instructors have been impressive,” she notes, because of course she’s been checking up on me. “You’re beginning to surpass even some of the Erudite born. You’ll be a valued asset to us after you complete your initiation.”

Now that surprises me. “You sound certain that I’m going to pass.”

“Oh, I’m very certain.” Out of the corner of my eye I see her turn to look at me with a fleeting smile. “I’ve seen enough initiates by now to know who has potential and who only believes they have it.”

I don’t know what to say to that or what she’s hoping to get out of me, but she doesn’t give me a chance to think about it.

“It’s interesting—usually only the Dauntless transfers have trouble focusing.” She pauses, and I can feel my pulse in my throat. “But I suppose a wandering mind isn’t exclusive to any faction. Do you habitually struggle with your focus?”

“Ever since I was young,” which isn’t quite a lie. I’ve always been impulsive and restless but only struggled academically since coming to Erudite. Maybe knowing there’s more knowledge out there, more interesting subjects I could focus on, is what sets my mind going in so many different directions.

“You should see our medical clinic. They can assist you with that particular predicament.”

I’m not letting Erudite do a thing to me, but I smile for appearance’s sake. “I will, thank you.”

Jeanine probes about my courses, my progress, my opinion on the subject matter, and I answer with the appropriate balance of neutrality and careful interest for the remainder of the walk, but thankfully she stops at the door to the transfer initiates’ common area.

“Come to my office again this evening. I’m working on another article.”

It’s not a request. I agree to meet her and excuse myself.

Jeanine’s newest article is revolution veiled in logic, questioning the entire government system and calling for elections instead of entrusting leadership to the Abnegation, already established to be corrupt and accused of hoarding luxuries in her most recent article. I’m not certain why she wants my input on this one as there's no new information about Abnegation, but she tells me to stay while she does final edits so I spend almost an hour working opposite her at her desk, taking notes for my final Abnormal Psyc project on my tablet. It’s almost peaceful.

Then Jeanine puts her tablet aside and comes around the desk to look over my shoulder.

“Intriguing subject matter,” she notes.

I hum and finish typing up a point before I close my work. She takes the seat next to me, and I realize this is the first time we’ve been in her office and she hasn’t put the desk between us.

“Has your Abnormal Psychology instructor ever mentioned Divergents to your class?”

“No. At least not yet,” I say with considerable effort to keep my voice level.

“Have you heard of them at all?”

“No.” The safest route is denial, I think. “What are Divergents?”

“Divergents don’t fit in. When tested, a Divergent individual will show aptitude for more than one faction, and they struggle to fit into their chosen faction. Why might that be?”

She’s testing me in more ways than one, and I have to think quickly to come up with an answer smart enough not to frustrate her but vague enough not to incriminate myself.

“Well, if someone tested for both Amity and Candor — those two don’t work well together. Sometimes being honest isn’t kind, or being kind involves dishonesty to spare someone’s feelings. They would struggle to fit into either faction.”

Jeanine smiles, and I can’t tell whether she’s pleased with my answer or amused by my dissimulation. “But it’s possible to be honest and kind. So maybe we’re all a little Divergent?”

Every one of my mother’s warnings about her and her hunt for Divergents rings in my head. I’m being baited, and I’m not stupid enough to bite.

“No, I don’t think so,” I say, schooling myself into a thoughtful expression, like this is any old discussion with Erudite’s greatest teacher. “It’s possible to be honest and kind, but one trait is always stronger than the other. That’s how the aptitude test gives us our results. That’s how the faction system works.”

Jeanine inclines her head. “Correct. So why is the inability to fit in dangerous?”

“If someone struggles to fit into their faction,” I answer slowly, as if I’m thinking hard about it, “that undermines the whole system. Each of us needs to choose our place and stick to it, above all else. Faction before blood.”

“Faction before blood,” she agrees. “It’s an important ideal, but sometimes difficult to fulfill. It goes against our fundamental human nature, but that’s exactly the weakness we need to overcome.”

She loves listening to herself talk. But I’ll play into what she wants if it makes her underestimate me.

“You think that human nature is a weakness?” I ask, leaning in like I’m desperately interested in what she has to say.

“I think human nature is the enemy. It’s human nature to keep secrets, lie, steal. And I want to eradicate that. That’s how we’ll maintain a stable, peaceful society. You’ve done a vital job in helping me with that.”

“With the reports?”

“Yes, with your willingness to attest to the fact that Abnegation is undermining the faction system, breaking laws. I suppose you aren’t aware they’re also harboring Divergents?”

I take on a shocked look. “I didn’t know that. But that makes me even more glad that I left.”

“Hm. See, I need to know I can count on you to remain vigilant. You know about Divergents now, and I’m particularly interested in them as an abnormality in our system. So even if it’s someone close to you… Someone you care about… I need to know.”

I smile like I can’t imagine keeping a secret from her. “Of course.”

I keep my mother’s warning in mind as I read all of Jeanine’s studies on simulations, on the expected obstacles and behavior, to prepare for stage three. She writes that the serum should render the individual unable to tell simulation from reality, which isn’t true for me. That can’t be all my mother wanted me to find out.

I stay up until 3AM most nights to divide my time between finishing my final projects, preparing for my own simulations, and trying to figure out why my mother was so concerned about the serum. There’s some connection between the simulation serum and Divergents, beyond the awareness, that I can’t help but feel like I’m not understanding.

It’d help if Caleb would talk to me — he’s always been better at researching, but we eat together in silence twice a day and don’t interact in the dorm at all. I barely see Alba outside of breakfast and our shared math seminar with how busy we are now. I’m not sure how anyone in Erudite maintains friendships with so much to do. Just like in Abnegation.

My Simulation Science instructor said she would be conducting our stage three simulations, but when I walk into the room I’m met with Jeanine.

“Good morning, Tris.” She flashes a smile at me, then goes back to preparing the electrodes, just like the aptitude test.

I hesitate for a second. “I didn’t realize you were overseeing the simulations.” I almost ask her if she has nothing better to do.

“Not for all initiates, but you’re a special case.” I freeze, but she continues, “You’d make an excellent addition to my serum research team, so I’d like to see firsthand how you handle yourself in the simulations. Your final essay in Simulation Studies proved that your theoretical knowledge is satisfactory, but I need to see your practical skills.”

I walk to stand on the other side of the reclined chair. “You read my essay?”

Jeanine puts the syringe down on a metal tray beside her and looks me in the eye. “Your proposal that birth faction may play a part in how someone responds to the aptitude test or Dauntless’s fear landscape is… intriguing, to say the least. I’d like you to research that further.”

“Yeah, the idea’s kinda stuck with me.”

Jeanine hums. “I assume you asked the Dauntless transfers about their fear landscape?”

“That, and one of your journal articles mentioned it.” Her arrogance is impressive—she’s read my paper so she’s seen that I cited her as a source and is just fishing for recognition.

“Sit,” she tells me, and I situate myself on the reclined chair. The angle is awkward, and Jeanine looms over me. “Our logic landscape is similar to Dauntless’s fear landscape. You’ll be given a problem and faced with an obstacle which impedes your ability to find a solution. The purpose is to prove your ability to work and think under duress.”

“Is there a lot of duress in Erudite labs?” I ask.

Her lips quirk. “Not at the moment, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

She doesn’t ask if I’m ready, just brushes my hair out of the way and inserts the needle.

I come back to myself with a ragged scream and lurch forward in the chair. In the silence, I can almost still hear the birds beating against the windows of the simulation lab while I solved an equation. I knew it would save lives if I could finish it fast enough, but the glass broke and the birds swarmed me. I stay hunched forward to wipe my tears away and catch my breath with my hair shielding my face from Jeanine.

To my surprise, she lets me take a minute. I hear her typing on a tablet—the quiet tap of her fingertips on the glass screen—and I use that sound to ground myself.

Once the tears are done, I clear my throat and sit up straight. Jeanine turns to face me.

“Fascinating,” she says. “How long would you estimate you were in the simulation?”

“A half hour?” My voice cracks, and I clear my throat again.

“Ten minutes,” she replies. “You didn’t complete the task, but few do on their first attempt. Still, it usually takes much longer for initiates to pull themselves out.”

She stares at me for a long while, and I meet her grey eyes with picture-perfect ignorance.

“Guess I’m a really good research candidate, huh?”

She smiles wider than I’ve seen, and my stomach drops.

“Quite,” she says.

It hits me then like a punch to the gut: Jeanine knows I’m Divergent. And she’s going to do something about it.