Divergent (Divergent, #1)

by Veronica Roth

Their faction values honesty and sees the truth as black and white, so that is what they wear.

Candor values honesty, but our faction, Abnegation, values selflessness.

“Beatrice,” he says, looking sternly into my eyes. “We should think of our family.” There is an edge to his voice. “But. But we must also think of ourselves.”

Abnegation has fulfilled our need for selfless leaders in government; Candor has provided us with trustworthy and sound leaders in law; Erudite has supplied us with intelligent teachers and researchers; Amity has given us understanding counselors and caretakers; and Dauntless provides us with protection from threats both within and without.

I open my eyes and thrust my arm out. My blood drips onto the carpet between the two bowls. Then, with a gasp I can’t contain, I shift my hand forward, and my blood sizzles on the coals. I am selfish. I am brave.

“He” is the young man attached to the hand I grabbed. He has a spare upper lip and a full lower lip. His eyes are so deep-set that his eyelashes touch the skin under his eyebrows, and they are dark blue, a dreaming, sleeping, waiting color.

“What’s your name?” “Um . . .” I don’t know why I hesitate. But “Beatrice” just doesn’t sound right anymore. “Think about it,” he says, a faint smile curling his lips. “You don’t get to pick again.” A new place, a new name. I can be remade here. “Tris,” I say firmly.

The boy—Four—looks over his shoulder and shouts, “First jumper—Tris!”

Four sets his hand on my back and says, “Welcome to Dauntless.”

Four nudges me with his elbow. “It’s beef,” he says. “Put this on it.” He passes me a small bowl full of red sauce.

The corner of Four’s mouth twitches.

My father says that those who want power and get it live in terror of losing it. That’s why we have to give power to those who do not want it.

“I thought I would only have trouble with the Candor asking too many questions,” he says coldly. “Now I’ve got Stiffs, too?” “It must be because you’re so approachable,” I say flatly. “You know. Like a bed of nails.”

“What?” I ask. “I’m developing a theory.” “And it is?” She picks up her hamburger, grins, and says, “That you have a death wish.”

“What do we do if we’re cut?” Peter says. “You leave the Dauntless compound,” says Eric indifferently, “and live factionless.”

Those who seek peace above all else, they say, will always deceive to keep the water calm.

“Yes,” I say. “Three of these flying birds.” I touch my collarbone, marking the path of their flight—toward my heart. One for each member of the family I left behind.

Human reason can excuse any evil; that is why it’s so important that we don’t rely on it.

This time I am ready for the momentum the train gives me, and I run a few steps to diffuse it but keep my balance. Fierce pleasure courses through me and I smile. It’s a small accomplishment, but it makes me feel Dauntless.

He starts to laugh. After a second, I laugh too. With my free hand, I push myself to a sitting position. I am aware of how little space there is between us—six inches at most. That space feels charged with electricity. I feel like it should be smaller.

A hand touches my shoulder. “Well done,” Four says quietly.

“Come on, Stiff,” he says. “Let someone else stand there and take it.”

“You know, I’m getting a little tired of waiting for you to catch on!”

“If I wanted to hurt you, don’t you think I would have already?” He crosses the room and slams the point of a knife so hard into the table that it sticks there, handle toward the ceiling. “I—” I start to shout, but he’s already gone. I scream, frustrated, and wipe some of the blood from my ear.

I believe in ordinary acts of bravery, in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another. It is a beautiful thought.

“Be brave, Tris,” he whispers. “The first time is always the hardest.” His eyes are the last thing I see.

“No, Tris,” he says. A more serious look replaces his smile as he adds, “You look tough as nails.”

“What way?” I ask. “Drunk?” “Yeah . . . well, no.” His voice softens. “Real, I guess.” “I’ll pretend I didn’t.” “Nice of you.” He puts his lips next to my ear and says, “You look good, Tris.”

Peace is restrained; this is free.

“You belong here, you know that?” he says. “You belong with us. It’ll be over soon, so just hold on, okay?”

I reach out and take his hand. His fingers slide between mine. I can’t breathe. I stare up at him, and he stares down at me. For a long moment, we stay that way. Then I pull my hand away and run after Uriah and Lynn and Marlene. Maybe now he thinks I’m stupid, or strange. Maybe it was worth it.