Divergent (Divergent, #1)

by Veronica Roth

I am proud. It will get me into trouble someday, but today it makes me brave.

But there is something wonderful about Dauntless chaos.

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.

He stares at me, and I don’t look away. He isn’t a dog, but the same rules apply. Looking away is submissive. Looking him in the eye is a challenge. It’s my choice.

But instead of crying, like the Erudite girl, I feel colder. Harder. I will be a member. I will.

“We believe that preparation eradicates cowardice, which we define as the failure to act in the midst of fear,”

There is power in controlling something that can do so much damage—in controlling something, period. Maybe I do belong here.

Mom used to say that politeness is deception in pretty packaging.”

Looking at myself now isn’t like seeing myself for the first time; it’s like seeing someone else for the first time. Beatrice was a girl I saw in stolen moments at the mirror, who kept quiet at the dinner table. This is someone whose eyes claim mine and don’t release me; this is Tris.

But I understand now what Tori said about her tattoo representing a fear she overcame—a reminder of where she was, as well as a reminder of where she is now. Maybe there is a way to honor my old life as I embrace my new one. “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.

“A brave man acknowledges the strength of others,” Four replies. “A brave man never surrenders.”

is it selfish of me to crave victory, or is it brave?

the fact that they don’t believe, not even in a tiny corner of their minds, that I have a chance against Peter bothers me.

And I should be willing, if not able, to defend myself instead of relying on other people to do it for me.

“What makes you think I want to go home?” I ask, my cheeks hot. “You think I can’t handle this or something?”

Whatever Four’s strategy is, it’s based on the idea that I am weaker than the other initiates. And it gives me a bitter taste in my mouth. I have to prove him wrong—I have to.

I have realized that part of being Dauntless is being willing to make things more difficult for yourself in order to be self-sufficient. There’s nothing especially brave about wandering dark streets with no flashlight, but we are not supposed to need help, even from light. We are supposed to be capable of anything. I like that. Because there might come a day when there is no flashlight, there is no gun, there is no guiding hand. And I want to be ready for it.

What good is a prepared body if you have a scattered mind?

It isn’t the height that scares me—the height makes me feel alive with energy, every organ and vessel and muscle in my body singing at the same pitch. Then I realize what it is. It’s him. Something about him makes me feel like I am about to fall. Or turn to liquid. Or burst into flames.

“I ignore my fear,” he says. “When I make decisions, I pretend it doesn’t exist.”

I do not want to be greedy; I do not want to be like Eric, terrified of other people’s strength.

If my entire life is like this, loud laughter and bold action and the kind of exhaustion you feel after a hard but satisfying day, I will be content.

Dauntless initiation has stolen whatever softness my body had.

Sometimes crying or laughing are the only options left, and laughing feels better right now.

‘We believe in ordinary acts of bravery, in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another.’”

We turn a corner and spread out as we walk down Michigan Avenue. South of the bridge, Michigan Avenue is a busy street, crawling with people, but here it is bare.

the empty Hancock building, a black pillar with crisscrossed girders, the tallest building north of the bridge.

along Lake Shore Drive.

What happens between initiation and membership that transforms panic into delight? Or do people just get better at hiding their fear?

“But becoming fearless isn’t the point. That’s impossible. It’s learning how to control your fear, and how to be free from it, that’s the point.”

If it’s in my head, I control it.

No, I was wrong; I didn’t jump off the roof because I wanted to be like the Dauntless. I jumped off because I already was like them, and I wanted to show myself to them. I wanted to acknowledge a part of myself that Abnegation demanded that I hide.

“The others won’t be as jealous if you show some vulnerability. Even if it isn’t real.” “You think I have to pretend to be vulnerable?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, I do.”

“Fear doesn’t shut you down; it wakes you up. I’ve seen it. It’s fascinating.”

“Feel my heartbeat. Can you feel it?” “Yes.” “Feel how steady it is?” “It’s fast.” “Yes, well, that has nothing to do with the box.” I wince as soon as I’m done speaking. I just admitted to something. Hopefully he doesn’t realize that.

“I have a theory that selflessness and bravery aren’t all that different.

I feel more like myself. That is all I need: to remember who I am. And I am someone who does not let inconsequential things like boys and near-death experiences stop her.

The Dauntless compound sounds like home now—at least there, I know exactly where I stand, which is on unstable ground.

“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t. But then little things . . . how he put his arm around me at the funeral, how he opens doors for me like I’m a girl instead of someone who could beat the crap out of him.”

A split second later I realize that my hand is on his hip. The bone presses into my palm. I should move it, but I don’t want to. He told me once to be brave, and though I have stood still while knives spun toward my face and jumped off a roof, I never thought I would need bravery in the small moments of my life. I do.

I must not really be afraid of the water. I must be afraid of being out of control. To face it, I have to regain control.

“Are you afraid of me, too, Tobias?” “Terrified,” he replies with a smile.

but sometimes it isn’t fighting that’s brave, it’s facing the death you know is coming. I sob into the glass. I’m not afraid of dying, but I want to die a different way, any other way.

“But our minds move in a dozen different directions. We can’t be confined to one way of thinking, and that terrifies our leaders. It means we can’t be controlled. And it means that no matter what they do, we will always cause trouble for them.”

I can’t be controlled.

It was him or me. I chose me. But I feel dead too.

“People tend to overestimate my character,” I say quietly. “They think that because I’m small, or a girl, or a Stiff, I can’t possibly be cruel. But they’re wrong.” I shift the gun three inches to the left and fire at his arm.

Five more seconds. Five seconds of weakness and then I get up. One, two. Three, four. Five.

“Maybe I’m already sure,” he says, “and I just don’t want to frighten you.” I laugh a little. “Then you should know better.” “Fine,” he says. “Then I love you.”