"Beatrice Prior." An Amity volunteer calls out, her eyes scanning the room.
I get up because I'm supposed to, but if it were up to me, I would stay in my seat for the rest of time. I feel like there is a bubble in my chest that expands more by the second, threatening to break me apart from the inside. When I get close to the exit, the woman who called out my name flashes me a huge smile that I suppose should've been reassuring. I try to return her smile out of politeness, but I'm pretty sure it came out like a grimace. I feel like I'm about to throw up.
Waiting outside of the cafeteria is a row of ten rooms. They are used only for aptitude tests, so I have never been inside one before. Until today. Unlike the other rooms in the school, they are separated, not by glass, but by mirrors. I watch myself , pale and terrified, walking towards one of the doors. "Room 6" it says in big, bold letters alongside the door. I take a deep breath and walk inside, where I find a mature Dauntless woman waiting for me.
Mirrors cover the inner walls of the room. I can see my reflection from all angles: the grey fabric obscuring the shape of my back, my long neck, my knobby-knuckled hands, red with a blood blush. The ceiling glows white with light. In the center of the room is a reclined chair, like a dentist's, with a machine next to it. It looks like a place where terrible things happen.
"Don't worry," the woman says "It doesn't hurt."
I wonder if she has to say that to everyone, but we are the only two people in the room. Was she genuinely trying to comfort me?
"Have a seat and get comfortable," she says "My name is Tori."
Clumsily I sit in the chair and recline, putting my head on the headrest. Out the corner of my eye I study Tori as she busies herself with the machine on my right. She is not as severe-looking as the young Dauntless I have seen at school or around the train stops. She wears a loose-fitting black blazer and jeans. Her hair is black and straight, but in the light I can see it's streaked with grey. When she tilts her head upwards to study a vial against the light, I catch a glimpse of a tattoo on the back of her neck—a black-and-white hawk with a red eye. Then she turns back to face me and I quickly avert my eyes, squinting up into the blinding light directly above me as she attaches an electrode to my forehead.
She hums as she works and I try to focus on her and not the wires in her hands.
"Why the hawk?" I blurt out as she presses another electrode to my forehead.
"Never met a curious Abnegation before," she says raising her eyebrows at me.
I shiver, and goose bumps appear on my arms. My curiosity is a mistake, a betrayal of Abnegation values. I look away and shrug, though I'm sure it looked more like a violent twitch.
She presses the next electrode to her own forehead and explains. "In some parts of the ancient world, the hawk symbolized the sun. Back when I got this, I figured if I always had the sun on me, I wouldn't be afraid of the dark."
I try to stop myself from asking another question, but I can't help it. "You're afraid of the dark?"
"I was afraid of the dark," she corrects me, pressing another electrode to her forehead. She shrugs. "Now it reminds me of the fear I've overcome."
She stands behind me. I squeeze the armrests so tightly the redness pulls away from my knuckles. She tugs wires toward her, attaching them to me, to her, to the machine behind her. Then she passes me a vial of clear liquid.
"Drink this," she says.
"What is it?" My throat feels swollen. I swallow hard. "What's going to happen?"
"Can't tell you that." She says apologetically but a small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Just trust me, okay? Like I said, It won't hurt."
I take a deep breath and then exhale, long and slow—dragging out the moment as much as I can—if only by seconds. Then I take the vial from her and tip its contents into my mouth. My eyes close.