I've only been to The Hub once before. It was three years ago, on Choosing Day, when my older brother was sixteen. He chose Amity, but he never came back to live in our house. Instead, after initiation when the new members of Amity are allowed to move out of the initiation barracks, he married Annette Fleming and they moved into their own house. Annette is a year older than Paul, and had lived at the end of our block for as long as I can remember. I never knew he was in love with her until he told us- our parents and me- that they were getting married. She, it turned out, had chosen to stay in Amity the year before Paul's Choosing because of him. My parents think it will be the same with me tomorrow. I'm not so sure.
It started with the flowers. Last spring, I opened the door as I was leaving for school and there was a bouquet of handpicked flowers on the front step. My father and mother were right behind me; Dad ready to drive several students and myself to school and Mom heading to Greenhouse 3 to work on grafting fruit trees. They saw what I saw. And that was Ben Hirsch's back disappearing around the corner of the house next door. He was the only person in sight, and he was one of five kids that my father drove into the city for school that day. The only one who was blushing constantly and staring at his hands clasped in his lap, not speaking to anyone. Twice I caught him glancing at me, and both time his blush deepened.
I'm definitely not in love with Ben Hirsch.
I mean, he's all right. He has blond hair and green eyes and a nice smile, but he's wholly unremarkable in personality. He never does anything different that makes him stand out in my mind. Come to think of it, neither do any of the boys I know. The thing with the flowers? That's how most Amity boys tell Amity girls that they like them, or vice versa. But my parents work closely with his parents, and they seem to think we are a great match. Problem is, no one ever asked me for my opinion. No one ever does in Amity, until you've been through initiation. Only then is your voice counted.
Today is going to be my last day at the city school. Tonight will be that last meal I eat with my parents as a child. Tomorrow, we will all go into the city together- even Paul and Annette are coming- and I will take part in the Choosing Ceremony.
Amity seems like a good place for me; I have been climbing our fruit and nut trees to help with the harvests since I was five. I learned about starting summer vegetables like tomatoes and peppers in the greenhouses in early spring to ensure a bountiful harvest all summer. My mother says I am the best with potatoes, though. Last year, I planted an entire bed of them myself, took care of it all summer, and we had a huge harvest; much bigger than the other beds planted by the Amity children.
But I never set out to help with harvests, grow tomatoes, or cultivate potatoes. I did these things because they are all an outlet for my boundless energy and my wonder of living things. Plants are well and good, but people are much more interesting. Or even animals, I think, even though I've never worked with the livestock on the farms. When I was eight I sat on a plow, with my father pushing from behind, as two massive horses pulled it up and down one of the corn fields because the farm's tractor was being repaired in the city. I was awed by the massive animals and their sheer strength, and I guess I've been fascinated by them ever since. I have been fascinated by anything that seems out of the ordinary to me. And it worries me, because I don't know anyone else in Amity who feels that way.
"Lorraine, it's almost time to go!" My father calls down the hall to me. I call back that I'm nearly ready, and finish braiding my auburn hair. I tie the end of the single braid with a yellow ribbon, and then slip my red cardigan on. I'm wearing my favorite yellow dress, but it's sleeveless and it's raining today. I take a moment to peruse my reflection in my dresser mirror before leaving. I'm nothing special to look at, really, unless you like redheads. Even then, I think I'm pretty plain: green eyes of no particular notability, a sprinkling of freckles on a straight nose, lips of average size. My forehead may be a bit coarse along the brow thanks to my dad, but other than that, a completely unremarkable face. Sometimes I think that the only reason that Ben likes me is because I'm plain, kind of like his personality.
There are seven of us riding in the truck into the city today. Ben is one of them, and as usual, he avoids eye contact but is continually sneaking glances at me. I do my best to ignore him. There have been four bouquets since that first one, and the last one had a hand-written note. I never even read it. I've never even really talked to Ben since we were children. I don't really want to. Maybe that makes me cruel.
As usual, all of our classes at school today are half their usual time. We turn in final assignments, get our estimated grades from our teachers, and then head to the cafeteria for lunch. Amity's table is second from the end of the room, with Abnegation at the end farthest from the door. I retrieve my lunch- an apple, a baked potato, a slice of ham, and a carton of milk- and sit down next to Holly Colton and Barry Thompson.
"Lorraine, why don't you ever eat sandwiches like the rest of us?" Holly eyes my potato, then glances at her peanut butter and jelly sandwich on brown bread. Most of the Amity kids are eating the same thing. I roll my eyes. I've told her a hundred times if I've told her once.
"I'm allergic to the glutens, Holly, remember?" I say as gently as I can. Holly is a nice girl, but a bit of a featherhead.
"Well, I think we should be allowed to have ham and potatoes for lunch, too." She replies.
"You could, if you were in Candor. They eat this stuff every day," I tell her. Her eyes get big and round.
"Does that mean you're transferring?" She asks.
I laugh. "Holly, we haven't even taken our aptitude tests yet! How would I know if I'm even capable of being in Candor?"
"Oh, yeah," she giggles. "I guess that makes a difference."
The subject of the aptitude test makes everyone in earshot nervous, so I drop it. We spend the rest of our lunchtime on eating and pleasant, albeit nervous, small talk. After about an hour, the test administrators walk in and open the ten doors on the long side of the cafeteria: the testing rooms. I wait for what feels like an eternity before the Abnegation woman with the blonde hair tucked into a neat knot on the back of her head calls my name.
"Lorraine Harper."
I stand, suddenly unsteady, and walk toward her. The door closes behind us, cutting off the nervous banter and shuffling of those waiting in the cafeteria.
"Hello, Lorraine. My name is Natalie and I'll be administering your test today," she motions to the chair in the center of the room, indicating that I should sit. I do, as she takes a seat at the computer beside it. She hands me a vial with a clear liquid in it.
"Drink this, then lean back and close your eyes."
I do as she says.
When I open them, I find myself back in the cafeteria. The room is deserted, and two baskets sit on the Amity table. I walk up to them, and see that one holds a hunk of cheese and one holds a large knife.
"Choose." The voice startles me, and I look around the room trying to find its source. But I am alone. I look back at the cheese and the knife.
Cheese I know about. I'm Amity; we make the stuff. I think about the trucks of cheese being loaded off to the city every month from the dairy farm up the road from my home. But the knife is a tool I've never encountered, at least not one this big. It isn't like the knives we use in our kitchen for cutting meat or vegetables; it has a long, thick, curved blade and a handle that suggests a firm grip. I reach for it, and wrap my hands around the handle. As I lift it from the basket, both baskets vanish, along with the cheese. I hear a door behind me creak open. I turn, and a huge dog enters the room at a dead run. It is snarling, hackles raised, each long, swift stride closing the distance between us.
I still have the knife in my hand.
For a moment I feel my grip tighten on the handle, and then I have a very clear, rational thought:
What am I going to do with a knife? I've never used a weapon in my life and I have no idea how. I also know that, unless I time it just right, I will miss my chance to strike at the dog and…
I don't think about "and". I throw the knife aside and drop into a crouch, hands out as if to catch a ball being tossed to me, eyes on the dog. When it's two strides away from me, the dog leaps. I go belly down and launch myself forward. I grasp in desperation and manage to catch it by the back legs. I draw myself up quickly, but I'm still too slow. The dog bites my foot. I yell and somehow kick free, grateful for the thick leather shoes I'm wearing. I manage to get behind the dog, gripping its back legs. It can't attack me now, because each time it reaches back with its head, I sidestep and throw it off balance. We are at an impasse.
Then the door to the testing room I walked into moments ago opens, and a man I have never seen before walks out. He is dressed in black and white: Candor. He whistles sharply and says something in a language I don't understand. I feel the dog relax, and hear it begin to pant. The man says something else in the strange language, and he shifts his gaze from the dog to me. I say nothing. He repeats himself, this time louder.
"I'm sorry, I can't understand you," I say.
"Release the dog. He won't try to hurt you again," he says. I let go, and the dog stumbles a few steps, and then walks placidly to the man's side.
"How did you know to hold him from the back?" The Candor man demands.
"I… uh… I'm not sure. It just made sense. Get far away from his teeth, and into a position where he can't reach me," I reply, feeling foolish.
The man says something else in the strange language.
"I can't understand you," I repeat. The man simply nods, then begins walking towards me. When he reaches my side, he turns to face the dog again. It hasn't moved.
"Why didn't you take the cheese?" he asks.
"I don't know." I say, feeling small and foolish.
"Yes you do. Why don't you tell me?"
"No, I don't know why I didn't take it." Something inside me tells me that I can't let him know that the knife was so fascinating, and the cheese so ordinary, and that I'd rather have the more interesting thing. That knife was meant to be a weapon, I'm sure, and Amity forbids weapons. So I must lie to him.
"Tell me!" the man shouts.
"I don't have a reason, okay?" I shout back. "I was told to choose between two things and I just picked up one without thinking about it at all!"
The man glares at me, then says something in that strange language again. The other nine doors to the testing rooms open, and nine more dogs enter the room. Now there are ten, and all of them begin to snarl and growl at once, and begin moving towards me.
I can't fight them all. And I know, I just know, that if I ask him, even if I beg, the man won't make the dogs stop again like he did before. I know that he is controlling them, and he continues to call commands to them.
Suddenly I know what I have to do. I cast about the room, and finally I spot it under a table about a dozen feet to my left: the knife. I must get away from the man in order to get to it, and I have only seconds before the dogs reach me. I dive again, sliding on my belly on the cool tile floor. I grab the knife and scramble to my feet. The dogs are closing in on me in a semicircle, the nearest one only a few feet away. I crouch and back up slowly with the knife held out before me. Then I see the Candor man's sleeve in my peripheral vision. He hasn't moved. I straighten and pivot, raising the knife over my head. I bring it down, sharp and swift, burying it in the left side of the man's chest. And now I know I'm doomed, for I have committed the worst imaginable crime: murder.
I open my eyes, and I am lying in the reclining chair in the testing room. Natalie is sitting at her computer, and the only way I can describe her expression is "dark."
"You killed him?" she asks.
"He..." I croak; my throat is dry. I swallow hard, and realize that I'm trembling. I try again. "He was controlling the dogs. I couldn't fight off ten dogs, so I had to stop them at their source." It's the worst possible excuse, even though I realize it's the truth.
"Interesting," Natalie replies softly. "Well, I don't know if I've ever seen a more decisive aptitude test result."
"What was it?" I ask.
"Everything you did; every decision, every action, is most definitely Dauntless."
"Dauntless?" The Freak Show, with their tattoos, piercings, outrageous hairstyles and daredevil antics? Me? How, when Amity is all I've ever known, all I've ever considered?
Then it dawns on me. The challenge of growing the best crops; the thrill of climbing to the very top of the trees; riding on top of the plow. These are Dauntless challenges, Dauntless thrills, Dauntless values, disguised in Amity trappings.
