I'm out of breath.

And I'm a terrible person to even think of it, but the Amity woman in front of me is absent of any sympathy. She records the faction I have aptitude for with barely a blink. She's gently humming as she does it, a bland reminder to me of the rumor the Amity faction drugs its residents with happy pills. Her strawberry blond hair, tied loosely into a ponytail, bounces when she leaves the room. A few long moments later she returns, smiling in a way that is too easy.

"Congratulations on getting Abnegation," she says to me, this small Candor girl dressed in contrasting black and white. "Are you ready to leave?"

I jolt before realizing she only means to ask if I was ready to leave the room. Clearing my throat, I give an uneasy nod. I lie all the time, like many other Candor children, but at least the lies should be convincing. Instead I'm certain she could see the untruth smattered across my face, if only she was less dazed out and more discerning. As it was, the monitor merely flashes me another of her Amity smiles and guides me to the door. Her shadow over my back is like a warning.

"How was it?" my mother frankly asks. She has a strong, brisk voice. I wonder if she'd always known she was meant to stay in Candor, but knowing my mother, she probably did.

"Fine."

The word is "fine" is technically a stalemate—you're expected to be honest, but you're also expected to say "fine" to the point that it becomes automatic to you. Eventually people say "fine" so much they say it when they're not fine, but can you fault them for it?

I'm Candor, so it's obvious that I think about these kind of things daily. I suspect most of the others do, but they would never admit this, not even to themselves.

"I'd ask you more, but I don't think I'm allowed to."

"Oh, Mom, you aren't."

She tosses out some more mashed potato on my plate. I stare at it, a lump growing in my throat.

"I can tell it went badly," my father says, eyeing me from the opposite end of the table. He has honest brown eyes, lined at the bottom with dark circles. My mother's eyes are the same in the last regard, but my father's dark circles are worse.

Considering he has a relatively lazy job as a clerk somewhere, I think the dark circles are genetic.

"Oh, stop," my mother says. "We both know what she got."

"Oh, you don't know," my father says, pushing carrots onto his plate with a blunt knife. "And some of the stimulations are graphic. They've gotten a lot of criticism for that."

They stare at me for a few more moments, until easy expressions settle into their faces and they charge into dinner. At that moment I wonder how it would be like if I had a sibling to share the moment with. Would they look at me with understanding, or would they have the same calmness as my parents? It's impossible to tell.

"You know," my father says, looking at me brightly, "you can just tell us. Nobody needs to know about this."

"Dad, that's breaking the rules," I say lamely, clutching to this sanctuary. "And if somebody asks, we'll have to tell the truth."

"Nobody will ask," my father replies. "And if they did, we can just run. We don't even need to open our mouths."

"That's deception," I counter.

"No, it's not," my father says, and he pushes his half-eaten plate aside. Well, this is going to take the whole night. "It's called not damaging our ethos. If we speak and say a lie like 'no,' they will have to believe us but at the same time there is dishonesty. We will be considered distrustful, since it might be obvious we were lying. Either way, it's a poor solution. But if we say 'yes,' then we're going to get trouble. If we say nothing at all, we will neither lie nor get in trouble, so we can get away with it. Eventually they'll forget about asking us."

"I don't think that's how it works," I say simply, "but I'll accept your argument."

I turn back to my mashed potatoes and beans. Although I make pains to not show it, the words we can just run echo in my mind.

"So you'll tell us the faction?"

"No."

My dad can never win at an argument. That's why he's not a lawyer.

"Leave the kiddo alone," my mother breaks in. "That entire argument was pointless. Since the information is supposed to be confidential, and our kid is trying to follow the rules, let her follow the rules. Don't punish her with weird...debates."

She rises from the table, giving me a wink as she cleared away her plates. I stare at the plaid tablecloth, feeling ill.

"You all right?" my father asks. "Sorry I pushed you there. I thought it would help your mood a little bit."

"I'm fine," I said, lying again. "I just don't like the tablecloth."

"It's very ugly, isn't it?" my father says.

"William, you chose it," my mother says.

"Shush, I'm trying to make her feel better."

"You're only making her feel worse. I can feel it."

"Anyway," my dad says. "I remember when I was your age. It was around twenty years ago or so."

"It was longer than that," my mother says. "You just want to feel younger."

"I was making a very loose guess."

"Maybe too loose."

"Anyway," my dad continues again, "everybody was very anxious. There were friends that you just weren't sure about back then, unsure whether or not they'll stay in the faction and continue being your friend. Then there were the people you wanted to avoid the rest of your life but just might switch into your faction. Plus the talk on whether or not you should leave your faction just to avoid those people who you hate."

"I never had that talk," my mother says. "You had a weird childhood."

"Anyway," my dad says for the third time, "nobody is sure on what to do. Especially since this is such an important decision, you know, to give to a bunch of kids. But in the end, everybody has to choose what's right for them. And I think my choice came out all right. Did that help you at all?"

"No," I say.

"I'm sorry," he says, standing up with his plate in his hand. "Rosa, set up the television. I want to watch that weird cooking show from last time. What was it called again, 'Erudite Sweet Kitchen'?"

"I had to set it up last time. You do it this time."

"My hands are wet. I'm doing the dishes."

"Then dry them."

While my parents bicker in the kitchen, I run upstairs to cry. It's a good opportunity to get some tears in before the big day, I tell myself.

Choosing Ceremony. The movement towards it is a blur. Before I know it, I'm standing in a crowd full of Candor people. From afar I exchange looks with my friend Lucy, who pretends to gag on the cologne of the person in front of her. I give her a small smile back before looking away.

My overly confident parents stand behind me. I don't know what to do. I want to both run away and cry, but that's obviously not an option for me today. I have already cried all my tears yesterday in the bathroom, anyway. Jack Kang—who is either the consul or the president, I don't really remember—stands in front of everyone for the Choosing Ceremony. He's smiling warmly at his faction, my faction. My nerves quiver inside of me, and suddenly, I think I'll throw up. I stare at the ground, forcing my brain to center myself.

"Good grief, kiddo," my mother says. "Why are you so pale? This will take only a few hours, at most. The anticipation won't be for long."

"Stop it," my father says. "I want to throw up too. The last time Jack Kang did one of these things it took at least four hours."

"Are you sure you aren't talking about Marcus? He spent at least thirty minutes bragging about Abnegation. It was all very biased, I'm surprised he wasn't fired."

"No, I'm sure it was Kang."

"We voted for Kang."

"Maybe you did, but I didn't vote for Jack Kang," my father insists. "That's the whole damn point."

"Shut up and go sit with the other parents, Will," my father's friend hisses behind us as he passes. "Jack is about to speak."

I'm pretty sure he was a Jack Kang supporter.

"All right, let's move," my mother says. She presses a kiss on my forehead, and my parents both move to where the other families are.

I have a weird last name at the very end of the alphabet, so I head to the chair where I belong. It's reverse alphabetical order, so I'm expected to come up early. I sit on my chair anxiously, staring right at the center. An Erudite girl with braided hair smiles at me, and I smile back. There's an underlying tension between of us though, so I turn away from her again. The anxiety in the air is too infectious.

"Everyone, welcome to the Choosing Ceremony," Jack Kang says. That's all I hear until I blank out.

I come back in when he says my name. Even then, I'm not completely there. Everything is a hazy fog of memories, of a Candor childhood with jump rope and playing tag. Finally the fog separates away from my vision with the stabbing of my right shoulder. The Erudite girl keeps tapping my shoulder over and over again, saying my name constantly. My face burning, I rise from my seat. Jack Kang doesn't do anything besides giving me a gamely smile.

There are moments in your life when you finally know who you are.

There are also moments in your life when you think you'll find out who you are, but you actually don't. This was one of the latter for me.

I take the slimy knife from Jack Kang's hand. My eyes reflect on the blade, and my heart hardens. Somewhere out there that day, there is somebody who found themselves. Somebody who realized who they were the second they held that blade in their hand, feeling its weight on their arm. Who went to their given place willingly, with an open clear heart. I was not that sensational person from the books who chose their path with zeal. I came into my path whimpering and cautious, my foot so slippery on the ground I nearly fell. I slid over to the center of the place, trying to buy myself time. I don't look to my parents. Doing that will only hurt them.

I'm going to choose Abnegation. I'm going to choose my own destiny. I will not my parent's daughter anymore, but at least I'll be free to join the path I'm meant to take. I can spot the gray clothes of Abnegation in the corner of my eyes, with the full awareness that I will join them. What a slap in the face it will be to my parents! They thought I was worried about Lucy, or Samantha, or some other friend from school. How wrong they are. It will be painful for them, certainly. People are still watching me, though, even though all I want is to blurt out, More time!

"Choose already," someone irritably says from the back.

"Sorry," I said. "I'm...dizzy."

"Do you need a drink of water?" Jack Kang asked, while I hear my parents chuckle nervously in the back.

"No, I'm fine..."

I rub my head like I was trying to make myself work straight again. Everyone's eyes are seared to me now in this weird way I have singled out myself. Before I was just another sixteen year old; now I am someone everyone is trying to see. I move towards the table inadvertently. The bloody water for Erudite shakes with my step, and I can hear somebody gasp. I can see everybody thinking now—a transfer to Erudite! My parents must be turning pale behind my back.

They won't be able to stand it if I choose a faction besides Candor. I will be forcedly cut from their lives, a daughter they can't see anymore. I'm their only child, so such an act will kill them. I think about all the "I love you's", the debates at the dinner table, my father trying to reassure me. My grip on the knife slips from my sweat.

At that moment, it became clear to me. I will give up my own dreams to keep my parents happy.

I go to Candor's little tribute and slid the knife across a paper cut on my thumb. My parents cry tears of joy.