The Divergence Club (Breakfast Club – Divergent crossover)
A/N: The Breakfast Club belongs to the late, great John Hughes, et al. Divergent is the property of Veronica Roth. The cards are all theirs, I just had some fun shuffling the two decks together for a little entertainment. Enjoy!

We're all pretty bizarre, some of us are just better at hiding -The Breakfast Club

Cast:
Principal: Marcus Eaton (Abnegation)
Caleb (Erudite brain)
Robert (Amity peacemaker)
Christina (Candor big-mouth princess)
Myra (factionless basket case)
Eric (Dauntless criminal)

Saturday, March 24, 6:55 am:

We have to be at school at 7:00 am. For what? Detention. It's so stupid. I do not deserve to be here. All I did was cut a couple boring classes to go shopping. It's not like I torched the place, so why am I being tortured?

I walk into the library and take a place at a front table. Robert, a nice Amity kid with whom I have some mutual friends, is already here. He is wearing his faction's traditional colors, red and yellow, and I roll my eyes at their lack of fashion sense. The Amity are so kind and peaceful, I wonder what he could have possibly done to get detention.

If that was a surprise, the next person to arrive is an even bigger shock. Caleb Prior, an Erudite nerd, walks into the library in starched khaki slacks and a blue polo shirt. He looks ashamed to be here.

At 7:00 on the dot, a factionless girl sneaks in the door and slips into the back row. I think her name is Myra. She has a reputation for being really weird, and she looks like it. Her clothes are a mish-mash of faction colors, several layers deep, and everything is at least two sizes too big. The thing is, she could be cute, but she doesn't even try.

As soon as Myra is in her seat, the principal, a middle-aged Abnegation man named Marcus Eaton, walks into the library. He counts us, frowning, and checks a paper.

"Eric," Mr. Eaton grumbles.

No surprise there. Eric is Dauntless and a total future criminal. Of course he has detention. And of course he's late.

We sit quietly in the library, examining each other. I'm not sure what we're supposed to be doing; this is my first time in detention. Can I take a nap? Am I supposed to read a book or work on homework? For now everyone is just sitting quietly, so I do the same.

After about ten minutes of sitting there doing nothing, Mr. Eaton returns, accompanied by Eric, who reluctantly drops into a seat in the back of the room.

"Now that you're all here," Mr. Eaton sneers, "let me tell you how this works. You will not talk. You will not sleep." He bangs his fist on the table for emphasis and to wake Eric, who has already put his head down on the table. "You will not leave those seats. You will sit there and think about what you did to deserve detention."

"Um, excuse me," I cut in. "I'm not supposed to be here." I put on a winning smile and wait for Mr. Eaton's response.

"Smart mouth Candor, think they can talk their way out of anything," he grumbles to himself.

I frown. This is not going the way I expected. Mr. Eaton chooses to ignore my comment and continues his lecture.

"By the end of the day, I want each of you to write me a 1000-word essay telling me who you think you are."

An essay? I had to give up a Saturday and I get extra homework? This is so unfair.

"Now get busy," he concludes, walking to the door.

Mr. Eaton props the door open and disappears into his office, conveniently located in the hall just outside the library. He can't see us from his desk, but he's close enough to hear if we talk too loud.

As soon as he is out of sight, Eric hops up from his seat and walks up to the door. He starts fiddling with something on the back, where the door connects to the wall. After a minute the door swings shut and Eric rushes back to his seat.

"Mr. Eaton comes crashing into the library, a fresh coffee stain on his Abnegation grey shirt.

"Who did that?" he yells.

"Did what?" asks Eric, feigning innocence.

"You know what!" yells Mr. Eaton. "Who shut the door?"

"No one, sir," I say. "It just let go. I think it's broken."

I know he believes me because we Candor do not lie. A brief glance at the door shows him that it is, in fact, broken. He props it open with a garbage can, but the door is too heavy and slides closed. All the garbage can does is keep it from shutting all the way. Mr. Eaton marches back to his office, and we have a bit more privacy to talk without getting in trouble.

The hours drag by. Caleb has his nose in a book most of the time. Eric destroys some library books, then gathers all the sex education texts and places them in the "Staff Recommendations" display. Robert takes a nap. I draw up some new outfit ideas in my notebook and page through some outdated fashion magazines I found in the periodicals section. Myra watches everyone and says nothing, though she makes the occasional squeaky noise when Eric does something particularly outrageous.

Once, when Mr. Eaton stops in to check on us, he catches Eric on the second floor of the library, and they begin yelling at each other.

"Young man," Mr. Eaton begins, "I told you not to leave your seat. Get back here at once!"

"Make me!" yells Eric.

"Do you want more weeks of detention?"

"Bring it on!" is Eric's reply.

He's digging himself into a deeper and deeper hole. Why doesn't he just shut up?

"Fine." Mr. Eaton declares, his hands on his hips. "You just earned yourself a seat here again next week."

"Make it two!" calls Eric, his voice moving around the second floor of the library.

"It'll be three if you don't get down here now!"

"I've got three," yells Eric in a rapid-fire imitation of an auctioneer. "Who'll give me four? Anybody have four?"

"Four!" yells Mr. Eaton.

"We have four!" Eric calls out. "Four going once!" He slides down the banister as he continues to yell. "Four going twice! Four going three times!" He slides back into his chair and yells, "Sold! Four weeks to the man in grey. Congratulations sir!"

Eric claps his hands in Mr. Eaton's direction, a wicked smile on his face.

Mr. Eaton is beyond ticked. He's speechless and red with rage, so he spins on his heel and marches out of the library.

I turn to face Eric. "Why did you do that?" I demand.

Eric shrugs. "Punishing me is punishing himself, too. Do you think he wants to spend his Saturdays here?"

"Won't your parents be mad?" I ask.

Eric chuckles. "My parents are always mad, Princess."

I roll my eyes at him, and his anger flares at the gesture.

"Look at me," he says, his voice ice cold and rough. He has pulled up the arm of his black long-sleeved shirt, revealing scars.

"Do you recognize this?" he asks me angrily. "Isn't it about the size and shape of a cigar? When my old man gets angry, and he is always angry, this is what he does."

Eric mimes smoking, then puts out his imaginary cigar on his arm.

"You have no idea what my life is like," he says in the same icy voice, "so don't ask me about my choices. You would never understand."

"He's full of it," says Robert, seated beside me. "No one would do that to their kid."

Robert is Amity - a peacemaker and an optimist to the core. He doesn't believe that families like Eric's exist. But I believe him. The Candor can detect dishonesty, and I can see that Eric is telling the truth.

"Robert?" I ask. "Why are you here? You know the Amity would never do things that earn detention."

Robert is quiet for a minute, and I can see that he understands the point I am trying to make. He thinks parents don't abuse their kids. We think Amity don't do things to earn detention. Clearly we're wrong, because he's here. Maybe his assumptions are wrong too. It's quiet in the room for a few minutes while we all think about that.

Robert's voice breaks the silence. "You know Larry Lester? From Amity? My dad and his dad are friends. My dad is always going on about, 'Larry this, and Larry that.' 'Why aren't your grades as good as Larry's?' 'Larry works on the farm after school. He's not out running around goofing off.' I got sick of it. So last week in gym class, I put that hot pepper muscle rub stuff in Larry's underwear. When he changed after gym…" Robert trails off.

"Is that why you're here?" I ask. "You got caught?"

Robert nods and we're silent for another minute before Caleb speaks.

"That sounds a lot like my parents. They're always on me about my grades. They expect nothing less than a straight A report card, and nothing but AP and honors classes on my schedule. Plus I have cello lessons and practice, and I tutor little kids at the Erudite primary school. This semester I had to take a woodworking class, and I'm failing. I try, I really do, but I just don't have the coordination. Everything I make is blocky and ugly. I knew that when my parents found out, I'd be toast. So last week," he stops and takes a deep breath before continuing, "last week I brought a gun to school. I was going to off myself. I can't have an F. I can't."

"So you were going to kill yourself?" asks Myra in a small voice.

"Yeah, well, I didn't do it, did I?" replies Caleb.

"What kind of gun was it?" asks Eric. "A handgun? Nine mil? Forty-five?"

"It was a flare gun," mumbles Caleb.

We all laugh.

"It's not funny!" he yells, but the laughter continues.

"OK, I guess it is kind of funny," he agrees, chuckling slightly with us.

"So let me get this straight," says Eric, "today I have seen a Candor lie with my own eyes. I met an Amity who got detention for attacking someone, and an Erudite who is failing a class and can't tell a flare gun from a real gun. What's next, a makeover that turns the factionless girl fashionable?"

I perk up at the idea, and the boys laugh at me.

"We can," I say to Myra. "If you want. It would be fun!"

Myra shrugs, so I drag her off to the librarian's office.

When we emerge from the office about an hour later, Myra is totally transformed. I had her wash her face, and applied some makeup with a lighter touch. It makes her look fresh and shows off her features. I was right, she can be cute. Her clothes were a bigger challenge, but I pared down the layers, coordinated the color scheme, and made some improvements with safety pins I found in the librarian's desk. Not a total beauty, but a vast improvement.

As we walk out of the library, the boys are stunned. Honestly I'm not sure if I should be proud of my makeover skills or upset that she has all the attention. Robert looks especially smitten.

As the afternoon wears on, we find ourselves left alone for longer and longer periods of time. Mr. Eaton is probably hacking into the administration's computers or riffling through personnel files. He totally would. He's supposed to be a selfless Abnegation leader, but he's really a creep. There are even rumors that he beat his son, and that's why the boy chose to leave Abnegation last year.

We form a circle on the carpet and lounge around discussing school, friends, and life. Eventually the topic turns to the Choosing Ceremony.

"Eric?" I ask. "If your dad is so bad, why didn't you leave Dauntless?" Eric is 17, so he had his Choosing Ceremony last year and stayed in Dauntless. He even came in second in his initiation class.

"Where else would I fit?" he asks. "I can't go to Abnegation; I'm not that stiff. I can't go to Amity, because I am not peaceful. I don't have the grades for Erudite, that's why I'm still taking classes here after my Choosing Ceremony and initiation instead of working a job at Dauntless. I thought about Candor, but to be completely honest," he smirks at his pun, "I wanted to fight. I wanted to train for combat, shoot guns, throw knives. I thought I'd finally be good at something, and I am."

His answer makes sense, and I can tell he's being honest.

"What about you, Candor princess, will you be staying with Mommy and Daddy?"

His tone is mocking, but I don't let it anger me.

"I don't know, actually," I begin. "I've been thinking about transferring, but I don't know where yet."

"Trouble in paradise?" he asks, still mocking me.

"Well.." I hesitate. "If you want the truth…"

"I would expect nothing less from a Candor," he says, no longer mocking.

"The truth is that I want to get away from my parents," I say and sigh. It feels good to get this off my chest. "My mom is kind of a heavy drinker. At home, where no one knows, of course. She and my dad fight all the time. In public they pretend to be a normal, happy, honest Candor family, but at home it's all yelling and manipulation. They use me, you know? To tick each other off. I know that as soon as I choose my faction and make it through initiation, they're just going to end up getting a divorce. If they don't kill each other first."

"So basically, your life, in Candor, is a big lie," Eric summarizes.

"Yup," I reply. "And I spend my time obsessed with shopping, fashion, makeup, and all that stuff as a distraction."

"More masks," Eric adds. "You know, Princess, if you really want to tick off Mommy and Daddy, you could always come to Dauntless."

He winks at me, and I smile thinking of how my parents would react if I transferred to Dauntless, but I'm also fighting tears. I may come from the honest faction, but I've never gotten this raw with anyone before. Around the circle, everyone just nods quietly.

It's getting close to 3:00, and I know none of us have even started thinking about Mr. Eaton's essay assignment. I turn toward Caleb and put on my friendliest smile.

"Caleb," I begin in a sweet tone, "you're going to write your essay, right?"

He nods, a wary look on his face.

I continue, "So I was thinking. There isn't really a point in each of us writing an essay. We're all going to say the same crap anyway. What if you just wrote the essay, for all of us?"

By the time I finish my request, I'm all but batting my eyelashes at him. He rolls his eyes at me.

"Sure," he says. I'll write it, but you all have to sign it. Deal?"

"Great!" I exclaim. "Thanks Caleb!"

He rolls his eyes again and then turns back to his notebook. After just five minutes, he passes the essay around, and we all sign our names at the bottom. As the clock hits 3:00, we all file out, leaving the single-page of paper on the library table for Mr. Eaton. It reads:

Dear Mr. Eaton,

We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong, but we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us. In the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions.
But what we found out is that each one of us is an Erudite brain... and an Amity peacemaker ...and a Factionless basket case ...a Candor big mouth ...and a Dauntless criminal.
Does that answer your question?

Sincerely yours,
The Divergence Club.