I sit in the back row, slouched down, as if that will keep my name from being called. I don't even want to look at the stage, my stomach is in such knots and I expect some of the kids to show some outward signs of their nervousness, too, but to my surprise, very few look daunted. Some seem hesitant. Others look overly eager. But there are some that just look confident, as if they've known their decision all along.

Maybe they have.

Maybe for them, the choice is easy.

I glance over at my father who beams back, but my eyes linger on his brightly colored clothing, feeling heat well up in my face. , he just beams back, smiling as if nothing is wrong.

Huh. I guess I don't show my nervousness either.

But I feel it, stirring in my gut and through every muscle, making me tense. My hands sweat until it feels like I'm holding handfuls of water and I wipe them off on my red shirt.

I take a deep breath.

"Matleson, Shaun."

I watch as an Eruite boy stands and walks up to the stage, grabbing the knife and holding his hand above the stones.

You can tell who his parents are. Not because he sat next to them, but because of the broken faces, their loss as vivid and stark as the blue shirts they wear.

I look away, wringing my fingers in my lap.

I wonder if my dad thinks I'm going to stay with him. He said he's confident I'll pick what I feel is right, even if that means choosing a different faction but I have no idea what right is.

My test came back as Amity and people say to trust the test, but something seems off. Everyone sounds so sure, it would seem, about where I should be except me. Even the administator hadn't given me a look of surprise; it had been expected.

I wrinkle the lining of my shirt, hoping my name won't be the next one called.

"Mitt, Diane."

My relief is short-lived as I watch the girl go up. She does look scared, I think I can see her hands trembling and she takes longer, debating.

Finally she stretches her hand over the glass.

They clap as she returns, sitting back down in her seat, but her face looks perplexed.

I grimace, doubting her decision. Did she do it because it felt right or because she decided she was too scared to move beyond her borders of familiarity?

I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe slowly through my mouth, trying to relax.

"Monroe, Arya."

My stomach tightens. It tightens so much, I resist the urge to bend at the waist when I stand, nearly tripping as I start to walk down the steps.

The time it takes to reach the stage passes slowly, and yet too quickly and I subconsciously search the crowd for my dad, but I only feel a weight settle over my nerves when I spot him.

I take the knife.

He told me to make the right decision, whether that be with him or somewhere else, but none of them feel right. I look at the glass, thinking not of honesty, but the brutality the Candor wield with their honesty.

I glance at the water and try to picture myself in blue but the image doesn't form. Besides, I know I can't dedicate myself to living the majority of my life behind textbooks.

The bowl to the end holds the coals and it takes me awhile to decide if I am brave. I think we all have the potential to be brave, but I don't want to live based on the principle of becoming it more so. Solely, my bravery does not define me, just as my selfless acts alone do not define me.

That leaves the bowl of dirt.

I don't know how long it has been, but someone clears their throat irritably and the hilt of the knife suddenly seems to weigh more than I am capable of lifting.

I stare into the bowl, raising the knife with whatever strength I have left and cutting a painful line through my palm. I close my hand over the wound.

I'm for peace, but I can't refrain from conflict when someone is in the wrong. Do I really want to live my life within these limits? The same limits I was raised to value yesterday? The same limits I will continue to value tomorrow?

My vision blurs. I ask myself what I want.

Do I want honesty? Intelligence? Selflessness? Do I want bravery?

Do I want peace?

And then, the answer comes to me. It hits in a sudden wave and I realize why it's been such a struggle to decide. It's the only thing I want and yet the only thing no faction provides.

I want freedom.

before I fully register what I'm doing, I hold out my hand. Not over bowls of dirt or coal, but over the floor.

I flex my hand, watching as one single drop of blood falls and when it hits, my decision is made.

"I choose no faction."