The grassy path, stiff with frost, crunched loudly beneath my heavy boots. I pushed my hands deep into the pockets of my full-length, gray down jacket to keep them warm. Even for the Windy City, it had snowed fairly early this year. It seemed as if winter had abruptly grabbed autumn by the throat and strangled it, demolishing its existence.

I veered to the right, the chilled wind kissing my cheeks, and scrunched up my nose at the disgusting odor of gasoline as I passed a street of cars stuck at a red light. This was classic Chicago; loud and noisy from the sound of honking cars and laughing tourists, and malodorous from the stench of cars, homeless people, and drunk university students.

And for some unexplainable reason, I loved it. However, it most definitely wasn't in any way like the small, but somehow exemplary, suburban village I grew up in.

I was born and raised in a small suburb north of Chicago, its population consisting of a whopping twenty-three families. Perhaps its lack of residents came from the fact that only wealthy government officials tended to live in the small, one square mile town in the outskirts of the popular city, or maybe it was because of the pressure of constantly having to appear perfect in order to live up to the reputation that the town had long ago set for itself.

The way of life there was simple and plain and had only one rule. Be selfless in all situations. Everyone there seemed to have no trouble abiding by that one rule, except for me. It had occurred to me that I had never belonged in that neighborhood, but the main reason left was because everyone there considered music to be pointless. According to my father, music "fills the minds of young children with rebellious ideas and unnecessary fantasies". And I was recognized as the poorly disciplined child for finding music to be fascinating.

It had taken me eighteen long years to muster up the courage to finally decide to up and leave that town, and by some miracle, I had been accepted into the academy with the best music program in America six months past the registration deadline. I don't know what propelled them to accept me, considering my audition wasn't anywhere near perfection. But I wasn't about to start questioning their methods that seemed to bring almost every graduate success in the industry.

Following the directions on google maps to my new home, Raybourne Academy of Music, I turned sharply to the left and gaped at the sight ahead of me.

"You have reached your destination," the automated, robotic Siri voice said as I pinched myself on the arm to make sure that I wasn't dreaming.

Behind a large golden gate with the letters RA engraved in it, was a small lake with light blue water reflecting the color of the sky as clouds passed by overhead. Vibrant green grass sat along the border of the lake, occupied by daisies with moonlight-pale petals with a speckle of yellow in the middle. A brick pathway branched out from the far side of the lake and led towards a large, white, ancient looking auditorium with grapevines and ivy covering its sturdy capitals.

I let out a shaky breath and pushed the gates open, still fascinated by the scenery. A young woman, no older than me, wearing a red and yellow floral dress walked up to me. "Welcome to Raybourne Academy. Based on your attire, I assume you are new to our school."

Pressing my mouth down into my gray knitted scarf, I exhaled, warming my neck. "That I am. I received a letter from the headmaster here, who wrote that I have been selected to participate in a special program, specifically for young musicians aspiring to be represented by Capital and Raybourne Records." I quoted, remembering the exact words from my acceptance letter.

"Oh," the girl whispered, the initial excitement and friendliness in her tone disappearing, "you're one of them. There will be a Choosing Ceremony in the auditorium at exactly 9 am, I would highly recommend showing up on time. It's 8:15 now, so you have around forty-five minutes to get ready."

"Thank you, I greatly appreciate your help. May I please have my dorm room number, please?" I asked kindly, ignoring the fact that she didn't seem to like me.

"What's your last name?" She responded, the annoyance in her voice clear.

"Prior."

"Your dorm number is 769. If you enter the building behind the auditorium and take the elevator to floor number seven, your dormitory should be on your left." She explained, and I nodded.
The sound of chatter and laughter began to grow louder and louder until a massive swarm of students came into view. They were grouped right in front of the dormitory building, in a small garden, singing, dancing, listening to music, playing instruments, and socializing. They all wore blue, plain black, a combination of black and white, or warm colors. No gray like me.

As I continued to walk along my path towards the dormitory, I looked down at my clothing. The girl had said that she could tell based off what I was wearing that I was new, and now I saw that she was right. My clothes were baggy on me and were all a dull shade of gray, whereas her outfit had consisted of bright colors and fit her perfectly.

Hesitantly, I walked past the students, hoping to go unnoticed. Pushing past the doors to the building, I found the elevator and rode it up to the seventh floor, and turned to the left. Inside my dorm stood a tall girl with olive skin and short dark hair that hovered over her shoulders. She wore a tight-fitted black and white striped dress, which hugged her body in all the right places.

"You must be Tris. I'm Christina." She introduced and extended her hand out towards me. I shook her hand firmly.

"Correct," I said and she gave me a cheeky smile.

"Um, I don't mean to be rude or anything, but do you want to borrow some of my clothes? I mean, it's just that your outfit kind of looks like something my grandma would wear," she announced bluntly. I looked down at my clothing once more and found myself nodding.

"Good, because you kind of look horrendous in that. No offense," she paused and then examined her half unpacked suitcase, and then added, "Sorry if I sound rude. I'm used to saying the first thing that comes to mind."

I laughed and slightly nodded my head in agreement, "I've noticed."

After what seemed like hours of trying on clothes, Christina was finally pleased with the way an outfit looked on me. She turned me towards a full-length mirror using my shoulders as a steering wheel. I wore light washed high waisted skinny jeans with a tight fitted black crop top shirt, which brought to light the small curves and shapes of my petite body.

"Wow," I breathed, stunned by the way Christina seemed to know exactly what type of clothing would fit me perfectly. "I've pretty much-worn baggy clothing all my life, and this, well, it's perfect. Thank you."

Christina sent me a warm-hearted smile, and then added with a smirk, "This is only just the beginning." A few seconds later she exclaimed, "Oh, shit! It's 8:57, we have to go!"

We both raced out of the dorm and down the stairs, not bothering to take the elevator. Somewhere along the crazy rush I pulled my hair out of its bun and it hung in loose, blonde waves, and Christina found the time to apply a layer of lipstick, but nevertheless we made it on time.

Inside the auditorium, students filled several rows of chairs. Christina and I found seats in row 45 and sat next to a muscular, tan boy with the 'I just rolled out of bed' hairstyle. He looked friendly enough but the crowd on the stage in front of us had captivated my full attention. A group of people stood on stage next to a woman wearing a tight blue dress, who was most likely in charge of the whole program.

"Good morning, musicians," the woman greeted. "My name is Jeanine Matthews, and I'm an agent from Raybourne Records. My coworkers and I have created this music program to single out individuals who have the potential to become world famous musicians, no matter the genre. You all are here because, during your audition, a unique quality of your voice or personality impressed us. Here, at Raybourne, we tell you the needed ingredients for success, but how to use those ingredients is up to you.

Our program supports five main genres, or as we like to call them, factions, of music. The first is my personal favorite, Erudite. This faction is generally for young musicians who are more involved in djing and creating songs with unique beats and rhythms using the computer," Jeanine paused and gestured towards a large white bowl with the symbol of an eye embroidered in it.

She gestured towards another white bowl, however, this one had the image of a tree imprinted on it and continued, "The next faction is Amity, and it is based on country music. Something that is happy and joyful and most usually doesn't involve very deep or extravagant emotion.

The third faction is Abnegation," she stated coldly, clearly she disliked this faction of music. She pointed towards another white bowl with the symbol of two people shaking hands, and then added, "This faction of music is what most musicians refer to as Music of the Old Era or classical music.

The fourth faction is Candor. The faction of Jazz, Blues, Soul, and Rock music. They express honest emotion through their music," Jeanine pointed towards the fourth white bowl, which has the image of a scale on it.

Finally, she pointed at the last white bowl which had the image of flames on it and explained, "The last faction of music is Dauntless. Other words known as modern day music, consisting of popular music, hip-hop, and R&B.

We're asking you today to choose one of these five factions of music to pursue. Eric, you call out the names, "Jeanine instructed.

"James Tucker," Eric, an intense-looking man with several piercings on his face and greasy hair, said.

James' face turned red as he walked fast towards the middle of the room. When he stood in the center, he quickly glanced at the Dauntless bowl, then the Candor, then back at Dauntless.

Eric offered him a knife. He breathed deeply. I watched as his chest rose, and he accepted the knife. Then he dragged it across his palm with a jerk and held his arm out to the side. His blood fell into the Candor bowl.

"Candor!" Eric announced and then called out the next name, "Christina Reed."

Christina squeezed my hand and then she got up and walked towards the bowls. She looked nervous as if she was conflicted between two factions of music. Her hands shook as she accepted the knife from Eric, and pressed the knife into her palm.

She breathed out. And then in. The blood pooled in her hand and she held her hand over the Dauntless bowl, just like I had a feeling she would.

"Dauntless! Jane Rake."

I stopped paying attention to the names until I heard one that was very familiar, my own.

"Beatrice Prior."

I set my jaw as Eric handed me the knife. My parents would have wanted me to choose Abnegation because classical music was the only type of music I was allowed to listen to growing up. Maybe if I chose Abnegation, they would forgive me for leaving them, for being selfish and thinking about myself rather than what was good for the community, for bringing shame to my family name.

I held the knife in my right hand and touched the blade to my palm. Gritting my teeth, I dragged the blade down. It stung, but I barely noticed it. I shifted my hand forward and watched as my blood dripped into the bowl with the flames.

All my life I had grown up being my father's daughter and doing what he told me to do, but not now. Finally, after years of waiting for this moment, I had shed the last thing that bonded me to my past. I was free.