"Is your dress ironed?"

"Yes."

"And you've thought about your decision?"

"Yes."

"Are you nervous?"

I pause in my automatic answering, looking up from where I sit, perched on the edge of my bed. My mother is in the doorway, still dressed in her white lab-coat from work, worrying her bottom lip between her two teeth. She's still beautiful, with her long blonde hair braided down her back, glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose, green eyes watching and focused. My brother had looked just like her, tall and graceful, blonde and beautiful. I, on the other hand, looked more like my father: red hair, green eyes, freckles dotting my skin. Despite that, though, my mother was my best friend.

"No," I finally said, though my eyes said differently. My mother watched me for a long moment, seeing through my lie like the true Candor-born that she was, then stepped forward, dropped down into a crouch in front of my legs. I reached out at the same time that she did, our hands joining in the middle and resting on my lap.

"I know that you are feeling tremendous amounts of pressure today. Being at the top of your class comes with its expectations, and everyone in the faction will be expecting you to stay here. Maybe you are even expecting yourself to stay here. It is, after all, the most logical thing to do. You'd be guaranteed a wonderful and high-ranking job, and you'd probably find a smart and hard-working husband, what with your good looks and brains."

She smiled, and even I could see the way that her eyes grew a little sad under her mask of motherly protection. I knew that she was right, that I should think about my opportunities here, in Erudite. That I should think about my parents, who have already lost one child, and don't deserve to lose another. Maybe that was why her next words shocked me so much.

"But I also know you, sweetheart. I know that you aren't happy here, at least not now. I know that you've never been completely logical, as I was never completely honest while I was a dependent at my old faction. And, knowing this, I want you to make this decision today based on your own feelings. You go where you belong. If that means staying here, then good. If that means defecting—then so be it. I will always be your mother. I will always love you."

Her green eyes swam just like mine, and it took every ounce of strength I had to keep from crying. I nodded, swallowing thickly and squeezing her hands tightly, giving her all of the reply that she needed. And, with that, she stood, kissing my forehead and exiting the room.

I pretended not to notice how she wiped her eyes as she left, and I pretended that I didn't do the same.

The trip to the Choosing Ceremony was short and silent. I'd smoothed out my blue dress more than a few times as I walked, trying to stay collected as my heartrate picked up. The time to choose was nearing, and it was both an exciting and nerve-wracking thought.

My father hadn't spoken much before we left, only hugging me and kissing my forehead before locking up the house behind us. Even now, my parents wore calm masks, my mother's arm linked with my own, and my father staying close to my other side, not touching either of us, but still an anchor as we walked.

The seats of the auditorium were cold and uncomfortable, though I found it a welcome distraction from the buzz of conversation going on around me. It was rare, for Erudite dependents to transfer. Our faction was a proud one, and not many ever defected. I knew for a fact that there would only be a small handful even considering it—myself being one of them.

Normally, I wasn't this anxious. My friends always knew me as friendly and respectful, knowing when to be sarcastic and knowing when to be serious. Today, though, was a tough day for me. Would I stay here, in Erudite? Take up my place among the scholars and stay close to my parents? Or would I defect, and attempt to find my place in another faction, possibly giving up future contact with my parents ever again? Most would leave it up to the test to decide for them.

My aptitude test hadn't helped me, though.

The Abnegation woman who had administered my test had looked worried, though she'd tried to fake a smile. Divergent, is what they called it. I'd heard some of the adults in Erudite whispered about Divergence, speaking as if it were a secret curse that rivaled something as horrible as a terminal illness or an unspeakable act of violence.

I didn't know what to make of it, really. The Erudite in me was trying figure out the best and most logical choice.

I looked around the bustling room which was just beginning to settle down. My eyes first caught on to the bright and cheerful colors of Amity. Would I choose them, and become an advocate for peace and neutrality? Or what about Candor, my mother's faction? Would I join them, and live a life of honesty and trustworthiness?

Then there was Abnegation, where I would pledge myself to serving others and willingly giving up my own preferences. Erudite came next, where I already knew how my future would go.

And then there was Dauntless, who were the rowdiest of the five factions. Would I join them, and live a life of bravery and protection? I didn't have long to make up my mind, though I already knew where my heart was at.

Marcus Eaton began to call out names, starting with the Z surnames. I paid close attention to each Choice, noting that no dependents from Erudite had defected yet. This was clearly one of the better years for the faction, where little-to-no dependents chose to leave.

And then it happened.

"Ariel Caesar."

I'd rehearsed this moment in my mind nearly a hundred times. With one last smile at my parents, I stood, smoothing out my dress and stepping past them to enter the stairs leading down to the front of the auditorium. I made no noise as I padded up to the table, the hall falling silent behind me as I picked up the silver knife. My entire faction knew who I was. They were all watching with held breaths for my Choice.

I carefully cut my hand with the knife, setting it back down and holding my now empty hand under the cut, ensuring that my blood did not drip into any bowl until I meant for it to.

Grey stones. Soil. Water. Glass. Hot coals.

Abnegation. Amity. Erudite. Candor. Dauntless.

With one last deep breath, I thought of my family, my friends, my brother. Would he be proud of me? Would he want me to stay here, with our parents? Or would he want me to leave, and be happy? I could almost see his face behind my eyelids, the same reassuring smile that I always loved telling me that everything would be okay.

I removed my hand from under the cut, straightening my arm and relishing in the sound of my blood hissing on hot coals, accompanied by the gasps of my old faction and the cheers of my new faction.

Dauntless.

I remember seeing him.

He was a few years older than me, always a few classes ahead, but I still saw him nonetheless. Even back then, Eric was a recognizable person: always a little taller than the other boys, a little smarter, a little wiser. For some, that made him a hot commodity. For others, that made him a target.

I remember noticing him in the hallways of our school. The girls always flocked after him, whispering about the less-than-interested looks he'd give them and pretending like they actually meant something. I would always shake my head and laugh to myself, because those girls were too dense for children of Erudite.

But, even though I remember seeing him back then, I'm sure that Eric never saw me.

He and my brother had always been close, spending more time than not together. They were the same age, the same height, and even had the same interests. My parents used to joke that Eric and Tyler were so alike, that they were obviously long-lost twins. Sometimes I was jealous of that, but then I would remind myself that my brother still loved me, would do anything to protect me, and would always save time for me. Eric and I never talked much, only sparingly. We were in different years, and more-than-casual contact with someone outside of your year was discouraged and illogical, for that person was older and might defect. Still, though, I was always happy to receive rare smiles and nods of approval from the older kid.

I was always intelligent, battling for the top spot in my class, and sometimes coming out on top. And, in Erudite, being the top of your class meant that you were noticed, revered, and celebrated. Not to Eric, though. His distance only got worse when my brother passed away, the unbeatable cancer taking his life before his own Choosing Ceremony. Anyone with eyes could see the way that he looked out across the city with a sense of longing, how he would watch the Dauntless jump and run around with a want—no, a need—to do the same. Eric may have been cut out for the top spots in Erudite, but I always knew that his heart and soul were with the black-clad warriors.

And now, standing on this rooftop with my Erudite blues scuffed and ripped, I could see just how correct I'd been. The jump from the train had my heart racing already, but it nearly stopped when I saw him standing there, waiting for us.

This Eric was different—he was stronger, taller, and comfortable. The tattoos on his neck and arms stood out against the typical pale skin of Dauntless and Erudite, the factions that spent the most time indoors or underground. His face was hard, his jaw set, eyes focused as he scanned the crowd of initiates that I stood in the center of. This Eric was at home, and though everything about him screamed danger and cruelty, I couldn't help but notice that the pinched and uncomfortable set of his shoulders was gone, left in Erudite along with his past life.

And, like Eric, I was a transfer. I was the intelligent and promising student, obviously meant for leadership in the Faction of Intelligence and Logic. I was the genius-in-the-making. I was the revered and the hated.

And now, I'm Dauntless.