I reach my street five minutes before I usually do, according to my watch—which is the only adornment Abnegation allows, and only because it is practical. It has a gray band and a glass face. If I tilt it right, I can almost see my reflection over the hands.

The houses on my street are all the same size and shape. They are made of gray cement, with few windows, in economical, no–nonsense rectangles. Their lawns are crabgrass and their mailboxes are dull metal. To some the sight might be gloomy, but to me their simplicity is comforting.

The reason for the simplicity is not disdain for uniqueness, as the other factions have sometimes interpreted it. Everything—our houses, our clothes, our hairstyle—is meant to help us forget ourselves and to protect us from vanity, greed, and envy, which are just forms of selfishness. If we have little, and want for little, and we are all equal, we envy no one.

I try to love it.

I sit on the front step and wait for Komiara to arrive. It does not take long. After a minute I see gray–robed forms walking down the street. I hear laughter. At school we try not to draw attention to ourselves, but once we are home, the games and jokes start. My natural tendency toward sarcasm is still not appreciated. Sarcasm is always at the expense of someone else. Maybe it is better that Abnegation wants me to suppress it. Maybe I do not have to leave my family. Maybe if I fight to make Abnegation work, my act will turn into a reality.

"Koriana!" Komiara says. "What happened? Are you all right?"

"I am fine." She is with Megan and her brother, Kaldur, and Megan is giving me a strange look, like I am a different person than the one she knew this morning. I shrug. "When the test was over, I got sick. Must have been that liquid they gave us. I feel better now, though."

I try to smile convincingly. I seem to have persuaded Megan and Kaldur, who no longer look concerned for my mental stability, but Komiara narrows her eyes at me, the way she does when she suspects someone of duplicity.

"Did you two take the bus today?" I ask. I do not care how Megan and Kaldur got home from school, but I need to change the subject.

"Our uncle had to work late," Kaldur says, "and he told us we should spend some time thinking before the ceremony tomorrow."

My heart pounds at the mention of the ceremony.

"You are welcome to come over later, if you would like," Komiara says politely.

"Thank you." Kaldur smiles at Komiara.

Megan raises an eyebrow at me. She and I have been exchanging looks for the past year as Kaldur and Komiara flirt in the tentative way known only to the Abnegation. Komiara's eyes follow Kaldur down the walk. I have to grab her arm to startle her from her daze. I lead her into the house and close the door behind us.

She turns to me. Her dark, straight eyebrows draw together so that a crease appears between them. When she frowns, she looks more like my mother than my father. In an instant I can see her living the same kind of life my father did: staying in Abnegation, learning a trade, marrying Kaldur, and having a family. It would be wonderful.

I may not see it.

"Are you going to tell me the truth now?" she asks softly.

"The truth is," I say, "I am not supposed to discuss it. And you are not supposed to ask."

"All those rules you bend, and you cannot bend this one? Not even for something this important?" Her eyebrows tug together, and she bites the corner of her lip. Though her words are accusatory, it sounds like she is probing me for information—like she actually wants my answer.

I narrow my eyes. "Will you? What happened in your test, Komiara?"

Our eyes meet. I hear a train horn, so faint it could easily be wind whistling through an alleyway. But I know it when I hear it. It sounds like the Dauntless, calling me to them.

"Just...do not tell our parents what happened, okay?" I say.

Her eyes stay on mine for a few seconds, and then she nods.

I want to go upstairs and lie down. The test, the walk, and my encounter with the factionless man exhausted me. But my sister made breakfast this morning, and my mother prepared our lunches, and my father made dinner last night, so it is my turn to cook. I breathe deeply and walk into the kitchen to start cooking.

A minute later, Komiara joins me. I grit my teeth. She helps with everything. What irritates me most about her is her natural goodness, her inborn selflessness.

Komiara and I work together without speaking. I cook glorp on the stove. She defrosts bananas and pickles. Most of what we eat is frozen or canned, because farms these days are far away. My mother told me once that, a long time ago, there were people who would not buy genetically engineered produce because they viewed it as unnatural. Now we have no other option.

By the time my parents get home, dinner is ready and the table is set. My father drops his bag at the door and kisses my head. Other people see him as an opinionated man—too opinionated, maybe—but he is also loving. I try to see only the good in him; I try.

"How did the test go?" he asks me. I pour the glorp into a serving bowl.

"Fine," I say. Dinah was correct when she said I could not be Candor. I lie too easily.

"I heard there was some kind of upset with one of the tests," my mother says. Like my father, she works for the government, but she manages city improvement projects. She recruited volunteers to administer the aptitude tests. Most of the time, though, she organizes workers to help the factionless with food and shelter and job opportunities.

"Really?" says my father. A problem with the aptitude tests is rare.

"I do not know much about it, but my friend Arella told me that something went wrong with one of the tests, so the results had to be reported verbally." My mother places a napkin next to each plate on the table. "Apparently the student got sick and was sent home early." My mother shrugs. "I hope they are all right. Did you two hear about that?"

"No," Komiara says. She smiles at my mother.

My sister could not be Candor either.

We sit at the table. We always pass food to the right, and no one eats until everyone is served. My father extends his hands to my mother and my sister, and they extend their hands to him and me, and my father gives thanks to X'hal for food and work and friends and family. X'hal is the Abnegation god. Not every Abnegation family is religious, but my father says we should try not to see those differences because they will only divide us. I am not sure what to make of that.

"So," my mother says to my father. "Tell me."

She takes my father's hand and moves her thumb in a small circle over his knuckles. I stare at their joined hands. My parents love each other, but they rarely show affection like this in front of us. They taught us that physical contact is powerful, so I have been wary of it since I was young.

"Tell me what is bothering you," she adds.

I stare at my plate. My mother's acute senses sometimes surprise me, but now they chide me. Why was I so focused on myself that I did not notice his deep frown and his sagging posture?

"I had a difficult day at work," he says. "Well, really, it was Bruce who had the difficult day. I should not lay claim to it."

Bruce Wayne is my father's coworker; they are both political leaders. The city is ruled by a council of fifty people, composed entirely of representatives from Abnegation, because our faction is regarded as incorruptible, due to our commitment to selflessness. Our leaders are selected by their peers for their impeccable character, moral fortitude, and leadership skills. Representatives from each of the other factions can speak in the meetings on behalf of a particular issue, but ultimately, the decision is of the council. And while the council technically makes decisions together, Bruce is particularly influential.

It has been this way since the beginning of the great peace, when the factions were formed. I think the system persists because we are afraid of what might happen if it did not: war.

"Is this about that report Madison Ruse(1) released?" my mother says. Madison Ruse is the sole representative of Erudite, selected based on her IQ score. My father complains about her often.

I look up from my plate. "A report?"

Komiara gives me a warning look. We are not supposed to speak at the dinner table unless our parents ask us a direct question, and they usually do not. Our listening ears are a gift to them, my father says. They give us their listening ears softer dinners, in the family room.

"Yes," my father says. His eyes narrow. "Those arrogant, self–righteous–" He stops and clears his throat. "Sorry. But she released a report attacking Bruce's character."

I raise my eyebrows.

"What did it say?" I ask.

"Koriana," Komiara says quietly.

I duck my head, turning my fork over and over and over until the warmth leaves my cheeks. I do not like to be chastised. Especially by my sister.

"If said," my father says, "that Bruce's violence and cruelty toward his adopted son is the reason his son chose Dauntless instead of Abnegation."

Few people who are born into Abnegation choose to depart from it. When they do, we remember. Two years ago, Bruce's adopted son, Richard Grayson, left us for the Dauntless, and Bruce was devastated. Richard was the only child Bruce adopted—and his only family, since his parents died from bullet wounds when he was young.

I have never met Richard. He rarely attended community events and never joined his father at our house for dinner. My father would remark that it was strange, but now it does not matter.

"Cruel? Bruce?" My mother shakes her head. "That poor man. As if he needs to be reminded of his loss."

"Of his son's betrayal, you mean?" my father says coldly. "I should not be surprised at this point. The Erudite have been attacking us with these reports for months. And this is not the end. There will be more, I am sure of it."

I should not speak again, but I cannot help myself. I blurt out, "Why are they doing this?"

"How about you take this opportunity to listen to your father, Koriana?" my mother says gently. It is phrased like a suggestion, not a command. I look across the table at Komiara, who has that look of disapproval in her cobalt eyes.

I stare at my glorp. I am not sure I can continue living this life of obligation any longer. I am not good enough.

"You know why, my little bumgorf," my father says. "Because we have something they want. Valuing knowledge above all else results in a lust for power, and that leads men into dark and empty places. We should be thankful that we know better."

I mod my head. I know I will not choose Erudite, even though my test results suggested that I could. I am my father daughter.

My parents clean up after dinner. They do not even let Komiara help them, because we are supposed to keep to ourselves this night instead of gathering in the family room, so we can think about our results.

My family might be able to me choose, if I were allowed to talk about my results. But I cannot. Dinah's warning whispers in my memory every time my resolve to keep it a secret falters.

Komiara and I climb the stairs and, at the top, when we divide to go to our separate bedrooms, she stops me with a hand on my shoulder. I turn around to face her.

"Koriana," she says, her cobalt eyes burning into my emerald ones. "We should think of our family." There is an edge to her voice. "But. But we must also think of ourselves."

I stare at Komiara in shock for a moment. I have never seen her think of herself, never heard her insist on anything but selflessness.

I am so startled by her comment that I just say what I am expected to say: "The tests do not have to change our choices."

She smiles a little. "Don't they, though?" She never uses contractions.

Komiara squeezes my shoulder and walks into her bedroom. I peer into her room and see an unmade bed and a stack of books on her desk. She closes the door so I can only see indigo wood. I wish I could tell Komiara that we are going through the same thing. I wish I could speak to her like I want to instead of like I am supposed to. But the idea of admitting that I need help is too much to bear, so I turn away.

I walk into my room, and when I close my emerald wood door behind me, I realize that the decision might be simple. It will require a great act of selflessness to choose Abnegation, or a great act of courage to choose Dauntless, and maybe just choosing one over the other will prove that I belong. Tomorrow, those two qualities will struggle within me, and only one can win.

Sorry for the delay. I was busy with school shopping.

(1): Madison Ruse is Madame Rouge.

Stay whelmed!