Chapter Eleven

Divergent (adj.): having an aptitude for two or more factions; deformed.

Unbelievable… I sit, legs folded under me, on my bed. Caleb's dictionary is in my lap, opened to somewhere in the section labelled 'D'. I thought it was a long shot, looking up that word, but it seems everything is in this book. But a word of such weight, squished between diverge (a word so similar that means something entirely different) and diverse (a word that has a similar meaning but would be sent flying if measured on a scale), seems oddly sardonic.

Deformity… that's what it is called. Mama says that anything that does not conform will be called deformed… she is divergent. I might be, too, but I won't know until my Aptitude Test. But one final question lingers in my mind, a question that I couldn't ask Mama. Not because she wouldn't answer, but because she couldn't; the question wasn't for her.

The door creeks loudly. I don't look up from the page, even when he comes to sit beside me. My bed squeaks. "Tobias," I whisper as he leans over my shoulder, eyes skimming the page until they stop at the word above where my fingernail rests.

"Tris."

I crawl behind him and rest my knees on either side of his torso, wrapping my arms around his neck. The questions floats around in my mind, and I have to ask: "Why did Mama tell you? About divergence, I mean. I understand why she told me… because I might be divergent, since it's in my family. But why did she tell you?"

He looks away, focusing on the carpeting under his feet. I can tell from the slant of his iris that his vision is blurry. "I told her something," he murmurs, humming quietly as I rub his scarred back through the cotton fabric of his grey shirt.

"Told her what?"

He sighs. "The first night I stayed here, the night I was set free, I was beside myself. And I know you only left me for a moment, but in that moment, it slipped out. If you'd stayed, you would have heard it, too. I didn't mean for you not to hear it…"

"What was it, Tobias?" I ask, tracing circles at the hem of his shirt.

"My… um… Marcus — Marcus is divergent." I gasp, but he continues. "He told me the night my mother died. He was going on about how she was gone, and how he would use me as his… punching bag," I had a feeling he was editing this for my benefit, "and he threatened me, said that he wanted me to stay in Abnegation forever, and to do that, I needed to get an Abnegation result on my test."

"Did he make you take it early?" I asked, horrified.

"No. He said the serum would be dangerous — not that he cared about anything other than having someone to hurt — and that it might impact the development of my brain negatively. He said he didn't want a retard for a son."

I stop, feeling a sharp pain in my chest. How could anyone say something like that? Something so… cruel…

"Oh, Tobias…" I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer. My stomach is pressed up against his back, arms around his shoulders, and my head rests in the crook of his neck. "He was never your father, Tobias. He never deserved to be."

"He told me how to get an Abnegation result. He told me what happens in the test. I tried to block it out, but he held my wrists and made me look him in the eyes. Then, he made me take off my shirt and repeat what he'd said as he brought his belt down on my back." Anger wells up inside of me, the kind of anger that only a Dauntless could possess, as the images enter my unwilling mind. Marcus took away Tobias' only chance at knowing who he is — the Aptitude Test. Now that he knows what happens, the results will not be honest.

I wish I could take away every bad memory that plagues him.

"Marcus is… Does that mean… that you might be…"

He nods solemnly. "It's just as likely that I will also be divergent."

"I told you never to use that word." The voice is harsh and scolding, and it comes from the threshold. Mama steps inside. "You never know who is listening, Tobias."

"So what do we call it?" he asks. It's a valid question, but I already know the answer.

"We don't," I say, scooting to sit beside him. Although innocent, our embrace felt like something wrong with my mother here. Abnegation don't touch. I continue, "We never speak of it."

"That's correct, Tris. After today, you will never speak of it." She pauses for a moment. "Tobias, give us a minute?" He nods and exits quietly, not looking back. For a moment, I think it's about what she saw between me and Tobias. I shake the thought out of my head; there was nothing there.

"What is it, Mama?"

"I'm afraid," she whispers, taking Tobias' empty seat. "I'm afraid, because I'm almost certain that you possess a certain quality."

"I thought-"

"This is important, Beatrice." She eyes the dictionary that has been cast aside. "That was your brother's, was it not?"

"Yes."

"So it is." Her eyes drift to the wooden block, full of splinters, that hangs above my bed. Sometimes I use it to practice my knife skills. Then she draws her gaze to my open closet where my withered coat hangs off the metal rack. Then, back to me. "What did you think of your brother, Tris?"

"Caleb? What about him?" I sound composed, but the knot that comes with thinking of him is already forming in my throat, and I am holding back tears. It is an Abnegation thing to do, as I would not want to burden anyone with my sadness. It is a Dauntless thing to do, because it shows bravery in the face of feeling. It is an Erudite thing to do, because it displays logic over emotion. It is what I do, because I can't cry anymore.

"Was he selfless?" she asks. I nod without hesitation, remembering the lady with her bags, the Abnegation clump walking towards school, the children who needed help with their studies like Tobias… yes, the studies were when he was his happiest.

"He was selfless, Mama, but only because he had to be," I explain. "It was like he knew exactly what to do, when to do it, but there was no passion there. It was calculating. He… he had it down to a science, but he was selfless."

"But, Beatrice," she interrupted. "Was he Abnegation?"

"No." Again, zero hesitation. "No, Caleb was Erudite. He wasn't… he didn't posses that quality."

She picked up the dictionary, fingering its thick pages; they were stiff from where he'd spilled water on them, and they cracked when Mama flexed them. As if it were on fire, she dropped the book beside her and cleared her throat. "He must have gotten his Erudite from your father."

I don't meet her eyes. "Did I?"

"Did you what?"

"Did I get anything from him?"

Jaw rigid, she nods slightly. "Yes, I think you did, Beatrice. I think you got his intelligence as well."

"What?" I blurt out, rising from my bed. "I am not Erudite!"

"Maybe not," she calms, "but it is possible that you have an aptitude for it."

"I don't, Mama. I'm Dauntless!"

Her gaze once again lands on the wooden block above my bed. She takes a throwing knife from my bedside table and runs the dull end along her palm admiringly, the cool metal against her rosy skin. Suddenly, she draws her arm back and throws, knife sticking perfectly.

"My girl," she says. "You got that from me." A grin spreads across my face, and I stare in awe. She continues, "You're the perfect blend of your father and I. You have his intellect, that curious look that lives on your face, and you have the bravery of a Dauntless."

I sit back down on the bed, and my closet comes into focus. Mama sits beside me. "And that coat," she muses, inspecting the frayed edges and missing buttons and fading colour; she's never seen anything more beautiful. "It symbolizes the Abnegations in you. And, despite having to share your aptitude with Dauntless and possibly Erudite, it's just as strong as if it were on its own. That worries me just as much as the fact that you have a knife under your pillow." She pulls it from the target, and it clanks against my desk.

"Mama," I answer after a moment. Thinking of the reason why that knife lives under my pillow is one of the many things that gives me nightmares. "You know why that knife is there."

"Yes," she replies. Her voice is composed, not shaky like mine, but its melodic sound has fallen flat. "Yes, I remember."

I stare at the door where Tobias had been just moments ago. Every second that he's not in my sight is a second that I am worrying about him. It's another second that he might be in danger. It only takes a second…

"Then, we will just have to hold onto that memory." And it's as good a thing as bad, because once we forget, we are only doomed to repeat it.

At least, that's what it says in my faction history textbook, right beside the part about how before the war, there was no happiness, only suffering, and how violence did, in fact, bring us our peace.

Tobias and I walk, side by side, along the square tiles that cover the dirt and earth beneath. The sun is low, as if hanging by a thread, like a set piece that had fallen from its place. Watching the dimly-lit, orange sky, we make our way through the streets of Abnegation, passing by the uniform houses that are differentiated only by the practical house number hanging above the doors; but even those numbers, each with the whole responsibility of distinguishing one person from another, are the same perfect cut, the same dreary grey, the same difference.

Adjusting the strap of my food bag, I glance at the side of Tobias' face and the gentle stubble on his chin. He's focused on the ground, his feet stepping in the center of each tile. I smile at his childishness whenever I can, always remembering that he lost much of his childhood. The corner of his lips turn up as he feels my gaze on him, and I turn away, grinning.

Then, losing his balance, he misses the next tile. I grab his shoulders, steadying him. Tobias' arms wrap around my waist, holding both of us up, and he finds my eyes, his blue ones wide with fear.

Hysterical, he cries out: "No! No! I stepped on it, Bea!" He tugs at his hair in panic, feet glued to the floor.

"Hey," I say frantically, rubbing his arm. "Tobias, it's okay."

After a moment, he calms down, and I pull him into a hug. "Sorry," he mumbles into the top of my head, back arched to level with me. I draw circles on his back with my fingers, and then start writing words: love, comfort, Toby and Tris.

"Why?" I ask simply, breathing in his scent. The unspoken knowledge is between us that I need to know why he's panicking. Mama says he's anxious, but I don't really understand what that means. That's why he tries his hardest to explain it, and then I understand. Always, I am there for him and him for me.

"When I was little, I heard a Candor boy singing a song," he explains, quiet so I can barely hear his words. "I can't remember it exactly… it had something to do with my mother and the cracks in the floor. Of course, I didn't pay him any attention, but… my mother died. My mother is dead."

"Tobias," I whisper, coming to a stop. "It's just a superstition. Not your fault. Besides…" I trail off, realizing that the thought was tactless.

"I know," he replies, having read my expression. Guilt creeps up my spine, and I don't look at him. He takes my face into his hands. "Don't feel guilty for thinking it, Bea. Trust me, I thought it too. What's the point in playing the game anymore if she's already gone? And I did stop, for years; I even tried stepping on them on purpose to see if it would work on my father. It didn't."

"Then what made you do it again?"

He smiles. "For the longest time, I didn't have a mother, Tris. But since the night you and Mama found me…" I realize; he is afraid for Mama. He avoids the cracks in the floor for Mama.

"For Mama…" we both trail off into silence as we continue down the path. Soon enough, we reach the factionless sector. All along the brick walls are gangling factionless in jumbled colours of clothing, mostly grey but with pieces of blue and yellow and red and some other colours that don't belong to any specific faction. For hours, we hand them clothing and bread and cans of miscellaneous product. Along the end of our route, where they have made their spot, Anna is wide awake with Althea curled up and sleeping in her lap.

I crouch beside her, careful to not wake Thea up. "Hey, Anna," I whisper, handing her the bag. She smiles gratefully and takes it.

"Thank you. It's been a hard month at work." Althea stirs in her lap, and Anna sighs. "Poor girl has a fever. She's been asleep all day." I glance at the girl; Tobias is crouching by her side, distraught. He places his hand on her forehead, eyebrows furrowed.

"It's bad," he announces, stroking Althea's hair. "She needs medicine."

"I know," Anna whispers, shame seeping through silvery voice.

"Stay here, Beatrice," Tobias says. "I'll run home." I tell him what to get, and he darts off, running with a speed unparalleled. His training has done him good. I turn to Anna and place a hand on her shoulder, watching Althea's beautiful, sleeping face, hollow with sickness.

"Thank you," Anna says. I shake my head.

"Really, we love Thea. We're here for her."

Her eyes gleam. "You and Tobias… what a coincidence that we met the two of you. Like fate."

"What do you mean?"

She hesitates. "Nothing, Beatrice. I'm just glad that you were sent her way."

We sit in silence until Tobias returns, out of breath and clutching a brown paper bag to his heaving chest, and plops down beside us, shoving the bag into my hands. "Here," he breathes, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Inside the bag, there is a bottle of cherry syrup, a thermos of ice water, and some cotton cloths: just what I need.

She looks at me, confused and overwhelmed, and I begin to explain, remembering the first year we had Tobias when he'd gotten a similar fever: "There are instructions on the bottle — you can use the cap to measure the correct amount. Since she's a little underweight for her age, I would give her 10 millimetres every four to six hours. For the water, douse the cloth in it and put in on her forehead, hands, feet… switch it out every once in a while. She'll be fine, Anna. I won't tell you not to worry, because I know she's your daughter, but don't drive yourself crazy, okay?"

She nods, determination eminent on her face. "I'll help her get better. After this, it's all up to us."

I turn to Tobias, wanting to thank him for being so quick to get back; he is with Althea, already with a cloth to her forehead, worry etched across his features. She stirs again, and her eyes part lazily. "Toby," she says happily, but she doesn't move. Her skin is paler than usual, and there are dark patches under her eyes.

"Angel," he whispers, stroking her cheek lovingly. "Get better, okay? For me." She nods, a little smile spread across her lips, and she closes her eyes again. I motion for Tobias to follow me, and we wave goodbye to the two of them before setting off along our route.

Our feet are loud against the concrete as we walk. Trees line the horizon. "We haven't been to the waterfall in a while," I muse as we come closer. "Not since…" Since the night Caleb was murdered.

"We should," he says. "Go, I mean. Just for a while."

My heart thuds, remembering the last time and the words that were exchanged between us. "You know, we have finished distributing. Plus, we have an hour or two until nightfall."

Together, we walk into the forest, weaving through the trees and making our way along the familiar path. Entering the mouth of the cave, we find our waterfall and sit by the black rocks, knees pulled into our chests. The water is ice blue, almost like a painting, and I can hardly believe that it has no colour, that the vibrant blue doesn't really exist in that form. I dip my hand in the gentle stream, the coolness of the water making me sigh with pleasure.

"I love water," I say, leaning back against the smooth boulder. Tobias shakes his head, disagreeing.

"Water is nothing. It is tasteless and colourless… and boring. Definitely boring. You can never get any thrill from it."

"I think you're wrong," I countered, watching the gentle stream. "I don't know why or how, but there's something about water that seems dangerous."

"Dangerous?"

I nod. "Dangerous, powerful, like it could swallow you whole."

"Then why do you love it?"

"Because… it's strange. It can hurt you, but it also keeps you alive. And it's beautiful, whether it's blue or colourless." His lips part, and they raise into a grin. He shakes his head again, but this time, he does not disagree.

"Only you, Tris," he says, dipping his hand in the stream. "Only you." Then, quick as a dart, he pulls his hand from the stream and flicks it in my face, spraying water across my cheek. I squeal and duck, rolling across the ground and hiding behind a rock.

"It's on!" he yells. Mistake — I know where he is, now. Quietly, I wait for him to approach… and tackle him to the ground. Our laughter fills the cavern, bouncing off the echoey walls, and the reddish light from the setting sun pours through the hole at the apex like molten honey, casting shadows across our faces. Here, in this place, we are free from society. I roll off Tobias, lying beside him on my back, our arms and heads touching, and we stay like that until sun-fall before returning to our house, distinguished only by the number above the door. And, if I had anyone else as a mother, I probably could have walked into a different house and lived the rest of my life there, without even noticing my mistake.