3. How's it going? I really have no idea whether this is a good story or a bad story. If you're enjoying the story, or if you're not, I'd really appreciate someone taking the time to write a review and let me know how it's going. :)

We're woken up by Four banging something against the railings, making a horrible metallic noise that jerks everyone out of sleep immediately.

'Everyone in the Pit, two minutes,' he shouts, and leaves.

Two minutes? Two minutes is not enough time to do anything, let alone get ready. Everyone is heavy and bleary with sleep, and more than one person has swollen, red eyes from crying. Al splashes his face with water to hide the evidence. I notice that Tris casts him a quick, anxious, guilty look.

'Al kept me up all night crying,' she whispers suddenly.

'I know. I heard.'

Tris frowns and pulls a t-shirt on over her head. 'I wish he wouldn't. I could've really used more sleep last night.'

'It's not his fault, Tris. He's homesick. We all are.'

'Exactly. Everyone's nervous and miserable. I just wish he'd keep it to himself.'

I can't agree with her. I pull on the first clothes I lay my hands on and start on my hair. I left it loose yesterday, and what with all the jumping off trains and whatnot, it's gotten pretty tangled. I can hardly drag my fingers through it. I don't have time to brush it, so I drag it back and twist it into a lumpy, uneven plait. That'll have to do. Two wild, curly strands fall either side of my face, they just touch my collarbone. I decide to keep them there. It makes my round face look less pudgy. In fact, I look...good. I look more Dauntless, at least.

'If you're done admiring yourself,' Christina says, elbowing me away from the mirror, 'Some of us need to brush our teeth.'

#

We're so tired we could collapse where we stand. Four and Eric made us run and jog until we could hardly limp. Four introduced us to punch-bags and demonstrated how to use them, how to punch and hit out, how to stand, how to kick. I'm just relieved we're just hitting punch-bags at the minute. I'm sure we're going to have to fight each other. I'll just pray I don't have to fight Al. He's so big he'd probably break all my ribs if he fell on me. Or Peter; Peter's vicious. Ditto Molly and Drew.

'I've never done anything like this before,' Christina gasps. We are allowed a rare break, and all sit together. I sit on the floor, and feel a twinge of pleasure that everyone comes and joins me. I've never been popular.

'I have,' Edward volunteers. 'I used to study hand-to-hand combat.'

'Why?' Christina raises an eyebrow.

Edward shrugs. 'For fun.'

Fun. Right. Like Will memorized a map of the city 'for fun'.

'My father taught me a little,' I'm surprised to hear myself saying. Everyone looks at me.

'Amity are supposed to be peaceful,' Will says curiously. I blush and wish I hadn't say anything.

'Well...Father said that just because we are peaceful doesn't mean everyone else will be...he said there was no harm in teaching me and my brothers a little self-defence.'

'Ah,' Al giggles, 'All the secrets are coming out.'

'It was kind of a secret,' I admit. 'We couldn't tell Mama. She'd be furious. We couldn't tell anyone, because Father would have got into trouble.'

'Well,' Edward grins, 'We'll see how good you are soon enough.'

He has a really nice smile. I don't realise I'm staring until I Myra shoots me a look of dislike. She pointedly drapes an arm around Edward's shoulders, and he turns and smiles at her. I quickly look away.

#

'First jumper!' Eric shouts. I guess that's Tris. She looks up, scared. 'Last jumper! In the ring.'

Oh no. I can't remember who the last jumper is.

'Poor Tris,' Al materializes next to me, 'She's up the against the Tank.'

The Tank. Molly. She's as big and unstoppable as a tank, and about as compassionate as one. Poor Tris indeed.

It's painful to watch and over fairly quickly. Molly knocks Tris out, and steps back, grinning. Will and Al are called up next. This is also pretty unfair. Al is considerably bigger than Will. Will is faster, sure, but fighting Al is like taking on a grizzly bear. Al manages to get one good swing in, and catches Will square on the jaw, and Will goes out like a light. Al is horrified, but he's going to need to get used to this.

'OK, Emily. Peter. In the ring.' Eric calls out.

Poor me.

Peter is pretty tall, taller than me. He's big, but not too big to be slow and clumsy, like Al. I try and remember what Father told me. It doesn't matter how big and strong the person you're up against is. You just have to make sure they don't get a hold of you. You're not exactly muscle-bound; you won't ever be. You have to be quick. It doesn't matter how hard you hit them; it matters where you hit them. It's no good punching ever so hard if you hit them somewhere like the knee or elbow or shoulder. A relatively soft punch in the stomach or throat will make a difference. A hard kick in the shins may not help you at all, but a firm blow in the back of the knee will bring your man down. Father was from Erudite. He was smart.

I have no idea how to get into this. We circle each other tentatively; me backing away, Peter advancing. 'Don't worry, Amity girl,' he smirks, 'I'll make this quick, don't worry.' his arm lashes out and catches me on the side of the head. You really do see stars. I barely even saw him move. I taste blood, and realise I must have bitten my tongue.

Peter hits out again, but this time I'm ready, and his fist whooshes past my ear. He frowns and tries to hit again. I'm left handed, so I swing my left fist as hard as I can and my fist connects with his ribs and he makes an oof noise.

'Go on, Emily!' I hear Al shout; it just makes Peter angrier and he lunges at me again. I dodge again and try for another hit. He blocks my left arm, but I swing my right fist and hit him round the jaw. He backs off a few steps. Just as well; both my fists sting and tingle. I risk a glance downwards and catch a glimpse of blood on my knuckles. I shouldn't have done that. The next thing I know, I'm lying on the ground with my ears ringing. Peter aims a kick at my face, but I roll out of the way. I need to get up. I manage to knee Peter in the back of the legs, and he lands heavily next to me.

After that, I must have acted entirely on instinct. I didn't think it through at all. I get up and on top of Peter before he has time to breathe; I pin his right wrist down with my foot, and pin his left arm down with my knee. I hit him around the face with my left hand as hard as I can, and he's out.

A ragged cheer from my friends goes up, but I'm suddenly horrified. Is Peter OK?

'He's fine,' Eric taps me on the back. 'Good job.'

#

'Hey, don't worry about your results,' Christina says, 'You beat Peter! That's pretty good!'

I smile, but I'm not too proud about beating Peter. I don't like hurting people, even really irritating people.

Tris is quiet. She knows she hasn't done well. Sure enough, when the results come up, Tris is near the bottom. Dangerously near. Edward is first, Peter is still second (apart from the fight with me, he won all his fights), then me – third! - Will, Molly, Christina, Drew, Al, Tris and Myra. Myra looks worried. I can see Edward with his arm around her, promising to give her extra training. She'll be alright, I think sourly, she's got Edward to look after her.

Training doesn't get any easier. It's just as well that I beat Peter; that probably boosted my scores, and I don't win any of my other fights over the next few days. Peter gets good really quickly. He wins against everyone except Edward. I don't think I could beat Peter again, not now that he's had proper training and practise. I lose to Molly, I lose to Drew, and I lose to Will. I sink from third to fifth pretty quickly. I'd be lower if Al, Tris and Myra weren't so bad. I win against Tris one day, but that's hardly something to be proud of. I'm pretty short, but she's an inch or two smaller. At least I have some strength from lugging huge bundles of crops and heavy buckets of water around, whereas Tris's arms and legs look like they're going to snap. I give her a good chance, though. I don't kick her when she falls over, like Molly did. I wait for her to get up, even though Eric is glaring at me.

'Sorry about your face,' I tell her later. She's holding an icepack to her cheek. I knew Eric wouldn't let us finish unless one of us was unconscious, but I still feel guilty.

Tris shrugs. 'I'm fine. You did what you had to.'

'You need to use your elbows and knees,' I explain, sitting next to her. We're leaning up against a rolled up mat, and suddenly we both hear voices from behind us, and freeze.

'Come on, just give me one more go in the ring with her,' we hear Peter's whiny voice, 'I'm sure I can beat her this time.'

'What makes you think you'll win this time?' the second is a deep, gruff rumble. Eric's voice, and Tris and I exchange horrified looks. We'll get into big trouble for eavesdropping...even for unintentional eavesdropping. They can't see us from behind the mat, luckily for us.

'Emily got the lucky the first time,' Peter continues, 'I'm better now, and I'll definitely win this time. She's pretty weak...she won't know what's hit her...'

'No,' Eric interrupts, and starts to walk away.

'Why not?' Peter doesn't know when to shut up, does he? 'It'll pull up my score.'

'I don't care. You had your chance.' Eric says over his shoulder. Behind us, Peter growls under his breath and walks away. We breathe out.

'Looks like Peter's got it in for you,' Tris whispers.

'Oh, he can bring it on,' I snap moodily. 'I'm not scared of Peter.'

Famous last words.

#

When we go to the Pit for our evening meal after training is finished, Christina is still shaky from that afternoon's incident. She'd been up against Molly, and I couldn't even watch. Eventually Christina just couldn't take any more.

'Need a break?' Eric inquired sweetly, and alarm bells started to ring in my head.

'Come with me,' Eric says shortly, helping Christina to her feet. Molly looks so smug I want to slap her.

Eric leads us to the Chasm. It's a narrow bridge with only one rail; a steep drop over sharp rocks, with a thundering waterfall crashing down on the rocks. It looks kind of pretty, I suppose, but not up close. On our first day here, Four impressed upon all of us how dangerous the Chasm is. He said that a fall from the bridge into the Chasm would undoubtedly claim our lives.

Halfway across the bridge, without any warning, Eric grabs Christina and throws her over the side of the bridge, dangling her by one arm. She doesn't scream, but I hear her gasp, and she clamps her free hand onto the side of the metal walkway.

'Hold on,' Eric says calmly. 'Or don't.' then he lets go of her other hand. She's now hanging over the Chasm by her hands. I can see the metal digging into her hand, and she grits her teeth. Eric's point is clear; she showed cowardice. This is her punishment. If she can hold on for an unspecified amount of time, he will forgive her. Or she can give up, and become factionless. Of course, she can also simply let go, and fall to her death. Judging by the determination on Christina's face, letting go or giving up is not an option.

My initial reaction is to rush out and help Christina up, regardless of what Eric said. Only Al's hand clamping over my shoulder keeps me in place.

'Don't.' he whispers urgently.

We watch as the seconds tick by painfully slowly. Eric keeps his eyes fixed on Christina. After a few minutes, he glances up at us, and his gaze falls on me. I'm probably glaring at him. He stares back for a second, then announces, 'Time.'

Al gets to Christina first, and hauls her over the side with no difficulty. She's shaking, and I think she might be crying. Who am I kidding. Of course she's crying: she thought she was going to die. I don't care that Dauntless are supposed to be brave, and to spurn cowardice. As everyone loves to remind us, we're not Dauntless yet.

We're all quieter than usual that evening.

'Right, that's it,' Will slaps his thighs loudly, making us all jump. 'I'm tired of us all moping around here,'

Christina looks at him with big eyes.

'I think we should go get more tattoos,' Will suggests, grinning. 'Make us feel more Dauntless.'

'Oh, yeah,' Christina perks up. 'Emily's the only one who hasn't got one.'

Great. I thought I could avoid a tattoo by getting my ears pierced. The woman who did it went a little crazy, and instead of one demure metal stud, I ended up with about six earrings in one ear and five in the other. I tried to hide my shock when she first did it, but I'm getting to like it.

But now, Christina and Will are running around the tattoo parlour, making even more ridiculous suggestions, such as I should get one on my face. As if I would be so stupid. Even Tris has three birds on her collarbone. It's subtle and delicate, which seems to suit her.

'What about that one?' Al points to a design, almost hidden behind the others. I'm about to say no anyway, but I stop. It's long design, I could have it down my arm or back. It looks like a twisted, tangled vine, complete with leaves, twigs and tiny delicate flowers. It kind of reminds me of the vines which covered our entire house back home. One single vine, almost exactly like this one, curled across the bedroom window.

'I'll have that one.' I say.

#

Ow. Ow. Bad idea. Bad. My whole arm is red and throbbing. I don't know how I'll manage to fight tomorrow. The vine tattoo starts at my right shoulder, and curls down, stopping in the middle of my forearm. It hurt a lot more than I expected, but I kind of like the way it looks.

'The soreness will stop in a day or two,' the tattooist assures me, grinning. I bet he's used to initiates whining and crying over their tattoos and piercings. At least I didn't cry. I think Al probably did. I still hear him crying almost every night. I know it irritates Tris, and I can't help feeling she should be more understanding. I don't think she's brave, or kind.

#

Luckily for me and my sore arm, we're not going to fight today. Four and Eric take us on the train, and we head towards the Wall. Not one of us struggles or stumbles to get onto the train this time.

'I wonder what's out there,' Tris wonders aloud, as we stand on the wall, looking out at the fields.

'Monsters.' Christina teases.

'Amity farmers.' Will says, sensible and practical as always.

'Looking for someone?' Al asks curiously.

I blush. I am straining to see if any of my friends or family are among the Amity we see far below us. I don't hear what Four is saying about the war, and that places beyond the wall never recovered from it.

But enough gawping. They take us inside for target practice. Not target practice with guns – I'm not too bad at that – but with knives. And I am terrible at it. At least I didn't get the tattoo on my left arm, since I need to use my left hand to throw. I think I'm the worst here, barring Al. At least my knives actually hit the target. Most of the time.

It doesn't help that Eric paces around like a caged animal. He stops and stands behind me as I'm preparing to throw my next knife. I wait for a few seconds, hoping he'll move away.

'Waiting for something, initiate?' he asks sharply. I exhale and try to focus on the circle at the centre of the target. I fling my knife. It thuds into the wood at the corner of the target. I feel my face go bright red.

'Well, that was pathetic.' Eric says. He sounds almost happy. I bite my lip hard. It was pathetic, but a dozen snappy retorts spring to mind. I think I'd do better to keep them to myself.

Eric moves to stand between Al and me. Al throws his knife, and his doesn't hit anything. It clatters loudly across the floor, and he winces.

'What was that, initiate?' Eric asks. His voice is deceptively quiet, and I know Al is in for it.

'It...it slipped.' Al stammers. I can't help cringing. If Al would only act a little more assertive, a little more confident, Eric wouldn't pick on him so much. As it, Al is quiet, shy, and gentle. He doesn't even stand at his full height; he stoops a little, like he is ashamed of being the tallest person here.

'Well, I think you should go get it.' Eric says. He looks around – we have all stopped throwing our knives to watch what's going on with Eric and Al. 'Did I tell you to stop?' he shouts. He glares at me, and I halfheartedly fling a knife in the general direction of the target.

'Go get it?' Al looks horrified. And scared. Scared will make it worse. 'But everyone's still throwing.'

'And?'

'And I don't want to get hit.'

'I think you can trust your fellow initiates to aim better than you. Go get your knife.' Eric grins coldly.

Tris is watching what's happening, and Eric hasn't noticed that Tris and me have both stopped throwing our knives. My blood runs cold. Al's knife is lying right next to my target. My aim is terrible – better than Al's, but still terrible. If he goes to retrieve his knife while I'm throwing, I will most likely end up accidentally stabbing my friend. It looks like Al is thinking the same thing. He sets his wide jaw. 'No.'

'No?' Eric raises his eyebrows. 'Why not? Are you afraid?'

'Of being stabbed by an airborne knife? Yes, I am!'

No, no! I think. Stupid Al. Stupid Candor and their stupid honesty. Honesty is not a good idea here. If Eric suspects Al is motivated by cowardice or fear – well, then of course he can't let it go.

'Everybody stop!' Eric shouts.

There is instant silence. Al looks apprehensive to say the least. He's fidgeting around, trying not to look directly at Eric. Tall as Eric is, Al stands at least half a head taller. Maybe that's why Eric doesn't like him.

'Stand in front of the target.' Eric tells him shortly. Al blanches. I think he's guessed what's coming. Eric beckons Four over, and addresses Al again. 'You're going to stand there as he throws those knives, until you learn not to flinch.'

I think Four is trying to reason with Eric, but it's not going to do any good. I can't bear to look at Al. He's standing in front of the target, and he looks terrified. His big hands are shaking. I just know he's going to flinch, or twitch, or move or do something that will result in him getting hurt. I want to do something but I don't know what.

'Stop it.'

Tris's voice sounds much too loud in the silent room. Eric glares at her, but she doesn't flinch. 'Any idiot can stand in front of a target. It doesn't prove anything except that you're bullying us. Which, as I recall, is a sign of cowardice.'

Oh, Tris is asking for it.

'Then it should be easy for you to take his place.' Eric responds smoothly. Tris hesitates for a second, but she knows as well as we do that she's left herself no other option.

Al comes and stands next to me again, and I see he's shaking. Tris doesn't shake. She doesn't flinch. She hardly even moves as Four's knives land inches, centimetres away from her, even when one nicks her ear and it bleeds. I was wrong. Tris is kind, and she is brave. Braver than me.