We are woken up entirely too early for all that happened yesterday. As soon as I open my eyes, they are assaulted by the fluorescent lights. Waking up at six in the morning shouldn't be a problem, I would have to do the same for Erudite initiation, I had to get up even earlier for school. But I jumped off a building yesterday; I think I deserve more rest than what I got.
"We're meeting in the transfer training room in thirty!" announces Four before slamming the door.
"And we thought yesterday was bad," mumbles Will.
My back hurts from the bed. Do they fill the mattresses with rocks here? When I stretch my arms above my head, I accidentally punch the wood above me, sending a shock of pain rattling down my bones.
I grab a fresh uniform from the boxes and make my way to the bathroom. I had no product to scrub my face with last night, only water. In Erudite I kept to my morning routine religiously, even after nights when I didn't sleep. At least they were nice enough to provide us with basic toiletries. Where am I even supposed to get my face wash here? I've always liked the Reynolds foaming cleanser; will I have to go downtown to get it? Or try something new?
I don't have time to worry about that right now, even if I do feel incomplete leaving the bathroom with a bare and unwashed face.
Tris is watching me watch myself in the mirror. When our eyes meet, she says, "Isn't it weird…looking at yourself like that?"
I give her a quizzical look before I remember she's from Abnegation. "Oh, yeah, the mirror thing. No, other factions don't do that." I run my fingers along my cheeks. I have never had very bad breakouts; I'm not about to start now.
Christina squeezes in between us, head wrapped in a towel. "You know, I've always wanted to try makeup."
"Does Candor not allow it?" asks Tris as she pulls her hair into the same bun she wore yesterday.
She shakes her head. "Something about being 'dishonest about your appearance' or whatever. I honestly don't get it. Like, why can't people just look how they want?"
"I could teach you," I offer. "I need to buy a new kit, for obvious transfer reasons."
Christina beams at me. "Yes! You looked so pretty yesterday."
I smile back. Natasha would probably like hearing that her hard work paid off, not that I can tell her now.
Christina, Tris, and I decide to wait for Will before heading to the training room without discussing it. Someone was nice enough to hang up little paper signs directing us on where to go too.
The Dauntless-born are assembled here too with Lauren, who stands beside Four and Eric. Behind them are a handful of other adults. The initiates are all wearing the same outfits, but it's easy to pick out Dauntless-born from transfer just by how people hold themselves.
"Looks like that's everyone," says Lauren when the last person stands among our crowd. "Now, we introduced ourselves yesterday, so if you don't remember our names that's your problem. Eric is the leader who is in charge of overseeing initiation; he'll be around sometimes, don't worry about it too much." She gestures to the other adults. "All of them are here to help Four and I train you. Technically there will only be two classes of initiate, transfer and Dauntless-born, and you'll train in two separate gyms. In the end though, you'll be ranked together."
"There are two stages of training plus a final test," Four picks up. "The first is physical, pushing your bodies to the breaking point to master the methods of combat." He paces back and forth in front of us. "The second is mental; again, breaking point. You'll face your worst fears and conquer them, unless they get you first. After initiation, your rank may play into whether or not you are hired for a given job. The stages are not weighed equally in determining your final rank; so it is possible, though very difficult, to drastically improve your rank over time. We believe that preparation eradicates cowardice, which we define as the failure to act in the midst of fear, therefore each stage of initiation is intended to prepare you in a different way."
"The rankings will also determine who gets cut," adds Eric.
"Cut?" repeats a Dauntless-born. "I thought we just had to beat a certain score."
"That's the old rule." A cruel smile works its way onto Eric's face at our surprise. "At the end of stage one, the bottom twenty percent will be leaving us; the same will happen after the final test. There's about two hundred of you, meaning that only about a hundred and thirty of your will be made members. We only want the best for our faction.
That doesn't make sense, I almost say. Dauntless' numbers are dwindling, I remember hearing about that in the news somewhere. People get cut in Erudite too, but they're the second largest faction. Dauntless barely has more people than Abnegation. Shouldn't they be trying to hold onto everyone they can?
"Someone should have told us that," says one of the transfers with a frown.
"Why?" asks Eric. "Because it would have changed your answer? Are you afraid? Because if you are, then you should just get out now. If you're really one of us, it won't matter that you might fail. You chose us, now we get to choose you."
Even the Dauntless-born look uneasy at his words. Cutting the bottom twenty percent twice is a lot of people and even though they have the advantage of growing up here, any determined transfer could surpass them. I will be one of those transfers. I've always believed that natural talent just makes people complacent.
After that warm welcome, Lauren leads her class out and Four sends us to take three laps around the gym before we start other kinds of exercises. It still unsettles me that the only light down here is what's been installed. Even in a space this open, I still feel somewhat entombed.
I'm not the fastest, not even close, but have better endurance than some of the others. Gym was never my favorite thing in the world, and I always declined Minerva's offers to work out with her after school, but I know how to pace myself and control my breathing.
In another part of the room, Four is setting up a series of targets. Then he starts pulling groups of ten over to them. I almost trip when the first gunshot rings out.
You're pretty quick when you're not tripping over yourself," Will says, snickering.
"You'd be astonished at the difference a pair of shoes can make," I say with a roll of my eyes.
"I saw you and Will on the train; do you cling to everyone you meet?" asks Christina.
I roll my eyes again. "Hey, if you want to try jumping on a moving train in five-inch heels, be my guest. I'd bet money though that you couldn't cover half the distance I did before falling on your face."
"I don't think it counts as jumping if I pull you up," says Will.
"Semantics."
Christina laughs. "Candor didn't allow heels, but give me a pair and a couple of weeks and I'll take you up on that bet. Will, are you in?"
"Absolutely not. Even I don't hate myself that much."
My father would sometimes wear high heels. He said that they just paired better with some outfits than dress shoes, mostly his collection of cocktail dresses and flowing skirts. Erudite can be pretty judgmental of people who don't dress 'like they're supposed to', so he only ever wore them among close friends. Not Eliza's parents and not Casey's father either; I don't think my parents liked them any more than I did.
Before we can continue our conversation, the three of us plus Tris and a few others are called to the targets by Four. He presses guns into our hands. For some reason, I imagined it would be lighter. The metal is still warm from where the last person touched it.
One of the formerly Candor boys – the one who had gelled his hair yesterday – yawns as he takes the gun from Four. "So what does a gun have to do with bravery anyways?"
In one swift motion, Four twirls the gun in his hand and presses the barrel to the boy's head. Peter freezes. All of us freeze. No one speaks and the seconds feel like years.
"Wake. Up," Four snaps. "You're holding a deadly weapon in your hands. Act like it." He holds the gun there for another long moment before relaxing. As soon as the immediate threat is gone, the boy's cheeks redden with embarrassment. Any sense of levity is dead in the water.
"And to answer your question," Four continues, "it's not just about being brave. Yes, being able to defend yourself will make you less likely to run in the face of danger, but nearly seventy percent of Dauntless work in law enforcement. This will be vital to your future job. Now watch."
He shows us how to disassemble and reassemble the pistol, then makes us do it five times over. I find my rhythm after cycling through it twice. It's not the same, but I used to disassemble pens in class and try to put them back together whenever I would get bored. I also spent a semester on the mid-levels robotics team as a builder. It wasn't terrible, but I lost interest pretty quick. I still like taking things apart though.
The hardest part is actually firing it. I know how it works in theory, but the recoil is stronger than I expect it to be every time. Even through my ear protection, I can still feel the crack rattle my teeth.
At least I'm not the only one struggling. Tris hasn't hit anywhere near the paper target. I can feel Four pacing behind us, judging our every action. When his hand lands on my shoulder, I do not jump.
"Aim higher, Ice Queen."
"Mimi," I correct him with irritation bleeding into my voice.
He had started to walk away, then stops and when he looks back at me his eyes are narrowed. "What?"
"My name is Mimi; it shouldn't be that hard to remember. We're not a big class and it's only two syllables, yeah?"
He glares down at me, waiting for a shrinking apology that I will not give.
At last, he sighs through his nose. "I'll learn your name when it's worth my time."
I roll my eyes as he walks away. It takes me several more tries to hit the target. Even when the others have moved on to work with the assistant trainers, I stay. I think it says something about Four though that he lets me. Eventually, Tris touches my shoulder gently and motions toward the door. It's lunch and I hadn't even noticed.
Christina and Will wait for us at the table we sat at last night with a new person who introduces himself as Al. He and Christina were in geometry together. Christina seems annoyed that he doesn't remember her.
"It was first thing in the morning," says Al. "I slept through that class most of the time."
"Will, Mimi, I think I would have remembered being in a class with you two," says Christina.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Will raises his eyebrow.
"You're like seven feet tall and Mimi's too pretty to be forgotten."
"Six foot five and seven feet are totally different numbers," says Will while I'm blushing about Christina calling me pretty. Will adds, "And you're not exactly quiet either."
"You're saying that like it's a bad thing, but I am proud of my confidence. What about you, Tris?"
Tris is staring at her food, brow furrowed, fork not even picked up.
Christina snaps her fingers twice in front of her face. "Tris? Helloooo? You in there?"
"Hwuh?" Tris blinks, her head snapping up.
"I asked if you remember any of us from class. I feel like I would have remembered you with all the spots, but honestly most Abnegation look kind of the same to me so…" She trails off when she notices Tris' blank stare. "Sorry, am I being rude? I'm kind of just used to saying whatever's on my mind."
"Really? We hadn't noticed," says Will with dramatically wide eyes.
"Actually I've changed my mind; I would have noticed you because you're an asshole."
"You wound me, Christina, truly." He touches a hand to his heart.
She rolls her eyes back at him. "Can you not bother any of the other Erudite?"
Will looks across the initiate's section to a table of several people I remember being in blue yesterday. I don't know any of them, but that's not surprising. My friends and I kept to ourselves; Casey and Eliza always had a hard time making friends, though for very different reasons. I pride myself on being able to hold a conversation with anyone, but actual friendship is something different. Even here, even now, I find it hard not to just smile and nod at everything people say. I want to like these people. I want to be friends with them.
I can't be alone.
"At least I kind of know Mimi," says Will with a shrug. "I – I mean I've met Edward and Myra before but…it's weird. I mean they're…fine, I guess. We just…don't really talk. Plus they're dating."
There are only two people at the table who look like a couple; a broad blonde boy and a tiny girl with red spirals of hair.
"At least you can say they're 'fine'," says Christina. She nods to another group two tables down. One of the people sitting there is the boy who Four threatened this morning, the other two are bulky and mean looking. "I've known Peter, Molly, and Drew for years now and just trust me when I say they suck."
Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see Al shift uncomfortably. But I don't think anyone notices except for me.
"Peter is just straight up evil," Christina continues, "Drew has never had an independent thought in his life, and Molly is the kind of kid who likes to set ants on fire with a magnifying glass just to watch them flail around."
"Christina," whispers Tris, "I think they know we're talking about them."
Sure enough, I meet Peter's eyes across the room. Christina looks back in his direction and gives a friendly wave.
"So what? They don't act the way they do for popularity, trust me."
"Is it even possible to be popular in Candor?" asks Will. "I mean, how can anyone ever agree on anything?"
She shrugs. "I mean, I knew a couple people. Al, you remember Felix and Anabelle, right?"
"I remember them being extremely fucking mean, if that's what you're asking," he replies.
"Oh, I don't think they were–"
"No, they totally were," Al cuts off whatever Christina was going to say. "I mean, maybe Anabelle was better because she'd just call you a loser to your face and move on; but I'm convinced that Felix was actually the devil incarnate." He turns to Will. "Basically, the way to be popular in Candor is to just be a complete tool but also be funny."
Will chuckles. "Trust me, I got plenty of that in Erudite. Mimi, you ever meet Kincaid Moore?"
"Kincaid Moore was not funny," I reply.
"Okay but–"
"No." I become Al this time.
Will rolls his eyes and mutters, "But he was kind of hot…"
I am about to tell him that he has bad taste when I notice the absolutely mortified expression on Tris' face. She mumbles something under her breath and grows uncomfortable under the weight of everyone's stares.
"Can you even say that?" she looks dead at Will. "Like…you're…you know…"
"Huh?" Will cocks his head to the side. "Oh, right. Jeez, I totally forgot you were an honest to god Puritan."
Tris looks bewildered at this.
"Okay, okay, yeah Erudite isn't always great about the whole queer thing either, but jeez. Yeah okay, so just to clear the air, I'm pansexual. I'm attracted pretty much everyone regardless of gender."
Christina reaches across the table to high-five him. "Ay! Me too!"
"Tris," says Will, "we promise no one's gonna, crucify you or whatever if you want to kiss a girl."
Tris looks taken aback, then offended. "What? That's not what Abnegation's about at all."
Will, Christina, and I all share an uncomfortable look, even Al looks away.
"I mean…" Will says, "historically…"
"Abnegation hasn't been awesome about…" I trail off just as quickly as Will.
"Abnegation is pretty homophobic, is what they're trying to say," Christina finishes for us. "Like, they're not super in your face about it, but it's definitely there."
Tris just frowns at this.
"I mean think about it," says Will, "the fact that you found me calling another guy attractive to be weird is probably indicative of a problem."
"Can we just drop it?" she says with no small amount of bite in her voice.
We shrug and allow the conversation to flow onto other topics.
Back in the training room, several large mats have been unfolded.
"Pick a punching bag and stand by it." Four waves us over in that direction.
My new friends and I pick ones right next to each other, of course.
"As I said this morning, you will all learn how to defend yourselves here," Four says. "Your body can be just as dangerous as a knife or a gun if you train right. We'll go over basic maneuvers for this whole week and next Sunday, then on Monday you'll be testing what you know on each other." His eyes sweep across all of us. "Those who don't learn fast will get hurt even faster."
"Wait," says one boy, "you just want us bare knuckle boxing each other?"
"The best way to learn is under pressure," Four replies.
I could probably name a lot of educational specialists who would disagree with him, but this feels like the wrong time to bring that up.
He walks us through a couple different techniques, mostly punches and kicks. Learning how to use an opponent's weight against them, how to put your whole body into a fight, he says we'll start on tomorrow. Then he walks us through how to wrap our hands properly and sets us to work.
I remember when Minerva told our parents she wanted to take boxing lessons because I don't think I'd never seen my mother grimace like that before and I haven't seen it since. I also remember the sheer confusion in my father's voice when he asked her why. She'd been spending an hour at the gym down every day for two years at that point. I guess everyone deals with the stress of Erudite differently.
I think of her as I try to replicate Four's demonstrations at my own punching bag; I think of how she would deal with being here. Minerva would love it all, though probably not as much as she likes law. Her joining the debate team should have been our first clue that she wanted to be Candor, my father always jokes.
"Hey." I wave to get Four's attention when he passes me. "Can you show me the left hook again? I think I've got it down on my right side, but it just feels wrong with my left."
He smirks like I've said something funny. "An Erudite admitting they don't know something. Huh, that's a first."
"I'm Dauntless now. And it's like you said, people who don't learn will get hurt."
His eyebrows knit together. "You're not Dauntless yet. You're not anything right now." When I show him what I've been doing he says, "You're right. You are doing it wrong. Hold yourself straighter and move with purpose. Throw your body weight into your swings
He corrects me several more times before he seems satisfied. "Keep working at it," he says in lieu of a compliment.
Somewhere to my right, he's moved on to critique Tris. But my vision's tunneled the way it always does when I focus really hard. There's nothing here but me and the bag, me and Four's teachings. In Erudite, we're taught that anyone can do anything with enough hard work. I spent about three months having a passing interest in yoga; this is like that. Muscles can be trained just like the mind can. Practice doesn't make perfect, god knows I've never been that, but it does make better.
My hands hurt by the time we've finished for the day and there's a dull throb in my legs. I don't think I've ever been this sweaty in my life; everything is just gross.
"Tris," says Christina as we're walking back to the dorms before dinner, "what was up with Four? I'm shocked he didn't break you in half."
"Wait, what happened?" I ask.
"Oh, Four was all like 'you have no muscle' and 'don't forget to keep tension here'. Then he put his hand on her stomach like this." Christina lays her hand flat across her own stomach. "It was weird."
Tris shrugs. "He was teaching me."
"He scares the hell out of me," she replies, "with all of that being quiet and brooding stuff." Will and Al nod in agreement.
"It's not like he can actually hurt us," I remind them.
Will snorts. "I wouldn't count on it. You saw what he did to Peter this morning and I totally thought he was going to do the same to you when you called him out."
"Plus he's the guy who apparently wants us all to just beat the hell out each other next Monday," adds Al.
I shrug. "I've seen worse, honestly."
"Worse," repeats Al.
"Worse," I confirm before leaving them behind to take a very long shower.
"I want to get a tattoo," says Al as we're walking dinner.
"Do you now?" says Will. "Of what?"
"Don't know yet." He laughs. "I just want to feel like I've left Candor and all of that behind." He looks at all of us. "You guys don't have to be polite about it, I know you all heard me crying."
"Yeah, learn to quiet down, would you?" Christina jokingly pokes Al in the ribs. "I think you're right though. If we're going to be here, we should look the part."
You're not anything now, Four's voice repeats in my head and as much as I hate to admit it, I know that he's right. We all still wear our old factions on our sleeves no matter what color our clothes are. You can tell that Al and Christina were Candor by the volume of their voices, that Will and I were Erudite by our straight spines and measured steps, that Tris was Abnegation by how she shies away whenever the attention falls on her (when she's not jumping off buildings, that is).
Christina's eyes turn to Tris, who immediately says, "No, I will not dye my hair a weird color or pierce my face."
"You could pierce things other than your face," I say.
"Like your bellybutton," says Will helpfully.
"Or your nipple." Christina is barely able to contain her laughter as she speaks.
Tris groans and buries her face in her hands as we all share a laugh at her expense.
The Pit is alive with activity and we spend a long time staring at the directory, trying to decide where to go.
"I think we should hit up some clothing stores," I suggest. "As appealing as having a needle pierce my skin over and over sounds, I need better outfits than this." I gesture to my plain black t-shirt and sweats for emphasis.
"Same actually," Christina agrees then grabs Tris' arm. "And so does Tris."
"What's wrong with the clothes I have now?" She says as she regains her footing from the tug.
"They're ugly," says Christina, who has never minced words in her life. "We'll see you boys in fifteen or twenty."
"Or next year," Al says with a laugh.
"You're helping me pick out outfits too later!" calls Will as we walk away.
"Christina," says Tris, "shopping isn't really…my thing."
"Is that actually true or were you just not allowed to pick your own clothes in Abnegation?" I ask.
She frowns at that and doesn't reply.
"Look," Christina tugs her close, "just let us play dress-up for a little bit and if you don't like what we pick then you never have to wear it again."
Tris looks like she wants to disagree more, but in the end she rolls her eyes and lets us lead on.
So, telling the boys we'd meet them in twenty minutes was a lie. There are a lot of stores in the Pit to choose from and we got our cards loaded with our bi-weekly initiate stipend this morning. I've always admired Dauntless fashion, getting to wear it myself is beyond thrilling.
Tris finally agrees to a plain, knee-length dress cut at different lengths around the hem. The sleeves are long and the material is loose. I personally think it would look boring on me, but she makes it work.
Christina and I have a little more fun.
If we weren't underground, Christina would be freezing in her crop top with the shoulders cut out of the sleeves. I point this out but she just tells me to dress for the weather you want and not the weather you have. Her skirt clings tight to her legs and I talk her into trying out a pair of heeled boots among other things.
"Are these things supposed to be a death trap?" she asks as she wobbles around.
"Debatable," I reply.
I always liked Kira's leather jackets; she had no less than five because I never saw her wear the same one twice in a week. Mine has strings of beads polished to look like pearls hanging off the shoulders and I would have been a fool to pass up the skirt that only went halfway down my thighs but had a sheer layer that nearly trailed along the floor in the back. Especially when Christina was nearly jumping up and down with excitement when she saw it on me.
"What should we do with her hair?" Christina asks me as Tris stands before a mirror. "Honestly, my hair was never this long. I would have lost my mind." She runs a hand over her own shaved down curls. "Are you sure you won't cut it? I think you'd look really good with one side shaved."
"Absolutely not," says Tris.
I am pulling Tris' hair out of that terrible bun she put it in this morning. "Let's pull the front back. We might actually have a chance of seeing her face that way." I brush away a section of hair that had fallen to obscure the left side of Tris' face.
"Says the girl who's about to cover me in makeup." Tris rolls her eyes.
"Will you relax? I know what I'm doing. And it won't be much; I'd hate to cover your spots." Tris grimaces like she's tasted something bitter and I add, "They're too beautiful."
Christina and I agree to tie most of Tris' hair into two buns atop her head, which gives her the silhouette of an adorable mouse.
"If it makes you feel better," Christina says as I start pulling out the many makeup products I purchased earlier, "she'll be doing my face too."
I could have gotten nicer products in Erudite. I'm kind of surprised that the Reynolds Company doesn't have a branch here, honestly.
"For god's sake, close your eyes and hold still," I say when she cringes away from my eyeshadow brush.
"How am I supposed to trust that you won't stab my eye with that thing?"
"Because I am very good."
"I mean you did see her after the Choosing Ceremony, right?" adds Christina. "Like, wow."
Tris sighs, but closes her eyes. "Yeah, fine. Just be careful."
"Have a little faith. We're going to do a more natural look for you, neutral tones. I'll fix up your complexion a little and I can put some lipstick on you, if you want." I would have liked to see what purple and gold eyeshadow would look like on her, but she didn't care for that idea.
"What's wrong with my complexion?" Her voice is indignant.
"Nothing, nothing. Don't scrunch your face like that or I'm going to mess up." I hold her chin to keep her steady while I apply the eyeliner.
She starts to open her eyes when I'm putting on blush but snaps them closed again when I tell her, "Don't ruin the surprise."
She declines to wear lipstick, which makes sense I suppose. The patch of pale skin on the inner edges of her lips is very eye catching.
"Mimi," she breathes when I step back to allow her to look at herself. She starts to bring a hand to her cheek, but I swat it away.
"Do you like it?"
"I…yeah. Yeah." She shakes her head. "Sorry, I've never been allowed to look in a mirror like this."
"What does not looking in a mirror have to do with selflessness anyways?" says Christina.
"We – they reject vanity."
Christina looks neither swayed nor impressed. Then she turns to me, "Okay, okay, my turn. Do something bright."
Earlier I had helped Christina pick out an eyeshadow palette that probably contained most of the colors mankind can see. Then she insisted that I would teach her how to contour, then she got very excited about the neon lipstick.
When she opens her eyes, she actually squeals with excitement before pulling me in for a tight hug. Doing my own makeup takes half the time because I already know what I like. Usually I only broke out the colorful makeup for special occasions, mostly parties and recitals. Now I paint my eyes in vivid reds, purples, and the faintest hint of shimmering gold just because I can, because it makes me happy. I am sparkling, I am loud, and I am beautiful.
"Wish we still had our phones," says Christina. "This is totally the moment for a picture. Will and Al should be jealous."
"Will and Al will be jealous." I grin at her.
"Well let's go make sure they know it."
"Wait," says Tris. She is standing in front of a shelf of objects that are not clothes. One is a handheld camera that automatically prints the photos it takes.
I reach out to grab it immediately. It will use up most of the funds that I have left, but I don't care. The picture I snap of the three of us reflected in the mirror is more than worth it.
We leave a tip for the kind store owner who let us use her dressing rooms to assemble our final outfits, then start looking around the different tattoo parlors for our boys.
The one we find them in is small and not very busy. A thin man with an even thinner goatee is just beginning a design on Al's arm that he tells me will eventually be a colorful dancing skeleton.
"Why?"
He blushes and looks away. "It's kinda weird."
"Tell us anyway." Christina has one arm draped over my shoulders.
He looks unsure for a long moment. "So, uh, it's kind of morbid but – but I used to think about death a lot. Sometimes I still do. It – this sounds really pretentious, but I don't know how else to say it – it's the one thing that happens to everything everywhere. And I read this thing that was like, 'It is the first fear, it is the last fear. In some ways it's the only fear'. You're just…here, and then you're…not. And – and this used to really bother me; like, what do you know when you realize that? When the fear fills you up until there's no room left?" He blinks hard as though holding back tears. "One day I'll be a skeleton in the ground, we all will, just white bone and darkness. But…until then…" He makes a vague hand gesture. "There's still color." I don't know what to say. Christina doesn't know what to say either, and in the silence Al starts to backtrack. "Okay, okay, that was a lot. Wow, uh…"
"Al," says Christina, "if you ruin the makeup Mimi just did for me, I will seriously fight you" She blinks hard and shakes out her hands.
"Color, huh?" I say quietly when Christina has gone to look at a portfolio with Will, still a bit emotional.
"Yeah…"
"I think you're right." There is some kind of emotion pushing at the edges of my voice too. To disguise it, I say, "Can I…can I take your picture?"
He smiles and I am sure to change the settings to capture the vibrant beginnings of the tattoo.
"Mimi," says Will softly when I approach. "Mimi…wow…You look…wow."
I chuckle, not forgetting Al's words but storing them away. "That's what I was going for." I come around to the space beside him not occupied by Christina. "What have you been looking at?"
He shrugs. "Everything, but nothing so far."
"What about that one." Christina points to the very detailed, almost three-dimensional spider. She snickers and says, "Put it like right on your hand or something."
"Yes, Christina," Will drawls. "Let me just get a huge fuck-off spider inked onto the skin of my hand forever. That sounds like a great idea."
"Maybe they should just put 'jerk' across your forehead so that people know what they're getting into before you open your mouth," she retorts.
"If we're talking about honest tattoos then maybe you should get one that says 'loudmouth'," I say with a laugh.
"Oh, says the chronic smartass!" Christina exclaims with feigned indigence.
"I'm not half as bad as Will."
"Okay, rude!" He presses a hand to his heart in fake offense. "Here I was minding my own business, trying to find a tattoo, and now I am so mercilessly attacked."
While we were laughing, Tris had picked out a tattoo of her own. She endures our slightly over the top shock with a small smile.
"I didn't say I wouldn't," she reminds us. "I just said I wouldn't get a piercing or do anything with my hair."
Neither Will, nor Christina, nor I actually settle on anything. Nothing feels right for me. I see plenty of cool designs, but I can't stop thinking about what Al said. I want something that means as much to me as that skeleton does to him.