Page 14 of The Sixth Fraction

I clean up our breakfast dishes, just as I did on the day of our first Choosing Ceremony. My hands tremble as I scrub the bowls. My mother slides back the panel upstairs so each of us can check our appearance—a special mercy for the grieving, she calls it. I don’t look well, my eyes too wide and my skin too pale.

I try to slow things down for myself, try to memorize every part of this apartment: Mrs. Black’s embroidery hanging over the sink, the perfect stack of towels in the hall closet, the gray shoes lined up next to the front door. Tidy and respectful, that’s how our two families’ lives have been together. Even now, with everything coming apart.

Everyone gathers down the street, outside of Abnegation headquarters. My sixteen-year-old classmates and their families are the only ones permitted at this new Choosing Ceremony. I think of the way I felt just a few days ago, looking at the Dauntless stirring in their seats, longing for loose hair and loud voices. It feels silly now, worrying about hairpins in the moments before my friend died.

A hand grabs mine: Caleb, his jaw so tight I can see its tendons.

“Remember what I said a few days ago,” he says. “Make a choice you can live with.”

I barely remember that conversation. I rub my fingers over my sternum to ease the ache in my chest.

My mother and father are right behind us. My father reaches out and squeezes Caleb’s shoulder like he’s working out the tension, something he used to do when we hunched over while studying. It’s not that serious, you know, he used to say. It’s just learning.

We walk through the main entrance, and the huge stone bowls are right there, holding water and earth, stone and coals and glass. Behind them is the wide-open space of the lobby and the simple sculpture that’s usually its only adornment: a pair of cupped stone hands, the Abnegation symbol. Sometimes the hands look like they’re receiving something and sometimes like they’re offering something. Today I’m not sure which.

Standing behind the bowls are the faction leaders: Johanna Reyes of Amity, her hands folded in front of her; Jack Kang of Candor, with perfect posture; Max Young of Dauntless, scratching the back of his neck; Jeanine Matthews of Erudite, still and watching; and Marcus Eaton, his face grave.

Looking at him now, I wonder if I was seeing things the other day, when I thought I recognized his dead wife on the street. Everything about that day feels so unreal. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me.

We line up just like we did before, earliest birthdays on the left and latest birthdays on the right. At the ceremony with all the other factions, there were quite a few people behind me; today, I’m almost at the end. Only Felicity is behind me.

There’s one light in the room, shining down on the bowls. Our parents and siblings stand in the shadows, all around us.

Jeanine Matthews is holding a small box. When we’re finished lining up, she takes off the lid, revealing a collection of small knives.

“We want to begin by apologizing,” Marcus says. “This community has endured a great loss, and in an ideal world, you would be permitted to grieve before having to make such a big decision. We want to especially apologize to you, Susan.”

He gives her a sad smile. She returns it.

“But we agree that if there are violent forces in this city that want to destroy our way of life, it’s even more important that we hold fast to our convictions and move forward. It’s even more important that we cleave to our communities, our true families. So we must choose.”

I think of the motto I read in my Faction History textbook. Faction before blood. It means that a family can’t offer you the same things that a faction can. A family may love you, but it doesn’t necessarily understand you. It doesn’t necessarily guide you toward your best self. A family is just a temporary unit, serving its purpose until you figure out where you really belong.

“I said most of what I meant to say a few days ago, and I won’t make you sit through it again,” Marcus says, and polite laughter ripples through the room. “I will just say this: As much as a person can grow over time, the very root of who they are remains essentially the same. The aptitude test gets to that root, revealing the unchangeable inside the changeable. So we have all agreed that sixteen years is time enough to know the core of yourself—and to choose in what direction you wish to grow. And so.” Marcus steps back and gestures to the metal bowls in front of him. “And so, we’ll let you choose.”

Panic seizes my chest. What’s at the heart of me? What’s at the root of me? I feel like a dandelion seed adrift on the wind. I feel temporary and changeable.

“Mary Latham,” Marcus says, and Mary steps forward. She’s the tallest girl in our year. She takes the knife from Jeanine Matthews and cuts into her thumb. Blood bubbles up from the wound, and she lets it fall in the bowl right in the center, the pile of stones that symbolizes Abnegation.

“Eustace Cooke.” Red-cheeked Eustace takes a new knife from Jeanine Matthews. He pricks his finger. He chooses Abnegation.

There’s a moment of silence. Marcus is staring at the clipboard in his hands.

“This would have been Robert’s turn,” Marcus says. “So let’s consider the young man we lost.”

I feel like I swallowed something without chewing it. Like there’s a pill lodged in my throat.

Then: “Susan Black.”

Her cheeks shine with tears as she chooses Abnegation.

I’m inching closer and closer. One name at a time; one step at a time. Everyone is choosing Abnegation, and I’m imagining my blood on the stones, my blood on the coals, my blood—improbably—in the water. Worse than that, what if I can’t choose? What if I just stand there, unable to cut myself? What if they cast me out, or they see in my hesitation something suspicious, something Divergent—

“Caleb Prior.”

I realize that I’ve been holding Caleb’s hand this whole time only when he uncurls his fingers, and blood flows back into my fingertips, prickling. He doesn’t look back at me. He steps up to the bowls, accepts the small knife from Jeanine Matthews, and then takes a deep breath that makes his shoulders shift and shudder.

He cuts his finger, and I wait for him to stick his hand out and add his blood to the Abnegation stones.