Page 43 of The Sixth Fraction

“I’ve been letting you not finish your book for at least five minutes now,” the Mender says. “Now get back to it.”

I offer the Mender a smile. He offers one back.

When I show up to breakfast in new clothes, Rory stops stirring the oatmeal long enough to applaud.

The dining room of the Rookery is bigger than I expected and packed with tables. Most of them are empty, but I wonder if they’re ever full. If there are enough people living here to necessitate that many seats.

And if so . . . how big are the other safe houses? How many people are there in Evelyn’s sixth faction?

“Your reward for casting aside your Stiff garments,” Rory says, and she scoops oatmeal into a bowl for me. “Go sit over there. That’s where the faction failures are.”

She points at a back corner. Like the atrium behind me, the dining room is bright and clean—not worn-out, like all the buildings in the factionless sector. I can tell it’s been restored here and there, where the wood floor doesn’t quite match, or the wall is patched with white.

I take my bowl of oatmeal over to the table she pointed at, even though I chafe a little at being called a “faction failure.” I feel uncertain about sitting down until a red-haired boy shoves a chair back with his foot and points at it, then gestures apologetically at his full mouth.

The table is crowded. Closest to me is the empty seat that I assume will go to Rory. On the other side of it, a boy with a glum expression. And on the red-haired boy’s right, a girl with auburn hair that’s so long it’s almost falling into her food.

I set my bowl down and sit. Rory isn’t far behind me.

“Everyone, this is Tris. She failed out of Abnegation,” Rory says. “Tris, this is Colin. Colin, fair’s fair.”

Colin—the red-haired boy—sighs and sets his spoon down. He’s no longer chewing.

“I was born Erudite, then chose Dauntless, and was . . . unable to complete initiation,” he says delicately.

“He means that he got a leg cramp and couldn’t jump on the train right after he chose,” Rory says.

Colin glares at her but says, “Technically accurate, yes. Rory, fair’s fair.”

“Me, I couldn’t maintain Amity’s standards of peaceful behavior.”

“She started a fight, is what she means,” Colin says to me.

“They kick you out of Amity for one fight?” I ask.

“They kick you out for one fight if you refuse to break bread,” she says. “Which means, basically, that you have to apologize and make amends.” She shrugs. “I had one foot out the door anyway.”

Colin laughs. “Keep telling yourself that.”

I can’t help but laugh a little, too. I’ve never heard people talk like this. I was always taught that sharp words would injure the person I was speaking to, but Rory and Colin are both grinning.

Rory goes around the table after that, telling me who failed out of what faction and why. The girl with the long auburn hair is Cassandra, too reserved for Candor’s initiation ritual of full disclosure. The glum-looking boy is Miles, an Erudite boy who couldn’t solve their first puzzle.

Rory gets distracted before I can hear about the others, but that gives me time to eat my breakfast. My stomach is rumbling. Last night’s cold soup didn’t exactly fill me up.

“How did all of you find the Rookery?” I ask, when I’ve eaten enough to feel sated.

“They—we—have eyes and ears everywhere,” Rory says, with a shrug. “Especially when initiation’s going on. When we find out someone failed, we make the offer, and the rest is up to them.”

Eyes and ears everywhere. I wonder if that’s an exaggeration.

“So what’s gonna be your first act of freedom?” Rory asks me. “Haircut? Piercing? Show your collarbones in public?”

“Her hair’s down,” Colin says. “I bet that’s it.”

I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. It’s still rippled from the tight knot I wore it in when I arrived.

Rory clicks her tongue. “Abnegation.”