“I think everyone is here, so let’s get started.” Max closes the door to the conference room and stands before us. He looks strange in such an ordinary environment, like he’s here to break all the glass and cause chaos rather than lead this meeting. “You’re all here because you’ve shown potential, first, but also because you’ve displayed enthusiasm for our faction and its future.” I don’t know how I’ve done that. “Our city is changing, faster now than ever before, and in order to keep up with it, we’ll have to change, too. We’ll have to become stronger, braver, better than we are now. And among you are the people who can get us there, but we’ll have to figure out who they are. We’ll be doing a combination of instruction and skills tests for the next several months, to teach you what you’ll need to know if you make it through this program, but also to see how quickly you learn.” That sounds a little like something the Erudite would value, not the Dauntless—strange.
“The first thing you’ll do is fill out this info sheet,” he says, and I almost laugh. There’s something ridiculous about a tough, hardened Dauntless warrior with a stack of papers he calls “info sheets,” but of course some things have to be ordinary, because it’s more efficient that way. He sends the stack around the table, along with a bundle of pens. “All this will do is tell us more about you and give us a starting point by which to measure your progress. So it’s in your best interest to be honest, and not to make yourself sound better than you are.”
I feel unsettled, staring at the sheet of paper. I fill out my name—which is the first question—and my age—the second. The third asks for my faction of origin, and the fourth asks for my number of fears. The fifth asks what those fears are.
I’m not sure how to describe them. The first two are easy—heights, confinement—but the next one? And what am I supposed to write about my father, that I’m afraid of Marcus Eaton? Eventually I scribble losing control for my third fear and physical threats in confined spaces for my fourth, knowing that that’s far from true.
But the next few questions are strange, confusing. They’re statements, trickily worded, that I’m supposed to agree or disagree with. It’s okay to steal if it’s to help someone else. Well, that’s easy enough—agree. Some people are more deserving of rewards than others. Maybe. It depends on the rewards. Power should be given only to those who earn it. Difficult circumstances form stronger people. You don’t know how strong a person really is until they’re tested. I glance around the table at the others. Some people seem puzzled, but no one looks the way I feel—disturbed, almost afraid to circle an answer beneath each statement.
I don’t know what to do, so I circle “agree” for each one and pass my sheet back with everyone else’s.
Zeke and his date, Maria, are pressed up against a wall in a hallway next to the Pit. I can see their silhouettes from here. It looks like they’re still just as pressed-up-against-each-other as they were five minutes ago when they first went back there, giggling like idiots the whole time. I cross my arms and look back at Nicole.
“So,” I say.
“So,” she says, tipping forward onto the balls of her feet and back onto her heels again. “This is a little awkward, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, relieved. “It is.”
“How long have you been friends with Zeke?” she says. “I haven’t seen you around much.”
“A few weeks,” I say. “We met during initiation.”
“Oh,” she says. “Were you a transfer?”
“Um . . .” I don’t want to admit that I transferred from Abnegation, partly because whenever I admit that, people start thinking I’m uptight, and partly because I don’t like to toss out hints about my parentage when I can avoid it. I decide to lie. “No, just . . . kept to myself before then, I guess.”
“Oh.” She narrows her eyes a little. “You must have been really good at it.”
“One of my specialties,” I say. “How long have you been friends with Maria?”
“Since we were kids. She could trip and fall and land on a date with someone,” Nicole says. “Others of us aren’t as talented.”
“Yeah.” I shake my head. “Zeke had to push me into this a little.”
“Really.” Nicole raises an eyebrow. “Did he at least show you what you were in for?”
She points at herself.
“Um, yeah,” I say. “I wasn’t sure if you were my type, but I thought maybe—”
“Not your type.” She sounds cold, suddenly. I try to backtrack.
“I mean, I don’t think that’s that important,” I say. “Personality is much more important than—”
“Than my unsatisfactory looks?” She raises both eyebrows.
“That’s not what I said,” I say. “I’m . . . really terrible at this.”
“Yeah,” she says. “You are.”
She grabs the small black bag that was resting against her feet and tucks it under her arm. “Tell Maria I had to go home early.”
She stalks away from the railing and disappears into one of the paths next to the Pit. I sigh and look at Zeke and Maria again. I can tell by the faint movements I’m able to detect that they haven’t slowed down at all. I tap my fingers against the railing. Now that our double date has become an awkward, triangle-shaped date, it must be all right for me to leave.