Disclaimer: I don't own Divergent

Hiding In Plain Sight

01

The Price of Dissent

Everyone says that youth is one of the easiest times of your life. You'll feel better about it tomorrow, they say. It may seem like a big deal now but when you're older, you'll see it doesn't matter, I hear. That's a lie. It doesn't get better.

You just learn to get over it. And those are two different things.

But what's worse is when you think everything would stay the same even if they were to go, that you'd get over it, find some way to cope or discover something better. Some people don't think about it at all and looking back on it, I guess I was one of those people. Only it was a little too late. Hearing voices of friends laughing behind me while I brought them to hang out at my apartment after school, keeping Mom company as she worked around Candor, listening to Dad vent about the hearings he had to oversee and grew tired of, being invited to sleep over at a friend's apartments next door. Things that were a routine, then became nothing. Like holding a kid's drawn picture over a flame and watching it disintegrate.

Did those things even happen? Sometimes I wonder if I just made it up... that's how fast it all went away. I wish I could talk to someone about it, but I'm not really used to heart-to-hearts. Mom and Dad never really were either and for the most part, that worked out fine. I guess I never really needed it then. Candor might be pegged for honestly, but sentiment is another thing. Something I don't know well. You'd think in a place where people do nothing all day except talk, talk and talk, about anything, about everything that communication is not an issue, but no. I can't speak for the entirety of Candor but I'm wouldn't go around asking anyone either.

Maybe it's because I know they're mad. It's been years since my sister left and I don't think they've let it go. That's a lot of pride to admit to and maybe they would, but sometimes it's hard to actually tell. I can hear their reasoning behind it if I really stop and think about it, but I'll never know for sure. They don't talk anymore. Not to me anyways. It wasn't always like that, but the funny thing is that I don't remember exactly when it stopped. It just did.

Growing up with an older sister has it's kinks, mainly when you realize you can fit into each other's clothes, then it turns into a scavenger hunt for stuff you already own. Then that's when the bickering starts. I guess you can say we were close, but not in the do everything, go everywhere together way. We still told each other things that even our parents still don't know about and now that I think about it, it was just a lot of listening. Me to her, and her to me. When something was eating at me, I told her what was wrong and no matter what it was she understood even if she didn't necessarily go through the same experience. She just listened.

It didn't hit me until the morning after she left just how big of a presence someone has and how much is stolen when they're not there. I don't know why she transferred and I don't think I ever will. Maybe she was scared. Maybe she felt confused and pressured and the test results didn't come back the way she wanted them to. I still remember how it looked when the blood dripped from her palm, the droplets hitting the untainted water like a natural birth. She belonged to Erudite then. Nobody else. Not even herself. Hard to believe was six years ago and farther the years get away from that date, the more she fades. The more it will feed into my memory; a fantasy that'll never come true.

Sometimes I wonder what it's like for her to be one of them. An Erudite. After all this time of seeing different faction members at school, it's still hard to think of life beyond their walls. I know it's supposed to stay that way, that what matters is our bubble and who comes and goes from it, but still... you can't help but wonder. This city had been on it's feet for hundreds of years. Or so they say. Do the Erudite like to give in to gossip every now and then? My sister hated that. Does she have a lot of friends? She did in Candor and I can't imagine much difference just because she's on the other side of the city now. Or maybe she has changed too with the times. I wouldn't know anything about her, given how long she's been gone.

I try not to think about it anymore.

Tick...

Tick...

Tick...

I wake up to the blurry view of my bedside table, the surroundings out of focus until I blink and the bedroom window shakes into clarity, showing the buildings on the other side of the street. Oh, I think to myself, I forgot. It's the morning of the Choosing Ceremony and in my boredom of waiting for my parents to come up to the apartment, I laid on my front on the bed, cheek buried to the pillow and drifted off to the sound of passing vehicles, the humming of city life below and whatever else goes on this four room apartment. Which isn't much. It never is anymore. The long black clock hands gradually inch their way to the eight hour mark as I pull my arms from around the pillow and rub my eyes.

I'm still so tired. I wanna close my eyes again, but then the front door to the apartment opens and shuts with a muffled click. Knowing that it's getting close to the time where we have to leave for the Hub, I lean over the edge of the bed and drag my black sneakers out from under the bed skirt and sit on the carpet to tie them on. Muttered conversation echoes from the apartment entry, so I stand up and head to the door before they have to come and get me. As I turn the knob, I pause and gaze back at the remnants of my room, taking in everything; the open math textbook on my desk, a shirt lying on my desk chair I forgot to put away yesterday morning, the space in the closet door I didn't close after dressing. Things that are normal for me, but look foreign from this angle, as if I had woken up in a stranger's apartment and just now realized that I don't belong there.

I shut the door and walk to the foyer where my parents wait by the front door. They stand facing each other - Mom with her back to me and there's a chill in the air that wasn't there before, even when I came home from the Aptitude Test yesterday afternoon, but once I'm in the room, the mood instantly shifts. Not negatively, but the tension is thick enough for me to wait quietly on the side. There isn't much to say except when Mom asks me to get her bag from their bedroom for her and I do silently. She thanks me when I hand it back to her, her fingers cold from being up so early in the morning. She slings the black strap over her shoulder as Dad checks the time on his wrist watch, pushing up his sleeve. He frowns at the glossy face, as if looking at it alone is enough to turn back the hands, but then he looks over at Mom pointedly. She gazes back.

Then we leave.

Choosing Day is the busiest time of year for the city streets. The walks are longer, the groups of Faction members multiply and the sidewalks become as overrun as the passing trolley cars. In times like this, I don't mind walking and that's what we do. But we're not alone, as other Candor members step out with us on our way past the Merciless Mart doors. Rings of smoke puff up above different heads, like halos turned into soot, used from dust that covers old buildings demolished long before our time. I follow along behind my parents until we're halfway to the Hub, but then the bubble of friends swallow me up inside their circle and we press forward far ahead of the elder members.

When we reach the Hub, I pause at the threshold of the doors and glance back at the sidewalk, feeling like I should wait up for my parents. I don't see them anywhere but before I can go back and search someone calls my name from the lobby. A girl in a black and white striped long sleeve runs up and grabs my hand, pulling me back to the group. She smiles back at me as she drags me along, enthusiasm rivaling that of an Amity child. I guess at this point, once we cross this border, the waiting has to stop. It probably should have a long time ago, but still, I can't help but gaze back at the door.

I still can't see them.

The line is long leading to the ascending elevator and I notice an Abnegation man step out to make room for a coming wave of Amity folk, other members of his faction following his example. A nice gesture, but it isn't much of a help for the capacity of the elevator; it's so cramped with people, I don't think there's any part of me that isn't squished between a square of other people's shoulders. My head pounds with a dull ache as the doors ding shut and the floor numbers light up above. I try to focus on the hum of that and the fact that I can't move an inch, wondering if anyone else gets uneasy in situations like this.

Once we're atop the highest floor, the masses disperse into the individual sections marked off for the five factions. My parents have caught up by now, but I lose sight of them again on the way to where the initiates usually sit. The varying degrees of height and body proportions make it difficult to see over anything, even when I go up on my tip toes, peering over shoulders. Maybe they don't want to see me until after it's over. I guess I can't really blame them for that.

"I'm nervous," a shorter Candor girl standing in front of me murmurs into the air, clasping her hands together low in front of her, palms touching flat. A boy in a white and black pin striped coat overhears her and snorts.

By the time the representatives walk in, the room is almost full. A light shines brightly on the stage, like an ethereal beam highlighting each faction bowl. I've seen this place once before and nothing about it feels different, much less looks out of place. Granted, I was a lot younger the first time I witnessed a Choosing Ceremony, but you'd think with over a hundred years of transfer history, the room would take in the disapproval, the joy, the fury, tears and acceptance and the walls would stain themselves with it, like spilled water and the paper that quickly absorbs it. But no. It feels cold, clinical; like even with this many people occupying the seats, it'll always be dead.

An elegant blonde haired woman comes onto the stage then and the murmurs going on behind me stop. Jeanine Matthews, here to show us all where we belong. Her face has become something of an icon since she rose to Erudite's representative. She's revered for her knowledge and classiness, at least among her own. Her eyes flick over every face, like she has us all under her retina, looking at us all directly at once. She's the only person that has that effect; the illusion to do an impossible thing. But that's just who she is. An impossibly powerful woman. I listen to her say a few words, even though I've heard them once by a different person. It's the Abnegation's turn to give the opening monologue this year, but I fade out as soon as their representative begins to speak.

I think about my sister and how she must have felt sitting here all those years ago, as I am, by herself. What was going through her head? To stand in front of each bowl like that, where your judgement won't go through without the touch of hesitation, indecision. It's never an in between, despite what people tell you growing up. Yes or no; right or wrong. Easy or hard. It's all the same. But that's what they say, what the Candor insist on being true when asked about it. Presented in any other way, it'd only be a lie. Only a lie. Now that I'm older, I think I lost sense of what that really is.

Soon after, the introduction ends and the names start being drawn. I don't know how long I sit there waiting. My gaze drifts off onto the back of an Amity boy's patchy orange sweater, the threads looking like they're hand sewn. Another name is called and then there's a pause.

The room goes still.

A hand suddenly reaches out to lightly shove my left shoulder. "That's you," somebody whispers. I blink and pull my temple away from it's position against my curled fingers. Several seats that were once filled around me are now vacant, a strange kind of coldness seeping from them in their absence.

I stand up slowly, hearing muffled laughter an aisle behind me, and trudge over to the awaiting bowls. Abnegation's representative, Marcus, hands me the knife swiped clean of a stranger's DNA. The blade is so pristine I can see a quarter of my reflection in it, plus all the lanterns wired to the ceiling. There is no sound in my ears. No hum of a bystander's labored breathing, whispers of prediction. All I can comprehend is that time is ticking and my blood can only drip on one surface. The handle feels like rubber in my palm and I hold onto it tighter so it won't clatter to the floor.

Is this how she felt too?

I look from the knife point to the contents of every faction bowl, seeing the earthy dew, bloodied water, red spotted stones, lit coals, and glass edges stare back at me; taunting, calling, warding me away all at once. I don't think anyone else has taken this long to decide. What does that say about me? I've thought about what to do when this moment finally came, but actually standing here... it doesn't feel real. I want to tell myself to wake up, but I can't. I couldn't make myself be ready for this. Maybe you're not supposed to be.

Uneasy and rushed by the prolonging silence, I suck in a breath and swipe the knife over the inner crease of my hand, wincing when it goes deeper than I intend. I let the blade sit in my skin for a moment, watching the blood dribble out from around the steel edge before holding my open palm out over a bowl. I spread my fingers. The first drop lands like a stud of rain.

"Dauntless."

An uproar from the Candor makes me realize what I've done. The loudness somehow trumps over the applause from the Dauntless and both the demands from the Abnegation man to quiet down, leaving me to hear nothing but the grumbles of controversy and the smell of blood. Thick red fluid seems to burn into a blackish ash against the fires, erasing peace, intelligence or honesty that someone traded in for bravery. I turn away from the lull of flames, feeling my hand splash blood on the floor and head back to the aisles, noticing after I take three steps that I'm going in the wrong way of my old faction. Force of habit.

There's no doing that anymore.

A Dauntless boy stands up and gives me his seat - an offer that's strangely Abnegation, but I take it with gratitude. The blood flow has stopped a little and I hold my hand slightly curled into a fist, as the sting keeps me from closing it all the way. There's still more than a quarter of names that need to choose. I watch them with wavering attention, half staring at the smoke that begins to filter from the Dauntless bowl to the reflective glow on the ceiling by Candor's glass shards. I'll never see that again. There's lots of places and people I'll never see again.

And I guess that's okay. No one's really obligated to go back, regardless on however rash the decision to remain or leave really is. I don't know what prompted me to make that step and maybe I'll never fully know, but I don't have to spend the rest of my life wondering about it. I shouldn't have to.

When the Ceremony ends, everyone stands up to leave the auditorium. There's a slight delay in the exit points, as all five factions moving at once causes for a lot of jams. I wait with curiosity, leaning up behind someone's shoulder to see what's going on. That's when I hear it. Hear something and it sounds so much like one of my parents, talking to somebody that's not me; I can't help but swing around to scour the crowd.

No one's there.

With a rapidly beating heart, I push past different faction members to the area I remember them walking to when we first came in. Some Erudite elders have stayed behind to chat with the other factions, but the seats have been more or less cleared out. I scan the entire expanse for them, hoping they'd stick around a little longer to see me. Despite the distance between us, I feel like as their daughter, my obligation is to them first. They brought me into this world, regardless if my presence in theirs isn't enough anymore. If joining Dauntless was a form of leaving it, I have to say goodbye; my final act act as a Candor and their own.

But they're gone.

I stare at the vacancy for a moment and sigh, thinking if I should be feeling something more equivalent to heartbreak, but really, it's just sad anticipation. I spin back around and jog back toward the stairs so I don't miss the commute down. Vigorous footsteps pound all the way down the hundred flight steps, laughter like claps of thunder. It sounds like a beat an old military army would march to.

"What the hell is going on?" A boy asks when we're about halfway past the level of stairs. He already looks winded. A girl in grey next to him just shakes her head and keeps running. I'm even less vocal.

When we hit the last floor, the doors burst open in a explosion of mid morning light. They all run past the exit, down to the last remaining corridor and descend the final flight of steps that lead into the streets. Their black clothing form into one large shape like an impending wraith, swarming over every place, person and thing. Before we came piling through, the city seemed practically dead. How weird, I think to myself as I run. To see the city this way.

Is this how it's suppose to feel, all the time?

By the time we're all up on the train tracks, it's horn can be heard from at least two miles away. It's windy from this height and I try not to look down, even though the height doesn't quite scare me, The back of my sneakers hover dangerously close to the edge of the platform, just the sight of it alone might knock me off balance, given how little space we have. I tuck a rippling lock of hair behind my ear as the current picks up and blows strands in my vision. Gazing around at the group, counting both transfers and Dauntless borns, I see that it's actually pretty big assortment. The Dauntless borns take the lead by four or five extra people, but still, it's plenty of initiates for just one class. Nothing seems to faze them, judging by how they take in everything at once with easy grins. I wonder if their bodies even register pain anymore, given the way they grew up.

"Oh no," someone mutters behind me. "Are we supposed to hop on that thing?"

I glance over at the guy, brows furrowed, but when two white orbs come charging around the bend, I realize what he's talking about. The train. It's coming closer.

The others begin to cheer wildly and I shift anxiously, preparing for it to wheeze to a stop, but it gushes past us and flies down the track, leaving pockets of dust and wind in its wake. I see long handles hooked on the metal plates and the Dauntless borns lead the sprint after it. They haul themselves in first, rolling over each other while the rest left in navy blue and shades of the rainbow cling to the handles on it's side. I grab onto one and risk holding on with one hand while I push another door open with the other. The force of other bodies jumping up at the same time behind me nearly launches me inside the train car and I almost crash into the far wall. The Dauntless borns laugh and smile at it all, hair mussed and eyes glossy. They don't look the least bit exhausted. I guess this is nothing to them.

The same can't be said for some transfers. A few of them sit low to the walls or take to a corner, clearly out of breath and unnerved by the open train doors. I let out a long held breath, my heartbeat thumping slowly and rest my back against the wall. Did everyone get on? I think to myself as I study around the cabs, noticing a subtraction in numbers, but I can't estimate how many are missing. There's too many faces.

At least I'm here, I think to myself, for whatever that's worth if anything at all. Granted, the distance from here back to the Choosing room isn't very far. In retrospect, anybody could have done it. I could have easily stayed where I was, pretended like I was excited to go back my room again, see friends at school and in Candor who I barely talk to anymore. I could have. I just didn't want to. Letting that moment slip through didn't feel right. I'm glad it brought me here, whether it was the right one or not.

"They're jumping off!" A voice exclaims after a while. Initiates run toward the open doors to look out, gasping when they see what's happening.

I push off the wall and ease up next to two Candor colored boys who stare at the view of a wide rooftop. At first, I don't see anything out of the ordinary, until the black dots start to leap into the air and roll on top of the roof. One by one, several at a time; no matter the number count, they keep jumping until all that's left is just the transfers.

"What if you don't jump?" The taller of the two ex-Candor boys asks. He looks between the darker haired one and I.

The shorter boy rolls his eyes. "What do you think? You'll be Factionless. Good luck, Al." He moves around us, bumping into my shoulder on the way past, but I can't tell if it's done on purpose or accidental.

The worried looking giant glances down at me with a frown, a crinkle to his thick brows. "Do you think he was serious?"

"Probably," I tell him, my voice sounding choppy by the rippling wind coming in from the open doors. "Don't base it off what someone else says, though. Do it if you really want to."

The boy doesn't say anything. His frown only deepens.

"Well, I'm not doing it," another kid pipes in. I look over at him and see that he's the only one hailing from Amity. An anomaly in his rainbow attire. A Candor girl tries to console his repeated refusals, but I veer away from the conversation to get a better look at the passing roofs. It won't stay in this scenery for much longer. It's either jump or ride the train until it stops - if it ever stops - and you're left alone wherever you are, for the rest of your life. Is that really any different from what it was like before?

If getting on a train takes some strength, I can imagine how risky throwing yourself off will be. Both have equal chances of death, just in slightly different scenarios. Probably not something I should be thinking about now. I breath in steadily, trying to forget all the visuals of what could go wrong in a setting like this and tell myself to just do it: just switch off my brain and just do it; go go go get it over with-

Until I'm not on the train anymore. I roll on the roof a couple times before landing on my front, tiny pebbles pressing into my hands and making my cut bleed again. Dust and soil sprinkle in my hair, so I muse it with my hand to get off the grime and earth. I try to rise carefully, kicking one knee up, then the other until I'm standing steady on both feet. It feels someone just took a pipe to the back of my head and I press my palm lightly to the space between my brows to ease the pounding in my temple.

Crackling laughter comes from a cropped haired girl still sitting on her heels, so hard it's almost hysterical. Another girl is leaning over the brick edge with tears streaking down her cheeks and fights against a boy who tries to steer her away. I guess there's different forms of disorientation.

"Alright, listen up."

I pull my head away from my hands at this new voice and follow it's trail to the opposite side of the roof. A man stands on the brick ledge, his back to the horizon. He's older, in his mid twenties maybe, with several piercings along his face and hints of tattoos ending at the base of his neck. The image matches the rough tone of voice.

"I'm Eric. I'm one of your leaders. If you want to enter Dauntless, this is the way in. And if you don't have the guts to jump, then you don't belong in Dauntless."

A voice from the crowd repeats, "You want us to jump off a ledge?"

"Yes," Eric says, his eyes flashing.

"Is there water at the bottom or something?" A boy asks.

"Well, I guess you'll find out. Or not."

None of us are particularly reassured and a lot just glance around warily. A part of my view being blocked by a muscular Dauntless born boy, I try to lean up around him to see what exactly lies behind the ledge, but the bricks are stacked too high to reveal anything.

"Someone's gotta go first. Whose it gonna be?"

A beat passes.

Nobody steps forward.

I look around and see everyone looking here or there, anywhere besides Eric. Some of them look nervous, scared even and a part of me is surprised that a Dauntless born hasn't volunteered themselves yet. There's always something that'll make us hesitate every time. And when it comes to something so shrouded like jumping into an excavation we can't see, it's not like going from tracks to train, from train to roof. At least we knew what we were up against then. But now, we really don't know. It can't be something too dangerous. We have to come out of this alive, more or less. Scraping blood off cement seems pretty tricky anyways.

I lean around the tall boy in front of me a little ways, wondering what it'd feel like to balance yourself on a narrow beam like that, knowing you have control of yourself but not everything else around you. It sounds terrifying. This is what their made from, though. But am I?

A girl wades through the crowd then, dressed from head to toe in grey sack-like clothes. The only Abnegation transfer. She's pretty in the most natural way. People part to give her space and the ledge is free to her. She surveys whatever lies over the other side of the roof before shedding her long coat.

"Yeah, Stiff, take it off!" The same boy who ran into me on the train jeers. Not in the way a normal boy would say to a girl he likes, but in a cruel, degrading manner. "Put it back on."

I look over to where he stands only a couple feet away, feeling a sense of deja vu when I really see his features, but just like everything else, it's only a face; things that pass me by. The Abnegation girl pauses at the comment, her jacket tight in her hands. She rolls it up into a neat ball before whirling around and throwing it at the Candor boy. It thumps him square in his chest and falls at his feet. A stifled laugh escapes from me at that, an almost startling noise in the otherwise quiet atmosphere. How many days was it it since I laughed at something?

Eric glances sharply in my general direction then, either caught off guard from the noise or annoyed that someone broke silence again. The mass of other bodies, taller and broader, keep his eyes from exactly pin pointing me though, but I do see him more clearly from this angle. His eyes are the brightest blue.

The Abnegation girl carefully stands up on the ledge, looking down the whole time.

"Today, initiate," the tattooed leader says.

Then she's gone. I hold my breath and wait for any echo that she landed safely at the bottom, but the only sound is the wind blowing through my hair. Silence swallows the group whole.

"Anyone else?" Eric says after a moment, an eyebrow raised as he turns to weigh us all down again.

The lack of speech is like clockwork. Except this time, the time frame is cut down a little. I missed my chance the first time and I figure I might as well get it over with because if I stand by and watch as the rest take their turns, I'll be too fearful when the time comes for mine.

With an exhale, I squeeze through the gap in the crowd, pausing for a second when uncertainty washes over me. Eric sees this and just gestures with a hand for me to go on, making my pulse tick tick a little faster. The ledge is taller up close like this, but not a herculean effort to climb on top of. I tuck my hair back that's being whipped around by the wind and tentatively peer down, putting pressure on my heels so I don't wobble. Far below, there's a dark hole leading down into what I guess is the main compound. It's pitch black and impossible to see anything beyond it.

Bad idea, I think to myself, suddenly feeling spooked by the imagery. But I stay on the ledge, taking more time than I did when I came off the train. Telling yourself to just do it isn't so helpful under the scope of an audience, plus one who has a considerable amount of power. And up here, it feels like time is being eaten by the paranoia of my own head, a greedy unsatisfied thing, taking years and years from me. There's only one way to stop it.

I jump off.

The world gets sucked into a vortex of brick wall, the scream of wind currents and flashes of the blue sky as it gets smaller and smaller until I make contact with a springy net. The material is course against my hands, like the skin of a dead animal. I stare up at the hole and faintly see the wall where I just stood a few seconds ago. From the opposite end, it really doesn't look that high. I roll on my side to slide off, but then another man walks up. Tall, about the same height as Eric and looks around to be about the same age too. He grabs my waist with both hands and lifts me up and onto steady ground as if I weigh next to nothing. He has handsome features and and brown eyes that look too mature for someone still so young.

I don't know why but his eyes remind me of the sixth grade. Once during a lunch break, a boy marched right over to the table where I sat, spun me roughly by the shoulders and kissed me. Right on the lips. I was so startled when he pulled away, I ended up grabbing my tin cup of water and poured it all over his head - half of it coming from shock of his manhandling and the other out of pure mortification of what's supposed to be a memorable moment put on display. But as it turned out, the whole thing was just a gimmick from his friends, daring him to kiss any random girl he saw that day. It took a couple years for people to forget about it. He never came too close to me after that.

"What's your name?" The guy asks me, removing his hands from my waist.

I tell him.

"Second jumper: Charlotte. Welcome to Dauntless."

People cheer and punch my arm in a friendly manner as I stand next to the first jumper.

It doesn't take long for the third person to come tumbling down. Some jump in rapid succession, hitting the net seconds after one has rolled off, while others take more time than they probably need. It takes a while for all of us to reach common ground, even longer when the last jumper takes her sweet time and Eric decides to shove her off himself. When everyone gathers together, the Dauntless borns are taken with another instructor, leaving the remainders under Four's authority, the man that helped me off the net. His introduction is formal, an ally to his cold disposition.

He doesn't seem like the unapproachable kind. Not like the man above. But there is something different about him and it's not necessarily bad. As he starts to show us around, I start to loosen up a little, feeling more aware of this darkened, confined way of living. It seems to work for a lot of people, but what's good for one person won't always be good for the next.

I wasn't Candor. But I don't know if I'm Dauntless either.

A/N: Thanks for reading!