Chapter One

Beatrice

For most 15 year olds, their bedroom is like a window to their personality. Just from looking into it you can tell what their favorite colors are, what kind of music they like, and what they are interested in. Not with mine. My bedroom kind of resembles the inside of a jail cell. The walls and ceiling are grey, and there was very little in it besides a small, practical desk and a crappy little cot. Not that I need much more than this. It would be selfish to want it. And I am not allowed to be selfish.

"Beatrice," My brother, Caleb, calls. His wide shoulders fill the doorframe, and his eyes, green as moss, squint at me. " What are you doing? We are going to miss the bus, and then our plane ride, and then, our first day at school. Hurry up."

It takes all of my strength not to roll my eyes. I love my brother but I hate when he patronizes me. Anyways, rolling my eyes would be rude. I am not allowed to be rude.

Shaking off my annoyance, I roll out of my tiny cot, and roll out of the thin grey blankets I had cocooned myself in overnight. The watch on my desk, the only accessory my brother and I are allowed to wear, reads 6:45. I still have twenty minutes until the bus comes. I glower at Caleb in my head. I reach into my dresser and pull out my outfit for the day. Maybe, if my parents weren't the way they are, I would be stressing out about what I would wear on my first day of high school, but as it is, I don't have a lot of choices, just long grey skirts and loose shirts. I could wish for more flattering clothes, maybe even ask my parents for them, but I still wouldn't be that pretty. Besides, it would be vain. I am not allowed to be vain.

It is 6:55 when I come downstairs. My brother is already making breakfast in the kitchen, my mother is cleaning up, smiling at me as I walk in and my father is reading the newspaper. They look so content, peaceful. This is when I feel guiltiest about leaving them.

My father is a politician. I'm not quite sure what his job entails, but I know he works with Marcus Eaton, the mayor of Boston on some project. He believes in manners, charity, and most of all, conformity. All of our actions should revolve around other people and our hobbies should consist of constantly being polite, putting our own interests aside, and helping the homeless. Not that exciting, but it's a simple lifestyle, very safe and pure.

"Beatrice, we are going to miss you," My father whispers. He picks up his coffee and turns back to me. "You're going to do great." He kisses me on the top of my head.

"He's right sweetie. There's nothing to be scared of," My mother assures me. I'm not sure how they knew I was nervous. Just a parent thing, I guess.

We all share goodbyes and 'I love you' s and Caleb and I head out to the bus stop.

The bus sucks. It is packed with commuters and students all heading to their destinations. It smells so strongly of exhaust that it makes me sick to my stomach. I look up at Caleb, who is standing at the front of the bus. He had just given his seat to another man. Of course he had. Caleb is a natural, the perfect Abnegation. His eyes scan the crowded bus, trying to forget himself and focus on others. We are in the same year, but we are not twins, just brother and sister. Sometimes I hate him for being so good at being selfless, and pleasing our parents. He just fits in the way I wish I did: easily. I know where he will belong at our new school, with the other grey-clad kids, in their clique. I'm not so sure about myself. The bus shutters to a stop. We are at the airport.