I feel like someone breathed new air into my lungs.
I am not Abnegation.
I am not Dauntless.
I am Divergent.
A crowd of members stands below. They grasp one another’s arms, forming a net of limbs beneath me. In order to get down, I have to trust them to catch me. I have to accept that these people are mine, and I am theirs. It is a braver act than sliding down the zip line.
"theo is way too old to play f-“
"he’s not even attractiv-"
"theo and shailene have no chemistr-"
"he is going to look so old by the time the third movie comes ou-“
"he doesn’t fit four’s character description at al-"
Then someone grabs me from behind. I start to scream, but a hand claps over my mouth. It smells like soap and it’s big enough to cover the lower half of my face. I thrash, but the arms holding m e are too strong, and I bite down on one of the fingers. “Ow!” a rough voice cries. “Shut up and keep her mouth covered.” That voice is higher than the average male’s and clearer. Peter. A strip of dark cloth covers my eyes, and a new pair of hands ties it at the back of my head. I struggle to breathe. There are at least two hands on my arms, dragging me forward, and one on my back, shoving me in the same direction, and one on my mouth, keeping my screams in. Three people.
“Beatrice, your results were inconclusive,” she says. “Typically, each stage of themsimulation eliminates one or more of the factions, but in your case, only two have been ruled out.”
I stare at her. “Two?” I ask. My throat is so tight it’s hard to talk.
(…) “Wait,” I interrupt her. “So you have no idea what my aptitude is?”
“Yes and no. My conclusion,” she explains, “is that you display equal aptitude for Abnegation, Dauntless, and Erudite. People who get this kind of result are…” She looks over her shoulder like she expects someone to appear behind her. “…are called …Divergent.”