I put on my usual outfit: blue skirt with shorts underneath, white short-sleeved top, and flat blue shoes. To complete the erudite image, a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Once dressed, I make my way out of my room into the kitchen where my mother is cooking, back turned with her fiery red hair in a ponytail, just like I always do with mine. I've always been told I looked like my mother. From the color of my hair down to my choice of clothing and wholly unnecessary glasses; I am a younger version of her, through and through. As soon as I enter the kitchen, she turns with a plate of pancakes in hand; banana and walnut, my favorite.

"Ready for your test today, Audrey?" she asks.

"Of course, mom. I haven't reached a test that I can't handle, yet," I reply, "Whatever faction it gives me, I'll make the most logical choice for myself."

"That's my girl," my mother smiles back, "Always 'logical'. No matter what you choose, always keep your wits about you and know that I trust your reasoning."

I smile back and know that that's her way of saying that she'll always support me, always love me. But here in Erudite, we don't speak in terms of feelings and emotion; we speak in terms of logic and reason.

"As soon as you're finished, I'll drive you to class," my mother says between bites, "I'll be waiting outside to get you; they should release you around 3pm."

I nod as I finish off the last pancake in my stack. As soon as I'm done, it's off to our car as she said. She pulls up to the school and kisses me on the cheek.

"Bye, Audrey," my mom says, "I love you."

Surprised, I give her a kiss on the cheek back, "I love you, too."

Erudite aren't nearly as conservative when it comes to affection as the Abnegation, but we're still less likely to display our feelings, ever. What I just witnessed was a rare occurrence and I know it. That's when it hits me just how important today is. Depending on my test, I may be told that it's best to leave my mother forever and the thought scares me. But what terrifies me even more is the thought that I want to leave; that I've grown tired of erudite life. Being known as intelligent is nice, but it gets so boring after a while. I want adventure, I want excitement, I no longer wish to be water; I want to be fire. I stare as she pulls away and a part of me wants to run after her and tell her that I don't want to go today, that I don't know what's going to happen and that I'm terrified of that idea. But as I stand there, I remember what she always told me, "Don't ever fear the unknown; accept it, because it won't be unknown forever." I take a deep breath and I walk through the school doors to attend class one last time.