I don't own Divergent.

Hey, world. Thanks for reading. As you probably know, I also wrote A Divergent Dauntless. If you're here because of that, thanks twofold. This is just an idea I've been toying with. I hope you enjoy. Tell me if you wNt me to continue and I will.

UPDATE: I was re-reading Divergent, and I realized Tris' eyes are like her dad's and her hair is like her mom's. I just fixed my mistake of saying the other way around. I'm going to fix the mistake with Caleb in a second...

"Beatrice!" my dad, Andrew, calls gently. "You left your backpack."

I blush and run back into the house. "Thanks, Dad." I give him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. He's been doing his best at fathering me for...well, since my mom up and left when I was four months old.

"You're nervous," he notes, holding me to him.

"Yeah." I sigh. "What if...Dad, I'm a public school kid. They're all kids of rich people and they've been going here for probably their entire lives. What if I'm not good enough?"

My dad holds me away from him so I can look into his eyes. His dark brown hair is different from my blonde hair, but our blue-gray eyes match. "Beatrice, you earned this. You got yourself into this school. If no one can see how special you are for working so hard to get that scholarship, they're idiots."

"I love you, Dad," I mumble, running to the bus stop. He waves as I get on the bus.

I look around as I walk down the aisle. There are kids wearing blue, gray, red and yellow, black and white and black. They all seem to be grouped based on that. I look down at my own all-black clothes - chosen not out of knowledge of the social groups, but because I like the style - and wonder if I'd fit in with the kids in black.

"Hey," a cruel, nasally voice says to my right. "Look, there's a new kid. Looks like a Stiff."

Another voice pipes up, "Shut the fuck up, Peter. Just because you're an idiotic bully doesn't mean we want to hear your stupid jokes." The person, a dark-skinned and black-haired stranger in black to my left, turns to me. "So, newbie, wanna sit with me?"

I nod and sit next to her. She shakes my hand vigorously. "Where'd you transfer from?" she asks. "Oh, oops, I'm sorry. My name is Christina. I'm a junior. You?"

"Uh," I hesitate. I have the chance to become a new person.

"Think about it," a new voice adds. "You don't get to choose again."

"Shut up, Four," Christina snaps, but in her eyes is a glint of humor, so I know she likes this person. I turn around to see where the voice is coming from, and come face-to-face with a really hot guy. He has dark blue eyes that hold pain, a handsome face, hooked nose, spare upper lip and full lower lip.

I extend my hand, feeling confident. "Tris."

"Four," he replies, shaking it.

I turn back to Christina. "Tris. I'm also a junior. And I transferred from Lincoln Park High School."

"You transferred from a public school?" Peter asks, voice dripping with disdain.

"Yeah, and I also have a black belt in tae kaon do," I reply. "You got a problem with that, douche?"

"You?" Peter scoffs, but he sounds a little nervous. "Black belt? I don't think so."

I turn around and punch the seat, hard enough to jolt Christina and I. "Believe it now, douche?"

Peter glares at me. "No."

"Stay away from me, asshole," I recommend. "Trust me, you don't want to mess with me."

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want," Peter snaps back.

"Bad idea, douche," I reply, flicking his ear as I walk off the bus. Christina and Four run along behind me.

"Are you really a black belt?" Four asks, excitement in his eyes.

"Yeah. I grew up in...well, not the nicest neighborhood. In seventh grade, after I started getting catcalled more and more, my dad moved me from Englewood to Lincoln. But in fourth grade, he forced me to start tae kwon do lessons. I've had my four-stripe black belt in it for a year now. I'm working on my fifth-stripe, and I'm also starting karate," I reply nonchalantly.

"Sweet," says Four. I roll my eyes. So naïve.

"Tae kwon do and karate aren't just 'cool,' Four," I snap. "They're a way of life; they're discipline."

"Okay, okay," he surrenders. "I just meant that it was cool that you're such a young black belt."

Christina steps in. "Do you have your schedule? And who's your angel?"

"Excuse me?" I ask.

"Your angel," she repeats. "The person that shows you around for the first few days."

"That would be me!" a large, deep, and happy voice booms.

"Uriah's your angel?" Christina groans. "I'm sorry, Tris."

"Hey!" Uriah complains. "For your information, I am an amazing angel!" And Uriah and Christina start bickering.

Meanwhile, Four walks over and stands close to me, looking over my shoulder at my classes. "Wow," he whispers. "You must be a freaking genius! I'm a senior, and you're in some classes that are even more advanced than mine!"

I take his schedule out of his hand and compare it to mine. We both have the same AP English Lit class, the same music class, gym period, AP writing class, AP Spanish, Latin/Greek (it's one class at Chicago Preparatory school) and AP European History class. "Seems like you're pretty smart, too," I reply handing him his schedule. Most of the classes I'm taking this year are filler classes, classes that just sounded interesting, or my writing class. I finished nearly all my credits last year - except for in music, of all the classes. And then I got accepted to this school with a full ride...so I decided to go here for at least a year and take some filler classes, plus my stupid music credit. I'm guessing the classes he's talking about are my math and science courses - I'm taking linear algebra and AP chemistry.

"Yeah, I'm pretty good. But you're already taking linear algebra! I'm taking multivariable calculus and I'm a year ahead of lots of people here. You should be an Erudite." Four shakes his head. "Dauntless is for sporty people, not brains."

"Excuse me?" I glare at him. "Just because I'm good at school doesn't mean I don't play sports. For your information, I play soccer, figure skate, and am a catcher in softball."

He laughs. "At CP, we have what the students call 'factions.' Essentially, they're cliques. Huge ones that transcend grade and blood. They factions are Amity - the kind and bubble and happy - the Erudite - the cold brains - the Dauntless - the brave, reckless sporty ones - the Candor - they're honest and they argue a lot, so they're good at debate - and the Abnegation - the selfless. The Abnegation tend to help people out a lot. Anyway what I was saying is that you're smart enough to be in Erudite. But I guess you're sporty enough for Dauntless, too, so it's your choice."

"How long do I have to choose?" I ask.

Four thinks. "Approximately two hours. After we get our lockers and stuff, we have a big welcome-back assembly, and then the teacher let the kids go to what we call the 'Choosing Ceremony.' You choose your faction and stick with it. Because you're one of the oldest,you'll be going near the front. You'll drip your blood into the embers, if you choose Dauntless, or into the water, if you choose Erudite."

"Okay," I reply. He starts to walk away. "Hey! Four. Since Uriah and Christina are, uh, arguing, can you show me around?"

He grins at me. "Of course."

Four takes me to my locker - which, according to him, is right next to Christina's - and then shows me to the auditorium, where we sit together and chat. I learn that Four is also a transfer from a public school, except he transferred in when he was a sophomore - two years ago. Also, he plays baseball, soccer and hockey. We're surpisingly similar.

Then, Christina walks in with Uriah, another guy, and a girl. Four's attitude immediately begins to change. His eyes and face become less open, and he scowls.

"Hey, Tris!" Christina calls. "Four!" Four groans and ducks his head. I find myself squeezing his hand, once, and then letting go. Then I feel like a complete idiot, so I look over, but he's smiling - sort of. At least he doesn't look like he's about to be drawn and quartered.

Christina makes her way over to us and sit in our row. "This is Will," she tells me, pointing to the tall, blonde-haired boy. "And this is Marlene," she adds, pointing to the dark-haired girl next to Will.

"Hi," I answer. "I'm Tris. I'm a junior transfer from Lincoln Park High."

"We're juniors, too," Will and Marlene chorus.

I smile at them and turn back to Four, but he's gone. I furrow my brow and glance at Christina, who shrugs. I pretend to listen to to assembly, and then allow Christina to lead me to where the Choosing Ceremony will be held.

Seniors put us in line in order of, well, the order. There are a few seniors in the front, and then two juniors in front of me, so I have four people ahead of me. I've not made a decision yet: Abnegation or Dauntless? My father's always raised me to to be selfless, but I'm more selfish and brave than selfless and weak. When it's my turn, I confidently cut my hand and drip my blood onto the coals. I take a seat next to Four as the first transfer to Dauntless.

He pats me on the back. "Good choice, Tris."

All the freshmen choose, and then we're lead to another building. A pale senior with greasy black hair and a lot of piercings is waiting there for us.

"My name is Eric. Right now, we're going to choose which ones of you we want in Dauntless," he shouts. Then he walks down the line, pointing at people here and there. I am pointed at. "If I pointed at you, you cannot be Dauntless."

I glare at him. "No. Isn't there some other way to be Dauntless other than your whim?"

"What's your name, transfer?" Eric asks.

"Tris."

"Well, Tris, good question. The answer is yes, but you have to beat Four in a fight," he replies, smirking maliciously.

"Okay," I say quietly. "I'll fight him."

"Four!" Eric screams.

Four appears silently and takes a fighting stance. I do, as well, and analyze him. He's clearly a good fighter, but he hasn't had the training I've had. He and I circle each other, occasionally testing each other, for a few minutes before Eric orders Four to do something. Four rushes me, and nearly brings me down. Instead, though, at the last possible second, I knee him in the groin and pin him to the ground. Unfortunately, I can't hold him for the three seconds and he's back up. He punches my jaw, hard, and I sock him in the eye. We fight for about ten minutes before I finally get the upper hand by pinning his arm behind his back and twisting to cause him pain.

Eric glares at me. "Who thinks Tris should be allowed in Dauntless?" Nearly everyone raises their hands.

Four puts his hand on my back. "Welcome to Dauntless."