Disclaimer: I do not own Divergent. Divergent is the property of Veronica Roth, and is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain from this, nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only. I do not own anything that bears a resemblance to Divergent or any other story on this site.
Warning: This story contains gore and violence. Mentions of character death and suicide. Possibly graphic.
Chapter One
"Mama?" She turns around, and I can see her holding a rag and wiping the dust off a pair of scissors. They haven't been touched in three months.
She walks over to me and messes around with the cabinet that I am sitting in front of. "Yes, Beatrice?" Mama slides open a keypad and presses a few numbers. My eyes trail her movements, just like they do every time.
5-2-7-6-3. The cabinet slides open to reveal my face.
My appearance hasn't changed much in the last three months, really; it's just me. I don't notice how long my nose is, or how my eyes are practically the size of my fist. No, I don't notice those things until later. Right now, I can be a kid.
She should block the code from my view, but she doesn't. If I wanted to, I could cheat and see my reflection anytime.
Still, I never look until it's time for my haircut.
"Beatrice?" I stop looking at myself and turn to Mama, remembering that I want to ask her a question. I know I shouldn't — curiosity is selfish — but I can't help myself. If I ask a question at school, the kids mock me and call me Erudite. If I say nothing, they call me Stiff. I have noticed that every time someone calls Caleb an Erudite, he cries, but he doesn't mind being called Stiff. I used to think it was because he didn't think of Stiff as an insult, since it tied him to Abnegation. He's always been Abnegation through and through, like he was born for it.
Right, school. Even though he is still in the age group of kids that go to school, there is one kid who never does. "Mama, you said that Marcus has a son, right?" Marcus is the Abnegation leader. He's just left our home after having dinner with Papa; Mama tells me they work together for the city council. Papa's been sad lately when he comes home from work, and no one will tell me why. I think Caleb knows. Caleb knows everything.
She runs her fingers through my blonde hair and grabs a toothy comb — it's black and has the letter N engraved in it, for Mama's name. Mama said it was from grandma. I never met grandma. "Yes, Beatrice. Marcus has a son." I notice she doesn't scold me for asking a question.
"What is his name?" I fiddle with the skirt of my plain, grey robe and try not to imagine a pink princess dress with puffy sleeves and sparkles like in the books Caleb reads to me before bed sometimes. He told me not to tell Mama, because then he will have to stop. I don't tell her.
Mama pries my hands away from the fabric, and I hold them in my lap like a proper girl. No fidgeting. Mama's comb is in my hair again, and it scratches my scalp. I don't move.
She tells me, "His name is Tobias," as she makes a straight cut along my hair. Blonde ringlets fall to the ground — they look so soft against the hard floor. I want to reach down and touch them, but I don't move.
"Tobias." It's the first time I've said his name, and I like the sound of it. It's cool, especially for an Abnegation. Much cooler than Beatrice, that's for sure. I wish I had a cooler sounding name like the Dauntless have, but I'll never tell Mama that.
Mama makes another cut. More rings of yellow. My fingers twitch.
"Mama?"
She sighs as she makes the final cut. "Yes, Beatrice?"
"Why doesn't Tobias come to school? He should be nine, right?" Nine year olds have to go to school, just like me. I am seven, but I want to be sixteen so I can choose — sometimes I think about choosing Dauntless. I still think I will choose Abnegation. Caleb definitely will.
Mama looks up and catches my eye in the mirror. Oops. She doesn't scold me for staring. Why? She won't scold me for vanity, or for asking questions, so why does she scold me for fidgeting? Mama pushes my hair over my shoulders, even on both sides. It falls to just above my belly button now, and I don't have to worry about sitting on it.
She gently grasps my shoulders. "Marcus teaches him. At home. It's called homeschooling."
He doesn't have to deal with the kids calling him names like I do, or go to Faction History. It's the most boring class. In that moment, I think he is the luckiest kid. "Can I be homeschooled like Tobias?" I like saying his name.
She smiles. "No, sweetheart. I'm too busy with the shelter during the day, and Papa works for the city council." Mama never calls Papa by his real name. I only know it because Marcus calls him by it: Andrew.
"But Mama!" I whine, grabbing one of her hands in both of mine. I watch the mirror girl do the same to her mother. "Marcus is a leader, and he still has time!"
Her smile falls. "I suppose you're right…" I can see her thinking — I imagine a hamster running around on a wheel in her head and try not to laugh. We aren't supposed to laugh, but we are allowed to smile. But why isn't Mama smiling? Can she not see the hamster?
"So is that a yes to the homeschooling?" I ask, squeezing her hand. As if she is in one of our showers during winter — they get cold, because we don't have hot water — she jumps, snapping out of whatever she is thinking about.
"What? No." She shakes her head, but that makes her hair fall from the bun. Quickly fixing it, she hurries to the keypad and flips it open. It's the first time I've seen her with her hair down. "That's all you get for now, Beatrice. When you see your father, don't ask him any questions. He hates that." She enters the code again — 5-2-7-6-3 — and the cabinet locks shut with a click. Suddenly, my face is gone. I stare at the wooden cabinet for a minute as my mother grabs a broom and dustpan.
The image is fresh in my memory now, but sometime in the next month, it will fade. I will forget what I look like, who I am, and I will continue to behave like I am supposed to.
I will be Abnegation, at least for another three months until I see my golden locks in the mirror again.