Notes

CHAPTER TWO



THE TESTS BEGIN after lunch. We sit at the long tables in the
cafeteria, and the test administrators call ten names at a time,
one for each testing room. I sit next to Caleb and across from
our neighbor Susan.

Susan's father travels throughout the city for his job, so he has
a car and drives her to and from school every day. He offered to
drive us, too, but as Caleb says, we prefer to leave later and
would not want to inconvenience him.

Of course not.

The test administrators are mostly Abnegation volunteers,
although there is an Erudite in one of the testing rooms and a
Dauntless in another to test those of us from Abnegation, because
the rules state that we cant be tested by someone from our own
faction. The rules also say that we cant prepare for the test in
any way, so I don't know what to expect.


My gaze drifts from Susan to the Dauntless tables across the
room. They are laughing and shouting and playing cards. At
another set of tables, the Erudite chatter over books and
newspapers, in constant pursuit of knowledge.

A group of Amity girls in yellow and red sit in a circle on the
cafeteria floor, playing some kind of hand-slapping game
involving a rhyming song. Every few minutes I hear a chorus of
laughter from them as someone is eliminated and has to sit in the
center of the circle. At the table next to them, Candor boys make
wide gestures with their hands. They appear to be arguing about
something, but it must not be serious, because some of them are
still smiling.

At the Abnegation table, we sit quietly and wait. Faction customs
dictate even idle behavior and supersede individual preference. I
doubt all the Erudite want to study all the time, or that every
Candor enjoys a lively debate, but they cant defy the norms of
their factions any more than I can.

Caleb's name is called in the next group. He moves confidently
toward the exit. I don't need to wish him luck or assure him that
he should'nt be nervous. He knows where he belongs, and as far as
I know, he always has. My earliest memory of him is from when we
were four years old. He scolded me for not giving my jump rope to
a little girl on the playground who didn't have anything to play
with. He doesn't lecture me often anymore, but I have his look of
disapproval memorized.

I have tried to explain to him that my instincts are not the same
as his. It didn't even enter my mind to give my seat to the Candor
man on the bus, but he doesn't understand. Just do what you're
supposed to, he always says. It is that easy for him. It should
be that easy for me.

My stomach wrenches. I close my eyes and keep them closed until
ten minutes later, when Caleb sits down again.

He is plaster-pale. He pushes his palms along his legs like I do
when I wipe off sweat, and when he brings them back, his fingers
shake. I open my mouth to ask him something, but the words don't
come. I am not allowed to ask him about his results, and he is
not allowed to tell me.

An Abnegation volunteer speaks the next round of names. Two from
Dauntless, two from Erudite, two from Amity, two from Candor, and
then: From Abnegation: Susan Black and Beatrice Prior.

I get up because I'm supposed to, but if it were up to me, I would
stay in my seat for the rest of time. I feel like there is a
bubble in my chest that expands more by the second, threatening
to break me apart from the inside. I follow Susan to the exit.
The people I pass probably cant tell us apart. We wear the same
clothes and we wear our blond hair the same way. The only
difference is that Susan might not feel like shes going to throw
up, and from what I can tell, her hands aren't shaking so hard she
has to clutch the hem of her shirt to steady them.

Waiting for us outside the cafeteria is a row of ten rooms. They
are used only for the aptitude tests, so I have never been in one
before. Unlike the other rooms in the school, they are separated,
not by glass, but by mirrors. I watch myself, pale and terrified,
walking toward one of the doors. Susan grins nervously at me as
she walks into room 5, and I walk into room 6, where a Dauntless
woman waits for me.

She is not as severe-looking as the young Dauntless I have seen.
She has small, dark, angular eyes and wears a black blazer-like a
mans suit and jeans. It is only when she turns to close the door
that I see a tattoo on the back of her neck, a black-and-white
hawk with a red eye. If I didn't feel like my heart had migrated
to my throat, I would ask her what it signifies. It must signify
something.

Mirrors cover the inner walls of the room. I can see my
reflection from all angles: the gray fabric obscuring the shape
of my back, my long neck, my knobby-knuckled hands, red with a
blood blush. The ceiling glows white with light. In the center of
the room is a reclined chair, like a dentists, with a machine
next to it. It looks like a place where terrible things happen.

Don't worry, the woman says, it doesn't hurt.

Her hair is black and straight, but in the light I see that it is streaked with gray.

Have a seat and get comfortable, she says. My name is Tori.

Clumsily I sit in the chair and recline, putting my head on the
headrest. The lights hurt my eyes. Tori busies herself with the
machine on my right. I try to focus on her and not on the wires
in her hands.

Why the hawk? I blurt out as she attaches an electrode to my
forehead.

Never met a curious Abnegation before, she says, raising her
eyebrows at me.

I shiver, and goose bumps appear on my arms. My curiosity is a
mistake, a betrayal of Abnegation values.

Humming a little, she presses another electrode to my forehead
and explains, In some parts of the ancient world, the hawk
symbolized the sun. Back when I got this, I figured if I always
had the sun on me, I wouldnt be afraid of the dark.

I try to stop myself from asking another question, but I cant
help it. Youre afraid of the dark?

I was afraid of the dark, she corrects me. She presses the next
electrode to her own forehead, and attaches a wire to it. She shrugs. Now it reminds me of the fear Ive overcome.

She stands behind me. I squeeze the armrests so tightly the
redness pulls away from my knuckles. She tugs wires toward her,
attaching them to me, to her, to the machine behind her. Then she
passes me a vial of clear liquid.

Drink this, she says.

What is it? My throat feels swollen. I swallow hard. Whats going
to happen?

Cant tell you that. Just trust me.

I press air from my lungs and tip the contents of the vial into
my mouth. My eyes close.





When they open, an instant has passed, but I am somewhere else. I
stand in the school cafeteria again, but all the long tables are
empty, and I see through the glass walls that its snowing. On the
table in front of me are two baskets. In one is a hunk of cheese,
and in the other, a knife the length of my forearm.

Behind me, a womans voice says, Choose.

Why? I ask.

Choose, she repeats.

I look over my shoulder, but no one is there. I turn back to the
baskets. What will I do with them?

Choose! she yells.

When she screams at me, my fear disappears and stubbornness
replaces it. I scowl and cross my arms.

Have it your way, she says.

The baskets disappear. I hear a door squeak and turn to see who
it is. I see not a who but a what: A dog with a pointed nose
stands a few yards away from me. It crouches low and creeps
toward me, its lips peeling back from its white teeth. A growl
gurgles from deep in its throat, and I see why the cheese would
have come in handy. Or the knife. But its too late now.

I think about running, but the dog will be faster than me. I cant
wrestle it to the ground. My head pounds. I have to make a
decision. If I can jump over one of the tables and use it as a
shield. No, I am too short to jump over the tables, and not strong
enough to tip one over.


The dog snarls, and I can almost feel the sound vibrating in my
skull.

My biology textbook said that dogs can smell fear because of a
chemical secreted by human glands in a state of duress, the same
chemical a dogs prey secretes. Smelling fear leads them to
attack. The dog inches toward me, its nails scraping the floor.

I cant run. I cant fight. Instead I breathe in the smell of the
dogs foul breath and try not to think about what it just ate.
There are no whites in its eyes, just a black gleam.

What else do I know about dogs? I shouldnt look it in the eye.
Thats a sign of aggression. I remember asking my father for a pet
dog when I was young, and now, staring at the ground in front of
the dogs paws, I cant remember why. It comes closer, still
growling. If staring into its eyes is a sign of aggression, whats
a sign of submission?

My breaths are loud but steady. I sink to my knees. The last
thing I want to do is lie down on the ground in front of the
dogmaking its teeth level with my facebut its the best option I
have. I stretch my legs out behind me and lean on my elbows. The
dog creeps closer, and closer, until I feel its warm breath on my
face. My arms are shaking.

It barks in my ear, and I clench my teeth to keep from screaming.


Something rough and wet touches my cheek. The dogs growling
stops, and when I lift my head to look at it again, it is
panting. It licked my face. I frown and sit on my heels. The dog
props its paws up on my knees and licks my chin. I cringe, wiping
the drool from my skin, and laugh.

Youre not such a vicious beast, huh?

I get up slowly so I dont startle it, but it seems like a
different animal than the one that faced me a few seconds ago. I
stretch out a hand, carefully, so I can draw it back if I need
to. The dog nudges my hand with its head. I am suddenly glad I
didnt pick up the knife.

I blink, and when my eyes open, a child stands across the room
wearing a white dress. She stretches out both hands and squeals,
Puppy!

As she runs toward the dog at my side, I open my mouth to warn
her, but I am too late. The dog turns. Instead of growling, it
barks and snarls and snaps, and its muscles bunch up like coiled
wire. About to pounce. I dont think, I just jump; I hurl my body
on top of the dog, wrapping my arms around its thick neck.

My head hits the ground. The dog is gone, and so is the little
girl. Instead I am alonein the testing room, now empty. I turn in
a slow circle and cant see myself in any of the mirrors. I push
the door open and walk into the hallway, but it isnt a hallway;

its a bus, and all the seats are taken.

I stand in the aisle and hold on to a pole. Sitting near me is a
man with a newspaper. I cant see his face over the top of the
paper, but I can see his hands. They are scarred, like he was
burned, and they clench around the paper like he wants to crumple
it.

Do you know this guy? he asks. He taps the picture on the front
page of the newspaper. The headline reads: Brutal Murderer
Finally Apprehended! I stare at the word murderer. It has been a
long time since I last read that word, but even its shape fills
me with dread.

In the picture beneath the headline is a young man with a plain
face and a beard. I feel like I do know him, though I dont
remember how. And at the same time, I feel like it would be a bad
idea to tell the man that.

Well? I hear anger in his voice. Do you?

A bad ideano, a very bad idea. My heart pounds and I clutch the
pole to keep my hands from shaking, from giving me away. If I
tell him I know the man from the article, something awful will
happen to me. But I can convince him that I dont. I can clear my
throat and shrug my shouldersbut that would be a lie.

I clear my throat.

Do you? he repeats.

I shrug my shoulders.

Well?

A shudder goes through me. My fear is irrational; this is just a
test, it isnt real. Nope, I say, my voice casual. No idea who he
is.

He stands, and finally I see his face. He wears dark sunglasses
and his mouth is bent into a snarl. His cheek is rippled with
scars, like his hands. He leans close to my face. His breath
smells like cigarettes. Not real, I remind myself. Not real.

Youre lying, he says. Youre lying!

I am not.

I can see it in your eyes.

I pull myself up straighter. You cant.

If you know him, he says in a low voice, you could save me. You
could save me!

I narrow my eyes. Well, I say. I set my jaw. I dont.