Dress clothes are ugly. Honestly.
That's pretty much the only thing that I hate about Candor, the clothes. I'm not exactly the best suited for dress suits. My body is too wide, my arms are too large, and my legs are too thin. Not a great combination.
I shift in my seat and glance over at Mother. She's not the prettiest woman. She's short and chubby and brown-haired and brown-eyed. But whether she's pretty or not doesn't really matter. I guess I'm sort of stuck with her either way.
For a few days, anyway. At the Choosing Ceremony, I could choose a different faction. And be considered a traitor by all of the Candor and by my parents. Actually, my parents don't really want me to be Candor. My parents've always wanted me to become Dauntless. They've never been allowed to say that they do, but I can tell that they want me to. I'm not stupid. The way they talk about Dauntless with such awe, the way my parent's faces light up whenever I mention the Dauntless, the fact that every conversation about me gradually turns into a conversation about the Choosing Ceremony that gradually turns into a conversation about the Dauntless.
Still, the Dauntless are amazing. Honestly. They jump off of trains. They guard the gates. They're fun, or, at least, they're allowed to have fun. They're reckless. They're careless. They're....in a strange way, free. They are the brave faction.
I couldn't be in Dauntless. I am Candor. I know I'm Candor. I'm sure my results on the aptitude test will be Candor. I love this faction. I'm good at being Candor. I am meant for this faction. So I could never be anything other than Candor. Not even Dauntless.
Or maybe I could. I guess I never know unless I try. If I do.
Will I try?
It's honestly a terrible idea, a) to try and be a faction that you're not, that you've never been, that you'll never be, and, b) to go against your aptitude results, all just to have your parents proud. The parents that you won't be able to see again except on Visiting Day. The parents are supposed to hate you now.
But I think it might be worth it. Even if faction comes before blood.
I look at Mother again. She wears a slight smile as she walks with me through the compound, carrying reports and newspapers. She smiles subconsciously.
Maybe she was Amity. It doesn't matter, I suppose. No one ever speaks of their ex-faction, anyway. Why would you? There's no use.
One could argue that, of course. The Candor love to argue.
Wait, mark that as thing two that I hate about Candor. You are always to speak your mind. If you are discovered to be lying, you are scorned and punished. We're trained from an early age to detect lies.
I suppose that's sort of useful. If you're Candor.
If you're Candor.
But what if you're Dauntless?
Best let the test decide.