Page 2 of The Sixth Fraction

My mother’s shoulder is warm where it presses against mine.

“Yes,” I admit. “I’m nervous.”

She puts an arm around me and squeezes. “Just remember: the test won’t tell you anything you don’t already know.”

My stomach churns. She pulls away as the front door opens and the council leader’s low voice fills the entryway.

Children aren’t allowed to talk at the dinner table in Abnegation, and it’s just as well, because I’m distracted by the last thing my mother said to me. It’s only when I feel Susan’s eyes on me that I realize I’m just swirling my spoon in my soup instead of eating it. I scoop some carrot into my mouth.

The council leader’s name is Marcus Eaton. He looks just like my father: tall, short brown hair, gray clothes. Abnegation has a way of making all people look the same, and that’s the whole point—individuals disappear, and the collective good is all that’s left. But my father’s face is creased in perpetual sympathy, and Marcus’s is unreadable. I’ve known him my whole life, and I don’t know him at all.

My father says grief can make people turn inward, and Marcus has had more grief than most. He had a wife once, and a son. Evelyn Eaton died from complications with her second pregnancy. I didn’t know her well, but I remember being wary of her; she wasn’t as warm or friendly as the other Abnegation women I knew. Her death must have broken something in their son, because, years later, at his Choosing Ceremony, he left Abnegation. I don’t remember which faction he chose instead. Now Marcus is alone, because you don’t stay in touch with your child if they leave your faction.

Faction before blood. That’s one of our highest laws.

Marcus has been coming over for dinner once a week since his son left us—so, for two years.

“What are you growing in the garden this year, Agnes?” my mother is asking Mrs. Black. She runs the community garden that her son, Robert, was working in earlier. Our families were paired together because Robert and Susan are fraternal twins, just like me and Caleb.

“The radishes are flourishing,” Mrs. Black replies. “As are the tomatoes, which we’ve had trouble with in the past—Robert has been reading up on soil composition for us.”

Robert’s face is already red. His complexion makes him easy to read: He gets red when he’s angry, red when he’s embarrassed, red when he tries to lie. Right now I think he’s just red because Marcus is looking at him.

“Soil composition,” Marcus says. “Sounds very scientific.”

It’s not a compliment. My faction is suspicious of scientific pursuits. The science itself isn’t the problem—there are Abnegation doctors, after all, and they have to understand science for their work. But the line between pursuing it for other people’s benefit and pursuing it for your own interest is a fine one, as we’re often warned.

Robert stares at his plate.

“Oh, perhaps,” my mother chimes in, smiling at him. “But Robert’s focus is always the communal good, Council Leader. Not a mere idle curiosity.”

Robert’s returned smile is grateful.

“And your two?” Marcus asks my mother. “Still volunteering at the hospital?”

“Caleb is,” my mother replies. “Beatrice has been joining me in serving the factionless.”

“Ah, I see.” Marcus’s voice softens, and he looks at me in a way that seems to measure and then approve me.

My face heats, and I look at my bowl. For most people, being looked at that way by a council leader—the final word of not only our faction but our city’s entire government—would be flattering. But it just makes me feel like a fraud. The factionless—those who were cast out of their factions, or failed their factions’ initiations—are in need. And yes, I’ve been joining my mother in her efforts to help them. But I hate every second of it.

Some of them are kind and seem to appreciate the work we’re doing. Most of them just take what they need and go. And some of them are insulting. Stiff, they call me, which is slang for Abnegation, or faction scum. They snatch things from my hands and order me to bring them more. They never expect me to defend myself, and I never do. I’m not supposed to, after all; I’m supposed to be focused on doing good for others.

There are a lot of things I’m supposed to do, and be.

“Such critical, necessary work,” Marcus says.

My face gets even hotter.

“Everyone has a place in our society.” My mother’s eyes—green like Caleb’s—almost seem to twinkle. “Each one as important as the next.”

“Yes. Of course.”

The news brief comes on right as I’m scraping the bottom of my bowl, the screen in the wall flickering to life. We don’t control the news; the morning report comes on at the same time every day, and special reports appear whenever they appear, no matter what we’re doing. My father often complains about Erudite deliberately releasing special reports during the Abnegation dinner hour, like they’re doing it just to spite us. Given what they’re reporting these days, he might be right.

I read the words as they scroll past:

ABNEGATION LEADERSHIP STRENUOUSLY DENIES ALLEGATIONS OF MEMORY TAMPERING.