Resisting Is Worth Doing.

I'm Divergent. And I Can't Be Controlled.

He Leans His Face Close To Mine And Wraps His Fingers Around My Chin. His Hand Smells Like Metal. When Was The Last Time He Held A Gun, Or A Knife?

Uriah Drops His Tray Next To Me. It Is Loaded With Beef Stew And Chocolate Cake. I Stare At The Cake Pile. “there Was Cake?” I Say, Looking At My Own Plate, Which Is More Sensibly Stocked Than Uriah’s. “yeah, Someone Just Brought It Out. Found A Couple Boxes Of The Mix In The Back And Baked It,” He Says. “you Can Have A Few Bites Of Mine.” “a Few Bites? So You’re Planning On Eating That Mountain Of Cake By Yourself?” “yes.” He Looks Confused. “why?” “never Mind.

When I Look At Him, I Don't See The Cowardly Young Man Who Sold Me Out To Jeanine Matthews, And I Don't Hear The Excuses He Gave Afterward. When I Look At Him, I See The Boy Who Held My Hand In The Hospital When Our Mother Broke Her Wrist And Told Me It Would Be All Right. I See The Brother Who Told Me To Make My Own Choices, The Night Before The Choosing Ceremony. I Think Of All The Remarkable Things He Is--smart And Enthusiastic And Observant, Quiet And Earnest And Kind.

That Dot Covers All The Places We've Ever Been. You Could Cut That Piece Of Land Out Of The Ground And Sing It Into This Ocean And No One Would Even Notice. I Feel That Fear Again, The Fear Of My Own Size. 'right. So?' 'so? So Everything I've Ever Worried About Or Said Or Done, How Can It Possibly Matter?' He Shakes His Head. 'it Doesn't.' 'of Course It Does,' I Say, 'all That Land Is Filled With People, Every One Of Them Different, And The Things They Do To Each Other Matter.