DedicationTo my mother,who gave me the moment when Beatrice realizes how strongher mother is and wonders how she missed it for so long ContentsDedicationChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter FiveChapter SixChapter SevenChapter EightChapter NineChapter TenChapter ElevenChapter TwelveChapter ThirteenChapter FourteenChapter FifteenChapter SixteenChapter SeventeenChapter EighteenChapter NineteenChapter TwentyChapter Twenty-OneChapter Twenty-TwoChapter Twenty-ThreeChapter Twenty-FourChapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-SixChapter Twenty-SevenChapter Twenty-EightChapter Twenty-NineChapter ThirtyChapter Thirty-OneChapter Thirty-TwoChapter Thirty-ThreeChapter Thirty-FourChapter Thirty-FiveChapter Thirty-SixChapter Thirty-SevenChapter Thirty-EightChapter Thirty-NineExcerpt from InsurgentChapter OneChapter TwoAcknowledgmentsAbout the AuthorBack AdPraise for DivergentBooks By Veronica RothCreditsCopyrightAbout the Publisher CHAPTER ONETHERE IS ONE mirror in my house. It is behind a sliding panel in the hallway upstairs. Our factionallows me to stand in front of it on the second day of every third month, the day my mother cuts myhair.I sit on the stool and my mother stands behind me with the scissors, trimming. The strands fall onthe floor in a dull, blond ring.When she finishes, she pulls my hair away from my face and twists it into a knot. I note how calmshe looks and how focused she is. She is well-practiced in the art of losing herself. I can’t say thesame of myself.I sneak a look at my reflection when she isn’t paying attention—not for the sake of vanity, but outof curiosity. A lot can happen to a person’s appearance in three months. In my reflection, I see anarrow face, wide, round eyes, and a long, thin nose—I still look like a little girl, though sometime inthe last few months I turned sixteen. The other factions celebrate birthdays, but we don’t. It would beself-indulgent.“There,” she says when she pins the knot in place. Her eyes catch mine in the mirror. It is too late tolook away, but instead of scolding me, she smiles at our reflection. I frown a little. Why doesn’t shereprimand me for staring at myself?“So today is the day,” she says.“Yes,” I reply.“Are you nervous?”I stare into my own eyes for a moment. Today is the day of the aptitude test that will show mewhich of the five factions I belong in. And tomorrow, at the Choosing Ceremony, I will decide on afaction; I will decide the rest of my life; I will decide to stay with my family or abandon them.“No,” I say. “The tests don’t have to change our choices.”“Right.” She smiles. “Let’s go eat breakfast.”“Thank you. For cutting my hair.”She kisses my cheek and slides the panel over the mirror. I think my mother could be beautiful, in adifferent world. Her body is thin beneath the gray robe. She has high cheekbones and long eyelashes,and when she lets her hair down at night, it hangs in waves over her shoulders. But she must hide thatbeauty in Abnegation.We walk together to the kitchen. On these mornings when my brother makes breakfast, and myfather’s hand skims my hair as he reads the newspaper, and my mother hums as she clears the table—it is on these mornings that I feel guiltiest for wanting to leave them.The bus stinks of exhaust. Every time it hits a patch of uneven pavement, it jostles me from side toside, even though I’m gripping the seat to keep myself still.My older brother, Caleb, stands in the aisle, holding a railing above his head to keep himself steady.We don’t look alike. He has my father’s dark hair and hooked nose and my mother’s green eyes anddimpled cheeks. When he was younger, that collection of features looked strange, but now it suits him.If he wasn’t Abnegation, I’m sure the girls at school would stare at him.He also inherited my mother’s talent for selflessness. He gave his seat to a surly Candor man on thebus without a second thought.