I'm Divergent. And I can't be controlled.

Awkwardness aside, it's nice to be liked.

Someone shouts, "Enough!" and I think too much and nothing at all.

I wonder if that fear still creeps up on her now though she worked so hard to face it—I wonder if fears ever really go away, or if they just lose their power over us.

I feel uneasy. It's not often that you encounter the real person behind a good-natured mask, the darkest parts of someone. It's not comfortable when you do.

What's your name?
Um...
Think about it. You don't get to pick again.
Tris.