divergent-excerpt

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After lunch, Four leads us to a new room. It’s huge, with
a wood floor that is cracked and creaky and a large circle
painted in the middle. On the left wall is a green board—
a chalkboard. My Lower Levels teacher used one, but I
haven’t seen one since then. Maybe it has something to do
with Dauntless priorities: training comes first, technology
comes second.
Our names are written on the board in alphabetical
order. Hanging at three-foot intervals along one end of
the room are faded black punching bags.
We line up behind the punching bags, and Four stands
in the middle, where we can all see him.
“As I said this morning,” says Four, “next you will learn
how to fight. The purpose of this is to prepare you to act;
to prepare your body to respond to threats and challenges—which
you will need, if you intend to survive life
as a Dauntless.”
I can’t even think of life as a Dauntless. All I can think
about is making it through initiation.
“We will go over technique today, and tomorrow you will
start to fight each other,” says Four. “So I recommend that
you pay attention. Those who don’t learn fast will get hurt.”
Four names a few different punches, demonstrating
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