School with gladers 2

The end of the flight✈️

I wake up with still a few hours to go. Riding on this plane is getting easier and easier but still the memory of my brother haunts me. Maybe I should tell Teresa. She is my best friend. Or maybe I should tell Thomas, he is my replacement brother for sure he would understand. Maybe I could talk to Minho. He would make up some funny remark that would maybe make me feel better. I already talked to newt. I'm so glad he is there to help me. I love him so much.

I sit up stretching my legs. Thomas is watching some movie and newt is reading some book called The Maze Runner. I notice two cups of dr. Pepper in front of me. I smile. I love those boys.
"Hey." I say to newt.
"Hey." Newt says putting down his book. "How are you?" He asks and I know he's talking about my brother.
"It's getting easier." I tell him. "It's only a few more hours." I say, and I'm not just talking to him. I'm reassuring myself. I need it. I sigh closing my eyes. "You should read this book" he says pointing to his book. I open my eyes.
"It's called these runner and what a wired coincidence, Thomas, Teresa, Minho and my name are all in this book! Along with Chuck and Gally! Thomas has read the whole series and he told me there is also a Brenda! How weird is that!" I know he's trying to make me feel better but I'm not in the mood. "Thanks, but I'm gonna read my book." I say pulling out the book Divergent. I hadn't read it yet and every one seems to like it so I might as well give it a try.

Chapter1:
THERE IS ONE mirror in my house. It is behind a sliding panel in the hallway upstairs. Our faction allows me to stand in front of it on the second day of every third month, the day my mother cuts my hair.

I sit on the stool and my mother stands behind me with the scissors, trimming. The strands fall on the 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 calm she looks and how focused she is. She is well-practiced in the art of losing herself. I can't say the same of myself.

I take a few sips of my dr. Pepper the and continue reading.

I sneak a look at my reflection when she isn't paying attention-not for the sake of vanity, but out of curiosity. A lot can happen to a person's appearance in three months. In my reflection, I see a narrow face, wide, round eyes, and a long, thin nose-I still look like a little girl, though sometime in the last few months I turned sixteen. The other factions celebrate birthdays, but we don't. It would be self-indulgent.

"There," she says when she pins the knot in place. Her eyes catch mine in the mirror. It is too late to look away, but instead of scolding me, she smiles at our reflection.

I frown a little. Why doesn't she reprimand me for staring at myself?

"So today is the day," she says.

"Yes," I reply.

"Are you nervous?"

Great, I was reading this book to help cure my nerves but reading about this persons nerves is obviously not going to help.

I read for an hour or so, each chapter getting better and better.

Chapter:8
"THE FIRST THING you will learn today is how to shoot a gun. The second thing is how to win a fight." Four presses a gun into my palm without looking at me and keeps walking. "Thankfully, if you are here, you already know how to get on and off a moving train, so I don't need to teach you that."

I shouldn't be surprised that the Dauntless expect us to hit the ground running, but I anticipated more than six hours of rest before the running began. My body is still heavy from sleep.

"Initiation is divided into three stages. We will measure your progress and rank you according to your performance in each stage. The stages are not weighed equally in determining your final rank, so it is possible, though difficult, to drastically improve your rank over time."

I stare at the weapon in my hand. Never in my life did I expect to hold a gun, let alone fire one. It feels dangerous to me, as if just by touching it, I could hurt someone.

We believe that preparation eradicates cowardice, which we define as the failure to act in the midst of fear," says Four. "Therefore each stage of initiation is intended to prepare you in a different way. The first stage is primarily physical; the second, primarily emotional; the third, primarily mental."

"But what..." Peter yawns through his words. "What does firing a gun have to do with...bravery?"

Four flips the gun in his hand, presses the barrel to Peter's forehead, and clicks a bullet into place. Peter freezes with his lips parted, the yawn dead in his mouth.

"Wake. Up," Four snaps. "You are holding a loaded gun, you idiot. Act like it."

I smirk and laugh a little, Peter drives me insane. Newt asks if something is wrong but I just tell him he NEEDS to read this book.

He lowers the gun. Once the immediate threat is gone, Peter's green eyes harden. I'm surprised he can stop himself from responding, after speaking his mind all his life in Candor, but he does, his cheeks red.

"And to answer your question...you are far less likely to soil your pants and cry for your mother if you're prepared to defend yourself." Four stops walking at the end of the row and turns on his heel. "This is also information you may need later in stage one. So, watch me."

He faces the wall with the targets on it-one square of plywood with three red circles on it for each of us. He stands with his feet apart, holds the gun in both hands, and fires. The bang is so loud it hurts my ears. I crane my neck to look at the target. The bullet went through the middle circle.

I turn to my own target. My family would never approve of me firing a gun. They would say that guns are used for self-defense, if not violence, and therefore they are self-serving.

I push my family from my mind, set my feet shoulder-width apart, and delicately wrap both hands around the handle of the gun. It's heavy and hard to lift away from my body, but I want it to be as far from my face as possible. I squeeze the trigger, hesitantly at first and then harder, cringing away from the gun. The sound hurts my ears and the recoil sends my hands back, toward my nose. I stumble, pressing my hand to the wall behind me for balance. I don't know where my bullet went, but I know it's not near the target.

I fire again and again and again, and none of the bullets come close.

"Statistically speaking," the Erudite boy next to me-his name is Will-says, grinning at me, "you should have hit the target at least once by now, even by accident." He is blond, with shaggy hair and a crease between his eyebrows.

"Is that so," I say without inflection.

"Yeah," he says. "I think you're actually defying nature."

I grit my teeth and turn toward the target, resolving to at least stand still. If I can't master the first task they give us, how will I ever make it through stage one?

I squeeze the trigger, hard, and this time I'm ready for the recoil. It makes my hands jump back, but my feet stay planted. A bullet hole appears at the edge of the target, and I raise an eyebrow at Will.

"So you see, I'm right. The stats don't lie," he says.

I smile a little.

It takes me five rounds to hit the middle of the target, and when I do, a rush of energy goes through me. I am awake, my eyes wide open, my hands warm. I lower the gun. There is power in controlling something that can do so much damage-in controlling something, period.

Maybe I do belong here.

Newt taps my shoulder and I tilt my head up. "We're landing." He tells me. I look out the window and I grab his hand. I'm once again scared but it's almost over. I take deep breaths in and out. "It's okay" newt whispers. I close my eyes and lean my head back. I take deep breaths in and out. Almost done. I hear a loud bang marking that we have just reached the ground. The plane slowly reaches a stop and I smile. I made it.