I wake up to the harsh light of the morning sun streaming through my bedroom window, and blink rapidly to stop my eyes from watering. Naturally, there are no curtains in Candor. Just glass. To represent the idea that in my every waking moment, the truth should never be veiled with lies.
I glance over to my sister's bed. It's unmade and empty. Unlike me, she's an early riser. Although the house we live in is big enough for both of us to have our own rooms, Candors prefer that siblings share bedrooms. Some families go as far as sharing beds. There are no secrets in Candor. No privacy either. Almost all of the walls are made of glass, though thankfully not the bedrooms and bathrooms, which are instead made of plaster and covered in black and white squares.
With a groan, I pull back my white covers and survey my wardrobe, of which I have limited options. Being, the daughter of the Candor representative, I am always on show in Candor and my dad has stressed to me more than enough times, that I must look respectable. I dress into a smart Candor suit and tie my dark hair back into a ponytail. It's simple but it's all I have time for today.
I make my way down to breakfast, and find, with dismay, that my father has done the cooking. My twelve-year-old sister Clara is already sitting at the table. She's got a piece of paper and is idly drawing some stickmen as she waits impatiently for my dad to bring over what smells like to be a pot of burnt porridge.
My dad smiles as I sit down.
"Morning Brooke," my dad says, using a nickname that my mother used to use when I was much younger, "Sleep well?"
I nod as he begins to ladle the lumpy porridge into bowls for me and Clara.
"Well I didn't," blurts out Clara," I had an awful nightmare where I was at school and I forgot to bring my clothes and everyone was staring at me..."
Clara continues to rattle off her dream whilst I try to shut her out and focus on the bowl of porridge that my dad pushes towards me. I know that Clara, as usual, will go into every detail possible, and that is something I really don't want to hear. The porridge, which predictably tastes terrible, seems to be the better of two evils.
"How awful," my dad, says and then spots someone walking past the our house and waves. The kitchen walls are made completely of glass so that we can see everyone walking past. And, of course, everyone can see in.
"Urgh!" Clara stops her dream-telling to eat a spoonful of porridge. She spits it out and some of it lands on the cuff of her previously spotless white shirt, "Dad! This is awful! What have you done to the porridge?"
"Is it?" my dad asks. He takes a spoonful himself and grimaces, "You're right. It is pretty bad. Brooke, why didn't you tell us?"
I jump. Of course, it's me, the one who's eaten five spoonful's, who get's the blame.
"I didn't want to offend you Dad," I try, but I instantly know that it's the wrong thing to say.
My father shakes his head, "No Brooke. Never lie. Remember our motto: Dishonesty makes evil possible. We must always speak the truth, even if it's hurtful. "
"Yes dad," I say as meekly as possible. I really don't want another lecture. It seems that in Candor, it's best to say the most offensive thing possible.
"I agree, " declares Clara, breaking the silence, "It's better to tell the truth than lie all the time."
"I don't lie all the time!" I say, defensively.
"Well, maybe not all the time," admits Clara, "But you do do it a lot. I think you forget that you're even living in Candor most the time."
My dad drops me and Clara off at school. I walk in the general direction of the Cafeteria to make it seem that I'm heading there, but I curve round at the last minute and step into the library.
It's not a massive library but for me, it's heaven. There a few tables and chairs for reading and the few shelves that exist are literally clustered with books. The librarian, a friendly Erudite man, does try to keep things in Alphabetical order by author surname but the Erudite who crowd here at lunchtime make such a mess that it's literally impossible to keep track of everything.
I head towards one of the middle shelves. Crouching down, I put my hand underneath the lowest rack to retrieve a book that I placed there yesterday morning. I didn't want anyone else reading it and taking it home. Feeling around on the carpet, I feel a book-shaped object and pull it out. I smile. Sure enough; it's the one I had been reading.
I can only read it for a few minutes-I need to be in the Cafeteria to meet up with my friends five minutes before lessons start because otherwise they will get suspicious. It's a shame that Candors can't take books home with them-the only books allowed are law books. I did briefly consider hiding some books in my pillow case, but that would make sleeping uncomfortable. And besides, Clara would've spotted anything that seemed remotely non-Candor.
I make my way towards the Cafeteria. The first thing I see when I enter makes me groan aloud. My friend Miriam is surrounded by a group of Erudite, and as I walk towards them I can hear snatches of their conversation.
"Your shirt is awful!" I can hear her shouting.
"How dare you!" An Erudite yells back, "You're in no position to make rude remarks on my clothes."
"I'm just saying the truth," says Miriam, "Got a problem with that know-it-all?"
"What did you just call me?" the Erudite growls, and the group steps towards her.
I grab Miriam by her arm.
"Come on Miriam," I say, "No point starting a fight over some shirt."
"How can you see that shirt and not say it's ugly?" protests Miriam as I begin to lead her away.
"Well maybe I have more self-restraint," I say sarcastically.
"You know," says Miriam, thoughtfully, "Sometimes, girl, I think you're not really Candor."
I blanch, but on hearing the bell, I brush the comment aside, "C'mon. We're going to be late."
"I think you forget that you're even living in Candor most the time." "Sometimes, girl, I think you're not really Candor."
The words ring in my head throughout the day. The worst part is, is that Clara and Miriam truly believe what they're saying.
The idea of being not being Candor had never occurred to me before. I'm the daughter of the representative of Candor and although I may not be as bold as some of the other Candors, I've always assumed that I'm one of them. I've always done my best to fit in.
As I head to Mathematics with Miriam, and then later to English with Alvara, and then to Faction History and Science, I can't help but think about all the times were I thought I was fitting in. Maybe I wasn't. Maybe I was just parroting back what everyone else was saying.
By the time lunchtime comes, I'm determined to crush this nagging feeling of uncertainty. I want to prove to myself and everyone else that I am Candor. And to do that, I need pick on someone and make a cruel remark.
As I sit down at a table next to Miriam, Alvara, and my other friend, Matt, I scan the room for a potential victim. I see her almost immediately. To be ironically honest, I was scanning the room with her in mind. April Meadows, an Amity girl who refers to herself as 'Dex'. A girl, when every time I see her, I feel a stab of envy.
I usually pick on April. It's so easy too. She stands out from the other Amity children, like a raging bull in an antique shop.
I nudge Miriam before she starts eating and points towards April, "Look at her dress," I laugh.
Miriam follows my gaze, and shrugs, "What about it?"
"It's literally blood red," I pretend to snicker, "I know it's the Amity dress-code but she could have at least worn a yellow one, like all the others. At least they don't look like they've gone to murder someone."
At this, my friends begin to laugh and I feel relief wash over me. It's ok. I've done a Candor thing. I'm Candor.
As we're laughing, three Erudite boys decide to get up and walk towards the Amity table. They stand next to April.
"Oh look, " smirks Alvara, "We're not the only ones to have noticed,"
I grin but my grin fades when Miriam says, "You should tell her that to her face Brooke,"
"Yeah," Matt agrees, "She's better off knowing that her dress is a disgrace otherwise she'll wear it again tomorrow."
"Umm," I begin, but at that moment, things start to take a turn for the worst.
Because right at that second, April decides to shout at the top of her voice, "Oh I'm sorry Isaac! You're upset because River here got a higher score than you in Mathematics?"
Please don't April. I plead in my head Please don't draw any more attention to yourself. But it's too late. All of the Amity besides April and a boy sitting next to her, who I assume to be her brother because their facial features are exactly the same, decide to flee the Cafeteria. And then that's when I know. A fight is about to take place.
"This is your moment Brooke," Miriam nudges me, "Go and tell her how awful her dress is."
"Uh, I don't..." I begin, but my friends have already stood up and begin to walk towards the table. I get up and reluctantly trail behind. I know that my friends aren't intentionally being mean. This is just our Candor upbringing coming into play. My friends honestly believe that they are doing the right thing. That the best thing do is to tell the truth as soon as you can.
April catches sight of me and glares. Miriam pushes me to the front of the group.
"Come on," she urges, "Tell her the truth."
"What, now ?" I whisper back.
"Yes now," Miriam says, "That girl's probably going to get herself beaten up. Now's your only chance to tell her how awful she looks."
I look at April facing down the Erudite trio and I realise that in that moment, I can't tell her how ugly her dress is. I won't. She doesn't deserve it.
And all of a sudden, I have a moment of epiphany. I realise in an instant why I'm envious of April Meadows. It's because I admire her. She possesses something that I don't-a sense of self. Unlike me, she has always known who she is and has stood out from the crowd because of it.
But I have to do something. If I don't, then I will be accused of not being a proper Candor. And I want to feel like a Candor. I have to.
So I tell her something that I really hope won't offend her too much. I'm sorry April Meadows. I really hope you've had a good day up until now.
Because if I'm not Candor, then what am I? Who am I?
I try to make my voice sound like a sneer as I say the words, "Oh dear. What has the failure of Amity April Meadows got herself into this time. What are you doing now, starting yet another fight?"
And I know, by the evil glare she sends in my direction and the laughter of my friends' behind me, that the damage has been done and I cannot take back what I've said.