A Song of Knives and Crowns

III: Cafeteria

The atmosphere in the cafeteria was mixed, as most cafeteria atmospheres were. It was rather difficult to find a completely homologous cafeteria, especially with a student cohort as... interesting as the one at Divergent High.

To the back right, the furthest away from the food, were the Abnegation tables. Teams of grey-dressed students, wearing stinking hassan cloaks. All the other students held their noses as they passed the Abnegation tables, Rev noticed. It always smelt like shit. Laundry machines and water were capitalist inventions, her mother had always said. Think of the less fortunate, of the homeless, her mother said. Not all of them could afford such luxuries. And until the wealth gap was absolutely eliminated, Abnegation would refuse to wash.

You know. For equality. For the wealth gap. Selflessness.

The Abnegations always ate last, often feasting on the food that looked the greenest. And they wondered why Abnegation had the lowest life expectancy. It was pretty much a death sentence to be born into Abnegation, with their ridiculous focus on abstinence. But whatever.

To the back left, Erudite. Nerdy-ass bitches. Why couldn't they just go to their own school, elitist pricks? Erudite? More like Elitistprickdite. Look at them all, bitchasses, reading their books and revising over past lectures and flooding over flashcards. Why did they study to do well? It was like rubbing it in everybody else's faces. See, Rev was so selfless, they didn't study at all and came first anyway. There was no need to study to do well at school, and all of those bloody Erudites were just. Being bitches. Nerdy bitches.

As Rev passed them, she tipped her orange juice over the nearest one's head.

In the centre, Candor. The stupidest dumbass faction. As she walked by, she heard the insidious sounds of gossip and rumours being spread. Janice's pregnant, and John's the father. Did you hear about Lucus? I heard Tahli's parents are getting divorced. I think Evelyn's getting kicked out of her house. Just what I've heard. Rev chuckled to themselves. Candor's only personality trait was to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Made them real bitches at times, but still. It could be somewhat endearing. Thankfully, telling the truth was hardly a personality trait, so depending on the Candor's mental fortitude, you could either find Candors with no personality, or Candors with considerable personality. Most were airheads though.

To the front right, Amity. Grassroot hippies. Only one step away from the loony bin. That being said, most of the other factions were already one foot in. Dauntless was probably holding on for dear life on the rim of the loony bin while their feet dangled into the bin's bowl. Anyhow. The sound of southern wheat-farmer accents floated from the collection of tables. A pair of girls were playing hopscotch on top of one, bare feet plunging into various people's meals, but the other students didn't complain. Probably used to eating food with dirt on it anyway - which was a good thing. In Abnegation, the food was so textureless (food texture being a weapon of the bourgeoisie - oats were all one needed to survive), Rev sometimes felt like bending down and eating the sand from the dirt-packed floor (floorboards being the construction material of the bourgeoisie). At least those Amities could season their food, even if it was with sand.

And to the right of the Amities, the Bad Boys of the factions. The big baddies. The cool kids. One finger away from slipping off the rim of the Loony Bin and into the dark depths, where the rotten bananas were.

Dauntless.

Rev had to suck in a deep breath as they passed, as not to inhale any God Fumes. The Dauntless kids weren't "sitting" on the tables, more like "existing" around them. Teenagers sitting on the tables, on the walls, lying on the floor, on each other, sitting on anything anywhere. Screaming, laughing, loud with an energy that the other tables paled at the thought of. They looked as if they were one step away from total catastrophe, like one spark would set them all on fire. A neuron at -56, braced at the threshold, waiting for the end of school bell to rocket them past -55 and into the activation, to ride the rest of the roller coaster and sent those sweet sweet neurotransmitters loose and out of the terminal boutons into the synaptic cleft.