I remember when I was nine and I had gotten into an argument with another little boy. I can't remember what about or who was at fault, but I remember kicking him, then pushing him down.

I also remember Johanna taking me home and explaining what happened to my parents. They, of course, were incredibly disappointed in me but agreed to let Johanna deal my punishment.

So, everyday, after school, I would go to the art building and clean. Empty trash cans, clean paint brushes, put away various art materials. I hated it. At that stage in my life, I wanted nothing more to run around outside or roughhouse with my brothers or play with the other little girls and make up songs. But it was better than the Conflict Room. That was torture.

I cleaned the art building for three weeks, the same things over and over again, all afternoon till the sun disappeared and there was no light left to play in.

One day, while cleaning a room that was still occupied, the artist, a older man, asked me if I liked to draw. When I shook my head, he asked if I've ever tried it. He handed me a piece of charcoal and a sheet of paper.

I remember asking what I was suppose to draw and he asked me what my favorite thing was. I said the sun. All afternoon, instead of cleaning, I sat with Zen and learned the finer points of drawing.

It was late when Johanna entered the room, well after the time I was suppose to be home. I don't think I knew she was there at first, so swept up in the world I was making in front of me, but I was later told that she stood in the doorway watching me for a long time.

She says that I was a mess. Covered in dark smudges, hair wild, bent over a table covered in pieces of paper with various things etched on them and every so often I would let out a elated giggle.

Apparently, this had been her plan all along. She knew I was creative, from the stories I would tell and the games I would make, but had trouble controlling my energy. She had the idea of giving me an outlet as controlled as artwork to help focus my energy into something productive, but knew I had to fall in love with it myself, forcing me to do it would only backfire.

I also remember hearing the story for the first time when I was thirteen. It was my first art show. Between the painting of the orchards and a charcoal sketch of the Hub with only the peoples clothing colored, I was told how I was tricked into this love.

The anger was quick and hot, burning through me. I felt betrayed and resentful, furious that I had been manipulated into this. It took three of my brothers, several broken glasses and a couple of hours in the Conflict Room before I was calm enough to listen to Johanna and my parents explain why they did what they did.

In the end, I forgave them, realizing my feelings were petty and unkind. Just as quick as my anger, my forgiveness came forward and all was absolved, but never forgotten. I loved my parents and in my eyes, they could do no wrong, but Johanna. While I respected her and looked up to her, I never forgot the quiet way she had manipulated not only me, but my parents as well.

Never forgot the way it felt to be a plaything, movements orchestrated by another to fit into their game. The lack of control.

Echo rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand, leaving a smudge of black on the tan skin. Sighing, she glanced around again, looking for the familiar green truck that her brother, Basil, drove. He was late, again. No doubt caught up in newly wedded bliss with Sarah. Echo smiled and shook her head, returning her attention to the sketchbook cradled in her lap.

She wasn't sure how much longer it had been, but when a shadow fell over her, Echo snapped out of the art inducing haze and looked up. Two Candor boys stood before her.

"Hey." The boy closest to her spoke up. Echo noticed he had a sweet smile and pretty brown eyes. She couldn't help but smile in return.

"Hello." She said softly, gathering her things and standing. The two Candor boys stepped back to give her more room, casually glancing around the empty courtyard.

"Why are you all alone, Amity?" The first boy asked, stepping closer and resting an arm on the wall. Echo tilted her head, noticing the invasion of space but refusing to let it affect her.

"Waiting on my ride." She answered.

"I have something you can ride." The second, taller, boy retorted. Echo looked at him.

"Excuse me?" The first boy slipped in front of the second, his other arm coming down on the wall on her other side and trapping her.

"What my friend means, is that your really pretty and we are dying to get a look at what's under your dress. Think you'd be willing to help us out?"

"No." Echo scowled and tried to force her way by the boy, only to have him grab her arm and shove her against the wall.

"C'mon, just a quick peek. It'll be fun, we promise." The boy grinned and pressed a hand to her chest.

Echo wasn't sure what happened at first. One moment the boy was feeling up her chest and the next he was falling back against his buddy, holding his face. Echo looked around, confused. It wasn't till her hand started throbbing that she realized she punched him.

Echo was surprised. Surprised that she had it in her, surprised that she didn't feel bad about it, surprised that it felt kind of good.

"That wasn't very nice." Echos head jerked up. The two boys looked mad. Suddenly, was she scared. She doubt she could fend them off. The first boy reached for her hair before a hand stopped him.

"Are these guys bothering you?" A voice asked. Echo followed the hand to a boy, about her age, in all black. Behind him were two more boys, also in black. Echo recognized them as Zane, Hunter and Ryker, three Dauntless born from her class. She nodded and slipped behind Zane. Hunter wrapped an arm around Echos shoulders and Ryker took a step in front of her, half blocking her from the conflict.

"We were only messing with her." The Candor boy said, jerking his arm out of Zane's grip and stumbling back.

"We're just gonna mess with you too." Ryker growled, stepping closer to the two boys. They shrunk back, falling over each other in their haste to get away.

"Thank you." Echo said, stepping away from Hunter and rubbing her hand. Zane and Ryker turned to face her.

"You've got one hell of a right hook." Zane said, smiling at her.

"Yeah, you're like a banjo strummin' badass." Hunter spoke up, laughing at his own joke. Echo grinned before noticing a green truck parked next to the hub and her brother practically running towards her.

"Are you okay?!" Basil asked, yanking her into his embrace. She pulled away and nodded.

"Yeah, some Candor boys were bothering me but Zane, Ryker and Hunter helped me." Echo told her brother, pulling her sleeve down to cover the abused skin on her knuckles. Even if he was her brother and she was being attacked, he wouldn't approve of the violence she used. Like the Candor boy said, it wasn't very nice and her family and faction was all about nice.

"You know our names?"

"We weren't gonna let those cowards hurt you." Echo wasn't sure who said what, but when she turned, all three boys were watching her closely.

"Well, thank you for protecting my sister. Say thank you Echo." Basil placed his hand on Echos shoulder.

"She already did." This time Echo knew it was Zane that spoke. He smiled at her and handed her, her bag. Echo returned the smile, briefly meeting his green eyes, before feeling her brother take her arm.

"Let's go Firefly." Echo turned and let her brother lead her to his truck. The ride home was different, Echos mind was riddled with thoughts of Dauntless and the boys who protected her, especially the one with eyes the color of new grass.