Year 6 (First Draft) #Wattys2016

-Chapter 20-

"What are we doing?" I ask, clutching the cool canister he handed me, in my left hand.

"Just causing some trouble," He says, and I shudder, not having realized how close were standing, his breath tickling the skin above my eyebrow. I step back a bit, but he grabs my arm. "You didn't let me finish explaining."

"How'd you know I moved? Super night vision?" I ask, pulling my arm free.

"Sure," He says, and I can almost hear a grin in his voice. "Something like that. Or maybe it was the click of your heels that gave you away."

I grimace, having forgotten how loud my heels sounded, especially on a granite floor.

I feel Kane shift, and soon he is standing behind me, his chest up against my back. He grabs my left wrist. "Open the canister," He whispers, and I do, pulling the top off.

"Good," He says, his breath tickling my ear. I feel heat rise to my cheeks, but ignore it, remembering how hot the fabric I'm wearing can get. He begins to move my wrist up and down, and I hear whatever is in the canister slosh around. "Now we have to shake the canister," He says, almost as if he's talking to a young child. I bristle, feeling a surge of anger at the thought.

I feel him adjust something on the canister, his head tucked on top of my shoulder. "And then we make sure that the nozzle is facing forward," He says. "Now I want you to press down on the nozzle, but let my hand guide you." I nod, slightly confused. I press down on the top of the canister, and hear a whoosh of air. Soon the air smells of paint, and I finally realize what Kane is having me do. He moves my hand around a bit, making lines and circles. At one point, I can tell he's painting letters, moving my hand up and down to make the shapes he desires.

"Okay," He says. "We're done." I pull my finger away, and Kane steps back. My back feels cool, and I shiver, not having realized just how close we had been standing.

"How much champagne did you have?" I mutter, wiping my hands together.

"What was that?" Kane asks.

"Nothing," I sigh, running my hand across my brow. Suddenly there's a small burst of light, and I cover my eyes before realizing it is only a flashlight.

"Not bad," Kane says, pointing to the picture we have created on the wall. It's not perfect, but anyone could tell what we meant by it. There's a big 6 painted right in the center with a circle around it. At the top of the circle it says STOP. Sloppy hands surround the six, and one hand has two letters painted in the center. K. P.

"Is that the Year Movement's symbol?" I ask, my throat constricting. I had seen the symbol before. My father had doodled it on loose scraps of paper, and set it around his office. As a little girl, I had thought it was just a doodle he had created, one he used to pass the time. He would always tear the paper to shreds when he was done, and throw the pieces into the fire that roared in his fireplace. At one point, I had asked him about it.

"Sometimes," He said. "Pictures mean more than words."

And after that, I never asked him again.

"My father knew of the Year Movement," I say, fighting back the worry that surrounds me. What hadn't my parents told me?

"Well, I guessed that. He did ask about it," Mr. Laneer says, his voice edging on cocky.

"No," I say, turning to face him. "He must've known for a long time. I remember as a little girl, my father would draw this exact symbol on pieces of paper, then later, he would burn them..." I trail off, having nothing more to say. If the Year Movement was a thing, even back then, Kane didn't start it.