The W.I.C.K.E.D Girl

20

The next day, Gally, like the idiot he was, challenged the Greenie to a fight. Surprising everyone in the Glade, the new boy won. And, perhaps because of the hits, because the injuries his head had sustained, he wound up remembering his name.

Thomas.

Since he'd found out, it was time for him to try out a couple of jobs. It quickly turned out that he was horrible at being a Slicer, then ruined half of the Farm when he tried being a Farmer and almost dislodged someone's shoulder further when he was a Medjack.

We didn't actually expect the Greenie to be good at running. But, nevertheless, it was only fair that Minho and I took him in the Maze with us, praying his previous bad luck wouldn't trail along.

But then, something incredible happened. With my own eyes, I witnessed the Greenie deceive a Griever. We'd been bloodied and half-dead from exhaustion when he'd ended the gruesome machine's life, its whirring halting out of the blue. It had shaken him up, but I knew precisely how he felt.

When we returned, the Keepers held a Gathering, which I was allowed to attend. But, unlike me, Thomas wasn't thrown in the Slammer that night---rather, he was hailed, a bright new spark of hope the Gladers could worship.

There was something in Thomas that I recognized as my own. Something in the desire to be out in the Maze, in the way it made him come alive.

It wasn't long before Thomas had become one of us, and, to my dismay, Chuck's favourite. He looked up to him as though he was a hero, and, unbeknownst to me, Thomas did the same to me.

Somehow, Newt was the one who liked Thomas the least, though none of us figured out why. Maybe he felt that the Greenie was an intruder, like a sixth, unnecessary corner to our perfect star.

* * *

Someone was shaking me. I cracked one eye open and was met by Thomas' familiar face. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty." He was smiling. "We need to eat something before we wander off."

I swung my feet across the edge of the hammock and stretched.

We went to the Homestead to pack some food in our backpacks. We tried not to stuff ourselves with food, although Frypan always made the Runners the best breakfasts on the days they would head into the Maze.

A short trip to the Weapons room followed. I grabbed a short knife, my favourite weapon, twirling it in my hands. Thomas chose a machete for himself.

Before long, we were making our way through the Maze. We'd chosen to stick together as we advanced through Section Eight, one of the farthest Sections from the Glade. Thomas was cutting ivy from the wall to mark our path and I walked in front of him, trying to maintain silence between us. As much fun telling jokes was, it only turned us into moving targets for the Grievers. We stopped a few times to eat our snacks, and those were the only times we allowed ourselves to talk.

We kept up the same routine for a few hours, until our feet began to hurt. We agreed to halt for a couple of minutes in a shadow to rest. However, as we sat, Thomas's hand slid on top of mine. 

I gazed up at him, my stomach doing a great, terrible flip. Thomas's eyes darted down to my lips. Ever so slowly, he asked, "May I?" 

To say that I was floored would've been an understatement, but I felt myself leaning towards him, heart thrumming in my chest. Looking at Thomas had always felt like looking in the mirror—there'd been a sense of familiarity to him that hadn't been present with any of the others. 

I could feel the warmth of his breath now. Just a few more inches, and our lips would touch. 

I pulled back, as though electrocuted. "No. I can't. I can't, I'm---"

If he was hurt, Thomas knew how to hide it. His face was almost serene as he straightened, eyes understanding. "It's alright."

I couldn't look at him, my cheeks aflame. I scoured my thoughts, tried making sense of my reaction. What had prevented me from kissing Thomas? He'd always appealed to me in a way none of the others hadn't.

"Emily?" he said. "Can I ask you something?"

Still distraught, I nodded without a second thought.

"Is it because of him?"

My head whipped towards Thomas, whose eyebrows were raised. However, he didn't appear to be judgemental, rather curious. Somehow, I knew who Thomas had meant. Who that him was. 

I blinked, my mouth gone dry. "I---"

"I won't tell," Thomas puffed, amused. "If you won't."

I then realised what had caused me to draw back. It had been guilt, the feeling of betrayal shooting through me. 

I looked at Thomas and, undoubting, I nodded.