229.06.12 | 6:10 p.m.
That night was the biggest change so far in Thomas’s life. From that point on, Thomas and Teresa would be fully integrated with the other subjects of Group A, including meals, classes, and recreation time. It looked like slinking around would no longer be necessary.
Of course, that wasn’t the greatest gift in the world, because most of Thomas’s friends were slated to enter the maze with the very first group, sometime within the next few months.
Ramirez, of all people, escorted Thomas and Teresa to their first dinner in the cafeteria, where all the other kids had been eating for years. When they entered the wide room—all stainless-steel serving locations and long plastic tables and cookie-cutter chairs—the place went silent, every eye trained on the newcomers.
“Listen up,” Ramirez barked, his voice echoing in the quiet. “Many of you have heard of Thomas and Teresa—they’ve been considered elite candidates for years.”
He’s giving us a death sentence! Teresa yelled in Thomas’s mind, the anger coming through like an electric shock. What the hell?
“—be nice to them, they’ve worked really hard,” Ramirez was saying. “The Maze Trials are starting soon, as you’re all well aware, and there’s a lot to be done. These two will be considered official liaisons between you subjects and the WICKED personnel overseeing the trial preparation. We’ll be assigning the entrance schedule to the mazes very soon. In the meantime, take the time to get to know Thomas and Teresa, prepare yourselves mentally and physically, and let yourselves get excited for the fun changes ahead. Now, back to your meals.”
He nodded stiffly, then turned and walked out of the cafeteria, not saying a word to Thomas or Teresa.
That guy’s just a boatload of charm, Teresa said.
Before Thomas could respond, he saw Newt and Alby coming toward them, faces alight with big grins.
“Well, look who the bloody copper dragged in,” Newt said, pulling Thomas into a big hug. He pounded his back a few times before letting go. “It’s a bit strange seein’ you without sneakin’ about and all. Welcome to society.”
Alby had already hugged Teresa, and then they traded, Alby squeezing the breath out of Thomas.
“Good to see you, man,” the older boy said. “Your head big enough with all that crap they’re sayin’ about you? What’re you, the chancellor now? No one here’s going to like you much.”
Thomas opened his mouth to respond, but someone half tackled him from the left, almost taking him down. It was Chuck.
“What’s up, you little runt?” Thomas asked, mussing the kid’s hair in the oldest grandpa move in the books.
“Pretty much running this place, is all,” Chuck said, puffing his chest out. “When I’m not sneaking over to Group B to get me some lovin’ from the ladies, that is.”
This made them all bust up, and Thomas couldn’t stop until he saw Minho sitting nearby, looking unsure of whether he should get up. Thomas walked over to him.
“Hey, man,” he said. “Made anyone mad lately?”
Minho smiled, though he still seemed a little defeated behind his eyes. He was better, though, since the Griever incident. Thomas could tell.
“I’m a perfect angel,” he answered. “Sometimes I make up words around Randall. You should see him—he always acts like he knows it’s something bad, and he kinda half laughs at it. Such an idiot.”
Yeah, Minho was definitely getting better.
Tom, Teresa said, look over there, to your right. Gally.
Thomas glanced in that direction, searching until he found the black-haired boy who’d unwittingly caused all the trouble with Minho in the first place. Something was different about him, and it took a few seconds before Thomas figured it out. The guy’s nose was about twice as big as it used to be, and totally deformed. Like some kind of squashed vegetable that had been glued there. Or worse, stapled—it looked painful.
Gally’s eyes met Thomas’s, and surprisingly, the boy offered what appeared to be an apologetic nod that seemed sincere. But he quickly returned his attention to the friends sitting with him at his table.
“What happened to him?” Thomas asked Minho.
His friend held up a fist. “That’s what happened. His loose tongue gave us up, I’m pretty sure. Probably bragging in the showers or something. Even if it wasn’t his fault, it sure made me feel better.”
Thomas expected him to laugh, or at least smile, but a darkness passed over his friend’s face. Thomas just raised his eyebrows and shook his head. Alby, Teresa, Chuck, and Newt had joined them.
“Let’s get you some food,” Alby said. “It ain’t the worst thing you’ll ever put in your mouth. Then we got some catchin’ up to do, people to ridicule, plans to make.”
And for a little while, things like sun flares and Cranks were all but forgotten.
Weeks passed, and the official start of the trials grew closer and closer. Thomas found himself in the maze as often as possible, seeing it as a sanctuary of sorts. He especially loved the central living area, with its wide-open spaces, its little forest; it was meant to become a place of rest and safety for those sent there. WICKED wanted most of it to be built by the subjects themselves—the farm, the gardens, the living space—probably a good opportunity to analyze their killzone patterns during such a productive time.
Thomas felt a significant sense of pride when it came to the maze, and he wondered if he would ever be sent inside. He was madly curious about what it would be like, and every day he grew a little more eager for the actual trials to begin. Their lives needed a shot of change.
But as the day of insertion grew closer, he remembered he had a promise to keep. And one night he told himself tonight was the night. Although he had more clearance than before, he still felt a little mischievous as he made his way through the halls to the Group A barracks. He hadn’t told anyone what he was about to do, figuring it would be better to seek forgiveness for something so harmless than to ask for permission in the first place. Most people were so busy, even during the evenings, that he doubted they’d be noticed anyway.
Newt was waiting for him by the door.
“You actually came, Tommy!” Newt exclaimed, probably only half kidding. Thomas always worried people were suspicious of him and Teresa because of their “elite” status.
“Yep,” he replied. “I’m a man of my word.”
They shook hands, and then the two of them set off, deep into the bowels of the WICKED complex.
