229.11.22 | 8:47 a.m.
Look at Minho, Teresa said to Thomas.
It was the morning before the big day—the first insertion into the maze. Forty boys from Group A were lined up along the walls of the hallway, ready for their final medical examinations. Newt, Minho, Alby, Gally—all the boys Thomas had gotten to know over the last few years of his life would be part of the group. Orderlies walked up and down the hall, prepping them to enter the medical rooms—taking temperatures, blood pressures, checking eyes, tongues.
Yeah, I see him, Thomas replied. He and Teresa were there at Chancellor Anderson’s request—to observe and provide moral support. But all he felt was a heavy, heavy sadness at saying goodbye, and he’d stayed silent since arriving.
Minho was about ten boys away from where he and Teresa stood, and he’d been fidgeting all morning. But now it had turned into something worse—his body reminded Thomas of a cocked gun, his muscles coiled as if he were about to spring into action.
Man, Thomas said. There’s no way he’d try something again. Right?
Although there were plenty of things to upset their friend. Inside the medical rooms, clearly visible from their place in the hallway, menacing devices hung over each bed—they looked like robot masks, metallic and full of wires and tubes. Thomas assumed they were meant to capture every type of killzone measurement imaginable, a foundation from which they could study progress within the Maze Trials.
Follow my lead, Teresa said. She pushed away from the wall and walked toward Minho. Thomas followed right on her heels. She had an air of authority about her, so the medical attendants barely glanced her way. She stopped when she got to Minho, and put a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, and for an instant Thomas thought he might actually strike out, but then his eyes met hers and a wave of calm seemed to wash over him, relaxing his muscles as it flowed through his body. To Thomas’s surprise, tears formed in the boy’s eyes.
“It’s okay,” Teresa said to him. “Don’t make it worse by fighting them. Everything will be fine inside the maze. You’ll see.”
“Aren’t you going in with us?” Minho asked.
The response took both Thomas and Teresa by surprise.
“Uh, w-well…,” Teresa stammered.
“Not yet,” Thomas quickly interjected, leaving it at that. Hoping his friends wouldn’t dig further.
A hint of anger flushed Minho’s face again, but this time it set firmly. “Seriously? So you’re telling me not to fight them? Are you sure you don’t mean us? What exactly are you doing here, Thomas? I don’t see you being poked and prodded like cattle.”
Alby, just a few feet down the hall, turned to look at the three. “Yeah,” he said. “He’s got a good point, if you ask me. You’re just gonna throw us into a big experiment, then go back to your cush bed and relax? Were you ever going to tell us? Or just let us think you were going in, then, Surprise!”
Thomas had no idea what to say. He’d been able to convince himself that he was the same as his friends. That they didn’t care that he’d been separated out, that he had different responsibilities than they did. How could he have ever thought it wouldn’t matter? That it wouldn’t blow up in his face?
“What? Forget the script you’re supposed to follow?” Alby asked. “Or are you just worried about upsetting your buddies?” He nodded toward the doctors and nurses, who all continued their work as if nothing was happening.
“Guys, come on,” Teresa said, finally finding her voice. “We’re no different from anyone else—we just do what they ask.”
“Say whatever makes you feel better,” Alby answered. He folded his arms and leaned against the wall, looked the other way. They were understandably on edge.
And then the truth was clear as day. Thomas’s friends were being sent into the maze and he wasn’t. He didn’t know if he’d ever be sent in. He was different from his friends, and no one could ignore it anymore. They stood, backs against the wall, some glaring at him as if he’d known about this the whole time. As if he’d been lying to them. Even Newt, down at the end of the line, looked at Thomas, anger twisting his face.
Thomas was absolutely crushed.
Minho hadn’t said anything, but the fierce, coiled-snake look had returned. Anger, fear, anxiety about what this new change meant—Thomas understood how they felt. And he was the perfect one to blame.
Minho flung Teresa’s hand off his shoulder. “Alby’s right,” he said. “I’ve tried and tried to give you guys the benefit of the doubt. Figured you were going to be able to help us. But now it’s obvious what you were doing. You’ve been helping them the whole time. It’s all been about getting ready to do this to us, hasn’t it!” He pounded his chest twice as he emphasized the words.
“Minho, listen—” Teresa began.
“Get out of my face!” Minho yelled.
The world was falling apart, and Thomas could think of nothing to say. Alby, Minho, Newt. Until five minutes ago he’d considered them his best friends, and just assumed they understood his mind and heart. And now it had all collapsed and here he was, standing in front of them like a complete idiot. Anything he said sounded like a lie, even to himself.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed someone approaching down the hall. He looked and saw it was Gally. He’d left his place in line and his face was aflame with anger. Two nurses followed him, trying to catch up to him before he reached Thomas.
“Thomas!” the boy yelled, picking up his pace, only now that he was closer Thomas could see that his expression wasn’t anger—it was fear. “You have to help us! Can’t you help us?” Two orderlies grabbed the boy before he could get closer, holding him back. “We know you have some power with them. Help us!” He sounded desperate and struggled to keep his eyes on Thomas as orderlies roughly turned him around and dragged him into an exam room.
Thomas felt powerless. He looked down the line of boys who had been his friends, and his heart broke over and over. Minho, Alby, Newt—their eyes brimming with resentment. How had everything crashed so suddenly?
He had to say something, quickly. His chance would be over soon. He had to fix this! They had to know that they were all wrong, that he and Teresa weren’t working with WICKED, really. They would help them, even go into the maze themselves if they had to. He had to speak, now!
Thomas opened his mouth, ready to spill out his words, his pleas, his apologies.
But something happened. Something deep inside his brain clicked and it felt as if a hand reached within his actual body and began to manipulate him, play with his nerves, his thoughts, his everything. As if possessed by an evil spirit, he lost complete control—lost it to someone or something else. He spoke words against his will.
“I’m sorry,” he said, the tone and pitch of it sounding as foreign as if it came from another person altogether. “There’s nothing I can do.”
And then he watched, frozen, helpless, screaming on the inside, as they took his friends away.
