“Hungry, Tommy?” Newt asked when they were outside.
Thomas couldn’t believe the question. “Hungry? I feel like puking after what I just saw—no, I’m not hungry.”
Newt only grinned. “Well, I am, ya shank. Let’s go look for some leftovers from lunch. We need to talk.”
“Somehow I knew you were going to say something like that.” No matter what he did, he was becoming more and more entwined in the dealings of the Glade. And he was growing to expect it.
They made their way directly to the kitchen, where, despite Frypan’s grumbling, they were able to get cheese sandwiches and raw vegetables. Thomas couldn’t ignore the way the Keeper of the cooks kept giving him a weird look, eyes darting away whenever Thomas returned the stare.
Something told him this sort of treatment would now be the norm. For some reason, he was different from everyone else in the Glade. He felt like he’d lived an entire lifetime since awakening from his memory wipe, but he’d only been there a week.
The boys decided to take their lunches to eat outside, and a few minutes later they found themselves at the west wall, looking out at the many work activities going on throughout the Glade, their backs up against a spot of thick ivy. Thomas forced himself to eat; the way things were going, he needed to make sure he’d have strength to deal with whatever insane thing came his way next.
“Ever seen that happen before?” Thomas asked after a minute or so.
Newt looked at him, his face suddenly somber. “What Alby just did? No. Never. But then again, no one’s ever tried to tell us what they remembered during the Changing. They always refuse. Alby tried to—must be why he went nuts for a while.”
Thomas paused in the middle of chewing. Could the people behind the Maze control them somehow? It was a terrifying thought.
“We have to find Gally,” Newt said through a bite of carrot, changing the subject. “Bugger’s gone off and hid somewhere. Soon as we’re done eating, I need to find him and throw his butt in jail.”
“Serious?” Thomas couldn’t help feeling a shot of pure elation at the thought. He’d be happy to slam the door closed and throw away the key himself.
“That shank threatened to kill you and we have to make bloody sure it never happens again. That shuck-face is gonna pay a heavy price for acting like that—he’s lucky we don’t Banish him. Remember what I told you about order.”
“Yeah.” Thomas’s only concern was that Gally would just hate him all the more for being thrown in jail. I don’t care, he thought. I’m not scared of that guy anymore.
“Here’s how it’ll play out, Tommy,” Newt said. “You’re with me the rest of today—we need to figure things. Tomorrow, the Slammer. Then you’re Minho’s, and I want you to stay away from the other shanks for a while. Got it?”
Thomas was more than happy to oblige. Being mostly alone sounded like a great idea. “Sounds beautiful. So Minho’s going to train me?”
“That’s right—you’re a Runner now. Minho’ll teach ya. The Maze, the Maps, everything. Lots to learn. I expect you to work your butt off.”
Thomas was shocked that the idea of entering the Maze again didn’t frighten him all that much. He resolved to do just as Newt said, hoping it would keep his mind off things. Deeper down, he hoped to get out of the Glade as much as possible. Avoiding other people was his new goal in life.
The boys sat in silence, finishing their lunches, until Newt finally got to what he really wanted to talk about. Crumpling his trash into a ball, he turned and looked straight at Thomas.
“Thomas,” he began, “I need you to accept something. We’ve heard it too many times now to deny it, and it’s time to discuss it.”
Thomas knew what was coming, but was startled. He dreaded the words.
“Gally said it. Alby said it. Ben said it,” Newt continued, “the girl, after we took her out of the Box—she said it.”
He paused, perhaps expecting Thomas to ask what he meant. But Thomas already knew. “They all said things were going to change.”
Newt looked away for a moment, then turned back. “That’s right. And Gally, Alby and Ben claim they saw you in their memories after the Changing—and from what I gather, you weren’t plantin’ flowers and helpin’ old ladies cross the street. According to Gally, there’s somethin’ rotten enough about ya that he wants to kill ya.”
“Newt, I don’t know—” Thomas started, but Newt didn’t let him finish.
“I know you don’t remember anything, Thomas! Quit sayin’ that—don’t ever say it again. None of us remember anything, and we’re bloody sick of you reminding us. The point is there’s something different about you, and it’s time we figured it out.”
Thomas was overwhelmed by a surge of anger. “Fine, so how do we do it? I want to know who I am just as much as anyone else. Obviously.”
“I need you to open your mind. Be honest if anything—anything at all—seems familiar.”
“Nothing—” Thomas started, but stopped. So much had happened since arriving, he’d almost forgotten how familiar the Glade had felt to him that first night, sleeping next to Chuck. How comfortable and at home he’d felt. A far cry from the terror he should’ve experienced.
“I can see your wheels spinnin’,” Newt said, quietly. “Talk.”
Thomas hesitated, scared of the consequences of what he was about to say. But he was tired of keeping secrets. “Well … I can’t put my finger on anything specific.” He spoke slowly, carefully. “But I did feel like I’d been here before when I first got here.” He looked at Newt, hoping to see some sort of recognition in his eyes. “Anyone else go through that?”