Thomas didn’t want to see her. He didn’t want to see anybody.
As soon as Newt set off to go and talk to the girl, Thomas silently slipped away, hoping no
one would notice him in the excitement. With everyone’s thoughts on the stranger waking up
from her coma, it proved easy. He skirted the edge of the Glade, then, breaking into a run, he
headed for his place of seclusion behind the Deadhead forest.
He crouched in the corner, nestled in the ivy, and threw his blanket over himself, head and all.
Somehow, it seemed like a way to hide from Teresa’s intrusion into his mind. A few minutes
passed, his heart finally calming to a slow roll.
“Forgetting about you was the worst part.”
At first, Thomas thought it was another message in his head; he squeezed his fists against his
ears. But no, it’d been … different. He’d heard it with his ears. A girl’s voice. Chills creeping up
his spine, he slowly lowered the blanket.
Teresa stood to his right, leaning against the massive stone wall. She looked so different now,
awake and alert—standing. Wearing a long-sleeved white shirt, blue jeans, and brown shoes, she
looked—impossibly—even more striking than when he’d seen her in the coma. Black hair
framed the fair skin of her face, with eyes the blue of pure flame.
“Tom, do you really not remember me?” Her voice was soft, a contrast from the crazed, hard
sound he’d heard from her after she first arrived, when she’d delivered the message that
everything was going to change.
“You mean … you remember me?” he asked, embarrassed at the squeak that escaped on the
last word.
“Yes. No. Maybe.” She threw her arms up in disgust. “I can’t explain it.”
Thomas opened his mouth, then closed it without saying anything.
“I remember remembering,” she muttered, sitting down with a heavy sigh; she pulled her legs
up to wrap her arms around her knees. “Feelings. Emotions. Like I have all these shelves in my
head, labeled for memories and faces, but they’re empty. As if everything before this is just on
the other side of a white curtain. Including you.”
“But how do you know me?” He felt like the walls were spinning around him.
Teresa turned toward him. “I don’t know. Something about before we came to the Maze.
Something about us. It’s mostly empty, like I said.”
“You know about the Maze? Who told you? You just woke up.”
“I … It’s all very confusing right now.” She held a hand out. “But I know you’re my friend.”
Almost in a daze, Thomas pulled the blanket completely off and leaned forward to shake her
hand. “I like how you call me Tom.” As soon as it came out, he was sure he couldn’t have
possibly said anything dumber.
Teresa rolled her eyes. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but most people call me Thomas. Well, except Newt—he calls me Tommy. Tom
makes me feel … like I’m at home or something. Even though I don’t know what home is.” He
let out a bitter laugh. “Are we messed up or what?”
She smiled for the first time, and he almost had to look away, as if something that nice didn’t
belong in such a glum and gray place, as if he had no right to look at her expression.
“Yeah, we’re messed up,” she said. “And I’m scared.”
“So am I, trust me.” Which was definitely the understatement of the day.
A long moment passed, both of them looking toward the ground.
“What’s …,” he began, not sure how to ask it. “How … did you talk to me inside my mind?”
Teresa shook her head. No idea—I can just do it, she thought to him. Then she spoke aloud
again. “It’s like if you tried to ride a bicycle here—if they had one. I bet you could do it without
thinking. But do you remember learning to ride one?”
“No. I mean … I remember riding one, but not learning.” He paused, feeling a wave of
sadness. “Or who taught me.”
“Well,” she said, her eyes flickering as if she was embarrassed by his sudden gloom. “Anyway
… it’s kind of like that.”
“Really clears things up.”
Teresa shrugged. “You didn’t tell anyone, did you? They’d think we’re crazy.”
“Well … when it first happened, I did. But I think Newt just thinks I was stressed out or
something.” Thomas felt fidgety, like he’d go nuts if he didn’t move. He stood up, started pacing
in front of her. “We need to figure things out. That weird note you had about being the last
person to ever come here, your coma, the fact you can talk to me telepathically. Any ideas?”
Teresa followed him with her eyes as he walked back and forth. “Save your breath and quit
asking. All I have are faint impressions—that you and I were important, that we were used
somehow. That we’re smart. That we came here for a reason. I know I triggered the Ending,
whatever that means.” She groaned, her face reddening. “My memories are as useless as yours.”
Thomas knelt down in front of her. “No, they’re not. I mean, the fact that you knew my
memory had been wiped without asking me—and this other stuff. You’re way ahead of me and
everybody else.”
Their eyes met for a long time; it looked like her mind was spinning, trying to make sense of it
all.
I just don’t know, she said in his mind.
“There you go again,” Thomas said aloud, though he was relieved that her trick didn’t really
freak him out anymore. “How do you do that?”
“I just do, and I bet you can, too.”
“Well, can’t say I’m too anxious to try.” He sat back down and pulled his legs up, much like
she had done. “You said something to me—in my head—right before you found me over here.
You said ‘The Maze is a code.’ What did you mean?”
She shook her head slightly. “When I first woke up, it was like I’d entered an insane asylum—
these strange guys hovering over my bed, the world tipping around me, memories swirling in my
brain. I tried to reach out and grasp a few, and that was one of them. I can’t really remember why
I said it.”
“Was there anything else?”
“Actually, yeah.” She pulled up the sleeve of her left arm, exposing her bicep. Small letters
were written across the skin in thin black ink.
“What’s that?” he asked, leaning in for a better look.
“Read it yourself.”
The letters were messy, but he could make them out when he got close enough.
WICKED is good
Thomas’s heart beat faster. “I’ve seen that word—wicked.” He searched his mind for what the
phrase could possibly mean. “On the little creatures that live here. The beetle blades.”
“What are those?” she asked.
“Just little lizardlike machines that spy on us for the Creators—the people who sent us here.”
Teresa considered that for a moment, looking off into space. Then she focused on her arm. “I
can’t remember why I wrote this,” she said as she wet her thumb and started rubbing off the
words. “But don’t let me forget—it has to mean something.”
The three words ran through Thomas’s mind over and over. “When did you write it?”
“When I woke up. They had a pen and notepad next to the bed. In the commotion I wrote it
down.”
Thomas was baffled by this girl—first the connection he’d felt to her from the very beginning,
then the mind-speaking, now this. “Everything about you is weird. You know that, right?”
“Judging by your little hiding spot, I’d say you’re not so normal yourself. Like living in the
woods, do ya?”
Thomas tried to scowl, then smiled. He felt pathetic, and embarrassed about hiding. “Well,
you look familiar to me and you claim we’re friends. Guess I’ll trust you.”
He held out his hand for another shake, and she took it, holding on for a long time. A chill
swept through Thomas that was surprisingly pleasant.
“All I want is to get back home,” she said, finally letting go of his hand. “Just like the rest of
you.”
Thomas’s heart sank as he snapped back to reality and remembered how grim the world had
become. “Yeah, well, things pretty much suck right about now. The sun disappeared and the
sky’s gone gray, they didn’t send us the weekly supplies—looks like things are going to end one
way or another.”
But before Teresa could answer, Newt was running out of the woods. “How in the …,” he said
as he pulled up in front of them. Alby and a few others were right behind him. Newt looked at
Teresa. “How’d you get here? Med-jack said you were there one second and buggin’ gone the
next.”
Teresa stood up, surprising Thomas with her confidence. “Guess he forgot to tell the little part
about me kicking him in the groin and climbing out the window.”
Thomas almost laughed as Newt turned to an older boy standing nearby, whose face had
turned bright red.
“Congrats, Jeff,” Newt said. “You’re officially the first guy here to get your butt beat by a
girl.”
Teresa didn’t stop. “Keep talking like that and you’ll be next.”
Newt turned back to face them, but his face showed anything but fear. He stood, silently, just
staring at them. Thomas stared back, wondering what was going through the older boy’s head.
Alby stepped up. “I’m sick of this.” He pointed at Thomas’s chest, almost tapping it. “I wanna
know who you are, who this shank girl is, and how you guys know each other.”
Thomas almost wilted. “Alby, I swear—”
“She came straight to you after waking up, shuck-face!”
Anger surged inside Thomas—and worry that Alby would go off like Ben had. “So what? I
know her, she knows me—or at least, we used to. That doesn’t mean anything! I can’t remember
anything. Neither can she.”
Alby looked at Teresa. “What did you do?”
Thomas, confused by the question, glanced at Teresa to see if she knew what he meant. But
she didn’t reply.
“What did you do!” Alby screamed. “First the sky, now this.”
“I triggered something,” she replied in a calm voice. “Not on purpose, I swear it. The Ending.
I don’t know what it means.”
“What’s wrong, Newt?” Thomas asked, not wanting to talk to Alby directly. “What
happened?”
But Alby grabbed him by the shirt. “What happened? I’ll tell ya what happened, shank. Too
busy makin’ lovey eyes to bother lookin’ around? To bother noticing what freaking time it is!”
Thomas looked at his watch, realizing with horror what he’d missed, knowing what Alby was
about to say before he said it.
“The walls, you shuck. The Doors. They didn’t close tonight.”
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