CHAPTER 17:
"You're cutting it pretty damn close, Minho." Adira commented as she handed the panting teenager a glass of ice cold water, supporting most of her weight on her good leg. "Shuck walls were about to crush you."
Minho didn't respond, still breathing deeply, inhaling and exhaling rapidly as he stopped running for the first time in a long time. Adira waited patiently by his side, feeling somewhat dejected watching him suffer for them.
"Better?" she asked as he finally recovered, straightening to his full height as his breath evened out.
He nodded, smirking at her, "I made it back, shank."
She rolled her eyes, "You always do."
He threw his arm around her shoulders, chuckling lowly, as they walked together to the Runner's Hut, "We're having dinner by the Deadheads, right?"
She nodded as his fingers found her locks of hair and tugged at them gently, "You wanted to cut your hair again?"
"I like it short. Ever since you cut it, actually, I realised. Long hair is a pain."
He smirked slyly, "Because I cut itor because I cut it."
She scowled at him, "You wish, Minho."
"Damn it shank, you're breaking my shuck heart, here." Minho pouted, squeezing her tightly around the shoulders, "Is Newt gonna join this time?"
Adira shook her head, "I asked, but he said he'd had enough of sitting, don't blame him to be honest. Said he'll be with Fry and Cal if we need him."
"Fair, he's been sleeping for a solid three weeks." Minho looked practically terrified at sitting still for twenty minutes let alone three weeks. Maze jitters, Adira called it. Hers had subsided marginally but some part of her body was constantly moving, unconsciously or consciously.
They entered the Runner's Hut together, expecting the room to be empty but instead found a frazzled looking Tristan poring over a vast spread of carefully constructed maps of the Maze. Minho gave her a glance and she returned his look with a significant one of her own.
"Hey, Tristan." she started, "Shouldn't you be out? Hours are over now."
The boy looked up, his eyes large and frightened, "Yeah, but we're not going to get out of here unless someone checks the maps. So I'm checking them, cos we need to get out and-"
"Enough for today, Tristan." she said firmly, "It's hard enough to run the Maze, no need to break your head over the shuck maps."
"But-"
"Tristan." she repeated, "Go."
The boy deflated under her harsh gaze, his shoulders curling over, his face hardening. She felt slightly bad for her curtness, "Kasper will look forward to dinner with you, eh? Don't disappoint him, Tristan. He looks for you."
Tristan nodded, almost shamefully as he walked out of the Runners Hut, but she noticed a lighter skip in his step as he met up with a smiling bright eyed Kasper. She worried for him. She worried for all of them.
Minho had already finished sketching out his map, storing the spread of maps into their allocated chests, his mood soured at the sight of another fellow Original deteriorating. Tristan would get better though. He had to. Besides, he was the overly cheery one between the Originals, only Kasper could outdo him.
"I'll get dinner, go to the Deadheads, yeah?" Minho asked, waiting for her confirmation before walking off to the Kitchens. It had become a ritual of theirs, to have a time out from the dinner hall and hide out by themselves and just talk. Just the two of them, talk. Not even Newt joined them much, apart from the rare occasion where he often just passed by for a few words and left promptly, leaving them alone. He knew he was always welcome and that's what mattered in the end. Both Minho and she had a peculiar habit of establishing strange routines that they stuck by wordlessly, without verbally acknowledging what they were doing.
The familiar chilly Deadheads' breeze tickled her cheeks, whipping her hair onto her face as she settled down on the slightly flattened, grassy patch they normally sat on. Her fingers scrambled to move the flailing locks away from her face, but she found herself entranced by the colour of the hair, a golden brown that reflected majestically in the gold of the setting sun, strong, powerful and totally unlike anything she'd imagined before. It unsettled her. Vanity, was not something she possessed, yet here she was, holding a lock of hair, so beautiful, the epitome of strength and she loved it. Beauty was not allowed to be admired in the Glade, no, beauty must always be admired when surrounded by more beauty. The Glade wasn't beautiful. Everyone was slowly dying in here.
The lock fell limply back to place and she waited with a renewed sense of thrill for Minho to come along and shear off her hair, wondering how she looked like. It was the one thing she hadn't thought of in a long, long while. True, she could've caught a vague glimpse of her features from a bucket of water, or the glass of the window in the wall, but she didn't want to. She wasn't stupid, she saw the Greenies' longing glances and barely hidden expressions of shock when they'd first seen her, so it was only safe to assume that she wasn't horrible looking. But she knew that beauty did not belong in the Glade. And anyway, she didn't want to be constantly worried about how she looked when leading a bunch of teenage boys- it was impractical- she didn't want to define herself with the hazy image of her face.
"Here shank."
A plate of lasagne dropped into her hands as Minho sat down next to her, holding his own plate of food triumphantly. Like a trophy. He didn't seem very hungry. oddly, but then again she wasn't either. He set aside his plate, but she took a bite for Frypan, relishing in the sweet sauce and the sharp sour cut of the cheese. Her stomach felt full and her plate felt too heavy.
"I have the scissors."
She nodded, turning around in the usual choreographed position, her back to Minho, his fingers dancing across her shoulders before he cut through the strands of hair. She liked the familiarity of his light touches, the heavy cut of hair and the freedom of her scalp. It was intimate, she pondered as Minho let the blade embrace a lock of hair, it was intimate because she trusted him with something she had absolutely control over, absolutely no say in. She trusted his judgement for something she couldn't even begin to wonder about.
"There, done."
She pulled her fingers through her hair, mesmerised as always by the shortness. Minho smiled, a real one, "You always do that Ad. As if you wouldn't know how short I'd cut it."
"I guess, I don't, not really." she frowned, turning back around, ignoring the ghosts of his fingers on her skin, "I mean, I know it's now cut until the base of my neck, quite a bit up from my collarbone. But I don't know, because I haven't seen. It could be long because my neck is long. But it could be short because my neck is short."
Minho looked surprised, "You haven't seen yourself? Dude, are you shucking with me? Not once?"
She shook her head slowly, taken aback by his reaction.
"I-I haven't. I don't want to, I guess."
Minho considered her words, rolling them around in his head.
"Yeah, but like, have you not…thought about it?"
"Yes." she said, "I have. You told me long ago, how I looked but I think I've changed from then. We've grown up. All of us."
"It's been a while."
"A year." she clarified, "People are growing even taller and bigger. At least that's what I see. I don't know if I've gotten any taller."
Minho nodded, "You're not short. For a girl, I think. I don't know shank, what's the average height for girls?"
She shrugged, "Doesn't matter."
Minho looked at her, "Yes it does."
She shrugged again, her voice failing her, because, no matter how much she denied it, Minho was irrevocably right. She didn't want her face to define her but she wanted to know. He understood.
"You're taller than you were." Minho started and she closed her eyes, "Blue eyes, blonde-brown hair."
She gave a small smile, "You told me that before."
"Patience." Minho said. As if he could talk.
"Your nose is really straight, average sized. Your face is…heart shaped? I think that's what it is. I can't remember."
She smiled again, broader, "It doesn't matter."
"Why?"
"Because, Minho, you could make up every feature of my face and I would believe you, even if I knew it was a lie, heart shaped or not. How my face looks doesn't matter, how people see it matters, right? Ultimately, it's how other people see me that I care about."
He pondered over herwords before shaking his head lightly, "But that shouldn't be it. You need to be able to put a face to a name. Your name. Be happy for yourself."
She realised then, that she hadn't kept up to the promise she had made Newt; that she would try to release the guilt she felt for the Gladers' deaths. Minho was right. Putting a face to her name would make her happy, it would show acceptance of her character. Right now, she couldn't say she accepted herself.
She should accept herself. Their deaths weren't her fault. She should be proud of herself, she'd come this far. She should be less selfish. She should move on, cherish them, absolutely, but move on. She trusted Minho and so, for that one reason, she was grateful that he had described her face to her, because it meant he was part of her journey of acceptance. It meant he was a part of her.
"Happy for myself."
He understood. Like always.
"Here, Ad." Newt said, throwing a shirt in her direction, "This one's the smallest I've got."
"Thanks Newt." she breathed. Ever since the Griever attack, her clothes had been in a fragile condition and her shirt finally quit when it got caught along a rough cut door handle. Hence the new clothes. WICKED hated her apparently, since they gave her no update on her wardrobe despite the boys getting a fresh change of clothes every so often.
"Well, put it on then." he grinned, "I'll turn around."
He hobbled awkwardly around on his crutches till he was facing away from her. She chuckled, throwing on the clean, off-white shirt, washed over by the smell of the harsh, rough soap the Sloppers used and the very distinct smell that Newt carried. She liked it.
"Done."
"You look brilliant." Newt grinned, "A bit big…"
That was an understatement. The shoulders of the shirt dropped limply over her upper arms, almost reaching her elbows. The torso of the shirt was decent; airy and large but tucking it into her shorts was an easy fix. The neckline of the top was the actual problem. Newt had broad shoulders; as did most of the boys- she did not.
"I don't have much of a choice." she scowled, "Shuck Creators."
Newt hid a snort, "It's fine Ad. Honest."
She smiled at his reassurances, standing up, before promptly sitting back down. Newt, astute as always understood immediately what was going on- she needed to talk to him. He hobbled over, sitting on his bed, beside her.
"Go on then shank." he coaxed gently.
The idea wasn't entirely new, but she wanted to talk about it ever since she had brought up the topic of her identity with Minho. That a face was only valid for other people to judge- she was so wrong, but the question of how the boys judged her was rolling around in her head as a result of her false ideology.
"Have the boys said anything about me?" she didn't look at Newt, scared to find judgement.
He pondered her question, "Where's this coming from, Ad? You've never given a rat's tail about what anyone thinks of you?"
She grimaced. Newt waited patiently.
"Frank…Kasper told me that he said I was pretty. I-I guess I want to know if other people have been… talking."
She wriggled uncomfortably, a sure sign that her inner turmoil was larger than it appeared- even in the face of death, Newt couldn't imagine her being anything other than shucking determined to keep on living. Discomfort wasn't something she usually displayed.
Newt frowned, but he knew honesty was the best policy.
"There's been words- I haven't heard 'em clear for myself, but some shank around's told me things. You know me, Ad, I ain't gonna spread the bad blood if I ain't got proof. 'Sides I got no names from the shanks, not even what they said. Just that some boys talked."
She nodded, biting her lip, "I don't…like them calling me pretty."
Pretty. Such a simple word, used as a compliment, but here it seemed derogatory. She hated the frivolity of the word, realised the hidden intentions Frank harboured.
Newt nodded, "Ignore them, Ad. I'm sorry but it's the best I got. You keep your head high, like you've always done, ignore them because they don't know what you truly went through and they'll be pissing their pants like shuck babies if they were the First here. You're worth hundred more than them, everyone knows it. Because you keep them alive."
He snorted then, "Anyway, you aren't pretty. At all."
She looked up at him, somewhat shocked by his bluntness. He grinned, rolling his eyes, " You ain't shucking pretty, bloody hell. You're buggin' beautiful, Ad, inside and out. Even if your face looked like Gally's, I'd say you were beautiful, cos you are. And, everyone talks, here. Ain't really much else to do, right? Don't listen to 'em."
He smiled largely at her, triumphant at expressing what he felt.
She grinned at him gratefully, feeling wholly better, "Thanks Newt, it's been running around in my head for a while."
He smiled cheerily, "Ain't nothing like a shoulder to cry on, ay? Shuck, almost forgot, Greenie's coming up soon. My shoulder's gonna be sopping wet for a bloody week."
Adira pursed her lips, "Can I ask a question?"
Newt narrowed his eyes at her falsely innocent tone, "You're the Leader, shank."
She smiled slyly, cocking her head lightly, "You think Gally's beautiful?"
Newt turned a sickening shade of green, sputtering, "You've missed the whole bloody point!"
Their laughs warmed her and Frank's sick yellow smile left her mind with a determination to stay away, thankfully.
"Minho should be back, now." she said, recovering from her laughter, "Come with me to the Doors."
Newt looked oddly conflicted for a moment, before nodding, "Yeah fine."
She nodded, fetching Minho's usual glass of ice cold water and heading over to the Doors, her eyes unconsciously flitting over to her watch every so often.
Tristan was back, so was Flin but Minho was testing the borders of the time limits.
"He's there."
A figure, sprinting madly down the corridor as the Doors started grinding shut- he'd make it, but only if he maintained a break-neck speed. She pulled Newt out of the way as Minho came flying past, breathing hard, and stopping after running a good twenty feet into the Glade, just as the Doors collided together, leaving a rush of air to accompany the dying wind.
She handed him the glass of water, not saying a word. She understood. But that didn't mean it was okay.
He'd taken the role of a Keeper to an extreme level and the pressure was getting to him, longer hours of running, more injuries, less socialising and relaxation. Still, she'd hoped he'd have at least taken heed of her words the last night he'd come into the Glade.
He straightened, smirking his smirk as gratitude and downed the glass of water, like a dying man. His smirk was fixed. Unmoving. Like a machine, no feeling.
"Newt's shirt?"
"Yeah, mine got shredded." she said, taking back the empty glass, "And you almost did get shredded."
Minho smiled suddenly, his face lighting up, "I'll tell you soon, shank. I'm doing something in the Maze and I'll tell you, soon, promise."
Newt frowned behind her, curious but she only raised her eyebrows at the life that had come into his face.
"Okay, then. But rest well, yeah?"
She trusted him; he said he would tell her and he would. Newt steadied himself behind her and she knew he did too. With his life.
"Greenie's fantastic in the Kitchens, really." Frypan said over breakfast. Minho had left for the Maze and the Gladers had all finished their morning meal- apart from her. She'd been organising some matters that had set her back and Frypan had some off time he could spare to accompany her for the meal. She was grateful for his endless, boisterous chatter.
"Should've seen the shank flipping the pan, I died and went to heaven, swear on it." he commented dreamily, accepting the odd nod she offered him. This was the good thing about Frypan; he didn't bother with the person on the receiving end of his words- if they listened attentively good on them, but if they didn't, it wasn't much problem either.
"Never expected Arden to end up there." she said and Fry nodded emphatically.
"Course, Kitchen gossip is wild, but you should hear the things the boys bet on." Fry shook his head disappointedly, "They thought he'd end up as a shuck Bagger, Slopper even!"
She shook her head here, scraping up the eggs on her plate and laying down her empty plate on the table. "Tragic. No sense in their klunk brains."
"No, not at all." Frypan added passionately, working over her subtle sordid sarcasm. He could be so clueless sometimes.
"I'm heading out then." she announced, "I need to head over to Clint."
"I'll see you at lunch, shank." Fry nodded, moving to the Kitchens, where Arden's faint shadow could be seen. He liked his solitude, apparently.
Adira headed over to the Med hut, the newly constructed building where Clint and Jeff were stationed, their friendly stream of conversation interrupted by her arrival. They never minded, though. She liked the Med Jacks and they, her.
"Minho?"
The teen winced, before facing her, "Ad."
Clint peered at her from beneath his eyelashes, but continued working away at Minho's arm, where she could just make out a large, deep cut and a river of blood. Her stomach protested.
"What happened?" she asked, concern filling her as she turned her gaze to Minho's battered face.
"Griever happened." Minho grimaced, "Decided to come back. And we need to talk about the thing I was telling you yesterday."
"Good that." she said simply, with a small smile, before turning to Clint, "News on Gally?"
"Gally's functioning." Clint said, "Functioning being the key word."
He sighed deeply, like an old man who'd seen the worst things in life, "He'll live, is my point. He's changed though. A lot. Said he'd never wish being Stung on his worst enemy as well, if that's worth anything."
She grimaced on Gally's behalf, "Poor shank. I'll have to talk to him. Need anything, Clint?"
Clint nodded, "Could you pick the numbing plants? Not the Vera, but the dill."
"Got it, how much?"
"It's mostly only for you." Clint said wryly, "Pick what you want, I guess."
"Me?"
Minho looked up at her, "What? Why?"
Clint smiled dryly, "Chocolate."
"Wh- Oh!"
Her period. She avoided Minho's loud question dutifully.
"Yup, it'll help the pain. I'll make a tea for you, it's good."
"Thanks Clint." she said, slightly awkwardly, leaving Minho's confused face behind and opting to berate him into a day of relaxation and fleeing the Med Hut to pick the dill. Jeff followed, his pointy face reddened at the cheeks, but otherwise, normal. Clearly he had understood Clint's code.
"I need to pick stuff too, sorry." he informed, picking his way next to her. He was intimidated by her, it was clear to a blind man and she felt sorry for him.
"No problem, Jeff." she said, smiling slightly to ease his was a good guy, mostly.
They walked in silence to the Gardens- not too far from the Med Hut, where Jeff promptly parted from her with a quick apology and a wisp of a smile. Calvin met her, with a friendly pat on the back.
"Hullo. You working on the Garden's today? Kasper was saying he missed ya."
She raised her basket sheepishly, "Only picking dill for Clint. I think I'll be over here tomorrow though. We'll have to start planting the new seeds tomorrow."
"That's too bad." Calvin said, before turning to the figures of the Builders and consequentially, Gally, who'd been released by Clint. "He made it then, heard he was Stung."
She nodded, "He survived."
"Well he ran into the Maze, it's more than he could've hoped for. Shank should be dead, but no. He broke the rules."
"Clint has his ways, brought the klunkhead back from the dead. And we'll have a shuck Gathering for the shank, he can't be a free man now."
Calvin nodded approvingly, "It's the way things have to be, eh?"
She nodded, "Order."
"Well the dill's over there. Go on, take what you like, no one uses it."
She tread towards the dill, making a mental note to organise a Gathering and to send out the times to the Keepers who would inform the boys working under them. Which meant that Minho would have to come back early from the Maze. He wouldn't appreciate it, she assumed.
The basket filled without much effort and she headed back to the Med hut, dropping off the dill for Clint and finding Minho waiting for her at the entrance of the hut. Might as well do the Gathering that night- Minho was in the Glade anyway.
"Get Newt." he said, grinning widely at her, "Then come meet me in the Map room."
She didn't bother asking him why, settling on sending him a flat look, before seeking out her blonde haired second in command. She found him berating two boys angrily, his unusual accent made even more confusing with all the unfamiliar words he threw in and she had to physically contain her laugh at the boys' shameful, sorry expressions. One of them looked like he was on the verge of tears.
"And if I see you tryna' bloody kill each other, like the complete wankers ya are, it'll be the shucking Slammer for your arses and I swear, nobody's going to give a shuck morsel of food for ya slintheads!"
"Newt." she choked out, once the boys had left after grudgingly conciliating under Newt's hard glare.
"Adira!" Newt greeted, his exasperated frown disappearing and giving way to a sunny smile, "Need a thing?"
"Minho's calling us, to the Map room. Says he wants to tell us something."
Newt nodded solemnly before he frowned again, pointing at the sun, "Why's Minho back already? The sun ain't down."
"Saw a Griever." she said and Newt's eyebrows shot up in concern.
"How bad?" he asked, referring to the Keeper's injuries.
"A cut, but it was pretty bad. Still, Clint's got it all sorted."
"Thank shuck for Clint." Newt breathed, following her to the Map Room, his crutch causing him to sway. "Where's your crutch?"
"I've given them up." she shrugged. She didn't like wearing it out, in front of all the boys, the Gladers. She felt weak. Newt frowned but he didn't object, instead pursing his lips, his face coalescing into a thoughtful expression. Her knee hadn't quite fully healed and it was stupid and impractical not to wear a crutch but Clint had resigned to her stubborn argument to walk freely and his word was good enough for her.
"There's the lad." Newt pointed out, Minho's tall, muscular figure silhouetted by the Runner's Hut. She felt a lurch in her stomach but she ignored it- she'd been getting these weird movements for a while now, after her memory-dream. He was very built though, so it was completely rational to be distracted for a few seconds. As long as it didn't interfere with anything.
"Shucking here, finally. Thought you'd gone and ditched." Minho said, rolling his eyes impatiently, leading the way into the Runners Hut. "So, I'll shucking start from the beginning, yeah?"
"Well don't then, Minho." Newt snorted sarcastically, "Because we'd totally understand."
Minho shot him a withering glare but there was a ghost of a grin on his face. "Right. So, the Maze."
He rubbed his palms together for dramatic effect, "There are eight sections to the Maze, right? Four doors, eight sections. At least, that's what we thought. I've been running longer cos I've been going further."
Adira leaned forward, "Further? Where? There is no further."
"There's more to run." Minho said triumphantly, "There's Outer sections too."
Adira frowned, "I've been to the end of the Sections before, Min, that's not possible. I'd have seen it."
"The shuck Maze isn't possible. At least it shouldn't be." said Minho flippantly, before explaining again, "Two sections merge to form one massive section on the outer ring of the Maze. This could be it, guys, it could be the way out!"
Adira held her hand out, "Slow down, Min. So there's what, four Outer sections? There are eight inner sections, which we've run and mapped but now, suddenly there's four other sections to run?"
Newt looked excited as well, "This could be it, right? I mean, there's no shuck way the sections just dissolved and created new ones, the Creators did this!"
Minho nodded, "Exactly. Before, there were stone walls surrounding the end of the eight sections, right? Now, those walls are shucking gone- don't ask me how- and there's massive sections right on the edge of the Maze. No way it ain't the shuck Creators."
"So they're what, leading us to the exit?" Adira asked dubiously, "I mean, no offence, but I don't trust this new set up. Don't tell me it's not weird. Four new concrete sections popping up overnight?"
Minho smirked, "I knew you'd be like this."
She sent him a dry smile, "With reason."
Minho threw his hands in the air, "I didn't shucking deny that it was odd, woman!"
Newt chuckled a little before his face turned more thoughtful, "Ad's gotta a point, and you know it Min. What's to say there ain't a bunch of Grievers waiting at the end for ya? I mean the Creators put us in here to kill us, basically- it could be a death trap."
Minho looked, impossibly, bored with the idea of the carnivorous Grievers ganging up on him, "I've been to the Outer section though. Ain't no shuck Griever there. There's more in the inner sections that the Outer ones."
"So it's either, run the inner sections, get eaten by a bloody Griever and die or run the outer sections and not make it back in time and die?" Newt said, "Sounds fair."
Minho grinned, "That's the Maze for you."
Adira rolled her eyes, "So you're running it then?"
"Yup." Minho nodded, "We need to map it out."
She knew that she couldn't argue with him on this, despite her cautiousness, so she let it go- Minho was rational to an extent but he carried a reckless streak with him that no amount of arguing would ever remove. But her trust for him balanced everyhting out.
"Are all the Runners going out there, then? I mean, you're the fastest shank here and you nearly got smooshed in the walls?"
Minho frowned, "I can't let any of them there, not yet. None of them are fast enough, they'd never make it back."
She nodded grimly, "Good that. More mapping, then."
Newt grimaced, "More mapping."
"Then, maybe, maybe an exit." Minho murmured hopefully.
She smiled.