warning: not everyone knows how to act in a courtroom

One Hell Of A Tough Jury

I shuffled in, arms crossed, and the court rose to attention.

"Welcome in, Bea." Alby acknowledged in a low, somewhat foreboding tone. Didn't feel like much of a bloody welcome to me, at least not with the thirty-odd pair of eyes concentrated towards where I was standing. Two goons lugged the rickety door closed behind me, locking us all in the stuffy twig shed for the next… however long I would inevitably stretch this out for.

"Now, I'm sure nobody needs an introduction to our greenie over here, but for…" he flashed an irritated look in Gally's direction and huffed, "clarity's sake I suppose we should remind everyone why they're here."

He passed a crumpled notebook to Newt, who raised his eyebrows in response, "This is Bea-" he gestured towards me as I shifted my weight onto the other foot, "-and she's accused of being an absolute dick." Momentarily grinning, he shrugged his shoulders and handed the notebook back.

Silence in the courthouse.

One of the younger gladers snorted behind me. At least somebody wasn't taking this shit seriously. Although, some part of Beatrice Harlow took offence to the fact that they hadn't even dignified her with a proper charge. Disrupting the peace? Spreading false rumours? Nope, just a comment on my apparently abrasive personality.

"Anyone care to start?"

"Uh, yeah-" I interjected.

"Not you." Alby hissed.

After a couple more uncomfortable seconds, Minho heaved himself to his feet, eyes nonchalantly flitting between me and an already frustrated Alby. "What is there to say? She randomly shows up nowhere close to when the Box should arrive and immediately tries to guilt us into trusting her." puffing out his chest, he concentrated his glare on me as I tried to maintain some semblance of level-headedness.

"You mentioned Nick."

"Did I now?"

"I wanna know how you know about him."

"Same way as I know that Alby killed George three years ago."

A ripple of shock stirred amongst the gladers as Alby's face turned an ashy grey. I swallowed my saliva and tensed my jaw, hoping I hadn't just annihilated my last chance at this dumbass plan. Before I could help it, I snapped "Look, I told you what my m.o was here an' I-"

"So what Bea?" Minho snarled, "So what? All you're doing is proving to me that you're not one of us."

"Was that not obvious enough?" I retorted through jittery laughter, "I know how to get out of here. You don't."

"See what I'm talking about Alby? She's clearly got something to do with WCKD."

My stomach churned as the whispering rose around me. Shit. I knew Minho didn't trust my guts but accusing me of being a part of WCKD? The thought made me feel sick. God, I really had been digging my own grave. Perhaps Alby had been right, reluctant as I was to admit it. No matter how much I was telling the truth, if I wasn't clever about it, I was as good as dead.

"I'm not a part of WCKD." I muttered.

"Well what else am I supposed to think, greenie? Huh? Am I supposed to just accept all of the ridiculous claims, just trust you because you know who Nick was? I've been here for three fucking years, Bea. I'm not an idiot."

Unfinished rebuttals swirled in my head as I dragged my gaze to Alby's face. A knot tightened in my belly. His expression was sheer stone, with a flicker of something like guilt peeking through his dark eyes. No answers.

"Minho." Newt firmly interrupted.

"What, Newt?"

Instead of answering, the blond simply stared at him. Minho sighed hesitantly, "Fine. Just know I'm more than justified." Frowning, Newt nodded towards me. I supposed I should thank him for saving my dumb ass, but just as I opened my mouth, Gally butted in.

"No, I think Minho's onto something. You've been saying cryptic shit ever since you got here, so either you explain yourself - for real this time - or I'll make sure you become a griever's breakfast. Your decision."

"Trust me on this: no." I gritted my teeth in preparation for protest, "-but since you asked so nicely, I'll uh, give you some proof free of charge." Lifting my head to finally address the court, I proceeded to do what Beatrice Harlow does best: give a slight, condescending smile, and cover up my mistakes with a plot twist.

"Chuck is twelve years old and he won't stop moaning about his parents."

Author's Note: Hello! Another (miraculously) regular update, although it will probably be the last one for while (even though, yes, I have already said that six times this year). In this chapter, Bea's antics finally land her in some amount of hot water which as we all know, is well deserved. Very much enjoyed the banter this chapter, slowly trying to inch my way into better dialogue so I hope you enjoyed it as well.

Special thanks to my first reviewer, I very much appreciate it. Have a great day, week, month and year wherever you are :)