T R U S T [The Maze Runner || Newt || Book 2]

Chapter 6

Flashback

Clara, now 12, sat at a desk in a small classroom. To her right was a girl with brown hair and bright blue eyes, Teresa, she remembered. On her left sat her brother, and behind her sat Aris, Thomas, and Rachel. Clara looked down at the paper in front of her where instead of words, she'd drawn some pictures. Mainly flowers, since that was the only thing outside of Wicked she could really remember, but there were some other doodles.

In front of the class stood Mr. Glanville, an old man with large bushy eyebrows and a permanent scowl, a very boring man, in Clara's opinion.

"Do you remember what we learned yesterday?" The man asked, his gruff voice filling the classroom,

"FIRE." Theodore answered, earning an eye roll from Clara and a 'suck-up' muttered under her breath.

"Very good, and what does that stand for?"

"Flares Information Recovery Endeavour." The answer came from Rachel this time,

"Well done. Now, today we'll be looking at the PFC." Mr. Glanville continued, turning around to write the letters PFC on the board behind him before facing the class again, "That stands for Post Flares Coalition, this was a direct result of FIRE. Once they'd heard from..."

Mr. Glanville's voice trailed off as Clara's focus shifted, she looked back down at her book and continued doodling small flowers around the page, connecting all of them to each other with stems. Adding in leaves in the empty gaps and stars where she felt like it. She failed to notice that Glanville had now stopped teaching the lesson and was moving towards her. His hand slammed down on her book, causing her to flinch and she looked up at the man.

"Am I boring you, Clarissa?"

"Yes, actually. Thanks for asking." She spat back. The man glared at her, his nostrils flaring and his huge, bushy eyebrows furrowing at her. He ripped the book out from under her hands, throwing it in a small metal bin in the corner before turning back to face her.

"Let's go." He demanded, grabbing Clara's bicep and pulling her, literally, out of her seat. "The rest of you, revise. I'll be back in a few minutes, I expect you to be ready to answer my questions when I return."

Glanville led Clara out of the classroom, his grip on her arm still much tighter than it needed to be.

"Where are we going?" She hissed, struggling in his grip. Grunting in effort as she tried to pull away from him.

"To your mother."

The idea didn't scare Clara as much as he probably thought it would, she'd been through this process before. Her mother would express her disappointment, tell her to do better, and then let her off with yet another warning. They came to the large door to her office and Mr. Glanville knocked three times, still refusing to release his grip on the girl. A soft 'come in' was heard from the other side so he opened the door and pushed Clara through before following after her. Her mother looked up from her desk to see her daughter with a smirk on her face, accompanied by a very grumpy Mr. Glanville and she sighed, standing up.

"Really, Clarissa?" She asked, shaking her head before directing the teacher, "I'm so sorry, I'll speak to her."

The man only grunted before finally letting go of Clara's arm and storming off, slamming the door shut behind him. Her mother motioned at the chair facing her desk and Clara sat down in it as her mother made her way back behind her desk, taking her seat.

"What did you do this time, Clarissa?" She asked, that familiar hint of disappointment glistening in her voice

"I answered a question honestly."

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not."

"You can't keep doing this Clarissa, Mr. Glanville is just trying to teach you. He's a brilliant teacher, why do you refuse to listen to him. Or any of your teachers for that matter."

"First of all, he's a boring, grumpy old man, and second of all that's not true, I listen to Jorge."

"Jorge's not a teacher, he's a trainer."

"Why do I need to go to these stupid classes anyway, we're already designing the maze, we don't need to learn anything else."

"You always need to be learning new things, just because you're designing the maze doesn't mean you suddenly get to stop going to classes, your education is still important."

"But I already know more than the others, I don't need to keep going to the classes."

"You're 12 years old Clarissa! Your brain is still developing!" She raised her voice at Clara, who responded in the same tone,

"Exactly! I'm 12 years old and I'm smarter than half the idiots you've employed!"

"That's enough." Her mother shouted, slamming her hand down on the table and Clara snapped her mouth shut. "Why can't you just be more like your brother Clarissa? Take after him, look how well he's progressing in his classes. I never hear complaints about him. You could learn a lot from him."

"Yeah well, he's also an asshole." She muttered under her breath, but her mother heard,

"Watch your language. I'm being serious, you need to grow up, stop acting like a toddler."

"And you need to stop comparing me to Theo."

"This is going to be the last time I see you in my office, do you understand me? You need to learn there are consequences to your actions. Starting from tomorrow you'll no longer be training with Jorge."

"What?" Clara shouted, standing up from her chair,

"Janson will be taking over your training. You can leave now."

"But-"

"I said, leave!"

Clara felt tears brimming in her eyes as she stormed out of her mother's office. She ran down the hallways, barely registering bumping into her brother,

"Watch it. Cry-baby." He muttered and Clara glared at him, her vision slightly blurred from crying.

"Teddy, that's mean, stop it." A girl's voice said, and Clara recognized that it was Teresa's. Not bothering to stay around for the rest of whatever her brother had to say Clara continued running until she reached her bedroom. She closed the door behind her and collapsed onto her bed, sobbing into her pillow. There was never a day when someone didn't find some way to compare her to Theodore. He was always better than her, the smart sibling, the polite sibling, the golden trophy their mother displayed with pride. And he was never afraid to rub it in her face, making sure to embarrass or insult her every day.

"One day." She mumbled to herself, "One day I'll get you back for everything."