The Maize Runner

I've fancied Minho for three years. Trapped in a maze with his boyfriend is not how I pictured spending my 18th birthday. I shouldn't have let Thomas tag along. Minho is my best friend, I wanted to spend the day with him. And now he's nowhere to be seen. But he insisted I meet Thomas; I've put it off long enough. I faked a cold when they invited me for coffee last month. And I said I had 'Wi-Fi issues' when Minho tried to arrange a three-way video call the week after they met. He's definitely noticed. But if he knew how I felt, maybe he'd understand why I've been so reluctant to meet Thomas. The boy he loves. It should be me. But he's my best friend, I'll be his best man at their wedding...if they last that long.

'Trapped' might be an overstatement. The twelve-year-olds running past us seem to be getting on brilliant, like they have a mental map of the maze engrained in their brain. Maybe they were here last year. Neither of us have been before. The town has a festival each summer: unnaturally pink candy floss; rides that haven't had a safety check since the '90s; stalls with giant teddy bears that no one ever wins. Typical American carnival shit. I've lived in Ohio since I was eight, but this place is like a scene from a film. Minho probably overhyped the fair as an excuse for Thomas and me to meet. But I've got to admit it's pretty cool. I'm grateful he didn't suggest my place for us to hang out. That's our thing. Any other year, Minho and I would be playing Smash Bros on my couch. But this isn't any other year. It's his first year with a boyfriend.

It was slightly less excruciating when he had a girlfriend. Which he'd hate to hear me say out loud. It's just, after endless what-ifs, maybe-he-coulds, what-if-I-just-told-him-that-I-like-wait-I'm-never-saying-thats, I thought...I'd be his first boyfriend. When I had that "OhshitI'mgay!" moment at fifteen, I was super grateful Minho didn't give a shit when I came out because he's cool like that. It sparked a fuzzy ember of feeling towards him, that only grew stronger when he told me he was bisexual. That feeling is a raging bonfire now. No other boy could come along and put out that flame. It'd take a lot for me to fall for someone else. A boy would need a giant fucking Super Soaker to extinguish this fire. WAIT NOT LIKE THAT!

Of course Minho had to abandon us. He's such a goody two-shoes that he had to help his 60-year-old neighbour with her stall for the next 4 hours when her grandson pulled out at the last second. The corn maze shouldn't be hard to escape if we work together. But that won't happen anytime soon. Each time I suggest we take a right, Thomas heads left, and each time I suggest we go left...well, Thomas heads left. He has this theory that if you stick to one side of a maze, you'll eventually arrive at the exit. If it's true, it's taking bloody forever.

"Thomas." I stop following him, planting my feet firmly into the rusty soil.

He scrapes to a halt, turns, faces me, and leans against a particularly dry stalk. He's wearing a lilac T-shirt. "Newt, I promise we're going the right way."

"It's not that," I say. "It's just, you're not listening to me."

"You haven't said anything."

I look down. Not just because the sun is in my eyes. How can I expect him to hear my silent protest?

"Newt." He pauses, wipes his glistening forehead, and sighs. "This isn't easy for me either."

I take a step back, glaring at him. This is easy for him. He's the bloke who stole Minho from me. He has what anyone could ever want.

"I tried talking to you in the car, but I kinda zone out when I'm driving. Any distraction freaks me out a bit" He smiles awkwardly, running his hand over the back of his brown hair. If I wasn't aware of the crime he'd committed, he'd be kinda cute. He is my type. Not that I really have one.

"You had no problem speaking to Minho."

"I kinda had to!" He says, defending himself. "He's my boyfriend."