The Maize Runner

Don't remind me.

"Look," he starts.

I don't want to hear it. I lie down on the ground. Mentally screaming at the stones sticking into my back, and telling the sun to shuck off. I fold my arms over my eyes.

Thomas laughs. "What are you doing?" His footsteps crescendo towards me. "What is this kid doing?" He whispers to himself, but I can hear him standing right over me.

I groan into my arms, as he shuffles to the ground. The muffled cry, too exaggerated to be genuine. Like dogs playfighting or like Minho rolling his eyes at Thomas on the drive here.

"Oh don't start," he says. "I'm not that bad." He pokes me in the rib and I unravel my arms to defend myself. The sun, a blade piercing my temporary world of darkness.

"Heyyy!" I scramble to face him. It's painful to do so, but at least the discomfort is mostly physical now. He's sitting cross-legged, I sit up and do the same. We're across from each other now. "I'm bloody ticklish as well. I can't stand it."

"Oh? So you wouldn't like it if I did this?" His eyes widen, he opens his mouth, and he theatrically pulls back his arm. Ready to strike.

As his hand shoots towards me, I grab it. "Don't even think about it."

"Okay Newtie," he teases, not letting go of my hand.

This is weird. Minho wouldn't like this. I'm surprised Thomas is okay with this. We only met today. I'm even more surprised when I interlace my fingers with his. His hand is firm, yet soft. I haven't held hands with a boy before. I don't even know if this counts.

Our interwoven hands lay in my lap. He smiles at me. I stare back at him.

After a moment of eternity, he asks, "Should we get up now?" Except it's not really a question because he's already let go of my hand and stood up in a conflicted heartbeat.

He extends a hand, and helps me up. We collectively clear ourselves of rocks, and dirt, and feelings we should not have.

"Let's get out of here," I say, as we continue our escape along the lefthand side of the maze. But with more conversation this time.

***

Tiny people, hot dogs and screams, and the maze we should have solved much quicker, fade into a distant memory as we ascend higher on the Ferris wheel. He bought me pink candy floss. It's my absolute favourite. It melts on my tongue. A screaming temporary heaven. Before fading into nothing.

"What's your favourite colour?" Thomas asks, sitting across from me.

"What?!"

"Well, we hardly know each other." He leans back against the metal grating. "I want to know more about you."

"About me? Your boyfriend's best friend?'' I sigh. "I suppose it's not completely illogical."

He stares at me for a moment before saying, "Well? You haven't answered my question."

"Does it matter!" I throw up my hands. "I don't have one, okay?"

"You don't have one? Bullshit. Everyone has one."

"I don't! I really don't. I like all types of colours," I explain.

"How inclusive of you."

"And it changes all the time," I continue. "It'll be orange for a while, then blue a couple months later."

"Well, what colour is it right now?" He asks.

I eye his shirt before looking up and smiling. "Purple."