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SAMSON'S NEXT FEW DAYS WENT BY SO QUICKLY, HE WAS BEGINNING TO FEEL LIKE HE'D BEEN A GLADER FOR YEARS. Despite it only being his fifth day, Samson was finally starting to feel like he belonged. The Gladers had all been so kind to him and even though he wanted nothing more than to be out of the Glade, he had let his new reality sink in. This would be his life for the time being, and there wasn't much he could about that.
On the morning of his fifth day, he was set to try his hand at being a Track-hoe. The day before, he'd worked alongside the Medjacks and similar to his experience with Winston and the Slicers, he really didn't like all of the blood. The day before that, he worked with the Baggers, who didn't have much of a job to do unless someone died or a Glader got into trouble. Thankfully, no one died while he was on duty.
Samson knew that Leo was a Track-hoe, and so was Newt. He had barely spoken to either of them since he'd started trying out jobs. Partly because he had been so busy, but also because he wasn't very good at making conversation or approaching anybody on his own just yet. He knew he would have to get over that anxiety of small talk before the Gladers all began to assume that he was anti-social and strange, but he had no idea where to start on that matter.
Samson got himself up and ready for the day quickly before heading towards the Gardens. But the Gardens were empty. Samson merely shrugged, scanning the area for any sign of Alby, Nick or any familiar face for that matter.
"Somebody's eager," a voice called out from behind Samson, who jumped at the sound. Of course, it was Newt, who was grinning from ear to ear, his entire face glowing under the morning sun. Samson couldn't help but return the smile.
Newt cleared his throat. "Don't you think you should eat something first? You'll faint under this bloody sun on an empty stomach."
With that, Samson followed Newt back across the field to the Cookhouse. The lineup for food was long which surprised Samson. But then again, he was always late for meals.
"Hey," Newt tapped him lightly on the shoulder while they waited in line. Samson turned himself toward Newt. "How about you go find us a table? I mean--if you want to sit with me, you don't have to. You can sit with whoever you want. Gally, or Nick or anyone really--"
"Newt!" Samson laughed, cutting him off. "Sure, I'll sit with you," he shrugged, smiling. He watched Newt loosen up, relaxing his shoulders and lowering his head for what seemed to be embarrassment.
"Alright, I'll get you your plate," Newt said and Samson nodded, turning towards the tables. Most of them were already occupied. The Slicers all ate together in one corner, the Builders in the other. Alby, Nick, and the Baggers sat at the table just in front of him. Leo and two other boys were sitting behind him.
There was one table with three chairs right by the door and Samson sighed out of relief. He scrambled over to the table and quickly took his seat. He was pretty sure nobody would try and sit with him, considering he was still the Greenbean. Above the table was a window, and Samson rested his hands on his chin and stared outside, taking deep breaths. He tried to tune out all of the chatter from behind him for a moment, focusing on the peacefulness the Glade could offer while he still could.
