Chris was bored. Nothing exciting ever happened around the Glade. It had already been a month since he'd arrived, and the Box had come and gone, leaving behind the newest Greenbean, Clint. He was a scrawny kid with big ears and a bad stutter. Chris was glad that he had replaced Ric as Gally's roommate, otherwise he'd be stuck with Clint as his roomie. Gally didn't like him much, but Gally didn't like anybody. At least he didn't whine like Chris did.
Chris chuckled to himself. He wondered how old everybody was around here. Most seemed to be in their late teens, but a few of them, like Will, Doug and now Clint, seemed to be a bit younger than the rest of them. He was thankful that he'd been able to retain memory of his age as well as his name. It would have been awkward had he not been able to remember that. It would bear a problem later in life if he ever needed to know that crucial information. Unfortunately he didn't know his birthday.
Gally remembered his age, too. So it was safe to say that the rest of them did, as well. Chris had made a guessing game at the table, and every time everyone was gathered around eating food, he would try to guess another Glader's age. He kept a piece of paper and kept the information on it pinned up in his room with a rusty nail. He only had a couple of people left to guess.
"Why do you care about how old we are, anyway?" Will asked one night.
Chris had shrugged in response, "I'm just trying to have some fun. Why, you don't like this game?"
"It's not a game, you klunk," Dave added. "Nobody agreed to play."
Chris 'hrumphed.' "What's your problem? Can't a guy have some fun around here? I'm just trying to pass the time."
"Can I read it?" Will asked, gesturing towards the slip of paper in Chris's hand. Chris held it up.
"What, this? Be my guest." He passed the paper to Will who read over it with interest.
"I guess we never talked about our age before," he said. "Wow, is Alby really that old?"
"Hey, watch your mouth, ya dirty shank!" Alby shouted from his place at the table. Will just rolled his eyes and gave Chris his sheet back. "You spelled a bunch of our names wrong," he pointed out.
"What the shuck do you know, ya little punk?" Chris looked down at it for a moment, rereading his notes, but he didn't find any mistakes. Before he could decide which name he'd apparently spelled wrong, Ben ripped it from his hands.
"What the klunk? You even spelled your own name wrong!" Doug, who was sitting beside Ben started laughing.
"Is 'Nut' supposed to be Newt?"
"WHAT! Let me see that!" Newt leaned over from the other side and the piece of paper suddenly started making its rounds around the table.
"What the--and why is there a question mark next to my age?" Newt asked.
Chris shrugged: "Because, when I asked, you asked back. You said, and I quote: 'I am...twenty-two?' It sounded like you weren't sure."
"At least he spelled P.F's name right!" Zart said, taking the note from Newt and passing it down. "All you need now is Clint and Liz's ages."
"Excuse me?" Elizabeth spoke up for the first time. Her eyebrows furrowed. "What did you call me?"
"Right here," Zart said, reaching his arm across Newt to show her. "He put you down as 'Liz.'"
Elizabeth glared at Chris, "You can't call me Liz!"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Chris said, grinning at her. "Is that nickname reserved for Newt?"
Chris watched smugly as Elizabeth's face went from a rosy pink, to a scarlet red. The table erupted into laughter. Newt was mortified. Man, these guys shouted too much.
"WHAT THE KLUNK YOU TALKING ABOUT?"
"NEWT YOU SHUCKING PERVERT!"
"YOU LET HIM CALL YOU LIZ?!"
"THAT WAS FUNNY!"
Chris wasn't sure why they were all so surprised about it. Anybody could see that she spent the most time with Newt. They always sat together during meals, and were always walking around together like a couple. He didn't know why everyone else was so oblivious to it. He waited patiently for Elizabeth to say something about it. Would she deny it? Better yet, would she confess?
"No. Nobody calls me Liz. I don't like it." Elizabeth glared at him.
Fine. Go ahead and deny it, Chris thought. It was annoying as hell, but if she wanted to pretend nothing was up...he could deal with that. For now.
Ignoring Elizabeth, he turned to Clint, "Thirteen?" he guessed.
Clint frowned, "Fifteen."
Chris jotted down the number. There was only one name left. Elizabeth. He'd been saving her for last.
"Anybody want to try to guess how old Elizabeth is?" he asked. Minho raised his hand, still laughing from Chris's earlier comment.
"Isn't it some sort of unspoken rule that you're never allowed to talk about a woman's age?" he asked.
Hank grunted, "Whatever Minho. She's gotta be twenty-five at least." Elizabeth looked so shocked Chris had to bit his lip to keep from laughing. He pretended to nod with seriousness.
"Nah, it's more like sixteen. She's not that old, you bloody idiot!" Dalton said.
"You're just saying that to make her your age, sweat-head."
"So?" Chris smiled at Elizabeth and licked his lips. Her eyes darted to his lips but the moment was fleeting as she looked away just as quickly.
"Nineteen," she finally said, under her breath. Chris wrote down the number and looked at the completed list:
1. cris(me) - 17
2. albee - 22
3. nik - 18
4. meanho - 19
5. dollton - 16
6. p.f. - 17
7. zart - 18
8. galie - 18
9. nut - 22?
10. dave - 18
11. hank - 17
12. ben - 19
13. dug - 15
14. wil - 14
15. clint - 15
16. liz - 19
She was older than him, then. He looked at her, still sitting there blushing prettily. She said something to Newt and he laughed, and the awkwardness in the air cleared, as if nothing had ever happened. Chris frowned. He didn't like Newt. He didn't think anybody liked Newt, yet here he was acting like Elizabeth's best mate. Always so chummy with her, wasn't he?
Annoying.
---
I'm sorry. I wish it hadn't been you. Only one person was supposed to die, but then you had to go and threaten to blab to Nick. Dave was once again kneeling in front of a gravestone, fists clenched and eyes closed. Only this time it wasn't Billy's grave he was visiting. It was Ric's.
I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to be like this, but you've left me no choice. Rising, he gripped the spear in his hand tightly and stood up.
Today, Billy's death would be avenged.
Today he would end it all.
---
Something Chris said had been bothering her all day. Not the suggestive comment about her and Newt, but the fact that he had tried to give her the nickname, Liz.
Liz.
When she closed her eyes, she almost swore she could hear someone calling her that in the distance. Someone...a presence that felt so familiar, and yet...not. She couldn't tell if they were shouting for her, or looking for her, or why they were calling her name in the first place.
Elizabeth brought a hand to her head and tried to shake away the feeling, but suddenly her heart was beating wildly and there was a hand around her throat.
Liz.
Liz.
Liz?
Elizabeth gasped and fell to the ground clutching her chest. It was so painful, wasn't it? The heartbreak of rejection. The heartbreak of a love unrequited. When she closed her eyes again, the outline of a woman's stern face was there at the corner of her memory, looking at her without pity.
I have seen the way you look at him, but you will never have that kind of happiness. Your duty is not love, dear Liz. It will never be love. Because you are different than him. Because you are not immune. Because you are nothing.
Liz...
"Elizabeth!" She felt strong arms around her, shaking her, and then nothing.
---
"NICK!"
Minho jumped at the sudden shout. Zart was racing towards the Runners, who had just finished their daily run. Nick had accompanied them this time, and for what it was worth, he'd had a good time today.
Nick lifted an arm at the breathless Zart. "WHAT'S GOIN' ON?" he shouted. Zart reached them and put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. When he started coughing, Dalton went over and smacked his back.
"You okay, man?" P.F's hand strayed to the knife at his belt out of habit. The motion stirred something inside of Minho and he went for his own weapon.
"Elizabeth...she just collapsed. I don't know what happened--one minute she was fine and then the next she was...she was just lying there."
"What?" Minho said in disbelief. He hadn't been expecting that. Hopefully she was fine and they wouldn't have to go through the pain of someone dying again.
"She got a heatstroke, maybe?" P.F. wondered. Zart shook his head.
"I don't know. She just lies there and cries and does some weird shaky-thing. I think she's sick or something."
Newt went into what Minho liked to call 'parental mode.' "Where is she?" he demanded angrily. His face was still red from running, and his hair slick with sweat.
"We got her back in her hut. Gally is with her."
Nick punched Zart. "You shucking idiot! Why'd you leave her alone with that shank!"
Nick, Newt, and Dalton folllowed Zart back to the Homestead, leaving P.F. and Minho to visit the map to build their most recent findings. Minho was worried about Elizabeth, but he also couldn't abandon his normal duties. The map first, and then Elizabeth.
"You think she'll be okay?" P.F. asked. He sounded just as worried as Minho felt.
"Yeah, I'm sure she's fine. Maybe she's having cramps or something."
P.F. wrinkled his nose in disgust. "What the bloody hell--"
Minho broke him off: "Nothing. Forget I said anything," Shucking pervert.
They half-walked, half-ran to the hut that held the map of the Maze. They were almost there when P.F. spoke again.
"Is that Dave?" he asked. The sudden change in subject made Minho look where P.F. was looking. Sure enough, a figure was walking towards them with a strange sort of strut.
"Huh. I wonder what he wants?" Minho said. "I'll go talk to him, you go get a head start on the map," he said. P.F. nodded and they parted ways. As he got closer, Minho could see that Dave was holding a long stick in his hands. Was that what he thought it was? Why in the bloody hell was Dave carrying around a spear at this time of day? Had something else happened? Something worse than Elizabeth fainting? He quickened his pace.
"Hello, Minho." Dave's voice sounded weird--all low-pitched and breathy. There was some sort of unfamiliar glint in his eyes that made Minho think of the Griever sickness. But that would mean Dave had been stung, which he hadn't.
"Yo, Dave! What's up?" he asked as he neared the other boy. He stopped just a few feet in front of Dave, suddenly feeling uneasy. He didn't like the way Dave was staring at him.
"I've come here to kill you." Dave said in the same chilling voice. He held the spear out in front of him. "You killed Billy. Now it's your turn to die."
WHAT?! Minho stumbled backwards. The slinthead was jacked! He turned around and ran back the way he came, with Dave following at his heels. Shuck! He could stand and face the guy with his Griever-sword, but that would mean that one of them would probably end up wounded.
And after such a good day, too.