I was sick to death of hacking at dead trees.
I wanted to be a Runner. It sucked, having to stay in one place the whole day. Being stuck in the Glade gave me a sense of confinement, a claustrophobic feeling. Compared to this, Grievers would be a piece of cake, I bet. At least as a Runner, you didn't have this nasty feeling of imprisonment.
On the bright side, I didn't have to slice up animals anymore. I'd "accidentally" mangled a dead pig, and after that, Winston hadn't let me near the animals. And the Baggers had decided I was too "slight" in stature to be one of them (they acted as guards, too). So at least I'd eliminated the worst jobs. But that meant I had to hack at dead trees with a machete, and help the Track-hoes farm. It was better than Slicing, at least.
Alby had given the new boy--Thomas--the Tour and shown him the Grievers over the past few days. It had been two days since he'd arrived, and he seemed to be settling in pretty decently. Better than me, anyway. He was mostly obedient, not annoying Alby much. Although, he did have more questions than even me. Chuck split his time between annoying me and Thomas. Thomas seemed fond of the boy. He seemed to have a brotherly affection for him, despite the fact that Chuck seemed to be doing his best to get on his nerves. The new kid and I hadn't talked much. But he seemed to recognize me, as well. Sometimes, I caught him looking at me strangely. It was frustrating. I wished our memories hadn't been wiped. Then maybe we could have figured out what the hell we were supposed to do here.
Then there was the Banishing.
I hadn't been there for it; Alby had threatened to lock me up in the Slammer if I tried to watch. But apparently Ben, the stung kid, had attacked Thomas and tried to kill him. And the rule was to never attack a fellow Glader. So he'd been Banished into the Maze. For the Grievers to get him.
To be honest, I was kind of glad I hadn't been there to see it.
I tossed my machete on the ground and sat down on a log. "Seriously. Why can't I be a shuckin' Runner?"
Newt didn't pause in his hacking. "I told you. It takes months to become a Runner. They're the best out of all of us." I didn't know why he was helping us. I thought he was supposed to be talking to Alby or something. Not that I minded.
I raised a brow. "The best? Why aren't you one, then?"
He met my gaze suspiciously. "What are you bloody talkin' about?"
A corner of my lips slid up in a smirk. "You said the best. If the best are Runners, why the klunk aren't you one?"
I basked in the combination of confusion and annoyance swimming around his face. For a moment, he seemed to be speechless. Then he pursed his lips and answered, "I used to be a Runner. But then I injured my leg."
"How?" The word escaped my lips, and I regretted it instantly. It was something personal, and I shouldn't pry.
But Newt smiled bitterly. "I fell, running from the Grievers. Right before the bloody Doors closed, too. Alby found me and dragged me back." A ghost of pain flashed across his face, so real that I felt it, and I wondered if he missed it, being a Runner. But it was gone as quickly as it had come. I didn't bother saying I was sorry. It was evident in my face, and besides, if I said anything, I'd most likely get a sarcastic remark in return.
But he stood there, looking at me. I supposed I had to say something. "You're trying to discourage me from wanting to be a Runner, aren't you?" Not the kindest thing to say. But it was obvious he didn't want pity.
He just watched me.
Feeling awkward, I tried again. "I'm not a delicate girl, okay? I'm just as tough as the rest of you. I don't understand why you won't let me be a Runner. If it's going to take 'months', why don't you let me start now?"
