Mary: The First Girl

17

I felt fine the next day, though I did skip my morning routine in favor of a few meager push ups and an extra two hours of sleep.

Newt left before dawn. I had seen the runners leave before, though usually it was on my way back from my mourning run.

I spent the day in the fields, thinking of the visions. Trying to make something of them, and contemplate whether or not I could trust someone with them. I didn't think so.

Maybe Newt.

Here's the thing about Newt, though. I loathed the way he acted with me in public. He kept his arm tight around my waist, and his soft fingers digging into the skin of my hip, just under my shirt.

He would make jokes, often at my expense. And if another boy looked at me the wrong way, he went off.

I suppose, I should be grateful.

Grateful, because I know I can trust him. Grateful, because he knows this is ridiculous. When we're alone, he's sweet. Kind. Gentle. Funny. Well, he's always funny— but it's easier to appreciate without the constant thought that everyone thinks he basically owns me. Even so, I miss him all day.

I wait patiently, finishing my day, talking to some of the other track-hoes about random things. And then, the sun begins to set. And there's no sign of Newt. I glance over my shoulder all day. A few runners come through, collapsing in the grass.I look for Newt. A blur of blonde, perhaps, accompanied by Minho.

Nothing.

I bit my lip, and lift myself onto my tip toes, peering over the field. I feel a heavy hand on my shoulder.

Startled, I jump, turning around.

It's Zach, another track-hoe.

"You alright, Mary?" He asked, lifting his hands as if to surrender. I stepped back, chewing on my lip nervously.

"Yeah, fine. It's just..." I trailed off, shaking my head. "Newt should be back by now." His eyes widen. It's obvious he knows that his absence isn't good.

I looked back over at the walls. Everyone was out, except Newt and Minho. The walls must have been maybe twenty feet apart. Still time. Still time.

And with that, I took off in the direction of the maze, sprinting harder than I ever had before. My legs burned within seconds, and I went faster, and faster, carrying myself to the maze in seconds.

I was almost there.

And then I saw them. Two pirouettes.

Newt and Minho.

Minho shouted something, but no one heard. Newt was leaning on Minho's shoulder, arms slung around his back.He was hurt.

A couple boys rushed forward, and Minho let Newt collapse into them, dragging him out. Minho rushed forward.

"Med-jack!" He shouted, panting. "We need a med-jack."

I watched from about a hundred yards away. No one moved.

So, I did. I sprinted again, this time faster than before, straight into their hut. "Help!" I gasped, pushing through the door, "Newt's hurt! Runners! Maze! I-"

One of them, Nick, I think, stood up.

"Slow down." He said, arms outstretched as if to catch me. "What happened?""I don't know!" I shook my head, "Newt and Minho just came out of the maze, really late. Minho called for a med-jack, so here I am. I- just—" I broke off, unsure of where to continue.

Nick nodded, grabbing his bag. He jogged our the door, and I followed, heart pounding in my chest.