Two Turtle Doves

Two

When you walked into the cafeteria, hand-in-hand with Newt, you saw quite the opposite of what you expected. The room was bustling with activity, but not like the activity you had seen when you entered the building. This room was organized, full of people who seemed to know what they were doing.

You took a closer look at the people. They were all kids around the same age as the Gladers, but that wasn't what stuck out. Unfamiliar long hair and slim figures filled the room, sitting at tables in large groups. Girls. You stopped in the doorway and scanned them. None of them were from the Glade -- of course: you and Teresa had been the only ones -- but they were all dressed like the Gladers.

The room was split into a clear dichotomy: girls on one side and boys on the other. A wave of relief flooded you when you noticed that all of the boys were from the Glade -- nobody's face was unfamiliar. At least something seemed right.

But the girls.

You hadn't noticed him before, but Minho stood in front of you. "We weren't the only Maze," he informed. You looked to him, eyebrows creased in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean there was . . ." he trailed off for a moment before picking back up. "Just come sit down."

Newt's grip seemed to tighten as you followed him to a table. The stares from the myriad of girls burned into your back as they watched you, surely wondering why you were the only Glader who wasn't a boy.

At the table Minho led you to, Newt's hand moved from yours to around your waist, where he pulled you closer to him. You had no objections to this. The smell of the room was sour -- like some kind of disinfectant -- and seemed to cloud your brain like smoke. You shot nervous glances over your shoulder periodically, expecting to see something out of the ordinary. Nothing's ordinary anymore, you caught yourself thinking.

There were a few plates of food scattered around the table, but every last one of them was full. The urge to eat -- any ounce of hunger in you -- had been completely eradicated by the sudden sight of other people. Actual people. Not dead, not talking like a robot, not being controlled by a Griever sting. Actual live, real, people.

But nothing felt real. It all felt fuzzy, like at any moment you would wake up from some long dream and be returned to life in the Glade. You hated to think it, but that might have worked at settling the nerves. At least in the Glade, it was all you knew. But here, there was something to compare it to. You knew that there was some other way of life and you had to accept that it was gone. Whether this is better or worse.

The thought frightened you. What if the life we were so desperate to escape was the one that was worth living?

And, while trying your best not to let yourself glance back behind you again, you pondered the possibility that things were only going to get worse. But these people had promised a solution to everything, and for now you had to trust them.

A familiar voice echoing through the room brought you away from the thoughts. "Good evening, gentlemen. And ladies."

You peered over the shoulders of the Gladers sitting in front of you as they spun around. You watched Janson as he strutted toward the center of the room. His clothes were the same as when you saw him the first time -- a turtleneck covered by a leather jacket -- but they looked different. Maybe it was his demeanor making them seem more formal, more business-like, than before.

"You all know how this works," he continued. "If you hear your name called, please rise and join my colleagues behind me and they'll escort you to the Eastern Wing. Your new lives are about to begin."

You saw a look flash across his face that you didn't recognize. His eyes focused on the ground below him and his jaw was clenched tightly, mouth pressed into a half smile.

A few people clapped at his words, but mostly everyone remained silent. Janson pulled out a clipboard and scanned it before reading it out loud.

In the brief moment of silence, you scanned the Gladers' faces. Thomas and Minho were focusing on something in a different direction, but you didn't want to know what it was -- our head was still clouded by the smell and you wanted to focus on only one thing at a time. Frypan had his head rested on his hand, chin underneath his thumb. He seemed to be studying Janson's face absently. Maybe he recognized him slightly.

When you turned to Newt, you found that he was already looking at you. He was trying to hide his wide eyes and slightly agape mouth, but he wasn't too good at it. One word flashed through your mind: fear. Newt was scared, and the feeling rubbed off on you quickly. A knot tightened in your stomach and your headache grew stronger as your head began to throb. Something about this entire place was off. They were hiding so many things. How much of what they told us is a lie?

Janson began reading names out loud. You hoped more than anything that he would not say yours.

After each name, some people applauded and cheered as their friend stood up and walked to the back of the room. Many of them were girls. Only a few Gladers were called, and none of them were cheered for.

When Janson finished calling names, he led the group of kids out of the room. You watched the girls seperate themselves from the boys, like it was something they had been trained to do.

Once the door had closed and they were gone, you turned to Newt. "Is something wrong?"

"What?"

"You look scared. What's wrong?" 

His chocolate brown eyes seemed to soften. He slouched a little as he sighed. "I don't even know, Y/n."

You nodded a few times, knowing that he was right. Something was wrong; everybody knew that. But what was wrong, nobody could begin to guess.

"Where're they going?" Minho asked. As if anybody knows.

"Nowhere good," Thomas mumbled. You were sure that he hadn't meant for anybody to hear. Movement filled the corner of your eye. You turned to see what it was, but someone had noticed and gotten up before you.

You could see Teresa walking down a hallway outside the room. Armed men stood on either side of her. Thomas had jumped up and was walking parallel to the window-lined wall, shouting her name.

"Teresa!" he called. She didn't seem to notice his yelling. "Teresa! Wait!" 

Thomas reached the end of the room, where another armed man placed his hand on Thomas's chest, stopping him. Thomas tried to move around the guard, but the older man was much stronger.

You wanted to move, to run up to him and tell him to come sit back down, but you could only watch with the others as Thomas yelled at the guard. He seemed angry, but you couldn't make out what he was saying.

After a minute, Thomas retreated back to the table. He glared at the gurard, but he wasn't watching Thomas anymore.

"What'd he say?" you asked.

"Nothing," Thomas answered. "Just a bunch of lies."

You figured he didn't want to be pressed about it and the other Gladers must have thought the same, for everyone sat in silence.

Your hand had somehow ended up in Newt's again, two hands of sweat-soaked skin holding each other.

For what felt like the hundredth time, a familiar thought rushed through your head. But this time, you knew it was true.

We need to leave this place.