Chapter One
"speak"

❣︎

I watch him from the corner of the Med Hut.

I watch him everyday.

But he's too busy with the stone to notice.

Too busy with three exact names.

Chuck, Newt, Teresa.

Sometimes, his hand slides over a few other names. Winston, Alby, George, Jeff. Sometimes Zart, too.

The boy he often sits with barely ever visits the stone. I can't blame him.

The third one does go. He chooses times when the first one isn't there. Or rather, when no one is around at all. He's mostly busy with the name Chuck.

The last one seems to be the happiest around the stone. Not because the ones on there are dead, but because he's one of the few who is grateful and happy he survived. He's happy to mutter about his day to them. Usually about the things he cooked. The things I, and everyone here, eat.

If I wanted to, I could figure out their names, but that goes too far. Watching them is already one thing.

However, that's really only because I'm waiting for the right moment to carve my names in. It's the same pattern every time: I'm not ready to let go of them yet.

Carving someone's name on there means confirming that they're dead. Gone. Forever.

My other reason is that I don't want to come across other people.

I wouldn't want to interrupt their grieving. In fact, I wouldn't want to talk to anyone at all. Barely anyone knows me.

The ones who do know me, hate me.

And they are friends with the four boys.

I realize my thoughts have lead to zoning out, which means the boy must be done by now. My head snaps up right when he turns around. Our eyes meet. Then I walk off, as fast yet not too panicked as I can.

By the time I'm inside the Med Hut, my cheeks are red from the embarrassment of getting caught. I nearly bump into someone, sliding away right on time, nearly bruising my ankle as I do so.

I watch the man, unfazed by me, walk outside. Turning back, I realize no one but some patients is inside. It must be lunch time.

The line in front of the Bar proves it. I'll have to join it before it gets even busier.

My hands clutch around myself as I wait. I'm wearing the wrong shoes for all the sand—it's already pricking at my skin. That's the thing about living on an island. It takes weeks for ships with equipment to sail, and they have to provide the ones who need it more first, so for now, I'm stuck with these old tennis shoes.

I look at other people in front of me. Some wear slippers, some also wear old shoes, and the older people are already provided of newer shoes, just like the younger kids.

Before I know it, no one is waiting in front of me and it's my turn to take a plate. Except, as often, the people before me have taken the ones prepared with food. The boy, the fourth one at the stone, has to make me a new one.

"Hi," he greets, as always. There's a smile on his face... as always. I smile back as my eyes, also as always, trail over his face and frame. He is dark-skinned, with curly hair. It has grown longer by the time. He doesn't seem interested in cutting it. I think this looks pretty nice.

He's wearing his brownish apron (as always), with several dirt strikes running across it. Below that, a white shirt. I can't see his legs because they're hidden behind the counter.

As always.

"Sorry. We don't have a lot of food since it's the Safe Haven's second week's existence. We're working on a better menu," he apologizes, scooting a full plate over to me. "Hope you're liking that exact same sandwich over and over again."

I give him a nod as in 'it's okay'. Then I nod another time, in an attempt to tell him I'm grateful. Sadly, the most cheerful moment of my day is over once I walk off, straight past everyone else.

I join the ones who don't have anyone else to join. It has become a special table.

The bad thing is that the people who started the table haven't made any new friends in the meanwhile, so are still sitting at that table: they don't talk. Don't make any friends.

Luckily they don't. Like that, I'm less outstanding.

❣︎

A part of me keeps telling me to just walk up to them and speak. At least let them know I forgive them for what they did, as they didn't have much of a choice. I attacked Rachel, so they didn't have much of a choice.

But I don't. Perhaps saying they hate me is a big word, yet if they would've liked me, I assume they would've talked. Or maybe they feel too guilty for what they did. I don't know.

After taking a look around, I start changing. People are already working on building huts and maybe even houses, but for now, it's hammocks. They're in the open, so I've got to be careful about changing, as there aren't any bathrooms yet either.

We wash ourselves in the sea. Toilets are really just holes you have to dig for yourself in the woods.

"Oh!" A startled yep from behind me just when I pull my shirt on. "I'm so sorry."

I spin around, not too bothered. It is hard to hide my surprise when I recognize the boy as the third one. The one who's always paying attention to the name 'Chuck' on the stone.

The hair that was buzzed two weeks ago has started growing out. I can tell he has newer clothes, even though he's not a kid or an elderly. Must be because he's one of the people who's working on building everything.

"My— eh, my hammock is next to yours, I think." He points at the one next to mine. It's purple and old. I'm not sure if it's stained or if that's just the material. "I've seen you before."

I nod, indicating I've seen him, too.

"Might as well introduce myself, I guess. Name's Gally." He holds out his hands.

Tiny scars of both burns and cuts are engraved in his skin. I feel the roughness of them against my hand, which is also scarred, but way smaller.

"What's your name?" He asks.

I'm glad we're standing next to my hammock. I easily pick up a stuffed animal. One I'm not ashamed to have. It's mostly to share my name.

I point at bunny's stomach. "Adelaide," he reads, then looks up, a tad confused. "Speaking isn't your thing, is it?"

I wave that off with my hand. If he puts it like that, it sounds ridiculous.

"I don't want to be rude—I'm just wondering—but you can speak, right?"

I nod.

"Alright. Got it." His smile lights up a bit. "So what do I do to make you speak?"

I shake my head. Nothing.

"Okay. I'll still try. One of my friends is so annoying that you'll eventually have to tell him to shut up. Guess he can achieve one thing. His name is Thomas," he explains.

I nod, vaguely interested. And I smile at the amusement in his eyes, which was born the second he started insulting Thomas.

"Ever heard of WCKD?" He then asks.

At the face I give him, he understands immediately: yes, I know them.

"And the Mazes?"

I point at myself.

"You were in a Maze?" He sounds surprised. Shocked.

I nod.

"Which one?"

I mouth 'B'. A shiver goes down my spine at the memory, but I ignore it. 

"Oh, wow." He sounds even more surprised, but I can clearly see he's interested, too. "My friends are friends with Harriet, Sonya, and Aris. You must know them."

I nod. If I'd speak, I'd tell him I have actually never met this Aris guy and I have no idea who he is, but that's too complicated since I don't speak.

"Thought I would see you with them. Just as my Maze, from Group A, not many survived. They forgave me for a horrible thing. Now we're friends."

I don't know what to do now. Explaining things, things about the past, to others is hard. Talking about emotions is already hard, let alone without using words.

"You can be friends with us," he then offers. I think my face somehow betrayed that the people from Group B don't intrigue me as much as they're supposed to.

I shrug.

He shrugs back. "Just join us at breakfast one day. You must have seen one of my friends before. The cook?"

I nod heavier than before. Of course I've seen that boy. The always smiling one.

But the nod is also heavier because I'm trying to tell him I've seen all his friends before. Though now that I'm thinking about it, that's kind of creepy.

"Do you have any hobbies? Any jobs here that interest you?" He asks. I like how he keeps the conversation up.

I shake my head, then raise an eyebrow at him.

"Building," he says, like I guessed. "I like to build. Did you have jobs in your Maze?"

I nod.

"Any way you can tell me what yours was?"

Another nod. First, I hold up one finger and bend to the ground as if I'm gardening. Getting back up with two fingers, I skate on my place.

"Track-Hoe first, then Runner?"

I stare at him, blinking. Track-Hoe?

"Like a gardener," he hints. "We called them Track-Hoes."

I hope my face tells him that boys are weird.

Then I nod, mouthing 'Gardener, indeed'.

"Cool. And then you became a Runner?"

My head tilts to the side. Sort of.

He frowns. "I'm gonna have to give you a piece of paper. Or you could... talk. No offense."

I grab a piece of paper from my nightstand and start writing.

We called our Maze "The Spring". Ironic thing, it was ice cold. The Maze's ground was always frozen, so we could barely run. We had ice skates. I was a Skater, technically a Runner. And what the hell is a Track-Hoe? Call it Gardeners.

After reading it, he laughs. It fades as quickly as it came, though. "Ice cold?"

I nod triumphantly.

"We called our Maze 'The Glade'. I guess ours represented spring. It was never too hot, nor too cold. Neither did it rain. You think there's four Mazes and they all represent a season?"

I shrug.

"Anyway. Now that you're at it—writing, I mean—bother to tell me why you don't agree that speaking is easier?"

My voice, I write.

"Is it gone?"

I shake my head.

"Are you insecure about it? Because trust me, I don't think anyone will care. I'm sure it's fine."

I shake my head again. It hurts to speak and it scares people. Mostly babies. It happened before, I write.

"Does it immediately hurt?"

No. If I talk too much for too long, it does.

"So that means you can tell me one little sentence. Just a small one."

I get it, he's curious. I would be curious, too. Yet I shake my head.

"Why not? I won't start whinin'. I'm not one of those babies."

My eyebrows fly up before I write, 'men = babies'.

Chuckling a bit, he watches me. "Alright, then. If one of my friends figures out you can speak, he'll make a game out of it. Just so you know."

I shrug. I don't really care.

Okay, lie. I do care. My nerves are killing me as I'm standing with this boy, afraid I've finally found a friend and will mess it up somehow.

"Anyway, I'm going to head off. I'll see you around, Adelaide."