We stood frozen for a moment, completely shocked. Then I snapped back to reality and quickly crouched next to Minho.

"Minho? Stick, you okay?" I asked as Thomas hollered for Alby and Newt. Minho's chest was heaving and his clothes drenched with sweat, but he seemed alright. Just exhausted.

"Hey there Greenie," he panted. "What'd you call me?"

"Shank," I corrected myself. "What the hell are you doing here so early?"

"Water," he coughed. "Get me some water."

A bottle flew through the air as one of the boys who had crowded around tossed it and I caught it easily, passing the bottle over to Minho. Like someone who had been stuck in the desert for a week, he gulped it down without stopping.

"Slow down there, shuck-face," I laughed. "Gonna drown yourself if you keep drinkin' like that." Draining it, Minho lowered the bottle and grinned at me.

Alby jogged over and bent down. "What's up, shank? What're you doing here so early?" 

"Where's Newt, slinthead?" Minho answered cheekily. Thomas looked shocked and even more so when a shadow of a smile passed over Alby's face. "He's the only shank who can talk to me like that without getting chucked over the Cliff." Alby told him and jogged back away, presumably to get Newt.

"Who're you?" Minho asked Thomas.

"Uh, another newbie?" he tried, looking uncomfortable. Obviously, they hadn't met yet.

"Oh," said Minho. "Yeah, I remember now. You and that chick." We sat in silence for a few moments before Thomas asked, "So why does he let you talk to him like that?"

"What? Man, we're tight. Like, really tight." He interlocked his fingers as a demonstration. "We were the first shanks to get in here. Plus, once you get to know him, there ain't much to worry 'bout him. What man, you scared?" Judging from Thomas's embarrassed expression, he was.

Minho shook his head. "Dude, that guy's like a teddy bear. Soft and cuddly." Minho sniggered and Thomas leaned back, obviously unsure how to respond to that.

"Stop teasing him," I said, nudging his side. Minho cracked a smile at that and wiped a hand across his forehead.

"So is he the leader?" Thomas asked and I wanted to slap him across the face.

Minho shot him a disgusted look. "Alby, leader? Sure, why not. Leader Alby, President Alby - no, wait, Admiral Alby!" Minho barked a laugh and I slapped him on the arm with my good hand.

"Um. . . alright. . ." Thomas mumbled.

"Anyway, you saw the girl, right?" Minho asked, laying back and closing his eyes. "Everyone's saying you recognize her or something - do you?" Thomas shrugged helplessly and Minho opened his eyes again.

"She hot?"

"Uh..." Thomas and I exchanged looks. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Minho tried to shrug, but it came out looking strange because he was still on the ground. "I dunno. I guess that I've just been stuck with so many guys for so long that it would be nice to have a girl around, and if she was cute, that would be a cool bonus. To be honest, some of the Gladers here aren't the best-looking. Take Neil here, for instance."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Keep going like that and I'll slap you. And it'll hurt more than that pretty bruise you've got there." I pointed at the bruise I had given him that morning, which had developed into a lovely quarter-sized black-blue spot on his cheekbone. He rubbed it self-consciously and muttered a quick "No thanks."

"I didn't think so, Princess," I said mockingly as Newt and Alby jogged over.

"What took you shanks so long?" Minho asked, propping his exhausted body against a wall. The corner of Alby's mouth twitched with another hidden smile.

"Shuck-face here was taking quite the klunk and ran out of toilet paper," he said and Minho burst into laughter. Newt didn't blush but he did turn a faint pink.

"Right," said Minho after calming down. "I found a dead one."

"A dead what?" asked Alby.

Minho smiled. "A dead Griever."

I sucked in a sharp intake of breath. A dead Griever? How? As far as we knew, Grievers couldn't die.

Alby looked incredulously at Minho. "Look, shuck-face, this ain't the time for jokes."

Minho sighed, running a hand through his spiky hair. "Dude, I know it sounds crazy. But I swear, I saw one. A few miles back, close to the Cliff."

"Then why didn't you bring it back?" he asked slowly and Minho laughed.

"Dude, didja get into Gally's stock? I wouldn't touch that slimy thing for anything, not even if you got me outta here. And you should see it for yourself anyway."

"How did it look like? What about the skin? Were the spikes in or out?" Alby asked and Minho shook his head in frustration. "Dude, I just sprinted a couple miles, easy. I'm starving, dehydrated, and exhausted. Give me a break, will ya?" Alby reluctantly backed off and pointed to the Kitchen.

"I should send ya back in, but you look like you could use a bite to eat. Ask Frypan for some of his casserole," Alby said and Minho shuffled away.

We watched as he left and called for a Cook. Alby turned to Thomas and focused his hard stare on him.

"Listen, Greenie -" Then he paused. "There are too many Greenies for it not to become confusing. Ya got a name?" he asked me and I told him.

"Right. Grace. Listen up, Thomas. I don't know what's going on, but Ben was right on one charge. Things are changin' and you seem to be part of it." Thomas opened his mouth to say something, but Alby interrupted. "I'm not accusin' you of anything, just saying that you're different. And if you remember anything - anything at all - go straight to me or Newt and spill, alright?"

"But I don't -" Thomas started, but Alby gave him a sharp look. "Fine. I promise, okay? I'll tell you guys."

With one more hard look, Alby walked away.

---

I found a more or less comfortable spot close to the Gardens. I rested my back against the trunk of an orange tree and watched as the sun slowly dipped down, eating a bowl of Frypan's excellent macaroni salad. Nobody really liked it except for Chuck and I, but Frypan still made it every third day or so. 

Suddenly, a chubby figure appeared at the edge of my vision and I turned to see Chuck running as quickly as he could (which, sadly, wasn't terribly fast) and waving his arms. 

"What is it, Chuck?" I asked, startled and setting aside my bowl. 

"It's . . . Ben. . . " he huffed between gasps of air and I immediately grew suspicious. "Ben . . . He. . . he isn't dead. . ."

"What?" I said so loudly that a few of the Gladers looked at me in confusion. I quickly lowered my voice and said, "Whaddya mean, the shuck-face isn't dead?" 

"You. . . do know Ben, right?" he said, still breathing heavily. I nodded and Chuck jerked his thumb toward the Deadheads.

"Baggers. . . went in. . . Arrow missed his shuck brain and. . . Med-Jacks patched him up. . ." Chuck sucked in one more breath and said, "He got a huge bandage around his head."

I nodded and asked, "Where is he now?"

"Slammer," said Chuck. "Our jail, you know?"

I slumped against the tree and asked, "What's going to happen to him?"

"Banished," said Chuck in such a casual voice that I almost thought I heard him incorrectly. "Keepers took a vote this morning and it was unanimous, from what I heard. It's tonight."

Banished. They had practically signed his death warrant and surprisingly enough, I didn't even feel bad for the boy. He got what he deserved. Chuck ran off to tell someone else the news and I took my bowl again, finishing off the last of my salad.

That night, the Gladers gathered around the East Doors, talking quietly among themselves. I stood a few feet from the doors; close enough to see into it, but not close enough to be dragged into it (which had, apparently, almost happened once). The Runners had come back a bit earlier than usual and were inside the Map Room. I was itching to barge in and see what they were doing, but I knew better than that.

At last, one by one, the Runners left the Map Room, each looking deep in thought. Minho came first followed by a few other boys and stationed themselves in the group.

"Bring him out!" Alby shouted suddenly and I scanned the Glade in dreadful anticipation. From the far side of the Homestead, three boys appeared, dragging a body behind them.

The boy was pitifully thin and rags that had been his clothes barely hang on his bones. A bandage stained red with crimson blood covered half of his head and his feet were bare and dirty. The boys had to drag him because his body had gone completely limp and I would've thought he was dead if it hadn't been for one thing.

His eyes were open, bulging even, and wide with horror of what would happen to him.

As he neared, Alby whispered something and Newt nodded, starting to move toward a small shed. I turned back to Ben who had been pulled to his feet and hung his head, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

"You bought this on yourself, Ben," Alby said coldly and looked toward the shack where Newt had disappeared into. Newt was emerging, holding several aluminum poles, and connecting them at the ends to create a long rod. He dragged the butt of the pole toward us and my blood ran cold at the metallic screeching sound it made on the stone.

When Newt was close enough, I was able to see details of the shaft that I hadn't seen before. The end Newt was holding had a large leather loop hanging on by a staple with a button snap to open and close it.

As Newt handed the end with the loop to Alby, I realized what the attachment was.

A collar.

***

WORD COUNT: 1732

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