Rachel shuffled into my room at the Homestead, clearly uneasy. I couldn't blame her, exactly. She had only been her for an hour, tops, and she was already being questioned.

"Rachel," I said gently, setting my crutch aside and sitting on my bed, making the mattress creak. "Can you sit down?"

Rachel slid next to me, her bright eyes that were the same shade of brown as her hair darting around my room, taking in the wrinkled clothes, empty water bottles, and the pair of Mapper shoes neatly lined up next to the door.

"So, what do you want to talk about?"

I sighed. "Are you absolutely and positively sure that you can't remember anything? Any certain words that seem to be familiar?" Rachel seemed frightened from my questions and I took a deep breath. "Rachel, do the words 'WICKED is good' mean anything to you?"

Rachel's brow puckered slightly. "WICKED. . . I keep seeing that word everywhere. It was on the crates and supplies I came with, I think. And on those bug blades, or something."

"Beetle blades," I corrected her. "And yeah, that was on the supplies in the Box. But does that particular phrase seem familiar?"

Rachel thought for a second, then blew out a frustrated breath. "I don't know. . . I don't remember anything!" I believed her. She seemed like an honest girl, and I was putting her under a lot of pressure.

"Well, how about 'saving grace'?" I tried. "How about those words?"

"I - I think so," she said slowly, absentmindedly twisting my sheets in her hands. "They seem familiar, but I just don't know." She looked helplessly toward me. "I really don't know." Then an alarmed look came over her face. "You do believe me, right? I swear, I'm telling you everything, I honestly -"

"No, I believe you," I said, smiling slightly. Of course, I was disappointed, to say the least. But now probably wasn't the best time to be interrogating a Blondie. She had just come out of the Box, and was scared, frustrated, confused, maybe even a bit angry. We had all been when we arrived to the Glade.

"Well, I think we should tell Harriet and Sonya what I saw," I said, standing up and taking my crutch. "Don't stress over it," I added when I saw the worried look on Rachel's face. "They're okay. It's not like they'll Banish you or something."

"Harriet seems. . . stern," said Rachel slowly. I laughed.

"Harriet? A little stern, maybe. But she's fair and she'll hear you out. So will Sonya, she's one of the nicest sticks around. Nothin' to worry about, Blondie."

"Why do you call me that?" Rachel said suddenly.

"What?" I asked, a little off guard.

"Why do you call me 'Blondie'?"

"Oh," I said. "'Blondie' is just a word we use for a newbie."

"You guys talk funny," Rachel said, frowning. I shrugged.

"That's how we talk, I suppose. You'll catch up soon enough."

"Okay," said Rachel, still looking unconvinced. "Stick," she added, trying out the word. It seemed a little strange coming from her, and I could tell Rachel wasn't comfortable with the word either.

As soon as we got out of Homestead, I started looking for Harriet and Sonya. I spotted Sonya and waved her over.

"Hey, Sonya? Can we call a quick meeting?" Sonya looked surprised but nodded quickly.

"Sure, let me just talk to Harriet for a sec. . . Go to the Meeting Room, will ya?"

Fifteen minutes later, I was leaning against the wall surrounded by the entire Collective - the Gladers' version of a council. We made a ring around Rachel, who had started nervously chewing on her nails.

"What's this about?" Harriet demanded as soon as Jenny had closed the door. 'What's with the new Blondie? Why's she here?"

I took a deep breath and massaged my temples. Damnit, why hadn't the headache gone away yet?

The others were quiet while I explained what I had seen. Just like before, my voice caught when I neared the end, but I cleared my throat and continued. Ginny, Keeper of the Caretakers, stared blankly at me as Harriet and Sonya exchanged nervous looks at each other. I kept my eyes on the ceiling, not stopping my speech except to draw in a breath.

When I finished, everyone was silent. No one spoke. No one moved. I finally dared to lower my eyes to see everyone staring at Rachel, who's nervous chewing had subsided to anxious fidgeting.

Finally, Emmeline, Keeper of the Skinners, broke the silence. "Well?" she asked gently, putting a comforting hand on Rachel's shoulder. "What do you remember?"

"Nothing!" said Rachel, clearly frustrated. "I know about as much as you do about yourselves! Just my name, and that's it!"

But the last sentence had been said after a second of hesitation. It was quick, barely noticeable. But I noticed it. And judging from Harriet's doubtful face, so had she.

"Hey," said Emmeline quickly. "Hey, no pressure. It's just that nobody except for the people who had gotten stung have any memories, and we want to see if you do. Everyone quiet for a second, 'right? Let the Blondie think."

Everyone shut their holes and watched Rachel intently. She scrunched her nose and squeezed her eyes shut in concentration, and nobody spoke for a minute or two. Rachel sighed in frustration and opened her eyes.

"I dunno, guys. The girl's description seems a little familiar, but I bet plenty of girls look like that. I can't really say anything for sure." Harriet blew out an angry breath, but Sonya just smiled sadly at Rachel.

"That's quite alright," she said. "We're all a little disappointed, but I don't think any of us are really surprised. The Creators did a good job wiping our minds clean."

"Lets go, sticks," said Harriet, waving toward the door. "It's nearly dark. We better round up the animals or they're gonna klunk in the Homestead again." We all laughed, but it felt forced, unnatural.

Everyone left, one by one, until only Harriet, Sonya and I were left. Sonya started walking toward the door, then paused, glancing at us uncertainly.

"Go ahead," Harriet encouraged. "I'll meet you at the Homestead in a minute or so."

Sonya left, which meant Harriet and I were alone. I took my crutch and limped toward the door, but Harriet's voice stopped me.

"I'm not sure what's going on, but something is. It's weird, ya know? I have a bad feeling about the Blondie. Keep an eye on her, wouldja?"

I turned to face Harriet and nodded soundlessly. Then I wobbled out of the Meeting Room and toward the Homestead.

I stopped at the entrance. I didn't feel like sleeping inside tonight. Calling over Marie, I quickly asked, "You mind if I sleep in your bag today?"

"Oh, yeah. Mine's the one near the gardens. Don't mind if it's a little dirty," she said. I nodded and pointed toward the Homestead. "You can take my bed. You know where it is and you won't trash it either." Marie grinned and jumped onto the ladder.

I located Marie's sleeping bag and wiggled inside, but the trees covered my view and with some, I dragged the bag in front of the Maze doors.

Slipping inside, I waited for the doors to close. A minute later, the walls started to push together, creating a loud crunching sound that would have usually chilled me. But today, I felt reassured, as though seeing the walls shut solidified the belief that we were safe in the Glade. It was fine. We would all be fine.

I was wrong.

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WORD COUNT: 1329

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From Wikipedia:

"Rachel Louise Carson was an American marine biologist, author, and conservationist whose book Silent Spring and other writings are credited with advancing the global environmental movement."

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