Without warning, Chuck suddenly popped his head up toward the window and screamed at the top of his lungs. A loud crash from inside revealed that the trick had worked—and the litany of swearwords following it let them know Gally was none too happy about it. Thomas was struck with an odd mix of horror and embarrassment.

"I'm gonna kill you, shuck-face!" Gally yelled, but Chuck was already off the box and running toward the open Glade. Thomas froze as he heard Gally open the door inside and run out of the bathroom.

Thomas finally snapped out of his daze and took off after his new— and only—friend. He'd just rounded the corner when Gally came screaming out of the Homestead, looking like a ferocious beast on the loose.

He immediately pointed at Thomas. "Come here!" he yelled. Thomas's heart sank in surrender. Everything seemed to indicate that he'd be getting a fist in the face. "It wasn't me, I swear," he said, though as he stood there, he sized the boy up and realized he shouldn't be so terrified after all. Gally wasn't that big—Thomas could actually take him if he had to.

"Wasn't you?" Gally snarled. He ambled up to Thomas slowly and stopped right in front of him. "Then how do you know there was something you didn't do?"

Thomas didn't say anything. He was definitely uncomfortable but not nearly as scared as a few moments earlier.

"I'm not a dong, Greenie," Gally spat. "I saw Chuck's fat face in the window." He pointed again, this time right at Thomas's chest. "But you better decide right quick who you want as your friends and enemies, hear me? One more trick like that—I don't care if it's your sissy idea or not—there'll be blood spilled. You got that, Newbie?" But before Thomas could answer Gally'd already turned to walk away.

Thomas just wanted this episode over. "Sorry," he muttered, wincing at how stupid it sounded.

"I know you," Gally added without looking back. "I saw you in the Changing, and I'm gonna figure out who you are."

Thomas watched as the bully disappeared back into the Homestead. He couldn't remember much, but something told him he'd never disliked someone so strongly. He was surprised by how much he truly hated the guy. He really, really hated him. He turned to see Chuck standing there, staring at the ground, clearly embarrassed. "Thanks a lot, buddy"

"Sorry—if I'd known it was Gally, I never would've done it, I swear."

Surprising himself, Thomas laughed. An hour ago, he'd thought he'd never hear such a sound come out of his mouth again.

Chuck looked closely at Thomas and slowly broke into an uneasy grin. "What?"

Thomas shook his head. "Don't be sorry. The . . . shank deserved it, and I don't even know what a shank is. That was awesome." He felt much better.

A couple of hours later, Thomas was lying in a soft sleeping bag next to Chuck on a bed of grass near the gardens. It was a wide lawn that he hadn't noticed before, and quite a few of the group chose it as their bedtime spot. Thomas thought that was strange, but apparently there wasn't enough room inside the Homestead. At least it was warm. Which made him wonder for the millionth time where they were. His mind had a hard time grasping names of places, or remembering countries or rulers, how the world was organized. And none of the kids in the Glade had a clue, either—at least, they weren't sharing if they did.

He lay in silence for the longest time, looking at the stars and listening to the soft murmurs of various conversations drifting across the Glade. Sleep felt miles away, and he couldn't shake the despair and hopelessness that coursed through his body and mind—the temporary joy of Chuck's trick on Gally had long since faded away. It'd been one e n d less—and strange—day.

It was just so . . . weird. He remembered lots of little things about life—eating, clothes, studying, playing, general images of the makeup of the world. But any detail that would fill in the picture to create a true and complete memory had been erased somehow. It was like looking at an image through a foot of muddy water. More than anything else, perhaps, he felt . . . sad.

Chuck interrupted his thoughts. "Well, Greenie, you survived First Day."

"Barely." Not now, Chuck, he wanted to say. I'm not in the mood.

Chuck pulled himself up to lean on an elbow, looking at Thomas. "You'll learn a lot in the next couple of days, start getting used to things. Good that?"

"Um, yeah, good that, I guess. Where'd all these weird words and phrases come from, anyway?" It seemed like they'd taken some other language and melded it with his own.

Chuck flopped back down with a heavy flump. "I don't know— I've only been here a month, remember?"

Thomas wondered about Chuck, whether he knew more than he let on. He was a quirky kid, funny, and he seemed innocent, but who was to say? Really he was just as mysterious as everything else in the Glade.

A few minutes passed, and Thomas felt the long day finally catch up to him, the leaded edge of sleep crossing over his mind. But—like a fist had shoved it in his brain and let go—a thought popped into his head. One that he didn't expect, and he wasn't sure from where it came.

Suddenly, the Glade, the walls, the Maze—it all seemed . . . familiar. Comfortable. A warmth of calmness spread through his chest, and for the first time since he'd found himself there, he didn't feel like the Glade was the worst place in the universe. He stilled, felt his eyes widen, his breathing stop for a long moment. What just happened? he thought. What changed? Ironically, the feeling that things would be okay made him slightly uneasy.

Not quite understanding how, he knew what he needed to do. He didn't get it. The feeling—the epiphany—was a strange one, foreign and familiar at the same time. But it felt . . . right.

"I want to be one of those guys that goes out there," he said aloud, not knowing if Chuck was still awake. "Inside the Maze."

"Huh?" was the response from Chuck. Thomas could hear a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

"Runners," Thomas said, wishing he knew where this was coming from. "Whatever they're doing out there, I want in."

"You don't even know what you're talking about," Chuck grumbled, and rolled over. "Go to sleep."

Thomas felt a new surge of confidence, even though he truly didn't know what he was talking about. "I want to be a Runner."

Chuck turned back and got up on his elbow. "You can forget that little bought right now."

Thomas wondered at Chuck's reaction, but pressed on. "Don't try to—"

"Thomas. Newbie. My new friend. Forget it." "I'll tell Alby tomorrow." A Runner, Thomas thought. I don't even know what that means. Have I gone completely insane?

Chuck lay down with a laugh. "You're a piece of klunk. Go to deep."

But Thomas couldn't quit. "Something out there—it feels familiar." "Go . . . to . . . sleep."

Then it hit Thomas—he felt like several pieces of a puzzle had been put together. He didn't know what the ultimate picture would be, but his next words almost felt like they were coming from someone else. "Chuck, I ... I think I've been here before."

He heard his friend sit up, heard the intake of breath. But Thomas lolled over and refused to say another word, worried he'd mess up this new sense of being encouraged, eradicate the reassuring calm that filled his heart.

Sleep came much more easily than he'd expected.