The door slowly creaked open and Newt's mess of hair was the first thing the girl saw. Then her eyes fell on what he was holding: a bowl of something steaming in one hand and a ceramic cup in the other. "Figured you'd be hungry," he said, stopping himself short the moment he saw the raised machete once again pointed at his face. Her clothes, a simple pair of torn canvas shorts and a beige shirt, were drenched in sweat.

The scent of grilled meat and an odd sort of sweetness began to fill the room. The girl's mouth twitched as saliva started to replace the dryness of her tongue. Her stomach ached with a whining rumble, but instead of listening to her starving body and lunging for the food, she shook her head and said, "I don't want it."

"Look." With an edge of caution, he placed the cup on the ground first before sitting cross legged next to it. Mirroring his movements, the girl watched him intently as he used the bent fork poking up from the bowl to shovel a bite of the food into his mouth. The hunger pains in her stomach only worsened at the sight of what appeared to be rice and meat. "Not poisoned."

The moment Newt set the bowl on the floor between them, the girl dropped the machete and reached for it. Before she could take it, however, his hand shot in front of her. She froze, examining the veins atop his hands and the callouses on his fingers.

"Go slow," he told her, reaching out to push the cup closer to her with his free hand, "or you'll make yourself barf."

Without another word, she grabbed the bowl, tossed a forkful of food into her mouth, and rolled her eyes back as she savored the taste. So many different flavors burst on her tongue: smoked meat, fresh lemon, peppered radishes... Whoever had made this definitely knew what they were doing in the kitchen. She found it increasingly difficult to heed Newt's warning. The growls and pains of her stomach quickly vanished, as did the aridness of her mouth as she washed down the food with a huge gulp of water.

Newt observed her in silence as she took in a few more bites. Her chewing slowed; her eyes flashed to meet his. "Thank you," she muttered after a hefty swallow. "I don't...really remember the last time I ate." She lowered the bowl to the floor, the pit of fear now relacing the hunger in her stomach. She couldn't bring herself to take another bite.

Newt leaned in toward her ever so slightly. "Do ya remember anythin' yet?"

The girl shook her head, blinking away tears.

"S'all right," Newt went on. "Most of us don't remember a bloody thing when we come up in that Box. Some of us still know our names, but..." He shrugged and for a fleeting moment, the girl saw a flash of dejection across his face. "It'll come back to ya. Your name, I mean. Everythin' else just...stays muddy."

So, they'd all had basically the same experience as she did at one point, she assumed. In some strange, sick way, it made her feel faintly better.

A loud crack from the staircase nearly had the girl flinging the bowl in alarm. "S'okay, s'okay," Newt hurried to say, reaching a hand toward her.

The girl's breathing became heavy, as if her lungs couldn't expand or contract with its rhythm. She gaped at Newt, hoping he wouldn't see her discreetly extending her arm backward to grab the machete. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, in her chest, everywhere.

"Newt?" another male voice called.

"You're safe, okay?" Newt whispered before turning his head to the side. He addressed whoever was just outside the open door behind him next. "In here, Alby!"

A figure appeared in the doorway just as Newt had, hesitant and guarded. It was the other person who had lifted the top of the cage the girl had been in. What had Newt called it? The Box? Seemed fitting enough. This new boy, Alby, didn't come any closer toward her, but refused to take his eyes from her as he spoke downward toward Newt.

"Everythin' good?" he questioned.

"Oh yeah," Newt responded, a smile spreading on his lips. Something fluttered inside the girl's stomach. Reassurance that everything was in fact good? She fought the urge to smile herself. "Just gettin' to know each other a bit."

"Got a name yet?"

The girl answered before Newt had the chance to. "Not yet. How long does it take?"

The boys exchanged glances, almost sharing a thought before Alby said, "Depends. Some boys remember straight away. Some of us take a week or two."

Dread hit the girl like a ton of bricks. A week or two? She couldn't fathom moving about this strange new boy-riddled world without something to refer to herself as. She groaned, closing her eyes tightly. Maybe if she concentrated hard enough, her name would come to her. In the meantime, however, all she was getting was jumbled thoughts and frustration.

"Look," Alby went on. "First Day's always the hardest, but it's almost over. Tomorrow, I'll give ya the Tour, figure out where we're gonna put ya."

"Put me?"

"A job," Newt answered matter-of-factly. "Ya gotta pull your own weight and contribute."

The girl opened her mouth to ask what jobs were available, wondering what she would even be good at doing, but a loud rumble cut her short. Whatever was making the noise was happening all around them. The Homestead trembled slightly, the wood slabs creaking and moaning.

The girl watched the two boys before her. Neither seemed fazed by the noise or the quaking, so she tried to keep her panic under control. She simply asked, "What the hell is that?"

"The Doors," replied Alby.

She waited for further information, but it seemed as if she was supposed to know exactly what that meant. Irritation began to rise within her; it felt as though every answer to her questions just gave her more things to ask about. "And that means...?"

"That we're safe for another night." Alby reached downward, clasping his hand around Newt's wrist to hoist him onto his feet. "We're startin' the fire soon – join us if ya'd like, Greenie."

"Yeah," Newt chimed in. "We only do it once a month whenever a new Greenie comes up. It's real fun."

When the girl said nothing, seemingly ignoring their offer completely, Newt and Alby shrugged at each other and headed for the staircase. For the first time, she noticed Newt walked with a faint limp. Her eyes locked onto his leg, but instantly broke away once she noticed he'd looked back at her, smiling as the pair disappeared into the hallway.

Once outside the Homestead, far enough away that inquiring ears wouldn't hear them, Alby turned to Newt. "Nobody sleeps in the Homestead tonight," he decided, "except her. I know Minho won't like that, but tough." He ran an exhausted, dirty hand over his face. "Man, we're gonna have to change a bunch of rules over this girl."

"Maybe not." Newt cast one last glance back toward the building. "I mean, yeah, the sleepin' situation might have to change, but maybe she'll end up like all us other shanks."

"Good that."

Not far off, the rest of the boys of the Glade were just finishing piling stacks of jagged logs together, stuffed and surrounded by dried leaves and twigs from the Deadlands. The sun, blaring and blinding all day, was starting to fall against the western wall, casting an orange glow across the sky. Like most days the Box came up, it had been a cloudless day, but now spots of fluffy pink dotted about.

"Hey, Alby!" one of the boys called, waving a hand high over his head. "She comin' or what?!"

"Not a chance," Newt muttered under his breath. All the boys had been scared as hell during their First Days. Hell, some were still scared after being in the Glade for months, but it had to be different for her, Newt assumed. With not a single other female in sight, he couldn't image the things running through her mind.

Alby returned the boy's wave. "Give her time. She'll come 'round."

Noting Gally near the log pile, struggling to firelight, Alby let out a long, exasperated sight and left Newt's side to assist. Within only a few seconds, embers crawled from underneath the logs, climbing higher and higher until the flames were taller than any of the boys. In the glow, Newt caught the eye of the boy who had earlier urged the pack to advance on the Homestead – on the girl.

For a moment, the two stared each other down before the boy made the short strides closer to Newt. Telling from his height – a good half foot taller than Newt – he assumed the newer boy was probably his age or a little older, which didn't account for much. None of the boys knew for certain how old they were; they made assumptions based on height, foot size, and how much body hair they had on their chests and lower regions.

"So, what's the word?" the boy asked, a sly smirk forming on his dry lips. His hazel eyes crinkled at the edges and he ran his hand through his unevenly cropped black hair. "What's her name?"

"Same as yours was," Newt replied curtly. Out of all the boys to come up from the Box during his time in the Glade, this one was the only one Newt truly disliked. There wasn't a particular reason for it; there was just something about him that irked Newt from the get-go. "Greenie."

"Well, Greenie ain't my name anymore," the boy responded with a tad too much confidence. "It's Mikey, in case you forgot, slinthead."

Deciding not to take the bait, Newt turned from Mikey, inconspicuously rolled his eyes, and headed toward Gally, who held a glass bottle of his signature bonfire juice. If he had to keep dealing with this shank, Newt may as well be drunk for it.

Back in the Homestead, the girl lay on the uncomfortable bed, her stomach full and satisfied. The moment Alby and Newt left her, she scarfed down the remaining food and waited for it all to come back up as Newt had warned her about. It still hadn't.

She stared upward at the ceiling, her eyes slowly adjusting to the creeping darkness. Her mind reeled and ached as she tried to remember anything before arriving in the Glade. There were memories there, but only barely, as if she were watching them through a filthy, broken screen. She thought of a house – any type of home – but fragments came back instead.

Dirty, chipped pots. A constant, dry itch in the back of her throat. Her own voice, humming somewhere faraway. Laugher. Hers, or someone else's? The therapeutic feeling of a brush smoothing out her hair. Running. Desperate, hysteric running...from something? To something?

She groaned, sitting up and inching to the edge of the bed. The boys outside were growing louder. Their whoops and hollers seemed to echo throughout the Glade. She peered through a crack in the wall, watching their silhouetted figures against the massive bonfire they'd started. Some wrestled each other, some stood around chatting and passing drinks amongst themselves, while others attempted to make a sort of human pyramid and failing as they tumbled onto the ground together.

She was almost tempted to join them, but ultimately decided against it. There was absolutely no way she was leaving the Homestead until they were all asleep. That's when she would make her escape.

As it turned out, she underestimated their ability to stay awake. Hours passed as they roughhoused and talked, but once the fire died out, their energy followed suit. They all steered clear of her area and opted to sleep either on the ground or in what appeared to be hammocks tied to trees, from what the girl could see through the darkness. She waited even longer before making any sort of move, just to be absolutely sure they'd all fallen asleep.

Finally, when their boisterous noises had been replaced with the sound of chirping crickets, bleating and caws of animals, and snores, she grabbed the machete from its secret hiding place between the bed and the wall, left Newt's room, and headed out into the open air. A dimly lit torch flickered next to the door. She took it without hesitation.

The Glade during the night felt like an entirely different place than during the daytime. There was a slight chill in the air that settled on the sweat on her skin, making a shiver crawl up her spine. She headed away from the mass of sleeping boys and toward the gigantic wall near a collection of tall trees.

When she approached the wall, she shoved the tip of the machete into the ground and tilted her head backward, peering up into the night sky. The light of the torch was much too weak to show anything near the top of the wall, save for the ivy vines that crawled all over the surface. She touched a loose vine delicately before giving it a tug. It held fast and offered her a hint of relief.

Something small and nimble slithered past her hand, causing her gasp and take a step away. A red light, so tiny that it could have easily been missed, blinked on and off repeatedly as the metallic creature disappeared behind a cluster of ivy. Its body shone against the flame of the torch, but the girl quickly lost sight of it. She pushed aside a few vines, but whatever that thing was apparently was long gone.

The girl huffed out a heavy sigh and shook out her arms to rid herself of the gooseflesh that had risen. She stabbed the handle of the torch into the ground next to the machete and wrapped her hands around thick vines. Grunting softly, she hoisted herself upward, placing the bottoms of her feet on the wall to assist herself. The task proved to be much more daunting than she originally thought; about ten feet from the ground, the muscles in her arms began to ache and her legs started to tremble. Even her core protested against every inch she made.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the blinking red light again. Her entire body froze. She tried to move her head to catch sight of the metal bug that seemed to be following her, but every muscle in her body was at a standstill. Then, like a midnight whisper, simple words flowed through her mind.

Dumb move. Get down.

The lock on her body fell and without wasting any time, the girl obeyed the voice that seemed to be hers and yet felt as though it belonged to someone else entirely. Moving the way she came up, she carefully made her way back down to the ground. Confusion muddled her mind as she wondered how she'd even gotten up that far to begin with. It was hard to remember climbing up the vines, even though it had just happened less than a minute ago.

As soon as her feet were back on solid ground, she peered at the spot on the wall where she'd turned around. The red light still glowed through the gaps in the ivy patches, like it was waiting for her to try that stunt again.

"There has to be another way out of here," she murmured to herself, yanking the torch and the machete from the ground. She headed for the cluster of trees, trying to ignore the feeling of eyes on her back.

As she moved closer, she noticed that lanky, sickly trees surrounded the ones further back that sported actual branches covered in leaves. She stared at the dead ones. Something about their thin, gangly arms spurred recollection in her mind, but before she could even begin to grasp it, it vanished. Shaking her head in disappointment, she continued on, wincing each and every time a twig snapped under her feet. Luckily, she was too far away to wake any of the boys, but she was paranoid nonetheless.

Her foot collided with a solid rock and she caught herself just before she fell to the ground. Hissing out a string of curses, she turned and held the torch closer to the rock. She sucked in a breath when she realized that it wasn't a rock at all, but actually a stone that had been meticulously carved. "What the hell...?"

Fear crept up from her toes and settled in her stomach. The name "George" had been etched into it. She turned, extending the torch out all around her as she counted the other stones that were eerily similar to this one. Each had a name just like the one she'd nearly tripped over. All the names seemed to be names for boys, no girls. That thought put her to ease only briefly before another replaced it.

Why in the hell is there even a graveyard to begin with?

The girl didn't want to stick around to find out. Attempting to be as quiet as she could, she turned and headed back toward the open area of the Glade, the sound of haphazard snores feeling like both a warning and sense of reprieve. Being alone during the nighttime in this strange place no longer seemed appealing, even if she couldn't help but wonder why there were dead boys buried in the woods.

Nothing about the sleeping boys seemed to change, so the girl hurried to hide away in the Homestead again. She returned to Newt's room after double checking that the other rooms of the shack were empty, crawled into his lumpy bed, and stared at the door until the light of dawn started to seep through the cracks of the ceiling. When she noticed the daylight, she blinked rapidly, her eyes sore and crusty from the lack of sleep. Although she knew she was exhausted and felt it in every part of her body, slumber evaded her, leaving her anxious for how the day would turn out.

Thoughts of the previous day filled her mind as she stood from the bed and, sore from lying in one position for hours, stretched her body. Alby was supposedly going to give her the Tour today to find out where she belonged, if she even did. The rumble she'd heard the night before shook the Homestead and before she had the chance to miss it, she squinted through the same crack between two wooden planks she had used to witness the bonfire.

The humungous gap in the wall was opening again. "The Doors," she muttered, completely amazed at the smoothness in its movements despite its size. Then, something much smaller caught her attention: three boys standing near the growing corridor. As soon as the crack grew large enough, they sprinted into whatever was beyond the Glade.

That was it. Her way out.

"Hello?" a voice called out from the other side of the door, followed by three rapid knocks. "You awake?"

The voice was almost familiar, and by the lack of the odd accent, the girl knew it wasn't Newt. "Uh, y-yeah," she stammered as she approached the door. "I'm up."

She opened it an inch or two and peered through. Alby waited patiently, offering an awkward smile when their eyes met. "Ya ready for the Tour?"

Trailing after Alby through the Glade, the girl took in the fresh sights she hadn't noticed the day before when she'd come up from the Box. After all, the panic had somewhat blinded her to everything this place held.

A garden stood proudly in a corner of the Glade, surrounded by a fence that was thrown together with anything the boys could find, just like the Homestead. Various plants and grains rose from the ground and as the girl studied what all it contained, her stomach gave an urging rumble. She imaged biting into a ripe tomato and her mouth began to moisten.

She spied the source of the animal noises she'd heard the night before: a pen holding various farm animals near yet another ramshackle shed. "You breed them?" she asked Alby, completely cutting him off from whatever he'd been explaining to her. She didn't want to admit it, but she hadn't listened to a single word he was saying. Aside from her sleep and memory deprived brain, every smell, sight, and noise around them proved to be a constant distraction for her.

"Nah, don't need to," Alby answered. "New ones come up in the Box every time we eat the last one."

"Eat?" she repeated, casting him an incredulous glance. "You mean you kill them?"

Alby shrugged, as if he'd done it a million times before. "You a vegetarian or something?" When she didn't reply, because of course she wasn't if she'd eaten the food Newt had brought her, Alby jutted his chin toward the shack near the animals' pen. "Blood House. Maybe if you're lucky, Greenbean, you'll get to kill 'em yourself."

The thought repulsed the girl, but the nickname threw her off before she could retort. "Greenbean?"

"Your name. At least until ya remember your real one...or a new Greenie comes up in that Box. 'Til then, ya better get used to it."

Alby didn't give her a chance to collect her thoughts on the animal killing or the new name concept before falling back into his stride. He continued to explain things that still made absolutely no sense to her: Baggers took away dead bodies so make sure you're never one that gets carried away, don't ever steal anything from the kitchen unless you want Frypan to kick your ass, don't question where the water source comes from, just be grateful its there.

The pair passed nearby the metal square where the Box came up from, the girl glanced over at a trio of boys hacking away at a tree with machetes that resembled the one she had taken from Newt. He must've found a replacement because he noticed her straightaway and paused in his work. He raised an arm in a wave, but the girl immediately looked away before she could see, staring directly into Alby's back as she followed him.

"Weird shank, that one is," another boy commented as he realized the strange exchange.

"Slim it," Newt replied, motioning to the tree they'd been trying to slice through for the past hour. "Ya gonna get on with it or what?" He cast a final look toward the girl before returning to his own work.

Alby and the girl had ended up near the gaping opening that led away from the Glade. "And this," Alby said as he came to a stop, "is the boundary ya ain't gonna cross. Rule number one: nobody leaves the Glade. Got it?"

She faced the long hallway-like structure, thinking back on the group of boys who had darted into it earlier that morning. "Why not? I saw some of you guys take off when the Doors opened."

"They're Runners. They're the only ones who get to leave and they're back every single night before the Doors close again."

"What are they doing out there?"

"Use your brain, klunkhead. They're runnin', tryin' to find a way out. Now, c'mon. We gotta put ya somewhere to work."

The girl thought fast, taking Alby's advice to use her brain. She turned toward the caged animals, measuring the distance between their pen and the nearest open Door. "I want to work with the animals," she said. "I don't mind killing them." It was a partial lie, but a necessary one.

Alby raised a brow, his dark eyes passing from her to the Blood House, then back to her face. "Really?" he questioned, his tone laced with doubt. "Ya don't want to...I don't know. Cook with Frypan or somethin'?"

She shrugged. "Not that I remember, but I have a feeling I'm not any good at cooking. Unless burnt food is a delicacy around here."

At the face Alby made, she guessed it wasn't at all. His mouth formed into a hard line. "Well, all right. Ya gotta try everythin' at least once before we hand ya over to a Keeper for good, but if ya wanna shovel animal klunk on your first try, go for it."

Without another word, Alby started for the Blood House and the girl followed diligently behind, occasionally sneaking peaks at the Door. After guiding her to the pen, allowing her to pet a cow, and introducing her to the Keeper of the Slicers, Winston, she was put to work. She liked Winston right away; his short stature made her feel somewhat powerful in comparison to the other boys, and he wasted no time in giving her orders and directing her where to "toss the animal klunk."

She worked hard at first, throwing the animal waste in a small pit where it would be eventually turned into fertilizer for the gardens and petting the animals each time they absentmindedly walked in her path. However, her thoughts never strayed from the Door. The more she built up her confidence, the more eager she felt.

When the time finally felt right, she stood straight and leaned on the fence, giving off the impression of stretching her back from bending over so frequently. What she truly was doing was scoping out her surroundings. All the other Gladers seemed wholly focused on their tasks. With her dirt-crusted clothes and manure tracked shoes, she'd become invisible. Just the way she needed to be.

"Okay, on three," she mouthed to herself, but talked in the direction of a chicken pecking away at the feed she'd spread all over the ground. "One..."

She set her shovel against the fence and scraped the bottoms of her shoes against a rock.

"Two..."

She hopped over the fence, taking one more glance around. Everyone still seemed to be busy. Everyone except Newt, who had stopped his work again to watch her intently, as if he knew exactly what she was planning on doing. The girl swore he mouthed the word "No" at her before she did it.

"Three!"

Just as the Runners had earlier that morning, she bolted, leaving the animals and their klunk behind her.

"NO!" Newt hollered. The sound of it only added fuel to her fire, as if he knew she was going to escape. "STOP!"

The other boys were realizing now just exactly was happening. Winston was hot on her tracks, but something about the pursuit pushed her harder than she could ever remember, not that that was saying much. She leapt over a hole in the ground that seemed to have been dug long ago and whizzed past the charred remains of the bonfire. A smile spread across her face, breath heaving from her clenched teeth as she grew closer and closer to the line where Alby had set the boundary.

And when she passed that boundary, she felt invincible. Nothing was going to stop her. She was getting out of this crazy place and leaving this nightmare behind.

The towering edges of the Doors made her feel incredibly small. A fear struck her: what if they closed while she was running through them? It seemed as if this long, concrete passageway would never end, but that wasn't the case. She could see the end with its random corridors and hanging vines.

Only a few feet away from the threshold to freedom, something massive and bulky grabbed the girl from behind, nearly knocking her forward onto her face. Two solid arms curled around her waist and her chest as she let out a blood curdling scream.

"LET ME GO!" she shrieked. "GET OFF ME!"

"Stop fighting me!" a boy growled in her ear. It was someone she hadn't interacted with yet – someone who was no pleased in the least at what she was trying to accomplish.

She thrashed against him, scratching and kicking wildly at anything she could. She could feel his skin peeling under her fingernails as she raked them across his arms, neck, and face. There were footsteps approaching, more hands grabbing her, confining her, and dragging her back to the Glade.

"Ow! Hold her tighter, Gally! She kicked me!"

"What do ya think I'm tryin' to do?! Grab her legs!"

Winston's arms curled around her legs, binding them together and in place as she screamed louder. Some of the boys winced away from the noise; it wasn't every day a high-pitched alarm sounded right in their ears.

With tears clouding her vision, the girl watched as the Doors moved further and further from her. The animals she'd been tending to contemplated the scene with no interest. The boys -- there were six of them now -- held her solidly, yelling at each other to hurry and throw her in the Slammer. Still, she continued to rage against them, stopping only briefly when Newt came into her view.

"Calm down," he told her, his warm eyes piercing her. Something about them nearly stopped her screaming, but she didn't allow it. She used the last of her energy to release a final screech before the boys quite literally threw her into a hole in the ground.

The girl's head slammed harshly onto the concrete that caught her, dazing her for a few moments. The boys, panting and murmuring amongst themselves as they secured the lock on her cell, sounded so far away to her.

"...took a chunk out of my arm."

"She's insane! Ya sure she ain't a grown man?!"

She sat up, holding her face in one hand and steadying herself with the other. She watched the shadows of the boys disappear, thinking that she may have heard something regarding a Gathering. Then, it was silent, except for one.

"That was quite a show ya put on, Greenbean."

The girl glanced up to the opening of her enclosure. Newt's face, blurry at first, became clearer the more she blinked. Her head was spinning too much to give him any sort of response.

"Didn't Alby tell ya not to leave the Glade?" Newt chuckled, looking over his shoulder toward the direction the other boys had gone. "Impressive, though, I've gotta say. Can't believe how many it took to drag ya back."

She shook her head, suddenly embarrassed. It had been such a good plan. "You ruined it."

"I saved your life."

She wanted him to go away so she could wallow in peace and rack her brain for the letters forming in her mind's eye. "So, what now? You guys kill me and bury me in that forest?"

"Ah, so ya found the Graveyard. Nah, we ain't gonna kill you." The smirk slowly faded from Newt's face. "There's gonna be a Gathering to decide a punishment. Won't start 'til I get there, though, so you're safe for a bit longer."

The girl rolled her eyes. "Oh, perfect."

"Don't worry, 'kay? I'll fight in your favor." Newt stood, dusting off his clothes as he did. "Won't take long. Just relax. Think of this as a vacation from cleanin' animal klunk, yeah?"

An immediate strike of fear slammed into the girl as Newt started to walk away. She hurriedly crawled toward the door to the cage and called after him, "Newt!"

He instantly stopped and looked back at her curiously.

"It's Maya," the girl said, curling her fingers around the wooden bars. "My name. It's Maya."

During her short stay in the Glade, she hadn't seen a type of smile that graced Newt's face like this one. His eyes brightened and it seemed as if his entire demeanor shifted upward. "Maya," he repeated slowly like he'd never uttered a word quite like it before. Her body eased at the sound of his voice saying it. "Right then. Don't worry, Maya. Everythin's gonna be all right."

Newt turned and continued on to meet with the other boys. All Maya could do was watch, wait, and put what little faith she had into the blonde boy with the limp.