Early the next morning, people were out and about, and the Runners had just left for their Maze travels. Mal was casually eating breakfast—fluffy pancakes and holy bacon sent from the gods—when an alarm blared throughout the Glade.

No one showed immediate reaction, no one flinched from the noise or looked surprised or was bouncing with anticipation . . . except for Mal.

Alby leisurely waltzed past Mal, going in the direction toward the center of the Glade, along with Nick and Gally and a few others. Mal stood up. "Alby! What's--"

"Just the Box. Supplies comin'!"

Mal quickly finished her food and followed along.

Everyone stood circling around the Box, except for Nick and Alby. When they reached the crowd, they pushed themselves in front. In a few minutes a muffled boom sounded, indicating that the bizarre elevator had arrived. Mal watched Nick and Alby as they took positions on opposite sides of the shaft doors—a line split the metal square right down the middle. Simple hook-handles were attached on both sides, and together they yanked them apart. With a metallic scrape the doors were opened, and a puff of dust from the surrounding stone rose into the air. Mal squeezed in between bodies to take a look at what was down below.

There were just packaged boxes, crates of food, and carrying cases that each held an animal. One by one, people retrieved their items.

"Hey, Mal. Looks like the Creators decided to be generous and send ya some stuff. Got one box full," Nick perked up. He placed a large box at her feet then, and suddenly Mal felt odd tingles in her chest. Nick wasn't lying, it had been personalized. On the top, somebody had written her name in big letters with a black marker. But that wasn't all. The same phrase had been stamped all over the cardboard like copyright: Property of WICKED.

WICKED? What the heck was WICKED?

Mal fell to her knees and tore it open. Inside there was a whole bunch of stuff, and she made count of them as she made her way to the bottom. Four jeans and two shorts, four shirts, undergarments, three pairs of socks, two pajamas. A hair brush, some hair ties, hygiene products. A pair of boots, extra sneakers, and right at the bottom of it all . . . a creepy ass doll.

The doll was old, used, and was fully made of fragile material that it looked like it could easily fall apart. The doll was of a little girl. The dress was made out of cloth, the hair from yarn, the eyes buttons and the mouth stitched into a smile. Mal felt sick and utterly confused and creeped out. "Dafuq? What the hell is this?"

She reached inside to pick it the thing up. As soon as she gripped it in her hand, an odd freezing rush came over her body.

"No! Daddy, I'm scared!"

"It's all going to be okay, sweetheart," the man assured the little girl. He knelt down to her height and took out something he kept hidden from his back. He put it in the girl's hands. "If you are ever scared, hold this tight to your chest and I will be with you."

The girl looked at the pretty doll with saddened eyes. It was his final gift to her. "But—"

The man brushed the girl's hair behind her ears. He had tears pricking in the corners of his eyes. "Never worry, my love. You're going to do wonderful things. No matter what happens, I will always be by your side. I promise." He laid out his pinkie.

"Pinkie promise," the girl said, and she locked her pinkie with his and he smiled. This was the last time they would see each other, and the last time he would be sane.

Reality came to her vision like a shockwave.

Mal looked back down at the doll, swallowing hard. She carefully laid it back down in the box, collected all her things and stuffed them inside. She set them down in her room in the Homestead. She changed into a fresh outfit and prepared herself for the day. Today she would serve as a Builder. She tied her hair into a tight ponytail and hurried to where the Builders were stationed.

She shortly arrived at the tool-infested, hammer and axe-filled location in the Glade, and stopped by the group of stocky-looking boys who were gathering their materials: the Builders. None of them she recognized, except for one. And he strode right up to her. "Hey Greenie."

"Hello," she said briskly.

"Right on time," Gally drew a crooked smile.

"Sadly. Don't make this any miserable than it has to be."

Gally snorted. "That's no way to talk to your boss."

"You're not the boss of me, even if you are a Keeper," Mal sneered.

Gally flashed her a dirty look but got on with the day. He taught Mal the ropes of the building process and then passed her an axe; it was heavy in her hands.

"Zart's been wanting a fence around his territory of the Glade," said Gally, "to protect his crops and whatnot. Today, you're helping me build it."

"Fun," Mal said lightheartedly.

They went to the Deadheads for wood. Mal observed Gally as he chopped down an already dying tree. Afterward, they split the wood apart in planks. Mal couldn't help but think, This is probably how he blows off steam.

With all the slabs of wood, the duo returned to the rest of the Builders and joined them in nailing pieces together to make a fence. Gally supplied Mal with a hammer and nails, and strictly indicated where the planks had to be connected. Mal started at one corner and pointed a nail in. Carefully, she pounded the hammer on the nail's base, but on her fifth try the hammer slipped and crushed her finger.

"Dammit!" she yelped, immediately sucking on her finger to reduce the pain.

Gally rushed over. "Hey! You have to be more careful!"

"Yeah I was doing that!" she retaliated.

Gally exhaled, "Look." He stood behind Mal, reaching out his left hand to guide her hammer down to the correct spot on the nail. With his free hand, he took Mal's right hand and positioned it correctly on the nail by its base. "Steady your grip. Always keep your eye on the target." Directing her through the movements, Gally aimed the hammer down, hitting the nail perfectly.

He stepped back once he finished implanting the nail into the wood. "Good that?"

"Uh, yeah." Mal twisted around. "Thanks."

Gally only nodded, then walked off to continue his own work.

By mid-afternoon, Mal's arms were weak and strained, and she declared herself done. Before visiting the Med-jacks to care for her still throbbing finger, she went to the kitchen to grab a snack

"Hey Frypan! Got any food?"

The Cook smiled, "You come to help prepare?"

"Mmm, not exactly. Not yet."

"Hm, you sure were helpful around yesterday, though," Frypan pointed out.

That was because of Nick taking advantage, Mal thought. But Frypan seemed to be the only one that liked her besides Newt.

She decided to be a good sport then. She washed the sawdust off her hands and put on a kitchen apron over her clothes. "Okay, I'm at your service for a little while, but I prefer something easy!"

Frypan grinned. "Ah, you wanna be helpful? You can make the salad." He tossed her a large bowl that she caught just in time.

"Alright, uhh . . ."

"All the stuff's over there—" Frypan pointed with his wooden spoon at the small plastic packages on the counter behind Mal. "Mix 'em up well. Three scoops worth in every shank's dish!"

Mal nodded, but made a face at herself. When did I last cook, though? Do I even remember how?

Okay, I guess this should be kind of easy, Mal thought as she opened each of the packages. Tomatoes, olives, croutons, other stuff she didn't recognize. As she was washing the lettuce, a familiar tiny red light greeted her. It was crawling on the wall and making small flights around her working space. Is this one of those beedle blade things? She started getting annoyed when it kept getting into her face. Knock it off! Mal hit the beetle blade with her hand to whack it away.

"OW!" Mal suddenly screamed, and she cupped her hand to see what happened. Her right palm was bleeding and began to sting badly. The beetle blade had pricked her hand.

"Oh my God!" Mal ran to the kitchen faucet and turned on the cold water to try to relieve the pain. The beetle blade came by again, this time it was excited and buzzing and flickering its red light quickly.

There were kitchen tools hanging on the wall—Mal spotted the metal frying pan right away. "C'mere you little twat!" she hissed, and she stumbled to get the pan off the hanger. Once in her hand, Mal whacked the pan all over, tracing the red light of the beetle blade and hitting random things and people and not the bug.

The Keeper of the Cooks rushed over and grabbed Mal and struggled to take the pan out of her hands. "What're you doing, tryna kill somebody?! You're causin' a ruckus in my kitchen!"

The beetle blade scurried out of the kitchen and its red light was no longer visible.

Mal gave up. Well aren't I screwed!

"Ugh, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Mal protested. "The thing bit me!"

"Geez Louise, man. Didn't somebody tell ya not to touch those things?" Frypan sounded tired. "The Med-jacks'll clean ya up. Ain't no need to try and murder the thing in here."

"I'm sorry," she sighed shaking her head. She took off her apron and returned it to Frypan. "I'm just done with this job stuff." Then she hurried to the Homestead to find the Med-jacks.

Mal climbed to the second floor of the Homestead, where the Med-jacks were stationed. Inside, there were ruggish beds that held sick and injured Gladers, and chairs and small tables that were stacked with doctor tools. This included a stash of odd, large tubes that were all filled with some green liquid; they seemed to be meant for shots of some sort, but Mal didn't know for sure.

There were two boys tending to a Glader who hurt his arm. "Uh, hello," Mal awkwardly stepped in, "There any bandaids here?"

The blonde one turned around. "Beetle blade sting?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"It's common with the Greenbeans. Sit down." Mal did what she was told. "Jeff, get the first aid."

The tanned guy, Jeff, skidded over to Mal with the first-aid kit and fumbled for the pack of bandages. He also had a small tube of gooey stuff that was unfamiliar to Mal, and Jeff smeared it all over the scar. Mal winced. "Shouldn't you clean the wound first?"

"This stuff's gotta be applied immediately," Jeff replied, and he briskly slapped the bandage on. "Infection spreads pretty fast from those tiny buggers."

"Yeah, but I still think it should be washed first to prevent infection."

Jeff glanced up. "Look Greenie, I got my job the same way everybody else did."

Mal pursed her lips. Then her eyes caught a second glimpse of the stash of the shot thingies. "Shouldn't those be kept a little more sanitary?"

Jeff stammered slightly. "We wipe them preventively for germs."

"How often?"

"Well, they don't get used a lot—"

"Well why do you have that many?"

"J-Just in case."

"Just in case what?"

"In case of drastic measures!" Jeff nervously turned to the blonde. "Clint, I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now!"

Clint snapped at Mal's gaze. "Girl, let's just cut to the chase—how'd you like to become a Med-jack?"

Mal blinked. "Me?"

"Dude, you obviously know lots about health and sanitation, so I think you'd be pretty exceptional. We're the closest thing the Glade has to doctors. And right now it's only me and Jeff—"

"I haven't finished trying out for all the jobs, though. I think I have Baggers next—"

Clint shook his head. "Baggers are just the security and they manage the dead bodies. I don't see a nice girl like you doing that. You'll do just fine as a Med-jack. Right Jeff?"

Jeff nodded in agreement.

__________

Later that day after the Doors closed, Mal had to attend the Gathering to officialize her job as a Med-jack. It took place in the Council room. Inside, there was a semicircle of chairs, one pertaining to each Keeper. And to Mal's dismay, that meant Gally was among them.

Once all twelve boys entered, Nick declared the Gathering begun. "As you all know, it's been a busy couple of days since the arrival of the she-Glader." Nick met her eyes. "Let's just get this over with. We're here to decide which job this shank deserves. Keepers, give your assumptions."

Gally was slouched in his seat and was the first to raise his hand. "On behalf of all the Builders, she's too clumsy and needs improvement."

Mal folded her arms from annoyance, and Nick sighed. "Okay Gally, I'll consider your input. Next?"

"I think she did well in the Gardens," said Zart. "She has a special touch with the crops and stuff."

"Okay Zart the Fart, I'll consider that. Frypan, your turn."

"Well, based on the incident that occurred today, I ask that I get a restraining order from this here lady from stepping into my kitchen." He paused as if waiting for a laugh. He got a few snickers. "No offense, Greenie."

Nick said, "I'm sorry about that, Frypan. Anyone else have somethin' to add? Anything good?" Finally the Keeper of the Med-jacks put his hand up. "Yes, Clint?"

"She hasn't worked with me and Jeff yet, but she came in today lookin' for some help, then randomly started questioning us on our methods and stuff. Really she just insulted our ways of Med-jacking, but we also learned precautions and procedures from her that we should be practicing.'

"Is there any point to this, Clint?"

"I'm sayin' the Greenie has what it takes to be a Med-jack. We could use her in our quarters."

Nick peeked a glance at Mal. "Hmm, good enough. Winston, we haven't heard from you."

The acne-covered butcher shrugged. "Wouldn't slice a thing. Procrastinated the kill—it was disgusting!"

"In response to Winston," Newt spoke up, "I don't think we'd ever expect the girl to take a fancy in killing animals. Seems too sympathetic for that."

Mal wanted to get up and squeeze Newt into a hug.

Gally's eyes rolled so far they could've gotten stuck in the back of his head. He then straightened up. "This shank, sympathetic? She's aggravating!"

Suddenly Mal snapped around. "Watch it, potato head!"

"Slim it!" Nick's voice raised. "Alright, I think all of us here except for Gally can agree that Greenie's surprisingly high charisma level serves her as a Med-jack. Good that?"

Gally shook his head in disapproval, but the eleven other boys agreed. Nick concluded, "Alright, Gathering's dismissed."

Mal drew a cheeky grin and stood up as everyone began walking out. Newt came up to her. "Medjack, huh? How's that for a change?"

She shrugged. "It's better than any other job I could've done. I think I'll be good at it."

"I think so too, Minho?" Newt turned to his friend. His friend was an tall Asian guy with, needless to say, pretty good-looking black hair, and bulging muscles.

"We haven't met before, Greenie," Minho said.

"Minho is the sass master extraordinaire of the Glade," Newt mentioned.

Mal nodded and giggled. "I could use a few lessons so I can pull some sass on Gally the Grinch over there." She motioned with her shoulder to where Gally had walked out.

"That shank's always one of my victims," Minho smirked.

Mal laughed. "Well then, I think we'll get along just fine."

"Hey, now," Newt interrupted with a smile, "Both of you can discuss more about your victims at dinner."

Mal nodded. "Yeah! And Newt, you could maybe tell me how the Maze was today? If you found anything?"

Minho butted in. "No way, Greenie! That stuff's only between the Runners and the Runners only."

"Are you a Runner?" Mal asked.

"He's my second-in-command Runner," Newt answered for him. "If anything happens to me, he takes my place as Keeper."

"Wow, aren't you cool," Mal raised her eyebrow playfully at Minho.

"The coolest," Minho added in spite of himself.

Mal giggled again. "Whatever you say, dude. Let's just get something to eat. I'm about starved."

__________

Sucky ending, but I finally got an update in! Again, a big thanks to everyone who has been reading this book. If you liked this chapter, don't forget to vote and/or comment some feedback!

Also, what do you think of Mal's memory? More info on that will come in future. ;)

Amanda