James Dashner - The Maze runner

Newt sat down and motioned to Zart. “Is that it? Any official recommendations?”

Zart shook his head.

“Okay. You’re next, Frypan.”

The cook smiled through his beard and sat up straighter. “Shank’s got more guts than I’ve fried up from every pig and cow in the last year.” He paused, as if expecting a laugh, but none came. “How stupid is this-he saves Alby’s life, kills a couple of Grievers, and we’re sitting here yappin’ about what to do with him. As Chuck would say, this is a pile of klunk.”

Thomas wanted to walk over and shake Frypan’s hand-he’d just said exactly what Thomas himself had been thinking about all of this.

“So what’re ya recommendin’?” Newt asked.

Frypan folded his arms. “Put him on the freaking Council and have him train us on everything he did out there.”

Voices erupted from every direction, and it took Newt half a minute to calm everyone down. Thomas winced; Frypan had gone too far with that recommendation, almost invalidating his well-stated opinion of the whole mess.

“All right, writin’ her down,” Newt said as he did just that, scribbling on a notepad. “Now everyone keep their bloody mouths shut, I mean it. You know the rules-no idea’s unacceptable-and you’ll all have your say when we vote on it.” He finished writing and pointed to the third member of the Council, a kid Thomas hadn’t met yet with black hair and a freckly face.

“I don’t really have an opinion,” he said.

“What?” Newt asked angrily. “Lot of good it did to choose you for the Council, then.”

“Sorry, I honestly don’t.” He shrugged. “If anything, I agree with Frypan, I guess. Why punish a guy for saving someone’s life?”

“So you do have an opinion-is that it?” Newt insisted, pencil in hand.

The kid nodded and Newt scribbled a note. Thomas was feeling more and more relieved-it seemed like most of the Keepers were for him, not against him. Still, he was having a hard time just sitting there; he desperately wanted to speak on his own behalf. But he forced himself to follow Newt’s orders and keep quiet.

Next was acne-covered Winston, Keeper of the Blood House. “I think he should be punished. No offense, Greenie, but Newt, you’re the one always harping about order. If we don’t punish him, we’ll set a bad example. He broke our Number One Rule.”

“Okay,” Newt said, writing on his pad. “So you’re recommendin’ punishment. What kind?”

“I think he should be put in the Slammer for a week with only bread and water-and we need to make sure everyone knows about it so they don’t get any ideas.”

Gally clapped, earning a scowl from Newt. Thomas’s heart fell just a bit.

Two more Keepers spoke, one for Frypan’s idea, one for Winston’s. Then it was Newt’s turn.

“I agree with the lot of ya. He should be punished, but then we need to figure out a way to use him. I’m reservin’ my recommendation until I hear everyone out. Next.”

Thomas hated all this talk about punishment, even more than he hated having to keep his mouth shut. But deep inside he couldn’t bring himself to disagree-as odd as it seemed after what he’d accomplished, he had broken a major rule.

Down the line they went. Some thought he should be praised, some thought he should be punished. Or both. Thomas could barely listen anymore, anticipating the comments from the last two Keepers, Gally and Minho. The latter hadn’t said a word since Thomas had entered the room; he just sat there, drooped in his chair, looking like he hadn’t slept in a week.

Gally went first. “I think I’ve made my opinions pretty clear already.”

Great, Thomas thought. Then just keep your mouth shut.

“Good that,” Newt said with yet another roll of the eyes. “Go on, then, Minho.”

“No!” Gally yelled, making a couple of Keepers jump in their seats. “I still wanna say something.”

“Then bloody say it,” Newt replied. It made Thomas feel a little better that the temporary Council Chair despised Gally almost as much as he did. Though Thomas wasn’t that afraid of him anymore, he still hated the guy’s guts.

“Just think about it,” Gally began. “This slinthead comes up in the Box, acting all confused and scared. A few days later, he’s running around the Maze with Grievers, acting like he owns the place.”

Thomas shrank into his chair, hoping that others hadn’t been thinking anything like that.

Gally continued his rant. “I think it was all an act. How could he have done what he did out there after just a few days? I ain’t buyin’ it.”

“What’re you tryin’ to say, Gally?” Newt asked. “How ’bout having a bloody point?”

“I think he’s a spy from the people who put us here.”

Another uproar exploded in the room; Thomas could do nothing but shake his head-he just didn’t get how Gally could come up with all these ideas. Newt finally calmed everyone down again, but Gally wasn’t finished.

“We can’t trust this shank,” he continued. “Day after he shows up, a psycho girl comes, spoutin’ off that things are gonna change, clutching that freaky note. We find a dead Griever. Thomas conveniently finds himself in the Maze for the night, then tries to convince everyone he’s a hero. Well, neither Minho nor anyone else actually saw him do anything in the vines. How do we know it was the Greenie who tied Alby up there?”

Gally paused; no one said a word for several seconds, and panic rose inside Thomas’s chest. Could they actually believe what Gally was saying? He was anxious to defend himself and almost broke his silence for the first time-but before he could get a word in, Gally was talking again.

“There’s too many weird things going on, and it all started when this shuck-face Greenie showed up. And he just happens to be the first person to survive a night out in the Maze. Something ain’t right, and until we figure it out, I officially recommend that we lock his butt in the Slammer-for a month, and then have another review.”

More rumblings broke out, and Newt wrote something on his pad, shaking his head the whole time-which gave Thomas a tinge of hope.

“Finished, Captain Gally?” Newt asked.

“Quit being such a smart aleck, Newt,” he spat, his face flushing red. “I’m dead serious. How can we trust this shank after less than a week? Quit voting me down before you even think about what I’m saying.”

For the first time, Thomas felt a little empathy for Gally-he did have a point about how Newt was treating him. Gally was a Keeper, after all. But I still hate him, Thomas thought.

“Fine, Gally,” Newt said. “I’m sorry. We heard you, and we’ll all consider your bloody recommendation. Are you done?”

“Yes, I’m done. And I’m right.”

With no more words for Gally, Newt pointed at Minho. “Go ahead, last but not least.”

Thomas was elated that it was finally Minho’s turn; surely he’d defend him to the end.

Minho stood quickly, taking everyone off guard. “I was out there; I saw what this guy did-he stayed strong while I turned into a panty-wearin’ chicken. No blabbin’ on and on like Gally. I want to say my recommendation and be done with it.”

Thomas held his breath, wondering what he’d say.

“Good that,” Newt said. “Tell us, then.”

Minho looked at Thomas. “I nominate this shank to replace me as Keeper of the Runners.”

Complete silence filled the room, as if the world had been frozen, and every member of the Council stared at Minho. Thomas sat stunned, waiting for the Runner to say he’d been kidding.

Gally finally broke the spell, standing up. “That’s ridiculous!” He faced Newt and pointed back at Minho, who had taken his seat again. “He should be kicked off the Council for saying something so stupid.”