He finally pulled it all back into his heart, sucking in the painful tide of his misery. In the Glade, Chuck had become a symbol for him— a beacon that somehow they could make everything right again in the world. Sleep in beds. Get kissed goodnight. Have bacon and eggs for breakfast, go to a real school. Be happy.But now Chuck was gone. And his limp body, to which Thomas still clung, seemed a cold talisman— that not only would those dreams of a hopeful future never come to pass, but that life had never been that way in the first place. That even in escape, dreary days lay ahead. A life of sorrow.His returning memories were sketchy at best. But not much good floated in the muck.Thomas reeled in the pain, locked it somewhere deep inside him. He did it for Teresa. For Newt and Minho. Whatever darkness awaited them, they'd be together, and that was all that mattered right then.

Shuck it,— Minho responded. "I'm tougher than nails. I could still kick your pony-lovin' butt with twice this pain." Thomas shrugged. —I do love ponies. Wish I could eat one right now.

He whipped out his sheet, then pulled it over himself and wrapped it tightly around his face like an old woman in a shawl. 'How do I look?''Like the ugliest shanky girl I've ever seen,' Minho responded. 'You better thank the gods above you were born a dude.' 'Thanks.