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"Gally," Newt said, "try to keep some buggin' order, here. If you're go
Thomas wished he could cheer at that.
Gally folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, the scowl on his face so forced that Thomas almost laughed out loud. He was having a harder and harder time believing he'd been terrified of this guy just a day earlier—he seemed silly, even pathetic now.
Newt gave Gally a hard stare, then continued. "Glad we got that out of the way." Another roll of the eyes. "Reason we're here is because almost every lovin' kid in the Glade has come up to me in the last day or two either boohooing about Thomas or beggin' to take his bloody hand in marriage. We need to decide what we're go
Gally leaned forward, but Newt cut him off before he could say anything.
"You'll have your chance, Gally. One at a time. And Tommy, you're not allowed to say a buggin' thing until we ask you to. Good that?" He waited for a nod of consent from Thomas—who gave it reluctantly—then pointed to the kid in the chair on the far right. "Zart the Fart, you start."
There were a few snickers as Zart, the quiet big guy who watched over the Gardens, shifted in his seat. He looked to Thomas more out of place than a carrot on a tomato plant.
"Well," Zart began, his eyes darting around almost like he was waiting for someone else to tell him what to say. "I don't know. He broke one of our most important rules. We can't just let people think that's okay." He paused and looked down at his hands, rubbing them together. "But then again, he's . . . changed things. Now we know we can survive out there, and that we can beat the Grievers."
Relief flooded Thomas. He had someone else on his side. He made a promise to himself to be extra nice to Zart.
"Oh, give me a break," Gally spurted. "I bet Minho's the one who actually got rid of the stupid things."
"Gally, shut your hole!" Newt yelled, standing for effect this time; once again Thomas felt like cheering. "I'm the bloody Chair right now, and if I hear one more buggin' word out of turn from you, I'll be arrangin' another Banishing for your sorry butt."
"Please," Gally whispered sarcastically, the ridiculous scowl returning as he slouched back into his chair again.
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 las 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 wa
"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 ru
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 go