Run | TMR X PJO [ Editing ]

Chapter twenty-six, in which our heroes have horrible planning skills. Remind me again why they're the protagonists?

"Hey Teresa," Thomas said the following day. "Remind me again why I'm the provision team?"

She gave him her standard reply, the same one that she gave him whenever he got whiny. "Because if I put you with Minho or Newt, you'd start acting all chummy and gay with them. Plus your insufferable personality requires me to put you on your own separate team."

"Why didn't I get paired with Percy then?" he sputtered, indignant that he was placed in such a lowly position.

"If I remember correctly, you hate him and you both fought over me behind my back," Teresa snarled, practically on her last nerve. "So of course I would put you two on the same job."

"That was an accident!"

"Keep telling yourself that," she snorted.

Thomas rolled his eyes, desperate to prove himself. "I've been stealing Frypan's food."

"That's your job," she sighed. Mentally, she had to count to ten so as to not send Thomas flying to the next universe. "Do we have enough?"

"Almost..."

She put her hands on her hips. "What are you doing then? Go do your job! Shoo!"

Thomas backed away and started jogging once he was out of range. He slowed down after he was sure Teresa couldn't see him. It was about noon, and it would be a fool's errand to try and steal food then. Trailing behind a group of Gladers about to get lunch, he analyzed the crowd carefully, coming up with calculations on when would be a good time to strike.

Percy had grabbed his tray first. He waved the rest of them over to where he sat. "Alright, everyone update us on where they are."

"Who made you leader," Minho asked, although it had teasing undertones. "We're almost done. A few more corridors in Section 2 and we're good."

Teresa kicked Newt under the table. "What in bloody hell was that for?"

She kicked him again, sending a sharp pain through his already scrawny leg. It was evident that she did not feel like talking. "We have enough weapons..."

Newt curled up into a fetal position once he was kicked yet again. "Alright, chick, you can bloody stop kicking me. I was just getting to the good part. Each of us would be a spanking hot warrior with all the weapons we got."

"Sounds good," Percy agreed. "We're right on schedule."

"What are we exactly going to do in the bloody Maze?" Newt said. "Are we just going to run around and klunk our pants?"

"What if we get split up," Thomas added for added panic and second doubts. 

Teresa sighed and cleared her throat. "I can wire us talking devices, should I have the materials. I'm not completely useless."

"No one said you were," Minho mumbled to himself, wondering how the flying shuck did so much aggressiveness end up in one girl.

"I said, what are we going to do in the bloody Maze," Newt repeated. 

"Find a way out."

There were a few minutes of silence as the five chewed on their food. Percy had not eaten anything, but instead, swirled his noodles around with his fork to make it look like he had been eating. He was absolutely terrified of what lay beyond the Maze—perhaps terrified wasn't the right word, but there weren't unicorns and rainbows in his thoughts.

Annabeth.

A name that came to him so easily, but something that bothered him since he arrived in the Glade. He couldn't help but be utterly confused, his eyebrows scrunching together in frustration.

Minho, who had noticed his prolonged silence, spoke up. "Aye Greenie, why so quiet?"

"If you aren't going to eat those noodles, I will help myself," Thomas said, his hand hovering over Percy's plate.

"Go ahead," he grumbled, shoving the plate in his direction—who could possibly eat when there were so many questions to be asked?

He took it happily and dug right in (Teresa had to turn away due to how messily he ate.) Thomas said something that the others assumed was, "Thanks," but they really weren't sure because it was rather muffled. The girl mimed throwing up when Thomas wasn't looking.

"Don't talk with your shuck mouth full," Newt said crossly. 

"Well I'm sorry that you have a problem with my manners, shank," he said, his voice dripping with the most sarcasm that Percy had ever heard in his life. 

Minho stood up and stretched his legs gingerly. "Well shanks, I'm gonna take a nap. Percy, you go map the Maze. I'm feeling lazy today."

"Why can't you do it tomorrow then?" the dark haired boy whined. "We have two whole days." 

"The others need to memorize the Maze layout," he called, already partly to the Homestead. Minho waved halfheartedly. Percy swore he caught him flipping the group off. Huh. What was wrong with him? He turned to look at Teresa, who was now finally talking. She was joking around with Newt. 

Of all the things that disturbed him during the meal, Teresa bothered him the most, even more than Annabeth. He found it peculiar that she was the only girl amongst what, fifty boys? The Creators had made no mistake sending her to the Glade. If it was a mistake, they would have sent her back long ago, or staged her disappearance. They planned on her to do something. But what? 

He had no answers to none of those questions. In spite of everything, he just wanted to have everything be well, normal. 

"Why are you staring at me like I grew another pair of arms?" Teresa accused. 

When he didn't respond, she kicked him squarely in the shin—apparently, she was feeling rather hostile. Percy surprisingly kept a straight face and did not acknowledge that anything had happened. 

Again, she landed another powerful kick. "Percy, goddammit!"

He shook his head and blinked as if waking from a really good daydream. For a moment, he sat there rubbing his temples. What exactly had happened? Maybe he just spaced out, the others assumed. 

"Huh, what?" he said. 

"Are you okay, Percy? You look a bit pale," Newt said.