The Maze Runner With The Crazy & Lovely Girl: Emily

Why Don't You Eat Bacon?

18 AN: I'm gonna use different POVs in the story because I want to. Cya! Continue:

Emily's P.O.V.

It's been two weeks since the new Greenie arrived. He seemed nice, and I'm happy that he became friends with Josh who won't leave his side.

Minho and I have continued our "sassy-fight" as some people like to call them. Even though we roast each other, I can't help but enjoy these stupid moments. It just feels so natural, you know?

I'm not gonna lie, but I think I might have an itsy, bitsy, tiny, little crush on Minho.

And since Newt and Frypan have found out about this, they will take every opportunity to wiggle their stupid eyebrows. I'm also afraid that they might have told Clint and Jeff because now they're also wiggling their stupid eyebrows.

Shuck, I gotta make sure that they don't go all flapping their mouths around the Glade.

"Morning, girly!" Frypan greeted me as I walked into the kitchen.

I was still a bit tired from talking to Minho last evening. We were up all night just chatting. Oof, I feel sorry for that poor shank that has to run today. Good thing that I can choose whatever job I want to do, and today, I chose Medjack.

"Moring, Fry. How are you?" I asked as he gave me my breakfast food.

"I'm feeding these shanks, what do you think?"

"You must feel absolutely delighted!" I remarked sarcastically, making him roll his eyes. As I was about to take a seat, I looked down at my plate and saw that it was eggs and bacon. "Ehh... Fry?"

"Yes, Your Majesty?" Now it was his turn to be sarcastic.

"There is bacon on my plate..."

"Oh, sorry. I forgot," he quickly took my plate and fixed me a new one.

"Why don't you eat bacon? I have always wondered." A voice behind me asked.

I turned my head to see one of the Track-Hoes. "Well, Eric, it's a long story - but to make it short: Alby did something to my bacon, and ever since then, I can't eat bacon."

The boy raised his eyebrow, "Wow."

"Yep."

Finally, the Keeper of the Cooks came with my new plate of food. "Here you go. Anything else, Your Majesty?"

"No, thank you. You can go now, peasant." I said and walked away. I had barely taken two steps when he and I burst out in laughter.

"See ya later, girly!" He shouted.

"See ya, Fry!" And then I went and sat down on the table with Newt. "What are you doing, Newton?"

He looked up from his food, "I'm writing a song, what the shuck does it looks like?"

"I would have given away my shoe to see you writing a song," I said as I imagined him with a guitar in his hands, writing stupid love songs. Oh, that would have been a hella good sight. I can imagine him with a cowboy hat, a straw in his mouth, and him singing: 'And IIIIIIIIIIII will always looove yooouuuu...'

"Why would you give away your shoe?" Clint asked as he and Jeff found a seat at the table, breaking my train of thoughts of soon-to-be-artist Newt.

"To see me write a song." Newt shrugged as if it was a normal thing to say, making the others furrow their eyebrows.

They didn't say anything, and everyone just sat down and ate their food in comfortable silence.

But then the famous question was asked.