The W.I.C.K.E.D Girl

3

Evening rolled by sooner than I'd expected, the events of the day failing to stop time in its tracks. The blue of the sky gradually deepened until it was the shade of overripe blackberries, speckled with minuscule pinpricks of light. Guilt was starting to settle in—I'd only wanted to protect my only friend, not cause a scene and, though I was still unsure if I truly believed it, injure Gally.

After a short, bleak sunset, Chuck and I were hanging out at the Homestead, high up on the watchtower. "Do you like stars?" Chuck inquired, noticing that I was studying them attentively. 

My hands were behind my head, my back pressed against the hard wood. I nodded. "Yeah, I guess. They're really pretty."

Chuck went quiet, and then he whispered, "You know, no one's done that for me before. It was a very brave thing to do." His voice was soft and betrayed his worry. "But I doubt he's going to stop, and I don't want you getting into trouble."

I gave him a reassuring smile and said, "Well, since I didn't get my ass handed to me today, I suppose it means I never will."

Chuck snorted, and I cracked up as well. We stopped laughing only when I remembered that I had to take the tea the Medjacks had given me. I stood, glanced down at the younger Glader. "Hey, can you wait here for a second? I need to go see Frypan. I'll be back in a bit."

Chuck made a face, as though he was annoyed that I treated him like a child. Sarcastically, he retorted, "I promise I won't go around punching people while you're gone."

Rolling my eyes, I climbed down the wooden ladder and began walking towards the kitchen, savouring the crisp air of dusk. The little box of tea clutched in my hand—I only needed some hot water, Jeff had told me, and it was going to knock out any discomfort I might have—I stepped inside the Kitchen. I carefully opened the door of the Homestead, picking up on the voices inside the room. I drew closer with silent footsteps, slipping behind a wall to eavesdrop on the conversation.

"She's damn feisty, if you haven't noticed," one of the voices spoke. I immediately recognized it as Newt's.

"How could I not? She just broke Gally's nose, for the Glade's sake! And don't act as if you don't like that, shank," Frypan teased.

I hadn't intended on spying on their conversation for too long, but since I was the subject of discussion . . .

"Oh, do shut up." Newt scoffed, his accent even thicker. "You forget how many shanks Alby and I had to threaten with the Slammer to dissuade them from trying anything."

"I wonder what job she'll get," Frypan mused. "If she gets to be a Builder, that's some tough luck on her, since Gally's the Keeper and all."

"Not while I'm here, she won't. What kind of shank would make a girl a Builder?"

"Yeah, probably not," Frypan agreed. "Anyways, I highly doubt she's strong enough to be a Builder."

"Want to bet on it?" asked Newt, and even though I couldn't see his face, I was almost entirely sure he was grinning.

Frypan let out a hearty laugh. "Not after what she did today, my friend."

I decided it was time to leave my hiding spot. The sound of my footsteps gave me away, and the two boys instantly turned to face me. Frypan's forearms were dusted with flour, whereas Newt's were resting on the table between them.

"Newt, Frypan," I greeted, turning towards the latter. "Could I please have some hot water?"

Newt muttered a greeting as Frypan said, "Sure, shuck-girl!" and headed back into the kitchen.