EXACTLY FOUR DAYS after Frankie was put under the Med-jacks' care, there were four important news.
One, Frankie was well enough to join whatever feast Frypan had prepared for the rest of the Glade and even manage to finish her usual portion. Minho finally let her take part in the next day's running venture.
Two, Gally was awake. Living up to its name, the Changing really changed him; he became much more snappish, quiet, bitter and easily irritated. The Council members sincerely hoped that this edginess was only due to the fact that he had to spend a whole week, starting tomorrow, in the Slammer.
Three, this month's Greenbean is called Chuck, who arrived in the Box with wet pants and uncontrollable tears. Nick had the time of his life trying to coax him out.
Chuck was a short, pudgy kid with hair curlier than Clint's. Frankie guessed that he was probably twelve or thirteen years old, and it made her wonder what the shuck was the Creator's intention exactly? The kid wasn't even a teenager yet. He was just a kid.
Newt went to help Nick calm the little boy down. At first they thought of requesting a girl's help (Chuck was probably the youngest and the weepiest of all), but his level of talkativeness was probably over her level of tolerance and if it really was, she wouldn't really be much of a help.
Besides, after his whole ordeal, Newt made 'helping other people' his new life purpose. So it kind of fit.
Frankie helped Alby and the other Keepers distributing supplies instead.
That afternoon, their tradition started.
A tall structure of wooden scraps were placed in the center of the Glade and the Keepers surrounded it, each with a burning torch in hand.
"Keepers!" Nick instructed, the flaming conflagration was reflected on his pair of glasses, "Light it up!"
The Glade cheered as their leaders lit the campfire, marking the start of the celebration.
"Whoa," Chuck breathed, eyes wide. He was standing next to Newt, who stood next to Frankie. These two were the only Council members who weren't crowned as Keeper.
"Happy birthday, Chuck," Newt grinned.
"Birthday?"
"Yeah. Figured we don't know when our bloody birthdays are and we all came the same day, time, and way into the Glade. So we just mark the Greenie's First Day as our birthday."
Chuck crinkled his eyebrows in thought, "But isn't birthday suppose to be celebrated annually?"
"We all need the break, anyway," Frankie said.
"Agree. This is nice," Chuck said. He still couldn't leave Nick's side at all, even though the designated guide was Hank, last month's Greenie. Nick barely managed to persuade him to stay with Newt while he led the opening of the Celebration.
Gally came over with two bottles of his infamous concoction (low-quality liquor, mint, syrup, lime, and a secret recipe he never told anyone about). He smirked (probably trying to smile but wasn't really successful at it), "Your share, shuckfaces."
"Thanks, slinthead."
"Ask if you want more," Gally bowed theatrically and excused himself to continue the drink distribution.
"I don't think this is good for your fragile digestion system, Frank."
Frankie took a gulp despite Newt's fair warning and felt the drink burnt its way down her throat, down her chest, and into her stomach, leaving a fiery warmth that spread outwards. Traces of sour, pungent, and skunky flavor remained in her mouth, and she coughed.
"What is that?" Chuck questioned, already raising his arms to touch Newt's glass.
The latter raised his glass high to separate it from Chuck's grasp, "Not for your age, no."
"Gally's secret recipe," Frankie answered with a small smile, "Want to have a sip?"
"Frankie!" Newt scolded.
Chuck nodded aggressively. She put the tip of her glass by his lips and said warningly, "One sip."
The younger boy nodded again and repeated, "One sip."
He drank a small amount and, upon feeling the disastrous taste plus the burning sensation, spit it out to the poor grass beside him.
"No more, okay?"
"I swear I won't drink that again. Ugh!" He made a face, sending smiles on his companies' faces. Newt leaned towards Frankie and whispered by her ear, "I see what you did there. He needs to taste it so he won't ask for more, right?"
"He's a curious kid," Frankie said before taking another gulp and continued the interaction with lighthearted conversations.
"Hey, you klunk!" A few months old Slicer, Jackson, stumbled closer to the three, "That's your name isn't it, Greenie? Klunk?"
He was obviously drunk, and so were his sniggering companies.
"Watch where you sit, there may be dongs there. Oh, wait, those're yours," Jackson grinned triumphantly, referring to the state Chuck was discovered earlier, "Probably it's best for you to be a Slopper. You know, so other people don't have to clean up after you. You can just clean your dong yourself. Klunk."
Tears began to gather on Chuck's eyes and he looked down, shifting in his seat.
"His name is Chuck."
"What?" Jackson slurred.
"I said, his name is Chuck," Frankie repeated, "One day in the Slammer tomorrow, Jackson."
"What?!" Jackson exclaimed, "You can't do that!"
"She can, actually, she's a Council," Newt stated nonchalantly. The commotion began to diminish whatever small celebrations happening throughout the Glade and people started to gather around the two opposing parties.
"You're hurting another Glader, that's a violation of our rule," Frankie stated.
"What hurt? His heart?" Jackson laughed dryly, "Knew it! You're nothing but a weepy, self-seeking whore who doesn't deserve all the special treatments you're getting. Well, boo shucking hoo. What a girl! —maybe that's your purpose here. If we can't get out, we should reproduce."
A fist flew up hard against his cheek, and Jackson fell onto the floor with a loud groan. Either it was the punch, the alcohol, or both, but he was out with a snore after he hit the ground.
It was Minho.
Oh right, the fourth important news. It was Minho's turn to give Frankie the cold shoulder.
No, he didn't totally ice her out like she did. But she noticed that he stopped sitting at the same table as her and decided to mingle with the other Runners instead during feasts. He never made personal references towards her during briefings before and after running. She caught him looking at her direction a few times but he immediately looked away when he realized that she found out about it.
When she was with Newt, he was with Nick. When she was with Nick, he was with Alby. When she was with Alby, he was with Newt.
So him butting in a problem involving her like this was a big question mark.
He flapped his right palm, hissing, "Ow."
"Ow?" Jackson's friend inquired, "You punched him and you're the one who said 'Ow'?"
"What's wrong with being a girl?" Minho bellowed, both arms raised. He was still wearing his Running attire. Frankie could see traces of sot and sweat on his face, his neck, his arms, and his clothes. A nearly empty glass of drink was sloshing over in his hand.
"Are you drunk, Minho?"
"No!" Minho grinned, "This is only my second glass."
"Third," Nick corrected. As much as he wanted to keep peace within the walls, celebration nights were the only times he would dismiss insubordination or crazy talks. It was too fun.
"There's nothing wrong with being a girl," Minho continued as if he wasn't cut off earlier, "She's stronger, wiser, smarter, and definitely shucking better than all of you combined! You cried, you cried, you cried, and you cried (he pointed to random people). So drop whatever klunk you have about her just because she has feelings. What matters is not your gender, it's your shucking attitude!"
Alby whooped, followed by a few claps from the spectators.
Frankie sat silently in her spot, afraid to make any reaction to his enlightening speech.
"Preach!" Newt hooted, then said to her in a lower tone, "We ought to give Minho more drinks more often. His drunken persona is definitely smarter."
"Stop being insecure, slinthead."
Frankie blinked.
"It's not cool. And— And!" He continued, "I heard it, alright, she is not a dude. Being a strong girl doesn't mean you're a boy in disguise. You should see her as a she is and treat her as she deserves! See, like this!"
In a quick spur of the moment, Minho dropped onto one knee, then both, and the feeling of his chapped lips pressing against her skin sent a shuddering jolt through her spine. She jerked in her seat. Minho had planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek.