How I survived in an all boys glade

Chapter Seven

- Radio? -

After breakfast, I decided to help Frypan with the dishes before heading to try out the slicers with Winston. As we dried the last few plates, a thought popped into my head.

"Hey, Fry?" I asked, glancing up at him.

"Hm?" he responded, focused on stacking a plate into one of the cabinets.

"Have you guys ever thought of asking for a radio or something?"

Frypan froze mid-motion, turning to look at me like I had just spoken a foreign language. "Radio?"

The blank expression on his face was enough to make me mentally kick myself. Right. They probably don't even know what that is. Most of them don't remember the world outside the Glade. The realization made my stomach twist as I realized how easily I could out myself.

"Y/n?" Fry's voice broke me out of my spiraling thoughts.

"Sorry, yeah?" I said quickly, hoping my flustered tone wasn't too obvious.

"What do you mean by 'radio'?" Fry asked, his brows furrowed in genuine curiosity.

I hesitated, my mind racing to find a believable explanation. "Uh... you don't know what a radio is?" I asked, testing the waters. My pulse quickened as I realized how suspicious my question sounded.

"No..." Fry's confusion deepened as he tilted his head. Then, his expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But how do you know about it?"

Panic bubbled up in my chest, but I forced myself to stay calm. I needed a good answer, and fast. "I don't know. The word just... popped into my head," I said, keeping my tone casual. Nice save, Y/n.

Frypan studied me for a moment longer before chuckling, seemingly satisfied with my answer. "Well, I guess that explains why we don't have one. If we don't know what it is, how can we ask for it?"

"Right," I said with a forced laugh, grateful he wasn't pressing further.

He turned back to his work, organizing the forks into a holder on the prep table. I glanced at the clock on the wall and my stomach dropped. It was way past the time I was supposed to meet Winston at the slicers.

"Hey, Fry, I gotta go. Talk later?" I called over my shoulder as I bolted for the door.

"Huh?! Oh, yeah! Good luck!" Fry yelled after me, his voice fading as I sprinted across the Glade.

---

By the time I reached the hut where Winston worked, I was out of breath. He was leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed as he waited.

"H-Hey... I-... I'm so sorry..." I panted, leaning forward with my hands on my knees as I tried to explain. "I... was helping Fry... with the... dishes..."

Winston snickered, clearly amused by my lack of stamina. "Relax, Greenie," he said with a smirk. "Come on, let's get started."

I straightened up, still catching my breath, and followed him inside. The moment we stepped in, the sharp, metallic tang of blood hit me like a brick wall. I wrinkled my nose instinctively, trying not to gag.

"Yeah, you'll get used to the smell eventually," Winston said with a chuckle, clearly unfazed. We stopped in front of a large wooden table piled high with chunks of raw meat. Knives, buckets, and various tools were scattered around the workspace. Winston picked up a knife and turned to me, his expression serious.

"Alright, She-bean," he began. "It's not as bad as it looks. All you gotta do is cut these into smaller pieces and toss them into this bucket," he explained, lifting a container filled with neatly chopped meat. "Think you can handle that?"

I nodded hesitantly as he handed me the knife. I approached the table cautiously, trying not to think too much about what I was doing as I started cutting.

"Looks like you've got the hang of it," Winston said after a few minutes of watching me work. "I'm gonna go talk to Alby real quick about the new animals that came up. You just keep going, alright?"

Before I could respond, he was already heading out the door, leaving me alone in the hut. The quiet settled over me, broken only by the sound of the knife slicing through the meat. I focused on the rhythm of my movements, trying to block out the lingering smell.

The isolation gave me too much time to think, and my mind wandered back to Fry's question. How long can I keep this up? How long until they figure out I remember more than I should?

I shook the thought away, forcing myself to focus on the task in front of me. For now, all I could do was keep cutting and hope I didn't mess up.