How I survived in an all boys glade

Chapter Sixteen

- Soaked -

As I made my way to the clotheslines, the warm sun still lingered, casting a golden hue across the meadow. A gentle breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers, wrapping me in its comforting embrace. The clothes swayed lazily, their vibrant colors dancing in the sunlight.

A cool droplet landed on my cheek, pulling me from my reverie. Confused, I glanced up to find dark clouds rolling in, their heavy presence threatening to blanket the serene Glade in grey. The first few drops soon turned into a steady drizzle, and I quickly set to work, hurriedly gathering the clothes.

Before I could get far, rain poured down in earnest, soaking everything—including me. Justin and Theo came sprinting toward me, their feet kicking up splashes as they ran.

"Just bring 'em to the washing hut!" Justin yelled, grabbing a basket of wet clothes and darting off.

As I reached for a hoodie hanging on the line, a sudden realization hit me. "Oh, shit!" I yelled in frustration.

"What is it?" Theo's voice was tinged with worry as he paused, holding an armful of damp shirts.

"I just remembered—all my warm clothes were hanging out here," I admitted, staring in dismay at the thoroughly soaked garments.

Theo burst into laughter, his voice cutting through the rain. "Seriously? That's your biggest worry right now?"

"Come on, guys! We have to get this inside!" Justin called, returning with an empty basket. With a resigned sigh, I loaded up the remaining clothes and followed the boys to the washing hut. Together, we hung the wet garments inside, the rhythmic patter of rain on the roof accompanying our efforts.

As we trudged back toward the sleeping area, Minho's laughter greeted us. "Could you guys get any wetter?" he teased, pointing at our soaked shirts, which clung to us like second skins.

Glancing down, I realized just how bad it was. My shirt was plastered to me, leaving nothing to the imagination. Embarrassed, I quickly crossed my arms. "I think I'll just go change really quick," I mumbled, peeling off from the group and heading toward my hut.

Once inside, I wasted no time. I yanked off my shirt and grabbed a towel to dry myself, shivering slightly in the cool air. My makeshift dresser—courtesy of Gally—offered slim pickings: three tank tops and two pairs of shorts. With little choice, I grabbed a half-button black tank top and a pair of green shorts.

As I changed into the dry clothes, a familiar voice broke the silence.

"Isn't that a bit cold?"

Startled, I looked up to see Newt standing in the doorway, dripping wet. His soaked tank top clung to his frame, revealing lean muscles that sent an unexpected blush to my cheeks.

"Well, it's not like I have much of a choice," I replied, focusing on tying my boots to avoid staring.

Newt chuckled and stepped closer, holding out a towel. "Here, use this to dry your hair—don't want your dry clothes getting wet too."

I took the towel gratefully, feeling a little sheepish. "Thanks," I murmured, quickly patting down my damp hair.

As I dried off, I couldn't help but notice how close he was standing. His presence was warm despite the rain, and I found my heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the storm.

When I finished, I handed the towel back with a smile. "Thanks, Newt."

He returned the smile, his hazel eyes glinting. "No problem, love. Let's get back to the others before Minho starts spinning ridiculous stories about us."

I laughed, the sound easing the tension in the air, and we headed out together, the storm still raging but somehow feeling less daunting with Newt by my side.