How I survived in an all boys glade

Chapter Eighteen

- A massive headache -

The next morning, I woke up with a pounding headache that refused to fade. I stayed in bed, hoping sleep would return and dull the ache, but after an hour of tossing and turning, I gave up. Reluctantly, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and dressed slowly.

I pulled on a pair of brown cargo pants that had mercifully dried after yesterday's rain and grabbed the last clean top from my dresser—a green t-shirt. I tied it at the back to keep it snug and reached for Newt's hoodie. Even though the sun was beginning to rise, mornings in the Glade could still be chilly.

After lacing up my tan combat boots, I made my way to the eating area.

"Hey! You actually got up yourself today," Clint teased as I sat at the table beside Minho.

Normally, I'd fire back a playful jab, but this morning, I didn't have the energy. Instead, I focused on eating, ignoring the curious glances from the boys around me.

"Hey, Y/N, you good?" Minho asked, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine," I replied, brushing off his concern. I took another bite of my food, hoping to deter further questions, but my lack of enthusiasm only seemed to heighten their confusion.

"You sure?" Winston chimed in. "You didn't even snap at Clint. That's not like you."

"I'm fine," I said with a weak smile. "Just a little tired."

The boys exchanged uneasy glances, but before they could press further, Billy's cheerful voice rang out behind me.

"Hey!" he greeted as he and a few others joined us at the table.

"What's with her?" Gally asked, his gaze fixed on me as he sat across the table.

I sighed, forcing a small smile. "Nothing, just a headache," I admitted reluctantly. "You should go back to bed, then," Zart said, concern evident in his tone.

I let out a soft laugh. "Yeah, not gonna happen," I replied, trying to lighten the mood as I continued eating.

"Why not?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"Because I'm fine. Now can we please just drop it?" I said firmly, setting my fork down. My gaze shifted around the table, meeting their concerned eyes.

"Fine," Alby said, his voice measured. "But if you need anything, just tell us, alright?"

I nodded, giving him a small smile of thanks before standing to put my plate away.

Needing some quiet, I made my way back to my hut to grab my sketchbook, then headed to the Deadheads. It was one of the few places in the Glade where I could be alone. I found a log to lean against and flipped through the pages of my sketchbook. Each drawing was a snapshot of the world outside—or at least how I imagined it. Memories, dreams, fragments of a life that felt just out of reach.

The sound of footsteps on the forest floor pulled me from my thoughts. Panicking, I snapped the sketchbook shut before the intruder could get close enough to see its contents.

"Hi," came a soft, familiar voice. I looked up to see Fry standing behind the log.

"Mind if I join?" he asked, gesturing toward the space beside me.

"Sure," I said with a smile, scooting over to make room.

We sat there in companionable silence for a while, my headache easing as we talked about nothing and everything. Fry's easy demeanor had a way of making things feel lighter.

Eventually, he glanced at the sky, stretching his arms. "I should head back and start on lunch," he said, getting to his feet.

"Want some help?" I offered, surprising even myself.

He looked at me with a warm smile. "Sure. Let's go."

And for the first time that day, I felt a little lighter too.