How I survived in an all boys glade

Chapter Fifty-five

- Working the stables with Tyrell -

"Hey, Tyrell!" I call out, spotting him near the pig pen, a bucket of feed in his hands. He looks up, brushing a hand across his forehead to wipe away the sweat. "Yeah?" he calls back, turning to face me.

"Mind giving me a hand?" I ask, setting down the bucket I'm carrying beside the pen. My ankle still aches from yesterday's chase, and I wince slightly as I shift my weight.

Tyrell walks over, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "Yeah, sure thing. What do you need help with?"

"Just need a little boost to get over this fence. My ankle's killing me right now," I admit, grabbing onto the wooden slats for balance.

"Yeah, I got you," he replies, crouching slightly to cup his hands together. I step onto his makeshift foothold, and with a small grunt, he hoists me over the fence.

"Thanks," I say with a grin as I land somewhat awkwardly on the other side. He hands me the bucket of food, then effortlessly vaults over the fence himself.

"Show-off," I mutter under my breath, unable to resist a smirk as I start walking toward the trough.

"What was that?" Tyrell asks, his eyebrow arching in amusement.

"Nothing," I reply quickly, pretending to focus on the pigs rooting around in the mud.

"You know," he teases as we approach the trough, "if you hadn't gone running after that Greenie, your ankle probably wouldn't be messed up right now."

"You mean this Greenie?" I say with a mischievous grin, nodding toward Alby and the new kid as they walk past. "Or the one I chased into the Maze last month?"

"Both," Tyrell says with a laugh, shaking his head as he pours the feed into the trough.

I glance over at Alby, calling out, "Hey, Alby! You coming to help clean out the cow pen today?" I make a show of waving him over, knowing how much he despises the task.

"Ha ha, very funny," Alby replies, rolling his eyes. The Greenie glances between us, clearly confused, before turning back to Alby and murmuring something I can't quite hear.

"Now get back to work, you two!" Alby shouts as he walks off, the Greenie trailing behind.

I put on my best impression of Alby's voice. "You heard the man. Get back to work!"

"I heard that!" Alby yells over his shoulder, and Tyrell and I both burst into laughter.

"Looks like it's just us," Tyrell says as we head back to the fence.

"Oh, joy," I reply sarcastically, attempting to climb over the fence on my own this time.

"Careful—" Tyrell starts, but it's too late. I land awkwardly on my bad ankle, pain shooting up my leg.

"God, that hurt," I groan, leaning on the fence for support.

"I told you to be careful," Tyrell says, barely able to keep a straight face.

"Just shut up, would ya?" I grumble, finally managing to stand upright.

He grins as we make our way to the cow pen. "Still gotta deal with the cow shit, boss," he jokes, earning a playful smack on the arm.

"Why do I even put up with you?" I say with an exaggerated eye roll, grabbing a shovel as he picks up a pitchfork.

"You love me, admit it," he quips, laughing as he gets to work.

"I hate you," I retort with mock annoyance, though the grin tugging at my lips betrays me.

We fall into an easy rhythm, the air filled with the sounds of our banter and the occasional moo of the cows. Despite the smell and the ache in my ankle, I find myself laughing, the work feeling a little less tedious with Tyrell's constant teasing. Moments like these remind me that even in the Glade, there's room for lightness and friendship—something I'll never take for granted.