Flicker ~ Newt

5. Lightning

Elaine

I walk into the dining hall just as the last hints of sunlight disappear beyond the Glade's walls. There's a hush to the air, the kind of quiet that feels earned after a long day. For once, I feel peaceful—almost like I belong.

Then I spot him.

Newt. Blonde hair messy as ever, head thrown back in laughter, a deep, honest sound that punches me right in the chest. My heart stutters in that weird, fluttery way, like it's not entirely sure it wants to keep beating.

"Newt, that's disgusting." I say, raising an eyebrow as I stride closer. He's just wiped his hands on his pants. Again.

Newt blinks at me, amused and confused. "What?"

"Napkins, blondie. They exist. Use them. It's called basic sanitation." I smirk, arms crossed.

He grins, completely unbothered. "Didn't realize I had a mum here."

"I'm not your mom. I'm just the only one around here with common sense," I shoot back, rolling my eyes as I move toward Frypan, who's ladling soup into bowls like a man on a mission.

Living with over twenty boys is like signing up for a lifelong cleaning job I didn't ask for. I find myself picking up after them more than Chuck does—and that's literally his job.

"Hey Fry!" I wave as I reach the front.

"Hey, El! You meet the new Greenie yet?" he asks, handing me a steaming bowl of soup.

"Yeah. He's sweet. Bit of a wreck when he came up, but aren't we all?" I pause, sighing. "Still, kind of a bummer he wasn't a girl. I was hoping I'd finally get some backup around here."

Frypan chuckles. "You hold your own just fine."

"Oh! Do you have any napkins or tea towels?" I ask suddenly, balancing my bowl precariously in one hand.

He rummages under the counter and pulls out a surprisingly clean stack. "Why? Planning to redecorate the Glade?"

"No. Just trying to civilize it, one step at a time." I smirk. "Can I take... all of them?"

He raises an eyebrow but passes the stack over. "Go for it. It's not like any of these slintheads use them anyway."

As I head back through the hall, I drop a couple of napkins at the end of each table like I'm blessing the place with cleanliness. I once had to physically stop a boy from eating with hands covered in dirt and... something sticky I chose not to identify.

Grots.

By the time I get to our table, Newt's still chatting with Minho, Chuck, and the Greenie. My stomach growls like it's ready to mutiny. I plop down next to Newt, sliding the napkins toward the others like they're precious treasure.

"You clunkheads need to start acting like actual people. It's like living in a zoo," I mumble as I settle in and spread the napkin over my lap like a damn queen.

It's been a month since I came up in the Box. I still want out—God, do I—but there's something oddly comforting about the routine. Wake up, eat, work, eat again, work more, dinner, sleep. Rinse, repeat.

The new Greenie's name hasn't come back to him yet, but I meant what I told Frypan—he's not so bad. It took hours to coax him out of the Box. He was scared out of his mind, chucking things at anyone who got close. Poor Newt caught something hard to the shoulder—big ugly bruise to prove it.

I glance at him now. He's got his usual calm air, but I swear there's still a slight wince when he moves that arm.

I've made friends with almost everyone here. I like to think it's because I work hard, not just because I'm the only girl. If I'd come up here expecting people to wait on me... I don't even want to imagine the reaction.