Bent Memories [minho]

3 •

| hair |

I realize that I have been holding my breath for too long and that I can actually pass out if I hold it any longer. I exhale quite loudly. Something about that boy makes me feel relieved, but at the same time puts my heart on a race.

My mind gives up on searching for exact answers, so I get up and walk towards the strange big building.

My stomach doesn't shut up from grumbling.

As I enter the place, I can see a staircase leading to the second floor and a dark corridor with closed doors in front of me. This can't be the kitchen, I guess. I leave the place and my eyes catch a small hut beside the building, and through the open doors I see Newt talking to a boy that's wearing an apron behind a counter. He sure does look like a cook. My stomach inevitably squeaks again, so I enter the place without any hesitation.

The apron boy notices my arrival and then nods at me. Newt turns around. "Well hello there. What can I do for you, greenie?" he asks, his thick accent obvious. Another thing I learn about myself in the Glade: I love people with British accent.

"Um, I'm... hungry." At my words, Newt glances at apron boy. Apron boy exhales. "Woman, be thankful there are leftovers." He opens a wooden cupboard nailed to the poor-looking wall, takes out a sandwich wrapped with plastic, and hands it to Newt. "How generous of you, Fry," Newt says as he holds his hand out for me to take the meal.

Fry? What kind of name is that?

"Thank you," I mumble in response.

I scan the room for any signs of chair or table or whatever, and find some in a corner. I sit on the furthest one from the door. When I open the plastic that wraps the sandwich, someone hurryingly barges into the place.

It's the hair-on-fleek boy.

"Newt," he breathlessly speaks, still looking as tired as before. He tries to control his breathing for some time. "The... The greenie is a shucking girl?!" he asks him as he takes in huge gulps of air. Newt, expresionless, points his thumb at me past his shoulder. Hair-on-fleek boy follows it, and when he sees me, he mutters, "Oh. Sorry."

He walks to the counter, and leans on it. "So, my dear shank Fry, I kind of dropped my lunch out there somewhere." He waggles his eyebrows. Apron boy—Fry seems to be his name, or at least that's what Newt and hair-on-fleek boy calls him—groans and opens the cupboard again. "I swear to whatever's out there that there are so many mouths to feed today," he complains, but hands the food anyway.

Just then, another boy I absolutely do not recognize comes running to Newt.

"Newt! The new shank is really a girl?!"

And before anyone can say anything, I sigh.

"Why does everyone ask if I'm really a girl or not? Does being a girl violates any rule in here?" Chancellor Paige told me to be a good actress. And I'll give her exactly that.

The boy turns to look at me, his face tomato red in embarrassment. But there's another thing I notice. The way hair-on-fleek boy looks at him.

Coldly. Like the I'm-judging-you look.

Newt limps to me—that's when I notice he has a limp—, puts his hand on my shoulder. "It's because... you're the first bloody girl to get sent up here." I widen my eyes, acting as if surprised.

"Wait. How many of you guys are here?" I ask, squinting my formerly-wide eyes.

"About 50 or so."

My eyes widen once more. "Freaking hell. I'm the only girl here?"

Newt seems to get the message. "Don't worry, we won't do anything. It's a rule in here. Never hurt another Glader."