If asked, any Glader would never hesitate to answer "Frankie" as the toughest one of all. The true protector of the Glade. A runner, a part of the Council, one of the ten original Gladers who built the system and made all the curse words from scraps...
Despite having stereotypes such as 'crying is a sign of weakness' or 'real men never shed tears' embedded in the better part of their brains, everyone had reached an unspoken agreement that it was okay.
It was okay to mourn the loss of a friend. It was okay to feel homesick and lost. It was okay to be scared for yourself or anyone in this tight-knit family.
It was okay, as long as your role was fulfilled and you abide to the rules.
After all, this world is so shucked up, those stereotypes were pretty much outdated right now.
Among those he had had the pleasure of knowing for these last two years, only a handful were still written in Minho's never-been-seen-crying-list.
Frankie included.
Which was why, he was rendered completely helpless when he found the girl (whose face was usually devoid of all emotions, who ran the maze in daily basis, who stood stoically in front of him during Banishments, who kept her cool even when the nine boys she had entered the Glade with were running around pathetically like hybrids of chickens and sissies) actually sobbing big, fat tears at the foot of her bed.
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