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...
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"THAT TABLE IS the table," Doug pointed to the longest picnic table that was still blessed with the Homestead's shade in this scorching noon, "Reserved for only the higher-ups. Not all of 'em are here, though. There's Nick, of course —Alby, Gally, Zart, and Winston."
The newest Greenie, Hank, looked at the group in wonder, "Who else are there?"
"Frypan, but he's too busy serving us our food right now—"
"Whoa, his name is Frypan?"
"I don't think so. But people has been calling him Frypan since forever, I don't even remember what his real name is," Doug continued, "Two are Runners, Minho and Frankie. They're both still in the maze. And then there's Newt."
Sensing the uncomfortable air of reluctancy, Hank let his curiosity get the best of him, "What about him?"
Doug glanced around, as if afraid to be heard.
"Sick in bed. Let's have it at that."
Hank eyed the former-Greenie-appointed-tour-guide, hoping to get more, but Doug's tone of finality suggested that he should dig into his meal while it was still hot. And he did.
Two figures suddenly entered the Glade from the South Door, catching the Greenbean's attention. One of the Runners stopped only two steps in, bent over, while the other collapsed into a crumple of heap on the ground.
Hank noticed that both Alby and Nick checked their watch before running to his and her aid —her.
"That's a girl?"
"Oh, yeah. That's Frankie and Stephen," Doug furrowed his thick eyebrows together, "Funny. Runners are not supposed to be back 'til a couple hours."
"Frankie's a girl?"
"A nickname. I don't know her real one either. She's the only one here. One of the first Gladers, too."
The girl looked like she'd just run countless miles. Face red, clothes soaked, skin covered in a mixture of soot, dust, and sweat. The tips of her tied hair were stuck to her neck due to her abundant perspiration. The boy laid on his back, his fingers gripping whatever could be gripped from the huge stone blocks that made up the floor of Glade's courtyard.
"Frankie?" Nick jogged up, clearly upset, "What happened? Why're you back already?"
"Tripped and fell," Frankie said between her heavy breaths, "Something wrong with his leg. Call the Med-jacks."
Alby didn't waste his time to run back. He returned less than three minutes later with two glasses of water, Clint, Jeff, and a palanquin in tow to Nick tending the injured boy and Frankie hanging about, observing her running companion with a nonchalant expression.
When she saw the helping party arrive, Frankie began stretching her legs and arms. "Alright, I'll leave him to you guys."
"And where are you going?"
"Back to the Maze," Frankie groaned when she felt a knot in her neck snapped with an audible crack, "Still got a few good hours."
"A few good hours won't get you anywhere good, Frankie. Might as well take a nap," Nick interjected.
Stephen let out a strangled cry when the Med-jacks lifted him onto the handmade stretcher.
"Something's definitely broken," Clint remarked, seeing how Stephen's face contorted with immense pain.
Nick and Alby looked at the poor boy for a second and the next, Frankie was already halfway into the maze. Before anybody could call her back, she turned left and disappeared behind a tall, stony corner.
〰️
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DINNER HAD BEGUN, the sun was slowly setting, Runners had returned —a few had even finished drawing his route of the day.
Hank watched some of the elites (that was what he decided to call the Council) pacing anxiously by one of the Maze's Doors. Even Frypan glanced at its direction every few seconds and Gally, who appeared indifferent, couldn't take his eyes off the barren opening.
"Two minutes," Nick announced, loud enough for him and Doug to hear at the edge of Deadheads. After yesterday's Tour by the four eyed first-in-command, Hank knew that the Doors were two minutes away from closing.
He glanced to the boy next to him, eyes closed, head leaned against a tree's bark, "Hey. Aren't you worried?"
"One month in here, I stopped seing Frankie as a damsel in distress," Doug said, "You should, too. Watch closely, she'll be back right before the Door snap close."
At first, it was a distant echo. Then it turned into heavy footsteps, its sound reverbrating against the walls and ivies. Then her petite figure emerged from the shadows just as the right Door began to move towards the left. She managed to slip through the small space, and once her feet were firmly planted within the Glade, the menacing sound of stone against stone stopped entirely. The Doors were shut.
"I have my watch, Minho, slim it," Frankie said before anyone could blurt out anything.
"Not a reason to give us a shucking heart attack!" Minho slapped the back of her head hard (much to Hank's surprise), "One more of this buggin' stunt, I'll forbid you from entering the Maze ever again."
Frankie ducked to eschew from Minho's second headslap and began jogging away, "Map's waiting, shuckface."
"You're shucking jacked."
"Good that."
When the girl began jogging towards the Map Room, passing the two newest Greenies, Hank could finally get a good glimpse on her feature.
Mediocre height, slim and built body, wavy jet-black hair tied up high, thick eyebrows, mesmerizing hazel eyes, button nose, thin and pale lips. She looked about fifteen or sixteen years old.
"There you go!" Doug remarked with a crooked smile, "Ten times this month."
