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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FINALLY, AN EVENTFUL day arrived at the Glade.
Chuck had been peering at the silent Box from the moment he opened his eyes, wishing that the new Greenie would arrive faster than they usually would.
"Are you gonna be here when the Greenie comes?" He asked Frankie.
The answer was kind of obvious. She was already dressed in her complete running gears and Minho were packing their lunches a few tables away. But, in spite of that, she still answered him: "No."
"Am I gonna be his buddy, just like what Hank did for me? Who's gonna give the shank the Tour? I wonder what he looks like! Or could it be a girl, so you won't be too lonely here?"
Frankie let Chuck rambled on because she loved how his eyes lit up due to too much expectations.
"Can't wait to see the Greenie, are you, shank?" Minho interjected. He passed Frankie her backpack, which is already loaded with her usual utilities and lunchbox. She put the straps on her shoulders wordlessly and stood up next to her Keeper.
That sounded cringey.
But right.
"Yeah!" Chuck cheered.
"Well, since you're not the Greenbean anymore, you better take care of whoever comes in that Box."
"Good that," Chuck saluted, "Don't die in the Maze."
"Wow. Very motivating, Chuck," Minho rolled his eyes.
"Thank you."
"Come on, Frank. We better hurry up."
"Okay. Bye, Chuck," Frankie bid goodbye with a little wave then jogged to catch up with Minho. In no time, they were already running between two tall walls that made up the stony corridors.
Frankie took out her notepad every time Minho stopped to cut three vines and made an arrow shape with them. Truthfully, her notes looked more like a child's scrawls than writings. Minho tried to understand her notetaking method a few times before, but he gave up. He could only rely on his sharp memories to help Frankie with their map model every evening.
At noon, the two of them touched the last dead-end wall at the exact same time, chuckled a bit, then strolled towards the Cliff with their hands brushing against each other but not entwined.
"Nothing new, again," Minho gruted, stretching with both arms lifted up and back a little bent backwards.
"We'll get out soon," Frankie tried to provide him with consolation.
"Yeah. Just wondering how soon."
It frustated her, how dejected the Keeper of Runners sounded.
"You can't give up, Minho."
"I'm not giving up," Minho frowned, "Who said anything about giving up?"
