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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"YOU BETTER TELL Minho."
"I'm not even talking to Minho," Frankie said, retying her shoelaces.
"Yeah, about that. When will this bloody feud end?" Alby leaned against a solid tree bark, looking at her.
"It was embarassing."
"If me announcing to the world how I hugged Minho and cried together with him on our First Day will make you talk to him again, I would," Newt remarked.
Frankie could see Minho and Nick glancing their way from afar.
"Just leave it."
"Hey, I'm second-in-command," Alby raised his eyebrows knowingly, "And I'm not letting one of my friends run the Maze alone with a stomach bug."
"I won't be alone. There's Ben."
Right on cue, the strawberry-blonde haired boy with toothpaste advertisement grin arrived at the tree grove.
"Frankie's not runnin' today, shank," Alby announced, "She's sick."
"Frankie's running, whether you like it or not."
"Frankie should stop referring to herself with 'Frankie'."
"Ben," Newt called him over and said warningly, "Any sign of her tripping or paling, you make sure both of you turn around and get back here immediately, hear that?"
"Good that."
"Okay," Newt slapped Ben's broad shoulder as a sign of agreement, "You may go."
Alby nudged Newt hard with his elbow and whispered as loud as he could, "What do you think you're doing?"
"We can't stop her, you know that."
"Don't say a word," Frankie pointed her finger towards the two boys with squinted eyes and warning tone, "to anyone."
"We won't if you come back safe and healthy."
"Eat your klunk, shanks."
"That's Minho's food and you know it."
"Oh, shuck off," Frankie grumbled. She made sure to slap the back of Newt and Alby's heads as she made her way towards the Maze.
The pain was just an uncomfortable throb under her bellybutton in the morning, but running for miles and for hours wasn't exactly helpful to the situation.
I can't stop now. I can't. I'm fine, I can do this.
Ben touched the last dead end wall first with a whoop, "Yes! Lunch time!"
Ben joined the Runners nearly one year ago. He used to run with Dave, who came a few months before him, but Minho assigned him to accompany (more like keep safe, but even Ben himself knew it would be the other way around) Frankie.
He was a bit stiff about it at first —she was kind of an urban legend afterall. And her introvert character didn't pin her as particularly friendly either. So Frankie devised a game: whoever reached the wall of the last dead end later must carry both of their gears and lunches until they reach the Cliff.
Frankie slowed down, planted her palm on the wall and bent to rest the other on her knee. The pain had turned into stabs and snaked its way up to her whole abdomen.
"Hey, Frankie? You good?"
"Fine," she said as firmly as she could.
"Shuck. I'm supposed to bring you back unscathed," Ben said worriedly, "Here. Let's have our lunches here."
Frankie slid down and leaned her back against the wall with a huge grin, the hugest smile Ben had ever seen on her.
"Relax, shank. I'm good."
"You sure?"
"Very."
She opened her backpack and took out her lunchbox. Ben sat cross-legged next to her and did the same. Frypan had packed extra potatoes, gravy and ham for them, along with two ripe bananas for dessert.
"What do you think of Hank and Gally?" Frankie asked, taking a bite off a potato wedge.
"You mean about their punishments?"
Frankie nodded.
"I guess it was fair," Ben shrugged, "Greenie was clueless, so the scare of seeing the Griever itself is probably perfect for him. And Gally... The Changing is painful enough, isn't it?"
"I suppose."
"Hope we won't ever have to get through it," Ben muttered.
"Want more? This is too much for me," Frankie offered her lunch.
"You usually can hog them all. Your stomachache, isn't it? Where does it hurt?" He waited for a few seconds during which she stayed silent, "I know I'm no Med-Jack or one of the Elites—"
"Elites?"
"Yeah, that's what Hank called you Council members. But you need to tell me so I know what to do. Did you eat something bad?"
"I eat whatever Fry gives me."
"We should head back slowly."
"Eat up first, slinthead. Here, take mine," Frankie smiled. She handed him her share and let him savor every last spoonful while she nibbled on the sweet banana.
〰️
MINHO LOOKED UP from his piece of paper when the Map Room's door swung open and revealed Ben.
"Hey shank," He called out, "What did I say about being back thirty-minutes before the Doors closed? You're five minutes away from being Griever's dinner."
Ben opened his mouth like he was about to say something but then decided against it and ended up looking like a fish out of water. "Sorry."
The younger boy went to take a piece of paper and a pencil then began retracing his steps. He put two notepads full of scribbles on the table.
"Where's Frankie?"
"Not here."
"Wow. Brilliant klunk of information."
"I can make the map alone, trust me," Ben grunted.
Minho remembered his quest to talk his problem out with Frankie today and made a mental note to succeed later.
He decided to recheck his finding of the day first (which was nothing), cross referencing his drawing and notations once more.
At first he couldn't be bothered, but he noticed Ben looking at him every once in awhile through his peripheral vision. It was really starting get annoying.
"Ben."
"What?"
"Stop shucking staring at me. Do you have something to say?"
Ben fell silent and his gaze returned to his unfinished drawing.
Minho put the map on its designated box, unclasped his vest, put down his backpack, and proceeded towards the door.
"Minho."
He turned around and met eyes with Ben.
"Check on Frankie. Last I heard, Nick and the others were persuading her to see Clint."
