Train

by xNewtx

"He was so mean to me, and I didn't even realize what was happening until the last second—it was like a train slamming into my chest at full force, shattering my heart on impact and scattering useless emotions everywhere." Takes place a week or so after Thomas's arrival in the first book, but time is weird and Teresa comes in a lot later. Newt and OC relationship :)

4. Pajamas

"Alright, here's where you'll sleep."

Newt gestures to a bleak, square-shaped room on the upper level of the Homestead. It's small, consisting of only two shelves pressed to the wall and a tiny bed.

"You're lucky, you get your own room. Us guys have to sleep in very uncomfortable, crowded quarters."

I flop down on the bed and wince. It's as hard as a rock.

"I wouldn't exactly call this comfortable."

Newt rolls his eyes, smirking at my attitude, and places my bundle of extra clothes on one of the shelves, along with a backpack and a few other things.

"Be grateful," he scolds, his soft eyes meeting mine. "And, it's bedtime."

I scoff, laughter in my eyes. "I'm not three years old, Newt; I think I can set my own bedtime."

"You should still get some sleep-trust me, you'll need it. I'll be waking you up early tomorrow because its time for you to spend the day with some of the Keepers, find out which job is best for you."

I groan and reluctantly get up to rifle through the clothes, once and then again.

"I don't have any pajamas," I say.

"Oh. I can...look for some...," he mutters, almost to himself, and then exits the room.

Once he's gone, I start looking around my "bedroom". I guess it's not that bad compared to the other Gladers' sleeping quarters, which are so jam-packed I don't know how anyone can sleep.

Newt re-enters my room, sooner rather than later since his is just down the hall. He's carrying a forest-green T-shirt that looks like it would go down to my thighs. I notice his cheeks are bright red when he says,

"Um, this should do for a night, and we can get you real pajamas tomorrow."

I don't question him when he quickly tosses me the shirt and calls,

"Goodnight, Kelly."

"'Night, Newt," I reply, liking how my name sounded when he said it.

He shuts the door quickly and I hear him sigh with relief on the other side. I smirk.

I put on the soft shirt, thinking nothing of it, and slide into the sheets of my bed. The shirt smells nice, like freshly-cut grass and soap. I snuggle into it until I realize whose shirt this must be.

"Shuck, Newt."

My cheeks burn, again, and I try to think of anything but him-anything else about my first day in the Glade.

Finally giving up, I fall asleep to thoughts of the blond-haired boy with the limp.