Alex was more or less on her third week in the Glade. That day had been the most pleasant by far. Track-Hoes harvested more bounty than usual. The Slicers turned up with meat so good it kept Frypan grinning throughout the day. Sloppers managed to keep the Glade spotless and had attacked all their handmade tables with sandpaper, making the furniture shine under the sun. Even the Runners stumbled upon some important discovery that remained undisclosed to the members of the Glade's lower echelon. It was for this reason that the Keepers mutually agreed to have a celebration that night. There were plenty of food. There were plenty of lit wooden poles that they all got to throw in the growing bonfire in the middle of the Glade. There were drinks of different varieties.
Alex was happily sipping on a fruit juice when Newt came over and handed her a cup filled with a fizzing golden liquid.
"What is this thing?" she brought the cup cautiously towards her nose and took a whiff. It smelled like bread.
Newt shrugged. "It comes up with the supplies every now and then. Take a drink."
She nearly choked as the liquid bit on her tongue. It continued to bite as it traveled down her throat. "Tastes like piss!" she wheezed. The blonde boy chuckled at her misfortune. "You're a sick dude, Newt. I don't know why you like that thing but I'm never touching that again!"
Three hours later she sat face to face with a Slicer named Tim on a small round table. Empty cups littered its wooden surface along with a pitcher full of the stuff Newt had given her earlier. Both Gladers were red-faced and droopy-eyed, having had one drink too many. Alex cursed her fate yet again and wondered how she had gotten herself in this predicament. And as she wondered she realized even her thoughts were slurred.
Across the table, hovering behind Tim were a group of Gladers whispering words of encouragement on the now squinting boy to take down the Greenbean.
"It all comes down to this Tim-Man. Take that toddler down and we win. Easy peasy," Gally taunted. Alex stuck her tongue out at him.
"Not so fast shuckface. Our boy may be tiny but he knows how to hold his klunk in," Minho shot back. Alex leaned back against him as he massaged her shoulder blades. She shivered at how good it felt.
"Greenie don't you dare make a fool of me in front of those guys. Chug it down and keep it down. Good that?"
"Let's go Greenie, we're almost there! Just you and him now!" Ben chimed. Behind him, Zart and the other Track-Hoes watched with wide-eyed wonder at their last man standing.
"If you guysh want to win shooo freakin' badly how 'bout you chug and I sheer?" Alex slurred. She was starting to feel sick in her stomach. Plus, the drink was doing strange things with her eyes. Everything was spinning.
"Runner duties remember? You can't navigate around those walls shuck-faced and puking all over the place. That's suicide."
"And this isn't?"
Minho rolled his eyes at her. His flushed faced showed that even he had a bit too much of the drink himself. "Just do it Greenie. You get a share of the winnings. There!"
She wasn't impressed. "Whatever."
She wished Jeff and Anton were still there with her. Jeff had been one of the first to go, hurling out his dinner after the fifth glass. Anton had been tougher. But on the semi-finals of their drinking contest, the curly top all but died beside her, his head hitting the wooden table with a loud thunk. They had to bring him to Clint when it became apparent that he wasn't waking up anytime soon.
Frypan and Alby cleared the table, lining up five empty cups in front of each of the finalists. The Leader of the Glade signaled everybody to keep quiet. Frypan stood at one end of the table, a pitcher of the drink in one hand. Alby took his place at the other end of the table, also holding a pitcher in hand.
Frypan cleared his throat before speaking. "Tim, Champion of Team Gally. Greenie, Champion of Team Minho. Are you guys ready?"
"No," Alex spat. Tim merely grunted.
"Alright let's get!"
Before Alby could even fill his second cup, Tim had already taken the first one and proceeded to dump its contents down his throat. Alex had no choice but to follow suit. The whole crowd erupted in cheers and hoots. Team Gally took the lead with one cup as Tim bulldozed through the drinks like a dehydrated camel. Alex drank at a slower, steadier pace.
"Uh-oh," someone exclaimed as she finished her fourth cup. She put it down daintily and smacked her lips. Mmm..yuck.
It was then that she noticed that Tim had paused. His hand clasped tightly around his fifth cup. His face had turned an ugly shade of green as he fixed his now wall-eyed gaze on her and blinked slowly.
"Hey Tim," Minho taunted. "You feelin' okay? You're starting to look like an over-sized beetle blade."
"Why are you stopping klunkhead?! Drink! It's not over yet. Drink!" Gally shrieked. Alex cocked her head on one side. "I don't think you should."
"Shut up," Gally snapped. "He's fine. He can do it. Can't you Tim?"
"You sure about that Tim?" sing-songed Minho. "You look a bit sick. How about a whiff of Gally's feet to take the tummy ache away?" Alex punched him hard in the gut. His backhanded attempts at making Tim feel sick was making her sick as well.
Tim brought the cup to his lips and chugged. On his second gulp, the drink squirted out of his nose. "Oohs!" and laughter erupted from Minho's team. It wasn't long before Tim's gagging brought out his entire guts' contents right on the table top. Alex sighed inwardly. She had just scrubbed that table shiny that afternoon.
"WE WIN!" Ben exclaimed, exchanging high fives with Minho and Newt. Zart had gone over to ruffle Alex's hideous hair.
"Not yet, not yet," Alby spoke up. "Greenie here needs to chug down every last drop of the drink. Then you win."
"C'mon Greenbean!" Minho exclaimed. "Show 'em who's the boss!"
Silence fell on the crowd as Alex took her fifth cup in hand. Wordlessly, she emptied its contents in three long gulps. The third gulp lodged on her chest, refusing to go down.
"He's gonna lose it," someone said.
"This may actually be a draw," Winston said to Gally.
Alex glared at them. With one final gulp, she sent the last dregs of alcohol down her stomach. She felt it rumble in protest for a few seconds before settling down, bloated and stretched to its limit.
Team Minho erupted in cheers. They had won. Unbeknownst to the now drunk Alex, she had just cemented her name as a drinking legend in the four walls of the Glade.
She must have passed out for a few seconds. When she opened her eyes, she was being danced around and bounced on someone's shoulders. She yelped in surprise. Her now worsened sense of balance brought with it a sudden fear of heights. "Ben! Put me down!" As if on cue, she saw the blonde boy doing a jig in front of her. His arms were up and waving around his newly-won glow-in-the-dark shoelaces. Well, actually she won it for him. She looked down and saw thick black hair on top of the shoulders she sat on. "Minho? Hey! Hey-Minho put me down!" Instead of putting her down, the boy grabbed both of her hands, stretched out her arms and spun the both of them like a top. Alex let out a very un-manly shriek that resembled the sound of a dying banshee. She could feel the contents of her stomach bubbling up.
"I'm gonna throw up-put me down or I'll hurl on your hair!"
"Alright, man! Geez!" he kneeled down, letting her wobbly feet touch the ground. Alex dove head first on the earth and stayed down, head too heavy to move.
"Yo, Newt! Give me a hand with our champion here, will ya?"
She heard Newt giggle before having two sets of hands on both of her armpits. The pair proceeded to manhandle her towards the Homestead, leavings her legs and feet to drag against the ground.
"Can you believe this shank?" Newt exclaimed. "I think he emptied a whole keg all by himself."
"This Greenbean continues to surprise me everyday."
"I'm still here," she moaned.
"That was a compliment, slinthead. Newt take his feet."
She felt herself being lifted off the ground them dropped unceremoniously onto a hammock.
"Get some rest, Greenie. You deserve it."
Alex was asleep before Minho could finish the sentence.
Throughout the night she had recurring dreams of piggyback rides and verbal sparring with a certain almond-eyed boy. By morning, she would be too sick to remember any of them.
Author's Note: Finally! The two are talking! Geez, I had to get Alex drunk and give Minho a temporary gambling problem just to get these two together. As always, I LOVE REVIEWS!
