Author stuff: Whereas I posted the last chapter all from my phone due to issues with my laptop, I'm posting this chapter from my laptop because I'm having issues with my phone. Sounds pretty typical of tech and me.

Or it could just be that my brain's gone to mush. That's probably most likely.


Chapter 11

In Which The Girlie Is Awkward

Graham was good in the Kitchens. Really good. This was a surprise to everyone, including him. Flossy smiled as she watched him and Frypan taste test a few things – the Greenbean's taste buds being far above average. Flossy tried a few of the spices Frypan wanted to add into the dish they were preparing for dinner – a spicy stew of some sort – but after trying some type of dried, ground hot pepper, her taste buds hadn't returned to normal. And she didn't they would any time soon.

Instead, she focused on dicing the onions and chopping up the carrots.

"How are you not crying?" Archie said, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. He'd been assigned the relatively fun task of peeling and cutting up the potatoes. Unfortunately, he had to work next to her. It was the only work space available for him.

"Don't know," she said. Sure, the onions smelled, but they weren't bothering her the way they were the boys.

"You are a freak of nature," one of the Cooks – Aaron or something like that – said, looking from the onions to her. "None of us have been able to do five onions and not cried."

"Were they telling you a sad story?"

"Oh, ha ha."

Aaron-or-something-like-that grumbled under his breath, something that was most certainly an insult, but she didn't hear it. It was probably a good thing Frypan was across the kitchen with Graham. With his sharp hearing, the poor boy would probably have gotten his ears boxed in.

"Finished with those?" another Cook said, gesturing to the onions and carrots.

"Yeah. Go ahead."

He took the cutting board from in front of her and brought it over to the massive cauldron of stew. He slid the vegetables in, scraping off any little bits with a spoon he had with him. He brought it back to her after rinsing it off.

"Think you can handle celery?" he said, offering her up a bunch.

"We have celery?" she said, taking it. "I didn't see any in the Gardens yesterday."

"Zart's going to try to start growing it again. We lost the last batch to some rain about a week ago. A lot of it started rotting. I'm surprised none came up with you."

She hummed and got to work. The Kitchens were nice, she decided. She liked working with the chatty group, and she loved being surrounded by all the delightful smells – the vegetable stew, the yeasty smell of rising dough for bread, the wood burning below the massive cauldron. She could be content there.

Lunch, however, proved her wrong. Teenage boys and young men had an appetite that went unmeasured, especially considering the life they had been forced into. Now, Flossy knew this beforehand, but she'd never experienced it from the other side of the serving station.

She'd never feared anything more in her whole life. And that was saying something.

"Are you sure they're not animals?" she said to Frypan, watching in horror as the sandwiches they'd prepared disappeared quicker than any of them could make. She hid behind the Keeper, peeking over his arm. "Like, absolutely certain?"

"Don't you worry, Girlie," he said, patting her head. She scowled up at him. "They're always like this. They're men. Don't know any man that doesn't wolf down their food like this."

"They're the only ones you know."

"Maybe they'll learn some table manners with you here."

"Hardly. If they're anything like Minho, they'll eat worse just to prove a point."

He laughed at that.

"Come on," he said, sweeping his arm back to a part of the Kitchens she hadn't been to. The area, she noted as she walked over, smelled strongly of yeast. "I need some help with forming the dough. I don't trust any of these shanks."

"Gee," Archie said, rolling his eyes as he worked on more sandwiches from the workstation, "thanks."


Flossy was thankful when, at the end of the day, she was able to sit down and eat her dinner peacefully and without any interruptions. She'd been craving the stew – despite the initial heat that nipped at her tongue – since she could smell everything simmering in the cauldron. It was delicious – and the rye bread broke apart beautifully, soaking up the thick gravy that made up the broth – and she was grateful for the second serving, even though it made her nose run. She felt that she earned it.

The Cooks talked over her. She listened to their words, everything going over her head in a pleasant rumble of sound. She was jolted out of her daze by Frypan tapping her on the arm.

"Good work today, Girlie," he said quietly so only she could hear him. "If you want to join us, I'll vouch for you."

"Thanks, Fry," she said just as quietly. She pat his arm. "But I think I'll stick with being a Track-hoe."

"Do whatever you'd like."

She made a move to clear her dishes, but he stopped her.

"Go get some rest," he said. "There's a Gathering on you three tomorrow. Really think over what you want to do."

She rolled her eyes and gave him a smile.

"I will. Night, Fry. Night, everyone."

She waved at them and headed to the Homestead, ready to turn in for the night. Catching the smell of herself, she pouted.

"Shower," she said, "then bed."

She gathered her pajamas, a clean towel, and the toiletry bag that carried some of the things the Creators had sent up in the box. The bag was a garish pink color. A lot of the things were – clothes being the only exception, which she was grateful for. (They were practical for life in the Glade.) She didn't have a problem with pink, per say, it was that particular shade. A powdery, eye-sore pink that reminded her of something awful that she couldn't fully explain.

Still, it was a way to affirmate that its contents were hers and hers alone. She didn't think any of the boys would want to use her floral scented soaps, but she didn't doubt their curiosity. She just hoped they wouldn't try to steal them from her. She felt more like herself when she used them.

She was halfway out the door of the Homestead when she stopped short. She was going to need someone – someone she trusted – to watch the doors while she bathed. Archie and Graham were still with the Cooks. Nick was busy with the Runners – Newt and Alby were with them, as they'd both run that day. Minho, who'd had a day off, was out as well – though she wouldn't put it past him to try and take a peek. Winston, she trusted, she just figured he was her last resort. Billy, as great a conversationalist as he was, she never really felt comfortable around. Clint and Jeff were both busy tending to a couple of Builders, Slicers, and Bricknicks who'd gotten injured earlier in the day who'd neglected to seek out their help. Which left…

There was a light on in his room, though it was dim. Biting her lip, she quietly knocked on his door. She hoped she wasn't waking him up. She waited, straining her ears to listen. She let out a sigh of relief when she heard some shuffling around inside.

"Yeah?" Gally said as he opened the door, sounding irritated. He looked down at her, surprised to see her. His face softened, although he still scowled.

"Oh, um," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She willed her cheeks, ears, and neck not to blush. Why wasn't he wearing a shirt? He should definitely be wearing a shirt. Right? "Hi? Sorry if I, uh, yeah. Um, do you think you could watch me shower – watch the showers for me? You don't have to if you're tired. I could always ask Winston or –"

"Okay, give me a moment."

He walked away, leaving the door open, to grab a shirt. He slipped it on over his head – she could pick up the smell of soap and something else when he stood next to her. Stiffly, she led the way.

He checked inside – kicking out two boys, who were rather disgruntled with their soapy hair – before gesturing for her to go ahead. She double checked, just to make sure. Seeing that she was alone, she quickly stripped herself of her clothes and slipped into the shower. This time of night, the water was usually on the cool end, so she had to make it quick.

It was a relief to feel scrubbed raw and to wrap herself in clean clothes. She dumped her clothes – save her undergarments, she'd handle washing them personally, thank you very much – and towel into the bin of dirty things. She made sure to hide her undergarments in her toiletry bag before rejoining Gally outside.

"Thank you," she said. She combed her hair back behind her ear and looked up at him. "You didn't have to wait too long?"

"No," he said, pushing off the wall with his back. "It's fine. You're faster than half the shanks here, so don't worry about it."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and gestured with his head and shoulders for her to start back towards the Homestead. Despite the days in the Glade being humid, the nights had a bit of a cool bite to them. She could already feel herself start to shiver.

He kept in step with her. It had her on edge, but his presence was a sense of familiarity and comfort. She wasn't sure if she should – or could – ask him to go ahead without her or walk a little farther away. Her senses around him had been aflutter since he answered his door.

She didn't like it. She didn't like it one bit.

He opened the door for the Homestead, gesturing for her to lead the way in. She ducked her head a little to go under his arm, not that she really needed to, and started towards her room. She felt the unnecessary need to avoid looking him in the eyes. He followed shortly after, to his own room just across the hall from her.

She stopped at her door, opening it and looking back at him. He paused at her voice, meeting her gaze. Something deep inside her trembled and started to try and escape her throat. She felt her mouth grow dry.

"Gally," she said before they parted ways for the night, "thank you, again."

"Really, Princess, it's not a problem," he said.

"Still. I… Um." She tore her eyes away just for a moment. What was happening to her? Why was she acting like this – like a nervous little kid caught stealing some freshly baked cookies? When she met his gaze again, she felt a little breathless. "Good night."

"Night."

She went inside, closing the door and latching it behind her. She needed privacy. And time to think over her stupidity.

Flossy set her things down on top of the trunk and kicked off her shoes and socks. She stretched her arms up and looked at her hammock. She wasn't feeling nearly as tired as she was before her shower. It was probably the cold water and the night air. Yeah, that was it.

Still, she lied down, the hammock rocking as it cocooned around her. She rubbed her face with her hands, allowing herself to feel embarrassed. No one could see her now, anyway.

"Why was I stuttering so much?" she said. "It's not like I haven't seen guys without shirts on before."

She'd seem more than a few bare chests of the boys – most of whom spent the majority of their time attempting to show off to her. It was embarrassing and laughable. For them, mostly.

But it was Gally that she… He'd… never been shirtless around her before. He usually wore an undershirt. And he looked kind of… good. He was sturdily built, not overly muscle-y, like some of the guys. And he had hundreds of freckles. And…

She felt her cheeks and ears heat up. Her heart rose to her throat, blocking her ability to swallow. She brought her hands up to cover her face and hold back the embarrassed squeak. She'd never felt so… giggly before. It was horrible and wonderful at the same time.

"This can't happen," she said to herself. "It's… No, it can't happen. It's just Gally. Yeah, just Gally. It's only Gally."

She could not accept that she might have, sort of, kind of, quite possibly have a crush on Gally. Absolutely impossible.


Author stuff cont'd.: I… don't remember what it's like to have a crush on someone that I know irl. It's been so long. Excuse me while I have a mini panic over here.

What am I listening to? Stuff They Don't Want You to Know (a classic podcast by How Stuff Works)

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