The box screeches to a halt, jerking hard enough to throw you off balance. You stagger, your hands scraping against the rough metal walls as you try to steady yourself. The ache in your legs from hours—or days?—in the cramped space doesn’t help.
When the doors groan open, blinding sunlight floods in. You shield your face with a trembling hand, blinking rapidly as shapes blur and shift in the brightness. Voices hit you like a wall, sharp and sudden.
“What the—”
“Is that a—?”
“Shuck me, it’s a girl!”
The last words echo loudly, and the air feels like it’s been sucked out of the Glade. Your breath catches as the realization slams into you—you’re not just the new Greenie. You’re different.
And then you notice. The loose shirt you’re wearing, sweat-soaked and clinging to your skin, is ripped along the shoulder, exposing more than it should. Your shorts ride high, and your legs are bare, dirt-streaked and trembling in the open. The way the boys stare feels like a physical weight pressing down on you, their eyes tracking every inch of you, some shocked, others curious, too many unkind.
“Enough!” a sharp voice barks.
The crowd parts, and a tall boy with dark hair steps forward, his expression stern but clearly uncertain. “Everyone back to work!” he shouts, his gaze flicking toward you but not lingering. “Move it!”
The others hesitate, muttering under their breath, but they start to disperse. You try to breathe, but it’s impossible under the lingering stares, the weight of being so seen.
The boy looks at you now, fully. His blue eyes narrow slightly, like he’s trying to make sense of you. “What’s your name?”
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You don’t know it. You don’t know anything. You shake your head, fighting the lump rising in your throat.
He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “Figures. Welcome to the Glade. Name’s Alby. And just so you know, we don’t care if you’re a girl. You pull your weight, or you’re out.”
His tone makes it clear what he means.