Chapter Five. When You Become a Tripping Hazard #2
Envy bubbles under every inch of my skin.
One wrong move and it’s going to explode out of me.
James is a better student than me. He’s a better rider.
He’s a better metal-crafter. My one edge was my father’s teaching.
And now he’s going to come and steal that too.
My dad has never once expressed he’d rather have any other assistant over me.
Not once. Since I was a kid it’s been that same old joke, best and only don’t always mean the same thing, but in your case they do.
So why does it feel like he’s enthusiastic with the idea of replacing me, like I might cry?
“How will we hide from him, though?” I press.
“How we always have, kiddo. We will be careful.”
No. James is too observant. I imagine his gaze, how I’ve caught him staring at me so many times, especially these past two weeks.
I’ve already feared James might have suspected once or twice before.
That those watchful eyes would catch and confront me.
“James can’t be trusted,” I blurt out. “What if he’s here to find Nity? ”
“Are you saying you think James has been sent as a spy?” Mom bites her lip.
I nod. That’s what my friend Cara calls him—John Murphy’s spy, directed to check any Murphy dragon when they are sold at her family’s auction house.
Dad sighs. “Even if he was, James is here to watch over Hort. Besides, Mrs. Murphy told us James was the one who asked to be here. He and his mother had to persuade John. I am confident he doesn’t know. We just have to make sure it stays that way.”
This is where I need to tell them. Tell them there is a very real possibility James knows about Nity without his parents’ direction or scheming. That he knows because of me and what I did two weeks ago when he wasn’t breathing, when it felt like I was holding a dead body in my arms.
Mom interrupts with her own question. “What kind of boy is he?”
“He’s…” I could do it. End this if I said the right thing. A devastating account of how he acts on the tracks. Primed and probably groomed to grow up like his father.
Dad beats me to it. “He’s a good kid. Quiet. Lonely.”
“Lonely?” I exclaim. “He’s worshipped at school and on the racing tracks. You should see what happens when he walks around. People move out of the way like he’s royalty.”
Dad frowns. “Fans and the other riders flock to him, sure. But I’ve never seen him interacting with them like they’re his friends.”
“Well, yeah, but…” How exactly do I explain the school hierarchy starts and stops with James. He’s on a pedestal. The best grades. The best athlete. The best crafter. All that best creates respect.
Yet I can’t finish the thought. James really doesn’t talk to anyone, does he? That does sound kind of lonely. All that popularity without saying a word. I thought it was an art of deception. Now, I’m not so sure.
I shake the thought away. Next thing you know, I’ll feel half-bad for the guy. And ten minutes ago, when I did that I proceeded to trip into his arms and …
Mom silences us both. “What I need to know is whether he’s like John or not.”
“No,” Dad says. “A victim of John Murphy’s wrath. But I don’t see that in his boy.”
A victim? As my parents share an unspoken look, I forfeit any attempt to press for more information.
They’ve always been like this. I think having me so late in life, after so many miscarriages, made them united in a way I can’t crack.
You missed all the hardships, Mom will say as she hugs me.
But I don’t think that’s right. I think they just hold their hardships close to their chests and then taught me to do the same.
“Farren? What do you think?” I love my mom for desiring my opinion.
But what exactly is my opinion? And would I really let them know my true thoughts?
With everything going on with our family the past year I’ve kept even more of the negative stuff tucked inside.
Gotten too good at pretending. But I could tell them of the rivalry, how he’s out to steal my scholarship, or even how mean he is, how worthless still stings if I let the word roll around too long in my mind.
A victim of John Murphy’s wrath …
“He’s … I guess I don’t know.”
Mom nods. “Our objective will be to make sure he never suspects. Never sees us descend or ascend the cliffs. We’ll have to wake up early to check on her.”
“No, at night. James wakes up early,” I counter.
“Earlier than us?” One of Mom’s sharp eyebrows rise.
I sigh. My parents really don’t know who they have let live with us.
James isn’t a normal teenage boy. He’s a sleepless mutant known at school for always being the first one there, training before the first bell.
I train before the bell too but I can never get there before him.
Once, I arrived two hours early and he had still beaten me, a lone figure crafting and shooting strips of metal at targets. “Yes. Earlier than us.”
“First and foremost, we need to set some ground rules.” Dad rubs his chin. “The first being James can’t go anywhere near the cliffs.”
Mom squares off. “Then first and foremost someone needs to go talk to him and explain that without arousing suspicion or worse, curiosity.”
“Not it,” I rush, petrified of seeing James anytime soon. In fact, maybe I could try avoiding him for the next three months? Maybe that would work.
“I’ll go.” Dad starts for the door but stops and turns before he leaves. “Farren, James is simply a boy, your same age. He’s not scarier than any dragon you’ve cared for.”
I refuse to answer. Something in my gut tells me Dad’s wrong. James has become the most terrifying creature on this sanctuary.