Chapter Eighteen. When You Create the Pretending Plan
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
WHEN YOU CREATE THE PRETENDING PLAN
FARREN
“Farren?”
I’ve trained myself to wake early. After a lifetime of rising with the sun, sometimes a simple beam of light from my window can rouse me from sleep. I haven’t needed either of my parents to call up to me or bang on a door in years.
“Farren?”
So why am I hearing their voices? Their urgent loud voices.
“Farren, are you here?”
I stir, open my eyes to find only darkness. Darkness and then a boy. James Murphy lays right beside me with the silver hatchling nestled at his chest, his bare chest. The red wool pools around the baby dragon who stole his blanket.
Oh my god, we fell asleep out here. Together. Close together.
“Farren!”
Nity raises her head but doesn’t stand. Which means it can only be my parents calling my name.
I jolt up and there is my mom at the mouth of Nity’s cave, running toward me.
I don’t know if it’s my movement or the noise, but James startles awake too.
He sits up so fast the rest of the red wool blanket slips to his hips.
We share a single moment of confused panic passed wordlessly between us before my mom drops to her knees and squeezes me into a hug.
“Farren, I was so worried. You weren’t in the house and there was no sign of where you’d gone.”
“You’re all right,” Dad sighs, appearing above Mom before swooping us into a group embrace.
“I’m fine,” I tell them. “Nity’s hatchlings are fine.”
“Nity’s hatchlings?” Dad asks.
They both notice Oria at the same time they spot James sitting beside me because Oria has once again climbed James’s chest. All the precautions to not let him, a Murphy, learn this secret tumble back to memory.
James looks terrified as he thrusts out the hand not holding a baby dragon, like he needs to temper their anger. “This isn’t what it looks like. Farren and I—”
“It looks like you witnessed the birth of Rimbacks and that one’s keen on you.” Dad steps toward James.
James leans away, almost like … almost like he’s afraid.
“May I?” Dad asks.
It seems James doesn’t even realize he’s holding Oria, or Oria is holding him, until my father nods to the hatchling.
“Oh. Oh, yeah.” James slowly lifts Oria away from his neck and hands her to Dad. Her scales light up in silver, scared at this new person cradling her. But Nity heaves her way toward us all, presenting Zilar and Electrum.
Mom cries in delight as the boys scamper around her ankles.
“They’re healthy. Passed all their tests,” I insert, since I’m certain they’ll want to know everything about the last twenty-four hours.
“Of course they did. They’re strong,” Dad says, tears in his eyes as Oria presses her nose into his palm and her black scales return. I stand up and pet Oria’s spine. “This one needed her egg crafted open though.”
Dad understands at once. And those tears brimming along his eyes fall. “I’m so proud of you, my girl.” He side-hugs me, careful not to squish Oria.
“James helped too.”
“Thank you, James,” Dad tells him, sincerity dripping from the emotion in his voice.
James scrambles to his feet. “You’re not angry?” he asks, his own voice tilted in bewilderment.
Mom frowns first. Then her eyes swivel from the tangle of blankets, to James shirtless, and then to me, and who knows what I look like.
Wait, no. I’m wearing James’s sweater and pants.
Last night I even took off the belt when I laid down, so I’m currently pulling the oversized cream sweater up onto my shoulder.
“Did something else happen last night?” Mom asks.
“No!” James winces at how fast and guilty that sounds. “Farren, tell them nothing happened.”
“We just slept together—I mean not together. We slept near one another. We must’ve fallen asleep. Or I think that’s what happened.”
“Oh my god,” James mutters. “How are you so bad at this?”
If my parents weren’t concerned or suspicious I spent the entire night next to a half-naked boy, they are now. “You should both wash up, change, and get some food.” Mom arches an eyebrow. “Then let’s talk at the house. We have a lot to discuss.”
Sunrise sparkles in dazzling yellow as James and I climb the cliffs toward home. We’re both quiet, until James breaks the silence with, “I want to stay here.”
I stop, wind whipping my hair as I face him. “Stay here?” I gesture to the black rock around us. “I don’t know about you but I’m starving. And I have to pee.” I return to climbing, thighs screaming. Fatigue has crept in, the little sleep catching up with me.
James tugs at my arm. “No, Walsh. Wait.”
I spin around to meet him. In the daylight, his entire chest becomes hard not to notice.
His puke-stained shirt hangs from his shoulder, I guess too ruined to make this a clothing-required conversation.
I’d thought the darkness had made his half nakedness feel explicit.
But morning has come, and this feels just as intimate.
What’s worse, James seems unbothered, not even cold as wind blows his dark auburn hair sideways.
“I want to stay at the sanctuary. So…” He gives a pointed look. “Let’s pretend.”
“Pretend to what?” I’m like some type of echo machine, repeating back to him with the lilt of a question. But I can’t help it. I need clarity and James Murphy is being anything but clear.
“To hate each other,” James finally explains.
“And what makes you think I’ll even have to pretend to do that?” I joke.
“Nice.” He nods. “Good commitment.”
“No,” I say automatically. Not nice. How was that nice? In fact, that was a bit mean and the guilt of it constricts my throat.
James scans me in that piercing way of his.
“This is going to be easy,” he continues, dimples flashing at me.
For the first time I can kind of see what people mean about James Murphy being attractive.
When he jokes and smiles it makes a little more sense, like the smallest, tiniest bit.
Or maybe it’s just knowing he’s a good person under those dimples.
“I don’t even understand what ‘this’ we are talking about,” I stammer, refocusing on the conversation at hand.
“The fact that you hate me. And we have a problem of people, your parents mainly, assuming the opposite.” He waits for me to get it. “I can’t let your mom or dad think we slept together, Farren. I want to stay here.”
“Okay, so we tell them we didn’t.” I don’t like being lost. I also don’t like how hot my cheeks are simply discussing sex.
I haven’t even talked to Shelly about this kind of stuff, let alone a shirtless boy I was close enough to cuddle.
What are the exact parameters of cuddling anyway?
Does one have to be simply close or actually touching? Did we cuddle?
“That’s what I’m saying. We tell the truth. Just for extra insurance we play it up. Pretend to really dislike each other. We’ll have to do it to protect Nity in front of my parents, in front of everyone. So, toss around some of your Farren animosity and we should be good.”
“My Farren animosity?”
“Yeah, I mean you do hate me, right?”
“Yes. I hate you.” I’m so irritated I agree with him.
But as I take a second to rationalize my anger, the truth of it seeps in.
The one rule. James isn’t afraid of breaking class laws and teaching me silver-crafting.
But he actually fears being associated with me—a known copper.
A class distinction I’ve already surpassed but must forever bear.
The annoyance I felt when James first arrived with his “I promise, that won’t be a problem” rushes back.
Along with the insults that whisper in the back of my mind and shout every time I feel insecure: Worthless.
Know-it-all. Copper nobody. If you think Farren’s attractive you should get your eyes checked.
And I thought after last night we might be friends. But I forgot those awful words came from James Murphy.
So this is better. For my secret, Nity’s fate, and his goals. We can hate each other. In fact, it’s best if we do. James can’t have rumors reach his parents and I need to continue to live this lie. I’m a copper and he’s a silver, and as I’ve heard a thousand times, metals shouldn’t mix.
Only thing is, with him being all amiable and dimpled, I think I kind of forgot what hating him felt like. Now that I know about his dad, his dreams, how can I truly hate him ever again?
“Then we have a deal?” He sticks out his hand and it reminds me of last night.
“Feels like we are making a lot of deals in the last twenty-four hours.”
“Not my normal rate. But this one should be easy, right?”
I take his palm in mine once again. “The easiest.”
He shakes his head, trudging up the cliff face and leaving me with only snarled thoughts. I feel like I’m embarking on the simplest and most challenging task in my life.
I take a breath. I can do this. I can continue to hate James Murphy with everything I have.
I think.