Chapter Twenty. When You Receive an Anatomy Lesson #2
I lose, naturally. She’s got fifty-three pieces to my measly thirty-eight. When she begins to brag, I let her have her winnings.
Hours later as I lay down in the warm grass, a wyvern feet away sunbathing, and Farren quizzing me on the difference between wyvern and dragon anatomy, I realize how much I was deprived in my old life.
I don’t think I ever truly appreciated how good sunlight can feel against your skin.
The sun was but another obstacle in a race, blinding you, dehydrating and exhausting you.
Wind was a troubling inevitability experts calculated to determine if it was safe enough to compete.
Time couldn’t be wasted on anything, especially enjoying a peaceful afternoon.
So, when Farren flops down beside me and we simply breathe together in the grass all I can think is this is everything I want for the future. I could pretend and scheme and never speak of my feelings if we still had moments like this.
Then Farren rolls to her side, head propped in her hand. “Do you have a type?” Her voice is soaked in curiosity.
“Type? Favorite type of dragon?”
She laughs. “No, like the type of person you find attractive.”
I jerk upward, needing to be vertical for these kinds of questions. “Why are you asking me this?”
“Because I thought it would help with the pretending to hate one another. When my mom talked to me yesterday, the conversation became this whole thing about attraction because I said you weren’t my type and I wasn’t yours.
” She stops. “But then I realized I couldn’t exactly follow up with any specifics and I think it could help if I knew those. ”
“I don’t know,” I lie.
“Really?” She sounds both unconvinced and surprised. “You don’t even have like, deal-breakers?”
I’m panicking, trying to erase Farren’s picture from my head, especially her bathed in sunlight and her pretty blue cotton dress on the ground next to me.
I have to give her something or she’s not going to let this go.
“It would be nice to be with someone who knew how to ride. But not despising dragons is the minimum.” There are too many people out there who use dragon metal, but when faced with a real-life dragon would run or try to kill them out of fear.
One of my nightmares is dating someone who hated Hort, who could even fathom hurting him.
I think that’s a part of why my father forcing me to descale Hort broke something inside of me.
My arm and the last thread of trust between us, yes, but something else too.
I didn’t bond with my dad much growing up, but we always had dragons, always.
In one single moment, he tarnished all those memories.
Mom was apathetic toward the creatures, dismissing our conversations about flight maneuvers, training advice, and temperament.
I don’t want a relationship like theirs, forged from money instead of any common interest. Some say metals shouldn’t mix, but I think the same goes for certain personality types.
“So true. I couldn’t like someone who was mean to dragons,” Farren says.
I take a deep breath and return to looking at Dr. Walsh’s medical notes, hoping she’s done. Because listening to how we could be great together is too agonizing.
“But you don’t even have a preference on body type or hair color? I thought all guys had preferences.”
I flip a page in the journal, act busy. “Did you and your dad operate on a broken keel here?” The keel is the boney extension of the sternum, which allows dragons and birds flight.
I’ve heard normally dragons have to be put down if the keel becomes too damaged.
It’s why dragons’ chests are the most vulnerable. The case sounds fascinating.
“I’ll tell you if you tell me your type.”
I look Farren in the eyes. My crush started because of who she is.
When you’re surrounded by beginner dragon riders, who, like you, are afraid of even touching a dragon, a girl brave enough to help brace a broken leg does something to you.
My initial fascination turned to admiration not long after and has stayed steadfast ever since.
To tell Farren about my type would be to describe her.
She’s funny, she’s kind, she’s smart, and she’s ambitious and curious in a way that’s unmatched.
More than anything though she doesn’t stand by, she never just watches.
But I couldn’t possibly tell her I never had a type because she’s been at the center of what I’ve found attractive since I was twelve.
Therefore, I lie. “I like curvy brunettes who don’t need glasses.”
“Oh, the opposite of me in every way?” She rises to her knees and pushes my shoulder. “That’s such a jerk response,” she says, but she’s also laughing. “The glasses dig was particularly uncalled for, Murphy.”
I don’t know if I should laugh or cry. She’s so cute and yet so at peace over me not liking her.
“What’s your type?” I must hate myself because I know the answer will hurt. She admitted she told her mom I wasn’t it. She’s tall, about an inch or two more than me, so I imagine someone taller than her. Something I’ll never achieve.
Her laughter dies. “I don’t know.”
“Walsh. You just established that’s not an acceptable answer.”
“Truly, I don’t know. Looks-wise I just don’t care.” She tucks in her knees and glances at me. “Does that make sense?”
“Sure. But then, there must be something. Deal-breakers or personality criteria?”
She tilts her head in thought and her short blonde hair spills over her shoulder.
So pretty. “I would want someone kind.” She answers slowly as if she’s really thinking it out.
“Who I wouldn’t be afraid of showing Nity to.
Who I’d trust never to hurt any of the dragons here.
” She takes a breath. “But moreover, I want the person I date to be my best friend.”
This is how I know my crush on Farren isn’t going anywhere.
Because as soon as she says all this, all I can think is I could be that guy.
I want to be that guy. I basically am that guy except the best friend part.
Until this summer I’d thought even a friendship impossible.
Yet, the sun seems to glow with opportunity.
Sprawled out in the grass talking about our lives, Farren could easily become my best friend, something I’ve never had before.
And maybe, just maybe, she could tolerate me long enough that I become hers.
“Sounds nice,” I admit.
“Thanks, Murphy.” She offers me a small smile before launching into the broken keel case.