Page 14 of Faun Over Me

Nathan Payne was coming to the camp. Avery could suffer one lunch. She could act with grace for a meal, and then he would be gone.

Easy.

7

Cricket

From her table at the far end of the dining hall, Cricket watched the campers with a mounting sense of awe. Her cousin had written about the camp, and for years, Cricket had read descriptions of human and inhuman kids sitting together, laughing together. Forming friendships and romantic involvements. But to see it firsthand was something stellar indeed. Where else could a naga and a gnome share a piece of cake? Where else could she watch a teen girl teaching a skunk ape how to twirl spaghetti with his fork?

Gods, she wished her parents were here to see what she did: a future, hope, a world outside of Green Bank and its ever-shrinking forest.

A plastic tray slapped against the table, and a figure slid into the seat opposite Cricket, obscuring her view of the campers. She blinked, gaze refocusing on the pale, freckled face and frizzy red hair of Avery.

She offered a tight-lipped smile as she settled, placing her hands in her lap and bowing her head.

“What are you doing here?”

Avery snapped her head up. “Eating?”

“Yeah, no duh. I mean here.” Cricket waved her fork over the table, where she’d been perfectly happy sitting alone. “Don’t you have campers to sit with?”

“That’s not … that’s not really how it works.” She raised her hands from her lap and straightened her fork. “I’m the Assistant Director. I’m not in charge of a singular cabin; it’s my job to make sure the campers are comfortable and having a nice time, dinner included.”

Cricket stabbed the bowl of sprouts, grains, and roasted vegetables Nurse Almaden had put together for her at the buffet. “I’m not one of your campers.” She pointed the bite at Avery before shoving it in her mouth.

“No, but you’re in the camp, and you’re eating our food, so for all intents and purposes, you’re one of us.”

“Right.” She shoved another forkful into her mouth, chewing loudly before asking, “Did you get your filing done?”

Avery, who had bowed her head again, peered at Cricket beneath thick lashes. For the briefest instant, she thought she tracked annoyance in her expression, and then the girl dropped her gaze away, mumbling something unintelligible.

“What was that?”

“I said, ‘no’,” Avery snapped. “I didn’t.”

“I thought you had to submit an insurance claim.”

“I did. I do, but I …” She glanced side to side, cheeks flushing a sweet shade of pink.

Cricket set her fork down and laced fingers under her chin, lips curling in amusement. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

“I don’t know what you are,” Avery squeaked. The pink blazed hot, cherry tomato red. “The form asks what species you are, and I don’t … I’m not …”

“Woooooow.” Gripping the edge of the table, Cricket leaned back, drawing out the moment with feigned shock. Of course, the human wouldn’t know what she was. As far as Cricket knew, no one did. The faun, at least, her family unit, had dropped through the veil fifteen years ago and remained hidden.

Not even the people of Green Bank spread the word of their fae friends in the forest. The faun kept the predators away, planted produce, and tended the earth, and the people of Green Bank bought their vegetables and thanked them for the lawn care. Being an isolated town smack dab in the middle of a radio-free zone, the people were almost as technologically adverse as the faun. Just like the song said, their little patch of West Virginia was almost heaven. Until recently.

But apparently, Avery had no idea the faun were unheard of, and the opportunity to watch that lovely blush color her cheeks was too good to pass up.

“You’re the Assistant Director of an integrated camp, and you can’t tell one inhuman from another?” Cricket clicked her tongue, ears twitching underneath her curls. “What, do we all look alike to you?”

“No!” Her eyes bugged, and her lips formed a plush, lovely circle. “Oh my goodness, not at all.”

“Oak and ivy, your face.” Cricket pealed with laughter, wrapping arms around her stomach as the human turned deeper and deeper scarlet. She didn’t even care that her laughter came out in short, bleating bursts. “I’m totally messing with you.”

She grinned at the human, tears limning her eyes from the laughter, and then froze at the new look on Avery’s face. Her eyes were wide but reddened and sheened, her brow wrinkled and lower lip trembling. In that look, Cricket knew she’d gone too far, teasing someone who took herself far too seriously.

“Hey,” she said in a low voice, reaching across the table. Without giving thought to the gesture, she pressed two metal-capped fingers lightly against Avery’s hand. She stared down at the touch and then jerked her arm away as if she’d been burned. Cricket kept still, taking the insult in stride. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”

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