Planet Neverland: A Space Age Fairy Tale (Star-Crossed Tales)

by J. M. Page

  Peter held in his disappointment. There was still time — Tink hadn’t even gone on stage yet.

  “I’d like you all to give a warm welcome to Neverland’s own Damsel of Danger, our Midair Mistress, the fabulously talented and always-ravishing Tinker Bell!” Though they’d been a bit reticent before his introduction, the crowd dutifully applauded for him, the promise in his voice alleviating their hesitation momentarily.

  He gestured to their make-shift stage, set back into an alley so the crowd could gather on the sidewalk, and the lights lowered, fog pouring in from the sides of the stage with just a press of a button on the remote in his pocket.

  While the crowd cheered and the music ramped up again, Peter retreated to the edge of the threadbare curtain, keeping one eye on Tink and one on the crowd.

  She sauntered out onto the stage as if they were the ones there meant to entertain her, not the other way around. Her small frame was lit from behind and as the fog built and gathered around her, Tink disappeared.

  Now, the side lights came on, and the fog cleared to gasps from the crowd — Tink really was gone.

  “Mommy, look!” a little boy cried, pointing up, his jaw slack with wonder.

  High above their heads, Tinker Bell soared, flying and flipping, twirling and twisting, only a thin rod keeping her from plummeting to a broken neck — her hover trapeze.

  The crowd ooh’d and ahh’d at all the right times and Peter watched as more and more spectators joined the group, his smile growing as the congregation did.

  She was nearly done with her routine when someone in a uniform started breaking up the crowd, saying they were blocking the street. Peter didn’t care — he was half enthralled with Tink’s grace, and half giddy with the idea that they may actually have some new additions after this.

  His plans rarely worked out so well.

  As Tink’s performance came to a close, the officer breaking up the crowd lost interest in harassing them. Peter emerged on the stage with a fresh plume of smoke and extended an arm toward the sky, where Tink had disappeared high above the alley — she did love her grand entrances and exits.

  “Let’s hear it one more time for Lady Bell!” he said to the applauding crowd. Just as he’d hoped, they weren’t immune to Tink’s charms; nearly every person in attendance looked thoroughly entertained, but only one pair had that devilish gleam in their eyes that he recognized.

  Good. He had a couple more tricks up his sleeve just for them.

  A ball of light erupted to life in his palm and the crowd sucked in a breath in unison. Peter tossed the plasma ball up a few times, letting it get close enough to a hanging banner to singe the edge and fill the air with the smell of charred paper.

  The gangly pair of twins were more glued than ever.

  Peter tossed the crackling energy into the air and another appeared in his palm, and another, until he was juggling — one-handed, mind you — and then, he stepped off the stage.

  Of course, Peter didn’t fall into the crowd or land on the cobblestone street with a painful crack, he stepped out onto the air and it supported him.

  Heavy planet or no, anti-grav boots always worked. Tink just missed floating.

  He climbed — on nothing at all — up above the crowd as they twisted and craned their necks to follow him. More people gathered around the edges and the officer with the shiny badge decided they were troubling him again.

  “You’re blocking the road, pal. You got a permit for this show? I’m gonna have to shut you down,” he shouted up at Peter.

  Peter ignored the quick burst of indignation that flared within him and turned to the crowd. “You heard the man, folks. Show’s over I’m afraid,” he said, hanging his head. In one last burst of showmanship, he fired the balls of plasma into the crowd, eliciting shrieks and shouts, but each one dissipated just above their heads, earning him another round of applause.

  But the officer wasn’t having it. He didn’t like Peter’s final word and stomped red-faced toward the curtained-off alley, making pointed glares in Peter’s direction.

  He may not know much about this planet, but he knew the importance of a shiny badge. At least he had Tink with him.

  Peter offered the crowd a sweeping bow and a grin. “And remember kids, we’re looking for new additions to our troupe. We’ll be accepting applications backstage,” he said, doing a series of somersaults in the air as he made his way back stage.

  His feet had hardly touched the ground when Tink stomped over to him, her cheeks flaming and her hands balled into fists at her hips.

  "Did you really have to juggle plasma?" she said through gritted teeth. "Of all the showboat moves to pull..."

  "That cop's back here threatening to fine us, isn't he?"

  Tink pursed her lips and glared at him.

  Peter blew out a long breath and ran his fingers through his hair. "Right. Okay, not the end of the world. You're charming, right Tink?"

  Her glare intensified.

  "Oh, come on, don't give me that look. It's just one little officer and one measly little ticket. That's nothing for the Damsel of Danger," he said, lowering his voice in a tease.

  Tink's anger drained with her resolve and slowly she unbunched her fists with a groan. "Fine. But you owe me, mister," she said, thrusting her finger in his chest.

  Peter just grinned as he watched her disappear to the other side of the curtain where she'd undoubtedly work her Tinker Bell charms on that poor unwitting officer of the law.

  His shiny badge never stood a chance.

  Just then, someone cleared their throat behind him and scuffed their toe against the pavement. Peter's face split into a grin, knowing who was there before he even turned around.

  Sure enough, it was the twins from the audience. One, practically bouncing on his toes and the other, curiously examining the props and doodads laying around backstage.

  "Well, hello! Did you enjoy the show?"

  The bouncy one grinned and nodded. "It was awesome! Was that real plasma you were juggling? How do you do that without burning yourself? Can you show me how? That was so cool."

  He seemed content to prattle on, but his brother cleared his throat. "What Michael's trying to say is that we heard your call for new recruits and—"

  "We wanna join you!"

  A glare shot from one twin to the other. "—And we're interested in hearing more about the opportunity."

  Michael sagged a little at the admonishment, but Peter wasn't going to let that stop him.

  "Of course!" he said, clapping his hands together. "Yes, it was real. It's very tricky and I've burned myself a lot. And I would be happy to show you," he said, all to Michael. Then, turning to the other twin, he added, "We're performers. We have our own theater and we pack the house with the greatest show in the land. You could be part of that show."

  Michael's eyes widened and he started bouncing again. "Come on, John. We never get to do anything like this."

  John frowned, considering it.

  Peter flicked his wrist and a new plasma ball sprouted in his palm. Four identical eyes glowed with wonder as Peter turned and twirled the ball in his hand.

  John seemed to shake himself free of a trance and his voice came out broken when he asked, "And what land is that?"

  Peter let the ball disappear and tried to keep his smile from splitting his entire face in two. He had them now, hook, line, and sinker. Now he just needed to reel them in, hope Tink was handling that cop alright, and all would be well.

  “Planet Neverland, boys!” Peter said, clapping them each on the back heartily. “Where all your dreams become reality and responsibilities are a worry of the past.”

  The twins exchanged a look, eyebrows raised, slow grins spreading their faces in tandem.

  “What a load of nonsense,” said a stern voice from behind them, each syllable clipped and short.

  Peter turned to scowl at whoever dared insult his home, but he stopped short, the words dying on his tongue. The twins shared another look
, this time pure dread, as they groaned and slumped with defeat. Peter gave them another clap on the shoulders, extracting himself from between them, sauntering over to the woman with a lazy smile.

  “And what makes you say that?” he asked, his eyes roving over her.

  She had the same strawberry blonde hair as the twins, the same pale complexion, a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. On most girls, it would look quite cute, but cute was not at all the right word to describe the woman glaring daggers at him with her hands on her hips. Her lips were pursed in a sour lemon face and her eyes blazed pure fire.

  “You can’t just have a place where no one’s responsible. That’s ridiculous. Who picks up the trash? Who fixes the leaky pipes when they burst? Who maintains order and reason? Someone has got to be in charge of things. Not everyone can be irresponsible like you,” she said, hurling the words at him.

  Peter feigned a wounded look. “I prefer to think of it as ‘fun,’” he said.

  She looked past Peter — having dismissed him thoroughly in her mind — to the twins, jerking her head backwards. “Come on then, you two ought to be at home, not at…” She paused to look Peter over, her lip curling like she’d just seen something offensively unclean. “Not at trashy street shows. You’ll catch your death in this cold.”

  The twins started arguing and resisting her, but Peter just strolled around her, circling like a curious shark testing the waters. “Have you ever considered show business?” he asked, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll bet you look fantastic in sequins.”

  Her jaw went slack, a total lack of words coming forth as she gaped at him aghast.

  Peter grinned, pleased with his own ability to get a reaction from this girl, but he spotted Tink lurking just beyond the curtain, her face screwed up into a crimson scowl.

  Realizing she'd been discovered, Tink waltzed into the chaotic backstage area and pointedly ignored everyone other than Peter. "He's not going to write us a ticket, but you definitely owe me," she said, dragging the back of her hand across her lips and making a face. The twins watched her with worshipful admiration, drinking in Tink's ample curves and tiny tight waist. If they hadn't been sold on the idea before, Tink certainly provided some sway.

  "Good job," Peter said, returning his attention to the newcomer. She had a hand around a bicep of each of the boys and was muttering about taking them home.

  "Hold on a minute," Peter said, jogging a few steps to catch up to them. "These boys were interested in joining my show."

  The woman's horrified expression seemed more appropriate if he'd said something about the ritualistic slaughter of furry baby animals. "They'll be doing no such thing," she said, her voice tight and clipped. "Honestly, John, what were you thinking coming to something like this? Michael I'd expect, but you're supposed to be more reasonable." She started dragging them out of the alley again. They didn't resist much, but sent longing looks over their shoulders, still practically drooling over Tink while being reprimanded.

  Peter hurried around to cut off their escape — there was only one way out to the street and it was through him. "And who are you to say so?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest.

  He had to admit, she was quite pleasant to look at — or she would be if she ever stopped scowling at him like a plague-bringer in a hospital.

  She huffed at him and blew a bit of fringe off of her forehead, not releasing the twins for anything. "Not that it's any of your business, but I'm they're sister and I'm the one in charge of taking care of them. Come on," she said to the twins, trying to use their considerable height to intimidate Peter into moving out of her way.

  He stood his ground, smirking even as Tink quietly fumed behind them, making gestures to suggest they should just forget the whole thing. Peter wasn't going to forget, though. He needed performers or his show was going to have to shut down, and twins? Well, he was certain he could find a use for them, all their enthusiasm aside.

  "Does the sister have a name?" he asked.

  "Wendy," said one of the boys — Michael he thought, but it was harder to tell them apart now that they'd moved.

  "Wendy," he repeated. "A pleasure. I'm Peter."

  She rolled her eyes. "And we're leaving," she said, giving her brothers another tug, but their feet held firm.

  "Well come on you two, you've got studying to do, classes on Monday — honestly, running away to a playground planet, of all the ludicrous ideas."

  Michael wrenched his arm free of Wendy's grip and shared a silent exchange with John who followed suit. They both regarded her with apologetic looks, but neither seemed willing to bend.

  "Wen, we want to do this," Michael said.

  "And we know you may not understand or approve—"

  "Approve? How could I approve of such an irresponsible notion? You know too much excitement isn't..." Wendy trailed off, her eyes flicking between her brothers. "You're serious, aren't you?"

  John nodded, floppy ginger hair falling into his eyes. "We are."

  Wendy's mouth dropped and Peter felt like a voyeur, prying into a private family matter as her eyes misted and she searched one brother's face, then the other’s. "But why? Everything is all laid out, your future, our plans..."

  The boys exchanged a long look with one another, seeming to have a private conversation that none of the rest of them were privy to. Finally, John sighed. "It's complicated. But we'll be alright, I promise." He reached out to give her shoulder a warm familiar squeeze before he pulled her into a tight hug. Wendy stiffened, just standing there as Michael did the same. Her face was ghostly pale, her mouth still agape. She looked to be in shock, but that wasn't any of Peter's concern.

  "Well, now that that's settled, we should be off. You boys are going to love Neverland," he said, cutting through the tension that hung heavy as toffee in the air. "Your first job can be helping Tink clean up here and packing everything back in the ship. Think you can manage that?"

  They nodded, eyes glued to Tinker Bell again as they started moving toward her seemingly in a trance. Teenaged boys made it almost too easy.

  "So I'm supposed to just sit back while you abscond with my brothers?" Wendy fumed while Tink showed the boys how to pack everything up and where to put it for loading.

  Peter shrugged, unable to hide the smile her annoyance brought him. "Abscond seems like a fairly strong word, don't you think?"

  "No," she gritted through her teeth, looking on helplessly. "You give them big promises of a life without responsibility — of course they're going to agree to that! They're boys, they don't know any better. But we both know you're a charlatan and a liar. There's no such place."

  Peter clutched at his chest, staggering backwards. "A charlatan! You wound me. I assure you, your brothers couldn't be in finer hands. They'll be looked after and welcomed like family. You needn't worry your pretty little head," he said, adding a pat to the top of her head for emphasis.

  If looks could kill, Peter was quite sure that Wendy would have stopped his heart with the look of pure fury she sent his way.

  "They already have a family," she said, her voice softening as she looked at them, clearly mulling something over.

  "Well, times change, boys grow into men, baby birds leave the nest, yadda yadda," he said, giving her a gentle shove toward the curtain that led to the street.

  Chapter Three

  Wendy

  The strange man cajoled her toward the street where Wendy could still hear cars, sirens, people talking, faint music coming from the street vendors offering tacos out of carts with questionable hygiene.

  She skidded to a stop, not letting the man push her anymore. She still couldn't believe that John and Michael wanted to embark on this foolish quest, but if they were determined, she only had one choice.

  "You say my brothers couldn't be in finer hands," she said, her eyes drifting toward the back of the alley. She could just make out John hauling heavy boxes up a ramp while Michael looked on, googly-eyed, at that performer in t
he short skirt.

  "That's right. Growing boys need a little fun and excitement. It's good for the heart," he said.

  Wendy's blood froze in her veins, time stopping as her chest clenched painfully. She shook her head. "But you're wrong. I'm the best one to take care of them and look after them. You won't care for them the same way I do."

  "Luckily for you, that's not your concern anymore," he said, grabbing her wrist to resume his tug-o-war with her. Wendy shook her hand free and crossed her arms.

  "Do you make a hobby out of being this wrong, or is today my lucky day?" Her little joke amused Wendy, but the man seemed far from it. He was much more attractive when he was smiling, Wendy thought, even if it had been a smile at her expense. He had a boyish look to him that wasn't unattractive, a young vibrant quality that sparkled in his aquamarine eyes. She knew from the deep smile lines in his cheeks that he wasn't one to take things too seriously and that was worrisome enough knowing her brothers were going to be in his company.

  "I think I'd like to go with you," she finally said.

  It was like the air had been sucked out of the room and the man narrowed his eyes at her. Michael, John and Tink — whatever kind of name that was — were back and packing up another load when she made her grand proclamation. Michael dropped his box, his face contorted into confusion and rejection. She knew they'd protest, but it was for their own good.

  "You can't be serious, Wendy," John said, helping Michael pick his box up. "What on earth would you do in a circus act?"

  She scoffed, tossing her hair defiantly. "What on earth are you going to do in a circus act? You haven't thought this through at all and someone needs to be there to pick up the pieces when this all blows up in your face." Not literally, she silently prayed, remembering the great kitchen explosion of years past.