Wendy frowned as she sat up, resting her forehead on her knees. Her feelings for Peter were complicated, complicated even more now that she remembered Booth. Had she led Peter on? Perhaps. She experienced overwhelming guilt when she remembered how she had felt when they had kissed in the mist and then again in the lantern. It had felt so right at the moment, and yet, she knew that Booth’s kiss was right in a different way. Booth’s kiss was earned—somehow that made it more real.
Even now, though her heart was nestling happily into the memory of Booth, she still felt a pull toward Peter, toward his magnetic smile. Peter made her skin flush, made her heart hammer, but what was he expecting would happen? That she would live here on Pan Island with him forever? No, that couldn’t happen. Wendy shook her head and then remembered the rush of fear that she had felt with Peter last night in the lantern. He hadn’t seemed entirely in control when he had looked at her, in the way he had clutched at her so desperately—as if he were a drowning man and she were the shore—how quickly his hand had inched up her skirt. No, they couldn’t stay here. They had to go home. Leaving this magical island of delights and adventure would be hard, but the Darlings belonged in London, with their parents. With Booth.
Wendy climbed out of the hammock, anxiously tying her hair back in a ponytail before washing her face in the basin. She ravenously consumed the bread and cheese that had been left out for her, batting away a few flies from the food beforehand, something she would have never dreamed of doing a few weeks ago. How long had they been here in Neverland anyway? Weeks? Days? The time here seemed to slip away, falling down into some rabbit hole where hours, days, and years blended together.
After she had eaten her fill and then some, Wendy slipped on her tiny black slippers (given to her as a Christmas present from her mother, wrapped in a mink shawl that was still hanging in the nursery closet—each memory was now a perfect little gift to unwrap) and then made her way down the tree, easily slipping down the trunk like she had been born on Pan Island. The island was almost empty, with all the Lost Boys down at the beach, fishing and playing, walking off their headaches from the night before. As she wandered through the branches of Centermost, picking up stray bottles here and there and putting them into a cloth bag—Boys! So messy!—she felt a pang of sadness at the thought of leaving Pan Island. Perhaps they could return? Maybe every year to visit Peter and the boys, to have a little adventure?
Then she remembered Kitoko’s throat and the very real consequences of adventure. She shook her head. No, she could not let the boys return. And Peter . . . the effect he had on her was too potent, like a drug. No, there could be no returning to this magical place.
She paused to push some branches aside and to look out at the turquoise sea beneath her, the comforting sound of its waves pulsing against the island, lulling her senses. Far on the horizon, she could make out the main island, the white Teeth rising aggressively up out of the turquoise waters. Wendy closed her eyes. She would miss this island of enchantment, and the feeling that anything could happen here. But then she saw her mother’s eyes filled with tears, and suddenly the water wasn’t so blue. With a sad smile, she stepped back, letting the leaves fall in front of her eyes.
Each soft pad of her steps filled her heart with dread as she made her way down to the beach. Lost Boys shrieked when they saw her emerge from the tree. “Wendy, watch this!” “Wendy, look at this shell!” As she made her way closer to the beach, she stopped to observe a small circle of boys sharpening sticks in the sand.
“What are you doing?” Wendy asked a boy named Little Sun, who batted his long black eyelashes at her under a tangle of thick black hair.
“Preparing.”
“For what?”
“For war on the pirates.” He lifted up a spear that was larger than he was. “I’m going to shove this through Hook’s eye!”
Wendy raised her eyebrows before moving on. A dozen Lost Boys were splashing and laughing in the ocean, spraying each other with conch shells. John was one of them, and Wendy watched in fascination as her brother tackled another boy into the water and they both emerged sputtering and laughing, splashing each other in the salty waves. John leaned his head back and looked at the sky, spitting the ocean water up into the air as his brown curls floated around his face. The other boys began singing a joyful tune, and John joined in for a few seconds, surprising Wendy with his perfect pitch. With a grin, he put his feet down and shook the sand out of his hair before running to the shore.
He looked so free there, laughing with the boys in a way that she had never seen him laugh before. Wendy’s chest seemed to collapse on itself, and she was filled with a sudden dread. He looked up and saw her, the joy falling from his face. Wendy motioned to him, and he begrudgingly made his way over to her.
“What?”
“I need to speak with you. It’s not okay to be rude, John.”
He shrugged. “We can speak here. What do you need?”
“No. We cannot speak here.”
“Then I’m not going.”
Wendy pounced on him. “Oh, John, for heaven’s sake. Stop acting like a pouty child. Could you please just come with me?”
He sighed, as if Wendy was putting him out. “All right. Where’s Michael?”
Wendy looked over John’s shoulder. Michael and Thomas were skipping stones on the beach, their gray pebbles flitting out into the ocean as if they had wings. Wendy watched as an older Lost Boy picked up Michael and put him on his shoulders and Michael began happily drumming on the boy’s head. She turned back to John. “He’ll be fine. Please, John, don’t put up a fight, don’t argue, just come with me.”
John shrugged. “Fine. I know someplace we can go.”
Using the pulleys and ropes, they lifted themselves off the beach on the cliff side, climbing up until they were at the base of the great tree. John motioned for her to follow him, and soon they were twisting through thick tree branches, climbing over and under the maze of gigantic roots that supported Pan Island. Wendy had never been to this part of Pan Island before. Hammocks were everywhere, brushing her hair as she walked past them, their ribbons trailing to the ground, a labyrinth of colors.
“There are so many.”
“This is where the Pips sleep,” John muttered. “I’m surprised that Peter hasn’t showed you this. He’s always going on about taking you visiting around Neverland.”
“Well, he hasn’t. I’m sure he plans to.”
John ducked under some huge tropical leaves, their offshoots easily the size of a carriage horse, trailed by rubbery purple vines that dragged behind him as he made his way through a green tunnel of foliage. He leapt down a cascading stairway of rocks as Wendy took her time making her way down their rickety turns. At the bottom was a small circular clearing. A thicket ringed the borders, hung with the dirty tunics of boys, their bright shirts and pants hanging from every exposed thorn. In the center of the clearing, a small pool of turquoise water bubbled and steamed.
“Laundry,” said John with a jerk of his head. Wendy recognized her blue dress, set apart from the boys’ clothes, blowing faintly in the wind. It was somehow mortifying to see it hanging there for all to see, and she ripped it down, tucking it under her arm.
John leapt up on a thick branch and walked down its wide length. “Here, it’s just up this way.” He ducked behind a patch of dead branches, not bothering to leave them pulled back for Wendy. They whipped back and caught her squarely in the face.
“John!” But he was gone. Wendy frowned at his rapidly diminishing manners and pushed out to the opening. It was a small ledge, no more than six feet across, made of branches and thatched felt that looked out onto the east side of Pan Island. Below them stretched miles of ocean, the turquoise waves rising, their crests glinting like pearls in the sunlight. Above them, the huts of Pan Island hovered, their squat bottoms a black spot in the tree above.
“I come here to think. Peter showed it to me. It’s his own special spot, but he lets me come here too.
” John turned to her. “What is it that you need so urgently to talk about?”
“John.” Wendy reached out her hand and gently took his in her own. John looked repulsed. “John, listen to me. We need to go home.”
He jerked his hand away. “Home? Home? Is this what you’ve come to ask me? I should have known as much.”
Wendy kept her voice steady. “John, what do you remember about our life before we came to Neverland?”
John’s eyes scrunched together. “I remember enough to know that this is where we belong.”
“Please, be specific. What do you remember?”
John brushed his hair out of his eyes with a flourish, the same way that Peter did. “I remember we had parents. And we lived in a . . . city?” He shrugged. “All that matters is that I remember that we are much better off here than we were there.”
“No, John, that’s wrong. We are not better off here. Our parents, George and Mary Darling, they miss us. They might think we are dead! Doesn’t that concern you? Our father might think you are dead, John! And Michael . . .” She gestured behind them to the single, filthy tub that cleansed hundreds of boys. “Michael can’t grow up here, living like a wild animal! Do you really think that this is the best place for him?”
John turned away from her, his eyes on the sea. “I knew you wouldn’t understand it here. I knew the minute we arrived, when you looked out at the Lost Boys with such horror, that one day you would make us leave. They don’t fit into your pretty world. You don’t belong here, but Michael and I do.”
Wendy tried to calm her voice so that she wasn’t yelling. John wouldn’t respond to her growing desperation. “John, I love it here. There is no prettier place than Neverland. But John, boys die here. Darby—and Kitoko died. I watched his blood spill on the rock.” Her voice caught in her throat, unable to control the sob shaking up it. She saw it again. “You weren’t there; you don’t know how horrible it was.”
John spun on her, and Wendy was caught off guard by the fact that he was almost as tall as she was. “I do know. I do know you’re a girl and you don’t understand. There are risks to adventure. This is war . . .”
“This isn’t war!” she erupted. “This is a game! Don’t you see?”
John’s hazel eyes narrowed. “And Peter? Are you ready to leave Peter?”
Wendy was silent as she considered the question. No. No, she didn’t want to leave Peter. In fact, at the sound of his name, her skin flushed. When she remembered their kiss in the mist, she wanted to stay. And yet . . . Booth. A feeling pressed on her chest, an uncomfortable shifting. She wanted Peter, but not in the same way that she needed Booth.
The sea crashed underneath them, showering their shins with a salty spray. The bright Neverland sun bore down, rays of golden light washing over them, turning even an argument between siblings into a beautiful moment. John gestured to the scene in front of them. “How could you want to leave this, Wendy? It’s the only place we’ve ever belonged.”
Wendy tried to reach for him, but he shrugged away. “John, that’s not true. We belonged at home.”
He turned to her with cold eyes. “You’re free to go anytime you please.”
Wendy thought of what the look on her parents’ faces would be if she returned without one of her brothers. “John, don’t be ridiculous. I could never leave without you or Michael.”
John scoffed. “Why do you care now what I do? Why do you care if I stay or not? You never cared about me before, never wanted me to have anything good.”
Wendy reeled. “What are you talking about?”
“You told Peter that I was too young and too inexperienced to lead the raid. You betrayed me to him. You could have lost everything for me.” He shook his head. “I will never forget it.”
Wendy didn’t know what to say. John looked so deeply hurt. Could he have truly been so wounded by her words? What had gotten into him? “John? That was nothing! It was nothing. It didn’t mean anything. I didn’t want you to get hurt! I said it because I care about you. You’re my brother; of course I want you to be safe. That’s what family does. Don’t you see? Our parents need us; our place is in London with them, in our home. What if we have broken their hearts, John? What if they are waiting by the nursery window, clutching each other? You can’t live here forever, just being a wild boy and killing pirates.”
John whirled on her, his face crumpled and cold. “Why not?” Wendy didn’t know what to say and stared at her brother in bewilderment. “Wendy, the truth is, you need our parents because you’re the good girl. You always do the right thing; always the center of attention. Even here, in this place that is everything I’ve ever dreamed of, you have somehow made it about you, you and Peter. We should be fighting pirates and planning battles to win this war, and you’re in the corner, with your stupid bows and dresses, and all Peter can focus on is you—you, Wendy! You’ve thrown off the balance of this world, all because you’re pretty!” His lips curled up in a mean sneer. “But prettiness fades. Adventure is forever. Glory is eternal.”
Wendy threw up her hands. “Listen to yourself! What are you saying? What are you even talking about? John, this world isn’t real!”
“You’re wrong. The life I have here is much better than any life I was living back in London. I can’t understand why you would want to go back.”
“You don’t understand because you don’t remember our London life. You choose not to remember. I don’t know how it works, but something about this place puts a veil over your memories, John. You aren’t yourself here!”
He looked away from her, his eyes steely and hard. “I’m more myself here than I have ever been. See, I remember some things. I may not remember our so-called parents, but I remember how I felt there: bitter, quiet, jealous, invisible. If you truly love me, you would never ask me to choose a boring life over being here, being alive. What is so great in London that it would be worth leaving this for?” He raised his hands above him, as if to sweep in all of Pan Island.
Wendy grabbed his hand and shook him. “John! Do you not understand what Neverland does to you? The enchantment of it . . . yes, it’s beautiful and perfect here, but it’s also violent and dark. You didn’t see what I saw at the Vault. You didn’t see the death that is waiting for you. The pirates aren’t imaginary, John! They are grown men, and they have real swords and real pistols, and they hate Lost Boys, especially Generals. And you aren’t a General, John! You are John Darling, the child of George and Mary Darling, my brother! You love the stars, and you love reading twisted stories of the North! You aren’t even whole here! You don’t know who you are without your memories. John, please, our parents are waiting for us!”
She was getting desperate, her voice rising over the crash of the pale green sea below. She fell to her knees, throwing aside her righteous anger and any shred of pride to reason with him. She clutched at his hands. “Please, John, I’m begging you! Please listen to me! Michael can’t grow up without parents!”
John shook her off in disgust. “Michael has parents. Peter can be his father. You can be his mother. His family is here, with the Lost Boys.” John yanked her to her feet and pulled her close, whispering in her face. “Does Peter know that you want to leave? He can’t know. You can’t leave Peter—he’ll be angry. Even if Michael and I stay here.”
Wendy jerked back from him. “I will not leave without you both. John, I watched Kitoko die! Do you not see that there is no one older than Abbott here? That’s because Lost Boys, particularly Generals, die!”
John gave snort. “Wendy, you are such a woman with your hysterical dramatics. It’s just a game.”
That was it. Wendy lost all sense of decorum, driven mad by her brother, something that happened so easily between them, and always had. Wendy lunged toward him, pushing him down easily. John scuffled up to his feet, his hand against his shoulder. “Wendy! Stop! What’s gotten into you? You’re acting mad!”
Tears blurred her eyes. “How could you not want to grow up in our house
, with our parents who keep us safe, who love us? Do you remember Nana?”
John looked stunned. Finally, she had hit a chord. John’s face changed, his eyes blurring over with confusion as a memory stirred. He blinked twice.
“Do you remember the way Nana sleeps beside you? The way she follows you to school and waits beside the school gate until you are done? Do you remember holding her as a puppy, when she would lick our faces until we collapsed and Father had to push her away? Do you remember when she had her puppies, and you sat up with her all night, putting a warm water bottle on her back?”
John’s eyes filled with tears before he spun away from her. “Go away, Wendy.”
Wendy leaned over him. “Do you remember when Nana almost died because of that rat poison? Do you remember how you sobbed into our mother’s arms and how we prayed all night on our knees that she would live?”
John let out a small cry before grabbing Wendy roughly by the back of the neck and thrusting her out over the drop, so that she looked down to the rocky sea below. A huge wave crested up on the rocks, splashing her face. When had he grown stronger than her?
“John! John!” She gasped. “What are you doing? Let me go!” He did, throwing her roughly backward toward the branches.
“Sorry, Wendy. Please just go away. And don’t talk to me like that, ever again! I don’t want to hear any more about London or Nana! You may go home anytime you choose, but Michael stays here with me. In fact, I think that would be best. You don’t belong here.” He took a deep breath in, breathing in the sea. “This is a place for people who want adventure.”
Wendy stared at this stranger who was once her brother, barely recognizable as the sun set ablaze his shadowed form. Her heart still hammered from his sudden threatening manner, but she dared one last time, in a small, pleading voice, quivering, “John, we have to go home.”
Wendy Darling Page 26
