Never Never

by Brianna Shrum

  The water was like ice, pricking at him everywhere, lapping at his chest, his neck. He treaded water, wondering if he could possibly make it to shore. That question was answered when he turned to find the blasted crocodile behind him. It was curious, he thought, that no tick-tocking accompanied the beast this time. The clock in its belly had finally run out, it seemed. Irony of ironies.

  It smiled, and James smiled grimly back. He started to swim away, knowing it was futile, but paddling anyway. It was not dignified to give up all hope, was it? To stop fighting altogether?

  In the midst of the swim for his life, he was distracted by a sound. It was far off at first, distant and echoing and quiet. But it got louder as the croc got closer. And then, he realized what it was. It was the sound of the bells, and the chiming of the grand clock that stood in the middle of London. The chimes were hollow and loud, ringing in his ears, and when he looked up at the purple sky, behind the clouds and the suns, he could nearly see it.

  There was Big Ben, face looking right at him, and there was the smell of something burning, something his mother was failing at making edible. Then there was the sea smell of his father, the one that matched his own now. He smiled, and an unexpected peace overtook him. Bibble had been right. The sky did look strange.

  Had anyone seen him, they would have thought it odd that, with a crocodile snapping at his heels, he smiled. But James did not care much for what imaginary people would have thought. So, smile he did. For there was a shred of James that would forever be a Lost Boy. And as he paddled in the icy water, that piece grew until Lost Boy was all that was left in the shell of the pirate. The Pan crowed, and the crocodile snapped its awful teeth behind him.

  TO DIE, THOUGHT THE LOST BOY IN PLACE OF the Captain, will be an awfully big adventure.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  SO, I THINK WE PRETTY MUCH KNOW THAT GETTING a book out in the world involves a whole lot more than a solitary, bearded author pounding out a tale on a typewriter in an isolated cabin, swilling some gin, and calling it a day. No, making a whole book takes so much more than that.

  First and foremost, I want to thank God, for giving me the opportunity to do something I truly love for a living.

  The incredible Bree Ogden, for championing this book and me, and for loving James Hook when he and his story hadn't yet grown up. I am so, so grateful for you. And to her assistant at the time, Maria Vicente, for really loving my story. My editors at Spencer Hill, Danielle Ellison and Patricia Riley, thank you so much for taking a chance on my strange little book, and for pushing it to be so much more than it was. My lovely and tireless publicist Meredith Maresco, for doing so much amazingness. Hafsah, for designing a cover that still makes me want to cry a little when I see it (in happiness, I promise). To the rest of the team at Spencer Hill, THANK YOU for everything you did and continue to do.

  My critique partners, some of my closest friends: Tabitha Martin, you are a solid rock of support, and willing to listen to me neurotically freak out over my characters for hours like they’re real people, and not hang up on me when we start into hour number three. Nazarea Andrews, thanks so much for…just, everything. Your insight into my stories, your unwavering belief in them and in me, and your constant preparedness to send me gifs of cute boys and tequila. (Who can write a book without gifs of cute boys and tequila??) Dan Malossi, my New Yorkahhh CP, for always being there to support me, to be a sounding board, and to eye-rollingly tolerate my phone shattering into oblivion every six months. (I know. Six months is generous.)

  Thank you so much to everyone who read this book, in any of its ten million incarnations, and loved it, critiqued it, wrote fanfic of it that still makes me cry just a little (*ahem* looking at you, Darci). Rachel O’Laughlin, Darci Cole, and Rachel Solomon, massive group tacklehug because EVERYTHING. You guys are wonderful. James and I love your faces. The fizztacular Summer Heacock, for picking me out of your slush and flailing over James. This book would not be here without you and Brenda Drake. Team Fizzy: Carol Pavliska and Samantha Bohrman, for reading, critiquing, and always being there with a slightly (or not-so-slightly) dirty joke and virtual drink.

  To all of my super-awesome online peeps, who make this sometimes lonely profession totally un-lonely for an extrovert. Some writerly friends who have been extra supportive and freaking wonderful: Christine Tyler, Liz Lincoln, and Rachel Simon. All you bloggers and writers and ALL you readers who have spared a thought or a post or a review or some change or anything for my book and me, THANK YOU.

  Thanks so much to my wonderful friends, who have been totally cool when I’m all emotional over people I created in my head, when I had to pass on a hangout because I had to write, all of you who have been excited with me, I love you guys. Special thanks to Nicole Silvano, for being my person for over a decade now, and for reading everything I write, even when it’s in its messy awkward phase, and still managing to love it. Rachel Chase, my amazing friend and a shining light of support. Love you, lady. To Luke Chase, for being there, being writerly, being nerd-tastic, being awesome.

  My family. Every single one of you (some of you blood, some of you not) has been so supportive and wonderful throughout me pursuing this dream of mine. I am truly blessed to have so many amazing people in my corner. Papa and Nana, thank you for teaching me to love words, and for believing not only in this story, but in me. Mom and Dad, thank you for teaching me that I could do anything, and believing that I really could. Chase, Makenzie, and Taylor…for brainstorming, jumping up and down when you saw my cover, for caring about this and me and all those awesome sibling-y things, thanks, guys. My little boys (one of whom is legit angry-crying and assaulting my shirt as I write these), you guys are everything. You are everything.

  And last, thank you to my husband, Harry (and you know I really mean Chrumby Face). Thank you for being willing to stay up with crying kids and clean the kitchen while I was revising into the wee hours of the morning. For listening to every idea I’ve ever had (in WAY too much detail) ‘til midnight, and staying up even later to play video games with me. For supporting me in this crazy dream. I couldn’t have done this if it weren’t for you, my Someone.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BRIANNA SHRUM LIVES IN COLORADO WITH HER high-school-sweetheart-turned-husband, two boys, and two big, floppy hound dogs. She thinks chai tea is proof of magic in the world, and loves all things kissy, magical, and strange. She’d totally love to connect with you, so you can find her online at briannashrum.com or saying ridiculous things on Twitter @briannashrum