Forever Neverland

by Susan Adrian

  The sound bothers me. It feels like pressure pushing in at my ears, so steady and loud. I wish it would stop just for a few seconds. I clench my fists. I know we have to keep going, move past it, and then it will be better. But it’ll take so long. I don’t know if I can stand it for that long.

  We keep hiking, slower now. It’s hard to run on this steep, narrow path, and the cliff drops off to our right, the creek rushing by below. A few drops of water spatter the path. We’re getting close to the waterfall now.

  It’s so loud. I hate it. I cover my ears, but that only blocks the roar a little bit. The pressure builds, pushing at my ears, and I feel like I might need to scream. And then what will I do? Just scream, here, with everyone? With no Clover? I mimic the sound of the water, the whoosh, but it doesn’t help.

  I hear something else through my hands, something that’s not the waterfall pounding. Rhythm. Voices.

  I lift my hands. All the Lost Boys are singing. Or chanting, a marching song.

  Left, right, left

  We’re off on an adventure

  Left, right, left

  We’re going to fight a foe!

  Left, right, left

  No beast will ever stop us

  Left, right, left

  The Lost Boys we will go!

  They start again, the same words, and I find myself singing along, chanting and marching in time. We pass right by the waterfall, the water splashing our feet, and then go on, away and up, the roar lessening. We keep singing, cheering, and I don’t need to scream anymore.

  I really like this place a lot.

  * * *

  —

  I wonder what Mom would think of me being in Neverland.

  Why did Mom choose not to come to Neverland? Why didn’t she ever tell us about it?

  I used to imagine, because I never knew our dad, that I was really the son of a god, like Percy Jackson. Maybe the son of Hermes. But I never thought we’d be related to the kids from Peter Pan, for real.

  Maybe it’s both. Maybe Peter is Hermes’s son, and so am I, so we’re really half brothers….

  “Fergus!” Peter calls, sharp. “Watch your feet!”

  I jerk, and look where I am. I’m standing right at the edge of the path. We’ve reached the top of the mountain. There’s nothing in front of me but air and a glorious view: the slope down, the bright crayon trees, the dry brown of the Haunted Forest, the brilliant lagoons. I think I can even see a big bulk of purple in Dragon Lagoon. (Dragon Lagon!) After that, in all directions, all I see is the wide sweep of ocean, with clouds stretching thin overhead. There’s no other land anywhere in sight—not even any rocks. I almost can’t breathe at the beauty of it.

  I step back so my feet are more safely on the path. I wonder what we’re supposed to be looking for up here.

  Peter eyes the pixies dancing near his head. “You don’t see anything either?” He plucks a giant leaf from a nearby plant, rolls it into a telescope-like tube, and scans below, especially around Mermaid Lagoon. “It must be underwater, then. There is nothing else. But dogs, underwater?”

  I can see the mermaids from here, if I squint. They’re out again, tails breaching as they swim. I think I see the shapes of Clover and Shoe on the beach.

  “We need more clues,” Peter says. Then he shrugs. “But they will be revealed. Neverland always gives us enough to solve the mystery, when we need it. Now is not the time. While we wait, and think…” He grins, his teeth flashing white. “I call a Feast tonight.”

  All the Lost Boys cheer, so I cheer too. A feast. A large, abundant meal in celebration. There was a feast in the Underworld, called the Feast of Goibhniu, where Goibhniu gave his guests food that made them immortal.

  On one side a feast might be loud and bright and wild, and that part makes me a little nervous. It might be overwhelming. On the other side it might be fun. The Lost Boys have been fun, so far. I bet I can spin and spin on the sand, and no one will mind. Maybe I can even go into the ocean. I hardly ever get to do that.

  They dance, each one flailing in their own way, leaning their heads back and yelling, “Feast!”

  I dance too, waving my hands, wiggling my arms, and lift my face to the sun. “Feast!” I call, as loud as I can, the sound filling my body, the dancing filling my whole self with sunshine, with release.

  I feel so free, in a way I don’t think I’ve ever felt before.

  I wonder if Neverland is where I was really meant to be all along.

  I sit behind Shoe on the beach, her hair twisted in my hands. It’s so long, to the middle of her back, and thick, a shiny, deep black. I had to finger comb it for a long time just to get most of the knots out, but it’s smoother now, enough to wrangle into a French braid. I even have a piece of seaweed next to me to tie it off when I’m done. Shoe seems happy, making little crooning noises to herself. What would it be like to never have had your hair braided? To have been here for years, or always? To never have a family other than the Lost Boys?

  I can’t imagine it. No school, no Mom. No adults. No rules except what Peter says. Fergus seems to like it. But I couldn’t stay here that long. I’d miss everything at home. I’d miss real life.

  I’d miss Mom.

  The mermaids are mostly in clusters, still talking, a few playing catch with bubbles. Keeping on with everyday things, in spite of being worried. I know what that feels like. I do it all the time, in small ways. Upset about that unfair grade in English? Shove it down. Mad at a friend who talked about me behind my back? Forget it. Tired from a long day of school and homework and helping Mom? Keep going. There’s always the next thing to plan, to worry about.

  Sometimes I wish I could let go and cry, or scream, or just yell no! But I can’t. I have to be calm and in control. That’s what Mom expects.

  Even here they want me to be the mother.

  I tie off Shoe’s braid and admire it. I wish I could show it to her, but without a phone to take a picture—or even a mirror—she’ll have to trust me.

  “It looks good,” I say.

  She smiles, pats her hair, and then stands and does a cartwheel. Then another one. She spins around, stretching her arms wide. “It stays! Even when I flip! How did you do that?”

  I bite my lip. “My mom taught me.”

  She does another flip. “I remember my mother a little,” she says. “She had soft hands. I remember…” She scrunches her nose. “A pattern on her hands? There was a swirl, and a flower, winding down her wrist in brown…” She sighs. “It isn’t much.”

  I lean back on the sand. “How did you get the name Shoe?”

  She frowns, her eyebrows pulled together.

  “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” I say.

  She sits next to me and traces a circle in the sand. Then she sighs and wipes it out. “I got the name because of a shoe I brought with me.” Her voice is quiet. “I was really little when I came here, and I didn’t have anything of my own—except a shoe I was holding in my arms. I wouldn’t let go, not for days. Wouldn’t talk to anyone, even Peter.”

  She goes still, staring out at the water. I have no idea what to do, or say. One of the mermaids does a leap and dives back down, like a dolphin.

  “What kind of shoe was it?” I ask after a while.

  She swallows, hard. “A shoe with a tall heel. Silver, with sparkles all over it. My mother’s…?” Her voice cracks. “It must have been my mother’s. I still have it, under my bed. It almost fits me now.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Do you ever…want to go back? Try to find her?”

  She shakes her head, her eyes dark. “Peter says we only come here if we have no place else to go. That we’re supposed to forget about all that and just live in the moment.”

  I wonder if that’s true. We’re quiet again for a while. The waves go in a
nd out, in and out, like breathing.

  Shoe takes a deep breath. “Why is your name Clover?”

  I shrug. “My father named me. And it made my mom laugh, so she kept it. But then he died, after Fergus was born.”

  We stare out at the ocean for another long moment; then Shoe squeezes my hand. “This is far too sad. No sadness allowed on Neverland! We need our own adventure, to shake us out of this.”

  I frown. “But we’re supposed to stay on the beach.”

  She shrugs. “Rules are made to be broken here. And I have a wonderful idea. Do you wish to go see Pixie Hollow?”

  I want to say no right away—we’re supposed to stay on the beach. That’s what Peter said. But I’m in Neverland, not school. “Where’s Pixie Hollow?”

  Shoe springs up. “It’s the most beautiful place, hidden in the forest. Not far.” She tugs on her braid and grins. “The pixies probably won’t be there now, because they’ll all be following Peter. So we can take a peek. Shall we?” She holds out her hand.

  I look at the mermaids. I should stay here and make sure they’re okay. Then I look at Shoe, her eyes bright, her smile wide and open. I want to be like that. Fun, not worried all the time.

  I take her hand and let her tug me up.

  “Let’s go to Pixie Hollow!” I say.

  Shoe laughs. She runs into the surf and says something to Serena, the leader of the mermaids. As soon as Shoe’s on dry sand again, she bursts into a run, toward the side of the island we haven’t been to before. “Race you!” she yells over her shoulder.

  I take off, my heart lifting. The sun is warm on my head, the sand flying up under my feet, a friend with me. This is an adventure. Our adventure.

  * * *

  —

  After we leave the beach we slow down and walk on the path, side by side. We push our way up into the brush, past what looks like an old orchard. The trees are all in neat rows, but clearly nobody takes care of them anymore. There are weeds and flowers everywhere, and the trees are old and gnarled, but heavy with small red apples. I think how much Fergus would want to explore in there.

  I hope he’s doing okay. I feel a pang of guilt. I should’ve been worrying about that before.

  No. He’s adventuring, and I am too.

  The path curves back to the ocean, on a cliff that overlooks a weirdly shaped rock that Shoe calls Skull Rock—she makes a creepy face, which makes me laugh—and then back inland, toward the mountain. Just when I start to think it’s been a long time, Shoe stops at the top of a rise and points down into what looks like a miniature forest. Everything is smaller, even the trees. I can just see tiny little houses nestled in them. “That is Pixie Hollow.”

  It looks peaceful, private. “Are you sure it’s okay if we go down there?”

  Shoe raises her eyebrows and gives me a mischievous smile. “Truth? It’s not exactly encouraged. But we’ll be fine, right? What’s an adventure if it’s something you’re supposed to do?”

  I hesitate. But she’s right. Neverland. No rules. Embrace it.

  “This time I’m going to win,” I say, and race down the hill, straight into Pixie Hollow.

  Shoe wins, but I slide in just behind her, panting, and look around in amazement. The trees come up to my waist, the bushes and flowers only to my ankles. I can stand here and see over the treetops of this whole little valley. The path narrows too, one foot taking up the whole width of it. Shoe and I can’t even stand side by side.

  “I feel like a giant,” I whisper, and even that sounds loud, booming across the trees.

  “We are giants in this place,” Shoe whispers back. “But come down here. You need to see.”

  She crouches down on her heels, so I do too. I gasp. It’s so beautiful. The tiny trees are in bloom, with so many shades of color I couldn’t even name them all. There’s a little pond set back in the hollow, the sun sparkling on the clear, rippling water. There’s an active orchard, with apples, pears, and oranges the size of walnuts. But the most amazing part is the houses. Miniature houses hang from trees, or are tucked on the ground, with neat rows of tiny flowers in front of them. Each house is different, with its own style. There are windows as big as my thumb, with real glass. Bright red and blue doors, with shiny door knockers. Front paths with miniature shells laid as paving stones. I fall to my knees, staring.

  “It’s a real fairyland,” I say.

  “Isn’t it?” Shoe answers. “I only came here once, when I was small, and I didn’t stay long. But I remember it always, like a dream.”

  “Why didn’t you come back?” I ask.

  She frowns. “Peter told me not to. He is very strict about it. I always meant to anyway, though.”

  I don’t like that at all. Why is Peter strict about it?

  But I can’t stop staring. I’ve always liked miniature things, dollhouses and models. I used to spend hours at the railroad museum in San Diego, studying all the mini scenes while Fergus watched the trains. But this is real. And there are so many houses. There must be more pixies than I thought.

  “But where are all the pixies?” I ask. “They can’t all be with Peter.”

  Suddenly I’m slammed onto my back, with dozens of balls of light crashing into me together. They sting—tiny fierce pinches all over my arms, my legs, my belly, my face. I close my eyes against the blinding light and try to scream, but something stings my tongue, and I shut my mouth again. I try to swat them away, but my arms are pinned down, balls of light on top of them. I can’t move my legs, either. The stings don’t stop. Panic overwhelms me. This is probably poison. I can’t escape. I’m going to die here, on my back in the middle of Pixie Hollow.

  Because I broke the rules once.

  We’re dancing on the top of the cliff, our arms raised high, when two balls of light—pixies—come flying in fast, diving to Peter. He goes still, listening, and his face gets serious.

  “Lost Boys!” he says. “Someone is invading Pixie Hollow! Let us go and fight them! Grab weapons as you go. Save the pixies!”

  Everyone moves together into a line, like it’s a dance they know, and Peter starts marching down the path.

  I stand there, not sure what to do. I don’t know how to fight. I don’t know what to grab as a “weapon” or how I’d use it. Do they have battle formations they use? I’ve studied some of the Greek battle formations, but I don’t know them. Would I only get in the way?

  It’s the first time I’ve felt out of place since we’ve been here.

  Rella notices me and winks. “Don’t worry—we’ll win,” she says. “We always win. Come on!” She breaks out of line to pull me into it, behind her, and then it’s our turn to march. Jumper starts to sing, and all the others join in, so I do too. I know the words now.

  Left, right, left

  We’re off on an adventure

  Left, right, left

  We’re going to fight a foe!

  We go down the mountain another way, toward a rock that’s shaped like a skull. Sometimes Lost Boys break off and dive into the trees, coming back with sticks, or big rocks. Peter picks up a bow and arrow he must have hidden in a tree. At some point, Swim taps me on the back and hands me a long, heavy stick. I might have used it for a walking stick at home. It’s rough against my palms.

  “Shhh!” Peter loud-whispers. He raises a hand. “I think I hear something.”

  We all stop, and I look around. I wasn’t really paying attention to where we were going. We’re in another forest, with more of the bright green trees. A stream trickles nearby. There are leaves under our feet, muffling our sound. The pixies fly ahead, then come back fast and buzz around Peter. He makes a signal and moves forward down the hill, all the Lost Boys crowding behind him.

  “Intruders!” he shouts. “Stay where you are, or we will have to attack you!”

  I grip the stick tight in my hand an
d peer over Rella’s shoulder to see.

  It’s Clover and Shoe, lying on the ground. And a whole lot of angry pixies swarming over them.

  “No!” I say, my voice high. “That’s Clover!”

  “And Shoe!” Friendly says.

  There’s a pause, then Peter says something, and the pixies all move away at once. Clover and Shoe stand up shakily. Clover seems okay, except for the red dots all over her skin. Both of them have them. Shoe’s hair is in a half braid, hair hanging out on the side like a flag.

  Peter stamps down the hill, his bow still out. His ears are bright pink. “Clover. Shoe. You should not have come here. This is a private place. Pixies already have to deal with a world that is not their size—they need their own place to come back to, free from humans and mermaids and beasts. They don’t need us spying on them.”

  The pixies do look angry, like wasps when you take down their nest. They float in an angry barricade in front of a cluster of tiny houses.

  Clover hangs her head, and Shoe kicks at the dirt.

  “Apologize to them!” Peter points to the pixies. “Now!”

  Clover gulps so loud I can hear it from up here. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Her voice is quavery. “I didn’t know.”

  “Didn’t you?” Peter says in a voice that sounds like Mom’s. “Shoe? I know you knew better.”

  Shoe looks at her feet. “Sorry.”

  Peter nods and turns to the wall of pixies. He bows. “We apologize for the intrusion. It will not happen again. We are having a Feast tonight at Mermaid Lagoon. Of course you are invited.” He glances over his shoulder. “Clover and Shoe, you will not have sweets.”

  I guess there are rules and punishments in Neverland after all. Clover looks like she wants to disappear.

  “A Feast?” Shoe says hopefully.

  Peter smiles, and it’s like none of that ever happened. “A Feast!” he replies. “We must prepare. Lost Boys, to the beach!”

  * * *