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.”