“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.”