“Can everyone fly there?”
Peter’s eyes clouded over for a moment, and Wendy swore she saw them turn from a bright green to a deep navy. He blinked, and they were green again—she must have imagined it. Peter smiled gently at Michael.
“Well, Michael, only the really special people can fly there. But you seem pretty special to me. But don’t let the flying distract you from the mermaids.”
“There are mermaids there?”
“Tons of them. They can be a bit mean though, so we try and stay away from them.”
“What else? What else?” Michael was jumping up and down now on the bed like a deranged child, and John was mesmerized by every word that came out of Peter’s mouth, standing rapt by his side.
“Well, there are pirates and . . .”
John’s ears perked up. “Pirates, you say? What kind of pirates?”
“The best kind!” Peter replied, flying to the windowsill. “The kind that have lots of goodies to steal, and then there is the infamous Captain Hook!”
Michael stepped down off the bed to get closer to Peter. “Can we go? Can we visit? Can we come with you? I want to fight Captain Hook!”
“Of course,” he murmured, stroking Michael’s blond hair. “Of course you can visit.”
“But if there are no grown-ups there . . .” John looked confused and excited at the same time as he rubbed his glasses. “Then who is in charge?”
The room seemed to darken as Peter’s eyes lit up. “We are.”
Wendy frowned. “No grown-ups?”
“Oh, there are grown-ups there, but they don’t decide what we do. Pan Island is home to the free. There are no rules, and if there are, we BREAK them!” With that, Peter gave an excited bounce off the windowsill and spiraled through the air toward Michael. He stretched out his hand to the little boy, his earth-stained palm scarred with a dozen tiny cuts. He saw Wendy looking at them and shrugged.
“There are lots of trees in Neverland.” Then he scooped Michael up into his arms. “Do you want to see what it feels like to fly?”
Wendy lurched toward the bed, tripping over an overturned wooden cat. “No! Michael, perhaps this isn’t the best idea.”
“You fret like a mother,” Peter teased. “But don’t worry, Wendy Darling. I won’t hurt him.”
John put his hands on his hips. “Why does he get to fly and I don’t?”
“Well, you can fly too. Come grab his hand!”
John reluctantly walked toward Peter and then grabbed Michael’s hand.
“Yuck! John, you’re sweaty!”
“Shut up, Michael.”
Peter gave a laugh. “Ah, brothers. What a delightful family this is! Okay, boys, are you ready?”
The boys nodded, their faces flushed with excitement. Is this really happening right now? Wendy wondered as she clutched her headboard. Am I dreaming?
“Now! The first rule of flying, at least if you are flying with me, is that you never, ever, let go of my hand or the hand of the person who is holding onto my hand. Do you understand? It’s like a chain, and if you let go of your connection to me, you will fall.”
The boys nodded.
“Okay! Let’s try!” Peter took Michael’s hand in his own. A ripple of air passed through the room, blowing Wendy’s hair back from her face. Then all three rose up inches off the floor. Michael began laughing crazily, and a huge smile, one that Wendy had never seen, cracked the hardened scowl that was John’s face. Peter then flew upward, the boys a second behind him, a miraculous wave. Wendy remained speechless.
“Are we heavy?” John asked, wiggling his legs. “Can you feel our mass against your own?”
Peter gave a grin. “I’m not sure exactly what mass means, John, but I feel no heavier than I did before I grabbed Michael’s hand. I am not carrying you, rather, my gift of flying is passing through my hands to yours.”
Peter maneuvered both of the boys over a massive pile of stuffed animals, towered over by a stuffed white horse.
“Just so you understand . . . John, I want you to let go.”
John looked down. It was a fall of only about eight feet. “But . . .”
“It’ll be fine, John. You aren’t a coward, are you?”
John’s brow furrowed. “No.”
He let go of Michael’s hand and fell promptly into the pile of fluff. With a giggle, he rolled out of it.
“That was actually quite enjoyable.”
“My turn,” Michael crowed.
Peter moved over the bed. “All right, Michael, let go.”
Michael let go of Peter’s hand and tumbled down onto his soft bed.
“Again!” he shrieked, kicking his legs. “Again!”
“It’s Wendy’s turn.” Peter turned his green eyes onto her, and Wendy felt her heart thud fast against the inside wall of her chest.
“No, I couldn’t. What if Liza hears?”
“Liza can’t hear us,” he said, grinning. “Only children can hear the magic of Neverland. For all she knows, you are happily asleep in your beds.”