Wendy raised her head, standing on her tiptoes to see the center of the table, in which she could see people moving. At its radial core, there was a hole cut out in the middle where three young boys—Pips—stood, spooning out food and putting more on the table, where the ravenous Lost Boys constantly reached for more. The three servers were dripping with sweat, struggling to keep up with the demand. From where she stood, Wendy could see that under their feet were several layers of circular rooms connected by a spiraling ramp—and that was where the food was being brought up from, carried by a lean boy who moved impossibly fast, even when carrying what looked like a full turkey.
Awed by the sight of it all, Wendy breathed in too quickly and in return let out a loud cough when the smell of the sweat, the meat, and the dirty dishes became too much. All the eyes in the room turned toward her, and there was a moment of silence as they stared at the strange girl creature who had invaded their pit of gluttonous delights. Eyes narrowed, heads dipped, whispers rose. Willing herself to move, Wendy walked toward the table with her hands clenched, past the rows of judgmental eyes and twisted mouths. Peter was nowhere to be seen, and she felt as though she were wading through a den of hungry wolves. As she made her way around the circle, she was relieved to see John, ripping apart a turkey leg with his teeth, laughing at something another boy said. She went to sit next to him and was surprised when he put his hand down in her way.
“Can’t sit here. Sorry.”
“John!” she snapped. “What are you doing? Let me sit!”
He looked up at her calmly. “I don’t think so, Wendy. You’ll have to find somewhere else to sit. Unfortunately, I don’t think you are the most popular person in this room. Best of luck.”
“John, if this is because of earlier, I’m sorry—I was just trying to protect you—”
But by then John had turned away and was chatting to the long-haired boy sitting next to him. She bit her lip.
“Fine, just see that Michael gets fed.”
John gave the tiniest nod of his head before ignoring her completely. Turning away so that her brother would not see the tears that were stinging her eyes, Wendy moved toward the door. She was suffocating with all these eyes on her, the hungry looks of boys who hadn’t seen a girl in years. The looks on their faces were either full of a ferocious desire that made her squirm or a seething hatred at her presence. Either way, Wendy wouldn’t just stand here and be gawked at. Better to be hungry. Her stomach howled its discontent with her decision, but she still turned to leave before feeling a strong hand on her upper arm.
“Peter?”
A hope surged through her, but it was left unanswered when she turned to see Abbott. He looked at her with a frown.
“This is why bringing a girl to Pan Island was a terrible idea. Here.”
He walked over to where two older boys were shoving some sort of black eel into their mouths. “MOVE!” he thundered, and the boys scampered aside, making more than enough room for Peter’s General and Wendy.
She sat.
“Paran! Dimitri! Food!”
Two of the sticky boys in the circle immediately set to work preparing their meals, and soon, food was being shoved toward them across the smooth table, made that way by years of greasy meat being slung across it. A hunk of turkey meat landed in front of Wendy, along with a hardened roll, a piece of white cheese, and lastly, a huge plum, easily the size of a melon. A wooden goblet filled with wine sloshed over the food as it slid across the table. There were no plates or napkins.
“Are there, er, utensils?” Wendy asked delicately. Abbott stared at her for a moment before rolling his eyes and tearing into his piece of almost-raw fish. Wendy looked around the table, where all eyes seemed to rest on her. Abbott swallowed noisily.