I can see in my peripheral vision Peter and the Lost Boys hovering behind us, watching, curious.
“She likes you,” says Brodie.
“Should she not?” I frown, a bit confused.
“Oh.” He jumps over to me. “I meant nothing by it. How good that she does.” Then he leans in close and whispers quietly, “Just that this one doesn’t like Peter much.”
That strikes me as interesting because, as far as I knew, all fairies like Peter. Actually, all female creatures like Peter, as though he has a magic kind of pull over us. There is an innate assumption that men are immune to whatever it is about Peter that we* tend to love, and of course that’s occasionally true,? but it’s not always (nor often) the case.
Girls might be drawn in by his boyish charm and those stupid stars he has stuck in his eyes, but Wendy says the boys often find that Peter has a gravity for them also. Not in the same ways, necessarily, but in how he can climb anything or that he catches lightning bolts and spears them back at the clouds or the way he flies so low just above the water’s surface that he skims the sharks’ fins the same way you do mindlessly with a stair railing.
My point is, really, that to find anyone immune to him is a rarity, thus I like her already.
I nod. “Well, Rune, I’m entirely delighted to meet you.” I give her my warmest smile as Peter floats on over.
“What are you two birds saying?”
Rune jingles angrily.
“I like birds. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Peter frowns.
More jingles.
“Fine.” Peter looks quite sheepish. “I’m sorry then.” His cheeks are pink now, and I can’t imagine he gets scolded all that often, because he swats his hand. “You can go.”
Rune chimes again and it’s mocking. She grins at me and flits away, and I feel a bit sad that she’s gone.
“Where does she live then?” I look around.
“Just around a corner.” Peter shrugs as he looks at his own bicep.
“Which?”
Percival shrugs. “Dunno.”
“Well then.” I give them all a pointed look, and each of their faces (bar Peter’s) falters at it. “Where am I to live?”
Peter glances around. “Here, stupid,” he says after a moment.
“Here?” I repeat. “With all of you?”
Peter nods again, exchanging quizzical looks with the other boys.
“What will the neighbours think?”
Kinley looks over his shoulder. “What neighbours?”
“I can’t very well stay here,” I tell them all with a look.
Peter shrugs. “Of course you can.”
I lift an eyebrow. “But where would I sleep?”
Peter snorts a laugh as he shakes his head. “With me.”
I blink. A lot. “I beg your pardon?”
All those boys stare over at me, frowns on their faces as though my reaction is the odd one.
“Maybe she’s hard of hearing?” Percival whispers to Peter.
“With. Me.” Peter overenunciates.
I give him an exasperated look. “I. Heard. You. The. First. Time.”
“Oh.” Peter floats over, arms folded over his chest. “What is the problem then, girl?”
“Well—” I give him a cautious look, glancing around at the younger boys before I lower my voice. “What would people say?”
Peter shakes his head with a perplexed smile. “Whatever you want them to!”
I sigh. “No. I mean—”
Peter raises his eyebrows, waiting.
I purse my lips. “A boy…and a girl…in a bed… It’s very—” I trail my eyes over the boys, hoping one of them might jump in nobly, finish this car wreck of a sentence so I mightn’t have to.
“Cosy?” offers Kinley.
I shake my head. “No. I mean—Well—” I stifle a smile. “You know about—” I swallow nervously and clear my throat. “Sex?”
“Yes, of course.” says Percival. “How do you spell it again?”
“S-E-X.”
“Ah, yes. A German word.” Percival nods knowledgeably. “For the number after five and before seven, I believe?”
“It’s—” I shake my head. “No, ah—that’s. No.”
Brodie frowns, folding his arms again. “Well, what is it then?”
“Um—” I scratch behind my ear delicately, and I suppose my cheeks must be looking pink because suddenly Percival takes flight and brings me over a chair.
“Are you feeling flushed, my lady?”
“No, I’m—”
He shoves me backwards into the chair anyway. “Much better.” He smiles, pleased with himself.
Kinley and Percival sit on the floor in front of me, Brodie pulls up a chair, and Peter leans coolly against a beam, watching closely.
“Well.” Brodie waves his hand impatiently. “Tell us about it then.”
“Uh…” I grimace. “No.”
“You must!” Percival cries, horrified.
“Yes!” Kinley.
“Wendy used to tell Peter stories,” Percival offers. “Perhaps you could tell us a story about sex so we understand it.”
And then a little burst of laughter escapes me, and I clap my hands over my mouth to contain it, but the damage is already done. That sweet little Percival sits at my feet looking a little bit rejected, what with being laughed at by an older woman and all, so I give him a sweet smile.
“Sorry.” I give him another smile. “I don’t mean to laugh. It’s just—”
Peter gives me a suspicious look. “What’s so funny, girl?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head, not wanting to drum on Percival’s discomfort.
Peter leaps in the air and glides over, standing awfully close to my face, peering at me.
“She doesn’t know,” he announces.
I roll my eyes at him. “I do too.”
He gives me a spiteful look that’s mostly all eyebrows. “Prove it.”
I don’t like being challenged by anyone; it’s a weakness of mine, I’ll readily admit. But a particular weakness I have is when I’m challenged by a man. I didn’t grow up around too many, just my grandfather, you see? And he was one of those men who believed women were the superior of the sexes, that the sun rose and set purely for the honour to shine on my grandmother’s face.
I’m bullheaded, Grandmother Mary says. And I’m used to being the cleverest person in the room, so any time that’s contested, I take issue with it.
“Fine,” I tell him, nose in the air.
Probably pertinent to point out here that I’ve never had sex.
ot yet. I’ve been presented with the opportunity a couple of times. I’ve just never felt like I wanted to, so I’m not overly qualified to give this lesson, but I take a big breath and give it a crack anyway.
I purse my lips.
How do you explain sex to boys who’ve never really seen or known romance, in a world without Marilyn Monroe or Sophia Loren.
“Okay,” I start, grimacing already. “Well, have you ever spent time with someone, a girl—or a boy!” I add as an urgent afterthought. “I’m not judgm—I don’t—You may like who you li—” They’re all looking at me blankly, and Peter’s frowning. “Never mind.” I shake my head. I breathe out. “Um, so sometimes, if you’ve been spending time with someone, and you like spending time with them, and then sometimes when you see them, you get this feeling in your stomach, that’s sort of like…being…erm…kicked?”
“What?” Percival frowns.
“But it’s not…all bad?”