Neverland (5 page)

For a short moment we are both silent. I wait for Peter to say something, to show me he understands my need to go back. But he says nothing. So I ask, “Why do you want me to stay anyway?”

“Because you’re a girl…and girls know how to tell stories.”

“Stories? That’s it?” Somehow I feel a little disappointed by his answer.

“Well, yeah.” He shrugs and laces his fingers behind his head, looking back at the sky. “I think it’s cool to have someone to tell you stories before bedtime.”

I do know many stories, and the twins love me reading them picture books every night before bedtime. Come to think of it, what was the last story I read to them? Was it Little Red Riding Hood? I’m hooked on that thought, because the harder I try to remember, the more the answer seems to drift away from me. Just like my name.

Next to me, I hear Peter sigh. “None of us boys know any good stories, and Tami…well, she’s really not the kind to sit at your bedside and tell a tale.” He snorts. “She would just dip us all in pixie dust.”

It seems so odd for a guy his age to listen to stories. Maybe it has something to do with his past. His life back in his real home? I go for a random guess. “Did your mother read you stories before bedtime when you were little?”

“I don’t remember the time before I came to the jungle,” he answers, his tone stark and distant. He sounds so hurt and defensive that my breath freezes in my lungs for a shocked second.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper after a while. “I didn’t mean to get too personal.”

“You weren’t. It’s just what it is. You don’t remember your name; I don’t remember where I come from. End of story.”

I don’t like his sudden change of mood. Mostly because I feel sad for him when he lays out cold facts like this. What’s more, I feel like he’s not being completely honest with me right now. Maybe a smile and a gentle poke in the ribs can tease out the happy Pan again. “You were right before, Peter,” I tease him, wrinkling my nose. “You
are
a lousy storyteller.”

Eventually a laugh slips from his lips and he shoves playfully against my shoulder. I shove back, and he shoves again. This time I tip sideways, but I can’t let him get away with this, so the shoving continues until we both roll in a bundle down the hill. Our joint laughter echoes around us.

By the time we reach the bottom, I’m dizzy. The world keeps turning around me for a minute. Then I realize I’m straddling Peter’s stomach, hands braced on his chest. He grabs my upper arms to steady me. On his right arm, there’s a fading scar that I haven’t noticed before. It runs from his elbow upward und disappears under the sleeve of his t-shirt. From the looks of it, this must have been a painful wound a long time ago. Because of his earlier mood swing when I asked him about his past, I decide not to question him about it just yet.

Smiling instead, I find his blue, blue eyes that are focused on mine. I can tell he really wants me to stay in Neverland. Not for the sake of getting a good story told. But because he sees something in me that he seems to like. Not my musical talent, that’s for sure.

I must have been staring at him for a minute too long, because his brows come together in a frown and he cocks his head. “You okay?”

“Um…sure—” My smile is blown away by something happening in the distance. “Holy crap!” I jump off Peter and stumble up.

Peter is by my side in an instant. He takes on a fighting stance, scanning around me. “What is it?”

“Over there!” I point south, or what I think is south, to the middle of the island. My hand trembles. “A volcano!” And it’s erupting.

Peter lets out a long breath. “Ah, you scared the crap out of me. I thought Hook found us.”

Turning to him, I feel the blood draining from my head and my voice takes on an insanely calm edge. “There’s a freaking volcano exploding, and you’re all relaxed?”

“Would you rather I pee my pants like a girl?” He laughs at me, but then he takes my hand and pulls me down to the ground. “Come, sit. You’ll like this.”

Like watching a volcano erupt and extinguish half of the isle? I doubt it. Peter doesn’t let go of my hand, and though he’s slim and appears fragile, he is strong, so I sit with him and train my gaze on nature’s furious display of fireworks.

Molten lava slowly creeps over the edge of the opening in the earth. Only the color doesn’t seem right. It looks like someone melted gold in there, powdered some pixie dust on it and is now shoveling it out of the high rock. And then, with a bombastic fizzling, a rainbow shoots out of the volcano. In a high arch, it races east over Neverland and dips into the sea, where it gets swallowed by the waves.

“Oh my God, how beautiful…” I mumble.

Peter leans in to me and speaks in my ear. “You think that was nice? Just wait and see.”

Quickly, I move my gaze to his face so close to mine then back to the volcano. Already the next glowing rainbow erupts from it. And another. And another. For at least three minutes, the mountain in front of us keeps spitting the most wonderful arches of glimmering colors. They zoom in all directions, each of them landing in the sea where they brighten the water and finally fade away.

“Cool, huh?” Peter says. I nod. Then he pulls something out of the chest pocket of his shirt. When he holds his hand out to me and opens his fist, there’s a little heart-shaped ruby on his palm.

The rainbows completely forgotten, I stroke my fingertips over the gem’s smooth surface. “This is lovely,” I breathe.

Peter gives me a warm smile. “Take it. It’s yours.”

“Mine?”

“It’s a present.”

“Did you take this from your treasure?”

“M-hm.” He nods slowly. “Welcome to Neverland, Angel.”

A little uncertain, I take the stone from Peter’s hand. It’s heavier than it looks and surely would make for a beautiful necklace. “Thank you, Peter.” I place a chaste kiss on his cheek and behold the beautiful ruby for another endless moment, then I tuck it in my pocket to keep it safe.

Inside the pocket, my fingers brush against something and I go stiff.

“What’s up?” Peter asks me.

“Nothing,” I murmur. I already know what’s in my pocket before I pull out the one-by-two-inch piece of paper.

“Travelcard,” Peter reads out loud as he leans over my shoulder to inspect my personal, tiny treasure. He makes a quirky face and adds, “To London.”

A wave of fear and homesickness hits me. I’m definitely not on any normal island somewhere in the world. Where I landed is a place that shouldn’t exist. What if I can never get away from here again? Never get back home?

Bile clogs my throat. I stand up and walk a few steps away from Peter, clutching the card with both hands.

“Is this a map for you to find London?” Peter’s voice is close behind me. “Can you use this to go home?”

I turn around and face him, clearing my throat. “No. I used this yesterday. It’s a train ticket. I went to the city to buy a birthday present for my sisters.”

“The Lost Boys can become your brothers if you stay. And Tami will be like a sister to you.” With narrowed eyes, he looks at me, angling his head. A muscle ticks in his jaw. “You don’t have to go back.”

I hesitate and reach out for his hand, but he pulls it away. I don’t like seeing him depressed. “Please understand, Peter. Neverland is your home, not mine. How would you feel if you landed in the middle of a city you don’t know and you couldn’t ever see the Lost Boys again?”

A couple of silent seconds tick away. Suddenly Peter straightens and his face takes on a hurt expression. “Fine. Go back to your
London
. I don’t care.”

“Peter—”

He flies up a few feet, then hovers for a second and scowls down at me. “Good luck!” An instant later, he zooms away.

“This isn’t funny, Peter!” I shout after him and wait a few seconds, but nothing appears out of the dark. Clenching my hands into fists at my sides, my whole body tenses. “Peter Pan! Come back!
Please…!
”

He’s already too far away to hear me. I’m left by myself in Neverland. Fantastic.

Chapter 4

I CROSS MY arms and grit my teeth.
Stupid, ignorant boy!
I’ll never find my way back to the tree house alone through the jungle. Even if I did, I probably wouldn’t be welcome anymore. Since plan A is cancelled, I look around, weighing my options. Plan B is to camp outside. That’s not how I intended to spend the night, wandering around on a strange island with no idea of where I am, but this is my best bet.

Behind me is the jungle, in front are rows of hills. It’s probably best to find a place beneath a tree where I can overlook the area and still have my back protected from whatever danger creeps through the thicket at night.

“I’m not a coward,” I mumble as I sneak closer to a mahogany tree. “Darkness doesn’t scare me.” My teeth start to chatter. Okay, maybe it does.

The grass rustles under my feet. An owl hoots in the distance. Sliding down with my back scraping along the rough tree trunk, I try to stay alert and watch for anything that’s moving around me. My arms wrapped tightly around my knees, I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with courageous breaths. This is Neverland. The land of treasures and pixies and rainbows.
Nothing to be afraid of.

But it’s also the land of Hook. That name looms in my mind. Captain of the pirates. Ugly as hell, with a silver hook on his arm. Did he lose his hand and somehow replace it with a hook for a weapon? What if he finds me in this thick jungle and slices me with his hook from my belly to my nose?

Jeez, where did that thought come from?
I shake it off and concentrate on something nicer: the feeling of golden pixie dust between my fingers and the vision of hundreds of rainbows shooting across Neverland. Yeah, with that picture in my mind I manage to calm down my racing heart. I close my eyes. But with that damn owl still hooting and other nocturnal sounds along with the darkness, it creeps me out.

Jumpy like a rabbit, I sit through the night and pray that the dark clouds shrouding the moon aren’t loaded with rain. Peter said there’s never one day of bad weather in Neverland. I hope he’s right.

My back is stiff and my butt hurts from sitting, so at one point I just tip over to lie on the ground, rest my cheek on my arm and finally sink into a dreamless sleep.

What feels like minutes later, I wake up again, but the dark has already made room for a bright blue sky. The warm sun shines down at my face. With a good stretch, blood rushes to my numb limbs and my arms and legs no longer feel like dead twigs attached to my body. Yawning louder than a cougar, I get up and dust off the rest of my makeshift bed from my clothes.

My stomach rumbles. I’m hungry as hell, but what’s really killing me is my bone-dry throat. I could drink up a lake…if I found one anyway. I didn’t see one yesterday, when Peter carried me above Neverland. But the image of the seaport presses into my mind. Maybe I should try to make my way south. There’ll certainly be food and water, and who knows, maybe even a ship that sails off this island. Someone surely knows which direction London is.

With my stomach grumbling, I wander off toward the grassy hills separating me from the seaport. As I climb them one by one, beads of sweat form on my forehead. My tongue sticks to the roof of my dry mouth. I’m ready to suck the dew from the grass if necessary, just to get one drop of water. Then, on the fifth hill, the sound of rippling water drifts to me.

A rush of joy quickens my heartbeat. I climb the last few steps and can eventually see the little river rolling though the valley in front of me. My legs develop their own will and carry me down too fast. At the bottom, I stumble and lose balance. Like an avalanche I come down hard and land with a splash in the river.

Not bothering to step out of the shallow water, I sit up and take a few deep breaths to calm myself. Wonderful water! I drink my fill and dip myself under once more to get the dust and jungle filth off me. When I’m done with my sketchy bath, I feel invigorated and ready to walk on. I wade to the other side and climb out.

It’s not far anymore. From the top of the last hill, I could already make out the sea and some rooftops. Minutes later, the sounds of the port carry to me and cheer me on to walk faster. It feels like a one-hundred-pound stone is lifted off my chest when the dreamy little port comes into view.

Leaving the hills behind, I walk down a cobblestone street, welcoming the hardness of a street under my feet. Man, it was about time to get out of the wilderness and into civilization. A deeply relieved sigh escapes my lips.

Houses of multiple colors line the street. Some have Venetian balconies and double-wing doors. Others are simpler with flower pots placed next to the doors and beneath windows. The first people I see are a couple of ladies, dressed in bell-bottomed gowns of burgundy and frog-green silk. They carry parasols, but only the woman in red uses hers as shelter from the sun. I want to ask them about a passenger ship, but when I get closer, I see the fear in their faces. Hurriedly, they lift their dresses, exposing their booted ankles, and flit into a narrow alley to my right.

Scratching my head, I pivot. Was it me? Do I stink? No, can’t be, I decide after sniffing the sleeves of my sweater, which the sun had dried by now like the rest of my clothes. Then it dawns on me that my sweater must be the reason. Oh darn. Tami was scared as hell when she saw the skull on the front yesterday. These women must think I’m a pirate, too.

To avoid any more misunderstandings, I pull the sweater off over my head and wrap it around my waist, with the image hidden. Tying the sleeves to the front, I walk on and come to what looks like the main street filled with people hurrying about. Beyond it spreads the mighty ocean. I speed up and slip into the crowd, where I clearly stand out with my jeans and snug-fitting tee. Although not all are dressed as elegantly as the ladies from two minutes ago, this fashion is clearly from a different time. Maybe from the past century or earlier? One can easily distinguish these people’s status by their clothing and style of hair. The rich women wear their hair in updos, decorated with overworked hats, and their gowns cover almost every inch of skin from their neck down to their toes. The poorer folks are wrapped in linen, some even walking barefoot. I feel like I burst in on the set of
Downton Abbey
.