“He never was very good at that.”

  “Because he talks too much.”

  “I do not,” I say, no idea which flower is saying what.

  “Open your ears, not your mouth!”

  But I do open my mouth, only I don’t speak. I shut it again in a huff. All I can hear are the sounds of the forest. Leaves rustling. Small animals scampering about. Then the rise and fall of crashing waves tumble on the air.

  The ocean?

  I run.

  Until I’m not running anymore.

  I’m falling.

  I really hate falling.

  Then I hit the ground with a thud, my legs crumpling beneath me.

  My hat bounces off and my bag tumbles from my grasp, the flowers inside squealing and shrieking. I look up at the embankment I stepped off. The trees grow right up to the edge, so I didn’t see it coming.

  I get to my feet, retrieve my hat and dust it off, then set it firmly back on my head.

  “What happened?” one flower asks, her voice muffled.

  I right the bag and open the top. “My apologies, ladies. I went for a bit of a tumble.”

  The three flowers flop their heads out and take in our surroundings.

  “That doesn’t look like the Sea of Tears.” Daisy shakes out her petals.

  “What sea is it?” Rose asks.

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” I mumble, studying the narrow beach, small cove, and the churning sea stretched out before us. If there was ever a time I’d be glad to see the Mock Turtle, it would be now, but he’s nowhere in sight.

  “Since it’s clear none of us know where we are, what are we supposed to do now?” Tiger Lily asks.

  “What I always do in these situations.” I gently take the flowers out, set their pots on the sand, then dig around in the bag. Wesley knows me better than anyone, so I hope he packed the one thing I love the most.

  “It’s on the left, underneath the pack of cards,” Tiger Lily says.

  My fingers curl around a handle. I pull the teapot out, then settle onto the sand with the flowers.

  “I guess we’re having some tea?” Daisy asks.

  “Of course.” I smile at them. “It’s always time for tea.”

  An Intruder on the Island

  WENDIE

  I hold my breath, as a group of boys rushes the campfire. They move and jump around, dancing with the shadows, and at a quick count I number six of them, plus Peter and my brothers.

  Who are they, and where did they all come from? I can’t see any buildings nestled in the forest. They must have been in the trees.

  They all look to be around Jonathan’s age, but it’s hard to tell by the light of the moon and the fire, and it makes me wonder again exactly how old Peter is.

  Many voices talk at once, and I can only catch snippets of what they are saying.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Did you enjoy the flight?”

  “You must come raiding.”

  “Maybe this time we can kill—”

  “That’s my axe. Give it back.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “We’ll give them new names,” Peter yells over everyone.

  I shake my head and block out the voices until they become a drone. New names? But I like our names. And raiding? Raiding what? Who or what do they want to kill?

  Coming with Peter might not have been such a good idea. Sitting in the middle of a dark forest, listening to a group of unruly boys talk about raiding and killing, isn’t what I imagined when Peter said we were going on an adventure.

  I was so eager to escape London, to get my brothers away from a life filled with arguments they didn’t understand. To protect them from finding out about our mother and her improper ways. But this?

  What have I done?

  A heavy feeling settles over my chest, like a stone sitting on my lungs. I glance around the clearing, catching Peter’s stare. He smiles and flames flicker in his eyes, dancing around shining stars. It’s as though Peter holds the entire world in his gaze, and I want to explore every part of it. He rushes forward, his mouth moving, but I’m lost in him and don’t understand.

  “Wendie?” he says when he reaches the table. “Did you hear me? Come and meet everyone.”

  “I ... yes, of course.”

  Peter takes my hand and warmth flows into me, relieving the pressure in my chest. With my next breath, I’m filled with a sense of calm, and I let Peter lead me over to the fire. Voices fill the night as the boys all chatter at once, some yelling to be heard over the others.

  “Stop!” Peter shouts. Silence falls over the small crowd, and everyone stares at him. “I want you to meet someone special.” He looks at me, and my heart swells. “This is Wendie. Wendie, meet the Lost Boys.” He sweeps his arm wide.

  A chorus of, “Hi Wendie,” and, “Welcome to Neverland,” ripples through the group.

  “There’s Nibs, and Curly.” Peter points to two boys on the left. “Then Tootles, Peg, and the twins, Jessie and Jackson.”

  I smile and study each of them. Some are older than I first assumed, but all have dirty smudges on their faces. They wear animal skins around their shoulders, but most of their clothing I’m more familiar with. Button-up shirts with buttons missing, and trousers with holes in the knees. I realise that Peter’s clothing is in the same state, only he wears more fur than fabric. How did I not notice before?

  How long have they been here?

  Then I catch sight of someone at the back of the group. A trail of glitter lingers above the boy’s head as Tinker Bell alights on his shoulder. I squint through the darkness, trying to place what is different about him.

  Black tangled hair frames a petite face peering from behind the boy who stands half in front of him. Their features are similar. They must be the Twins, but they are not identical, and the smaller boy seems more ... feminine? Is he hiding something? And why?

  He wears trousers that are too short in the legs. His top has a jagged hem, as though it used to be a dress, but he ripped the skirt section off. It’s a similar style to the nightdress I’m wearing, only mine is blue and his was probably cream at some point.

  He offers me a timid smile, gripping the arm of the boy in front of him. Tinker Bell whispers something in his ear and his smile falls away.

  “Wendie is here to look after us,” Peter says, drawing my attention back to him.

  Everyone cheers, and the excited chatter starts up again as the Lost Boys crowd around me.

  “Can you cook?”

  “My trousers have a hole in the knee.”

  “Will you tell us a story?”

  “Boys!” Peter yells.

  Their heads turn to stare at Peter where he stands near the fire. He says nothing else, but it seems he doesn’t need to. The group follows Peter as he moves closer to the fire, and I let out a long breath into the night.

  Look after them?

  I want to ask Peter what he means, but my body feels heavy as lead. I return to the table and sit, fatigue weighing me to the hard rock seat.

  Peter, Jonathan, and three of the boys jostle each other around the fire. Another boy sits to the side, banging out a droning beat on a small set of drums. They look like half coconuts with animal skins stretched over the top. The Twins stand away from the fire, their heads together in whispered conversation. Tinker Bell is out of sight again.

  I rest my chin on my hand and my eyes flutter closed. Then a hand tugs at my nightdress.

  “I’m tired,” Michael says.

  I put my arm around him and pull him close. “I know. Me, too.”

  Jonathan comes over and sits beside me. “What’s the matter? You have that look on your face.”

  “What look?” I frown at my brother.

  “The one you get when something isn’t going how you thought it would.”

  I stare at him, his eyes filled with excitement, and force a smile. “Everything is fine. But we could use a rest.”

  “We’re here to have fun,” Jonathan replies. “We’ve never been allowed to stay up this late. We can rest later.”

  “I want to sleep now,” Michael whines.

  Jonathan sighs, but ruffles Michael’s hair. “Okay, little man. I’ll see if I can find us somewhere to bed down.”

  He returns to the fire, a skip in his step, and taps Peter on the shoulder. A dark look passes over Peter’s face, sending a shiver across my skin, but then he’s smiling again. Peter nods and claps Jonathan on the shoulder.

  “To the Hideout!” Peter yells.

  Tinker Bell swoops into the clearing, her glitter brightening the moonlit space, then darts into the trees. The drums stop, and everyone but Peter follows, including Jonathan. The petite boy walks behind rather than runs. He glances over his shoulder at me before catching up to the others.

  Peter beckons, and I take Michael’s hand to lead him over to where Peter stands. With heavy, tired limbs, I traipse behind him into the trees. Tinker Bell’s glitter lingers amongst the leaves, but there’s no one else in sight.

  “Where did everyone go?” I ask.

  “Watch.” Peter’s voice is a reverent whisper.

  He steps lightly, as though he is jumping on invisible stepping stones. I creep along behind him, around the trunk of an enormous tree. A soft glow seeps into the darkness, becoming brighter until there is a beam of yellow light nestled between the roots of the tree. Peter waves me over and I inch forward, clutching Michael’s hand.

  “What is it?” Michael asks.

  “The entrance to the Hideout,” Peter says. “Only Lost Boys know how to find it. And no one can see it before it’s shown to them for the very first time.”

  I glance over my shoulder. The footsteps along the path Peter took glow faintly.

  “How do you find it during the day?” I turn back to him.

  “Once you know, you’ll always see the glow. Come on.”

  He reaches between the tree roots, opening a door that’s hardly big enough for us to fit through. But he ducks his head and crawls in, his body moving and changing and allowing him to fit.

  “How ...?” I stare at Peter’s face on the other side of the threshold.

  “Don’t question it.” Peter frowns. “It’s how magic works. No questions allowed. Just belief.”

  Oh, but I have so many questions!

  After a moment of hesitation, I push Michael forward and he duck waddles towards Peter, taking his outstretched hand. The moment Michael touches him, his frown deepens.

  “Not quite right,” Peter mumbles, tapping his lip with a finger. He studies Michael, then presses his free hand to his chest.

  “Wendie, I don’t feel good,” Michael says, his voice low.

  I crawl forward, my heart quickening. “Peter, what are you doing?”

  But then Peter lets Michael go, and my brother slips through the doorway.

  “He needed a little adjusting. Your turn.” Peter stares at me.

  I want to yell at him and tell him he scared the life out of me. What did he do to Michael? What on earth needed adjusting? But when I connect my gaze with his, I close my mouth and simply nod.

  Don’t question it.

  His stare calms me, and I’m sure everything is fine. I crawl up to the doorway and tentatively put my hand through. It doesn’t feel any different on the other side, so I keep going until I’ve completely crossed the threshold, a strange sensation running over my skin, as though it’s too tight.

  Peter helps me to my feet. “Perfect fit.” He reaches up and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear.

  My breath catches, but then he turns and runs up the passageway. I glance back at the entrance to the Hideout. The door is no taller than my knee, and I stare at it for a few heartbeats, trying to figure out how we fit through.

  Michael tugs at my nightdress. “Wendie, I’m scared.”

  I put an arm around my brother’s shoulders. “You mustn’t be scared. I’m here.”

  “But ... there’s something not right about Peter.”

  “How do you mean?” I look down at Michael, but he won’t meet my eyes.

  He shrugs. “He’s not very nice.”

  I take his hand. “All we need is a good rest. Everything will look better in the morning when we’re not so tired.”

  He nods, but his shoulders droop. I’m not sure what else to say to comfort him, or even if I do say something, whether it will make a difference. Michael was so excited when we first set out for Neverland, but his eyelids are droopy, and he walks with laboured steps as we make our way along the passage. I’m sure his lack of enthusiasm now is only because he’s tired.

  When we round the corner at the end of the passageway, it opens into a vast underground room with a tree growing in the centre. My mind empties of all thought other than what is right in front of me as I gaze around the room. My lips curl into a smile, and I’m suddenly more awake.

  It’s the treehouse of my childhood dreams, only this one is underground.

  On the left side of the tree is a group of giant mushrooms, where the Twins sit talking. Jonathan and another boy stand near them, leaning against a bench formed from a tree root, which twists and turns along the dirt wall and holds various utensils, plates, and other kitchen items. On the right side of the room, a layer of soft leaves and animal skins covers the floor. Pillows made from old clothing are scattered on top.

  One boy swings from a rope net that’s fixed to a dangling tree root. He has a scarf tied around his head and waves a short wooden sword, as though he is a pirate climbing the shroud of a ship. Two more boys play-fight him from below, their weapons sending sharp thumps around the room.

  I step a little farther into the chaos of the Hideout, Michael clinging to my nightdress. A fireplace is set into the wall on the other side of the tree. Peter adds a log to the flames, which flicker inside the dirt recess. More light fills the space from nooks set into the walls, where small orbs glow like fireflies. They circle the entire room, and I turn on the spot to take it all in. Beside the mouth of the entrance passage is another tunnel, and I glimpse Tinker Bell’s green glittery trail as I step towards it.

  “Wendie,” Peter says over the noise, and I glance back at him. “Come see.”

  I send Michael over to Jonathan, then go to where Peter stands beside the tree, holding his stare until he looks up. Purple berries hide in clusters behind glossy leaves that rustle in a phantom breeze. A soft yellow glow emanates from the top of the canopy, and when I press my palm to the trunk, it’s as though the tree sighs under my touch.

  How does a tree grow underground?

  “This is the Nevertree,” Peter says. “It’s neverberries are forbidden fruit, and you mustn’t eat them.”

  “Why?” I glance up at the purple berries again, my stomach rumbling.

  “Because this tree is the island’s source of magic. It’s what makes sure we never grow up.”

  “But ... surely you want to grow up some day.” I wrap a piece of my hair around my finger and look into Peter’s eyes. I would love to do grown-up things with you.

  “There’s no fun in growing up. No adventure. Only responsibility.”

  “Who told you that?” I chuckle, smiling wide.

  Peter frowns, his eyes turning dark, as though the stars in them have blinked out, and my smile quickly falls away. He steps closer. Close enough to kiss me.

  “Don’t laugh at me, Wendie.” Peter works his jaw. “Never laugh at me.”

  “I wasn’t laughing at you,” I whisper.

  He’s so close his breath brushes my cheeks, and the heat radiating from his skin burns me from the inside out. He smells like cinnamon and pine, woodsy and sweet all at once. I lean a little closer. If only I could show him that growing up isn’t so bad. There are things adults do that are fun, too.

  “Peter!” someone shouts.

  I quickly step back, bumping into the trunk of the Nevertree. Peter whirls away from me to face two more boys who have appeared in the Hideout. One of them holds a hook in his hand, and the other grips a slingshot so tightly his knuckles are white. Both of them wear the wide eyes of fear.

  “What is it, Slightly?” Peter asks the taller one.

  “There’s an intruder on the island,” Slightly replies.

  Peter’s frown turns to an excited toothy smile, and he claps his hands. “Ah, so there’s some fun to be had.”

  Slightly frantically shakes his head. “I’m not sure we want to play with him.”

  “Why?” Peter asks, stepping towards the boy. “This is my island, and I’ll do as I please.”

  Slightly stares at Peter, his mouth set in a thin line, then he says, “This one ... He ... he’s older than us ... and he can do magic.”

  So Much Trouble

  RONAN

  I lift the lid of the teapot and peer inside. It’s full to the brim with steaming tea. Some of the liquid sloshes over the side when I set the pot onto the sand, and Daisy dips the tips of her leaves into it.

  “We need a drink,” Rose says, as her head flops onto Tiger Lily’s broad petal.

  “Get off me,” she says. “Stay in your own pot.”

  I dig into the carpet bag again, my arm going in up to my shoulder. “Trust Wesley to pack a teapot but not ... ah! Found them.”

  The teacups clink together as I bring them out of the bag. I set two saucers on the sand, place the cups on top, then pour the tea.

  “No sugar?” Daisy asks.

  “Or milk?” Rose adds.

  After another search of the bag, I find a sugar bowl and a milk jug. Tea splashes Daisy as I drop two sugar cubes into one cup. I add milk to both. The flowers jump from their pots and dip their roots into the sweetened brew, the liquid immediately reviving their wilted leaves and stems. Rose’s petals spread wide, a shiver running over them, and I glimpse her smiling face inside.

  “No sugar for you?” she asks.

  “I’m already sweet enough.” I grin.

  Daisy climbs out of the teacup and back into her pot before standing tall and turning her face to the sea. A faint glow spreads across the horizon as the sun peeks above it, throwing its rays over the churning water.

 

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