I grab my roll of Lifesavers and continue to stare at the boys. The red-head looks around kind of distracted, but the other boy - the one whose face makes me hold my breath - looks straight at me. Somehow my lips twist up into a smirking smile. Only then does the other boy see me. When he does, he smirks back and walks up to me.
"Well, hello there. I'm Peter." He bows and kisses the top of my hand. "And, lovely vision of the gods, do you have a name?"
A frown displaces my smile. I know he's making fun of me, not flirting. I might be considered cute by some, but I'm not beautiful. Not close. "My name's Wendy. If you're going to make fun of me, don't bother." I cross my arms and glare.
John and Michael appear, assess the situation, and say "Uh-oh" in unison. They know this look from the countless hours I've spent standing just like this in front of them. I've done it since age four, when two screaming brothers tried to team up on me.
Peter bows again. "You must not know many men of my caliber if you think I'm making fun of you." His words have a street rhythm to them, but he still knows plenty of six-point vocabulary words. And if he's old enough to be a man, I should be in a nursing home. When Calvin Klein comes up with the signature cologne "Youth," Peter's face should be on the poster.
I can already tell he's the kind of guy who never grows up and runs out on his wife and kids with the stripper from his bachelor party. No maturity to be found.
I turn my back on him and discover that I'm no longer holding the Lifesavers. Well isn't that nice of him. "Have some Lifesavers, on me," I snap. His smirk just gets bigger. I reach out to one of the cold cases and jerk a bottle of Dr. Pepper out of the rack.
An arm slides against my shoulder and pulls me against a warm body. I turn my head with a frown to see the beautiful boy, Peter's silent friend. The frown melts off and I look at him, unguarded. "Peter didn't mean anything by it. Listen. We're having a party at the Court tonight, so to make it up to you, you can get in free, Wendy. Bring whoever you want with you. OK?"
"Who are you? And what kind of party?" I know that millions of girls in my place would just fawn and beg, Please won't you sleep with me, but I have to ask all the smart questions. If I don't look out for me, no one else will.
"The party's just a bunch of local kids. Nothing too exciting. But you'll get to see me again." He winks, and I start to wonder if he's gay. Wouldn't that just be my luck? Most attractive guy I've ever seen, flirting with me, and turns up liking boys. "My name, by the way, is Romeo." Oh my God, this is a nightmare. He leans even closer then, to whisper in my ear, "And I think if you hang out with me, Peter will drop the harassment thing." He speaks in a purr. I am so in.
"All right." This is no time to be chicken. Gotta get back my edge, or at least make Mr. Romeo fight for it. My smirk returns. Turning away from his constraining arm, I chuck him gently under the chin. I can at least play the game. Returning to the front counter, I slap down a $20 and my brothers dump their candy next to my Dr. Pepper. "I'll see you boys tonight, then," I say, refusing to turn around and face my audience.
Peter leans against the counter next to me and raises his eyebrows. "Tonight?"
"Your party at the Court. I'll be there." Throwing in a wink as I grab my change, I breeze past him and out into the parking lot.
"Ooh, someone's got a date!" Michael crows. I roll my eyes with a smile.
"Isn't there a law against two people dating the same girl and knowing about it?" John asks, but his expression isn't cruel.
"You're thinking polygamy. That's only when you're married."
"Isn't there a law against threesomes?" he throws out in irritation as we slide into my car.
Slamming my door, I reply, "No." John opens his mouth again, and I thump him on the arm. "Anymore questions and you aren't going tonight."
"You'll let me go?" He seems genuinely surprised.
"Long as you don't get any fights, do anything that alters your thinking or motor processes, or embarrass me in any way, yeah, I'll let you go." Peter's friends may turn out to be strange, but John's obsession with football and cheerleaders bugs the hell out of me. He could use a little culture.
The boys see no point in dressing any different, but I want to impress Romeo in what few ways I can. I put on my cutest dress, a lavender sheath with straps and no frills, over some jeans. No point in getting too carried away. 'Sides, I hate having to sit with my legs crossed. Slouching is an enjoyable art.
When I pull up at the Court, I see a bunch of boys chasing each other and playing basketball and waving beers at each other. I look at my brothers over the roof of the car and say, "No beer. Don't wander off, don't start any trouble." I look at both of them with my best frown. "Comprende?"
"Sí, sí señorita," John responds, tossing his head back and rolling his eyes. But he'll listen, because he knows I'll make his life hell if he pisses me off.
We walk up to the gates where a few boys are going inside. I'm a little nervous, since I don't know anyone here but my brothers, but I take a calming breath. This is OK. I can deal. A big guy and a skinny kid stand guard on either side of the hole in the chain link. "That'll be $15," the little one snarls in a British accent. "$2.50 for your mates and $10 cause you're a girl."
"I was invited by Romeo," I say. Misogynistic bastard. That stuff really bugs me. I'm worth as much as any boy here.
The kid starts laughing. "Romeo doesn't invite anyone."
"And Peter invited me." I figure that the more people who can at least vouch for having seen me, the better.
Something in his face changes. The bigger kid glances at his friend. "Jack, let's just let them in and find Peter. If he doesn't agree, we can kick 'em out." Jack sneers and motions me inside, the bigger kid following us.
"My name's Wendy," I say, smiling at the quiet boy.
"Tank," he replies gruffly. Examining him from this close, I can see he's loaded with muscles. Quite a fitting name he has. "Hey, Peter!"
I raise my head and look around. Peter looks in our direction with a frown, then beams as if he's never been happier. "Well, Wendy, you did show up." He walks over and hugs me. Standing very still, I wonder what's up with him. He's a happy spazz. "Maybe you can help me out. I'm looking for Romeo, the guy with me earlier today." A grin splits his face. "He owes me money." Which I think is a joke. "Help me look."
I take his offered hand, relaxing a little in the fact that Peter's just very outgoing. He plows through the crowd, making me jog to keep up, looking right and left. Kind of strange to be running through basketball courts full of boys with a boy I don't know either. But at least I know his name. I bump shoulders hard with a random kid, and my hand slips out of Peter's.
Standing now in a sea of boys, looking for two boys in particular instead of one. How superb. I don't know where my brothers are, or Peter, or Romeo. I look around, but only find strange faces. I see a table with beer on it, some Cokes, no water, no food. Maybe if I stop, drink some Dr. Pepper, calm down, I'll be able to get myself out of this. I make my way over to the drinks.
Music blasts from speakers near the table, infectious and loud. Dancing always helps to purge all the negative stuff from my mind. Drink in hand, I walk closer to the speakers. Instead of dancing, I stand still and sip my Dr. Pepper. But I'm not freaking out, so I'm OK for now. Wait, what was that?
I hear crying.
Glancing around with a frown, I decide it can't be anyone in the crowd near me. I wander back to the table, but no one's there. I check behind the speakers, even though the sound is so loud I can hear nothing else. There, just past the speakers, in the corner of the chain link fence. Peter's curled up on himself. I trot over. "Hey, what's wrong?" I crouch beside him.
"I can't find Romeo. Usually he doesn't leave me like this. Just all poof, no explanation. At least he gives me some notice." What exactly does his relationship with Romeo entail? He adds, "He's like my first mate, my favorite general, my right-hand man. He can't just leave me like this." Peter hides his face with his knees.
Without a thought, I reach over and rub his back. Poor sweetie. He's one of those ultra-needy social kids. That's OK. I can understand it. My mom's that way. Somehow between her social neglect and dad's obsession with money, I've turned out pretty socially normal. Thank God. "Here, c'mon. Let's dance. We can do a dance to bring Romeo back, OK?" I mean it like a joke. Really I just want the guy to stop crying. It's really unnerving.
"Can you really?" he asks, peeking over his kneecaps to judge my seriousness.
"Sure I can. But we have to dance for it." He pulls himself to his feet and rubs his face against his arm. The music is still fast, and I bop into the area in front of the speakers. It's pretty clear of people, so maybe Romeo will see me and remember he was supposed to keep Peter from bugging me. Otherwise, I'll have to make up another story or go searching through the crowd yet again.
The bass replaces my heart beat, forces my joints to move into a spinning dance. Peter doesn't move closer than six inches to me, a relief since I was afraid he'd want to grind. Y'know, "magic dance" type of crap. We orbit each other, our own slow-paced crazy dance. Usually I do this with my eyes closed, to make me feel less paranoid, but watching Peter is something else. He's a really good dancer, confident and all. But he dances like he's never spent a single day ill at ease with his own body. Maybe not even a moment.
A hand touches my shoulder and I stop moving. I half turn to look at Romeo and smile. Maybe the dance was a kind of magic. Romeo looks away at Peter and motions for him to move away from the speakers. Whatever Peter needed to speak to Romeo for clears up quickly. They spend a moment speaking and then Peter leaves. Just like that. Crisis averted. Thank you, Wendy. "He said you did a magic dance to find me."
Blushing, I say, "He was crying. I didn't know what else to do." Maybe now is a good time to try hanging my head.
"Well, Wendy, if you can do magic dances, how's about a little game of basketball? You can play basketball, right?" he asks with a grin.
I snort. Can I play basketball. "I have two brothers. I kick ass at basketball." Speaking of the brothers, I glance around, not that I'll be able to see them. Michael appears to be playing tag over toward the end of the Court near me. John, well, I'll assume he's OK until further notice.
"C'mon, Wendy, let's go kick Lost Boy ass." Romeo smiles and tugs on my arm, for once looking like a teenage boy instead of an unreachable sex god.
"Lost Boys?" I ask, following him to the nearest basketball hoop.
He answers, "The Lost Boys are Peter's crew. He's their - our - boss, in a way. He helped us escape bad places."
"Oh." So they're really street kids, runaways.
"Pack, Cowboy, this is Wendy." Pack nods, looking at the basketball in Cowboy's hands, and never once raises his eyes. Cowboy, true to his name, has a red-trimmed cowboy hat tied around his neck, hanging down his back. I guess if almost everyone has such a descriptive name, I'll know where I stand most of the time.
"A girl's gonna play basketball? In a dress?" Cowboy bounces the basketball, a smile on his face. He's not being nasty like Jack-from-the-front-gate. Just a little condescending.
Romeo darts in, steals the ball, turns, and passes it to me. I sink a basket without moving from my spot. Swish. "I'm going to play basketball. In a dress." Cowboy grins, amused, and tosses the ball to Pack.
We play two-on-two until I'm sweating and tired, hands on my knees when I can afford to rest. Right as Cowboy calls it quits, a siren wails, close and startling. All the boys look around and run. Romeo grabs my hand by the wrist and pulls me towards an exit. "John! Michael!" I shout, trying to struggle out of the boy's grip.
"There's no time. The Lost Boys won't leave them." Romeo yanks on my arm to get me moving again. We run out into the street, through an alley, into a construction site. I slide on the sand and dirt on the concrete floor. Romeo ducks behind a steel upright and peers out around the side. He ducks back and presses me into the inside corner with a wink.
Right. This would be so cool if we weren't being chased by the police. Why are the police after these kids? Underage drinking aside. I look past Romeo into the rest of the site. It's dark and creepy. I shiver. He leans closer and whispers, "When the Pirates are gone, I'll take you to where we hide, so you can find your brothers." He smiles and so do I.
Romeo looks back past the upright again, then motions for me to follow him. We walk side-by-side down alleys and streets I don't recognize, though that could just be the dark obscuring them. I don't know where I am anymore. Who cares. I'm with a gorgeous boy who will protect me from all the other boys. I hope. Even so, I put my hand compulsively to my belt to assure myself that I still have my keys looped through it, though finding my car later is not on my priority radar right now.
We enter a dead-end alley and stop at a door. Romeo knocks, saying something, and the door swings open to Jack. Yay, my favorite. "Why'd you bring her?"
"To find her brothers." I follow Romeo and avoid looking at Jack. Easier that way. The hallways are pretty clean but dark, and there are rooms branching off every few feet. A door was left open, so I see a bed and some clothes. This place isn't just a clubhouse or something. They live here. I wonder just how many other empty buildings are occupied just like this.
Romeo opens a door and enters a cavernous room. This must've been a gym or a cafeteria or storage room. It's just big and empty. A small crowd of boys encircles two kids in the middle of the room. John and Michael stand to the back of the crowd, but when I walk up, they look nervous. I crane my neck to look at the surrounded boys. Peter and…who knows. Some kid. "For the crime of informing to the police, I must pass sentence!" Peter circles the boy I don't know, who cries and flinches with every breath.
Romeo coughs, making me jump. I grin, embarrassed. "Maybe now's a good time to leave." I nod and herd my brothers to the door. At the end of the first hallway, I pat my belt again for my keys.
"Shit. I dropped my keys. Just a sec." I scope down the hallway before Romeo can stop me. Reentering the big room with the Lost Boys, I spy my keys on the floor where I'd been standing. Yet another Wendy moment. I don't lose my keys through an entire basketball game, but someone startles me and there they go. I roll my eyes as I bend down to scoop them up.
A shriek rips through the absolute stillness, followed by a babbled stream of words. Straightening up, I look and see Peter with a knife in his hand approach the other guy, who is now hysterical. "Judgment has been passed," Peter announces. OK, this is just weird. I blink.
The kid falls back clutching his chest. Huh? The knife is still in Peter's hand. But it drips. The boy's hands come away stained as he falls, and he doesn't get back up. Peter whoops and begins to dance in a circle like an Indian brave. The Boys follow him, whirling and yelling. My hands press against my mouth.
No. No way. I back up, afraid. I bump into something. Whirling around, I find it's Romeo again. I clutch at his arms, unable to speak. "Did you find your keys?" Did I find my keys? Some kid was just murdered! I think my keys are pretty much unimportant now. I glance back and forth between Peter and Romeo. Which one is more dangerous?
But Peter sees us and hops over. "Wendy! How lovely to see you again." I flinch when he smiles. "Since you seem to just be popping up all over, what do you think?" He gestures at the room. Another flinch.
"Peter, she saw."
For a moment, Peter's face closes off. A mask, nothing. Then tears appear. "I'm so sorry. I've got to protect us. We can't go back. Not ever." He takes my hand, fumbling with it. "Not the beatings or the starving. I have to protect this."
I find myself nodding. Momentary common ground. I know where I stand in this. "Yeah, neglect sucks."
A flash in his eyes. "What do your parents do?"
"They ignore us. Mom goes to parties. Dad works too much. He's never home." I can't look away from Peter to glare at Michael.
"They don't love each other. They don't love us. Mom went first, a long time ago." John's voice makes me wince. I rip my eyes away from Peter and glance at Michael, the sign of Mom's absence. He doesn't know. I never told him about the arguments, the almost divorce. John figured it out on his own somehow, came to me for clarification. Too late, I look back to Peter. He saw, knows. I am betrayed.
"Stay with us, Wendy. Don't let them ruin your life." Peter's still teary-eyed. I soften a little. But only a little.
"But you just killed someone."
Tears spill over his cheeks. Damn is he emotional. "I just have to do this. We can't go back. I try other things, but they never work. I try to be good." With my free hand I rub his back. He sits down hard, dragging me with him. While I'm still leaning forward, catching my balance, he whispers, "Maybe I can't change."
"Everyone can always change," I say, trying to soothe him.
"You make me want to change." He looks me straight in the eye. It's a shock to my whole system. I know why the Boys follow him. He makes you want to, just by looking at you. Like you're the only person who exists for him.
"Wendy, let's stay." I look at Michael. Ganging up on me.
"Yeah. Maybe they'll miss us." And for a moment John and I share a single, common thought. We hate our parents for doing this to us, for pushing us away. For making us miserable, for staying together out of laziness. He blinks. I know he's going to stay whatever I decide.
I saw a murder. If I leave my brothers here alone, who knows what'll happen to them. Especially John, who can be so irritating. I have to protect them. "OK. I'll stay." For a while.
Peter smiles, again radiantly young. "Welcome to Neverland, where you never have to grow up. Ever."
Got to get ready for school. I'll be late. Can't be late. My eyes open. The ceiling isn't mine. I sit up with a jolt and look around. Peter. Romeo. My brothers are curled up in blankets around me. Flipping my wrist over, I look at my watch. 12:21. God. My legs hurt from where the seams of my jeans dug into them all night.
I need to get clothes. Need to change. My brothers wouldn't notice if no one made them change their clothes on a regular basis, but I most certainly will. At lunch time, no one will be at the house. The parents probably haven't even noticed we're gone.
Getting up, I run my hands through my tangled hair and try to arrange my slightly wrinkled dress. I open the door and look around the hallway. No one. Where's the big room from last night? Maybe someone will be in there.
I find it by chance after opening several bedroom doors and several storage room doors. What is it with boys and nakedness? I guess it's one of those instinct things. No rules? Be naked! Inside the big room, Cowboy and yet another kid I don't know are playing cards. "Hey Cowboy. Wouldn't happen to be any rules against me leaving for a couple hours, would there?" Who knows how strict Peter will be.
He shrugs. "Long as you know how to get back in."
OK. That's helpful. I walk further into the room. "And how do I get back in?"
"Gotta know the password." I look at him expectantly. He says nothing. When I cross my arms and don't move, he finally adds, "You'll have to ask Peter."
"And where is Peter?" I ask, irritation coloring my words.
"Out still."
I sigh and leave the room. Long as Jack isn't the one guarding the door, I'll figure something out. My keys have remained in my pocket, thankfully. No more seeing bad things for the sake of driving. Course, I have no idea where I am in relation to the Court. Wandering around lost, yay. I'll just hang this giant "Rape me!" sign over my head here. I shudder and consider waiting around.
Romeo enters the hallway where I'm pacing and weighing the consequences of a walkabout. "Hey, Wendy."
"Hey. I'm going to pick up some clothes. No one'll be home now. But I don't know where my car is from here, and I don't know the password to get back in." I smile, hoping he'll get the hint and come with me. Added bonus points for furthering my relationship with a hot guy.
"I can't, not right now. I'm way tired." Cue sad puppy eyes. I need clean clothes now. He sighs and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Hang on." He walks out of the hall, and I lean against a wall.
"Wendy. I'm supposed to escort you today." I look up and into the face of a guy, might be a year or two older than me, who has piercings all over his face. Those lip ones always look like they'd hurt. "My name's Metal."
Seems my name-fits-boy hypothesis still stands. "Braver man than I. Since, y'know, you're a guy and I'm not." Simply stunning, Wendy. But he laughs and gestures down the hallway. The door-guard this morning is not Jack. It's Tank. I wave and he nods. Turning to Metal, I say, "I parked across from the Court last night."
He nods and sets off down the alley the door opens onto. "So you're staying here now?"
"Provided I have some clothes to change into." Saying that still seems odd. I can't believe I'm really doing this, like I'll wake up and this will be a dream. But for a little while, I and my brothers will get a change of scenery. Maybe our parents will even miss us. "What do you guys do here? Like during the day."
He glances at me. "Just hang out usually here, in the park, the pool, the mall." The way he looks at me, I can't help feeling I'm missing something. Maybe he thinks that, because I'm a girl, I expect us to paint each other's toenails and talk about boys.
"Just asking, in case there's like roll call or a communal weeding of the vegetable patch that I'm missing out on." He smiles a little and fiddles with an ear piercing. He doesn't seem very talkative. Also, he walks with his shoulders bent, scuffing his feet a little. Tired, depressed, or bad posture. "You OK?"
Another surprised look. "OK as I can be. Been a long night." We lapse into silence again. The only sounds are traffic and the skittering gravel we kick up as we walk. Pleasant way to spend a lunch hour, as opposed to the screaming and launching of ice and the promise of homework in my civics class after lunch is over.
All the streets here are a maze, so by the time I see the Court again I know I've forgotten the way I just came. At least my car isn't broken into. I unlock the passenger side door for Metal before trotting around to the driver's side. When it doesn't appear that my silent company will be initiating any more conversation, I turn up the radio and stop worrying about making decent conversation.
No cars in my driveway, which means no one's home. Score. "Coming inside?" I ask, turning off my car. Metal shrugs.
The house is so quiet. I wish it had always been more or less like this. At least peaceful. "Want a sandwich or a popsicle or something?" Metal shakes his head, so I go up the stairs to my room. He lounges on my bed while I pack up clothes in a bag. I bring my favorite clothes, T-shirts, jeans. Whatever. The mention of a pool earlier inspires me to bring my swimsuit.
I haul the duffel bag downstairs into my kitchen and grab a popsicle before ascending to my brothers' room. I grab what I see them wear most often, hoping I've got enough to last us for a while. Snatching up several pairs of shoes, I also pluck up Michael's bear. He might not want to be seen with it by the Lost Boys, but I'd rather he didn't cry about it just in case.
One last goodbye to video games and furnishings. I tour the house in case something I might want should present itself. Nana, our dog tied up in the backyard, barks at Metal a couple times. She was a bribe from our parents to me, to make sure I didn't tell anyone about mom's little indiscretion. Michael was always closest to Nana anyway. I was much too old at that time to be bought off by a dog.
"Will your parents be back soon?" Metal asks, breaking into my thoughts.
I shake my head to clear it and hoist the bags of clothing off the floor. "Maybe my mother. Sorry. I have a lot of issues left over. Leaving is kind of like clearing them out." Maneuvering out the door, I manage a bitter smile. "I wonder how long it will take for our parents to notice we've really left."
Metal says nothing as I toss the baggage into the backseat. Really, I'm grateful for it in a way. I don't have to explain myself or my problems. Still, it's a little disconcerting because I can't tell what he's thinking. By now he probably thinks I'm a complete raving ditz. At least I didn't bother to bring nail polish or hair products or anything overly girly with me.
I park a few lots away from the Court upon Metal's suggestion. I don't like the idea of just dumping my car, but when I do leave here I'll either be so grounded I can never drive again or I'll be able to buy a new one. I hand one of the duffels off to Metal and carry the other. Making a larger concerted effort than before, I pay attention to turns and the look of the alleys and back roads and buildings we pass. But pretty soon they all look the same. Oh dear me.
"Hey, Lost Boy! Think you're something? You got a girl now, think you're something?" I pause and look behind us. The boy who shouted stands with his hands balled into fists. Wonder what his problem is.
"Ignore him." But Metal's smirking a little. "He's just jealous. A lot of kids are jealous of the Lost Boys."
"Don't walk away from me!" Ow! Something hit my side. I whip around to look at the boy. He's got rocks and concrete shards in his hands. That's just dandy. "You think you qualify as some Lost Girl or something? You nothing." He throws another rock, and I duck, backing away.
Metal puts down his bag, glaring at the ragtag street kid. "That's it." He lunges and grabs the kid by the arm, jerking him back from his flight. "You are going to leave her alone from now on." The kid tries to say something stupid, but Metal backhands him. "Now get out of here."
Rock-throwing boy scrambles up and runs out of the alley. Metal wipes his hands on his jeans like the kid had a communicable disease. He picks up the duffel bag again and moves on. I'm trying really hard now not to seem too freaked out by all the violence of the last day. Some part of me is still rational enough to point out that these Boys will exploit any weakness they see.
"I'll teach you to defend yourself, all right?" I nod when he looks for a response. "And if you need anything, you can always ask me. Romeo likes you, but he's very busy."
A tiny smile for that, a tiny blush of giddiness. "Thanks, Metal. It means a lot."
He performs the secret knock-and-password bit so quietly I can't tell what he's saying. Damn. Tank smiles when he swings open the door, but he looks anxious. "Tink's here. And she knows about her," he adds, pointing at me.
"Tink? Who's Tink? Why would I matter?" Perhaps if she'd met me, I'd understand. But these past hours, all I've done is dance, play basketball, and sleep. Unless she isn't a sports fan.
"You'll see. Just play it cool. Don't let her get to you." He helps me carry my bags to the room I slept in before leading the way back to the big living room.
There's Peter, perched on a crate next to, I assume, Tink.
She's small, maybe my height, but very slight. Bones of a bird, delicate and slim. Her little round face is surrounded by blonde hair in a riot of twists and braids and curls. Her hoodie obscures any upper body, but her legs, in skin tight jeans, show how skinny she really is, especially with the holes at the knees. She looks twelve. But then she tilts her head down to look over the rims of her glasses, and her eyes are hard, angry, imperious.
Here I am in a dress I slept in, totally unremarkable except that I too am a girl. We're the only two here. I stand, one foot slightly in front of the other, hips cocked at an angle. I place my hands on my hips, palms touching the seams of my dress, aligning down them. Assertive but not quite challenging.
"Wendy!" Peter scrambles off the crate and rushes over to me. "I hear you went supply hunting." Then he kisses my cheek and, like we're old chums, I don't react at all. Which happens when I'm this confused, I can't move. "Tink, this is Wendy. Wendy, Tink." He puts his hands on my waist from behind and watches over my shoulder. I feel like some pretty trophy. Look at this! Aren't I great because I have her?
"I don't like the look of her," Tink answers, examining her nails. Yeah, well I don't like you either, bitch.
"Aw, c'mon Tink. She's nice, she's pretty--" Tink glares at me "--she's a fighter, she's clever." He faces me and winks, stage whispers, "Girls are much more clever than boys."
I allow a very tiny smile in return. Tink continues to look murderous. With a pronounced face of distaste, she fishes in her hoodie and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. I roll my eyes and shift my feet, preparing to leave.
Tink touches the ground lightly and strides over to me, a tiny golden laugh burbling out of her throat. "Peter, you silly ass. She isn't worth anything." She reaches out and tugs hard on my hair, circling me.
Lifting my head to look at her, I laugh in return. It sounds ugly after hers but much lighter. Less cruel. "If I'm not worth anything, why try so hard to prove it?" Wendy: two. Tink: one. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go put my stuff up. Make myself at home."
Don't look at anyone. Victory can be confirmed later, don't blow it. When I reenter my bedroom from last night, both my brothers have run off somewhere. I change into a tank top and some shorts, slightly unnerved by Tink's old, bitter stare. When I rush out of the room to find John and Michael, I run directly into Peter.
"Very nice show," he says, looping an arm around my neck. "Tink's just possessive. And she's not the nicest person in the world, I know, but she grows on you."
"Mm." I sigh. Hopefully Tink won't be around enough to grow on me.
"But still, you did very well."
I grin sideways at him. "What, do I get a gold star? A kiss or something for being first place?" Something about Peter demands these ballsy comments. Nothing tame keeps his interest, it seems.
"Well, if by kiss you mean present, sure." He winks and pulls a ring out of his pocket. It's copper, a plain band. I take it from him, a little bewildered. "Metal told me about the kid this morning. This should help a little. Give you some leverage."
Engraved on the outside is his name. "Oh, well thank you." Maybe I can wear it on a chain. "So what if I give you a gift?"
"If by gift you mean kiss, then go right ahead." He smiles merrily and wiggles his eyebrows. I lean up and kiss him on the cheek. His grip on my shoulders changes, his hand slides across, and I tense.
"Hey Peter, Wendy. What's up?" I turn to look at Romeo and smile nervously.
"Just a little exchange of presents," Peter replies smoothly, releasing me and walking away.
Oh! Stupid me. "Hey, what's the password? So I can get back in when I go out?" Sometimes if my head wasn't attached I'd forget about it.
"No Pirates allowed." Peter winks and saunters off down the hallway. "See you around."
Romeo smiles at me. "Exchange of presents, hm?" I raise an eyebrow and hold up the ring for his inspection. He barely glances at it. "I see, I see. I heard about the punk throwing rocks this morning." I imagine this is what it feels like to live in a small town. Everyone will know that I tripped on the sidewalk by the time I make it back to the building.
"Metal's supposed to teach me to defend myself," I say, sticking the ring into my pocket.
"He's good and patient. Pretty soon these assholes won't bother you anymore." He slings an arm around my neck and walks down the hallway towards the door outside. "You haven't been given the grand tour, yet. First place on the list is the pool. Most of the Boys don't hang around there so much, so it might be a nice spot for you to get away some." My lips turn up into a smile in response to his grin.
Some of the girls at the pool are the real queen types. They walk around in bikinis with perfect tans, wearing bubblegum and bloody lipsticks and looking over their sunglasses at everyone else. The girls don't give me a second glance, but they lick their lips as we approach the fence surrounding the pool.
"Where's Peter?" a girl asks, looking up at Romeo through her lashes.
"Sorry ladies. Peter's otherwise occupied. We're just taking the grand tour." Trying to ignore the looks the girls give me, I pull off my necklace and thread the ring from Peter onto it, next to the silver lightening bolt charm already on the chain. I clasp the necklace around my neck before I notice the girls watching me. Some of them look annoyed, and a couple even look envious. I'm part of a select group, a group they want into.
"Well, it's time for us to go. See you later." Romeo winks at them before tugging on my arm and turning to walk away. I raise my head and stare, defiant, at the pool girls. They look away.
Knowing Peter, being a part of his Lost Boy club, gives me power. I've never had power before, at least not over my peers, not over other girls. I don't think anyone's even been jealous of me before. Peter may be manic and slightly shady, but this is a tremendous gift. I will do anything I can to keep it. As we approach the mall, I hold my head higher, and Romeo tries to hide his smile.
"Watch where you're going!"
Jack, holding a box of Christmas lights, smiles back at me. "Sorry, love. Can't talk now. Gotta move." He kicks a piece of wood backward at me.
I throw it back. Bastard. Can't a girl move a sofa without getting kicked in the ass by stupid misogynistic Brits? "C'mon, pick it up again." John rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. This has to go in the Treehouse. I'd like to get it over with and go swimming."
"Ok, ok." John smiles and crouches at the other end. We lift and I walk backwards, hoping John has no grudges that'll reveal themselves with me tripping over a box. After a string of curses from John, some of which are very inventive, the couch finally squeezes through the Treehouse door. "Damn. That's a hell of a lot of work for a couch."
I flop down, nodding in agreement. To make myself a little more comfortable, I prop myself up in the corner. "But now we have more available lazy-space." Tilting my head back, I sigh and relax. Sometimes I make great investments on behalf of the Lost Boys. "Ah, lazy-space."
A sudden weight on my legs falls back on my stomach and chest. I raise my head a few inches to make sure it's Romeo sitting on me. Not like anyone else would. "Yep, definitely an improvement." John makes a disgusted noise and clomps off. Romeo's hipbone digs into my leg, so I squirm a little to relieve the pressure. He turns his face towards me and stretches his arms along mine. "Well, if you haven't been up to all sorts of stuff today. Why all Christmas crazy?"
"Well, it's coming up on Christmastime, stupid."
"It's barely Thanksgiving!"
"And 'cause I want to, jerk." He rolls his eyes, and I snicker. "It's one time it's ok to be festive."
"Festive," Romeo murmurs. I feel the rumble of his voice against my ribs and stomach. He narrows his eyes. "You just like the ordering and making the Boys do housekeeping."
Always with the teasing. "Those are just pleasant side effects. Still, it's mostly about Christmas." He chuckles and traces the small bones of my hand with a finger. I sigh, happy, feeling loved. I turn my hand palm up, and Romeo twines his fingers with mine. Just ignore the fact that you can't breathe, Wendy. It's not so important, oxygen.
"Oi, there you are. Romeo, quit being a sodding git and come see what Peter wants." Jack glares at me as if I personally am to blame. God, he's annoying.
All the muscles in Romeo's back tense for a moment before he even attempts to get up. This is potentially bad news, then. But he rises anyway. There's a frown on his face as he follows Jack out of the room.
I consider spying on them, standing up while I decide.
"Wendy." I turn to look at Metal. He nods in the direction of the door. "Let's go see about getting you some insurance."
That induces a smile. "All right." Insurance is a private joke about personal weapons. Metal's taught me how to use a knife, how to fight without a knife. Peter's ring - which all the Lost Boys own, I've learned - gives me some protection. The rest I'll have to deal with in physical terms.
Outside, the winter weather is warm and fair. In fact, the only way I can tell the season at all is by the change in blooming flowers and the décor of certain shops. The pool's always open, and sleeveless shirts are always in style. That's all I care about, anyway.
The pawn shop we enter knows the Lost Boys well. In fact, this shop helped me procure our new couch. I glance idly into the cases of jewelry and guns, in case I see anything I want.
"What can I help you kids with?" Sam asks, smiling as he polishes a shotgun behind the counter.
"Looking for a knife," I say, already hovering near the display case for them. Most of these, however, are hunting knives. Bowie knives. "I was thinking about a switchblade."
Sam smiles, a little twinkle in his eyes. If there was a Santa Claus, he'd resemble Sam, jolly as the stories say. "Lemme see," he says, wiggling his fingers. I extend my hand, palm up, open. "Think I may have just the right one for you." After examining my palm like a fortune teller, he disappears into the back store room.
I glance back at Metal with a smile. I have to make my own decision about the weapon, since it may very well save my life in the future. All about the high points and failings of it will be of my choosing, becoming an extension of myself just like my voice. So philosophical for a damn piece of wood and steel.
Sam returns with a closed knife. It isn't new, marked instead with slight depressions from previous use. The weight is reassuring, the width slim. I flick it open, which happens with a clean, fast snap, then toss it to my other hand. I like it.
"Italian stiletto," Sam informs me. He says Eye-talian, long and drawled. "Some guy brought it here, had no idea what it's worth."
I smile. We're all accomplices in successful hoodwinks. Old chums, pals. "So how much is this here Eye-talian stiletto going to set me back, if it's worth so much?" I ask, turning slightly to see Metal's face. He told me to take price cues from him.
"Well, I like you, hon. So make it forty-five."
Slight frown from Metal. "Forty-five? I got a whole couch for thirty. This is an eight inch knife." Sam sees all the signals between Metal and me, but he pretends he doesn't. It's tradition, this haggling. He has to insult my intelligence, and I have to insult his wares before we get to a price either of us will agree on.
"Ah, but this is a life-saving instrument. Nobody ever saved his life with a couch." He eyes me. "Thirty."
"How do I know this isn't some knock off?" I examine the knife, trying to keep my face straight. "Twenty."
"If you're going to insult me, you can just leave." But there's the twinkle in his eyes again. Ah, the final price approaches. "Twenty-five."
"Sold," I say. The knife goes into my pocket. My billfold comes out. "Twenty-five it is. Thanks for being such a sport, Sam."
"Anytime, hon."
I leave the money on the counter and wave as Metal and I leave. Metal holds out his hand so I'll hand over the knife. After a quick examination, he nods, passes it back. "That'll work." I grin.
Up ahead I see a milling group of boys. Including the one who threw rocks at me my first day in Neverland. "Oh hell," I say, smirking. "Trouble." A little bit of a swagger. Head held high. A little bit of adrenaline kicks into my system. Metal has an expectant look, and even though we could walk around these kids, we head straight for them. This is what separates the Lost Boys from the other street kids. The others have desperate scrabbles only when they must. We look for the fights. And we win them.
"Look! It's a couple of Lost Boys!" one kid calls when Metal and I are close enough to hear it.
"It's a Lost Boy and a girl," sneers the infamous rock-thrower. I seem to have made such a great impression on him.
"Is there a sign that says 'Worthless Girl' on me somewhere? What's with all the hatin' on me?" The kids circle us, ring around the Lost Boys.
"What do you want?" Metal asks. No one answers. I roll my eyes. "OK, then." We start to move on.
"Let's see her fight," my favorite pest says. Some hoots and cheers follow.
"All right, let's fight then." I spread my arms out to show they're empty. No knife unless I need it. I can do this. "You and me. Though I think it's unfair for you. Maybe you should pick someone to back you up?"
He sneers and circles me. He isn't very sure about this, eyes darting around. Normally I'd like to make a great show, but I've spent all morning moving couches and decorations and cleaning. I'm just a little bit tired here, and the catcalls of his friends are irritating.
I punch at the kid, which he ducks, and follow up with a hook to his jaw. He reels backward. I wait, standing still. He comes at me again, and I rush him, punching him in the solar plexus. He freezes, trying to get air back into his lungs. I drop into a crouch and pivot, kicking his legs out from underneath him. He drops with a thud.
Dusting off my hands, I stand up to survey my victory. None of the kids meet my eyes, staring instead at their fallen friend. I sigh and step over the kid curled up on the street, continuing with Metal on our way home. For a moment there is silence. Then there are sirens.
Metal and I break for the alley nearest and race up a fire escape. Up on the roof, we scramble to the edge and peer down at the street. This is my first time to actually do this with real cops involved. Usually it's just a drill. A piece of displaced concrete digs into my arm, but I resist squirming so that Metal won't look at me like I'm stupid.
Most of the kids have scattered, probably when we did, though one valiant boy stays behind to help his hurting amigo. Even he's gone by the time the cops arrive though. I can't believe someone called the cops for a little squabble like that. Pirates. Gotta hate 'em.
A really tall man steps out of the squad car and stands, hand on the open door, looking around. Metal hisses. I glance sideways. He's glaring. Dude. Metal never gets pissed. Not even when I had those tantrums in the beginning of my defense lessons.
"Who is that?" I ask in my best barely audible whisper. The Pirate looks very prim, his black hair tied into a ponytail. Not a hair out of place.
"Captain Hook. So he's back again," Metal muses.
Then I see a kid peek out from the alley opposite us. Hook sees too. "You there. Come here." When the boy, cringing, shuffles before the man, the Pirate lifts his head and demands, "What happened here?"
"It was the Lost Boys. One of them beat up a kid. Honest sir, that's all." Hook stares for a moment before turning the kid loose. The kid runs.
Hook throws back his head and shouts, "I'll get you, Peter Pan!" As he returns to his car and slams the door, I scramble backwards and shoot to my feet. Beside me, Metal's done the same thing. I shudder, thinking of the Pirate and his threat.
"We have to tell Peter," Metal says, breaking the silence. I hurry after him.
Moving Michael's stuff out of the way, I make his bed, tucking the sheets between the mattress and the floor. There's not much to clean around here. I'm not in here longer than it takes to change clothes, sometimes to sleep, although I tend to sleep more in Romeo's room now.
Even though there's really no point in tidying anything up, it's better than being out in the Treehouse when Peter's on one of his rampages. There's been a lot of those since Hook's come back.
While I'm fishing one of my sandals from between my mattress and dresser, the door behind me opens. I look over my shoulder, expecting Romeo. Tink smiles from the doorway. I sigh.
"Wendy, domestic goddess. How quaint," she says, leaning against the frame of the door.
I glare. "You'd clean too if you lost one of your shoes." The rescued sandal is from my favorite pair to wear at the pool. "What do you want, Tink?"
"I feel that we started on the wrong foot," she says, looking at me with a mischievous wink. "Why don't you come back to my place and we can have some coffee or beer and talk."
Yeah, right. I know what Tink wants - to get me into trouble, with Peter if possible. "What's your angle? What does it get you?" I've never been one to pretend I know what's going on, even when it might end up with me in trouble.
"No angle. I figure you're not going away any time soon, so I should go ahead and accept it." She grins then, a touch of evil in it. "Might as well be women about it, suck it up and resolve our differences."
For once, the fairy bitch has an idea I like. "All right. Let's go."
She owns a little fortune telling store on the outskirts of Lost Boy territory, past the mall and the wholesale liquor place. It isn't what I expected, some monstrosity of black velvet and cats and creepy symbols and strange incense. The front room is comfortable, with scarves of red and orange thrown over the lamps and flowers on the coffee table.
"Got a preferred poison?" she asks, twirling in her small kitchen.
"Beer sounds good." I hate it actually, but as Tink said herself, we have to be women about this.
"Coming right up." She smacks a bottle onto the counter. Dos Equis, which is a significant change from the usual Buds and Coronas around Neverland. Tink uses a bottle opener on hers, but I use the side of her counter before she's finished. She winces. I smile apologetically.
So far, so good.
We move into her fortune-telling room. She settles into a chair at the center table while I look around. The table is covered in crushed red velvet, a crystal ball on a silver stand in the center. Scattered around the room are pillows of all sizes and colors. A bookshelf to one side with cat statuettes for bookends. Just a pleasant hinting at the mystical without smacking you over the head.
"Shall I tell your fortune? See if you have any issues that need to be worked through? Find out if your lover's untrue?" She watches me with her eyes half-closed and lays her hand across a deck of tarot cards.
I shake my head. "Nah. I think I'm pretty well set for making decisions on my own." Swallowing more beer, which isn't so bad, I shrug. "Thanks, though."
For a moment she continues to watch me in silence. "Do you like it here, Wendy?"
"What, here in Neverland?" She nods. "I like it so far. I have money, freedom, friends." I pause. She should answer some questions if she expects me to submit to some inquisition. "Do you like it here?"
"It is my life," she whispers, eyes opening fully. "It's an acquired taste. You should know that Peter's giving you the best right now. Later you may find he's going to stop that."
With a sinister warning like that, who needs tarot readings. But I've already seen Peter kill someone. It can't get worse than that. "Thanks for the uhm, heads up."
And just like that, the earnest window shut that Tink had opened for me. "Don't mention it." Don't remind me, don't tell. Got it.
The sound of someone knocking interrupts any reply I might have considered. It's not just knocking, it's angry pounding. Tink frowns and gets up. I follow just to make sure nothing unpleasant occurs.
She's very fast, down the hallway and out to the waiting room before I can even properly enter the hallway itself. Screams, shouts. Not good. I run.
Two big guys stand just inside the door, and one's got Tink by the throat. "We know you've got some good stuff, so unless you want us to get rough, you'd better let us have it."
"You know - all that - goes through - Peter," she chokes out, struggling and twisting.
"Then we might have to get rough." He grins.
"You sure as hell better," I say, crossing my arms. The men turn. And laugh. I'm half their size, I'm totally skinny, and I'm a girl. What can I possibly do to them? "And don't think I can't take you." I can take one, but I don't know about both at the same time. Guess I'll just have to try really hard.
"Another little girl wants to play," chuckles the thug holding Tink, who is still livid. Yeah, I want to play. I walk up and stand very close to him. "Such a nice little girl."
I smile, bat my eyes. I raise my leg and slam my foot into his calf, just below the knee. Quite a satisfying crunch. He drops Tink, who scrambles away, and starts yelling at me. The other guy curses and charges me. Punch to the gut, elbow up into his face. He lurches backwards. The other guy, one leg useless, clubs me on the side of the head. I slam into the wall.
After a grunt of pain, I turn to face him, taking out my knife without opening it. The strength of wood and steel beneath my knuckles sends him lurching on his broken leg, and he falls hard.
Tink comes up behind the unhurt guy and hits him across the neck with a baseball bat. He drops and doesn't move. She stands on him and spits on his head. "Tink, watch it!" I rush past her, pushing her out of the way. Switchblade rights itself and meets the man halfway, sliding a little before finding a space between ribs.
His eyes widen, and he sounds like he's choking. I pull the blade out, and he staggers backward, clutching his chest. Tink shoves him out the door, and he falls into a wheezing heap. I wipe the blade of my knife on the unconscious guy's shirt and, grabbing under his arms, drag him outside. The door shuts and locks with a bang.
"Now wasn't that fun?" My voice is cold, level. Nothing unusual here at all. No sirree.
"Hmph. You know I can handle these things on my own," Tink snaps, glaring as she stalks back to her fortune telling room. "It's no big deal."
"I know you can," I say, frowning. What's her problem? I don't think she's weak. Far from it. I listen to the stories the Boys tell about her. No one crosses Tink. "Just doing my part while I'm here."
She sighs and scratches at her ear, watching me and thinking. "Yeah. Well." I sit down. "But at least we're on the same page." She grins like a wolf.
I grin back. "I'll say we are."
We raise our beers in a toast and touch them together. A gulp of beer, and we crow just as loud as Peter ever has. Tink gets up and starts the Indian dance around the center table. I follow her, twisting and turning, amplifying the beer buzz. We are queens, witches, goddesses of our own.
"Looks like I missed a party." Tink and I stop our mad dance. Peter grins, leaning in the doorway. "But I'm glad you guys are getting along."
"Well, can't just go along fostering tension, can we?" Tink smiles and tilts her head to the side. I can see the irritated skin where the guy choked her a few minutes ago. "What can we do for you anyway, Peter?"
"Oh, I was hoping I could use up a little bit of Wendy's time." A smirk spreads across his face. "And I wanted to see if you guys were killing each other or not."
I roll my eyes. I bet he was hoping we'd be having a cat-fight that involved ripping off clothes. "Tink, thanks for the beer. We'll have to do it again sometime." She smiles a little thin, probably thinking about the men attacking her.
Peter leads the way out of the house. "Glad to see you guys getting along now." He hooks his arm around my shoulders. "I just wanted to spend some quality time with you. How's it going, my most clever Lost Girl?"
I tilt my head to look up at him. Laying it on thick today. He grins, waggling his eyebrows when he's trying to deflect any suspicion. "I think it's going just fine, since it's everyone's favorite subject today." Sniffing, I say, "I should start making up stories about fun and exciting things to keep people from acting like I'm missing out."
"Most people think it's good that life's not too exciting," he says, steering me to a fire escape on an abused warehouse.
"Around here, 'not too exciting' is boring," I snap, jogging up the stairs without thought to breathing or the soreness of my legs. "Speaking of which, what's up with the whole Hook thing, anyway? Everybody's interested in the Pirates and nothing's going on."
"Be prepared for things to happen. They will happen, believe me." He sits on a lumpy structure that I assume houses some air conditioning system. "But for the moment, we relax." He pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and flips me his lighter. This is his version of a high honor, letting me light his cigs. I snap open the top with a twist of my wrist and hold the flame out for him. After he takes a drag, he looks at me. I hate that look. It means something's going to change. "Ever smoked before?"
"Nope," I reply, handing the lighter back.
"Here, take a couple drags. You can say you have." Peter smiles, holding the cig out to me. I've heard them called death sticks and cancer sticks. I used to tell people smoking was bad and dangerous. A science teacher told me once that the reason cigarettes caused cancer was that the smoke held radiation. I bite my lip. "You won't be addicted, or whatever shit people tell you."
Holding the cig is awkward, but inhaling is worse. The smoke hits my lungs, and I cough. It's not too bad, more like accidentally inhaling a drink. After a few hacks, I'm OK enough to take another drag. It gives me a buzz, adding to the beer, but I don't cough. All the secondhand Lost Boy smoke must help.
My mouth tastes like ash, which makes me grimace, so I hand the cig back to Peter. "I remember in junior high, some of the girls would do this thing where they put their hands between their mouths and blew smoke to each other. I never could figure out why they did that, either. Might as well just smoke on your own."
"Shotgun," Peter says. Yep, that's the name of it. He turns to look at me. "The Mermaids do it sometimes. They say it saves on cigarettes. I think they do it just to make the boys crazy."
I smirk, imagining the pool girls doing just that. "Still confuses me. Seems silly." I think smoking is pretty much lost on me. But I can say I tried it. "Besides, smoke makes my mouth taste like gross." I frown and stick out my tongue.
Peter smiles and presses a finger against my jaw. "It's not all bad. In fact, it can be quite nice under the proper circumstances." I raise my eyebrows, wondering what he's talking about.
His head turns, and he inhales smoke. He turns back and leans close to my face, pausing for a moment to see if I'll resist. When I only blink, he takes it for assent and kisses me. I freeze up. Oh my God. Our mouths are open, and I breathe in as he breathes out. Through the sparkling buzz, I feel him move away. I blow the smoke away from us, the only thing I'm capable of now that the bottom has dropped out of my brain.
The smile on his face is gone, replaced by an intense look I can't place. My skin burns where his hand is on my arm, but I can't break the moment. I don't want Peter, at least I don't think I do, but the charge here makes it so I can't breathe. Makes it so I don't want to breathe. This isn't cheating on Romeo. It isn't. I have no intentions of doing anything - interesting - with Peter. It isn't cheating. "Your turn." The smile is back.
Taking the cig from his fingers, I return his smile with a shaky, dazed one. I pull smoke into my lungs. Tilting my head back to him, I open my mouth to his and look at him, even though I have to squint in order to see him at all. He's watching me too. I breathe out the smoke, and he inhales it, stealing it from my lungs. But then his lips move, and he really kisses me.
I move away, taking my cigarette-holding hand from his leg when I notice it there. I flick the ash off, a clumsy display, in order to mask the real purpose of the move. "I can't," I murmur. "Because…Well, you see, Romeo--"
"Wendy, I know all about you and Romeo." I stare at him in surprise. But I thought we'd hidden so well. "I do pay attention, y'know."
"But--" Call me crazy - well, I am - but what in the hell is up with kissing your best friend's girl? Forget the heresy in my kissing my boyfriend's best friend here, what the hell is his problem? Excuse so needed here.
He grins, that carefree I'm-all-of-five one. "Who better to share my two favorite people with than each other?" Hey, I'm one of his favorite people! But that's not what I meant. "You're my girl, my special one, just like Tink is my fairy, my special psychic lovely."
And still Tink gets the pretty praise. "I'm glad. That you know." Which still doesn't make me feel any less freaked about the kissing.
He takes his cig back and puts his arms around my shoulders, gathering me back against his chest. I lean my head against his throat, clutching my hands together on my thighs. "I'm glad you're willing to share it with me." I bite the inside of my lip, wondering just how much we will be sharing in the future.
The girls at the pool giggle as I walk to an empty chair. They haven't figured out how to deal with me yet. Am I to be ignored or am I to be welcomed? I don't play their games, those little back-stabbing ones meant to elevate at the expense of others. I'm not beautiful but I've got the Lost Boys, Peter, Romeo. That in itself is a mystery they don't understand. I could help the girls, but I don't play their games. What's wrong with me?
I chuckle and ease back into the chair. Who cares anyway? Certainly not me. Pulling my sunglasses down over my eyes, I wait for the small children's swim time to end. Might as well get a tan. I take off my necklace, the one with Peter's ring, and drop it into my pool bag. Chlorine's not good for it, and I don't want a weird tan line.
"Ladies," a loud, gravelly voice says on my right. I open an eye. Shit. Captain Hook in plain clothes is standing on the edge of the pool, addressing us all, hook glinting in the sunlight. If needed, he can go into the water, and I can be out of here in no time. Every muscle tenses, but I wait. "If I could bother you for a moment. Do any of you perhaps know a young man named Peter?"
One thing can be said for the Mermaids - they aren't totally stupid all of the time. Girls reply with a varying supply of noncommittal noises and waffling words. One of the girls glances quickly at me and says, looking away, "What about Peter?" What is she doing?
"He's a dangerous boy, he and his pack of Lost Boys." Hook grimaces and laughs. Dude, he's smiling like it hurts. "No boys you ladies would want to be involved with."
I laugh before I can stop myself. Some of the other girls chuckle, but my voice is loudest. Hook looks at me with a curious expression. "Isn't it true that girls are always attracted to the bad guys?" Some of the Mermaids make faces, but others recognize the teasing tone. They help me out by smiling and smirking and giggling.
The Pirate's eyes narrow. I raise my sunglasses and sit up. His eyes are very blue, almost pretty, but twisted with bitterness. Probably Peter's doing. I relax a little. "And who are you, my dear?"
"Wendy," I reply, crossing my legs primly. Usually I wouldn't bother, but it doesn't pay to be ungraceful in a bikini.
"Wendy. Pleased to meet you. I am Captain James T. Hook." He bows slightly.
"Charmed," I reply in a totally not charmed voice. I smile.
"Uh, Captain, sir?" A short fat man waddles up to Hook. This one's got a uniform on, and he's leering at the Mermaids while trying to look suave.
"What is it, Smee?" Hook asks with a frown, raising his silver hook to scratch his eyebrow.
I decide there is no further reason to bother with the Pirates for now. The children's swim is almost over, and I'm starting to bake. I stretch fully, hooking my arms behind my head, and Smee looks over, losing his train of thought. I try to hide my amusement.
"Well?" Hook snaps. The Mermaids don't even stir.
"It's been reported that Peter's in the mall--"
"Let's go then!" Hook storms past his fellow Pirate to leave. Smee looks back at me as I get up to swim. I smirk and pout with a tiny wink as I turn away. The Mermaids giggle, and the Pirate runs, flushing.
I dive into the water, rolling to swim upside-down, my favorite way. Some of the Mermaids follow. One tags me, and I swim after her. We play our strange aquatic tag until we have to surface to get enough oxygen. After the Pirate business, maybe I've passed some kind of initiation test.
One of the girls - she tells me her name is Alyssa - sees her so-called ex-boyfriend, and we chase underwater to pants him. It's been a while since I've had girls around. Girls who weren't making fun of me or shunning me.
Another Mermaid tags me, and I dive under to follow her. I don't twist and turn as well in the water as they do. The girl winds around someone's legs. I surface briefly and arc backwards to catch Alyssa as she swims beneath me. The chlorine burns my nose, so I break out of the water to make sure I don't drown. "Hey, Wendy!" Romeo. I turn and wave, nasal passages stinging still. Ain't no little chlorine going to ruin a meeting with my favorite Lost Boy. "Wendy, watch--"
The rest of his words are swallowed by the roar of water in my ears and pain in my shoulders. Someone dove into me. They thrash hard and twist me around viciously, expelling air from my lungs. I try to sink away from them, but I can't dislodge my assailant. I get free and shoot to the surface for breath.
Whoever hit me rises past me just as I gulp in air, and he shoves my head under water. It's worse than smoke in my lungs. Choking brings in more water, and I black out, unable to push myself to the surface.
"Wendy, wake up!" It's a girl's voice, and who do I know that's a chick these days? Warm lips on mine, breathing air into me. Memories of my shotgun experience with Peter propel me into consciousness. My eyes open.
Romeo sits back and looks relieved. People - lifeguards, parents, Mermaids - surround me. "I'm fine." Sitting up hurts like hell already, but I'm OK. The girls ask me questions in rapid-fire succession, but I cut through the noise with a snarl. "Who?"
Alyssa points at a guy. He's looking around in a mix between fear and defiance, like it's my fault he dived into me. When he sees me looking, he turns his back. Stupid bastard. I'll teach him a thing or two about responsibility.
Romeo helps me to my feet, a smile on his face. "That was a close one. Glad you're OK." I return the smile and put my arms around his waist. "What are you gonna do about junior?" he asks, gesturing at the kid who nearly drowned me.
"Wait a moment. I feel like a drowned fish, and I can't very well beat him up in front of everyone." It might've been nice for Romeo to volunteer his help, champion my cause. But I can handle it, which he knows, so I guess it doesn't matter. "Especially since Hook dropped by a little while ago."
"What?" He pushes me away so he can look me straight in the face. "Tell me exactly what happened." So I tell him about Hook's propaganda, the girls' hedging, my own brush with Hook's inquiries. "You told him your real name?"
"Only my first name," I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
"What if he finds out you're a runaway? Takes you back to your family?"
"First of all, there's got to be more than one Wendy in this city. Second, everyone's been saying how single-minded Hook is about getting Peter. You honestly think he'd give two shits about a girl at the pool who might be a missing child?" He doesn't say anything, pulling me closer instead and running his thumbs along my hipbones. I rest against him and watch the other pool patrons.
The boy who almost killed me is talking to his friends, gesturing secretively to a pack of cigarettes that everyone can see. They run off behind the locker room building. That's my cue. I remove myself from Romeo's embrace. "It's time I deal with that guy."
Snaking my way to the building, I duck behind it. The boys stare at me, caught between confusion and surprise. "Oh no, we're smoking illegally!" I mock, putting my hands to my face. They haven't even opened the pack yet. The expression of surprise melts, and I take a couple steps closer to my target. "So you're the one who tried to drown me?"
He raises his head. His face is covered in freckles, which make him seem younger than he probably is. I can see the decisions marching through his head. Admit the fault, look like a pussy in front of your friends? Pretend you didn't do it, be harassed by the Lost Boys? "It's not my fault. You should watch where you're swimming," he finishes. So lame. His heart's not in it.
"Oh? So if I should watch where I swim," I say, kicking a rock out of the way with my bare foot, "maybe you should watch where you smoke."
"What?" I smile and grab his arm, yanking him up. When he's mostly off the ground, I lunge in and punch him in the stomach. He folds in around my fist, and I support him there, hunched over, his head resting against my collarbone.
"You should watch where you smoke," I repeat, unfolding him so I can see into his face. He's coughing and panting, but his look contains no fear. He knows just punishment. My smile turns from condescending to genuine. This kid has possibilities if he can take the consequences without complaint. I touch his face, tilting his head up with my fingers, and say, "You should own up faster next time. But you're OK." He watches me with wide eyes. I'm feeling generous, so I kiss him on the forehead like a fairy godmother, granting leniency.
He sinks to the ground, still staring. His friends haven't moved. I fish up the unopened cigs and open it without saying anything. "Anyone got a light for me?"
A hand from behind me holds out a lighter. I smile, because it has the Mother Mary on it, and lean toward it. I blow smoke away from Romeo, who closes his lighter, and say, "Ciao, boys."
When I get up, it's only to put on a pair of shorts and one of Romeo's T-shirts - I still don't keep my clothes in his room - and I sink back down onto the mattress. Romeo presses his face into the curve of my neck, and I can feel him smile. He never bothers to get dressed. Guess that means some of my modesty's still intact.
Just as I drift off to sleep, the door slams open. Romeo flinches, waking up, but doesn't move. I can tell it's Peter by how he stands and the silhouette of his unruly hair. "Wendy, I have to talk to you now."
Dragging myself to my feet, I yawn dramatically and give Peter a scornful look. But I follow in bare feet to the Treehouse. Behind me, I hear Romeo stirring and rooting for his clothes.
Peter seems a little pissed, but I ignore it. Just cause he's angry doesn't mean he's angry with me. In the Treehouse, I see all the Lost Boys are assembled. Fear squeezes at my lungs. I remember my first night here, with Peter's deadly object lesson. So either Peter's displeasure is unusual enough to require all of our attentions, or someone's in serious trouble. I'm starting to suspect that someone is me. My knife is in my bag, which is in my room. Shit.
Peter stands facing me, and I try to keep my composure. Be proud, Wendy. It doesn't change the fact that I'm starting to be really scared. My muscles tense up, and if he breathes on me I'll fall over. Relax, relax.
"You talked to Hook today," he says, pacing in front of me.
"It's more like he talked to the Mermaids, and I happened to be there," I say defensively, putting my hands on my hips.
"You told him your name, and he probably knows you're in the Boys," Peter snaps, turning to face me. His face is twisted in anger, his eyes over bright.
For a moment, it's all I can do to breathe. Is that really the face of the Peter who's always laughing and carefree? Anger breaks through the fear, surprising in its strength. Why the hell should I be put on the stand, anyway. "I wasn't wearing the ring, so all he can do is assume."
"He has no trouble with his assumptions, let me tell you."
I roll my eyes. "Look, Peter. All he was there for was to coax a Mermaid into being a narc. As far as he knows, I'm just one of the girls. Loudmouthed, yeah, but still a Mermaid, not a Lost Boy. Girls all look the same in a bikini, which is more than I can say for the rest of you."
Peter's anger peaks before my eyes, moving through his limbs and his face like a live thing, making him less human. I cringe. "Dammit, Wendy, don't say stupid shit like that. You know very fucking well that you aren't just one of the girls. Hook's smart." I turn my face away when he steps close enough to scream directly into my face. He's so loud, and I half close one eye. My stomach hurts, I'm so scared he'll kill me, and I feel sick for making him so angry. "You saw the day you came here that I cannot let anyone compromise our security to the Pirates." It's over, then.
"Peter, she hasn't done anything Hook can latch onto." My eyes fly open again at Romeo's voice. Peter swings around to look at his friend. "She did a pretty damn good job at not giving anything away."
To my disgust, my eyes fill with tears. "I'm on your side, Peter." My voice drops to a hoarse, broken whisper. "Please don't hurt me."
"Peter, please." This time Peter doesn't look away from me when Romeo speaks. His gaze burns into me, laying all my fears out on the floor for the Boys to see. I will see this moment in nightmares.
A tear spills over my lashes and down onto my cheek. The burning trail winds down to my chin, joined by more tears. Peter's glare wavers and relaxes inward into a sad stare. "Wendy. Wendy, I'm so sorry." He reaches out to me, and I blink, spilling tears all down my face and onto his hands as I watch them reach for me. "Forgive me." He falls to his knees, his grip on my arms dragging me down.
He shudders in my arms but doesn't cry, and my own tears evaporate into so much salt. I don't feel like anything. Just tired and empty, holding Peter in my lap. The Lost Boys are drifting away now. No more excitement here. Romeo falls back on the couch with a relieved sigh. He looks at me with a pleased smile. My heart flips, but I don't smile back. I can't. Not with Peter so close.
Peter sits up halfway and holds a hand to my face. "Wendy, listen to me. I promise you that I will never, ever do to you what I did to that boy. I could never kill you. Believe that, if you believe nothing else." He pulls me to him, pressing us together cheek to cheek, and holds tight enough that my arms, pressed between our chests, begin to ache.
"I believe you, Peter." I believe him. Or I'd like to believe him, which is the same thing in this place, if you want to stay on the right side of things.
He nuzzles the side of my neck and face, stroking my back with a hand. I glance over at Romeo, feeling a little awkward, afraid things will escalate as with the cigarette experience, but he isn't even watching. He's fallen asleep again. I relax into Peter's touch and sigh. If every life-threatening experience ends like this, maybe it won't be so bad. "You are that part of me no one else can reach," he murmurs, mouth close to my ear. "I'd never hurt you."