by K. Ancrum
“Nice,” Wendy interjected before Mrs. Darling could say anything. “Mom showed me how the train system works, and we made it past the front kiosk without any issues because Nana was so well-behaved.”
“That’s good to hear.” Mr. Darling leaned over and kissed Mrs. Darling on the top of her head. “And for you, my love, I did do the pots, pans, silverware, plates, and cleaning supplies. We’ll leave the rest for the movers, but for now, my best ladies won’t have to eat off paper and plastic.”
Mrs. Darling covered his hand with hers. “You want to take some pizza up to your room? You can if you want,” she said to Wendy.
Wendy leaped at the chance. She snatched a plate from the cabinet, grabbed a few slices, and scampered up the stairs.
Her window had cracked itself open yet again, and the wind had blown on one of the books so violently that its cover was thrown wide and the pages were fluttering. Wendy pulled the book back, slammed the window down again, and shoved the stack closer to the window, pinning it shut. Then she flopped down on her bed and pulled out her phone.
Eleanor was getting ready for church and probably couldn’t talk, so Wendy decided to look up some places for them to visit when she was finally free to travel around on her own.
Eleanor loved museums, so they’d have to hit those first, starting with the Art Institute of Chicago and working their way backward toward the Field Museum and Adler Planetarium, ending with the Shedd Aquarium, which would probably be Wendy’s favorite. Then they could get lunch and head to a bookstore or something. There were a couple of local ones not too far from downtown that seemed promising. Wendy knew that Eleanor preferred comic book shops to bookstores, but Wendy had left a decent amount of books back in the suburbs, and her collection was looking a bit thin.
She was about to begin working on a decent itinerary for next week when she heard Nana barking, louder and angrier than she had in a while. Wendy froze, listening.
When Mr. Darling’s shouting began to accompany Nana’s barks, Wendy jumped up from her bed and flew down the stairs, nearly colliding with Mrs. Darling.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
“Nana caught someone trying to hop over the back fence in the yard,” Mrs. Darling said. “She scared him off, but I think she might have bitten him and torn some of his clothes.”
“She got a piece of his jacket!” Mr. Darling crowed triumphantly, holding up a scrap.
Wendy eyed the dusty gray denim sleeve in her father’s hands warily.
“Do you think this will become a regular occurrence?” Mrs. Darling asked, concerned. “Maybe we should get an alarm system…”
“We should definitely get an alarm system,” Mr. Darling agreed. “But for now, Nana’s all we’ve got, and she’s doing a wonderful job.”
“My window is broken, and people are hopping our fence. Are you sure this is a ‘good neighborhood’?” Wendy asked sarcastically, parroting Mrs. Darling from earlier.
“Oh, our property tax practically guarantees it,” Mr. Darling replied. “But this house was empty for a while before it was rehabbed and went on the market. “Maybe people are just surprised to find that now it’s occupied.”
“Okay, great,” Wendy said. “Maybe instead of staying here alone when you and Mom go to your work party tomorrow night, I could go and sleep over at Eleanor’s house that has two whole parents in it.”
“You’re pushing it, Wendy,” Mr. Darling said.
“I don’t even— They’re literally at church right now,” Wendy muttered. “They go to Friday church, for fuck’s sake.”
“One last chance,” Mr. Darling warned.
Wendy exploded. “But what if the guy who tried to break in comes back? Is it really that much worse for me to be with people you don’t know than be in an unsupervised house with no alarm system, broken windows, and a burglar Nana barely foiled?!”
“That’s it!” Mrs. Darling shouted. “Upstairs, now! You’re grounded for a week, and don’t you dare think of leaving that room until next Friday!”
Wendy stared at her parents in horror and outrage, but she didn’t say another word. Instead she marched upstairs and gently closed her door.
CHAPTER 3
Wendy didn’t have many fights with her parents, so she always felt dark and ugly whenever she did. She’d known her mother’s nerves were frayed and that her father was probably rattled from the break-in, but this safety protocol was an objective reality that she simply didn’t agree upon. Mr. Darling was stubborn, so Wendy always tried to be immovable, too, if she could manage it. If her parents didn’t want her to leave her room until next Friday, then Friday it would be. She saved pizza from yesterday and ate it in the morning, resolutely refusing to come downstairs when she was called for breakfast.
Wendy lay on her bed reading for the whole day and texting sporadically with Eleanor—who was not thrilled to hear the news that there was no hope for having any plans this Sunday. Wendy figured that when Mr. and Mrs. Darling headed off to the party at her father’s new job, she could run across the street to the nearby 7-Eleven and stock up on snacks so she could really lean in to camping out in her room.
She slipped into a hungry, fitful nap as the sun set and missed Mr. Darling coming into her room with a plate of chicken and some rice. He placed the plate on her nightstand and lovingly tucked the Saran wrap around it. He picked her pizza plate up from the floor next to her bed and let himself out of her room, closing the door quietly behind him.
In fact, Wendy missed Mr. and Mrs. Darling getting ready, feeding Nana, and locking her up for the night. She slept straight through Mrs. Darling’s gentle, apologetic knock on her door, her whispered good night, and the sound of her parents slipping out to the party.
But what Wendy didn’t miss was all the books in front of her window crashing to the floor. She startled groggily and tried to make sense of what she was seeing. Long arms thrust their way through the open window, followed by a head of wavy, tousled hair. The intruder pulled himself silently into the room and slid along the wall toward the door.
Wendy sat up and turned on the bedside light. “Who the fuck are you, and what in God’s name are you doing in my room?”
The man turned to look at her, and Wendy’s breath caught in her throat. He wasn’t a man; he was a boy. More specifically, a boy her age. Even more specifically, an incredibly attractive boy her age.
They stared at each other in mutual horror.
Wendy took in his long dark eyelashes, his smattering of freckles, the way his nose turned up at the tip, and the impossible whorls of his auburn hair. He was golden-eyed like a lion and looked just as hungry, but his mouth was soft, pink, and generous. She followed the lean lines of his body—broad-shouldered with sharp, slim hips in excruciatingly tight jeans—to land on his faded T-shirt and gray jean jacket that was missing a sleeve.
“Your dog ripped my jacket,” the boy said in a soft voice. “I’m just getting what’s owed.”
“You’re … robbing me?” Wendy asked in quiet disbelief.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he drawled. “I’m only taking enough to resell and replace what was destroyed. Didn’t even know you were here. This place used to be empty.”
Wendy scowled. “It’s not empty anymore, and you need to leave or I’m calling the police.”
While she’d been talking, the boy had inched closer to the door and grasped the handle, but when Wendy mentioned the cops, he froze.
“That’s not fair. I haven’t even taken anything just yet,” he said, scandalized. “And you’re the one whose dog ripped up my jacket, so technically you’re the one who’s done something to me first.”
“What do y— You know what, I’m not arguing with a burglar.” Wendy sprung up from the bed and began rooting through the covers for her cell phone, but the boy was faster.
He snatched it off the corner of her quilt and held it up. “You bring me something that covers the cost of my damages and I give you your precious phone ba
ck and disappear.”
“Dude, we just freakin’ moved here,” Wendy snapped loudly, done whispering. “All of our stuff is still packed. Even if I wanted to give you something, everything is in boxes.”
“Then you have a problem on your hands, don’t you?” the boy asked, tossing the phone up and catching it.
Wendy stared at him and thought for a minute.
He was clearly very fast, so if he wanted to hurt or even kill her, he probably could have done it by now. Plus, he hadn’t said that he wanted to steal all their valuables, just recoup the cost of replacing the jacket. But even if she knew how much the jacket cost, he could just lie to her to make a profit and take off with their TV. And much more terrifyingly, just as she had warned her parents, there was a stranger in their home, and she had no real way to escape him or contact the authorities.
The boy relaxed against the wall and pushed his hair back from his face, cradling Wendy’s phone in his slim fingers. He raised an eyebrow at her impatiently.
Wendy gritted her teeth. “Will you. Accept. A trade of labor? As you can see, everything is packed except for my room. I have sewing materials here, and I’m pretty sure your entire sleeve is downstairs, lying on the kitchen table. If I sew your sleeve back on, will you get out of my house and never come back?”
The boy gaped at her. “You … what? You’d do that for me?”
“Not for you, you weirdo. I’m doing it so you’ll leave!” Wendy shouted.
“No one has ever … yes. Please sew my sleeve back on. This jacket means a lot to me and I just … yes.” He sat down on the floor to wait.
Wendy went out of her room and dashed down the stairs. The sleeve was indeed lying on the kitchen table, and she grabbed it. The landline phone caught her eye and a thrill of triumph quickened her heart for a moment, but when she picked it up, she realized the connection hadn’t been set up yet, which meant any lifelines were still out of reach. Her stomach fell in disappointment and fear, and she made her way back up the stairs.
The boy was sitting there patiently, leaning against the wall. He had her phone perched in the well between his long thighs and was doing a cat’s cradle with some yarn. He looked up when she came back into the room, and his eyes laser-focused on the sleeve.
Wendy sat on her bed and pulled the sewing kit from underneath her mattress. She threaded a needle with thick button thread and waited.
“I can’t actually sew the sleeve on without the jacket,” she said icily.
The boy scrambled out of his jacket and held it out to her, his eyes round with anticipation.
Wendy snatched it from him, turned it inside out, and began to pin the sleeve back on. “You know, you could have just come to the front door during the daytime, apologized to my parents about the misunderstanding, politely asked for the sleeve, and sewed it back on yourself.”
The boy let out a snort of laughter and then covered his mouth like he was surprised it had found its way out. “I don’t know how to sew,” he admitted sheepishly. “And I doubt that would have worked, anyway.”
“Why does this jacket mean so much to you that you’d trespass just to fix it?” Wendy asked. “It’s only a jean jacket. You can get one just like it at H&M.”
The boy hummed low in his throat and leaned the long line of his neck back to rest his head against the wall. “I’ve had this jacket for a very long time. It used to belong to a friend of mine—the very first friend I ever had. I’ve kept it safe for him for ages. I know the circumstances of our meeting tonight aren’t exactly … cordial. But I do really appreciate you fixing it for me. I hope you know that,” he said softly.
Wendy glanced over at him in spite of herself. The boy was gazing back at her through lowered eyelids, half closed but still sharp and observant in the light of her bedside lamp. He was studying her, she realized.
“You’re very pretty,” he said. “I don’t mean that in a selfish way. I just thought you should know.”
“Thanks,” Wendy muttered and tugged the thread extra tight.
“So, you said you just moved here? From where?”
“I’m not telling you,” Wendy said immediately.
“Why?” the boy asked, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.
“Because we don’t even know each other!”
“We could.” The boy climbed to his feet and crossed the room in quick strides. He placed her phone on the corner of her bed and held up his hands, backing away, when she snatched it.
“Please don’t call them. You’re almost done,” he said softly.
Up close, Wendy could see that he had been crying. Eyes rubbed red around the rim; nose still puffy from wiping it.
“I’m Peter,” he said, sniffing. “Peter Pan.”
“Wendy Darling.” She felt the words leave her mouth helplessly.
Peter gave her a watery smile. “Nice to meet you, Darling.”
He turned around and looked out the window and down into the alley below. “We’re not strangers anymore, I don’t think. Acquaintances, now, I guess.” He turned back to her. “I’ll wear your stitches with pride, of course. They’ll just make the jacket more magic.”
“The jacket magic…?” Wendy echoed.
“Sure,” Peter replied, shrugging. “It definitely helps.”
Wendy tied a double knot at the end of the row and pulled it tight, then she turned the jacket right side out and held it out to him. Peter shimmied into the jacket quickly, then he held his arms around himself and took a deep, grateful breath. His eyes fluttered closed and he shivered a bit.
When he opened them, they twinkled with mischief.
“Would you like to see some magic now?” he asked excitedly.
Wendy opened her mouth to say, No, and also get out of my house, but before she could, Peter flashed his fingers behind her left ear and pulled out an acorn, then darted his other hand behind her right ear and pulled out another piece of yarn. Then, quicker than felt safe, Peter whipped a blade from his pocket and slit the acorn stem down the middle, scratched the side of the acorn a bit, and strung it along the yarn like a necklace.
“If you give me more time, I’ll make something prettier,” he said bashfully, presenting it to her.
Wendy took the acorn from his hand and turned it around. Peter had carved her name and a small star into the side. The yarn itself was elegantly braided to keep the acorn in place. She hadn’t seen him do that …
“It’s like a shadow,” he explained, gesturing at the jacket. “Hides what needs to be hidden for just long enough.”
Wendy didn’t know what to say. She looked at the acorn, then back at Peter. He backed away from her bed and opened her window again.
“So, I’m off. As promised,” Peter said with a wry smile. “Thank you for your time, your kindness, and the pleasure of your company. Welcome to Chicago, Darling.”
He slipped beneath the windowsill and into the night.
Wendy looked down at the acorn necklace for a minute, then strung it around her neck. It was warm on her skin, as if Peter had been holding it against his own skin for hours.
She was just about to get out of bed and make sure all the doors in the house were truly locked when Peter popped his head back up and into her room.
“Sorry to startle you,” Peter said, “and forgive me if this is a bit too forward, but do you want to come to a party?”
“Do I … what?!” Wendy clutched her chest and willed her heart to stop racing.
Peter grimaced. “It’s … kind of an open invitation sort of thing, and you did mention you were new to the city, and your parents clearly aren’t home. Do you want to come out and see the sights with me? I promise I’ll get you back before morning.”
“I’m not going anywhere alone with some strange boy I just met. Are you high?”
Peter looked over his shoulder at the two-story plunge below him and chuckled. “Well. Yeah. But I’m not alone. Tink’s here. We could all go together.”
Wendy got out of
bed, went to the window, and peered down into the alley.
Leaning against the wall was a very short and very angry-looking girl. She had her blond hair entirely shaved except for two patches by her ears, and long bangs she had swept to the side. She was wearing a forest green velvet minidress and leather jacket, and her tights were ripped practically to shreds. She had a wooden pipe in her hand and was smoking out of it with a stiffness and unapproachability that nearly equaled Peter’s graceful and attractive sprawl against the side of Wendy’s house. The girl glared up at the window at Wendy and Peter but didn’t say a word.
“She’s a girl, too, which helps, I think,” Peter explained. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think you’d be more comfortable with other people here.”
“Has she been down there this whole time?” Wendy asked. “When I was sewing your jacket and everything? That was like a half hour!”
Peter shrugged. “I brought her for safety. Climbing houses is hard and I’m good at it, but old Tink here won’t let me go anywhere without a spotter. She’s a stickler for rules.”
Wendy frowned and turned back into her room to think. She looked down at her pajamas, around the room she had been intending to stay in for a whole week, then back at Peter. Beautiful, magical Peter, who had cried in her room over torn fabric and was leaning dangerously against the trellis, waiting for her answer.
“I … uh … I have to call a friend,” Wendy said.
“For permission?” Peter asked interestedly.
Wendy began dialing Eleanor’s number. “Something like that.”
CHAPTER 4
“Is he still at your house?!” Eleanor whisper-shrieked into the receiver.
“Yes,” Wendy hissed back. “He’s balanced on the trellis, and I need you to calm down. If he wanted to murder me, he would have done it thirty minutes ago.”
“Oh God, I am calling the cops,” Eleanor said. “I am going to call the police, and I know how you feel about that. What kind of question is that? ‘Should I go to a party with him?’ WHAT? Do you even hear yourself talking?” Wendy could hear Eleanor shaking her head, her curls bounding wildly.