by Zoe Barton
“Are you crying?”
“Of course not.”
But he wiped his face with the back of his hand and sniffed suspiciously.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.” But in the back of my mind, I was pretty impressed with the way I defended myself. It wasn’t every day you got to fight off nighttime intruders.
“It wasn’t the pillow,” he said, sheathing his sword. “It’s my shadow.”
“Your shadow?”
“Over there.”
The boy pointed across the room. A dark, flat figure was struggling to open the window. It was shaped exactly like the flying boy, right down to the wild curls and leafy clothes, and it was having trouble getting the window up. Shadows must not be very strong.
Something about the scene seemed very familiar—like something I had read in a book or seen in a movie.
With a sudden, electrifying thought, I turned back to the boy. “I know who you are! You’re Peter Pan!”
“Of course I’m Pan. Who else would I be?”
Peter Pan and his shadow in my bedroom? I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. It definitely hurt.
I couldn’t believe my luck! My winter vacation just got a lot more interesting.
The legendary boy flew to the window. When he grabbed his shadow’s shoulder, it slapped his hand away and tried more frantically to lift the window.
“None of that now,” Peter ordered. Then he looked at me and added, “My shadow hasn’t gotten away from me in a very long time, but it got stuck under the moving metal carriage outside and snapped right off.”
It took me a couple of seconds to realize what exactly he was talking about. “You mean, my parents’ car?”
He didn’t answer. Instead he dragged the shadow away from the window. It reached up and tickled Peter’s stomach. Peter laughed, and when his grip loosened, the shadow made a break for it.
But Peter was faster. Before his shadow reached the window, Peter tackled it again. Then boy and shadow wrestled, tumbling across the rug. They banged into my nightstand so hard that my lamp toppled and fell.
I was still a little stunned, but I couldn’t just stand there forever, especially when Peter looked like he could use some help. So, I jumped off the bed, picked up the book, and whacked the shadow. The poor shadow stopped fighting Peter and held its injured head in its hands.
I waited for Peter to thank me, but he just sat down, cross-legged, pulling the shadow closer by its foot.
The shadow tried feebly to get away, hooking its elbow around my desk chair. That didn’t work. Peter just dragged shadow and chair until his own ankle and his shadow’s foot touched.
Then he looked at me expectantly. “Aren’t you going to attach it?”
I stared at him. To be completely honest, I had no idea how to get someone’s shadow to stick on. That wasn’t something they taught in school.
But I did know how to find out.
“Just a sec,” I told Peter. I went to my bookcase and searched the shelves. I knew that Grandma Delaney had given me Peter Pan for Christmas a couple years back, but it took me a while to find it. “Here we go.”
I flipped through the pages, skimming until I came to the part I wanted. “It says here that Wendy sewed your shadow on.”
“Yeah, sew it back on,” he said, sounding impatient.
“Sew? I don’t know how to sew!” I didn’t even know if we owned any thread.
Peter jumped up, still holding his shadow’s foot. Tipped upside down, the shadow flailed both flat arms, trying to steady itself.
“Hold on,” I said quickly, worried that they might leave before Peter did anything really exciting, like teach me to fly. “I think there’s some Super Glue in the kitchen.”
I crept out of my room and down the back staircase, walking close to the wall to avoid the creaking floorboards. Peter flew just behind me, holding his shadow in a headlock all the way down the stairs and into the kitchen. With his leafy shirt and the struggling shadow, he looked so out of place flying over the sink that I had to pinch myself again—to make sure it was all real.
Then I opened the junk drawer and started combing through it. I knew the Super Glue was in there somewhere. We heard brakes squeal in the next room.
Peter looked around wildly, one hand on his sword. “What’s that noise?”
I pushed past dried-up pens and several pairs of scissors to the back of the drawer. “A car chase. The TV’s on.” Megan had turned up the volume really loud. No wonder she didn’t hear me shout earlier.
“TV? Would the Lost Boys like it?” Hovering a couple feet above the floor, Peter pushed open the door to the living room, peeking his head through curiously.
“No!” I grabbed his foot and yanked him back.
Now that he stood on the ground, I could see he was only a little bit taller than I was. He glared, cheeks bulging, like he was about to start shouting.
Legendary or not, I wasn’t going to let him get me in trouble. Especially when I was doing him a favor.
“Stop it!” I said sharply. “Do you want to get caught?”
That got his attention.
“The great Pan is never caught,” Peter said, but he said it very quietly.
“Maybe so. But I’m not taking any chances.” I didn’t want Mom to find out and reconsider the trip to the Christmas tree farm.
I held up the tiny bottle of Super Glue and gestured toward the stairs.
Two and a half minutes later, we sat on the floor in my room, and Peter forced his shadow to the carpet beside him, pinning its arms to its sides. The shadow hung its head, as if accepting its defeat.
“Mind lifting up your foot?” I asked Peter.
Instead of just raising his leg like I expected him to, the boy flew up and hovered several inches off the ground, feet still extended toward me.
“Thanks.” I unscrewed the top of the Super Glue and reached toward Peter’s foot.
The boy flew very slightly out of the way. “Are you sure this will work?”
I’d figured that I had an 80 percent chance that shadows could be glued. But I told Peter, “I’m positive. Wendy would’ve done it this way, if she had Super Glue. It won’t even hurt.”
After hearing that, Peter relaxed a little, and he did let me grab hold of his ankle. I squeezed a thin line of Super Glue across the boy’s muddy heel, and then I reached for the shadow. It kicked me a couple times, halfheartedly—it didn’t hurt; it felt more like a puppy trying to squirm out of my lap—but I managed to squish the shadow’s heel against Peter’s without getting any Super Glue on my hands. I let it go and dealt with the other foot.
Luckily, the glue held, even when the shadow clutched my bed frame and tried to drag itself away from Pan. I was almost as happy about what I’d done as Peter was.
“Gluing is even better than the sewing. Why didn’t I think of this before?” Peter crowed and started doing a few backflips. When he stopped, his shadow swayed a little and put a hand to its head dizzily.
Then Peter zipped toward the window, not looking my way once.
Worried that he really would leave, I said quickly, “Since you woke me up and all, would you mind telling me why you came to visit?”
I was pretty sure he would just say that my window was closest when his shadow snapped off, but I was hoping to steer the conversation to other things. Like flying, for instance.
He turned back, grinning, his fists on his hips. “I came to take you back to Neverland, of course.”
He made this announcement as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, but I stared at him, almost afraid to believe him.
“Neverland! Really?” I glanced at the cover of Peter Pan, filled with illustrations of pirates, fairies, Indians, and even mermaids. I might get to meet a mermaid!
And I had wished my parents had taken me with them. Neverland sounded much better than any stupid grown-up party.
“You are the newest Wendy girl,” Peter said.
“Wendy girl?”
Peter looked at me in a shrewd, judging way. “On second thought, I don’t know if I should take you back to Neverland. You can’t be very smart.”
“Smart?” I was a little bit offended. I wasn’t used to being called dumb. I mean, Mom usually said that I was too smart for my own good.
“You just keep repeating everything I say,” he added thoughtfully.
I couldn’t argue with that. “How am I supposed to know what a Wendy girl is? I only know about Wendy Darling, the one who went to Neverland with her little brothers.”
“You do? You know about our adventures?”
I didn’t remember them all that well, but I nodded anyway, picking up the book with his name on it and waving it in front of him. “You’re famous.”
“Of course I am,” Peter said with his cockiest smile. “Let me explain.” He lay on his back, floating lazily in the middle of the room the same way that other people float in a swimming pool. “Well, Wendy Darling was the first Wendy girl. You’re her granddaughter or great-granddaughter or great-great-granddaughter or something like that.”
I looked at the book in my hands again in wonder. When Grandma Delaney had given it to me, I’d just thought she was trying to get me to read more, but she must’ve been a Wendy girl too! She must’ve been trying to help me get ready for the day I would meet Peter Pan.
Peter yawned. “I’ve been bringing Wendy girls to Neverland forever.”
The way he said forever reminded me of how my classmates complained about doing their homework, or cleaning their rooms, or whatever boring activity they couldn’t wait to finish. Maybe I should have been insulted, but I was too excited.
“I want to make friends with a mermaid!” I said. “And meet Tinker Bell. And Tiger Lily! Oh, and cross swords with Hook.”
Peter stood up, giving me a sharp, measuring look. “Well, that last one is impossible.”
“Oh no,” I said, disappointed. “Have you already killed him?”
“No, not yet, but I’m the only one who can fight Hook,” Peter said. “Everybody knows that, Wendy girl.”
“My name is Ashley,” I said quickly, realizing I hadn’t introduced myself.
But Peter continued on like I hadn’t spoken. “Besides, you’re supposed to come and help the Lost Boys with their spring cleaning.”
“Aren’t you a bit early?” I asked. “It’s still winter.”
“Not in Neverland,” said Peter.
To be honest, I didn’t like the sound of that. I mean, this was my Christmas vacation. I didn’t want to spend it doing chores. But making friends with the Lost Boys sounded great. Anything was better than sitting here alone, waiting for my parents to take me tree shopping.
“Can we leave now?” I asked.
Peter sat up, considering. “I guess so. All we need is Tink.” He flew to the window, opened it, and let out a sharp whistle.
A little golden light reemerged from the woods beyond the tree house, the same one I had seen earlier. It headed straight for the window, tinkling like bicycle bells. I stepped forward, eager to meet the fairy. Maybe we’d be friends before I even reached Neverland!
I barely had enough time to duck before the golden light zoomed right where my face had been.
Then she landed on Peter’s shoulder, her hands on her hips.
Now that she wasn’t moving I could see the figure within the light—a tiny woman, very curvy, with a rose-petal dress and very blond hair. She was glaring at me.
“Hello, Tinker Bell,” I said as politely as I could. I wanted to make a good impression. Especially since it seemed like she was already angry with me for something. “I’ve always wanted to meet you. You’re even prettier than I imagined.”
She chittered angrily. I frowned, wondering what I had done wrong. I was almost sure that it wasn’t anything I said.
“Tink, don’t start bugging the Wendy girl again,” Peter said wearily, but the light zoomed straight at me a second time.
I ducked behind the bed for safety, but Peter was faster. He plucked the little fairy out of the air midflight. As Tink struggled and squirmed, trying to break his grip, Peter shook her over my head. Golden specks fell from the fairy onto my hair.
“Since I’m famous, I bet you know what this is,” Peter said.
“Fairy dust?” I guessed. It felt like warm rain, making me smile. Happiness bubbled up inside me, a lot like soda on an empty stomach, tickling a little. I rose immediately into the air. “Whoa.”
Peter grinned. “I was going to say that all you need to fly is a happy thought, but you must’ve already found one. Maybe you do have some potential as a Wendy girl. You learned to fly pretty fast.”
“I’m good at flying?” That must’ve been an even happier thought, because I rose higher and started bobbing up near the ceiling.
Tink let out a furious, defeated wail.
“Stop it, Tink!” Peter said, giving her a little shake. “You do this every time you meet a Wendy girl. I don’t know what your problem is.”
Neither did I, at first, but then I glimpsed the book on the table.
Then I was pretty sure that I knew exactly what Tinker Bell was so upset about. It was right there in the same scene I’d just read in Peter Pan. Tink had attacked the original Wendy when the girl had given Peter a kiss. Tink was probably jealous of me for the same reason. But she was being silly. I wasn’t like Wendy. I wouldn’t ask Peter for a thimble or a kiss or anything. If Tink and I were ever going to be friends, she would have to know that.
“Tink, I just want to go to Neverland. I don’t even like Peter,” I said in a rush.
“You don’t like me?” Peter repeated. He sounded very confused, like it couldn’t be possible.
I was so embarrassed that I lost a grip on my happy thought and started to sink. “Well, not like that.”
“Like what?” Peter said.
“I don’t like you like you,” I said.
“Like me like me? Now, you’re starting to repeat yourself.” Obviously, he still didn’t understand.
I think Tinker Bell did, though. She snorted, crossing her arms over her chest and shaking her head darkly. I didn’t take that as a good sign.
Peter began to pace the room again. It was kind of funny to see him walking across the air above my window seat. “None of the Wendy girls has ever not liked me before. Maybe I shouldn’t take you to Neverland.”
A weekend all by myself. No mermaids, fairies, Tiger Lily, or Lost Boys to befriend. That was a terrible thought, and I fell to the carpet with a muffled thud.
Tinker Bell turned to Peter and started chattering excitedly again. I didn’t need a translation to know that Tink was agreeing with Peter.
“But then I heard the whistle. . . . And I did promise the Lost Boys before I left,” Peter continued, still pacing. “Kyle was really persistent. He’s never had a Wendy girl.”
Seeing a glimmer of hope, I latched on to the idea. “And didn’t you say that you needed a Wendy girl to help the Lost Boys with the spring cleaning?”
“That’s true,” Peter said thoughtfully. Tink shot me an angry look.
I tried not to look smug. “I’ll just pack some things, and we can go.”
Afraid that Peter would change his mind again, I raced around my room. I unzipped the big pocket of my backpack and scooped everything out. My textbooks, my folders, and binders fell to the carpet in a heap.
Peter Pan was the first thing I packed. I figured I might need it. Maybe the book would tell me how the original Wendy won over Tinker Bell.
Then my toothbrush and toothpaste from the bathroom. And after hesitating for a second, Mom’s iPod. Mom always said you needed good music to survive long flights.
If I was going to take Mom’s iPod, I might as well risk taking Dad’s camera, too.
Peter stood by the window, tapping his foot impatiently.
“Two more minutes,” I promised.
I crept outside my door and down the
hall to the closet. The door creaked when I opened it. I froze, but the only thing I heard downstairs was the TV show Megan was watching.
Unfortunately, I had another problem. The camera was on the highest shelf, and I’d forgotten that Dad had hidden the stepladder. I stretched as much as possible, but I couldn’t reach higher than the shelf just below it.
Maybe most kids would’ve left without it. But I was pretty sure Mom and Dad would never believe my story without evidence. I would need pictures to prove I’d really gone to Neverland.
Neverland. The happy thought gave me that fizzy feeling in my stomach again, and I rose up almost three feet in the air.
“Cool,” I whispered, grabbing the camera. I didn’t even stop to peek at the Christmas presents.
Then I soared back down the hall, kicking to make myself go faster, afraid that Peter might leave without me.
“Sorry!” I flew into the room. Peter was still waiting by the window, arms crossed, with Tink on his shoulder. They both watched me, frowning.
I pushed the camera into my backpack and zipped it up. Landing, I shoved my feet into my sneakers without stopping to tie the laces, and I grabbed my jacket and shrugged it on.
Last, I scribbled a note and left it on my bedside table, where someone would definitely find it.
Mom and Dad,
Off to Neverland. Be back by Christmas.
Love,
Ashley
Chapter 3.
We Play Catch over the Milky Way
It was one thing to start floating around inside my house with a carpet to cushion me if I fell. It was a completely different story to jump out my bedroom window and trust that a little fairy dust would keep me from breaking my leg.
With my backpack on my shoulders, I sat on my windowsill for a minute, working up my courage. Peter gestured for me to get on with it, his eyebrows raised high. (I got the impression that I wasn’t the only Wendy girl who got stuck on her window ledge.) I couldn’t stop staring at the thorny bush that grew right below me and imagining how much it would hurt to land on it.
Peter got tired of waiting. “Happy thoughts,” he reminded me with a wicked smile, flying forward like he was going to pull me off.