Pan didn’t like people touching his things.
Bibble narrowed his eyes, slightly more perceptive than his younger twin, and James felt his mouth go dry. Just then, Slightly, having reached the lagoon a bit later than the rest of them, leapt into the water, arms around his knees, and the splash he created was monstrous. It blanketed the twins as well as James in a wall of icy water, but James didn’t mind so much. He’d never been so relieved to be soaked and freezing. If it stopped the twins from raising the questions he feared Bibble had been about to ask, the discomfort was entirely worth it.
While the twins, Simpkins, and Tootles exacted watery revenge upon Slightly, James swam quietly to the lagoon’s edge and pulled himself out of the water, content to let his feet dangle in it, closing his eyes and letting the sun warm his torso. He forced his mind not to consider the blurry image of the Indian girl and to think on the suns and the sweet taste of the air. The numbing prickles in his toes. These last several years in Neverland hadn’t been nearly as horrible as he’d once feared they would be. The lack of Father and Mother sometimes bothered him, but more often than not, it was a carefree sort of existence. There were moments of boredom, but generally, Neverland was quite an improvement over London.
James was disturbed when he felt a presence hovering over him. He opened his eyes to find Peter staring down at him, fists at his sides.
James smiled. “What? Still put off at the apparent peace I brought back from the Indians?”
“Come with me.”
James furrowed his brow. He was generally a self-sufficient sort of person and quite happy to navigate Neverland on his own, but Peter held a sort of pull over him that he couldn’t explain. It was the same sort of pull Peter held over the rest of the island; if Pan said it, James wanted to agree. If he was angry, James wanted to fix it. So, naturally, he followed Peter when he stalked off, away from the lagoon.
Peter had gone a good way into the forest, and James was struggling somewhat to find him in the bramble. But, find him he did, and Peter was floating a small way above the ground, chin on his fist, looking very lost in thought.
“Peter?” said James, sensing the taste of salt on his tongue, narrowing his eyes at the air.
“James.”
There was no laughter in his eyes when he said the name. James had the distinct feeling of being sent to the headmaster’s office at school, and of waiting to be scolded greatly.
“What do you need?” he offered.
“There’s something I need to discuss with you,” Pan said quietly.
The knot was back in James’s throat. “So, discuss it,” he said, willing himself to swallow.
Peter let his feet drop to the ground and stood. James slouched (though he hated to slouch), hoping to appear shorter than Peter and not doing a remarkable job at it.
“You’ve been breaking rules.”
James’s heart stabbed at his chest, freezing sweat springing up instantly on his back. “Have I?”
Peter gave him a look that said he was dense. “I haven’t said a thing up until now, hoping you’d come to your senses. But you haven’t, have you?”
James’s jaw clenched; he was beginning to feel defensive. “I’d like to know what charges are being levied against me, exactly.”
“Stand up straight,” Peter said, folding his arms across his chest.
“I am.”
“Don’t lie to me, James,” he said, voice low and cold. “Good things do not happen to boys who lie.”
The sting of ancient words being thrown back into his face was not lost on James. The look on James’s face darkened considerably and he rose to his full height. He was undeniably taller than Peter.
Peter took a step toward him, and James forced himself to remain steadfast, though he’d begun to tremble, and wanted to run off into the thicket behind him.
“Was I not clear on the rules the first day you showed up here?” Peter said, unblinking as he stared James down.
“Unmistakably.”
“And yet…” Peter trailed off, no doubt trying to sound menacing. Then he resumed speaking. “And yet you’ve broken one of the first rules I gave you.”
There was no denying that. “Is that all?”
“No. You and I both know it.”
James straightened, glanced away from Peter for just a moment, long enough to gather his wits. “What is the second charge, then?” His voice came out weaker than he’d intended.
Peter looked away, focusing on some invisible point in the distance. Then, he turned back to face James. “I’ve noticed something disturbing in you, James. Something I thought I could trust you never to do.”
“What is that?”
“You’ve been growing up.” There was a strange light in Peter’s eyes, one full of foreboding and poison.
The color drained from James’s face. “I haven’t been.”
“Look at you. You’re tall. You’ve got muscles. And you lost the face of a boy ages ago. You’re turning into a man, James.”
James shook his head, outwardly denying, inwardly knowing it was a lie. His nerves were whirring, on hyper-drive, and his pulse was erratic and spiking. “I do not wish to be a man, Peter. You know that. I’m a Lost Boy, same as you, same as Bibble and Slightly and Tootles. I swore to you that I’d never grow up. Don’t you believe me?”
Pan shrugged. “I’d like to. But here you are, in front of me, more a man than a boy. What am I to believe?”
James felt a great panic welling in his gut.
“Believe me, Peter. Believe your friend. I’m not growing up; I swear it. And I’ll—I’ll get shorter. I’ll figure a way to do it. You’ve got to believe in me, Peter.”
Peter stepped back and assessed, flying around in the air, examining James from all angles. James didn’t even really know why the whole thing was so unnerving, why he was becoming so unhinged, why the only emotion he was capable of feeling at the moment was cold, biting fear. He’d never heard of anyone breaking the rules, and for all he knew, the punishment could have been nothing at all. Tangible waves of panic washed over him relentlessly nonetheless.
Eventually, Pan sank back down to the ground and looked James deep in the eyes as he said, “I’ll give you a chance, James. One.” And he hopped away, chanting, “Oh, the goodness of me!”
James fell back against the tree nearest him and ran his hands over his face, cursing the small bit of stubble at his chin. He had no clue how to stop this whole “growing up” process when he’d already started it, and realistically, he wasn’t going to be getting shorter any time soon. In all honesty, he was hoping that Peter would simply forget the whole thing, and they could go on pretending that he was still a Lost Boy, and not a shadow of a man.
That was less than likely.
He stayed there in the forest, mind turning so hard he was shocked no one could hear it, until night dripped down over him. He wasn’t entirely sure which was safer at this point—staying there, risking a Neverbeast attack, or going back to the clearing and facing Peter, so he remained frozen.
A twig snapped to his left, and he bolted to his feet, fingers flying to the dagger he always carried at his side.
Bibble emerged, hands held up in front of him, and he looked—small. Had he always looked this small?
“You all right?” Bibble asked.
James deflated, body melting down onto the ground. Bibble sank down with him and picked up a twig.
“Where’s Bobble?”
“At camp. They’re trying to catch fireflies to keep as night lights.”
James smirked, leaned his head back against the tree behind him. “How is it you’re still so young, Bibble?”
“What?” Bibble cocked his head.
“Look at me,” James said, stretching out his arms. “I’m bigger than all of you. Older too. You’re the closest, and Bobble right behind you, but even you two are, what? Three years younger than I am? Two at the minimum.”
Bobble pursed his lips, drawing with
his twig on the forest floor. It lit up in a spray of colors wherever he scratched it, which was a slight comfort. Peter couldn’t have been too terribly angry if the forest was acting regular. James remembered a time when the colorful lines on the forest floor would have delighted him. Was he too old now to enjoy such a thing?
“Is there a way to stop it?” James asked, rolling his head over toward Bibble.
“What?”
Bibble was avoiding looking at James’s eyes. It was obvious he was dodging the question, stalling. James chose to humor him and repeated himself. “Is there a way to stop the aging, once it starts? Or to, I don’t know, turn it back somehow?”
Bibble sighed and looked up at James, abandoning his twig. “I don’t think so. It’s your experiences, you know, that age you. After Flobbins died, I took it rather harder than anyone else; it was more or less my fault, creating that horrid Grap. It made me grow up quite a lot more than anyone else, and Bobble didn’t like that I was older than him, so we tried to reverse it, spending all our time with the fairies and splashing the mermaids and doing silly things, like we did when we first got here. It didn’t work.”
James was silent. He shut his eyes, thinking that maybe if he didn’t see Neverland, then for a moment it wouldn’t be there, and neither would Peter, and neither would this whole problem.
“I’m sorry, James; I wish you could.”
“So do I,” James whispered, more to himself than to his friend.
“Come on, come back to camp. Food’s on soon.”
James took Bibble’s hand when he offered it and tried not to notice Bibble struggling to help up his greater weight. They headed back to camp, and James didn’t even eat the nothing that Peter had brought for supper.
FOR THE NEXT SEVERAL NEVERDAYS (WHICH WERE sometimes a month’s worth of normal days, and sometimes only an hour’s worth), they carried on as usual, provoking the Indians to battle, splashing around with the mermaids, killing the occasional pirate (though James usually found ways to conveniently disappear during those particular ventures), and dancing with the fairies.
One night, however, when Peter was in a dark mood, which was not unusual as of late—recently all his interactions with James had consisted of varying degrees of hostility—the forced gaiety and civility came to an abrupt halt.
The night was black, and the Lost Boys and hordes of fairies were playing near a roaring red fire that crackled and spat little bits of ash at them when they got close. It was casting strange, colorful hues and shadows on the ground and the timber, which James was enjoying, until he noticed the way they played on Peter’s face. He was brooding, which he generally only did when he was alone with James, so easily distracted was he when in the presence of the other Lost Boys, of whom he was still quite fond. But not tonight. Tonight, James’s presence— and he had no doubt that he was, indeed, the catalyst— was so offensive to Peter that toxin radiated out of him, even in the company of the others.
Peter’s mood became blacker and blacker until every fairy had wisely disappeared from the party, and the air smelled vaguely like smoke and sulfur. James was becoming so uncomfortable that it was impossible for him to sit idly and enjoy the fire. He rose quietly from his seat.
“Where are you going?” Peter said, voice toneless.
“I’m not entirely sure.”
“Sit, then,” he said, baring his teeth in a poor mimicry of a smile.
“I’d rather not.”
“Why not?”
James clenched his jaw, shaking from fear and anger. “Am I required to explain my every action to you now, Peter?”
Peter was silent, flipping his dagger over and over in his hand, staring at the licking flames. He looked up at the dancing boys, and the look alone was enough to stop the frolicking.
“We’re going to have something special tonight, boys.”
There was no answer, no sound, only the crackles from the fire and the gentle breathing of the wind. The silence dragged on until Tootles piped up. “What is it, Peter?”
“Tonight,” he said, “we are going to have a Thinning.”
EIGHT
JAMES RAISED AN EYEBROW. “A THINNING?”
“Yes.”
The Lost Boys stood there, in varying states of confusion. Slightly scratched at his belly and Bibble pursed his lips, looking rather more worried than the rest of them.
Simpkins said, “Peter, what exactly is a Thinning?”
Slightly looked very important and he rolled his eyes at Simpkins. “I can’t believe you don’t know what a Thinning is.” But he didn’t elaborate.
James smirked. Slightly was of the opinion that he knew everything there was to know about everything, but generally that wasn’t true.
Peter stared at his dagger. The firelight glinted off it in an eerie way, casting a ghostly glow on his face. Shadows danced across the bodies of the Lost Boys as they stood there, looking at Peter. Peter rose slowly from his seat on the log by the fire, flipping his knife in his hand again.
“James. We need to have words.”
“But what about this ‘Thinning?’” said James, muscles tensing.
“That’s precisely what we need to speak about.” Peter tilted his head toward the dark woods, leaves undulating and shifting slowly between deep green and silver and black. The air tasted metallic now. James shifted toward the wood, then leaned back, conflicted. One piece of him, the piece that couldn’t help but wish for Peter’s approval, wanted to follow him into the trees, but the other, larger piece of him deeply feared what would await him there. Pan was eyeing his blade a bit too fondly for James’s taste.
“Then, speak,” James said.
“Are you commanding me?”
James dug his fingernails into his palms, sure that if he pressed any harder, he would break the skin. “I’m not leaving.”
Peter’s brow shadowed his face and he sneered, the fairy part of him showing itself. “You defy me again.”
“Peter, be reasonable.”
Bibble cleared his throat behind James, and Tootles squeaked.
Peter started to hover above the dirt, a ball of rage. Lightning flashed across the sky. “I brought you here, James Hook. I rescued you from a dreary life in London and brought you to this place where you never have to grow up. You can be a boy forever, and what did you do? You spat it back in my face.”
James’s voice rose to meet Peter’s. “Rescued me? From what, exactly?”
“From growing up, I thought. But look at you. You’ve gone and ruined it all, man.” He said this last word with such venom that James felt the need to back away. “You betrayed me. You grew up.”
James’s breathing rapidly shallowed. “I didn’t.”
Peter shot higher into the air. “Fly up to meet me, James.”
James stared up at him, pulse of the island thumping harder and faster in the ground. It had been quite some time since he’d had the need to fly.
“If you aren’t a man, come meet me up here,” he taunted.
Pan’s fairy fluttered and bobbed beside Peter, giving James something bright to focus on for just a moment, before Peter flicked him away and sent him tumbling into the blackness. James was concerned, very briefly, for the little creature’s life. But he didn’t have much time for empathy.
The Lost Boys looked frantically between Peter and James, the face of Bibble the most void of color, the most strained. Bibble grabbed James’s arm and urged him, “James, fly up to him. We can end all this.”
Bobble echoed him. Soon, there wasn’t a boy among them who wasn’t chanting for James to fly. James swallowed, looking intently up at the boy floating in the sky who was daring him to join him. He thought the challenge was ridiculous, but if flying would convince Pan, then fly he would.
James thought of the happiest memory he could, one of those he’d pulled every time he’d needed to fly so long ago. It was a picture, slightly blurred at the edges, of his father and his pregnant mother, doing nothing important, just eat
ing breakfast with him, back when he was a boy. He shook his head, denying then that his boyhood was in the past. He was a boy still, and the flying would prove it. He focused again on his happy thought, feeling it warm him from his core. And when he opened his eyes, he was deeply alarmed. For he was not in the air, but on the ground still.
Pan called to him. “Fly up to meet me, Hook.”
James focused everything he had on floating from the ground, but flight would not come. A low rumbling panic set inside him and every muscle fiber, every pore, every hair began to tremble. He stared, wide-eyed, at Bibble, and Bibble’s mouth fell open.
“What is it, Hook?” Peter called. “Can’t fly?”
“I, well, I—” There was nothing left to say, but, “No.”
It was in that moment that Peter had him. Boys could all fly in Neverland. No adults could. There was no more denying the evidence. James Hook was no longer a boy.
Peter shot toward the ground. “Tennnnnnn-hut!”
James instinctively ran to fall in line, but Pan shot his hand out at him. “No. Not you. This is for Lost Boys only.”
James stepped back, looking crestfallen.
“Sound off!”
Bibble hesitated, flicking his gaze over to look at James, eyes dark and frightened. But then he said, “Bibble!”
“Bobble!”
“Slightly!”
“Simpkins!”
“Tootles!”
James felt a horrible emptiness at this, and Peter put a greater hole in him when he looked over James from his head to his toes. “And you, James. What shall we do with you?”
That soul-sucking quiet. The kind that pulled at his skin and set his ears to ringing.
“Shall I leave?” James said, his voice cracking.
“Not until after our Thinning.” Peter smiled.
“What is this Thinning you keep going on about?” James fisted and loosened his fingers over and over again, until the movement was compulsory and frantic.
“Well, you see, James, I’ve recently realized that not every boy who is Lost can respect authority.” He smiled wider, nostrils flared, the happy expression changing nothing in his eyes. “When Lost Boys start growing up, it is my job to keep Neverland pure, free, the way it was meant to be. The way I dreamt it to begin with. When Lost Boys start growing up, the responsibility falls to me to thin them out.”
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