Forever Neverland

by Susan Adrian

  He doesn’t answer, just stares at his hands, tapping. He looks okay.

  “You two are coming with us also,” Scylla says. “I may need your help.” By her voice, it’s clear that it’s a demand, not a choice.

  Fergus goes pale. But he looks at me and at Peter and swallows hard. “Okay.”

  Shoe blows out a long breath; then she nods. “I thought so.”

  “Come,” Scylla says. She takes one of Shoe’s hands, and one of Fergus’s, and pulls them into the water. We don’t even wave goodbye to the mermaids or the Lost Boys or the pixies. We just swim away.

  * * *

  —

  Scylla’s a fast swimmer.

  I mean, of course she is—she’s been in the water for thousands of years. She’s a sea creature. She has tentacles. But I didn’t really think about that until I had to try to swim with her.

  She’s holding on to Fergus and Shoe. Peter leads the way. He’s a strong swimmer too, even with a sword at his back.

  I’m behind everyone else, just trying to keep up, trying to keep out of the way of Scylla’s lashing tentacles. I don’t have to breathe, but I still have to push my way through the water, without magic to help.

  I wonder if Wendy could swim. I’m not sure. Did ladies swim back then? Would she have even been able to follow Scylla?

  I bet she would. I really wish I could’ve met her.

  They’re getting ahead of me again. I work harder, pushing forward. I hope this island really isn’t too far away.

  We swim, and swim, and swim.

  We come up to the surface after a while, for Peter to get his bearings. Scylla lets us sit on a craggy rock that’s poking up alone out of the ocean.

  I look around us for signs of other islands, for anything that will give me a clue where we are.

  “Aren’t the gods in Greece?” Shoe asks. Her wet hair drips in a solid sheet down her back. It makes her look a little bit like a mermaid. “All the stories Fergus told us were in Greece.”

  Scylla turns from scanning the horizon and raises her eyebrows. “Oh, not any longer. Greece and Italy are far too crowded with humans now, humans who do not believe in us, or have no knowledge of us. Most of us went far to the north, or far to the south, to the lands of ice.” She shivers. “It is not what we were made for, but few humans find us now. We’re hidden, in plain sight.”

  Fergus laughs, loud. When I look at him, he smiles. “I was right,” he says. “They still exist. They are everywhere.”

  “You like this,” I say, almost accusing.

  He frowns, water trickling down his face. “Yes. It’s an adventure. With gods and goddesses. It’s what I wanted.”

  It’s not what I wanted.

  Peter and Scylla are talking again, pointing far off in the distance. I can’t see anything they’re pointing at.

  “I like it too,” Shoe says quietly. “It’s a good adventure.”

  I frown and stare out at the ocean, my chin on my knees. “But aren’t you afraid? Don’t you want to go back? Home?”

  Fergus considers, for a long time. “I miss Mom,” he says finally.

  I miss Mom too. I want to be with her. I want a giant, squeezy hug so much I can almost feel it. But I also miss so much more than Mom. Home, school, friends, the bustle of San Diego. A normal, regular schedule. The comfort of knowing there’s someone I can go to for help if I want.

  Fergus seems different too, since we came to Neverland. Here he’s the strong one, the one who takes things in stride and handles them. I just mess up and make mistakes.

  It’s like he belongs here, in Neverland, and I belong at home.

  Does he think that too?

  “We are on course,” Scylla says, the dogs barking excitedly. “It is close. Let us continue.”

  I sigh. We slide back into the water, which feels warmer now than the air, and keep swimming, and swimming, and swimming.

  Finally Peter gestures, and Scylla slows, then pulls us to the surface.

  We’ve arrived at a little island shaped like a tall hat. The sides are giant, steep cliffs with birds screaming around them; then above that is a short, sloping hill, bright green, then a flat part. I don’t see any houses or beach—or anything but cliff. We bob in the water, looking up.

  “Where are we?” Clover asks.

  “Top Hat,” Peter answers. He shrugs. “That’s what I call it. I have been told that Circe hides here—that it is hers. I told all the Lost Boys that it was surrounded by crocodiles, so they wouldn’t go near it…if any ever came this far.”

  Shoe shudders, and I wonder what other stories Peter told them.

  I just thought of something. “But how will you go see her?” I ask Scylla. “Can you walk on land?”

  “Why do you think I brought you all, land boy?” Scylla snaps. “You will go find her, give her my message, and bring her to speak with me.” She takes our hands and starts swimming again, steering us around the island. Clover and Peter follow. On the other side there’s a massive pile of rocks. Dangling from the cliff above them is a rope ladder. “There. I knew there must be a way. Circe likes her supplicants. You will climb up and speak with her, and ask her to come down. Do not forget to chew your plants before you see her. She is used to finding clever ways to poison people.”

  Shoe nods and holds her bag up. No, we won’t forget that. Scylla sets Shoe and me down on a slippery rock, and Clover and Peter scramble to shore. Clover looks pale in this light, and her hands are trembling. She stares up the cliff, up the scary rope ladder, and bites her lip. She doesn’t like high things.

  “I don’t see how,” she says. “We’ll fall off.”

  Peter hops over to it and looks up, hands on his hips. “Easy!” he says. Shoe follows, but she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t look as certain.

  I slip and slide across the rocks, using my hands to hold on some of the time, and grab hold of the ladder. It’s rough, but like the climbing rope at the Autism Center, not so rough that it’ll tear your hands. I’m good at climbing at the center. This is different, though. There’s no mat underneath, or anyone to steady your feet. If you fall, there are just sharp rocks.

  I look back at Scylla, looming half out of the water with her arms folded across her chest, the dogs yapping at us. “Can you protect us if we fall?” I ask.

  She shakes the eels. “My magic has no sway here. This is Circe’s domain.”

  “We do not need magic. I’ll go first,” Peter says. He grins, and I get a surge of faith. Maybe we can do this. “See you at the top.”

  I hold one side of the ladder, and Shoe holds the other, to keep it steady. Peter grabs hold confidently, steps on, and starts up, and up and up. I get dizzy when I lean back to look at him. There are seagulls at the top, flying in lazy circles. They cry every once in a while, disturbed by Peter.

  I echo the sound back, quietly.

  When Peter’s about halfway, Shoe clears her throat. “I will go next, if that is all right. At the top we can chew the plants before we go farther.”

  Clover nods, her arms crossed tightly. But she comes over and holds the other side of the ladder while Shoe starts up. Shoe doesn’t climb as easily as Peter, but she still does well. She takes one rung at a time, her head always up, looking at the next one. That’s the way to do it, I think. You can’t ever look down.

  When Shoe is halfway I look up, tilting my head far back, then at Clover. “You don’t have to go,” I say. “You don’t like climbing. There are enough of us up there. You can hold the ladder for me, and stay here. And hold the ladder for us when we come down.”

  “Really?” I can’t tell what she’s thinking from her face. Too many emotions there, all mixed. But she always gets shaky when she’s up high, and I know she doesn’t want to go. Like she didn’t really want to go to Neverland. “Are you sure?” she asks. />
  “Sure,” I say. “My turn.” I’m not certain I can make it. It looks terrifying. But it’s our adventure, what we’re here for. Peter went. Shoe went.

  I take a deep breath and put my foot on the first rung of the ladder.

  Suddenly Clover’s arms are around me, hugging. I flinch, surprised. I don’t really like it, but I know she means love. I squeeze back, sharing the love. We only do it for a second or two, then let go. Her eyes are full of tears. “Be careful,” she says. “Don’t fall, and don’t let her trick you.”

  I nod, ready to start now before I lose my courage. “Don’t let her trick you,” I repeat.

  Clover laughs a strange, hiccupy laugh and steps out of the way, one hand on the ladder again, pulling it steady. I lift my head, look up at the top one more time, and put one foot on, then the other. It’s time to just climb.

  I grip the rope as hard as I can, watching as Fergus climbs.

  I didn’t want to let him go without me. It feels wrong. But honestly, I’ve messed up everything I’ve touched here. I’m sure I’d just mess this up too: fall, or say something wrong to Circe, or put him and Shoe and Peter in more danger. It’s probably better if I stay here.

  He’s climbing well. I’m fiercely proud of him. He didn’t hesitate at all, just started doing what had to be done. The dog barking quiets, and I look back. Scylla has gone under the water again. She’s not even going to watch. It’s just me down here, alone at the bottom of the cliff.

  Fergus is definitely different here. He’s braver and stronger. I always knew he was smart, even when other people told him he wasn’t. But I didn’t know he was brave. He didn’t really have the chance to be. I hate to think it, but was Grandfather right? Do I smother Fergus? Have I been keeping him from being brave—being his true self—this whole time, by not letting him try?

  My eyes are so blurry that I can’t see. I blink away the tears and check: he’s about three-quarters of the way up. I pull tight on the rope, hanging my weight on it to keep it steady. Maybe that’s why I’ve been having so much trouble in Neverland, on this adventure. Because I’m still too worried about Fergus and how he’ll do, and not just letting myself be in Neverland. Be myself.

  I’ll be different when we get back home. I won’t smother him and try to protect him from everything. I’ll try to just let him be.

  If we ever get back home. I look up at Fergus’s feet, making steady progress. Fergus is about to face a legendary witch. To ask her to help a legendary sea monster. And even if everything works out okay, we’re going back to Neverland after that. I honestly don’t know if Fergus ever wants to go back home. I hold on to the ladder, staring out at the ocean, until suddenly it slackens. I squint all the way up and see Fergus’s feet disappear over the top of the cliff.

  He made it. He proved that he could do it.

  I stand there, the gulls calling above me, looking out at the ocean. It looks so empty. I feel so, so alone.

  I feel like a coward.

  What am I doing down here? Why didn’t I go up the cliff with the rest of them? Why did I stay here, safe?

  “I can see we need to teach you about the Neverland,” Peter said, that first night. “If you go to the Neverland, you go for fun. Adventure. Freedom.”

  Suddenly I know I have to go too. Not because I need to protect Fergus—he’ll do fine without me—but because I don’t want to be the sort of person who doesn’t go, who stands at the bottom of a cliff and waits without even trying. Wendy would go. Mom would go, I think. Shoe and Peter and Fergus went already.

  Fergus is brave. I can be too.

  I put one foot on the ladder, and it sways. There’s no one left to hold it for me. But that’s okay. I can do this. I look up again at the terrible cliff, then decide I’m not going to look up anymore. I’m just going to look at the ladder, and keep going. I put the other foot on, grip the rope hard with both hands, and go.

  It’s much harder than they made it look. I have to use a lot of strength to pull myself up, and balance to set my feet in the right places. The cliff is right in front of my nose, bright white. It smells like bird droppings. I stare at the folds and crevices as I go. Left arm up, left foot up, pull, right arm up, right foot. Keep moving. I get into a rhythm. Left, left, right, right. My arms are shaking, they’re so tired. I stop, probably halfway, to rest. And then I look down.

  The fear grabs at me, and I nearly fall. It’s so far. It’s so uncertain. I can’t do it. I can’t.

  But I have to. I take a deep breath and keep going, one foot, one arm at a time, swaying, on and on. On and on and on, until the cliff edge appears above my head, green with grass, and I manage to pull myself up and over. I lie there for a minute in the grass, staring up at the sky, breathing hard. My arms and legs burn with effort. I didn’t think I could do it, not really. But I made it.

  That’s only the first step, though. Now I have to catch up with the others, and find Circe. I roll over and push to my knees, and look around for the first time.

  It’s bare on the top: no trees, no bushes. Just a short stretch of grass, in a gentle slope. I can’t see anything else. I get up, and force my wobbly legs up the slope. Once I’m on the flat top, I see one stone house in the far distance, surrounded by wisps of fog, with Fergus, Shoe, and Peter about halfway there. There are also sheep. A long-haired puff of a sheep with a black face is only a few steps away from me. It bleats, then runs off to join a crowd of them, all with ridiculously fluffy wool and black legs, staring hard at me.

  Circe has sheep. That makes sense, if you live here alone. You can milk sheep and use the wool and meat. I hope they’re real sheep and not the previous visitors to the island.

  Then I remember—I didn’t chew the plants. If Circe decides to turn me into something—a sheep, or a pig, or a monster like Scylla—there’s nothing to stop her. The worst thing, in all the stories, is when you get magic help, like the plants, and don’t use it properly. Then you’re toast.

  I have to go anyway. I’m here, and I didn’t climb all that way for nothing, and the rest of them are already nearly there. The sun is shining full now, in my face, but I shade my eyes. Their shapes vanish into the mist. I have to go now, or it might be too late.

  I run, the sheep bleating after me.

  It smells like sheep up here—musky, like a petting zoo—but also like something else, like lightning, hot and electric. Like magic. The air is full of it, almost visible. Peter said Circe was “hiding” here, but I think anyone who made it up the rope ladder would feel something was wrong, even if they didn’t know what it was. The house sitting at the other end of the cliff even has mist curling around it, like in a movie.

  Peter barely waited for me to get to the top, to recover my breath, before heading to the house.

  Shoe did wait. She was doing cartwheels when I came up, but she stopped, hands on her hips like Peter, and gave me the two plants to chew, part of a white petal and stem and a handful of the leaves of the other one. I hesitate about the plants—I don’t like foods that get all in my teeth—but I take them and put them in my mouth. When I chew, it tastes a little like lemon, and a lot bitter.

  Shoe looks at the cliff edge, then frowns. “No Clover?”

  I shake my head. “Waiting at the bottom.”

  Shoe sighs. “She is afraid. The fear gets all tangled in her head, and she can’t go on.”

  I nod. It is exactly like that sometimes, though I haven’t thought of it that way before. She always gets tangled about high places. I know the feeling of getting tangled.

  We walk fast to catch up to Peter. I try to think of what to say to Circe.

  I chewed the plants, so she can’t poison me at least. But I’m still scared. Circe is all-powerful. Everyone was always afraid of her in the stories.

  “Hi, I’m Fergus. Scylla sent me…,” I whisper. No. I don’t want to tell her my nam
e. Names have power with witches. “Scylla sent me. She’s down below, in the water, and would like to speak with you.”

  That’s not bad. It’s strong and doesn’t say anything unnecessary. We’re close to the house now, the mist reaching out for us. “Scylla sent me,” I murmur. “She’s down below, and would like to speak with you.” I step into the mist. It curls around my head, and I breathe it in, wet. The little house is made of round stones, but the door is painted bright, forest green. Almost Peter’s green.

  Peter is already there, fidgeting. “Let’s begin this,” he says. He touches the sword at his back to make sure it’s there. Then he knocks on the door twice.

  I wasn’t ready. “Scylla sent me,” I rehearse quickly. Shoe grabs my hand—hers is sweaty and warm—and I let her for a second, then let go.

  No one answers. Peter looks at me, shrugs, then knocks again. The door jerks open. At the same time Clover yells “Fergus!” behind us. I turn, surprised, and see her running, stumbling toward us. “Wait for me,” she calls. But as soon as she reaches the mist—a second after she breathes it in—she vanishes.

  In her place is a sheep.

  I gasp. Clover didn’t chew the moly. She wasn’t protected. And the mist turns people into sheep. Shoe runs to her, wrapping her arms around Clover’s now-wooly neck.

  I spin to the woman standing in the doorway. She’s tiny, with a beautiful, distant face and long pale hair hanging straight, blinking up at us calmly. “Change her back!” I yell, right in her face. “Change her back right now!”

  She sighs. “No,” she says firmly, and closes the door.

  I look at Clover-who-is-a-sheep, terror rolling through me. “No,” I repeat. “No no no.” The sheep stares back, with a black, furry face and sad eyes. Shoe whispers in her ear, but it doesn’t do anything.

  “I’ll get her to change Clover back,” Peter says. “Don’t worry.” But his voice wavers.

  I knock on the door again, frantically. After a minute of solid knocking, it opens.