Chapter One

"Mother, tell us another Peter Pan story!"

Margaret laughed and pulled Jack onto her lap. Kate rolled her eyes as she sat at her desk, doing her homework. She gently tapped her pencil against her notebook as she tried to think, silently cursing French grammar.

"Well, the Lost Boys were rather bored, so they got together and cooked up a plot to steal Captain Hook's hook. And-"

"Mother, stop it. You don't need to fill his head with silly stories," Kate burst out. Her voice was calm but her tone icy.

They both turned to look at her. Margaret seemed shocked, while little Jack turned large, confused eyes on his big sister.

"I found Napoleon!" William screamed as he burst into the room, beaming. In his hands he held a small wooden statue of the emperor. He glanced at the sad faces and frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Kate says that Peter Pan is a silly story," Jack said quietly, his voice edged with tears. The child's eyes were watery, threatening to spill over any minute.

"That's not true!" William burst out angrily. "Peter Pan is real!"

"No, he not, William. He's make-believe, and it's stupid of you to waste your time listening to these stupid stories. There are better things to do in life!" she yelled back.

"Like what? Listening to stupid John Lennon all day?" Will retorted. Kate gasped in horror at the smear of her idol.

"You leave John out of this!"

"Stop it, both of you!" Margaret interrupted. Her voice was loud but now it got soft, soft and deadly. "Kate, I think it would be best if you went to your room."

It was more of a command than a suggestion. Kate didn't respond. She silently gathered her things and left, making sure to slam the door behind herself.

"Is Peter Pan real, Mother?" Jack asked once she had left. In his eyes you could see the fear, the fear that Kate was actually right.

His mother looked down at him and smiled. She kissed his cheek.

"He's as real as you or I."

There was a knock on the door. Kate had been putting a record onto the record player, and the Beatles now rang throughout the room. She turned just as her mother entered the room.

Kate was in her nightgown, a pretty pink thing that reached her knees and had lace all around the collar. She didn't even look at her mother, but instead down on her bed and began flipping through a magazine, fingering the lace at the hem of her nightgown as she did so.

"Your brothers are still very young. They can believe in Peter Pan if they want," she said quietly. Her voice was tired, disappointed almost. Kate's lips tightened.

"They should know that they're just stories. They shouldn't grow up thinking that Peter Pan is real," she retorted, slamming her magazine shut with an angry wrist movement.

"He is real, Katie," Margaret said, tears welling up in her eyes. She wished she could force her daughter to believe once more. She wished she could turn back time, make things right again…

"I'm nearly fifteen, Mother. I'm old enough to know that he's not real." She paused. "And stop calling me Katie; I'm not a little girl anymore."

"You're not an adult yet, either. You still have time to grow. And until you're done growing, you'll listen to my stories and you'll believe. And you'll refrain from ruining your brothers' fun."

Kate said nothing. She walked over to her phone, which sat innocently on the table, and glanced over at her mother before picking it up.

"I've got to call Mary. We've decided to go shopping together tomorrow and we have to decide-"

"I'm not done talking."

Kate rolled her eyes.

"Never mind, I can tell you've got other things on your mind. Just try to believe, for tonight at least."

She turned to go. She paused in the doorway and looked back at her daughter. She was holding the phone up to her ear; she was obviously waiting for her friend to pick up the phone.

"I love you Katie," she said quietly.

"I told you not to call me-"she said angrily, but was interrupted by someone talking to her on the other end of the line. Margaret sighed and went to tuck the boys in.

Nothing stirred in the house. All was dark, except for two night lights that had been lit in the room shared by Will and Jack. All the windows in the house were closed, except the one in Kate's room, because she had closed the door to keep her mother out and it had gotten quite stuffy.

The wind gently stirred the curtains, and Kate unconsciously pulled the blankets a bit closer around herself.

Leaves blew in from the window, littering the floor. They were skeleton leaves, red and gold and yellow.

And through the window flew a boy, clothed in these very same leaves. He grinned in a rather conceited way as he looked about the room, while what appeared to be a small ball of light dashed about, apparently exploring.

He noticed Kate asleep in the bed, and he crept slowly closer until he was mere inches away from her, and he reached out and touched her hair. She awoke with a start, though she didn't scream.

"Who are you?" she demanded, forcing herself to sound angry even though she was frozen with fear.

"I'm Peter Pan."

Her breath caught in her throat. She stared at him, looking him over from head to toe, examining his odd clothes, his bare feet and his windswept hair.

"You're not real. I must be dreaming. This is all an insane dream, I know it! I'll wake up in a moment and you'll be gone-"

"Are you always this crazy?" he asked, grinning. She stopped rambling long enough to glare at him.

"How do I know that you're real?" she asked hesitantly.

He flew up into the air, hovering several feet above her head, a wide grin on his childish face. She laughed.

"That doesn't prove anything," she protested. "I could still be dreaming."

He slowly floated back down to the ground and offered her a hand. She took it, and he pulled her out of bed, to her feet.

"Think happy thoughts," he instructed, quite seriously. She laughed.

"I know how to fly," she said, tossing her head. Peter grinned mischievously, as though he knew something she didn't. "What?" she demanded.

He glanced down at his feet, and Kate followed suit, uttering a choked gasp as she noticed that they were floating in the air above her bed. She reached out and grabbed him, clinging to him in case she should fall. His hands were gentle as they clung to her waist, but strong and comforting, and she managed to calm down. Slowly, he guided her back to the ground and let go.

"That doesn't prove anything," she muttered quietly, her heart still racing.

Before she could say anything else, he had reached out and pinched her. She uttered a small screech of pain, grabbing her arm and massaging where he had pinched her. She glared at him, but he was silently laughing.

"I guess you are real," she said apprehensively.

"Of course I am. You couldn't possibly think that any other boy could be as wonderful as me!" he exclaimed, walking around the room and pawing through her things.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, still angry about the unnecessarily violent pinch.

"I've come to take you to Neverland," he said without looking at her. He held up a picture of John Lennon, torn from a magazine. He stared at it with interest.

"You're joking," she said, frowning.

"Wendy, you've got to come and tell us stories, and darn our socks and come on adventures with us! We do so need a mother, you know," he said, rushing towards her, his eyes twinkling, excitement filling his voice.

"I'm not Wendy," she said quietly, almost feeling sorry for him. He was a bit like the old people in the home that she sometimes talked to, who constantly confused events, their sense of time long ago lost to them. "My name is Katie."

She didn't know why she said that was her name- she hated it when anyone else called her that. But she felt it would have been hypocritical to have him call her Kate, since when she was Kate she was all grown up.

He swept her an elegant bow, and she laughed. She remembered when she was little and her teacher had insisted that they all learn proper manners. They had spent hours practicing their curtsies, learning how to greet a very important person, and the proper way to hold oneself. Since then she had hated those elegant bows and silly curtsies, she found them pointless and stupid.

"You must come with me though," he said, pulling her towards the window. There was a slight urgency in his voice. She resisted him, with some success.

"But I don't want to be a mother, and I don't want to darn your socks!" she protested. At that he let go of her, and she stumbled backwards, but caught her balance before she could fall. "That's awfully boring. I would much rather go on adventures and have fun all day."

At that his face lit up and he began pulling her towards the window once more.

"You can do that in Neverland! We can tease the pirates, and go hunting, and play with the fairies and the mermaids and the Indians!"

"Peter, stop!" she yelled, though not loud enough to wake anyone else in the house. He froze though, and released her arm, staring at her in confusion and bewilderment. "I can't just…leave."

He frowned for a moment, thinking, racking his brains in an attempt to find a way to lure her away with him.

"Why do you want to stay here?" he demanded, at a loss of understanding her decision. "Why wouldn't you want to come on adventures with me and the Lost Boys?"

She walked over to her record-player and began fingering the grooves in the disc. She smiled as she read the word on the label.

"I have friends here, and school, and, oh, it would hurt Mother so if I was gone!" she explained, continuing to finger the record. But her voice was flat as she spoke; there was neither conviction nor passion in her words. Peter grinned, sensing her weakness at last.

"There's no school in Neverland," he whispered in her ear, words of seduction. "There are no teachers, no tests. And there are no mothers to tell us what to do. No grown-ups, except for the pirates, but we're allowed to kill them."

Kate smiled. She remembered when she used to dream of Neverland, that perfect place, her very own Utopia… It would serve Mother right for bossing her around! She was nearly a grown-up, after all.

"Promise that you'll show me the mermaids," she said, grinning as she propelled herself into the air.