Wendy looked at the ceiling of her new room and wished to cry desperately, but no tears came. There was no way to get out these confusing feelings she had but to ignore, but she could not sleep. Quietly, she rose from her bed and picked up a new book she'd borrowed from the library. It was, of course, Peter Pan, her friend had written it for her after she told him the stories. There were so many things wrong in it, however, that it sometimes disturbed her. "There never was a happier or simpler family." Wendy almost laughed allowed to read such a sentence about her own family. Her mother was completely out of touch with reality, always shopping and spending and moving about dreamily, while her father also drained the accounts in the stock market. Michael had become a horrid, spoiled brat who enjoyed watching violent or dangerous things such as car wrecks. John was the only one she still was close to. He was muted, his childhood lost as he moved emptily about the house, ignoring the insults thrown at him with wounded looks. She once heard him whispering in the dark for Peter to take him back to Neverland. Wendy patted the bed silently and closed the book, waiting as Nana threw her big furry person onto the bed with gusto, and the curtains fluttered. The girl's heart beat with anticipation, and she sat up slowly. "Peter..." she called hopefully. The curtains stopped moving, and she lay down, disappointed. He had not returned. Wendy closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, trying not to recall Peter. He too had left her, and she was alone in the world with her new adulthood. When she woke the next morning, there was a skeleton leaf by her window. Wendy's spirit danced inside her joyfully, and she reached to pick it up. As son as she brushed it with her fingertips, it blew out the window and floated gently onto a London rooftop. Wendy knew she should be slightly heartbroken, but instead she smiled- it was classic Peter, always flying away when you needed him. She was confident though- he would return. Soon, since he had left the leaf, and it was only a matter of time- the question was, her time or his? Wendy dressed quickly in her school uniform, grabbing her books and hurrying Michael and John through their daily morning routine. After eating hastily, the trio hurried into the street and walked to the prep school they now attended. The Lost Boys, in their anxiousness, had rushed ahead of the original Darlings long ago, and were now chattering in their respective classes with other students. Michael trailed into his own classroom, and Wendy stopped John, turning him toward her. "John. I want you to know that these boys are just selfish brutes, and you do not deserve their beatings. No one can make you feel inferior without your permission." He nodded and blinked dark eyes at her, plodding into the small instruction room he learned English in. Wendy walked to her own lesson, holding her head high and marching into it with a sigh. Marie Champlain looked at her and sneered. "Look who it is. The bookworm. It's so sad that you think you're as good as us, Wendy." Wendy opened a book and ignored her, but Marie walked over and continued her torment. "You're just a gutter rat- your father is a bookie, just like your filthy brother, Michael." She shut Wendy's book and looked her in the eyes. "Too bad your mother sleeps around so much, or she might be watching him." Wendy's fists clenched under the table, and Marie sneered. "Are you sure you're not the milkman's daughter? I'm sure your mother would hate you even if you were legitimate." Wendy stood up and knocked Marie across the face, and she crumpled in the corner, holding her cheek and whimpering. Satisfied, the Darling sat down and reopened her book. "Hate is a word people use when speaking about YOU, Marie." Moments later, Wendy found herself sitting stiffly on a chair in the headmistress's office. "Hold out your hand." The old woman said coldly. Obediently, the girl stuck out her hand, and bit her cheek to keep from crying out as the headmistress brought the ruler down whistling on her pale hand. A red stripe puffed up immediately, and the woman asked her angrily how old she was. "Fourteen," she answered, and the headmistress said icily, "Then you have twenty-eight demerits. Report to the custodian for your chores." Wendy nodded and left, bending over the sink outside and spitting the blood out of her mouth. She had bit her cheek too hard. Wendy let the water run over the blood, watching as the water swirled around it and erased it slowly, until there was no trace it had been there at all. She walked to the janitor's office and received an errand that used four demerits- scrubbing the stones in the courtyard. Wendy dutifully lugged the buckets outside and began, scouring them with the old muddy rag that made it worse. Many hours later, she guessed, her brothers showed up as she was just finishing. "School's been out a while." Said Tootles. "How many demerits?" asked Curly. "Twenty-eight." She responded. The Twins, Charles and Geoffrey, gasped in unison. "Twenty-eight?" She nodded. Nibs gave her a dark look. "I hate that horrid old woman. I'll plan a battle against her; she ever gives you any of this crap-" "Nibs! You are not to use such language around impressionable ears!" Nibs regarded Wendy stonily, and replied, "It's Angus now." Indeed, they had all chosen names for themselves when they came to England, and they were only called by their old monikers in the house. Curly was now Theodore, and Tootles was Rupert. Slightly, who lived with Aunt Millicent, had chosen Patrick. The boys helped Wendy to her feet and volunteered to run the bucket back to the custodial offices for her. She winced as they took her hand, and slowly started back home. When they got there, Wendy feigned sickness for dinner and went up to her room to think. Her mother did not sleep around, and her father was not using all the money. Just a lot. She decided that she loved her family and all their problems, and closed her eyes. A rush of air blew into the room, and her eyes shot open as Peter sailed into it. "Oh! You didn't forget!" Wendy ran over to him and wrapped him in her arms. He pulled away, saying, "You grew!" She laughed. "So did you!" Peter had broader shoulders, a huskier voice, and darker hair, but the same smile. He was taller than she now, and was regarding her slowly, making his way from her hair to her toes. Wendy noticed his bright green eyes linger a long moment on her chest, and she blushed, crossing her arms over it. Peter asked her, "How old are you now?" "Fourteen." Peter, who had a tendency to float as opposed to standing, came crashing to the floor, and landed on a ring. "Ow!" He cried, rubbing the arch of his foot gently. She took it back and set it on her dresser hastily. "That was a ring. Do you have suitors?" He asked suspiciously. She gulped and shook her head slowly. Peter knew she was lying and felt his chin, making sure she hadn't kissed someone and given his thimble to them instead. "Well, I just wanted to see you. Bye!" He called, starting out the window. She ran over to it and grabbed his foot. It threw him off balance, and he twisted back and slid toward her, his legs slipping under hers and ending up with the two on the floor, Wendy draped over Peter, and both teenagers blushing. They lay in the dark a moment, and Peter asked, "Shouldn't you be off me now?" Wendy stood up quickly and said, "Oh, yes, of course, r-right away..." Peter looked at her and whispered, "You are growing up beautifully." He turned and flew out the window before she could say a word, as she saw something small and glittering fall from his body as he turned. It was a single tear. Gently, she picked it up and kissed it, placing the drop on the windowsill. In the morning, it had frozen, and she put it in her locket, closing the clasp around the sphere of ice. Wendy wrote on her school slate, "COME BACK", and hung it on the trellis, hoping he would see it. A month passed, and he had not returned, so sadly, she brought it back inside. He had not forgotten, but he was not willing to see her again, and she would not push the issue.