Let's try this again.
Disclaimer: I don't own Peter Pan.
PROLOGUE
The first day of school was a tempest of confusion and Moira found herself lost and hurled about in the halls of the unforgiving grey brick building. Class after class whizzed by and again she found herself in the hallways trying to navigate to the refuge of a classroom. Shrugging forward and shouldering her bag with resolute defiance of nature, she practically swam to her next class through a sea of students and teachers and people-who-didn't-belong-where-they-were. She was pushed and pulled, jostled and jaunted until she finally reached her destination. The theater wing was always her safe haven, and she reveled in it happily. Entering the large theater itself, buffeted and battered back to invisibility by her ignorant peers, she looked around. She spotted several familiar faces, but everyone seemed to be focused on one lone figure. She followed their gazes curiously and gasped at what she saw.
Across the room, sitting languidly in a green upholstered auditorium chair, was a boy. From a distance he looked to be in the Junior class, maybe a Sophomore if she was very lucky. He had dirty blond hair and wore a smirk that would make any girl swoon upon the flash of it in her general direction. He sat in the ripped and dirty seat as if it was his throne, and she took this opportunity to observe the changes in his physique, for she knew him. His arms had grown from thin and sinewy to strong and lean with hard earned muscle. His chest and shoulders broadened and became more defined (this could be discerned very easily because his shirt was fitted and left little to be imagined or assumed). His legs were much longer and consisted of much the same muscle as was in his arms. She wondered if his ears, now hidden beneath scraggly cut hair, still remained pointed. If his eyes, once so full of innocent wonder as he watched her write letters or sew a pocket into a shirt (he was ever so fond of pockets, though he rarely ever put anything into them), were still that deep mixture of brown and green like a forest in springtime.
Would he remember their adventures? Was it really even him, or some cruel doppelgänger sent to mock her?
As the mysterious elven being reclined in his second rate throne like the King of the World, his name danced across her lips, "Peter."