Trix's POV

"Argh…"

I roll over on my bed, which feels like it is on fire, trying to drown out the sounds from outside my open window.

Wait, what?

I sit up and yank my curtain to the side. There's nothing there.

I frown, but then conclude that I had been dreaming, and lay down again.

After a few minutes, I get up and stick my head out of my window. I love my window. It's huge and opens outward, and you have to undo the catch in the middle, then push the two sides out. Usually, I do this dramatically, as if I was a thief, running from thugs trying to catch me.

I jump out the window-

-and land on square section of roof underneath. I dangle my long legs over the side of the ledge, and lean back on my arms. A cool night breeze blows my long auburn hair to the side, and I breathe in deeply. I have always wondered why, in summer at night, the insides of houses are always the temperature of the Sahara (I'm guessing, never actually been to the Sahara, thank God), but outside is always cool. Well, at least the heat stops sometimes in summer.

The night sky is free of clouds and a deep, midnight blue, lit up by stars.

Okay, not really lit up by stars, all of the lights in the city prevent the stars from being seen, but still, that sounds good.

I notice two bright stars in the sky. They look like they are moving. Hmm, I think. Probably satellites.

But, I tell myself, satellites do not start to look like they are coming right down to earth, do they?

Disturbed, I start get to my feet and start to turn to go into my room again, when something slams into me.

I try to turn around, but I am pinned to the side of the house, arms behind my back, and I am not happy.

Not. Happy. At. All.

I kick behind me and hear a satisfying "uff" as my assailant is hit in what feels like a stomach. Then I step back, lift my arm over my head, and twist the hand of whoever it is towards my body.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, owowowowowowowowowow!"

I give a vicious twist to the arm and send the person hurtling into the side of the house, and I gasp.

A boy about my age is trying to recover from my defense. It is hard to see in the dim light, but he looks like he is wearing green, and is thin. I don't stop for long, though. I use the boy as a stepping stool and launch myself into my room, where I roll and shut my window, ignoring the stifling heat that immediately engulfs me.

Frantic, I look around my room, searching with my eyes for something- anything- that I can use as a weapon.

Luckily, I can be pretty resourceful.

I snatch up a dictionary (a heavy oxford one as thick as my shin) and creep to the window. I carefully open the window, then crouch, waiting.

A moment later, a figure floats up in front of the window, and before he can react, he has my dictionary slammed forcefully onto his head. The only reason I decide to not aim for the temple and a death shot is because I don't really want to start my murder career at age twelve, with a victim of the same age.

The dictionary attack has the desired effect. The boy drops like a stone and lands on the section of roof that sticks out from the rest of the house, where he slammed into me. I look down to make sure that he is really unconscious, then duck back into my room.

Ok, ok, ok, think, Trix, think. What to do, what to do...

I glance in the mirror, and immediately, I decide that I cannot go a moment longer looking like this. I grab a hairbrush, wrestle the tangles in my hair into submission, then wash my face. When I am done, I sit down on the floor to gather my thoughts.

I slowly go over what has happened. I heard noises outside my open window. I went outside to cool off. A boy attacked me. I slammed him into the house and knocked him out with a dictionary. Then I brushed my hair and washed my face. I am now sitting calmly in the middle of my room.

Now what? I can't go to bed, I will never be able to fall asleep, and I am not about to call the cops. I don't trust authority figures.

So...

Before I can make a decision, the window blows open, and a boy drops on the floor.

He is about my age (twelve), and has a mischievous glint in his bright blue eyes that I like immediately. He is wearing what looks like intricately woven leaves, and there is a dagger at his side. His red hair is in disarray, and he flies right to me and growls, "That. Hurt."

I look at him innocently, then punch him in the stomach. "Oh, sorry!" I say when he doubles over. "Did that hurt, too?"

The boy glares at me, and I return his gaze calmly with raised eyebrows. On the inside, I am thinking hard. This scene is very familiar... Not that I have ever punched a flying boy in the stomach after I knocked him out with a dictionary, but his very appearance.

Skeleton leaves... FLYING... A dagger at his side... FLYING... blue eyes... FLYING... visiting girls at night... FLYING...

Click. How on earth did it take me so long to figure it out? After all, I do basically have the book memorized.

Peter Pan is in my room.

"Erm, excuse me, flying boy, but who are you exactly?"

The boy looks surprised that I am trying to have a civil conversation. He lands lightly on my carpeted floor, still a distance away from me, just in case I try to attack him again. Warily, he replies, "I am Peter Pan."

Knew it. "So, er, sorry about the dictionary and the punch and everything, but you kind of FREAKED ME OUT BY APPEARING OUT OF NOWHERE!"

Peter blinks. "What do you mean?"

I raise an eyebrow. "I mean you slammed into me and pinned me to the wall. And you just appeared."

"Oh." Peter seems to think about this, then says, "I am very sorry."

"Apology accepted."

...

...

...

*long pause continues*

"Soo..." I twist a strand of hair around my finger. "What are you doing here?"

Peter looks relieved that the awkward turtles have swum out of the area. He answers in a self-important voice, "I have come looking for a girl to take to Neverland."

"Whyyyy?"

"To make the mother of the Lost Boys."

"What, run outta Darling's?" I ask sarcastically. "Did they finally have a son?"

Peter has a zoo of emotions on his face, surprise (at my knowledge of the Darlings?), jealousy (at who exactly?), longing (for what?), but he settles on confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Erm... Never mind..." I decide that I should not reveal that he is in a famous book. Or maybe he knows... I won't ask. "But why are you here, in America? Don't you only visit England?"

"I'm in America?"

"Yes. You must have a crappy sense of direction if you didn't know that. The USA is thousands of miles away from England. It's across a sea!"

"Wow. I must have fallen asleep longer than I thought." Peter looks very surprised, and I realize that he had been sleep-flying all the way across the Atlantic and America.

"Jesus. Why were you so freaking tired?" I ask.

"Umm..." Peter appears to think, then says, "I don't really know." Then he smiles. "But I'm here now! And now we can go to Neverland!"

He grabs my hand and starts pulling me towards the window. I break free, saying, "When, exactly, did I agree to go to Neverland?" Actually, I would love to go to Neverland, I have dreamed about it ever since I understood the story (I was around three), but I like to be difficult. Plus, I do not like being told what to do, especially by a boy dressed in plantlife.

Peter stops and looks at me in confusion. "Erm, you didn't, not really. But... Don't you want to go?"

Yes, I think. But I'm not about to tell you that! Out loud, I say, "No."

"Oh." Peter looks really befuddled. I guess he's never met a girl with a brain. Then, he loses the confusion. "You have to come."

"Really, now? And why do I have to?"

"Because." Peter looks stern. "I told you to."

I give a hysterical laugh. "Excuse me?"

"Girls have to do what they're told."

"Ha! Whered'ya get that idea? I don't have any obligation to do what you say!" I snort and cross my arms, rolling my eyes. "Welcome to the 21st century!"

Peter looks defeated, until a small, bright light zips in through my open window. The light flies to Peter's shoulder, and I see an amazing sight. A tiny young woman is perched next to Peter's ear. She is wearing a thin, flowy green gauze dress, and her long brownish-red hair is loose. I can't see anything else about her, though, because she is so far and tiny. But I do see one other thing. A pair of silvery wings extend from her shoulders, glittering and glowing.

Fairy, twelve o'clock.

Then, I hear a high, sharp voice, and small bells jingling in the background of it.

"Peter, we don't need a girl."

"Yes, we do, Tink, we have been over this before." Peter rolls his eyes.

"It still doesn't make any sense! Girls don't do anything!"

"Tink, you are a girl."

Meanwhile, my head is spinning like a top. I am hearing a voice. This should be normal, but I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO UNDERSTAND THE FAIRY LANGUAGE! And I can, because that is generally what fairies speak, particularly this fairy.

"Uh, heh, excuse me," I interrupt the pair's discussion with an awkward cough. "But ah, I sort of need you to tell me how I am supposed to be understanding a fairy?"

A moment passes, then Tink's tiny jaw drops, and Peter crows in delight. "I knew it, Tink!" Then, he takes out from a pouch at his belt a dark green leaf, tears it in half in front of my face, and-

whumph-thud.

This is my first real fanfic, I would love some constructive criticism. Please do not post trashy comments, they are not helpful and that is not why I am taking time to write this stuff. I will work on the next chapters! (And yes, I did delete two chapters and remake this one. Suck it up! I'm making them better! And slightly longer.) And thank you to those six that have commented and the several that are following and favoriting. You make me proud of myself!