part i? meh send helppp
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It started at the beach.
She had wondered off, prior to being told not to, and ended up on the side of the beach where the sand melts away and the pebbles crunch under your sandals. She smiled at the group of old, as she thought all humans over thirteen were at the time, men fishing and began collecting unique pebbles. She even found one shaped like a heart! It was very exciting for her, her being from the city. Though John and herself were only visiting their aunt for the week it took a lot of adjusting, and came with lots of surprises. John still couldn't believe the cow dung they had cycled past that morning.
"On the road!" He had exclaimed. "It's on the road, Wendy, look! How very unsanitary! I could get Ebola!" Of course, she told him that that was impossible. After a while.
She continued walking, crouched over so she could carry her treasures safely and to search for more pretty pebbles. Just as she thought she had spotted another unique one, her head hit off of something hard and she stumbled back a step. Glancing up with her mouth opened curiously, Wendy saw a boy staring at her, his eyebrows raised.
"What are you doing?" He shook his head at her. She didn't like that. Straightening her back, she stared the boy right in the eye.
"That is none of your business," his lips quirked upwards and he glanced at her little pile of pebbles.
"Are you going to skip stones?" She furrowed her eyebrows at the nosy boy.
"No, I don't even know what that is."
"Are you throwing them at someone, then?"
She wrinkled her nose, appalled, and said slowly, "no, I am not." Although, it would be a great threat to get Michael to stop watching the television while she's trying to read.
"Oh," he frowned, looking slightly disappointed but still curious, "What are you doing, then?"
"Why do you want to know?" She asked tautly. Her father's voice echoes the words 'stranger danger' in her head. He shrugged.
"You're odd," she scoffed at his words, "Don't worry, I like it."
Though her cheeks glowed red, she still made a sour face at him.
"Well, if you excuse me, I have to finish collecting so I can get back—"
"Collecting!" he clicked his fingers, "I should've guessed, it's such a girl thing to do." She glared at him.
"Well, I best get back to my 'girl thing' then," she began to walk around him, "So if you'd kindly leave now—"
"Hey! I didn't mean to upset you," he stopped her with his hands. She almost groaned in annoyance but stopped herself as she had already been punished for acting unladylike twice that day.
"Yes, well—I'm late for tea!" She suddenly turned around and sprinted back toward the sandy beach where John was no doubt worrying—she had the key to their bicycle locks after all.
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Her aunt made her throw out the pebbles. She almost left them in her aunt's prised Tulip flower beds but refrained as she didn't need a lecture from her mother, whether in person or over the phone, those were intense.
"Hey!" Wendy jumped and swung around. A boy waved at her through the hole in the fence. She raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. How many silly boys will she have to put up with today? Wendy waved back and the boy beamed before disappearing. Or, he just moved away from the hole but because of how high and thick the fence was Wendy could no longer see him.
"What are you staring at?" John followed her gaze curiously.
"Nothing!" She trotted inside, shoving John away from the doorway. He huffed as she closed the door behind her.
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It's no secret that Wendy would rather sit in a quiet corner and read all day. Unfortunately, according to her auntie, it's also unacceptable.
"But, what would I even do outside?"
"You could go to the beach?" Her aunt's fingers moved rapidly over the base of the pie, pressing the dough into the pan.
"I went yesterday."
"Well, there is a playground around—"
"Auntie, I'm thirteen! I'm far too old for the playground!" Her aunt sighed. "Besides, reading edifies the mind."
With a smirk, Wendy twirled around thinking she had won.
"John, come here and I'll give you and your sister some money for ice cream."
Sly, auntie, very sly.
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"Hey! Hey, Girl!"
"Girl?!" Wendy swung around with an intent to maim—uh, talk politely to the young man.
"Well, I don't know your name," the boy blushed, shrugged and pushed his hands into his pockets.
"Wendy," she regretted admitting it the second she did.
"Well, Wendy," he smiled, "I'm Peter."
"Well, Peter," Wendy smiled sweetly at him, "I don't care." His smile fell.
"Is this about the beach because I—"
"Wendy!" John called, "Come see!"
"One second, John!" Wendy turned to the boy, ready to say oh oops gotta go, but he was much closer than she remembered. She froze as his eyes bore into hers.
"Here!" He suddenly slipped something into her pocket and then ran away.
Wendy watched his retreating form, her nose wrinkled in confusion, and took the object out of her pocket. Her mouth opened when she saw the beautiful pink shell. This boy was ever so confusing. She hoped all boys weren't like that.
"WENDY!"
"I'm coming, John! Honestly, can't you see I'm in the middle of an existential crisis?"
"What?" John crinkled his nose at her. Wendy plopped down on the ground beside him, crossed her arms and sighed heavily.
"Boys are hard."
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Boys continued to be hard. Two years later and she only had more evidence of their insanity. She knows that bipolar is a rare mental disorder but she's also ninety nine point nine per cent sure that every boy has it.
"Did you finish—"
"Yes."
"You don't even know which book I was going to say."
"I finished all the books you gave me."
"Oh my god, Wendy. Do you ever go outside?"
"I'm outside right now." Gemma rolled her eyes. She was about to respond when a football slammed into her side. Wendy gasped and grabbed at her friends side.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, fine," Gemma rubbed her side and winced.
The two girls looked at the group of teenagers smoking and laughing.
"Get it," one of the boys nodded toward the ball.
"Excuse me?" Wendy exclaimed. Gemma grabbed her arm.
"It's fine. Let's just do what they say."
"No way! He hit you," Wendy glared at the young teenagers who thought themselves so old.
"Wendy, please," Gemma begged, glancing nervously at the boy who had demanded the ball. Wendy pulled her arm out of Gemma's grip and marched over to the boy. He smiled jeeringly.
"I don't see the ball."
"I do," Wendy pointed at it, "It's right where it rolled to after it hit my friend." He shrugged. Her face hardened.
"What's going on?" A girl asked as her and a boy sauntered over to the group.
"I leave for two minutes," the boy teased. Except Wendy knew this boy. The smile left his face as he saw her. Wendy didn't realise they were staring at each other until the girl cleared her throat.
"This bitch won't get the ball," Wendy gave the boy a death glare. She was about to speak when Peter surprised her.
"It's your ball, you get it," Peter growls. The boy gaped at him.
"Pan—"
"Do you know me to ask twice, Felix?" The boy sneered and shot Wendy a threatening look but shuffled across the yard to get his ball.
"Thank you," Wendy nodded to Peter. He cleared his throat and avoided her eyes.
"Yeah, well. It's his ball," Peter put his hands in his pockets and looked down, the girl he had entered with snorted and he elbowed her.
"Well, um, goodbye," Wendy turned on her heel and strut away quickly. In her head she wondered if it was attractive, her strutting. Then she cursed herself for wanting to impress him. Grabbing Gemma's arms, she fled.
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Wendy found herself at a party one cold, September night. The beat of the music rattled against her ears and the smell of smoke twisted her insides. But she sat, she stayed.
"You don't look like you're having much fun," a petite blonde elegantly falls onto the couch beside Wendy.
"I'm—" Wendy paused to glance around the packed living room, "I'm not a particularly social individual." The blonde chuckled.
"I don't blame you. They're all idiots."
"Yeah," Wendy smiled in amusement then looked to the boy trying to free his hand from where it was stuck in a vase, "They really are, aren't they?"
"Absolutely," she extended her hand out to Wendy, "I'm Tink."
"Tink?" she laughed at Wendy's sour face.
"It's a nickname," she smiled at her for a heartbeat before asking, "You want a drink?"
"Oh, no, no, I don't drink," Wendy shook her head and played with her hands. Tink smiled evilly.
"'Til now."
"No, no. Really. I'm fine." Wendy nodded her head determindly.
2 hours later...
"I just feel like I'm so boring, you know? It's as if the only adventures I have are in books, you know? I just wish real life could be more exciting, exhilarating, you know?" A tipsy Wendy laments to Tink on the sofa they've been sitting at all night.
"Oh, I know," Tink giggles, her eyes catch a figure entering the living room, "Speaking of excitement."
"Huh?" Wendy sipped the apple flavoured liquid through her straw.
"What are you doing?" A rough voice sounded from above Wendy. She glanced up and her eyes widened.
"Having fun, you should try it sometime," Tink snarked.
"You know tonight we had a, uh, place to be," he hinted at something that Wendy couldn't decipher even if she were sober.
"Maybe I'm sick of—" she pauses, looking at Wendy, "—having places to be." Peter's jaw hardened and as he was about to argue he looked to the left.
"Wendy?"
"No?" She hid her face behind her small plastic cup.
"Tink, go to the truck," she opened her mouth to argue, "Now." She frowned, glanced at Wendy then followed her orders.
"Where do you live?" Peter asked as he grabbed Wendy's arm, pulling her up from her comfy position on the couch.
"Excuse me, I never ever want you to know that," she huffed.
"Why's that?" He asked out of curiousity.
"I've heard the rumours, Peter," she waved a finger in front of his face, "You're a naughty boy." He smirked.
"Say that again, slower."
"You're a n—uh, oh, disgusting," she scoffed and ripped her arm out of his warm hold. Peter chuckled.
"Wendy, where do you live so I can drop you home."
"How do you know I'm done partying?" She raised her eyebrows challenging him.
"Oh, you're done," he attempted to take her arm again but she snatched it away.
"You aren't the boss of me, Peter Pan!" He simply laughed at her, "You aren't!"
"Wendy, be a good girl and do as you're told," Peter began to lead her toward the door. Wendy scoffed.
As they exited the house, Peter pushed people out of their way. Wendy was shocked at his behaviour, but even more shocked that everyone else seemed to scurry out of his path. Wendy let out a gasp as she fell down the step she didn't notice under the front door.
"For god—" Peter heaved her up and scowled at her cut knee, "Can you do anything right?" Wendy gaped at him.
"Peter, this is the first and last time I'll ever say this," she informed him calmly before she yelled, "SCREW YOU!"
"Screw me? I'm trying to help you," Peter's mouth fell open at the audacity she displayed.
"NO, you're trying to control me," she retorted, "But guess what, Peter, I am not one of your little minions!"
Wendy wiped her palms off her dress, raised her head high and turned to walk away. Peter stood behind her, his calculating glance slowly turned to a cold, toothy smile.
"Wendy," it sounded like the wind, it sounded like a warning.
"Yes?" She spun to face him again.
"I'm the king, here. I'm in charge, and you better watch what you say to me," his eyes shone with mirth, challenging her, but hers equaled his in determination.
"Really?" She took a step closer to him, "Maybe to them, however you've managed to frighten everyone here. But to me, Peter, you're just a little boy. A nice, kind, foolish, little boy, pretending to be someone he's not."
He watched her walk away this time.
"Game on," he whispered into the darkness around him.
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