Chapter Two - A Very Enjoyable Book
The first few days of the new school year were spent settling into classes, meeting new teachers, and avoiding Philip Johnson. He had been a perfect gentleman upon their first meeting, apologizing for knocking her over, escorting her to the registration office, and then apologizing to her again. But Wendy felt odd in his presence, he reminded her so much of the Peter Pan she had once known. Except, Philip was different. But still, the similarities were striking. The candid way he looked at her, and the crooked way he smiled. It all frustrated Wendy to no end. At night, she would wonder about the brother Philip said had died. Could he be related to Peter Pan?
It did not help that Philip sat across from her in History and beside her in Literature. He paid lots of undue attention to her, greeting her when she sat down, saying goodbye when classes ended, giving her sympathetic looks when she got questions wrong (which was very rare, of course!), and the corner of his mouth would lift into a crooked smile when she answered correctly. Wendy ignored his friendly actions, if only because he reminded her of someone she would like to forget about. And it was improper to befriend boys, of course.
Wendy did not particularly like any of the girls in her classes, most likely because none of them seemed to like her. All of the other girls mentioned Philip's name when speaking of boys, as girls often do. And all of these swooning young women looked at Wendy with jealous eyes when they spoke of Philip, who paid no attention to any young woman except Wendy Darling, the quiet and strange girl from London.
Wendy had never really had many friends; there had been no need. With so many brothers, she had been befriended her entire life. She missed her family terribly now. Even though when she had last been there she spent more time by herself than with them, she missed the option of speaking with them at a moment's whim. Her extra time was now spent in the library or staring out of the window in her room. Her room was small, square, with one small window that would not open. The view was very plain. The flat, foggy moors were not very interesting or whimsical.
But nevertheless, Wendy liked the school. There was a small theatre where plays were performed by the drama troupe, the meal-room always served tasty foods, and it was easy to find places to be alone. The classes and curriculum were challenging, and the teachers were very good at what they did. Wendy was sure her aunt would be pleased.
The library was a dark, smelly place with many boring books about science, history, and complicated mathematics. And Wendy spent a lot of her time in it, sitting at the long reading table, her nose buried in a book. On a certain rainy Saturday morning, Wendy was trying to focus on reading about a very difficult mathematical function, a topic so incredibly boring and frustrating that she could barely stay focused on it. Not many other students were present, which made it even harder to concentrate. Wendy found herself wondering where they all were.
Mid-afternoon, someone sat down across from her, with a huge book in his hands. It was Philip, and he looked so immensely interested in his reading that Wendy knew he was not studying. She studied the book cover intently, looking for its title, but did not see any. What could it be? Probably a fairy-tale book, or something wasteful like that. And then she studied his face for perhaps the fiftieth time. It was strange to see a face so like the one you once loved so long ago. Wendy was sure she had loved Peter Pan, real or not, with all of her 12-year-old hearts' capacity.
Wendy kept silent for several moments, peeking up at Phillip from behind her book, expecting him to peek back, but he was thoroughly engrossed in his reading. Finally, Wendy's curious nature won over, and she cleared her throat softly.
"What are you reading, Mr. Johnson?" she asked in a polite tone.
"Hmm... a very enjoyable book, Miss Johnson," he answered, his eyes only glancing at her for a moment.
"I used to read for enjoyment. A lot." said Wendy softly, more to herself than to Philip. His interest in the book seemed to diminish, and he looked at her, lowering the book slightly.
"And now?"
"Books of that sort are a waste of time, I'm sure." she replied, sounding haughtier than she meant to.
"Books of what sort? I'm reading Hamlet, by Shakespeare... it's very interesting. Not at all a waste of time."
"Oh."
"There are many swordfights," he said softly, looking at her from under his eyelashes, daring her to become interested.
"Oh?" Wendy pretended not to be interested, turning a page in her book, glancing at him from the corners of her eyes.
"Yes! And mystery.... and betrayal... and love!" he paused. "But the love part is not interesting at all." he said, as if stating the obvious. Wendy pretended to be reading her book.
Philip rose, and grabbed the broom that was leaned up against a nearby shelf, giving it a twirl.
"What are you-" Wendy asked in a high, worried voice, lowering her book and looked around for anyone who might be watching.
"And there is murder!" he said, thrusting the broom at her book, stopping it an inch short. For a moment, Wendy considered laughing, throwing down her book, and asking Philip to tell her more. But then she remembered. She was a young lady, and that was not a proper thing to do.
"Yes, I know, I've read it before!" she exclaimed in a very exasperated voice. "You... you should grow up, Philip Johnson!" she exclaimed stiffly, slammed her book shut, and hurried from the library.
Philip watched her go, looking more concerned that affronted. That Wendy was not like other girls... well, she acted like one, but he had a feeling that under all that neatly combed hair and hard studying, she was different. He had known it ever since he had first seen her. But... she tried to act like all the other girls. It made no sense to him, but he felt that she was the only girl in the entire school worth paying attention to. Philip gave Wendy another moment of thought, and then replaced the broom, retook his seat, picked up his book, and began to read again.
