Ray's head burst out of the water perhaps thirty feet head of her. It was something you might have drawn in a picture or seen in a famous painting, a tanned boy bursting from still blue-black water, most of his upper body in the open air, his head thrown back to fling shaggy blond hair out of his closed eyes. The moment of beauty ended as Ray slid back into the water. He shook his head like a dog so his sun-bleached hair went every which way like whips before swimming for shore. His calm, easy strokes were as relaxed as if nothing had happened, although he had been underwater for what was easily over five minutes, and likely closer to ten.
"Why did you go off like that?" one of the girls demanded as Ray waded ashore and pulled on his shirt. He was dripping and the shirt, previously clean, was covered in mud, but the stupid boy didn't seem to notice, let alone care. After all the work she and the girls put in to ensure he had clean clothes, one would think he could show some appreciation.
"What if the pirates had come, " the second girl away from Wendy asked. Wendy didn't see why having Ray there if the pirates came would make a difference. Peter was the only one who could really protect them, but he'd told Ray to look after them. He would at least try to do as his chief said.
"Pirates are on the other side of the island," Ray growled. Wendy doubted he'd said a single civil word since he'd come back to the home underground. Perhaps to Peter, when the two of them spent hours closeted together in Peter's room. Wherever he'd been, they obviously didn't put much store by manners. "Haven't been around here for days."
"But that could change," the girl protested. Ray ignored her.
"Did you see any mermaids?" the third girl asked suddenly. She had only been in Nerverland perhaps two weeks – time was elastic with the Lost Boys – and she had yet to see any. Wendy remembered how Peter had lured her to Neverland five years ago with promises of mermaids. If Wendy's experience served, this girl would see more of the beastly creatures than she wanted to.
"Yeah. What about it?" Ray didn't really seem interested in the girl or his talk of mermaids. He was staring out at Marooner's Rock.
"I'd love to meet a mermaid," the girl sighed. Her spun-gold hair fell dreamily across her forehead as she too stared out at the Rock.
"I doubt they'd like to meet you," Ray said absently. Not spitefully, or indeed as if he cared what effect this simple statement would have on the girl. He was just stating a fact. He still hadn't taken his eyes off the Rock.
He was probably right, Wendy admitted to herself, but that didn't mean he couldn't be nicer about it. The blond girl looked hurt, but didn't say anything. That was probably wise. Ray was as cold and hard as the rock he was staring at. Wendy washed clothes without looking at them, instead watching Ray watch the lagoon. Why was he staring?
A mermaid leapt out of the water in a graceful arc and re-entered the lagoon without a splash. Was that it, then? None of the boys had ever gone haring off after a mermaid before, although it had been known to happen to redskins and pirates. The Boys were generally too young, but at sixteen or so, Ray might not be. Wendy had to admit that the fishy flirts were beautiful, but that didn't mean she had to like it.
"Please don't chase mermaids, Ray dear," she said in her best motherly tone, kind and concerned. His eyes had followed the mermaid's flight with keen interest. "You're much too good for them." Ray looked at her levelly.
"Mermaids are well enough in their way," he said calmly, with no trace of emotion. He had been looking at their nearly-bare chests!
The blond girl hadn't moved from her position, kneeling with a stocking in one hand, her eyes wide and staring out across the lagoon. Her lips worked soundlessly. It was probably something about mermaids.
Wendy finished her washing quickly, eager to get Ray away from the lagoon. She might not like the boy, but she was his mother. Not his real mother, maybe – he was older than she was – but he was still her responsibility.
They left the lagoon and headed back to the tree, walking quickly. They would have to do the washing over again if it got dirty or wrinkled on the way home. Again, something unseen stirred the leaves, although no more than the slightest breeze would. Wendy couldn't shake the feeling that somewhere, up in the branches, there was something watching her. Watching, and laughing.