"Peter, do you remember last night, when you had that dream?" I asked him after breakfast. He batted his eyelashes a few times, as if he had something caught in his eye.

"No."

Liar. I wanted to confront him, such was my curiosity as to what he had been dreaming about, but I knew he would not tell me anything, and I didn't want to trouble him any more than I had to. I decided diverting him with a game of pirate would be the best way to get both of our minds off of his nightmare. This time, he insisted being dread pirate Captain Crook. Usually he wanted to be the one killing Captain Crook.

"Thou shall never catch me!" I giggled, running away and hiding from Peter in the garden. He stalked around, searching for me.

"I know you're here somewhere. Mark my words, I'll find ye yet!" he growled in a perfect pirate voice, pushing through the shrubbery with his sword. I waited in anticipation; hand on my weapon, ready for anything.

"ARRRR!" Captain Crook growled. I screamed and ran out of the garden. How did he sneak up on me like that?

"Prepare to die!" I cried, and we clashed swords. We fought for some time, until my father saw us and took the sticks out of our hands and set us apart.

"That's dangerous, children, do not play with sticks like that!" he reprimanded gently. We pouted at him, but he just smiled. It was hard to be angry with him when he smiled like that, because we know that he doesn't know we're smart enough not to hurt ourselves. And if we did get hurt, it'd be even more fun! Nothing was as prestigious as a battle scar. Oh well. He's just trying to protect us.

Apparently, Peter didn't share my positive attitude about the situation, for he moped about for some time, grumbling something about grown-ups spoiling the game, and never letting us have any fun, and never having any fun themselves. This seemed to be true, for while my mother and father always smiled when they were around each other, they were always talking, but I figured that was how they liked to be. Peter did not accept this.

We begged to be let inside so we could go to our nursery and play pirate without our parents making us stop. We skipped the beginning bit and jumped to the part where we begin sword fighting. Peter brandished his sword and clashed it against mine with a force that was almost frightening, like he was really fighting me. I'm not nearly as physically strong as he is, and tried to fight back, but it wasn't long before he accidentally scraped my arm with his sword, penetrating the skin and causing it to bleed. Startled, I fell backwards and cried out, my eyes tearing up.

Immediately my nurse, who had apparently been washing clothes, judging from the amount of soapsuds caught in her wispy hair, rushed in and helped me up.

"What's happened, dear? Ooh, poor Mary, look at that nasty cut! How did that- oh, I see now. Peter, put that twig back outside where it belongs! Don't you see that you've hurt Mary?"

I sniveled. Peter scowled at me. Was he not the least bit sorry? Fanny took me away to get my arm bandaged, and when we came back, she noticed something sticking out of my wardrobe.

"A stick! Mary, I have told you time and time again that these are not to be allowed in your wardrobe, to soil all of your pretty clothes, or in this house at all! You must stay in your room until tomorrow morning as punishment."

"But Fanny!" I protested. The sun had not yet begun setting. I had wanted to go back outside to play after dinner, but someone had framed me. Fanny walked out of the nursery, and my pleading expression turned to one of contempt- for Peter. But he was nowhere to be found. Most likely, he was outside. Enjoying the warmth of the sunlight. Without me.

I listened to his steps from under my bed covers as he came into the nursery for the night. Rather than being light patters, they were vicious stomps. Something was bothering him, but I was cross with him so I didn't stir and pretended I was asleep. I heard him utter a heavy sigh as he realized I was pretending to sleep. If I were awake or asleep, he would talk to me, but if I were fake sleeping, he wouldn't bother me, seeing as that meant I did not want anyone to talk to me. With another, heavier sigh, he flopped onto his bed, but even a few minutes later I did not hear that soft, rhythmic breathing that signified sleep. He always fell asleep immediately. Something was bothering him. Soon, I heard his feet padding lightly across the wooden floor to my side of the nursery.

As softly as a cat, he leapt onto the side of my bed and whispered, "Faker," into where he guessed my ear was. I pulled the covers tighter around myself, not wanting to talk to him.

"Listen, Mary," he said. "I'm sorry about putting my sword in your wardrobe for Fanny to find, and I'm sorry about hurting your arm like that. Is it bad?"

"Yes. Very bad." It was a nasty gash, but the pain was over now, so I was exaggerating. A little.

"I didn't mean to hit it so hard... I'm so sorry."

"You meant to hit it at all?" I cried, sitting up.

"Yes, but not actually scratch it like that!"

"Peter! How wretched! Why?"

"The make believe felt so real, and I wasn't very happy at the time, so I guess I just got carried away. I meant to hit you, but not really you, if you know what I mean."

"Why did you put the sword in my wardrobe so I'd get in trouble?" I asked.

"My wardrobe didn't have any room, and I was too lazy to take it outside."

"But you went outside right after!"

"Yeah, but I didn't now I was going to go outside right after that at the time," he replied as if it were a perfectly rational explanation for getting me in trouble. He smiled his plea for forgiveness- his lower lip pouting just slightly and his eyes large and shining. I only let him believe that it worked on me. The truth was, I forgave him before he apologized, but I always felt that was wrong so I never admitted to that.

Peter saw the change in my face that signaled that he was completely forgiven, and his smile faded. "Mary, something is-"

"Bothering you. What is it?"

"I heard your father talking about school."

"School?"

"For boys."

"For boys?"

"Echo... echo..."

"Do shut up. Tell me more."

"Mary, he was talking about sending me to a school for boys."

"So? Everyone has to go to school."

"For boys, Mary! Meaning that I would be going away, and leaving you here! Not just a local school, a boarding school, where I would go away forever and ever and hardly ever see you. It wouldn't be when we first start school, but sometime later on. I don't want to leave you."

"Our parents wouldn't be so mean! They wouldn't separate us."

Peter shrugged, sighed, and crawled back into his own bed, and soon I heard the musically rhythmic breathing that indicated he had fallen asleep, and soon it lulled me to sleep as well.