A/N:: I feel REALLY pathetic writing a Peter Pan fan fic. But I had inspiration. So that is that. And by the way, let's just say Pix lives in our age. As in right now!!!! ROAR!! Sorry.....

My name is Pix.

Not Pix as in a nickname. Pix, as in short for PIXY. I'm serious. My name was going to be fuckin' Twinkle, but my dad managed to stop my mom from naming me that. Instead I was stuck with Pixy. I hate the look that comes into my teacher's eyes when they see my name. Some are doubtful as they say, "Can you please pronounce your name for me please?" I tell them to call me Pix.

I'm fifteen, with long brown hair that I managed to get blonde highlights in. I think it looks pretty good. I'm thin, and my little brother is thinner, which is scary.

By the way, my mother lives in a mental hospital in London. Soddin' mad, she is. People used to think she was quite sane. I used to think so too. But then one day, she threw Danny out the bloody window. She said he was going to fly. He said he was going to fly as well.

But he wouldn't have. He would have fallen to his death. Just because my mom had bloody convinced us that her little stories were true. So what if I had had a dream that I flew? It should have meant nothing. Nothing at all. But she had convinced me it had.

And with me on her side, Danny would believe as well. Thank god my father caught her in time. I think I was ten at the time. She's been gone five years and I think we are better for it. Father is wonderful and we visit Mother plenty. I can tell she isn't getting better. I hear my father talking to the doctor on the phone every so often.

His voice is always strained.

He blames himself for not noticing it before then. For almost risking his own son's life in his ignorance. I, though, blame myself. I believed. I allowed myself to believe in that crap. And that's what it is. Crap. Absolute bull shit.

There, I have described my family and myself, I think. Well, enough for now. One day I was having a sleepover with all my friends. We were telling stories of our childhood. This was a subject of much enjoyment, poking fun at each other's silly antics as children.

When it came to my turn, I told them of my mother's tales and of my dream that had convinced me of the reality of the legendary Peter Pan. I called him Pussy Pan and we all cracked up.

Yeah, I know it's immature. But that's how we were. Holly picked up where I left off and began with a long tale of a tall boy in tights. One day his tights break and must walk all across town with nothing on but a short and some silk material to hold.

Yet another reason to laugh. Hannah jumped and we all asked her what was the matter. It was known that Hannah's hearing was much better than the rest of ours. So if she heard something, it was there.

"I think I heard something by the window." We all looked over at the open window. "Well, close it, Pix," whispered Brenda. I was about to shoot back that I really didn't care much about it at all and if Brenda cared so much, she should close it herself. But the thing was, I did care.

So I got up and moved slowly towards the window. As I drew closer, I felt something make me feel happier, maybe a more of a childish ignorance. I recognized it from that dream I had had all those years ago.

I closed the window as quickly as I could. I breathed deeply when I saw nothing had attacked me. "Whoo, close one," muttered as I walked back to my friends.

--

The next Monday I woke up groggy and lazy. "Oh, dad, do I have to? I'm sick, I'm quite sure of it."

But my dad being my dad, he paid me no mind and pulled me out of my comfortable bed. "Oh thanks." I rasped, yawning.

"Get ready. I'll be late if you don't hurry." I paid him as little mind as possible.. I grunted as I went into the bathroom. I grunted with I received my breakfast. I grunt my goodbye before leaving to school. Grunt grunt.

As I walked onto school property, I heard the flurry of rumors that could only mean one thing. There was a new kid in class.

We were all expectedly waiting this new kid's arrival. The boys secretly hoped it was a girl, but pretended they wanted a boy. The girls wanted a boy and made it clear. I wanted to see which category I could put this new person in.

If you look well enough, you'll see everyone falls in some sort of category. I put myself in the Popular Established group. Which means just from having lived here my whole life and being nice and pretty enough, I got myself a spot with the popular kids. Most of my friends were also PEs. I have some friends in the Gradually Popular group and a cute prospect boyfriend in the Jock group.

There's also the Scary Goth group and the Punky Punk group. Both are very, very weird. God, how can you LIKE having chains all over you? It's disgusting. Thanks, but I like my body just fine. Tight clothes are much, much better. They show off your figure and you can get a boyfriend. That's pretty much high school for you.

There are the nerds, and the Unknowns. The nerds are well, nerd. Not much more to say about them.

Now the Unknowns are really, really weird. Some of wanna-bes. Posers. Whatever. But there's a group of Unknowns that are just that. Unknown. They don't make sense. They are Untouchables. If you speak to one, they'll be sarcastic or silent. Or varying between the two.

Most are people that most don't want to talk to anyway. Ugly, annoying people. But some are just, beyond. They are shining white [sometimes black] beacons shooting through the halls at their own speeds, with a certain I- don't-give-a-shit attitude. One of those guys is the one I love.

He is tall, red hair, Irish. His voice is deep, his skin is tan. He is sex- ay. I've wanted him from the moment I've seen him. But I know he is a wall to people like me. I've seen his expression of disgust when my friends and I walk past. He has favored most of my friends with curse words from his lovely mouth. I have not yet been so lucky.

His name is Padriac.

Back to the where we were.

Anyway, a new kid was arriving. We were all talking at once in homeroom when I began to get hushed. First the front rows get silent. Then the lack of voices spread until even the Punky Punks in the back are silent.

"Hi. I'm Peter."