Fifteen

It was Wendy's fifteenth birthday. Well, the end of it, really. And what a end it was.

"What?" She breathed staring at her brothers and the Lost Boys.

"Wendy, let's be logical," John said seriously. At thirteen years old, he still wore his favorite glasses and loved his favorite top-hat. He was still the serious, smart one. Right now, he was too serious, too smart.

"Are we really going to keep continuing to believe that we were swept out of our room by a flying boy and a fairy who fought pirates in their spare time on a magical island called Neverland?" John continued, glancing around at the other boys. They all nodded.

"It is quite ridiculous," agreed thirteen year old Tootles -or should she say, Carlisle. Mr. Darling had finally grown sick of being taunted at the bank for having such absurdly named children, and had renamed them all. Wendy thought that the new names were much more absurd than the old ones. But she had said nothing.

"Absolutely," said Richard/Curly, who was now twelve, just like Robert/Nibs.

"But -" Wendy struggled to understand. They could not lose faith. What would it do to Peter? "But, if Neverland never existed, then where did we find the Lost Boys?"

"My theory," Winston/Slightly said, "is that we simply were make-believing so hard it seemed true. We all lived in the wilderness, and we had to face off against cruel adults. Peter was just this boy who knew the ways of the streets. To us he was so wonderful he seemed like he could fly. Same thing for you three." He nodded as seriously as a fourteen-year-old boy can.

"You can't just make up something like that," Wendy insisted, her eyes tearing up. "People can have imagination, but you can't pretend the feeling and the scares like that."

"Maybe we were defusional from lack of food," Alan/Twin One suggested.

"Defusional?" Michael asked, now ten years old.

"You know, sick and seeing stuff that isn't real," Felix/Twin Two explained very proudly, sounding as if he was quite older and wiser than Michael rather than only eleven.

"You mean delusional," John corrected.

"Yes, that's what I said."

"We can't all have the same delusion," Wendy pointed out.

Slightly placed a hand on Wendy's arm. "I am sorry, Wendy. We know you liked Peter." At any other time, Wendy would have blushed, but instead she quietly excused herself and crept to her room, where she opened her window and sat down besides. Although she tried not to cry whenever possible, a few tears were blinked onto the pillow next to her. Wendy rubbed at her eyes roughly.

The boys can believe what they want, she thought stubbornly. I know Peter was really real. He was not just a boy. If he was just a boy, would she have run desperately through the snowy park just because she thought she heard him? No.

It was earlier today, and she was out walking with her three good friends, Charity Williams, Edith Jones and Edward Swanson, in the park (the very park she'd mentioned in her directions to Peter, which must have been difficult to understand, because she never saw him). Snow had been falling peacefully. Until an earsplitting yell of anger and grief tore through the trees.

"What was that?" Charity whispered. Wendy froze. She was sucked suddenly back into memories. Neverland memories.

The pirates are roaring with excitement as they pull the plank toward the side of the ship. The boys, who are in a heap, are screaming and yelling. I am tied to the mast. I do not want to look, but Captain Hook pushes my face towards the plank. I hate him.

"There's still room for a storyteller," he says, brushing my hair away from my face with his hook. It makes me want to curl up inside myself and never come out. I hate him.

'I'd rather die," I say fiercely. I don't flinch.

"Shame," he says phonily. I hate him.

"Cap'n, Cap'n!" Mr. Smee calls from the side of the boat. Hook rushes over to him. "Look at the sky!" I look up. Lightning flashes across the dark sky. "And look at the water." The black waves whip each other angrily. And then something on the island shrieks. Something that sounds horrifyingly close to Peter. "Pan… must be dead!"

"No! No! Impossible!" Cries of shock arise from the Lost Boys and my brothers. My breath comes quicker and quicker. I shake my head weakly. No. It can't be.

"Ship's company!" roars Hook. "Hats off! A moment's silence for our fallen enemy." They all take their hats off, in mock grief. I swallow, unable to stop shaking, and close my eyes. "We sail at dawn!" The hats are flying through the air. I ignore it. They will not see me cry. Ever.

Wendy started running.

She ignored her friends yelling out to her and the wind whipping her face. She only cared about finding the sound. Half of her - the selfish part of her - was praying with every inch it had that it was Peter. The other half was praying it hadn't been him.

The thing screamed again, and Wendy's speed accelerated. It sounded like it was coming from by the river. Her hair streamed out behind her. Almost there -

It was nothing. All that was there was a couple of shards of wood and some scuff marks in the snow. It could have been anything. A branch could have fallen off a tree, and then rolled away, or the shards could be remains of a mock sword fight between little boys. Her heart plummeted.

"Wait!" Edward caught up to her first. He was breathing heavily. "Are you quite all right?"

Wendy nodded slowly. She didn't have words to speak. After a moment, she whispered, "I'm okay."

As she left, she thought she heard a familiar murmur, but she was probably imagining it.