Wendy took two slow steps back into the room Nurse Maggie dragged her from moments before. The boy still sat on the bed with his book in his lap, but he really wasn't reading anymore. In fact, he was staring at her. A blush rose up in her cheeks faster than what might have ever been thought possible, still she stepped inside and leaned against the wall.
He grinned at her.
The awkwardness of it all drove her a little mad. Slow and sure, she moved away from the wall just a little bit to stand closer.
With a loud sigh, Peter laid the book down on the bedside table. Actually, he dropped it. The hardbound cover made a thudding sound.
Wendy flinched.
"You can sit on the bed if you want." He lifted his hand and ran it over his tousled red hair.
Glad for the invitation, Wendy moved closer and just barely sat down. Regardless of her hesitancy, he seemed happy because he sat up a little straighter and pushed back the bed sheets. He wore the dulled striped pajamas she'd ever seen.
After hearing the nurse say he wasn't contagious, she wondered what was wrong with him. He moved to sit cross-legged beside her easy as pie. He didn't make any strange coughing noises, or moan in pain like any other sick person.
She didn't like not knowing.
"What's wrong with you?" Wendy crossed her arms.
"Nothing." He crossed his arms too.
"Ha!" That was a joke. He was certainly the oddest boy she'd ever met. "Healthy people don't go to hospitals."
Peter shrugged. There was something strange in the way his smile faded just for a moment. "They do when no one cares a wit for 'em."
That made Wendy cringe. What kind of boy didn't have anyone who cared about him? "You don't mean that."
"Dad says I'm too hard to look after. He tried nannies and such, but they don't like running around like chickens with their heads cut off when I get sick again."
"Oh." She wondered what he meant by that.
When she arched one of her eyebrows, he fell back against his pillows. "Doctors don't know exactly what it is, but every now and then I just get real tired and fall over or something. My legs and my arms get sore. Not all the time, just every now and then. Scares nannies to death," he finished with one of those Cheshire grins he gave me when I first walked into his room.
"Do you just live here?!"
"Mostly."
He said it so plainly she couldn't believe her ears.
"Doesn't mean we don't have any fun, though."
That grin just about split his face and turned his cheeks as red as his hair.
Peter pointed at the wheel chair folded up against the wall. "Get that for me?"
Slidding down off of the bed, Wendy turned to face him, "Only if you say, 'please.' "
He rolled his eyes. "Please?"
"Alright then." Wendy moved to grab the chair, and carefully unfolded it.
Without any help, Peter got off of the bed and slid right into his seat like an old pro. She really did question just how sick he was, but then he claimed to live here in sickness and in health. The nurse almost acted like an aunt or something of the sort.
"Ever raced a wheel chair?" Peter asked.
"I don't think so…" His way of thinking was beginning to make her just a bit wary.
"Come on then." He beckoned her to follow him.
And of course, she did – out the door of his room and down the hall. She had to see what he meant by, "race a wheel chair."