Chapter 11 - A Wonderful Boy
If Peter Pan had been in possession of a smoking pipe, he would have puffed away at it as he paced from one end of his underground treehouse dwelling to the other. It would have suited the role he wanted to play, though he did not understand why. The Lost Boys watched him quietly, not daring to vocalize their questions or guesses concerning his purpose, but they were awed by his measured steps and the determined, wrinkled dip in his brow. Tinkerbell flitted along, joining his agitated path and jingling questions that Peter ignored.
The night continued in that course, and the Lost Boys drifted off to sleep one by one. Tinkerbell abandoned her interrogation for the comfort of her apartments, and Peter didn't notice any of it. He had been successful in many attacks against the pirates, even on their own ship, but this time was different. Hook had Wendy again, and he didn't seem worried about what Peter might do about it. For his part, Peter assumed Hook was lying, though he couldn't remember about what. He only knew that he had to save Wendy, and every moment the thought reoccurred to him, his default winning smile returned for a moment before he remembered the other parts of that grand adventure.
His main concern was that Wendy had acted rather foolish and run away from him. Growing up a few years had made her dull, apparently. Peter stopped his pacing long enough to scowl at the unfairness of it, then continued his path, now walking across the room, up the walls, and across the ceiling before returning to the floor. He didn't usually bother to plan an attack. He just went, so why couldn't he do it? Part of his problem might have been that, like all children, he was more than a little sensitive about the attention he was paid, and where attention was concerned, he was used to being the center of it.
Wendy had hurt him badly by running away without him, and it wasn't fair. He wanted to rescue her, but she wasn't doing it right, not playing like they used to. "It isn't fair!" Peter whispered, and he was so saddened when the words left his lips that he faltered in his walk up the walls. The moment passed quickly enough that he didn't even notice and all was well again. Wendy probably just forgot how to play because she'd gotten old. He could fix that, though, because he was Peter Pan, and Peter Pan could do anything.
Just like that, it occurred to him. Just like that, he knew how to save Wendy. "Lost Boys!" he shouted, dropping gracefully back to the floor. "Lost Boys! Wake up!" The pile of boys shook awake and stared groggily at him. Even Tinkerbell stuck her head out to hear what Peter would say. He grinned with shining teeth and twinkling eyes. "We're going to rescue Wendy, and I know just how!"
"How, Peter?!" the boys shouted. Their eyes were alert, now, and they twitched with excitement at the coming adventure.
"I'm Peter Pan," Peter said, "I will do it because I'm a wonderful boy!" He crowed loudly and flipped backward.
The underground tree house jumped alive with such raucous cheering and clapping that birds sleeping in nearby trees above flew quite far away to seek quiet. Peter, Tinkerbell, and the Lost Boys had a plan, such as it was, and tomorrow they would begin an adventure and rescue Wendy, their pretend mother, though they did not remember her as such. None of them except Tinkerbell—and Peter, sometimes—could remember a time when Wendy wasn't their mother, or a time when Peter was not a wonderful boy. They laughed and played all night, knowing that the coming day would put things back as they should be.