Sylvia ripped her hand from Peter’s and pulled up short midflight. “Wait, so I have to fend off pirates and play mother hen to a bunch of unruly boys, all without electricity and the Internet?”
“Who needs that stuff? We’ll hunt for Queen Mab’s emeralds in the fairy kingdom. Come with me to Neverland.” Peter held his hand out. His eyes twinkled with secrets in the moonlight.
Sylvia’s gaze shifted from Peter’s face to the puffy cloud that led from the mainland to Neverland, then back again.
She flew past skyscrapers, around Big Ben, over rooftops, above couples holding hands and cars lighting the highway until she arrived back at her windowsill.
George opened the window of their playroom after one knock. “You’re home!”
He wrapped his arms around her as soon as she climbed through the window. Hugging was so unlike him. She stood still from shock even though it was beginning to hurt.
He let go, then punched her arm. “I thought we’d lost you for good this time. Mom would’ve been scared to death if she knew.”
“I couldn’t do it.”
“It was an impossible idea.”
Failure hurt worse than a bee sting. Sylvia’s shoulders drooped, and she flopped into the overstuffed beanbag chair.
“Now, I know why Mum and Grandmum and Great-Grandmum went. The magic and the flying. I wanted to go too,” she admitted in a soft voice.
“Why didn’t you?”
She shrugged. “No Wi-Fi.”
George nodded in understanding.
“The promise of mermaids and mysterious forests, staying up late, eating candy for breakfast, adventure, and fun every day … I don’t know. If he comes back, I’m not sure I’ll be able to resist.”
“Well, I don’t think we’ll see Peter again.”
“Proba—”
Knocking on the window cut Sylvia off.
On the other side hung the forever-chipper face of Peter Pan.
He flew inside as soon as Sylvia opened the window.
“I’m not going with you.” She folded her arms and held her chin high even though her delight threatened to bubble out.
“I’ve come up with the most cleverest idea.” Peter hovered above their heads, grinning like a mischievous puppy.
“Oh?” Sylvia couldn’t help shivering with excited curiosity and fear.
Peter always had the best ideas.
“I’m staying, here, with you, but only for a little while.”
George and Sylvia looked at each other, then burst into laughter.
“I’m not joking.”
Their giggling died as quickly as it had begun.
“But why? I won’t change my mind,” Sylvia said.
“Me neither,” George added.
Peter didn’t answer. He floated to the floor, twiddling his fingers and looking about the room at the discarded toys and books and costumes that cluttered every cranny.
For the first time, Sylvia saw something in Peter that she’d never seen before—fear.
A ten-year-old boy without parents or a proper home shifted from foot to foot in front of her. Leaves and vines held together his tattered clothing. Dirt rimmed his fingernails.
His fear stripped the aura that had once surrounded him.
He has the freedom of a grown-up—to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants, Sylvia thought, but no mum or dad to take care of him like the little boy he is and has always been.
“You can’t fool me,” she quipped. “I know why.”
“You do?” Peter’s brows furrowed.
“You’re seeking the biggest adventure of all.”
His face lit up. “I am!”
“We’ve got video games and board games and ice cream and television and car rides and Mum and Dad and uncles and everything.”
“And I’ll try them all! Where do we begin?” Peter exclaimed.
“Downstairs in the living room.”
“Race you!” Peter ran out of the playroom, leaving a cloud of glittery fairy dust behind.
George gaped at the doorway, his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. “Wow. You did it. You convinced Peter Pan to stay.”
“Yep. The cycle is broken.”
“I owe you, like, twenty bucks.”
“Cash only,” Sylvia said on her sprint out the door.
Copyrighted 2024
stacy benedict 