"I love you like Wendy loves Peter Pan."  That's what she said to me that day, on a hill outside Pennsylvania, the snow beneath our sodden boots.

"Well if our love is going to be like that, I'm gonna have to decline" I replied, brushing a snowflake off the lenses of her glasses.

"Why?"

"Well Amelia, I'd never be able to keep you, because Peter Pan needs freedom and the boy doesn't want to grow up.  He needs to chase sunrises and fight pirates to feel young again"

"Then why can't we change the story?"

"What?  Give Peter Pan a walking stick and deaf ears?"

"Imagine fighting Captain Hook with a walking stick..."

"Matteo I'm serious. We can go one better, we can become the story"

"You mean... make a fairytale?"

"Yes, our own fairytale, our own special world"

Amelia's brown eyes softened, the freckles under her pupils glistening like fairy lights on a Christmas tree.  She moves closer to me, smiling, but not a normal smile, the kind of smile you make when you know you are in love, when you smile with your eyes.  She puts her face close to me, and I can feel her warm breath on my cheeks, the tip of her nose, red with the early December weather, like a human Rudolph.  She had skin like midnight and hair like dawn.  We get closer still, our lips almost touching.  I close my eyes.

Then I feel icy cold around my face, and her cute, elfish laugh in the background. I blink my eyes open.  There's snow all over my face, and through the white i can make out her face, and can't help but smile.  I wipe the snow from my eyes and throw one back at her.

  We prepare for war.  The battlements are armed, the traps are set, the trenches dug and the cannons loaded. A tall, naked oak tree serves as our line in the snow. She stands, swinging a bucketful of snowballs, while i sit, crouched behind a snow wall of my own making.  We wait for the call. A little robin flutters over to the oak tree and sings, his orange breast puffed out, his head bopping from side to side like a bird's version of beatboxing. 

I hear her battle cry and duck my head into my chest.  A ball flies over my head and breaks apart on the ground a few feet away. She growls in anger. I hold my head back and laugh.  Her eyes narrow, revealing her long eyelashes that are so often hidden behind volleys of mascara.  I see my opportunity and volley a stream of projectiles at her, my arm windmilling as i grab for more snow.  I hit her in the ribs, but she instantly returns with a volley of her own, turning my chestnut hair whiter than her face when we went ice skating and nearly crashed into a couple who were making out.  I've got to be smart about this, because there's no way I'll win in a straight dig-for-dig, she's just too accurate.  I'm going to have to get creative.

There's a few trees on my side of the battlefield, dotted around the snow-covered hill. There's a group of two or three that are relatively close together.  If i hop from tree to tree i might have a chance to get closer and mount a surprise attack. 

I sit for a few minutes, filling my bucket with snowballs, hiding behind my makeshift wall, lying flat on my stomach.  I wait until she has to reload before bounding up and sprinting behind the first tree. I time it perfectly and i have to cover a gloved hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing when i see her standing on her tiptoes and caring her neck to try and see over the lip of the now bullet-stricken wall.  She's looking in the direction of the trees so my plan is trapped in a state of limbo until i can get her to look away.

I take off my shoe and throw it at the wall as a distraction.  Her head whips around and i make a break for it, daring to skip the middle tree. I'm right under her nose now, i can almost see the fibres of her checkered scarf and black painted fingernails.  I put my hands around the base of the bucket and prepare to strike. With a battle cry far less intimidating than hers, I snap around the tree and toss the entire bucket of snow over her head. I swing my hat by the bobble around my head in celebration. She fakes her death with shocking realism, twitching before she goes still, her tongue sticking out of her mouth.  I collapse into her, my arms tracing around her rib cage, kissing her face and neck in a desperate use of affection to revive her. She starts laughing and then hugs me back.  We move our muddled legs and intertwined arms in the snow to make a mutant snow angel. She kisses me again, and i don't care that there's a snowy aftertaste.  And i wish i could say that we rode into the sunset on the back of a horse, or a flying carpet (or elephant) but we didn't, we walked hand in hand back to our old battered pickup truck, our footprints like little red riding hood's trail of breadcrumbs.

Chapter two

We sat there, the wheels turning over and over like the disc of our mixtape we plugged into the slot on the dashboard. I remember when we were a couple of years younger, playing in the playground, when i first caught sight of her, playing on the monkey bars, her long hair flowing out behind her like a mermaid's tail, her legs flailing.  I remember when i was scared of the balancing beam and I watched in awe as she ran across it, a tightrope walker at the circus.   She used to play tag, and the two of us were always the last to get caught because we hid in a small birch tree in the corner of the park, giggling at all the other boys and girls moaning that they couldn't find us.  I don't think i knew i loved her then, no that realisation came much later, but i was always aware that she was different to the others, i just didn't know how at the time.

I keep my eyes fixed on the road.  I want to look at her, but my body won't me.  I know that car accidents can happen in as little as 0.2 seconds and that collisions on a highway at this speed have a 75% mortality rate and that on this particular road there have been 76 collisions in the last 15 years.  I breath in deeply, trying my hardest not to think about the endless list of morbid statistics I've devoted my life to remembering.  She puts a hand on my knee and gently squeezes.  I smile but keep my head forward; she doesn't need me to look at her to know I'm grateful.  I wish i could be the cool one, kicking back, one hand out the window tapping on the bodywork, squealing round corners in the dead of night without a care in the world. But i can't do that, not after what happened to mum.

My mind flashes back to that night, the pouring rain pounding on the windscreen, dad's awful music playing on the speaker system.  Judith and i were fighting in the back of the car, over some childhood toy.  Mum turned round to tell us off, and thats when it all went black.  Little did we know that the car was submerged in the river of greendale, sinking to the floor.  I remember the muffled sound of a window smashing and dad pulling me from the wreckage.  I fought him, in that moment I would happily have left the universe, letting death's cruel hand take me, but alas it appears it was not my time.  I see my sister screaming, stuck in her car seat and my mothers face, blowing me a kiss as i floated to the surface. 

We drive for a few more miles before pulling into a gas station.  I hop out while she sits in the car and changes the mixtape, tidying up all the spilt Doritos in the front seats with a little vacuum cleaner. When the tank's filled we go buy some coffee and sit down, our backs against the wall.  She's doodling on a yellow notepad, a quiet hum escaping from her lips as the pencil etches on the paper.  I crane my neck to see what she's drawing. It's a picture of an eye and the pupil has house inside it, with a small garden and a newly painted purple door.

"What's with the purple door", i ask.

She looks at me, the orange streetlight making her eyes sparkle in the winter air.

"Eyes tell you things that words can't", she says, brushing a hair from her face.

"if words aren't formed, eyes might say everything", she continues.

"Maybe that's why i can't look at you", i reply, suddenly fascinated by my blue converse boots. 

She laughs as she drinks, spitting a mouthful of coffee down the front of her sweater sending me into hysterics. She gives me a dirty look and a head turn but this just makes me laugh even harder. 

"No you won't look at me because I'm cuter than you and it makes you mad", she shouts in a childish voice, throwing her cup in the bin and poking me gently in the ribs.

"Oh really!  You think so do you?", i squeal back.

I look at her and my pet butterflies escape their tank in my stomach. With a thumb i caress her cheeks, wiping the last of the coffee droplets from her mouth. She touches my arm, just below the elbow, tracing her fingers down until they intertwine with mine. I brush her hair behind her ear and smile, with my eyes.  I kiss her forehead, breathing in her smell of strawberries, perfume and wet hair. I close my eyes and lean in.  I put my forehead against hers and I whisper in her ear "peter pan won't leave you".

"Then come fly away with me tinkerbell"

The pickup is parked on the edge of town, a cheap plastic sheet slung over the rear to hide the pillows and woolly blankets.  My orange swade boots crunch over the tarmac, small droplets of water cascading over the sides as i stamp my feet like a child as my soles hit a puddle.  She twirls an umbrella over her shoulder and i snuggle into her arms and chest, shielding my hair from the pouring rain. I can feel the beat of her heart and the heaving of her chest against my ear, her small necklace cold against me skin.  She leads me down a back street, her free hand tracing down my back and round to my rib cage. She strokes my bones absentmindedly, counting my ribs.  She kisses my hair and taps me on the ear. We've arrived.

These places are hard to find, with everything on the high street being owned by the big companies these days. I have a feeling this place is the last of its kind. But i made a promise to Jessica before she left, to keep it open as long as i could.  The door to the bookstore opens with the gentle ring of a bell, barely audible over the sounds of rain hitting the pavement.  We remove ourselves from our cocoons and hang our bobble hats on a coat hanger. Ornate chandeliers droop from the ceiling and thousands of hand-knitted blankets cover the cushion-dotted furniture. We turn our attention to the books, brushing our fingers over individual spines as we read the titles, as if wary they'd suddenly disappear without warning. A roaring fire crackles in the background, and her eyes sparkle in its majesty, and a smile forms over her face when she spots the grand piano in the corner. Bounding up to Cassie, she hugs her, and begs like a little kid to be allowed to play the piano, bending her knees as she does so.  Cassie obliges, kissing her younger sister on the cheek.  Cassie looks different to when i last seen her; there's bags under her eyes and her hair is frizzy and drooped to one side and she's busying herself with watering the flowers around the store. I smile at her and she smiles back. She has the same smile as her sister.

I sit down on one of the couches and ask Cassie if i can help her with anything.

"Take a breather matteo, it looks like you've been up all night", she says, brushing her hand against the old peeling wallpaper.

"If you say so", i call back to her as she mounts the stairs.

"And no sex in my house matteo you know the rules", she replies with a smirk.

I smile to myself. She knows rightly that sex isn't high on the agenda, for either of us.  She loves an inside joke Cassie, nearly as much as she loves her cigarettes.  There's sets of pale white newspapers on the table, a quarter full ashtray and a battered old radio with the name 'Eli' on it. Whoever Eli was he's a lucky man being graced by having his possessions on display in Cassie's house.

Cassie comes back after a few minutes with a small yellow backpack over her shoulder. She tosses it at me. Unzipping it, I'm delighted to find stacks of novels, modern classics and a set of unused mixtapes.  She's included one of her own, drawn in with colouring pencils, a turquoise blue with the title "we are infinite".  I ambush her, pulling her into a hug.  She laughs and says "seriously no sex okay, you're only kids remember,".  Then we're both laughing. By the time we've composed ourselves the piano has started.

"I think Amelia is ready for us"

For the next few hours we sat on the couch while she played song after song, piece after piece.  We got out my ukulele and we sang together, my bad voice harmonising with her beautiful one. Cassie made us cupcakes and we sat together as cake-crumbs fell onto the piano keys, only to be brushed away onto the springy wooden floor with the touch of a finger.  She'd play for hours, her slender fingers no doubt growing tired from their constant use, but her aching joints don't seem to phase her. Her eyes are narrowed, focussing intently on the sheet in front of her.  I tap my fingers on the table, mimicking the music, my bracelets jangling on my wrists as my hands move. Cassie leaves us alone after awhile to go and smoke.  I hold my hands under my chin and watch her fingers dance.

Later in the night, or perhaps in the early hours of the morning, we get ready for bed.  My warm pyjamas, heated on a string in front of the fire and a hot chocolate in an old spongebob mug for supper before we retreat to our rooms.  The store is small so Amelia and i have to share. Cassie promises to check up on us throughout the night, making sure we're okay.  Cassie reminds me of us, and i get an aching feeling in my chest as i remind myself of her.  She tucks us both in, pulling the covers up to our necks, and i have to force myself not to cry. She turns the light off and kisses us both goodnight, gaining a dagger look from Amelia in the process.  And so we're alone for the first time. We lie together, under the sheets, our legs tangled.  The blanket is nearly up to our cheeks and we breathe in deeply and serenely. This is bliss divine. Our bodies nudge against each other, burning with innocence and affection as we dare to look into each other's eyes, or when we have a fit of giggles. The only light comes from an old laptop screen and four Christmas scented candles, making the air smell sweet, reminding me of Thai tea and biscuits.  Amelia strokes my hair and forehead gently, a goofy smile on her face. I search for her hand under the covers, locking fingers as well as mouths, our lips barely grazing.

Amelia's eyes blink open and closed and we try fighting the comforting arms of sleep because we don't want this moment to ever end.  This bed is our island, and while we lie here, no one can hurt us. Sleep is victorious in the end, as it always is. We sleep side by side, our hands reaching for each other as we dream.  The candles flicker as our eyes close.