I clench my fist around the acorn-around the kiss. I tuck it quietly into my pocket.

        Peter walks toward me. His steps slow and hesitant.

        I don’t say anything. I could fly off. This time he won’t stop me. But maybe I am tired of running, of hiding.

        But I am also tired of yelling and fighting.

        I am just tired. Tired and sad.

        Peter doesn’t say anything. He lowers himself next to me, careful to keep space between us.

        The sun dips past the clouds, trailing its way towards the horizon. In a few hours night will come. And Peter’s eyes will darken. He will laugh when I cry, he’ll fight when I no longer want to.

        He will turn from Peter into Pan.

        But for now, he sits next to me and says nothing. This is his fault, not mine. 

        My stomach complainsloudly. I turn red. I’ve gone longer without food, but not on an island stocked with fruit and wild animals.

        Peter smiles and holds out his hand. “Apple?”

        I snap my gaze from the green apple to his matching eyes. My pride says no, but this time my hunger overrides it. “I’ve ignored it all day.” I accept the apple and take a large bite.  

        “You’ve ignored more than your stomach.”

        I look down and chew faster. He is right, but what did he expect? He could have told me this the moment I stepped into Neverland. He could have warned me. He tried to. But I wasn’t ready to listen.

        “What are we going to do?” I swallow and take another bite.

        “I don’t know.”

        My heart falls. Why can’t he save the day? Save me? “I’m stuck here now, right?”

        “I am afraid so. Once you are in Neverland during night…well, we are all ‘stuck here’.”

        He doesn’t say anything else. I finish the apple. My hunger dulls to a manageable ache.

        “Is there any way to break the curse?”

        “No. If there was, I would have found it by now.” Peter flicks his hand and another apple in front of me. “Or would you prefer something else to eat?”

        “This is fine.” Actually, apples have always been my favorite fruit. When I was little, I would steal some from an apple tree in one of the parks.

        “I’ll attack the Indians tomorrow night at full moon. It is the only time the fairy dust will be visible. I mean, for us.”

        “But then why didn’t you attack it before?”

        Peter leans back, his head tilted toward the sun. “Because I couldn’t find it without your help.”

        “So this is my fault? You should have told me not to trust you.”

        “I tried to. In the treehouse I tried to scare you off, but you came back.”

        I think through the days we spent together. The carefree moments and easy smiles. He might have told me, but his actions contradicted his own words. “You’re a good actor.”

        “No, I am not. None of it was an act.”

        I pull the acorn out of my pocket.

        Peter smirks. “Well, some of it might have been an act. Did you really believe that I didn’t know what a kiss was? I’ve been seventeen for the last few centuries.”

        I blush again and duck my head so he won’t see. “Out of all the lost girls in the world, why save me?”

        “If you remember correctly, you forced yourself into Neverland.”

        “Yes, but you let me return.”

        Peter looks down. The smile falls from his eyes. “I shouldn’t have.”

        “But you did, even if it was only for one more day. Why?”

        “Maybe because I am more selfish than you know.”

        “You aren’t selfish.”

        “Yes, I am. If I wasn’t, you would be safely home.”

        I shake my head. “I have no home. And I’ve never been safe.” Although London’s streets do seem safer than Neverland’s wild beauty.

        Peter tugs on the grass like Jacob did earlier. I return the acorn to my pocket with the torn grass and wooden star.  

        Why do I collect pieces of Neverland? Even the thimble from my world-it is pretty, but old-is worthless in the eyes of the world. All my life I have pocketed soft petals and red leaves. Forgotten coins and ticket stubs.

        Things that the world has forgotten, things that are beautiful only in the eyes of a child.

        Maybe it is because I am forgotten and lost. And the weakest part of me wants someone-anyone-to pick me up, dust me off and find beauty in my brokenness.

        Someone who will love me when no else will.

        But even as I sit in a meadow of blue roses in a magical island, I know better than to believe in fairy tales. Happy endings just don’t come true.

        I shake away my thoughts. There is no time to dwell on the past. Peter is attacking the Indians soon. I think of the golden dust that protected the hideout for almost a century. I’ve never thought much of fairies. Well, I never even considered them since I didn’t think they were real. But they are real and their spells were strong enough to hold the darkness at bay. Maybe they are strong enough to do more than hide a few Indians. Maybe they are strong enough to save Neverland.

        “Where did the fairies come from? Where are they now?” I sit up.

        Peter raises his eyebrows. “The fairies? They are in your city.”

        “London?” I’ve lived near fairies my whole life?

        “Yes, in the Kensington gardens.”

        Peter is still talking, but I close my eyes and become six again.

        The butterfly flutters through the air, leading me past black gates. Its wings are purple with tiny red spots. It is very pretty. I jump up, trying to catch it, but the insect flies higher and disappears. I open my mouth to cry, but then I realize where I am.

        I stand in a beautiful garden. Flowers and green everywhere. I have stepped into a dream.

        I laugh and spin around. Thoughts of dirty faces and empty stomachs fade away. The golden sunlight shifts down through the trees, casting shadows over the grass.

        Surrounded by beauty and strangers, I do not feel alone. I feel free. As if I could sprout wings and fly away.

        The wind tugs on my curls and I know the Mrs. Williams will be angry when she sees my tangles.

        But I do not care.

        I clutch my stuffed bear tightly. It is faded and worn, but it is mine and has always been my best friend.

        “Wendy! Wendy Moira Angela Darling!” Mrs. Williams’ voice screeches through the park. Her wiry fingers clamp down on my wrist. “Bad girl! You shouldn’t have run off like that!”

        “But there was a butterfly-”

        The stern lady jerks me out of the park. “You are in so much trouble! Wait until the headmistress hears about this!”

        As she yanks me back into the street, I drop my bear.

        “No!” I squeal. “Stop! Stop!”

        Miss Williams digs her nails into my arm and scoops me up. “Enough! We’re already late!”

        She marches me back to the line of orphans. I cry and scream, but she doesn’t listen.

        My only friend lies forgotten in a garden. And I get no supper that night. That is when I decide that when I am old enough, I will run away and never look back.