“Again, I’m sorry Michael.”
Michael watched her carefully. He was hurt that she had lied to him. But, as he was, once again, not like other boys his age, instead of becoming angry, he began to try to see things through her eyes. It was something he did when things didn’t go the way he expected them to. It helped him understand the situation – and that ultimately made him feel better.
So he stood there and started to hear things through Wendy’s ears, the way she would have heard them that day. Then he felt them through her skin. And what he saw and heard and felt scared him. Teachers taking things from him, doctors shooting him dark-eyed looks, classmates snickering behind their books at their desks and in the halls. She had been terrified for Michael – and for herself.
And seeing and hearing and feeling all of this, Michael couldn’t really blame her for what she did.
Which meant he couldn’t really be angry.
Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and chewed on his cheek. Then he asked, “Can you read some of it to me now?”
Wendy’s head snapped up. Her gray eyes were wide with surprise and confusion. She stared at him for several long moments and he shrugged. Then she straightened and unfolded the sheets of paper in her hand.
When she cleared her throat and patted the space beside her on the bed, he couldn’t help but smile. He ran to the bed and jumped onto it without any further provocation.
Wendy’s smile was back. She slid her arm around his shoulders and gave him a gentle squeeze. “Just a little bit, okay? We’ll probably have to go soon.” Then she turned her attention to the papers and began to read….
In all of Neverland, there were only three rules one had to live by. The first was that you must never swim with the mermaids in Mermaid Lagoon. They were not to be trusted, as beautiful as they were. This was easy for the Lost Boys to remember, for Peter never failed to remind them.
The second rule was that Skull Rock was strictly off limits. For there, upon the highest peaks above its empty sockets, rested the weathered bones of the Never Bird. And some things were sacred.
The third rule, and the only rule which the boys really paid any true attention to day in and day out, was that a Lost Boy must always – always – have fun.
This was normally quite easy for Tootles, who was the sort of boy who could find something to admire in nearly everything. Even the pirates, with their cold, calculating Captain, could be a good thing. After all, if they were not there, then who would Peter Pan, the fearless leader of the Lost Boys, cross swords with and best in battle?
However. Tootles, despite his size, was, in truth, rather slight of heart when it came to a few specific things.
Thunder storms, with their flashes of hot white and their roaring and rumbling and shaking, were something that had always frightened Tootles. He did not understand them. Even here, in Neverland, where there was no orphanage to rattle around him, and no cold to make him shiver, there were still storms. And he still didn’t like them.
Peter liked them. The other Lost Boys liked them as well, if only because Peter did. They made a game of chasing the lightning and following the thunder and trying to find the monster that bellowed such sounds and breathed such white fire.
After all, a Lost Boy was to have fun, even in the rain.
But Tootles did not enjoy playing in the storm. He was usually successful in making up some excuse to refrain from joining the others in this wet and terrifying revelry. Playing in a storm, he knew, deep down in his heart, was dangerous.
And flying in a storm was even worse. . . .
Chapter Sixteen
Tootles cringed when he saw the massive anvil cloud looming up ahead. He knew they were nearing Neverland. It was a sensation in his bones that he figured would never go away, and it signaled the presence of the magic that made up the land. It hummed through his body and sang through his bloodstream.
And in between him and that place where he had been a Lost Boy for so long was – the storm.
He’d never liked them. They had been rare in Neverland, though, only arising, really, when Peter was in some sort of dark mood. Hook was the only one who could put him in such a dark mood. A storm usually meant that there would be a battle before long. . . .
And here was another one, just as they were coming up on Neverland.
Was it Peter causing those clouds to gather and darken? Tootles wouldn’t be surprised.
And, as stubborn as ever, Peter had shot straight into the thunder head, as if he was not at all afraid and maybe even wanted to face a foe as invincible and terrifying as lightning. As nature.
Tootles shook his head and clenched his teeth. Of course, Tinkerbell was headed straight for it as well. She would follow Peter Pan anywhere.