Lost in the Never Woods(82)

Wendy nodded, unable to keep herself from smiling. “A bit, yes.” Wendy cleared her throat and moved to her dresser. She dug out an oversized shirt along with a pair of gym shorts her mom had bought her that were too big to be practical. Wendy handed them to Peter and showed him into the bathroom. “Give me your dirty clothes when you’ve got them off,” Wendy said through the door once he was inside.

She pressed her palm to her temple and huffed out a breath.

This was weird. This was very weird. She jumped when the door cracked open and Peter’s arm reached through, dropping the ratty clothes into her arms.

Peter looked through the crack of the door. She could see his bare arm and chest. “Be careful with those,” he told her in mock seriousness. “They’re very delicate.”

Wendy rolled her eyes. “You’re not funny,” she told him.

Peter laughed. His toothy grin peeked around the edge of the door before he closed it. She was about to walk away when he asked, “Wait, how do I turn this thing on?”

Wendy tried not to laugh. “Turn the knob,” she told him. She heard the water turn on. “Oh, and don’t—”

Peter yelped.

“—turn it all the way to hot,” she finished. She pressed her hand to her mouth as laughter bubbled.

“Right, got it!”

She heard the shower curtains slide shut. Wendy was left by herself, standing in her room, holding Peter’s clothes. And Peter was here, in her room. In her shower, using her spare towel, and she was holding his clothes.

Peter Pan was in her shower and was going to stay the night in her room.

And he was naked.

Wendy’s face burned red hot. No, she would not start thinking—absolutely not. She tried to will her face to cool down. Nope. Not okay.

Wendy hurried out of the room and went downstairs.

Her mother wasn’t on the couch anymore. The TV was off and the room silent. It was a small comfort to know her mother must have gone to bed. She needed to sleep, not spend the night on the cramped couch with the news looming over her.

Wendy went into the kitchen and to the small side room where the washing machine and dryer were kept. She threw in Peter’s clothes and added a generous amount of detergent. Next, she raided the fridge and loaded her arms up with whatever she could find: an array of leftover Chinese food, two apples, and an orange. She doubted Peter would mind. What had he even been eating in the woods, anyway? That was probably a question better left unanswered.

When she went back upstairs, she dropped the food and some paper towels onto her bed. Now that there was food in front of her, she realized how starved she was, so Wendy dove into the cold noodles. She ate so much so fast, she quickly gave herself a stomachache. Brushing off her hands, Wendy stood up, staring down at her bed for a moment.

Where was Peter going to sleep?

She blinked. It wasn’t like he was going to sleep in her bed with her. No. Certainly not. The closet wasn’t big enough, nor under her bed. She wouldn’t make him sleep in the bathroom, even though it was less likely that her parents would walk in on him if he were curled up in the tub. He was too tall to fit, and her parents never barged into her room, anyway. Her mother always knocked lightly on the door, and her dad just yelled at her from downstairs if he wanted her.

The floor seemed like the best option—on the side of her bed farthest from the door, just in case.

The shower water turned off. Wendy angled herself away from the bathroom door and hurried over to the closet. She reached up to the shelf and took down her sleeping bag. It hadn’t been used in a month, but it still smelled like campfire smoke. Wendy rolled it out on the floor and was smoothing out the slick material when the bathroom door opened.

“I set my sleeping bag up for you.” She stood and turned to face Peter. “And I’ve got—” Wendy’s hands flew up to cover her open mouth. “Oh my god.”

Peter stood in the doorway, his hair wet and pushed back out of his face. He was scowling at her, lips pursed tight. On Wendy, the gray T-shirt with the purple fish on the front was too baggy for her to wear out in public. But it clung tightly to Peter’s shoulders, the fish taut and distorted over his chest. It was hardly long enough to cover his stomach. Then, there was the matter of the gym shorts. While they were technically big enough to fit his legs, they only covered about the top third of his thighs. Clearly he didn’t have the same proportions as her.

“How did you even get the shirt on?” Wendy asked, voice breaking from suppressed laughter. She clamped her hands tighter over her mouth as her shoulders started to shake.

Red bloomed on Peter’s cheeks. He threw his wet towel at her head. “Do you really not have anything bigger than this?” he asked, tugging uncomfortably at the collar of the shirt.

Wendy shook her head, fingertips pressed to her bottom lip. “I’m so sorry, that’s all I’ve got,” she told him. Her cheeks hurt from the smile on her face.

“I hope you realize how embarrassing this is,” Peter said flatly. He crossed his arms over the sliver of skin that peeked out from below the shirt.

“It’s just—” She cleared her throat and tried to regain her composure. “It’s just until the morning,” she reminded him. She couldn’t help looking him up and down once more.

The giggles started again.

“Stop that!” Peter scolded, trying to sound stern, but now he was starting to laugh, too.