Shadow (Wendy Darling #3)(83)

“For what?”

“For war on the pirates.” He lifted up a spear that was larger than he was. “I’m going to shove this through Hook’s eye!”

Wendy raised her eyebrows before moving on. A dozen Lost Boys were splashing and laughing in the ocean, spraying each other with conch shells. John was one of them, and Wendy watched in fascination as her brother tackled another boy into the water and they both emerged sputtering and laughing, splashing each other in the salty waves. John leaned his head back and looked at the sky, spitting the ocean water up into the air as his brown curls floated around his face. The other boys began singing a joyful tune, and John joined in for a few seconds, surprising Wendy with his perfect pitch. With a grin, he put his feet down and shook the sand out of his hair before running to the shore.

He looked so free there, laughing with the boys in a way that she had never seen him laugh before. Wendy’s chest seemed to collapse on itself, and she was filled with a sudden dread. He looked up and saw her, the joy falling from his face. Wendy motioned to him, and he begrudgingly made his way over to her.

“What?”

“I need to speak with you. It’s not okay to be rude, John.”

He shrugged. “We can speak here. What do you need?”

“No. We cannot speak here.”

“Then I’m not going.”

Wendy pounced on him. “Oh, John, for heaven’s sake. Stop acting like a pouty child. Could you please just come with me?”

He sighed, as if Wendy was putting him out. “All right. Where’s Michael?”

Wendy looked over John’s shoulder. Michael and Thomas were skipping stones on the beach, their gray pebbles flitting out into the ocean as if they had wings. Wendy watched as an older Lost Boy picked up Michael and put him on his shoulders and Michael began happily drumming on the boy’s head. She turned back to John. “He’ll be fine. Please, John, don’t put up a fight, don’t argue, just come with me.”

John shrugged. “Fine. I know someplace we can go.”

Using the pulleys and ropes, they lifted themselves off the beach on the cliff side, climbing up until they were at the base of the great tree. John motioned for her to follow him, and soon they were twisting through thick tree branches, climbing over and under the maze of gigantic roots that supported Pan Island. Wendy had never been to this part of Pan Island before. Hammocks were everywhere, brushing her hair as she walked past them, their ribbons trailing to the ground, a labyrinth of colors.

“There are so many.”

“This is where the Pips sleep,” John muttered. “I’m surprised that Peter hasn’t showed you this. He’s always going on about taking you visiting around Neverland.”

“Well, he hasn’t. I’m sure he plans to.”

John ducked under some huge tropical leaves, their offshoots easily the size of a carriage horse, trailed by rubbery purple vines that dragged behind him as he made his way through a green tunnel of foliage. He leapt down a cascading stairway of rocks as Wendy took her time making her way down their rickety turns. At the bottom was a small circular clearing. A thicket ringed the borders, hung with the dirty tunics of boys, their bright shirts and pants hanging from every exposed thorn. In the center of the clearing, a small pool of turquoise water bubbled and steamed.

“Laundry,” said John with a jerk of his head. Wendy recognized her blue dress, set apart from the boys’ clothes, blowing faintly in the wind. It was somehow mortifying to see it hanging there for all to see, and she ripped it down, tucking it under her arm.

John leapt up on a thick branch and walked down its wide length. “Here, it’s just up this way.” He ducked behind a patch of dead branches, not bothering to leave them pulled back for Wendy. They whipped back and caught her squarely in the face.

“John!” But he was gone. Wendy frowned at his rapidly diminishing manners and pushed out to the opening. It was a small ledge, no more than six feet across, made of branches and thatched felt that looked out onto the east side of Pan Island. Below them stretched miles of ocean, the turquoise waves rising, their crests glinting like pearls in the sunlight. Above them, the huts of Pan Island hovered, their squat bottoms a black spot in the tree above.

“I come here to think. Peter showed it to me. It’s his own special spot, but he lets me come here too.” John turned to her. “What is it that you need so urgently to talk about?”

“John.” Wendy reached out her hand and gently took his in her own. John looked repulsed. “John, listen to me. We need to go home.”

He jerked his hand away. “Home? Home? Is this what you’ve come to ask me? I should have known as much.”

Wendy kept her voice steady. “John, what do you remember about our life before we came to Neverland?”

John’s eyes scrunched together. “I remember enough to know that this is where we belong.”

“Please, be specific. What do you remember?”

John brushed his hair out of his eyes with a flourish, the same way that Peter did. “I remember we had parents. And we lived in a . . . city?” He shrugged. “All that matters is that I remember that we are much better off here than we were there.”

“No, John, that’s wrong. We are not better off here. Our parents, George and Mary Darling, they miss us. They might think we are dead! Doesn’t that concern you? Our father might think you are dead, John! And Michael . . .” She gestured behind them to the single, filthy tub that cleansed hundreds of boys. “Michael can’t grow up here, living like a wild animal! Do you really think that this is the best place for him?”