Chapter 13. Bubblegum

CHAPTER 13

Bubblegum

The police station was only a few blocks from the hospital, but Wendy’s dad still insisted on driving her there. He kept looking over but didn’t say anything until they pulled up to the entrance.

He turned to face her, expression stern. “No more leaving the house alone,” he told her.

Wendy nodded. She knew it was best not to try arguing with him, especially about this. All the missing kids, cops, detectives, and mentions of her brothers were making him even more intense than usual, and she couldn’t blame him. Honestly, she thought he would be drinking more, but she’d noticed that the recycling bin was noticeably less full.

“No more staying out past dark, lock the house up when your mom and I aren’t there, and keep your phone on you at all times. If we call, I expect you to pick up immediately,” her father ordered. He held up a finger and pointed it at her. “Do you understand me?”

Wendy nodded and wiped her sweaty palms on her shorts. “Yeah, Dad,” she said, not wanting to say anything to anger him further.

Great. Now she would need to be more careful sneaking around with Peter. Her father would be on alert, noticing more and asking questions. She was surrounded by interrogators. Her parents had only her best interests at heart, but still, there were things she needed to do without them.

For a moment, her father stared at her, his face still etched with a deep frown. Wendy thought he was going to say something more, but then he let out a huff of air, sat back, and gave her a curt nod.

Taking that as her cue to leave, Wendy climbed out of the car. She walked to the glass doors of the back entrance, as if she were going to go inside. She turned and waved to her dad.

Satisfied, he gave her another nod and drove off.

What a day. She hadn’t even been awake for two hours and she was already exhausted. She felt guilty for not telling Detective James everything that she knew, but how could she? There was no way he would believe her. He would probably think she was having a mental breakdown, reliving the trauma of losing her memory and her brothers. They would probably lock her up and throw away the key if she started talking about magic boys, evil shadows, and other worlds.

She just needed to keep it together and help Peter. Knowing that she had the chance to see her brothers again was what mattered. And the sooner they figured out how to stop the shadow, the sooner she would get John and Michael back.

The sooner they could move on.

Right now, she needed to find Peter.

Wendy checked the time on her phone. It read 1:00 p.m., above a list of unread texts from Jordan. She would text back later. Right now she was stuck downtown and needed to find a way home. Wendy pulled up the ride share app.

Her backyard seemed like a good place to start looking for him, since that was closest to the woods. She was waiting for the app to load nearby drivers when a high-pitched whistle from across the street, followed by a series of giggles, caught her attention.

Across the street was a row of houses nestled right up against the woods. A minty-blue house was set back in the shade of the towering trees.

There, just sitting in the middle of the yard, was Peter and a little girl Wendy recognized.

What the hell was he doing? Wendy rushed over, practically running across the street.

“Now you try,” Peter was saying.

The pair sat cross-legged and facing each other. They were focused on a piece of grass that Peter held in his palm. The little girl wore a purple sundress, with a pile of grass and small flowers across her lap.

A flower crown of wilting, small yellow buds sat lopsided on the top of Peter’s head. He grinned lazily and gave the girl a nod of encouragement.

She took the blade of grass, squeezed it between the sides of her thumbs, and blew against it, eliciting a high-pitched squeak. She broke into a fit of laughter.

Peter chuckled along, looking quite pleased with himself.

“Peter! What are you doing here?” Wendy cut in, absolutely bewildered.

He cast her a fleeting glance. “Oh, hey,” Peter said. “You are very late.” He sent Wendy a stern look before nodding at the little girl across from him. “You weren’t home, so I thought maybe you were at the hospital,” he explained casually. “But then I ran into Cassidy, here.” Peter fixed Wendy with a wide smile. “We’re making grass whistles.”

“Grass whistles,” Wendy repeated. She fought the urge to shove him over.

Cassidy beamed up at her. “I made Peter a crown,” she said in a small, shy voice. Her dad was an X-ray technician who worked with her mom. Wendy used to babysit Cassidy and her older sister, Rebecca, when they were younger.

Peter looked up at Wendy with a lopsided grin. It crinkled the freckles on his nose.

Wendy cleared her throat and tucked her hair behind her ears. He needed to stop looking at her like that. “You look ridiculous,” she told him.

“You’re just jealous she didn’t make you one,” he said with a dismissive shrug of his shoulders.

Cassidy giggled behind her hands.

Wendy shook her head. He looked so pleased with himself! “Cass, you really shouldn’t be talking to strangers, and you especially shouldn’t tell them your name!” she chided. Cassidy had just started elementary school, hadn’t they taught her about stranger danger yet?

Cassidy tried to wrestle the blade of grass back between her thumbs. “I know, but I didn’t. He already knew!” she said, face screwed up in concentration.

Wendy gave Peter a confused look.

He leaned back on one hand and made a wide sweeping gesture to himself with the other. “Peter Pan, remember?” he asked with a conspiratorial wink. “It’s kind of my job.”

Wendy let out a huff. “You’re impossible,” she muttered before turning back to Cassidy. “Well, where are your parents, Cass? They should be watching you.”

“They’re at work. Rebecca is supposed to be watching me,” she said, glaring in the direction of her house. Sure enough, Rebecca sat in a lounge chair on the porch. She seemed deeply engrossed in a book, a set of headphones covering her ears.

Wendy’s frustration boiled. How did Rebecca not notice her sister talking to a random guy?

As if he could hear her thoughts, Peter said, “Sometimes teenagers are just as bad as adults when it comes to noticing magic.” He raised an eyebrow, giving Wendy a pointed look, which she pointedly ignored.

Wendy glared at Rebecca, feeling a surge of protectiveness for Cassidy. “Well, this teenager has a lot of things she needs to talk to you about,” she told Peter. “Let’s go, Flower Prince.”

“Only if you promise to call me prince,” he said, helping Cassidy readjust her thumbs.

“Peter.”

“Your Highness is also acceptable.”

“Peter.”

Finally noticing her tone, Peter looked up. He gave her a quizzical look, cocking his head to the side. He took the flower crown off his head and held it out to Cassidy in both of his hands. “I think you should hold on to this,” he told her. Cassidy reached a hand out to take it, but before she could, Peter added, “But I think it needs to be a bit more fitting for a princess.”

Slowly, the small, wilting buds began to glow a faint gold. Cassidy gasped and Wendy’s heart fluttered.

The flowers swelled into huge blooms, the stems growing thick and knotted together. Rotating slowly, the circlet rose into mid-air. Eyes wide, Cassidy watched as it came down to rest around her neck, too large to perch on the top of her head.

“There!” Peter said, wiping his hands off on his worn jeans, looking pleased with his handiwork.

Pixie dust.

Cassidy let out a squeal of excitement and clapped her hands together. “Are you a magician?” she asked, bubbling over, her tiny body literally bouncing with glee.

“Actually—” Peter started, but Wendy quickly cut him off.

“Yes!” she said. “But you can’t tell anyone. It’s a secret, okay?”

Peter huffed.

Wendy narrowed her eyes at him.

Peter sighed.

He turned and gave Cassidy a look of mock seriousness and nodded solemnly.

“I won’t tell. I won’t!” Cassidy insisted.

Wendy doubted she could actually keep that promise, which meant they needed to get the hell out of there.

“Let’s go, Peter,” Wendy said, tugging on his arm. Before leaving, Wendy shouted across the yard, “HEY, REBECCA!”

Cassidy’s older sister jumped and yanked the headphones off. She looked startled, clearly having just now noticed Wendy and Peter with her sister.

Wendy waved enthusiastically, giving Rebecca the biggest, fakest smile she could. At least now she was paying attention.

Wendy stomped off and Peter followed. He looked back over his shoulder and waved good-bye to Cassidy, who cheerily waved back.

“Cassidy, get back on the porch!” Wendy heard Rebecca say.

Once they were out of earshot, Wendy threw her elbow into Peter’s side. “You can’t just go around hanging out with little girls in the middle of the street!” she hissed at him.

Peter laughed, rubbing at his ribs and furrowing his brow. “What do you mean?” he asked, as if he wasn’t sure if she was serious or not.

Wendy groaned. Did he really not get it? “Because!” she snapped, squeezing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. Clearly, living in Neverland didn’t leave him with a lot of knowledge of social etiquette in the real world. “People will think you’re up to something, maybe that you might hurt her,” she told him. “You could get into a lot of trouble—you could get us into a lot of trouble.”

Now he looked genuinely confused. “What? But I would never do that.” The hurt in his voice made her feel bad for chastising him.

“I know, but people—other people, grown-ups—they wouldn’t know that. They would just assume the worst,” she explained, trying to be more gentle. “Especially with everything going on. If an adult saw you talking to random kids, they’d probably think you were the kidnapper.”

They were at the end of the street now. Peter stopped and turned to face her. “Why do I have the feeling you’re not telling me something?”

Wendy bit her bottom lip. “The detectives think you have something to do with the missing kids.”

Peter’s arms fell to his sides. “What do you mean?” he asked, shifting his weight between his feet.

Wendy took a deep breath. “I was late because I had to go down to the police station. Detective James—from the news, remember?—he questioned me about Alex, the missing kids.” She added hesitantly, “You.”

Peter groaned like a kid who had just been found while playing hide-and-seek. “Did you tell them anything?” he asked.

“No, of course not! How could I?” she spluttered, throwing her hands in the air. “It’s not like they would believe me. We already ruled them out from being any use,” she muttered. If the police couldn’t find her brothers when they’d first gone missing, how could she expect them to help now? This was up to her and Peter.

Wendy cast a wary glance down both sides of the street. “Let’s keep walking,” she said.

Peter fell into step beside her. Fewer and fewer places felt safe anymore, and the last thing she needed was to be overheard talking to Peter by Jordan or the cops or, even worse, her parents.

“They do think you have something to do with the missing kids,” she continued.

“We already knew that from the news,” Peter pointed out.

“It doesn’t seem like you’re a suspect”—Peter winced—“I think they think that you were kidnapped, too,” she added quickly. “And since they connected you to my disappearance, they think that the person who is taking the kids now is the person who took me and my brothers.”

Peter only nodded. It was hard to read his expression as he stared down at his feet, deep in thought.

Wendy sighed and rubbed her palm against her forehead. “I guess, technically, they’re right?” she thought out loud. “Your shadow took my brothers and now it’s taking more kids.”

Again, Peter said nothing.

Wendy wrung her hands together. “It’s not hurting them, is it?” she asked, nervous to hear the answer.

Peter shook his head. “No, they need to be alive,” he told her, looking dismayed.

Wendy didn’t like how that sounded.

“In order for the shadow to feed off them, they have to be awake.”

“Awake and terrified,” Wendy finished.

Peter nodded again.

He’d told her before how shadows got stronger by feeding off of a person’s fear. Their terror and sadness, their sense of hopelessness. John and Michael had been trapped by the shadow for years. What was it like for them? What kind of existence was it, to be consumed by fear and unable to escape it?

Wendy’s chest ached. She couldn’t stand the thought of them suffering, especially for so long. She and Peter needed to rescue them.

“Do you know where they are?” Wendy asked.

“No—well, in the woods,” Peter corrected himself. “Definitely in the woods, but it could be hiding them anywhere with magic.”

They crossed the street and started walking down the road that led into town. It was the road that hugged the woods. The same one where Wendy had found Peter. They walked along the shoulder but, even in daylight, it made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. Her steps became slower and more hesitant. The overgrown trees and hanging branches loomed above them.

Peter put himself between her and the woods, pushing rogue branches out of the way as they walked. His presence made her feel … better. Less scared, like she had someone who finally knew what she was going through. Someone to go through it with. But then there was also this undeniable warmth that she could feel radiating through her body when she was close to him.

She took a quick couple of steps to catch up to Peter and fall into stride next to him, far away enough to not be touching him, but close enough that she could reach out and brush her knuckles against his if she wanted to.

Wendy glanced over and took in his profile: his nose that turned up just a little at the tip, the hard line of his jaw, the small points to his ears. He wore the jeans Wendy had patched and a dusty rose T-shirt that was sun bleached but made his eyes all the more disarming.

Wendy wondered if the heat she felt was part of Peter’s magic. Or was it just … him?

It was comforting, but she could still feel the woods pressing against her mind. They buzzed like the pressure in her ears when she dove into the deep end of the pool at swim practice. She still felt like she was being watched, just as she had last night in her driveway. The memory came flooding back to her.

“There’s something I forgot to tell you about last night, before you found me in the woods,” Wendy said slowly.

Peter turned to look at her. “What happened?” he asked, face scrunched up like he was bracing himself to get hit.

“I went to get my swim bag out of my truck last night,” she began. “It was dark out and while I was digging around for it, I could—” Wendy paused, trying to put the experience into words. “Feel something behind me. I turned around and out of nowhere there was this guy. He started talking to me.” Wendy watched him for his reaction, absently rubbing her arm as she remembered how her skin had crawled.

“Didn’t you just get done telling Cassidy not to talk to strangers?” Peter asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.

Wendy felt a flare of annoyance. This wasn’t a time for jokes.

“He knew who I was, Peter,” she snapped. “He knew my name, he said he had seen me at the hospital before, he actually asked me if I wanted to go for a walk with him in the woods.” Wendy shuddered.

Now Peter looked concerned.

“And he said something about how I had to be careful because I didn’t want to ‘go missing’ again,” she said, doing her best to remember exactly what happened.

Deep frown lines creased Peter’s forehead. “Maybe he just recognized you from the news?” he offered. “It’s a small town, maybe he just remembered you going missing…” It was like he was trying to convince himself.

Wendy shook her head. “No, like you said, it’s a small town, and I had never seen him before,” she explained. “Not only that, but there was something really weird about him. He was creepy. He felt…” She paused, trying to think of a way to describe him. “Dangerous. I couldn’t see what he looked like, either,” Wendy continued. “It was dark, sure, but it was more than that. He was standing right in front of me, but I couldn’t make out his face. It was like I couldn’t focus on a feature because they kept … moving around, like I was looking at him through water, you know? But dark.”

He shook his head, not understanding her train of thought.

Wendy swallowed. Her mouth felt dry. “It was like he was made of shadows.”

Peter stopped walking. “Shadows?” he repeated, suddenly very alert. Wendy nodded and Peter stared off into the woods, deep in thought.

“Yeah.” Wendy shifted her weight between her feet. She didn’t like that look on his face. She wanted to keep walking. She was scared to hear the answer to the question she needed to ask. “Peter, your shadow can’t…” How could she put it into words? “It can’t … take a human form, can it?”

Peter shook his head. He looked dazed. “That’s never happened before,” he said. “It’s never even become a solid being before.”

Wendy felt hopeless. “Why is this happening, Peter?”

He looked like he was holding himself back from saying something as he sucked on his bottom lip. But then he just sighed and shrugged. “I have no idea.” That was not what she wanted to hear.

“Well, when I heard Alex’s voice, he—it—disappeared, or maybe he was still there? I don’t remember. I just took off running into the woods,” Wendy continued. “Then another thing happened after you left and I went to bed…”

Peter groaned. “Another thing?” he asked dejectedly.

“I … think it was in my dream last night,” she began, glancing up at him apprehensively. Peter looked at her intently, waiting for her to go on, so she did. “When I fell asleep, I dreamed that I was in the woods,” Wendy told him. “There was snow, so it must have been winter, and it was starting to get dark. I was standing in front of this huge tree—”

“A tree?” Peter asked abruptly. His shoulders went rigid, his blue eyes intense.

She nodded. For some reason, his reaction unsettled her. “Yeah, it didn’t look like any of the other trees in the woods,” she explained. She could almost smell the dead leaves from her dream. “It was huge and its branches bent at weird angles. They were completely bare and it almost looked like it was dead. It had a huge tangle of roots.”

Peter was standing so still, Wendy wondered if he was even breathing.

“And I could hear something coming from the tree. Like the voices in the woods last night, did you hear them?” Wendy asked.

Peter only responded with a short nod.

“Before I could get closer to the tree, the shadow appeared, but this time I could see him.”

“What did he look like?” Peter asked, but his voice was laced with dread, like he already knew the answer.

“Like … well, like you,” she said, shifting uncomfortably. “But not you. His hair was dark, his skin was pale, and his eyes were like looking into a pitch-black room,” Wendy tried to explain. She searched the cloudless sky for the right words. “He was a twisted version of you that only a nightmare could conjure up, but it wasn’t just a bad dream.”

“What do you mean?” Peter asked cautiously.

“I mean, I don’t think it was a dream at all.” Wendy swallowed and wet her lips. “I think I got a memory back, from when I was in the woods.”

All the color drained from Peter’s face.

“And when I woke up, I had drawn the tree everywhere in my sleep—on my blankets, all over my legs, my hands.” Wendy gestured at herself. She held up her hands for him to see. They were less red, but still dry and irritated from all the scrubbing.

Peter stepped closer to her, staring at the marks in dis- belief.

“I’ve been drawing that same tree for weeks now,” Wendy murmured, unable to find her voice with Peter standing so close. “But not on purpose.” Peter gave her a confused look. “Like, I wouldn’t notice I was doing it. I would be writing a grocery list and then I’d space out for a second, and the next thing I knew there would be drawings all over it.”

Peter took her arm carefully with one hand and gently brushed his fingers along the faded red marks. There was a deep crease between his freckled brows. The sudden closeness made warmth swell in Wendy’s chest.

“I think there’s a part of me that remembers what happened, and it’s trying to lead me in the right direction. I think that’s why I keep drawing that tree…” She paused, collecting her bravery before adding, “And you.”

Peter’s eyes snagged hers, still worried but with a touch of curiosity. “Me?”

Wendy could only nod. Heat flamed in her cheeks.

She was acutely aware that she hadn’t been this close to him since she found him on the road. The light flecks in his deep blue eyes sparked in the sunlight.

She couldn’t think clearly with him this close. Wendy cleared her throat and took a step back, pulling her arm away from him.

Peter seemed unfazed by it and let his hands fall back to his sides, still stuck in his own head.

Wendy knew the feeling. She started walking down the road again and Peter followed.

“This is bad,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “It’s never been this strong before. With all of the kids it’s taken, it’s getting too powerful,” Peter tried to explain. “Every day I’m getting weaker, and it’s getting stronger. We need to stop it, Wendy. And soon. If we don’t, who knows what it’ll be able to do.”

Wendy thought for a moment. They still needed more answers, and there was really only one way of doing that, right? She shook her head and rubbed her collarbone. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she mumbled to herself, “but I think we need to go into the woods and find that tree.”

Peter reeled back. “What?”

“If what I saw was a memory, then there’s obviously something important about that tree,” she told him. “And all those drawings? They have to be some sort of clue. I mean, I saw your shadow there, too—maybe that’s where it’s hiding? Maybe that’s where they are—those missing kids and my brothers?” She hated herself for even suggesting it, but if it meant getting her brothers back, then she had no choice.

“It might just be an imaginary tree,” Peter pressed. “It might not mean anything at all. Or what if it’s a trap being set up by my shadow?” He gestured toward the woods.

“I can’t say that it’s not a trap,” Wendy confessed. “But we have to try.”

Peter glanced over his shoulder into the trees. “I don’t know, Wendy,” he said uneasily.

“What other option do we have?” Wendy asked. Peter didn’t seem to have an answer. “We should try to find it. Maybe today? We still have enough daylight to at least start looking.”

He still seemed unconvinced.

“Look, you’re the one who said you needed my help to stop your shadow, remember?” Wendy pointed out. “And since when is Peter Pan afraid of danger?”

Peter scowled at her. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

Wendy couldn’t help but grin.

They stopped at the corner of the street. They had made it to a small shopping area between Wendy’s house and downtown. There was a convenience store, a gas station, and a couple of mom-and-pop shops. A pair of women were out, walking their kids in strollers, but a majority of the people meandering about were other teenagers enjoying their summer break.

“Should we head back and start looking now?” Wendy asked, turning to Peter. “I think we’re going to have to go pretty deep into the woods because of how old that tree looked…”

Peter didn’t seem to be listening. He was craning his neck around, looking down the different streets.

“Should we look for clues somewhere?” She had no idea how to go about solving a mystery. She felt like she had been dropped into the middle of a Scooby Doo episode. “How do you even go about looking for clues that’ll lead you to a supernatural shadow? This is all new to me,” she said.

And Peter was entirely useless.

“Peter, focus,” she snapped, jabbing a finger into his arm.

“Hmm, yeah, I know what we should do,” Peter said, nodding firmly, looking at something off in the distance.

“What?” Wendy asked, getting annoyed.

“Get ice cream,” he said, beaming at her with a wide grin.

Wendy stared at him. He couldn’t be serious. “Come again?”

Peter pointed across the street and Wendy turned to see that the Frite & Scoop across the street had captured his attention. The front window displayed a picture of an ice cream cone and fries wrapped in paper.

“Peter, no,” Wendy objected. How could he be thinking about ice cream at a time like this? Even if it did sound nice, especially with the summer sun beating down on her bare shoulders.

“Wendy, yes,” Peter said, nodding fervently.

She placed her hands stubbornly on her hips. “We can’t just go get ice cream and sit in the grass making daisy chains all day!” she snapped.

“Sure we can!” He took her hand in his and started walking backward, pulling her along with him. A huge, mischievous smile was plastered across his face. “It’ll only take a few minutes!” he coaxed.

Wendy reluctantly let him pull her along. “No!” she whispered harshly, glancing around at the people carrying on with their perfectly normal days and errands. “We need to figure out how to stop your shadow from stealing kids.” She tugged back on his hand.

“It’s not going to take that long,” Peter said dismissively. He quickly stepped behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, guiding her toward the door. “I promise,” he said into her ear. His breath tickled her neck.

She could hear the smile in his voice.

“You’re a nuisance, Peter Pan,” Wendy told him.

He pushed open the door to the café and steered her inside. He was a pain in the ass, but she still had to purse her lips together to hold back a smile.

The shop was pretty small but quaint, lined with warm wood paneling. There was a bar along the windows that overlooked the pier and rivers, lined with teal stools. The flavors of the day were written on a chalkboard behind the counter. A cooler to the side had an array of old-school soda bottles. The walls were filled with art from local artists, along with local awards the ice cream shop had won. The patio area was right on the pier, with some weather-worn picnic tables to sit at and silver dog bowls filled with water. The air smelled of sweet cream and greasy fries.

As they stood in the entrance, the cool air-conditioning washed over them. Peter closed his eyes for a moment, reveling in the chilly breeze, a small grin curling his lips.

Wendy couldn’t help letting out a pleased sigh. She tilted her head down to let it cool the back of her neck. Sweat trickled down the middle of her back from their walk. She didn’t even want to look at what kind of sweat spots were forming under the arms of her tank top.

When she looked up, Peter was giving her a sidelong glance, an eyebrow arched. “You sure you don’t want to stay for a bit?” he asked, looking far too smug for Wendy’s liking.

She scowled at him. “I really hate it when you do that,” she told him.

“Do what?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“You know exactly what.” Wendy’s stomach growled loudly. She hadn’t eaten since dinner with her mom the night before. “Fine,” she said. “But only because I need to eat something.”

Peter walked up to the counter and stared down at the huge tubs of ice cream, his nose practically pressed against the glass while his fingertips tapped out an erratic rhythm.

“What kind of ice cream do you like?” Peter asked, his breath streaking across the glass, not peeling his eyes away from the brightly colored tubs.

“I’m not a huge fan of ice cream,” Wendy said, stepping forward to stand next to him.

Peter balked, looking downright insulted. “What kind of person doesn’t like ice cream?” he asked incredulously.

“Not everyone likes ice cream!”

He gave her an intensely disapproving look. “Okay, well, when you do eat ice cream, what kind do you have?”

“Vanilla.”

“Vanilla?”

“What!”

“Vanilla is the most boring flavor of all the ice creams!” he argued, dramatically throwing his arms in the air. “Jeez, you sound like an old lady,” he said, giving her a bump with his shoulder.

“Vanilla is classic!” Wendy shot back, returning his bump with a nudge.

Peter threw his head back and let out a loud, forlorn sound of disgust.

Patrons sitting at the bar turned their heads.

Wendy’s cheeks flared with heat. She shoved Peter’s side. “Shh!” she hissed.

Unperturbed, Peter shook his head slowly. “You really need to branch out—broaden your horizons,” he told her.

“There’s nothing wrong with vanilla,” she muttered darkly.

“Whatever you say, Wendy.”

Wendy huffed, doing her best to ignore his stupid face and that damn smile. “What’s your favorite ice cream, then?” she asked, rolling her eyes.

“Bubblegum.”

Wendy scoffed. “What are you, eight?”

Peter shrugged his shoulders as his eyes drifted to the handwritten menu. “Sometimes.”

Wendy narrowed her eyes, unsure whether or not he was joking.

“Whoa,” Peter said, suddenly pointing at something behind the counter. “I want that.”

He was pointing at a picture of what looked like three scoops of chocolate ice cream with swirls of dark chunks, topped with caramel drizzle, whipped cream, and a cherry. The lettering below it read, TRY OUR NEW TRIPLE CHOCOLATE MOCHA ICE CREAM! MADE WITH REAL STUMPTOWN ESPRESSO BEANS!

Wendy snorted. “The last thing you need is sugar and caffeine,” she told him.

“I’m getting it.” Peter turned to the cashier. “Can I order one of those things, please?” he asked.

Wendy recognized the girl behind the counter from school, but she didn’t know her name. Her light brown hair was pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head, loose strands framing her face. She had on dramatic eyeliner that accentuated her brown eyes. A purple rhinestone nose ring sparkled in her nostril.

Wendy pushed her hands through her own short, blunt hair, suddenly feeling very plain.

Not unlike vanilla ice cream.

“Sure,” the girl said. She leaned on the counter and flashed Peter a smile. “How many scoops?” she asked.

“THREE!” was Peter’s enthused reply.

“Two,” Wendy cut in. When Peter jutted out his bottom lip, she added, “I’m the one who’s paying, remember?” She turned back to the girl. “And I’ll take an order of fries and a cup of ice water.” Wendy glanced at the ice cream again. “And one scoop of London Fog,” she added.

Peter’s smirk was knowing and triumphant.

Wendy rolled her eyes. “I happen to like Earl Grey.”

The smile the cashier gave Wendy was markedly less warm.

Wendy slid her debit card across the counter to the cashier. When she looked down, she saw Benjamin Lane, Ashley Ford, and Alex Forestay smiling up at her. They had taped the missing posters to the countertop. HAVE YOU SEEN ME? was written in big, bold letters at the top of all three.

Guilt cramped Wendy’s empty stomach.

When they got their order, they sat down at one of the picnic tables outside, where a cool breeze rolled in from the Columbia River. In the distance, sea lions crooned from the piers. She sucked down large gulps of ice water. The cold in her throat was refreshing.

As soon as he sat down, Peter swept a finger through the whipped cream and popped it into his mouth. “Mmm,” he hummed, eyes rolling back and lids fluttering in euphoria. He held out the paper bowl to Wendy. Waggling his eyebrows, he asked, “Wanna try?”

“When was the last time you washed your hands?” Wendy asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“You don’t want to know,” Peter told her, grinning around the stem of the cherry he’d popped into his mouth.

Wendy shook her head at him, but she loved whipped cream. Leaning onto her elbow, she got a dab of the whipped cream on the tip of her finger and licked it off. It was real whipped cream, the thick, heavy stuff. Not the kind that came out of a can and tasted like an oil slick.

Peter dug in with his plastic spoon. He hummed to himself and Wendy wondered if he always did that when he ate.

Wendy went for her fries first. They were fresh and piping hot. She had to blow on a golden brown fry before taking a bite. The outside was crispy, the inside soft and fluffy. It was perfectly salty. They were the best fries in town by far. She cooled off her tongue with a taste of ice cream. The cool sweetness of the London Fog, with a nice balance of bergamot and vanilla bean, was the perfect mix.

“How is it?” Wendy asked as she bit into another fry.

Peter’s lips pressed together but his smile was still big enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes. “So good,” Peter said through a mouthful of chocolate and espresso beans.

Wendy laughed and shook her head. “Gross.” He clearly was no ace at table manners. She ate another scoop of her own light gray ice cream.

“Did you come here with John and Michael?”

The question jarred Wendy, causing her hand to hover mid-air, ice cream dripping from her spoon.

No one ever asked her about her brothers, especially in public, especially something so … normal. When John’s and Michael’s names came up, it was in hushed tones and whispers, usually when people thought Wendy couldn’t hear them. Or, like the past couple of days, in reference to something terrible happening.

But Peter asked it so casually. He patiently waited for her reply, his tongue chasing melted chocolate down the side of his hand.

Wendy cleared her tight throat and put her spoon back into the bowl. “Yeah, actually … All of us used to go along the Riverwalk during the summer.” She gestured to the path that went along the edge of the river, lined with piers. “We’d get fries and ice cream.” Wendy toyed with the straw in her ice water. “You know, bubblegum is Michael’s favorite flavor, too,” she told Peter.

He paused from scraping his spoon along the bottom of his bowl. “Michael’s got excellent taste.” Peter’s soft smile encouraged her to keep talking. He was the only person who didn’t give her that look of pity, like she was some wounded dog, whenever her brothers came up.

Wendy smiled and shook her head. “Whenever we came here, he picked out all the gumballs as he ate and saved them in a little paper cup,” she explained. “After he finished all the actual ice cream, he’d shove this pile of slobbery gumballs into his mouth all at once.” Wendy crinkled her nose. “It was disgusting.” She let out a small laugh. “He would crash so hard from all the sugar, my dad would have to carry him back to the car.”

Wendy remembered Michael’s small body draped across her father’s strong arms, brown curls bobbing with every step, completely knocked out. She and John would follow behind, holding their mother’s hands and dancing along dusk’s shadows as the sun set behind the hills.

Peter laughed. “That seems like something he would do,” he mused. “Michael was always sucking all the nectar out of the honeysuckles in Neverland. Really pissed off the hummingbirds.”

Wendy put her spoon down and listened intently, eager to hear stories about being on the magical island with John and Michael.

“You gathered up all the flowers and strung them into a canopy over your bed,” he explained. “You said you liked how the light shone through the pink petals. Do you remember that?”

Wendy gave her head a small shake. “No. Not really, anyway,” she confessed. “All I ever get are flashes of Neverland, short glimpses of it in my dreams sometimes. I remember you, though you were a lot younger looking.”

Peter made a sound of acknowledgment. Clearly, the fact that his body was aging was weighing heavily on both their minds.

“The jungle,” she continued. “And a beach?”

“John really liked the beaches,” Peter told her. “We had to beat some sea lions at a game of tug-of-war to get dibs on the nicest one.” He said this like it was a completely normal, run-of-the-mill, everyday occurrence.

Wendy’s brows furrowed. “I’m still having a hard time with all this,” she confessed, dropping her voice low so no one could overhear. “It still sounds like a children’s book or something. A story.” And it had been. Several stories, ones her mother had told her, and Wendy had told her brothers, and now the kids at the hospital. “Like it’s all make-believe.”

“That’s the point, though, isn’t it?” Peter said. “Whatever you can imagine, you can do.” His tone sounded nostalgic as he stared off toward the river, the ghost of a smile playing across his lips.

Wendy wondered if he ever got homesick.

“I wish I could remember it,” she said, picking at her paper cone of fries. “Maybe, after we get your shadow back and save John and Michael, and the other kids, I’ll get my memories back?”

Peter’s smile faltered. “Probably,” he said with a small shrug as he toyed with his cherry stem.

Wendy looked down at her dry, cracked hands. Thinking about the missing kids being held hostage by that shadow made her insides twist. She couldn’t stand the thought of them being afraid and lost. Hopefully, they at least had each other, someone to lean on in a situation that seemed hopeless and terrifying.

Wendy hadn’t given up yet, and she still wouldn’t. She was determined to bring her brothers home.

When she and Peter finally rescued them, would they still look the same as when they’d disappeared? Or had they continued to age, too? The thought of John now being sixteen and Michael being thirteen was jarring. Would she even recognize them? Would they recognize her?

Wendy pressed a finger to one of the red lines on her hand and winced.

Peter’s shoulders sank and his auburn hair fell into his eyes. He squinted, a small grimace playing across his face. “Does it hurt?” Peter asked.

She shrugged. “A bit. It’s mostly sore.” Wendy sat up straighter. Her dry, cracked hands were a constant reminder. She couldn’t keep herself from scrubbing away at them. People stared at them and sometimes the kids asked how she’d gotten hurt. It was embarrassing and she felt like they outed her as being odd, but the feeling of her hands being dirty made her skin scrawl. She bit her nails down to nubs, but things still caught under them sometimes. The Burt’s Bees hand salve she kept in her bag did little to help the irritated skin.

Wendy exhaled a deep breath and splayed her fingers on the table. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Here.” Peter leaned forward, picked up the plastic cup of water, and reached out for Wendy’s arm. Gently, he pressed the side of the icy cold cup to the cracks in her knuckles. Trickles of condensation ran down her wrist, making her shiver. “Does that help?” he asked, glancing up at her with those big blue eyes. His breath smelled like chocolate.

“Yeah, actually…”

Peter rested his elbow on the table, propping up his chin in the palm of his free hand. His smile peeked around the corner of his fist, and she couldn’t help smiling back.

She hadn’t laughed or smiled this much in a long time. Her cheeks were starting to ache.

“Wendy?”

The voice came from behind her. Wendy looked over her shoulder to see Jordan standing in the entrance to the patio, her boyfriend, Tyler, at her side. Jordan wore a maroon tank top and khaki board shorts. Over it she wore a black apron with the silhouette of a girl sipping from a cup, circled by the words COFFEE GIRL. Her brown curls were tied back in a knot. Jordan’s mouth was agape, her eyes wide with surprise as they bounced back and forth between Wendy and Peter.

Tyler thumbed through his phone with one hand, and the other held the leash to his husky, Bucky, who panted merrily at his side. Bucky was half blind, the fur around his snout a pale gray.

“Jordan, Tyler—hey!”

Tyler nodded in greeting, barely sparing her a glance. Meanwhile, Jordan’s eyes immediately snagged on her outstretched arm in Peter’s hand.

Wendy jerked it back and jumped to her feet. Peter also stood, giving Jordan a curious look. Wendy pushed her fingers through her hair, uncomfortable laughter clogging her throat. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I’m on my way to work,” Jordan said with an awkward laugh of her own, gesturing down at her apron.

“Right—obviously!” Dumb question, Wendy.

“We grabbed lunch at the brewery before I had to start my shift. Tyler and Bucky are walking me down to the pier.” Jordan’s eyes went right back to Peter.

Suddenly, he stepped forward. Wendy nearly grabbed him, anticipating that he might say or do something incriminating.

“Hey, can I pet your dog?” Peter asked Tyler, looking hopeful.

“Mm?” Tyler spared him a quick glance from his phone. “Yeah, go for it, man.”

Peter sank on his heels and buried his fingers in Bucky’s golden scruff, his face splitting into a wide smile.

Bucky, in kind, sat back on his rump, his tail sweeping back and forth as his tongue lolled to the side.

As soon as Peter ducked out of sight, Jordan’s eye bulged as she emphatically pointed down at him and mouthed in silent exaggeration, WHO IS THAT?

“Oh, uh, this is Barry,” Wendy said. “He’s from out of town, just visiting his relatives for the summer.” The lie was simple enough, as long as Jordan didn’t ask too many questions. She hated lying to Jordan. It didn’t feel right at all, but Wendy couldn’t just tell her the truth, especially in front of Tyler. “I’ve been showing him around town. Being neighborly and all that.”

Wendy hoped Peter wouldn’t say anything strange, but, apparently, she didn’t need to worry.

Peter sat cross-legged on the ground, distracted and chuckling as Bucky licked at his face.

Jordan gave Wendy a knowing look. “Uh-huh, neighborly.” The smirk on her best friend’s face let Wendy know exactly what she was thinking. But, just to be sure, Jordan mouthed, He is SO cute.

Heat rushed to Wendy’s cheeks. “Jordan,” she hissed. She felt silly and embarrassed under Jordan’s not-so-subtle interest.

Jordan’s smirk only grew, but she kept her thoughts to herself. However, when she spoke again, her tone shifted. “My dad told me he saw you in town earlier,” she said, drawing her attention away from Peter to look at Wendy. A delicate crease appeared between her manicured eyebrows.

Wendy knew—without Jordan outright saying so—that meant Mr. Arroyo had either seen her going into, or coming out of, the police department. “I tried to go by your house before work, but no one answered. I also tried texting you, like, a million times,” she added, her smile beginning to fade.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Wendy mumbled. Normally, Jordan would have been the first person she ran to, especially about something as major as being called to the police station. Wendy didn’t blame her for being suspicious or worried, or whatever she was right now. “I meant to text you back, but I’ve been kind of … distracted.” It wasn’t like Wendy, and she owed Jordan more than that.

Jordan quirked an eyebrow. “I can see that,” she said. More heat flooded Wendy’s face. Luckily for Wendy, Jordan glanced at her watch. “Ugh, I have to get to work,” she grumbled.

“Yeah, we were about to leave, too,” Wendy said, taking the out.

Jordan fixed her with a stern look. “Now, you.” Jordan took a step closer and dropped her voice to a quieter tone. “Will you please call me later? Or stop by? I’m off at five o’clock,” she said, eyes searching Wendy’s—for what, Wendy wasn’t sure.

She could feel Peter watching her, too.

Wendy nodded. “Yeah, of course,” she said, her voice small. She knew Jordan was worried about her. She had been so distracted by Peter and everything else she had suddenly found herself thrown into, that she was forgetting about the person who was always there for her.

Jordan gave a curt nod. “Good.” She tugged on Tyler’s arm, breaking him from the trance of his iPhone. “It was nice to meet you, Barry!”

Peter continued to scratch behind Bucky’s ears, murmuring happily to the dog.

Wendy nudged him with the toe of her shoe. “Barry.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, glancing up to flash Jordan a smile. “Nice to meet you, too.” Bucky climbed out of Peter’s lap and waddled off after Jordan and Tyler. Peter stood, let out a wistful sigh, and gave a small wave. “Bye, Bucky.”

Jordan waved at them over her shoulder. “Later, Wendy Lou Who!” she sang before disappearing around the building.

Wendy rolled her eyes. It was a terrible nickname Jordan had picked up, in reference to Wendy’s least favorite live-action Christmas movie.

Peter was grinning at her.

“What?” Wendy asked.

“Later, Wendy Lou Who!” Peter said, imitating what Jordan had said, except in Jordan’s voice.

Exactlyher voice. Hearing it come out of Peter’s mouth startled Wendy so much that she actually jumped. “How did you do that?” she demanded.

Peter looked at her as if that were a very strange question to ask. “What? I told you, I’m good at mimicking things. Like the crickets, remember?”

“Well yeah, but I didn’t realize you could do people’s voices that well, too!” She frowned at him. “That was dead-on! And kind of creepy,” she added.

“Want me to do you?” he asked, lips hooking into a grin.

“God, no.”

At the table, what was left of Wendy’s ice cream was a melted puddle, so she dumped it and the rest of their trash. Wendy squared her shoulders, summoning her nerve. She plucked at the hem of Peter’s shirt. “Come on,” she said, leading the way across the street to the road that wound back to her house. “We’ve got a shadow to find.”