Chapter 15. The Acorn

CHAPTER 15

The Acorn

Wendy was in Neverland. To her left, the trees at the edge of the jungle grew thick and lush. Tucked against them were a couple of crudely made huts, fashioned from branches and huge palm fronds nearly as big as she was. Above, craggy, pitched mountains reached into the clear blue sky. Waterfalls poured over cliffs, nothing but thin silver ribbons in the distance. To her left, white sandy beach kissed the vast, empty, crystal blue ocean. Small birds in vibrant neon shades chased the rolling waves in and out, digging up seashells and singing.

Wendy sat in the sand, back in the body of her twelve-year-old self. She wore the same white leggings and she was sewing a patch into the knee with thread and a needle. The patch itself was made from a strip of thick green leaf.

And there, just in front of her—

“John, you have to share the white!”

“I’m not done with it yet! ’Sides, you’ll just spill it again.”

“No I won’t!”

Before her sat Michael and John. Just the way she remembered them, before they went missing in the woods.

Michael had the same curly mess of light brown hair. Leaves were tangled in the downy locks. His face was round, his cheeks full. He had their father’s upturned nose. Michael, wearing nothing but his khaki pants torn into shorts, struggled to grab a cup of white paint that John held out of his reach.

John sat cross-legged, with his usual carefully poised posture. He ignored Michael and continued painting with his index finger on a piece of burlap. His glasses perched on the very end of his nose as he made each stroke with careful deliberation. He still had his white button-down shirt on, though it was far worse for wear, and his dark hair was parted to the side.

Wendy wanted to cry out, to throw herself onto her brothers and hug them but, in this memory, she had no control of her body. She could feel sobs bucking in her chest, but no sound came out. In a frenzy, her eyes flew back and forth between their faces, trying to drink in every detail, willing them to just look at her so she could see their eyes again.

If this was a dream, it was a very cruel one.

“Stop fighting, you two,” said Wendy’s voice from her own mouth. “There’s plenty of paint to go around. Michael, why don’t you use blue from the berries you gathered?” There was an assortment of thick liquids in small bowls fashioned from coconuts in blue, green, white, yellow, and black.

“Because I want white!” With the last word, he lunged for John’s arm, only to have his older brother pull it away at the last second.

Michael tumbled over.

Wendy heard herself sigh. “You guys are making a mess of yourselves.” Indeed, there were splatters of different-colored paint on the burlap and surrounding sand. Wendy noticed a glob of red on Michael’s chest that trickled down to his bellybutton. As he laughed, John turned, and there was some on his neck, too, just below his ear. Wendy frowned.

The crashing of leaves in the branches above caused Wendy to look up. Peter was flying—actually flying. Well, sort of. He seemed to be losing his balance and was descending at a rapid speed. He hit the ground hard on his feet, causing him to stumble forward, kicking up sand, but he recovered before he could fall.

Wendy stood up and ran over to his side. “Peter! Are you okay?” she heard herself ask.

No! Go back to John and Michael!She wanted to see them—she needed to see them longer than just a fleeting glance.

“I’m fine,” Peter said, but worry was etched into his young features. He glanced in the direction of Michael and John, who she could still hear bickering behind her, before turning back to Wendy. “I got you something,” Peter said. He made a face, the one people do when they’re trying to smile, trying to reassure, but it just doesn’t sit right.

He took her hand and placed an acorn in her palm.

It had to be her acorn—the one that had been clasped in her hand when the park ranger discovered her in the woods, the one she hid in her jewelry box.

The one she had fallen asleep wearing around her neck.

Wendy cupped it gently in her small hands.

“The fairies helped me pick it out,” Peter went on. Pink bloomed in his freckled cheeks. “It’s so that you won’t forget about me…”

“Forget about you?” Wendy laughed. “Why would I forget about you? I’m not going anywhere!”

Peter looked down at his bare feet.

“Wen-dyyy,” Michael whined behind her. “I don’t feel so good.”

Wendy turned to look at her brothers, but before she could see their faces again, shadows crashed over Wendy, flooding her vision, and plunging everything into darkness.

---

Wendy sat bolt upright in bed. Morning sun streamed in through the window. Shuddering breaths shook her body as she tried to gulp down air. She buried her face in her palms and tried to calm herself down. Her cheeks were slick with tears. A miserable pain ached through her, a pit of longing that felt like it would swallow her whole.

John and Michael.

She’d seen her brothers—or, at least, a memory of them. A memory that had been taken from her years ago. That had been just a big, gaping hole in her memory. This was the second time she’d remembered something from their stay in Neverland together. It was so vivid. She could smell the ocean, taste the salty air, and feel the warm sand between her toes.

Why were her memories coming back now? Was it because of Peter? The shadow?

Her brothers were right there. She needed to see them again. She needed to get them back. The memories felt like they were taunting her, holding her brothers hostage, just out of reach.

If she and Peter could just find the shadow, find her brothers and the other missing kids, she could finally get John and Michael back. Everything would be okay.

Wendy’s hand clutched the acorn hanging from her neck. It was warm to the touch. It almost felt like it was buzzing, like a hive full of bees, but very faint.

Peter had given it to her. That was why she had held on to it so desperately, and that must have been why she had kept it for all those years. Somehow, something inside her remembered what it meant.

Wendy frowned and tried to replay everything that had happened in her dream. Peter had looked so guilty when Wendy said she wasn’t going anywhere. Did he know, then, that something was wrong? That he would have to take her back? At what point did the shadow take her brothers, making it impossible for them to go with her?

It’s so you won’t forget about me.

Wendy pressed her hand to her mouth, the words repeating themselves in her head as she stared at the acorn.

The last time Wendy had gotten one of her memories back, she had fallen asleep with the acorn in her hand. She turned it between her fingers. Was this the key? Was the acorn the secret to getting her memories back?

She needed to find Peter and ask him.

After a quick shower, Wendy pulled on a pair of jean shorts and a loose-fitting white tank top to combat the heat. This time, she put on a pair of old running shoes in case she and Peter ventured back into the woods. If she was going to stumble around through trees, roots, and creeks, she needed to be in the right shoes for it. The trek yesterday had left blisters on her heels and toes.

Wendy threw her bag over her shoulder and leapt down the stairs two at a time. When she reached the ground floor, she walked into the living room and found her parents sitting on the couch next to each other, watching the TV.

“Morning,” Wendy greeted them as she crossed the living room, trying to rub the exhaustion from her eyes.

Her mother jumped and turned to face Wendy. One of her delicate hands was pressed to her collarbone. Her eyes were bloodshot and glassy. Her father remained still, facing forward. He gripped a mug of coffee, his knuckles white.

There was a heaviness in the air that slowed her down. When she stepped closer, it felt like moving through quicksand. Her heartbeat thudded through her veins.

“Mom? Dad? What’s wrong?” she asked.

Mrs. Darling said nothing but gestured toward the TV.

Wendy looked up and shock hurtled through her chest.

The news was on. The female anchor sat at her desk. A picture of two boys floated on the screen next to her. The older boy sat behind the younger. They were dressed in red, white, and blue. Small American flags were in their hands. Their smiles were wide and excited, sitting in their backyard for the annual Memorial Day BBQ. Wendy knew, because she had been there.

They were the spitting image of their father.

JOEL DAVIES, AGE 10 AND MATTHEW DAVIES, AGE 7,was written on the red marquee below their photo. The boys next door had gone missing.

Wendy thought of quiet Mr. Davies who always seemed to look out for her. She remembered him and his wife talking to the detectives just the other day. Mr. Davies had looked so worried and frightened, and now his sons had been taken from him.

A sudden wave of nausea made Wendy lightheaded. Everything around her swayed like she was on a boat. She gripped the back of the couch to keep her balance.

Again, the missing children were connected to Wendy. They were her neighbors, boys she watched regularly, especially over the summer.

The anchorwoman continued speaking: “The boys’ father, Donald Davies, said his sons were playing in their backyard yesterday evening when he saw them picked up by a young man who then ran into the woods behind their house. Mr. Davies said he tried to pursue but was unable to keep up. Although he wasn’t able to get a physical description of the kidnapper, police are setting up a special unit to—”

It was silent as all three continued to stare at the TV. But they really didn’t need to. Wendy knew her parents were thinking the same thing she was: The Davies boys were the same exact ages as John and Michael when they went missing. Her brothers were friends with Joel and Matthew and had known Mr. and Mrs. Davies their entire lives. And they had gone missing in the woods behind their house, just like John and Michael had.

For her parents, it must have been like watching the news from five years ago all over again.

For Wendy, it was like waking up in a nightmare.

The shadow had done this on purpose. Peter was right. It was goading her, trying to hurt her, trying to make her angry. And it was working.

“Police have set up headquarters at the northern point of the woods. They will begin searching the woods for the Davies children, as well as the other missing children and signs of the kidnapper.”

A map appeared on the screen with a dot indicating where the police were starting their search. It was almost directly on the other side of the woods from Wendy’s house.

“The search-and-rescue units will be starting north and working their way south. The police have recommended that anyone living on the outskirts of the woods lock their doors and windows when they aren’t home, and keep their children under constant supervision. Anyone willing to volunteer to help with search efforts is encouraged to call…”

They were running out of time. Wendy knew it wasn’t safe for Peter to stay in the woods anymore. What if the cops started searching and found him hiding out in the hunting shack? He would probably get arrested and detained. Wendy doubted he would be able to break out of a holding cell, especially now that he was losing his magic at such an alarming rate. And if he was locked up, they wouldn’t be able to stop the shadow and all those kids would be lost and Peter would—well, they still weren’t sure what would happen to him, but it would be bad. Very bad. Wendy’s heart clenched. She refused to take that risk. Had she made a mistake by letting him go off on his own last night?

They needed to find that tree before the woods were overrun with cops and volunteers. Now, more than ever, they were running out of time.

“I’m going to the hospital,” Wendy said abruptly. She thought her parents would be so engrossed in the news that they might not even hear her, but they both swung around to face her.

“The hospital?” Mrs. Darling asked, confused. “But you don’t volunteer on the weekends.”

“Absolutely not!” Mr. Darling fumed, eyeing Wendy as if she were completely out of her mind. “I don’t want you leaving this house, and certainly not on your own!” She could tell his jaw was clenched by the way his mustache ruffled.

They were on edge and worried.

She needed to come up with a solid excuse.

“I promised Nurse Judy I would help out,” Wendy tried to explain. “They’re short staffed in the playroom and need someone to be there all day to keep an eye on the kids.”

“No,” Mr. Darling said in a low growl.

“I’ll be in the hospital surrounded by people,” Wendy reasoned. “Nothing is going to happen to me there. I’ll even call you when I’m heading home.” What would make him agree to her being gone all day? “Not to mention, Nurse Judy will be there looking after me the whole time.”

Mr. Darling made a gruff sound through his nose but didn’t object. Both her parents respected Nurse Judy, but it was more than just that.

There was a reason she was the head nurse, and why parents trusted her with their sick and injured kids. She was a hard-ass who didn’t beat around the bush, but, most impor- tant, she protected her patients fiercely and fought tooth and nail to get the best treatment for them. Even when Wendy was hospitalized, she remembered being scared and crying alone in her room while, in the hallway, Nurse Judy’s booming voice laid into doctors when she didn’t agree with their treatment plan.

It had been under her insistence that they ease up on the sedatives and, when Wendy was overcome with fear and grief and entirely unable to pull herself out of it, it was Nurse Judy who came in and guided her through with gentle words and distractions.

When her mother and father were too deep in their own mourning—her mother spending daylight hours in bed, her father joining search parties in the woods until he could no longer stand upright—it had been Nurse Judy who stepped in to take care of Wendy.

It was a solid bond of trust, one that Wendy needed to abuse in order to see Peter and stop the shadow.

Wendy’s mother glanced at her husband. For three heartbeats, she waited as they exchanged a silent look before Mrs. Darling turned back to Wendy. “Why don’t you ask Jordan to go with you?” she suggested.

Wendy inwardly groaned. She knew her mom was trying to help her out, that her father would feel better if Jordan was with her. She was probably also suggesting it in an attempt to nudge Wendy into making up with Jordan.

Her mother’s parenting was coming at a very inconvenient time.

Mr. Darling didn’t say yes, but he also wasn’t saying no.

“Fine, I’ll ask Jordan if she’ll go with me,” Wendy conceded.

She could tell her father didn’t want to agree to it. In all honesty, she didn’t blame him. It also felt kind of nice—but mostly strange—to know that he was still being protective of her. Again, it was terrible timing. It also made lying to him harder.

“Keep the volume up on your phone,” he finally said. “If I call it, you better answer, or I’ll come down to the hospital and get you myself.”

Wendy pulled out her cell phone and tilted the screen to face her parents as she turned the volume all the way up. “Done,” she said with a nod.

“And call when you’re on your way home!” he added. Mrs. Darling gently rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I will, promise,” Wendy said. She bolted out of the house before he could change his mind.

Now that she was outside, she could go find Peter. She would have to figure out the details of lying about Jordan later. For now, she just had to hope that her parents didn’t call the hospital to check her alibi. And, hopefully, Jordan was still mad enough at her to stay away and not blow her cover.

As soon as she stepped out onto the porch, Wendy froze. Two cop cars were parked outside of the Davieses’ house next door, as well as a crime-scene van. Mr. Davies stood on the front lawn in his bright red robe, surrounded by police officers and talking to Detective James. One arm was across his chest, the other hand clamped over his mouth. His curly hair was tousled. Detective James was speaking in a low, even tone. Mr. Davies nodded or shook his head intermittently. Behind him, the door to his house stood wide open as police officers walked in and out. Wendy could hear Mrs. Davies wailing inside, an animalistic croon of mourning that made goosebumps race up her arms.

Wendy’s chest ached for them, the scene all too familiar.

She walked to the driveway, barely paying attention to where she was going, eyes glued to the scene next door. Was this how her own house had looked? Had her mother and father had the same expressions on their faces? It was almost like déjà vu, the same terrible echo through the universe.

Before she could even start to worry about how she was going to find Peter, she caught a glimpse of someone standing by her truck. She jolted to a stop, far too wary of strangers hovering in her driveway, but then she saw the shock of auburn hair and realized it was Peter.

He stood leaning against the door of her car, out of sight of the police officers next door. He was hunched in a way that, at first, suggested he was hiding from view, but there was something wrong. His expression was strained, and he was curled around his stomach, his hands pressed into his side.

Wendy rounded the truck, her eyes immediately searching for him. “Peter, what’s wrong?”

He looked sick, like he hadn’t slept in days. There were dark purple circles under his eyes that looked more like bruises. His lids were puffy, his blue eyes bright, bloodshot and glassy. His hair was a mess, as if any effort to tame it was just too much.

Peter, who brimmed with light and was constantly flitting around like a hummingbird, was changed. There was a small crease between his eyebrows and his shoulders were hitched up to his ears, his back curved as if he were trying to protect himself from a biting wind. His already full bottom lip was swollen and split down the center with a thin, wet line of crimson.

Wendy’s heart fluttered. “Jesus, what happened to you?” she whispered, reaching out to tilt his chin. When he winced back, she saw a bloom of red on his jaw, promising a bruise.

“It’s nothing. I’m okay,” Peter said. He tried to conjure up a smile, but even that looked pained. As he pushed himself from the car door, he swayed on his feet. Wendy rushed forward and caught his sides, trying to help steady him, but Peter sucked in a harsh breath between his teeth. His face twisted in pain, his hands pressing gingerly to his stomach.

She quickly withdrew her hands. “What happened to you?” she repeated, her voice harsh with worry. Wendy glanced over her shoulder, stepping closer to Peter as she tried to shield him from the gathering next door. “Come on,” she said, trying to make her voice sound gentler as she pulled him toward the side of the house, where no one could see them. “Tell me what happened.” Her eyes darted from his shoulders, to his arms, to his face.

Peter’s chin dipped, sending his hair splaying across his forehead, hiding his eyes from view. “I went after my shadow last night,” he mumbled.

“What?” Wendy hissed. Her hand went straight to his arm, gripping him before she could realize what she was doing. “Sorry!” she said, withdrawing quickly. She growled and dragged her fingers through her hair. “Why would you do that, Peter?” she demanded.

He shrugged, looking miserable and chastised as he leaned against a trash can. “I thought I could take it on my own. I thought…” He glanced furtively at Wendy. “I thought if I could just do it myself, then you wouldn’t have to—”

“No!” Wendy cut him off. “We were supposed to go together so I could help you! You could’ve gotten hurt—you did get hurt!” Wendy gestured at him and Peter cringed. She wanted to scream and shout at him for doing something so incredibly stupid and reckless, but she couldn’t with all those people next door.

“I thought I could do it,” he repeated. “But it was just too powerful.” Peter’s breathing was uneven and short. He hesitated for a moment before he pulled up the bottom of his shirt. Cresting over the tanned skin, just above his hip, bloomed an array of bruises. Purple, blue, and bright red grouped together like galaxies.

Immediately, she felt like a complete asshole for yelling at him. “Oh, Peter…” Lightly, she touched the bruise with her fingers, but he flinched back. Wendy’s skin crawled with a boiling mix of anger and fear. The shadow was capable of doing this? What else would it do? To her? To Peter? To the kids it had taken? To her brothers?

“It’s getting stronger,” Peter told her before tugging his shirt back down. “And I’m only getting weaker.” A shudder rolled through him, as if it physically repulsed him to admit it. Peter’s eyelids were half shut as he stared at the ground. “It just tossed me around like I was nothing.” Peter rubbed the heel of his hand against his eye. “I can feel my magic draining out of me,” he mumbled. “I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks.” He frowned and his eyes roved over her body. “Are you okay? It didn’t come after you, did it?” A spark of intensity crossed his face.

“No,” Wendy said quickly with a shake of her head. She’d been safe and sound in her room last night, but that did little to comfort her. The thought of Peter, alone in the woods, being attacked by the shadow was enough to make her sick. She should’ve been there to protect him. She shouldn’t have left him. She should’ve made him come home. Wendy swallowed down a lump in her throat. She hated herself for letting him go.

“We’re in this together, okay?” Wendy insisted, stepping closer to Peter, making him look her in the eyes. “No more going off on your own. We beat it together, or not at all, just like you said, right?” Peter looked miserable and unconvinced. “You’re not the only one with something to lose,” she told him.

Peter held her gaze. She realized how close they were standing, Peter leaning against a trash can and she standing between his knees. There was a low rush in her belly. Warmth flooded her face.

Peter’s eyes drifted from hers, down to her mouth, and then to her neck.

A tired grin curled the corners of his lips. “Hey, you found it,” he murmured.

He was staring at the acorn she wore around her neck. “Yeah, I-I did,” Wendy stammered, and she quickly came back to reality. “I mean, I’ve always had it,” she corrected herself, holding it in the palm of her hand. “I just kept it in a jewelry box.” Some of Peter’s light seemed to slowly start returning. “I wore it around my neck last night when I fell asleep, and I had this dream—but it was a memory—about Neverland, and my brothers, and you.” Wendy looked up into Peter’s face. “I remembered you giving it to me. Do you remember that?”

Dimples pressed gently into Peter’s cheeks as he took the acorn between his thumb and forefinger. “Of course I do,” he said. Their bowed heads and close bodies made a small alcove. “I gave it to you so you wouldn’t forget me, you know, when you came back here. I mean, it clearly didn’t work,” he added with an airy laugh. He glanced up at her then, face close, eyes watching her so intently that she almost moved away. “But now that you’ve found it again, I guess it’s helping you start to get your memories back…” Peter’s smile was small and tight.

Wendy bit down on her bottom lip. Did that mean that all this time, she could’ve just used the acorn to get her memories back? She’d spent years without them, hating herself for not being able to remember when everyone asked her questions she didn’t know the answers to, when they accused her of lying, when she became a social outcast. This could change everything. She could get more of her memories back now. For some reason Wendy’s heart fluttered in her chest and her head swam.

“When you gave this to me,” Wendy said, changing the subject and thinking back to how Peter had looked in her memory, “did you already know you were going to have to take us home?”

Peter nodded. “I could tell things were going wrong in Neverland—it wasn’t safe for you to stay any longer,” he said, watching her carefully.

“It was so weird to see them so clearly,” Wendy told him. He gave her a sad smile. She sighed and stepped back. “There’s a lot I need to tell you. Two more kids went missing last night, and the cops are starting to search the woods.” Peter’s smile faded. “We need to find that tree, and your shadow, fast.” Wendy glanced toward the front of the house. With sudden determination, she tugged on Peter’s arm. “Come on,” Wendy said as she led him from the side of the house to the driveway. Checking to make sure no one was looking in their direction, she guided him to her truck and opened the door.

Peter obediently slid into the passenger seat. He sat up straight, suddenly looking much more awake as he peered at the dashboard. “I’ve never been in a car before,” he confessed, his fingers brushing over the knobs of the stereo.

“Technically, you were in an ambulance,” Wendy pointed out.

Peter looked at her, unamused. “That doesn’t count, I was unconscious.”

Wendy’s lips twisted as she suppressed a smirk. She turned the key and the old truck roared to life. Peter’s hands latched on to the dashboard. If she weren’t so worried about him, she would’ve laughed at the deeply concerned expression on his face. “Put on your seat belt,” she told him as she pulled her own across her chest.

He took the seat belt in his hand and pulled it across, mimicking what Wendy did, but then his longer fingers fumbled with the buckle. She gently took it out of his hand and clicked it into position.

When she started to back out of the driveway, Peter’s hands went right back to the dashboard. “Don’t look so scared,” she told him, shifting into drive and starting down the road. “I’m an excellent driver.”

“You almost ran me over.” Peter scowled, but when she got to the end of the street, he started to relax into his seat. “It’s like flying, but a lot … bouncier,” he mused, watching houses go by.

Her plan was to drive to one of the small side roads that bottomed out into the woods. That way, they could go into the woods without being seen, and no one would notice her truck.

Only a minute had passed before Peter figured out how to roll down the window. He leaned out as far as he could with the seat belt still restraining him. Peter squinted in the sunlight as his hair whipped in the air. His laughter caught in the wind and floated off. The sunbaked road stretched and curved before them, hugging the line of trees. White mile markers leaned on the shoulder, nearly lost in the overgrown weeds.

“So, what’s going on with the latest missing kids and the police at your neighbor’s house?” Peter asked, back inside the cab and rubbing his eyes.

“They were two boys,” Wendy started. “Ten and seven, the same age as my brothers when we went missing. They were taken from their backyard, just like we were. Their dad even saw them being taken by someone, but he couldn’t see what they looked like.”

“My shadow,” Peter stated.

She nodded. “It has to be taunting us, right?” Wendy asked. Anger heated her skin. “That’s why he took those kids like that. It’s too similar to my brothers to just be a coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Probably. It knows that we’ve been in the forest, that we’re looking for it. It knows you’re afraid of the woods. It wants you to be frightened.” Peter looked over at her. The worry aged his already pale face. “It might be drawing us into a trap, Wendy,” he said. “Are you sure you want to go looking for this tree? What if that’s exactly what it wants us to do? It can probably smell the fear on you as soon as you step into the woods.” He shook his head. A frustrated growl sounded at the back of his throat. “Maybe I should just—”

“No way,” Wendy said, sharp and succinct. “My brothers are being held captive by this thing. There’s no way I’m going to let you fight it on your own.”

Peter stared down at his lap.

She didn’t want to point out that, in his condition, she was worried about him even being able to navigate the woods, let alone put up a fight against the shadow. He needed her help, and she needed to get her brothers back. “Besides, you said I’m the only one who’s been able to reattach the two of you, remember?” she pointed out.

“It was worth a shot,” Peter muttered. He sunk lower in his seat. With his head leaning against the cool glass of the window, Peter closed his eyes.

Wendy almost wanted to keep circling the tree-lined roads to let him rest, but finding his shadow was becoming all the more imperative.

She turned down one of the old logging roads. The grass was beaten down into a set of tire prints that faded into the trees. She parked her truck a little way down the road so it was out of sight from the main stretch.

Peter sat up as the springy seat jostled him when she put the truck in park.

“Did you get ahold of a map?” Peter asked, staring off into the woods ahead.

“I have one in here.” She reached across Peter and gave the dashboard handle two hard yanks before it flew open. Peter tried to move out of the way as a pair of old swim goggles and a bottle of sunblock fell onto his feet. “Sorry,” Wendy said. She dug into the glove compartment and pulled out a map of the town.

“My dad got me this when I first started driving,” she told him. “He doesn’t trust cell phone GPS”—it was very obvious by the look on his face that Peter didn’t know what that meant—“so he got me a map so I could find my way around if I ever got lost.” She unfolded it and smoothed her hands along the edges. “It has the woods.” She pointed to a large patch of green in the center of the map. “But it doesn’t have a whole lot of detail.” It showed the outline of the woods, the creeks that snaked through it, and some logging roads. “It’s old, so there’s way more logging roads now, but it’s better than nothing.” She turned to Peter. “Do you think this will help? Do you know how to read a map?”

Peter snorted and took it in his hands. “Of course I know how to read a map,” he said, puffing up his chest like a rooster. “I’m constantly using pirate maps back in Neverland. I’ve got a whole collection of them.”

Wendy rolled her eyes. “Pirate maps,” she said flatly. “Of course, how could I forget.”

“We can use the creeks and these trails as points of reference,” he said, trailing his finger along a blue line. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Great.” Wendy took out her phone and sent a quick text to her mom, letting her know she was with Jordan and would be home later. Wendy took a deep breath. “Are you ready?” she asked.

Peter sucked in his upper lip and gave her a look. A lot of things flickered in his eyes that she couldn’t quite read. He forced a smile, though it was more like a grimace. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”