Chapter 2

Jimmy was quiet at breakfast the next day. He watched his friend like a hawk, and saw Peter Pan’s normal, boisterous self bouncing with enthusiasm as he went about his morning routine. Pan sent Rolland and Chibu to collect the eggs, milk, and pixie dust. They arrived back several minutes later, staggering from the weight of the heaping egg basket held between them, Rolland carrying the milk pail in his other hand, and Chibu clutching the bag of dust with his basket-free hand.

Jimmy stared at the bag of pixie dust, which Peter Pan had eagerly snatched from Chibu. He refilled the leather pouch at his hip, then poured a generous measure into the milk pail. The remainder he carefully siphoned into the storage chest that housed all the dust Peter used for his trips to the other world to find new Lost Boys.

“You mean kidnap innocent children?” Tink’s voice corrected in his head.

“Why do you do that?” Jimmy asked, carefully avoiding Peter’s eye. “Put the pixie dust in our drinks, I mean.”

Peter flashed his boyish, youthful grin. “Helps keep our minds sharp and bodies healthy as we never grow old here, of course.”

“Don’t the pixies need it for themselves?”

Peter crowed with laughter. “Just as much as the goats need their surplus milk and the chickens need extra eggs, I suppose. Waste not, want not, am I right?” He ladled milk into mugs, and the twins began to scramble the eggs at the wood-burning stove.

The Lost Boys lined up to accept a glass of the drugged milk from Peter. Jimmy fought down a sudden, violent urge to overturn the milk pail and swat the mugs from the boys’ hands. There was nothing wrong with Peter wanting to have his friends stay youthful and healthy—it was good, really, that he cared so much. But still, the sick, twisted feeling in Jimmy’s gut grew.

“What would happen if we stopped taking the pixie dust?”

Peter raised a bright-red eyebrow as he shot Jimmy an inquisitive look. “What’s with all the questions this morning, Jimmy Boy?”

“Just curious is all,” Jimmy mumbled. He didn’t fall into line with the others, which Peter noticed, and he sought him out to hand him a mug.

“Drink up, pal. We can’t have you turning into an adult on us now, can we?”

So Tink’s allegations were true. Jimmy forced his lips into a pained smile and accepted the drink. He stared down into the contents. The thick milk had the faintest tinge of golden glitter swirling around in it. For the longest time after he first arrived in Neverland, Jimmy thought of it as beautiful and mysterious, but now, the beverage flashed dangerously at him. Tink’s accusations rang in his mind, vibrating around his skull until he thought he would go mad from it.

“Peter?”

Peter Pan jerked his head in acknowledgement that he was listening. All the other Lost Boys, who had just been served plates of scrambled eggs by the twins, had their mouths stuffed full and were unusually quiet as they ate. Jimmy swallowed hard to try to remove the growing lump in his throat. “How long have we been here in Neverland?”

“We all came at different times, Jimmy Boy. You know that.”

“Me, then. How long have I been here?”

“What difference does it make?” Peter shrugged. “What does time matter as long as we are having fun here?”

“I’m having fun!” Ozzy burst out, spraying a mouthful of half-masticated egg across the wooden table.

Rob burst out laughing and used his spoon to fling eggs back at Ozzy. A brief but furious food fight immediately broke out. The boys lobbed cutlery, plates, and food at each other, all ducking and weaving to avoid being splattered with breakfast. In the ensuing hubbub, Jimmy took the opportunity to surreptitiously dump his mug of milk onto the dirt floor next to him. He watched the liquid soak into the earth, and the last glimmers of pixie dust winked back at him before fading from view.

Peter, as always, emerged victorious from the food fight. He tucked his thumbs into his armpits, rose into the air, and emitted a loud rooster’s crow.

Following the thrill of the food fight, Peter didn’t seem inclined to calm down enough to talk with Jimmy. Peter left the mess of the food fight—fruit and eggs strewn over the table and floor, with milk dripping down onto the bench—and grabbed his fishing pole from a corner. “Last one to the fishing hole is a rotten egg!” In a flash, Peter flew up the tunnel and was out of sight.

The other Lost Boys clambered over one another to retrieve their own fishing poles, squabbling amongst themselves as they tried to untangle their lines and hooks and follow Peter Pan. Within one minute, all of them except Jimmy had disappeared. He couldn’t seem to muster up the energy to race to the fishing hole today.

The hideout was abnormally silent in the absence of his friends. Jimmy stared at the food splattered all over the kitchen area, his shoulders hunched. As he took in his surroundings, it felt like waking up after years of being asleep. Burned pans were crusted with hardening egg yolks, the blackened and moldy residue of previous food fights coated the table in a moss-like texture, and gnats were beginning to buzz all around the mess. Jimmy inhaled. The entire place reeked. Maggots would follow soon, and once the state of the hideout deteriorated to unlivable, Peter would simply move all the boys to a new location, just like always.

Jimmy’s stomach turned. The fuzziest of recollections floated just out of reach in his memory. The hazy image of his mother scrubbing a kitchen table while telling him a story sharpened. A warm sensation started in his chest and began to spread. He’d had a family once; he had been loved. Jimmy sank down to the ground, slumped back against the dirt wall, and buried his face into his hands.

What had he done when he agreed to come with Peter to Neverland?

He still hadn’t moved by the time the rest of the Lost Boys returned hours later. Jimmy heard their gleeful shouts and laughter long before they slid, one by one, down the hollowed-out tree trunk. Peter flew in after them with a string of fish trailing behind him.

The boys all threw their fishing poles haphazardly into a corner, causing the strings and hooks to tangle even worse than before. Peter Pan began tossing individual fish to each boy in turn.

“Where were you, Jimmy?” asked Smee. He was a plump boy who looked younger than everyone else, perhaps ten years old, and hadn’t been with the Lost Boys very long. His full cheeks, constantly sunburned nose, and platinum-blond hair made his babyish face wide and innocent-looking—very different from Jimmy’s long, thin face with his unusually straight nose and long dark hair.

Jimmy shrugged. “Not feeling well, I guess.” He couldn’t stop looking at each of his friends and wondering how long they had all been there. Did any of them remember their origins? If they did, they certainly didn’t seem troubled by leaving them behind. They all began to throw the fish between themselves with blinding speed, laughing uproariously if anyone dropped his slippery load or received a fish to the face.

Smee plopped down next to Jimmy and handed him his catch from the day. “Will you help me clean it?” Smee’s face remained so eager and hopeful that Jimmy couldn’t say no. Smee seemed to think that Jimmy could do no wrong, and being admired so much buoyed Jimmy’s spirits, but only fractionally so. Besides, he loved the salty smell of fish and needed something to occupy his hands. He carried the codfish over to the table, then recoiled. The filthy table grew dirtier and more repulsive the longer he examined it.

“Hey, everyone, how about we all come over and clean up this table?”

A shocked silence met his words as the boys turned as one and stared, utterly taken aback, at the suggestion.

Peter Pan burst out laughing. “That’s why we live in Neverland, Jimmy Boy! No chores, no bedtime, no work ever!” The other Lost Boys raised an ear-splitting cheer. Peter traced a finger along his chin as he considered his tall, lanky friend. “You certainly are behaving strangely today, Jimmy. Lighten up! You’re acting all…grown-up.”

Several boys hissed at the forbidden word, and Jimmy refused to meet any of his friends’ eyes. Is that what being grown-up meant? Having responsibilities and not seeing the world as a joke anymore? His mother hadn’t been a terrible person, and she was a grown-up…or had been once. The thought of his mother dying without even the chance to say goodbye tore at his heart. To avoid the pain, he struggled once again to remember his father, but came up with nothing, which only served to deepen the wound gnawing at his chest.

“C’mon, Smee, let’s clean it outside,” Jimmy muttered. He and Smee clambered back up to the surface, leaving the cacophony of the Lost Boys below. Jimmy found a wide, flat rock and began to scale and gut the fish.

“You really are quiet today,” Smee observed. “Are you sick? I can go get Peter if you want.”

“No!” Jimmy objected a little too quickly. He glanced around the clearing to ensure that they were alone. “Smee, do you remember your family at all?” As the newest arrival, if anyone was able to remember, Smee would.

Smee’s eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated. “I think so, but the details are sort of slipping away. Peter came the night I had a fight with my mum. She wanted me to feed our dog, Missy, and I didn’t want to. Peter said that I would never have to do chores again if I came with him.”

Smee continued, “I should go back soon; my mum said she was going to plan me a birthday party. Even though I wouldn’t feed the dog, she still was going to have a magician come and do tricks for me and my friends. You can come to my party if you want to.”

Jimmy smiled wistfully, even as his heart sank. He couldn’t even remember the concept of birthdays anymore since Peter forbade any mention of age or getting older. “That sounds nice. What’s your mom like?”

“She’s real pretty, my mum is! She has long hair and puts it in a braid. I would swing on it all the time and pretend to be a monkey when I was little. She would always tell me to stop, but it was so fun.”

“Did she tell you stories?” Jimmy couldn’t tell why he kept coming back to the idea of a mother who told stories. Maybe because it seemed so homey and pleasant.

“Yeah, she’d tell me stories about when I was a baby, and silly things I used to do. She told me the story of Rapunzel, and I thought it was a story about her for a long time because it sounded like her hair.” Smee’s lip quivered, then he quietly confessed, “I miss her. I think I’m ready to go back now. Do you think Peter will take me?”

Jimmy piled all the fish guts into one corner of the stone slab they used as a table but didn’t respond. The truth was, he didn’t know what Peter would do if Smee expressed a desire to return. Once boys arrived, Peter kept them all so busy with games and endless entertainment that no one had ever asked to go back. How much did he know about his friend, really?

“I don’t know. But,” he added as sudden inspiration struck, “if Peter won’t take you, I will.”

“You?” Smee’s eyebrows raised incredulously. “You can’t fly without Peter’s dust.”

“No,” Jimmy admitted. “I can’t.”

He slowly de-boned the fish, and the image of Tinkerbell floated back to him. He had returned her to her cage to heal—along with a tiny blanket and enough food to help with her recovery—and had been checking on her every few hours. He knew he needed to free her, but with her injury, she would easily be captured again. At least until she was stronger, she needed protection, and he felt compelled to give it.

Jimmy continued pensively, “Pixie dust doesn’t belong to Peter anyway and…I know someone who might be able to help us get home.”