“Tink!” Peter barks harshly.
“Tinker Bell?” I sit up straighter and drop my hands from my ears. “You’re the fairy in Wendy’s story. I remember you!” I was under the impression Tinker Bell would be beautiful and sweet, forever helpful to the Lost Boys.
“I’m going to be the foot up your ass if you ever raise your hand to me again!”
My impression is decidedly incorrect.
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
She sneers. “Mainland trash, no wonder. First Wendy and now you.” She spits on the floor at my feet, her saliva a sparkling gold.
“Tink, that’s enough!” Peter grabs her shoulder and pulls her back, but with another flash of light, she’s gone. the firefly has returned, the bell ringing incessantly as she flits around the kitchen then disappears into a side room.
“What the hell?” I stare after her, wondering if she’s going to show back up and knife me.
“Tink is kind of wild,” Slightly says apologetically. “And very possessive of Peter. She can be?—”
“Psychotic?” I fill in.
“Bold,” Peter offers.
I sit back in my chair and take a deep, steadying breath. “Great. I have no food, no way home, and now a fairy hates me.” Despite myself, tears begin to prick at my eyes. I don’t want to cry, but sometimes there’s nothing for it.
“Hey.” Coy takes the seat next to me. “Hey, it’ll be okay, Moira. Don’t cry.”
I can’t help it. Big, hot tears begin to slide down my cheeks, and I shove my plate away and bury my face in my arms.
Peter sighs. “This isn’t how I wanted it to go.” He grips my shoulder and squeezes lightly. “I’ll talk to her. Don’t worry. She’d never hurt you.”
That’s not what it sounded like to me, but I don’t bother responding. Instead, I let the tears go and sob, my face thankfully hidden as I keep my forehead pressed to my arms on top of the table.
I keep crying until it’s all gone. Until my tears dry up, and I’m left with the sound of my sniffling breaths and the same headache I woke up with, but now with more sinus pressure. Wonderful.
Clearing my throat, I sit up.
Seven men stare at me, their faces vacillating between concern and horror.
“What? What’s the problem, guys? Aren’t you going to eat yourbreakfast?” An admittedly hysterical laugh rips from me as I survey their empty plates. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I say through rogue chuckles. “Sorry.”
Peter leans over and whispers something in Coy’s ear. He takes off, leaving the kitchen at nearly a run.
“I’m fine.” I sigh and wipe my sleeve down my face. “It’s fine. Don’t worry.”
“You really can’t see the food?” Peter peers down at me.
“No!” My irritation returns. “There’s no food.”
He shakes his head slowly. “But Wendy always ate with us.”
“I’m not Wendy!” I stand, knocking my chair over as I back away from the table. “I don’t belong here. Just let me go.”
Peter holds out his hands, palms toward me. “It’s not safe out?—”
“I don’t care!” My back hits the wall, my breaths coming in sharp and short bursts. “I want to go home. I have class. I-I have an assignment due for creative writing. I have papers to grade. I-I-I—” I stop to catch my breath, but I can’t seem to. Bending over, I grip my knees and try to breathe. Black spots dance in my vision.
“It’s okay, Moira. Everything’s okay.” Peter stands next to me, his presence like a sturdy earthen root, grounding him while I’m still adrift. “Finally,” he snaps as I hear footsteps.
“Moira, can you see these?” He passes a plate in front of my eyes.
