I turn my head away so quickly I think I pull something in my neck.
Peter laughs low in his throat, then tosses his clothes in a pile at my feet. I hear his splashes as he runs out into the waves.
Curly swipes his arm across the water, soaking Peter who dives right for him.
Curly laughs, then yells as he gets pulled under the waves by an unseen Peter Pan. Doesn’t matter what age they are, boys always have to horse around in water.
I sit for a while and watch the stars as they watch me. The moon is wider than a sliver and ringed by high clouds. I wonder if it ever shines brightly or if it stays stuck in half light. What else has gone wrong here because of Captain Hook’s thirst for power? The thought sends a shiver through me. He’s slaughtered his way through the peoples of the island, but Peter’s little bandhas managed to survive. It makes me wonder how many they’ve lost, and how many more will die if Captain Hook gets his way. Wendy always made exceedingly clear that Hook was the enemy of everyone in Neverland. Some allegiances could change between the fairies, the Lost Boys, the Neverians, and even the mermaids. But Hook was the one constant.
Staring out at the ocean, I look for the black sails, but they’re thankfully absent. I lie back on the sand and sort through all the things that happened since I first met Peter on the quad. How did he even find me? I crane my neck to ask him, but he and Curly are deeper now, still dunking each other as they laugh and sputter.
Time passes, the moon rising higher as I ponder how to somehow repair the island and then return home. I let my thoughts go to even darker places—am I having a total break from reality? Is this how it started with my mother? She hid it so well that her own husband didn’t even realize she was dissociating until the time she went into a fugue state and nearly drowned in the bathtub. Is that me right now? Lying on my dorm floor, my eyes seeing nothing as my mind holds me captive?
A big blue crab skitters a little too close to my head for comfort, so I sit up and glare at it. It moseys back the way it came, though one of its eyes remains locked on me.
“I’ve always liked crab legs, buddy, and those neverberries won’t fill me up forever.”
It takes the hint and dives into a hole along the line where the shore meets the jungle.
“That’s what I thought.” I turn back to the sea, then yell when Curly bursts from the water right in front of me with Peter behind him.
“Come on, Moira!” Curly swipes at the water, splashing Peter. “Nothing better than a swim.”
I have to admit, I could use a wash. Then again, there are two naked men in the water, both of them looking at me. Nerves ball in my gut.
“Is it cold?” I stall.
“No.” Curly splashes around. “The water is perfect. Just don’t drink it.”
I get to my feet. “Why, what’s wrong with it? Magic or poison or something?”
“It’s saltwater, Moira.” Peter chuckles, his hair slicked back from the water, giving him a 1920s gangster vibe. It’s not a bad look on him at all.
“Hey!” I turn around, my back to the beautiful lagoon. “I’m not just going to strip down out here.”
“Why not?” Peter sounds genuinely curious.
“Because I’mnot, that’s why.” I’ve always been shy about my body. Maybe because my mother never gave me much direction on boundaries. I came to the realization when I got to high school gym class that I was modest to the point of being a weirdo. Maybe that wouldn’t have been the case if my mother ever talked to me about important things—like my body, my clothes, how to not seem like a total loser in school. But none of those things ever concerned her. She lived in her own head more than on the actual earth. So, when I hit puberty (also withno heads-up from my mom on the whole period thing) and was looking for a sense of style, I was on my own. As I survey my dirty college sweatshirt and ripped jeans, I realize I dress the same way now as I did when I was a teenager.
But it’s not as if how I look really matters. I can say without hesitation that no man has ever shown a real interest in me—frat boys looking to get laid clearly don’t count. And though some part of me used to wonder why no man looked at me twice, I’ve learned to live with it. I’m no stellar beauty, but I don’t have to be. All I want is a cozy little house filled with books where I can read, write, and have as many adventures as I want on the page. The characters living in my head will give me companionship. Love isn’t necessary in this fantasy of mine. Besides, I’ve gone my whole life without it, so what’s the use now?
A splash pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn to see Peter and Curly swimming away, their muscles positively glowing under the moonlight. What must they think of plain old me, I wonder? My mother, when she was lucid or perhaps when she wasn’t, used to say that Wendy was a beauty, which was why Peter chose to take her to the island with him. Was Peter expecting another one of her? Perfect manners and effortless beauty?
I snort a laugh. That’s never been me.
“Come on, Moira!” Peter yells.
I can’t help but smile as Curly splashes him, the two of them still playing like little boys. Which, I suppose, at their hearts, is what they’re meant to be.
“I’ll swim, but just don’t look, okay?” I cross my arms over my chest, which sends the smell from my underarms wafting to my nose. Yeah, I definitely need to get into the water.
“How do we not look?” Peter calls from where he’s now treading water. “What if you’re drowning?”
“Just don’t look as I undress! Once I’m in the water, you won’t be able to see anything anyway.” I let that thought sink in as I stare at the dark water. There’s no telling what could be in there. “Where are the mermaids?”
Peter turns around in the water and finds the moon in the sky. “They should be here, but they may have dived into the deep to avoid Hook.”
“Do they bite?” I call.
