Page 73 of Lost in the Never Woods

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.