Page 11 of Darling

“Oh God, I am calling the cops,” Eleanor said. “I am going to call the police, and I know how you feel about that. What kind of question is that? ‘Should I go to a party with him?’ WHAT? Do you even hear yourself talking?” Wendy could hear Eleanor shaking her head, her curls bounding wildly.

“I know, I know, but Eleanor! It’s just a party. I’ve been to plenty of those. And if anything was to go wrong, I could just hop on a train or a bus. Worse comes to worst, I can just Google Maps a police station and get an Uber there. I have some money, and he has another girl with him, so it’s not like I’m going out with him alone—”

“You shouldn’t be going with him at all! There is a huge difference between going out with me and going out with some strange man to God knows where.”

Wendy glanced over at Peter, who had swung his legs back inside the windowsill and was picking through her copy of Paradise Lost. He held it awkwardly, like he’d never read a book in his life and didn’t quite know why anyone would want to own such a thing. When he looked up and saw Wendy watching him, he shoved the book back in the pile with the others and shrunk away from them self-consciously.

“I’m going to do this, so we need to compromise,” Wendy said.

Eleanor was silent for a while. “If you straight up get murdered, what’s going to happen?” she asked quietly.

Wendy sighed. “I promise. I promise you that I’ll be okay.”

Eleanor let Wendy’s words sink into the night for a full minute before responding. “Okay. Turn your location on and FaceTime or text me every half hour. If I don’t hear from you ten minutes after the hour, I’m going to call the cops and send them your location. Take a picture of this guy and his friend when they’re not looking so we can have at least some record of who fucking kidnapped you. Also—and I swear to God—if you die, I’m going to your funeral and I’m going to yell at your corpse in front of your entire grieving extended family, do you hear me?”

“Yes, Mom.” Wendy laughed dryly.

“Wear a sweater and bring a little umbrella in case it rains. Don’t forget your charger, and wear shoes good for running.”

“Mmkay.” Wendy unzipped the suitcase of clothes near her bed and started rummaging for her sweater.

“Don’t drink any alcohol or do any drugs, and I swear to fuck if you get anything else to drink at all, watch it for the entire time you’re drinking it, and don’t leave it with anyone. Not even any girls. You don’t know these people, and they don’t love you like I do.”

“Gayyy,” Wendy teased.

“You know it,” Eleanor said quietly. “Don’t forget to take pictures and send them to me.”

“I won’t. It will be okay. I’ll be back by midnight.”

“You had better,” Eleanor snapped.

Wendy hung up and grabbed her purse.

“So. You coming or…?” Peter asked, raising a slim eyebrow.

“Yeah. I just need to find an umbrella…” Wendy bent down to look under her bed.

“You don’t need it,” Peter said calmly.

“What if it rains? I’d rather be safe than—” Wendy started, but Peter interrupted her.

“If you need anything out there, I’ll get it for you.”

“You couldn’t even afford to get your jacket fixed,” Wendy declared.

Peter hopped down into her room and crossed his arms. Wendy instinctively backed away toward the bed. He dragged his golden eyes from her tennis shoes up past the sweatpants she’d been sleeping in, the sweater she’d hastily thrown on over the T-shirt from her old school’s gym uniform, and let them settle on her face. “If you’re going out with me, I won’t let you get wet, Wendy Darling,” he said seriously. “If you’re going out there with me … I’ll get you whatever you want.”

“Oh,” Wendy said.

Peter grinned.

“So,” he said brightly, “are we going down the trellis, or are we going out the front door? Tink’s not a patient girl, so we’ve got to make a choice quickly.”

“I … I don’t have a key to lock the door yet,” Wendy stammered.

“Okay, then on my back you go. You don’t look like you scale a lot of walls. I’d rather actually make it to the party than take you to the emergency room.” Peter turned around and crouched low so Wendy could climb on his back.

Wendy swallowed, tightened her resolve, and wrapped her arms around Peter’s neck. His hair was terribly soft against her cheek. He smelled like smoke, metal, and—strangely—flowers. Fresh in a way that she’d never known boys to smell. Like maybe he used floral shampoo or something. She could already feel his wiry muscles beneath his jacket, but it still startled her when he curved his hands beneath her thighs and lifted her properly onto his back with a small hop. Peter was much stronger than he looked, she realized dizzily.