Fairies and the Quest for Never Land Page 2

  “Wait!” she shouted.

  He flew into her bedroom window.

  She pounded up the hill, panting. Would he leave when no girl was waiting for him?

  The bedroom window closed.

  Her chest felt about to explode. As she ran, she fumbled in her skirt pocket for her key.

  At last she reached the door, but her hand was shaking so hard she could barely fit the key in. Finally she succeeded and tore up the stairs.

  She opened her bedroom door cautiously. Mother stood against the wall between the two windows.

  Peter was nowhere, but Gwendolyn heard muffled crying.

  Mother pointed at the closet and whispered, “I closed the door and the windows to keep him here. He’s crying because I grew up.” She smiled wistfully. “I half wish I hadn’t.”

  Gwendolyn hugged her. Poor Mother.

  “Two weeks on the island, sweetie. Then come home. Have fun.” Mother patted Gwendolyn’s cheek and left, closing the bedroom door with a loud click.

  Gwendolyn stood in front of her closet, feeling a little afraid. This was it…the beginning.

  F O U R

  GWENDOLYN addressed the closet, saying the traditional words although she no longer heard sobs. “Boy, why are you crying?”

  Peter flung the door open and spoke his traditional words, “I never cry.” He stepped into the room. “Wendy?”

  “Gwendolyn.”

  “Oh. Gwendolyn. Look! I have my shadow this time.” He waved his arm, and his shadow on the floor waved too.

  She wondered if this was traditional as well. “It’s a lovely shadow,” she offered, making her own shadow wave back. She could barely keep from jumping up and down.

  “Wendy—”

  “Gwendolyn.”

  “Gwendolyn, do you know any fairy tales?”

  “Hundreds!”

  He smiled, flashing tiny teeth. Baby teeth? Gwendolyn wondered how old he really was. He was shorter than she was, but Wendy had gone to Never Land a hundred years before.

  Fairy dust sparkled as he flew to stand on the bed, which was lumpy with Gwendolyn’s crumpled-up pajamas under the blanket.

  Her pajamas! She should have been wearing them instead of her school uniform. She was going to be a sight in Never Land in a navy-blue skirt, a maroon blouse, striped socks, and, worst of all, sneakers—the unfairy footwear.

  A hiccup started, but she swallowed it back. She was not about to let sneakers kick her out of happiness.

  Peter said, “Now I shall sprinkle fairy dust on you.”

  She shouldered her backpack and reached the bed in two long strides.

  From the pocket of his green smock he brought out a tiny sack that couldn’t have held more than a quarter teaspoon. “The fairies call this a daily allotment.” He emptied the sack’s contents over her head.

  Goosebumps popped up on her scalp before even a speck of dust settled. Then, as soon as the first sprinkle touched her hair, she tingled all over, even between her toes. When the tingling dimmed, she bounced on her heels—and bumped her head on the ceiling.

  “Come!” Peter opened the window and flew out.

  But she didn’t know how. Although she thought, Forward!, she remained butted up against the ceiling like a helium balloon. The only way she could move was by hand-walking across the ceiling to the window, where she ducked out and stood on the ledge.

  Peter flitted above a roof across the way. Separating them, the road spooled out three stories below.

  I’ll fall! she thought. Her fingers dug into the window frame.

  She pushed off and didn’t plummet. But after gliding a few feet, she hung in the air, and now there was nothing to push off against. Cars and pedestrians passed below.

  Someone might look up! She held her skirt close to her knees. Peter was no longer across the street. “Where are you?”

  Hands pressed into her back. She advanced, like a train pushed by a caboose. But Peter couldn’t push her all the way to Never Land! She divided the air with her arms as if swimming the breaststroke, which accomplished nothing. She tried scissor-kicking.

  “Stop that!”

  She went limp and let him shove her to the opposite roof.

  “How do you do it?” she asked when they landed.

  “I’m clever.”

  She had been told of his boasting. “Show me, please.”

  He rocketed into a cloud, then dived out. “Oh, the speed of me!”

  “Please show me again.”

  Obligingly, he did so. He flew without either bending his knees or flapping his arms.

  She rose straight up like a window shade, and he had to pull her down. Again and again he showed her. Again and again she failed. Then, when she was sure he was about to give up, she saw him wriggle his shoulders the tiniest bit.

  Of course she wriggled far too much, but she flew. “Look at me!” she cried, as her mother once had, and Grandma had, and Great Grandma, all the way back to Wendy, John, and Michael.

  Peter zipped away toward the harbor, as graceful as a sea swallow, while Gwendolyn bumbled along. He led her up into the clouds, where she discovered cloud owls.

  They surrounded her, each owl the size of her hand with dots of blue sky for eyes. The owls crowded so close she stopped flying and hovered.

  (Cloud owls are never seen from airplanes. When a plane passes by, they blend into one another.)

  Peter pushed his way through. Afraid she might hurt them, Gwendolyn tried to twist out of their path, but in her awkwardness she hit more than he did. Whenever she collided with one, her wrist or chin or calf felt wet and cold. She shivered. They were like ghosts.

  “Am I hurting them?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Dunno. They’re just gossips.”

  What did they gossip about?

  “They won’t speak while you’re here.” He took her hand and helped her fly beyond the clouds.

  She waved good-bye.

  “The Lost Boys will be frightfully glad to see you. They haven’t had a mother in ever so long.”

  Ugh! Gwendolyn’s mother had warned her of this. Gwendolyn made her expression stern. “Good. Bedtime at seven every night and no snacks between meals.”

  Instantly, Peter added, “Of course, you won’t be my mother.”

  Below them stretched the open sea, waves and foam to the horizon.

  “Fly toward the sun.” He zoomed ahead much too fast for her to follow.

  “Come back! I’ll be a nice mother! I won’t be strict!”

  His figure shrank to a speck, then vanished.

  A hiccup rose into her throat. Hic! Hic! Hic! No ships sailed below. No birds soared above or below. Behind her, the mainland had receded to nothing.

  The sun set. Gwendolyn continued toward the pink glow on the horizon until it faded. Then she just hoped she was flying straight and concentrated on technique.

  If she flapped her arms, she wobbled. If she kicked, she seesawed up and down. She was steadiest keeping her arms at her sides and her legs straight. Moving her hands and feet like flippers increased her speed. Extending one arm or the other made her turn. Lowering or raising her head made her descend or rise.

  When she finished experimenting, she pulled the peanuts and dried apples out of her backpack. While she munched, the night brightened with a million more stars than she had ever seen. She rolled over and smiled up at them.

  Peter crowed behind her. “You’re going the wrong way!”

  “Where were you?”

  “Ocean mermaids have longer tails than lagoon ones. Listen, Wendy—”

  “Gwendolyn.”

  “This is how to find your way. First look for the Kyto constellation and sight along the dragon’s higher wing—”

  “What dragon is he?”

  “The only dragon on Never Land. Hates everybody. Has the hottest flame of any dragon anywhere.”

  Gwendolyn’s flying faltered. Mother and Grandma hadn’t mentioned a dragon. Gwendolyn hoped he lived far from Peter�
�s home and Fairy Haven.

  “On land he lives on Torth Mountain. In the stars, his wing leads to the Golden Hawk constellation.” He pointed. The tip of the hawk’s right claw was a white star, which Peter had named Peter.

  “Aim for Peter,” he said, “and you can’t go wrong, unless Never Land moves.” He flew away.

  Gwendolyn continued on, pleading in her mind with Never Land to stay still. The kiss brushed her arm and warmed the spot. If she closed her eyes she would see the island.

  Ah, it was nighttime there, too. Tink hunched over her worktable and picked up a colander.

  Never Land faded. Gwendolyn was asleep.

  A rush of air woke her.

  She was falling headfirst.

  A black triangle sliced the waves below.

  A shark’s fin!

  F I V E

  A HUGE HEAD thrust up. Jaws opened. In her fright, Gwendolyn forgot how to fly. She flapped her arms, kicked, and screamed. She flapped harder, kicked harder, screamed louder as she plummeted toward rows of teeth. Rows of swords!

  Five feet away.

  Aaa!

  Three feet!

  Two!

  Inches from those teeth she raised her head and leveled out, wriggling her shoulders and hiccupping so hard her body shook.

  More fins collected in a circle below. Maybe they were friendly sharks who ate only seaweed. Maybe they’d gathered to keep her company.

  She flew upward as fast as she could.

  Eventually, the stars set, and the sky faded to pale blue before dawn. Gwendolyn breakfasted on the remaining nuts and dried apples. Clouds gathered. She couldn’t steer in clouds and could barely fly with the cloud owls pressing against her.

  “Wendy, have—”

  “Gwendolyn.” She exhaled a long breath of relief.

  “Gwendolyn, have you ever seen whales dance?”

  “No.” But she wanted to. “Where?”

  “They’re finished now. They lift themselves out of the water down to their tails.”

  “It’s over? Why did you tell me if it’s over?”

  “They dance only for me.”

  He was infuriating! Maybe seagulls would come and recite poetry in her ears.

  He scattered fairy dust on her. “Listen.”

  She heard nothing more than the waves’ shush-shush and the wind’s whoosh. The cloud owls began to drizzle. “What?”

  “The pirates are singing.”

  “Hook’s pirates?”

  Peter stood straight in the air, grinning. “Aye, Hook’s dogs.”

  She heard a distant boom! “What was that?”

  “The pirates fire Long Tom every day at noon.”

  Their cannon? she thought. How many times? She stood up straight, too, pedaling backward.

  Luckily, no more blasts followed.

  The drizzle ended and the cloud owls drifted away.

  A rainbow spanned the sky. On the horizon, midway between each end, was a dot no bigger than Gwendolyn’s thumb. She pulled her binoculars out of her backpack and brought them to her eyes.

  A brigantine lay at anchor in the bay. Beyond it sparkled a crescent beach rimmed with palm trees. Behind the palms rose a green hillside.

  She whispered, “I’m here, really here. Fairies very soon.”

  They flew over Mermaid Lagoon, where three mermaids were sunning themselves on Marooners’ Rock. A breeze rippled through their long hair and trailing scarves. They waved.

  Gwendolyn flew lower, waving back. “Hello! You’re so beautiful.”

  But their greeting had been for Peter alone. They dived and splashed. Gwendolyn brushed the droplets off her skirt.

  “They’re snobs,” he said. “You have to have a tail to be somebody to them.”

  “They like you.”

  “I’m Peter.”

  White sand spread below them. Behind the beach, dense forest grew. Gwendolyn’s eyes sought a maple tall enough to poke above all the rest. This would be the Home Tree, where the fairies lived.

  She followed Peter to the clearing above his underground home with the Lost Boys. Six faces watched their descent.

  Gwendolyn hovered. She hadn’t landed since the rooftop on the mainland, when Peter was still holding on to her.

  The Lost Boys—Tootles, Nibs, Curly, Slightly, and the Twins, whose names were unknown even to themselves—clustered shyly at the edge of the clearing.

  Peter landed. Without looking, he gestured at Gwendolyn’s shadow, where he thought she stood. “Your new mother’s here. She knows lots of fairy tales and can’t wait to scrub and darn for you.”

  Fortunately for Peter, Gwendolyn didn’t hear a word.

  Kindhearted Tootles understood her dilemma. “Blow out all the air that’s in you.”

  Gwendolyn did and landed without breaking an ankle. “Thank you.” She felt bashful and also embarrassed to be seen in her school uniform. The Lost Boys wore animal skins, which seemed more proper here.

  “Hello,” she said.

  No one spoke.

  She racked her brain for polite conversation. “The sea was calm.”

  No one spoke. Peter had disappeared down the tree hole of an elm.

  She tried again, repeating a curious statement she’d heard at the dinner table, “Only bears are in the market right now.”

  Slightly nodded wisely. “Indeed. Just bears. No squirrels.”

  Gwendolyn was surprised by how young the Lost Boys seemed. Nibs, the tallest, came up only to her nose.

  “This is the tree for her,” Peter announced, emerging from the tree hole. “Wendy—”

  “Gwendolyn.”

  “Gwendolyn, you can go down this tree.”

  “Down?”

  You see, the underground home had seven entrances—one for each Lost Boy plus Peter—but no door. These entrances were holes in seven hollowed-out trees. Each boy got in by sliding down his own hole, which fit him as snugly as a glove.

  Gwendolyn stood over the dark hole and felt dizzy.

  Tootles said, “You’ve never seen a home like ours.”

  Peter looked eager, and even grumpy-looking Curly was almost smiling.

  Gwendolyn tucked her skirt around her, lowered one leg and then the other into the hole, until she was seated on the edge. Maybe they had food down there. She was awfully hungry.

  She held her arms at her sides and slid. Her waist disappeared into the tree and lodged there. Blushing, she said, “I can’t go down any more.”

  “I’ll push you through,” Peter said.

  How would she get back up? “Don’t!”

  He was already pressing on her shoulders, forcing her down until he could push no more, and only her head and neck stuck out above the tree hole. Below, her feet dangled, but the rest of her was wedged in.

  “I’m coming up.” She tried to wriggle though there wasn’t room enough. “Pull me! Please.”

  Nibs tried but couldn’t squeeze his hands in.

  She would have hiccupped if her chest could have expanded. Was she going to spend her two weeks in Never Land in a tree? At least Tootles, who seemed the most sympathetic, might convince a fairy to visit.

  Would she spend the rest of her life in a tree? No more school or friends or puzzles or Mother or Father or Grandma. No future, except in a tree.

  S I X

  “SHE’S IN my tree.” Slightly sounded offended. “Where I will sleep tonight is a mystery, a mystery indeed.”

  Gwendolyn glared at him. Where she was going to sleep tonight was no mystery at all.

  “Don’t worry,” Peter said. “I’ll guard you. The wolves won’t eat you.”

  “Wolves?”

  “Big ones,” Peter said with evident satisfaction. “Much taller than on the mainland. Never wolves have a double set of teeth, and—”

  “Stop!” Gwendolyn’s mind went to fairies. What would a fairy do?

  Tink would make a metal shoe horn, Clumsy size, to get her out. Prilla would…“Clap! Clap to lift me!”

 
; Peter caught on first and clapped with all his strength. The Lost Boys joined in, looking confused. Gwendolyn kicked. The tree groaned, and she flew out.

  “We’ll whittle a tunnel for you in a new tree,” Peter said.

  She saw her chance. “While you do, I’ll explore.” She wanted to be alone when she met the fairies.

  Peter looked surprised. “I can show you about later, Wendy.”

  “Gwendolyn. Er…Fairy Haven is that way?” She pointed.

  He nodded. “But they—”

  “This is for you.” She gave him the extra pair of binoculars from her backpack.

  He fell back a step, looking uneasy.

  “You put your eyes here…” She showed him. “Twist this, and you can see things far away.”

  He still didn’t take it. She held the binoculars up to her eyes, which caused a Twin to gasp in fright.

  “If you fly above the trees, you can use it to see the deck of the pirate ship.”

  Peter’s hand closed around his present. “See you later.”

  Warm air nuzzled Gwendolyn’s face as she flew. Viewed from above, the trees merged into a green carpet. She couldn’t pick out an individual tree or judge its height, so she swerved toward the shore.

  A bent stick poked out of the sand. No, it wasn’t merely a stick. She landed and dug around it, as delicately as an archaeologist, until she loosened her find, which turned out to be a lute in perfect condition. The fretwork below the strings crisscrossed in a rose-petal pattern. Dark and light woods striped the rounded bottom where tiny holes had been pricked. Why?

  To let water drip out. This was a mermaid’s lute!

  She clapped her sandy hands. What luck! Rani, who loved mermaids, would adore it.

  Cradling it in her arms, Gwendolyn flew along the beach and surveyed the forest. In the distance the upper branches of a tree jutted up, topping the surrounding trees.

  A shiver ran through her.

  Flying inland, she reviewed the little that her kiss visions had shown her of the Home Tree. From fairy chatter, she’d picked up its name and height and that it was a maple. The visions had taken her inside Tink’s workshop, with its shiny steel walls and pile of broken pots, and into Rani’s bedroom, with the leaky ceiling, the waterbed, and the watered silk curtains. But she hadn’t seen the outside of the tree, except for a partial glimpse of the door at its base.